He was half asleep, the heavy and pleasant feeling of being completely relaxed something he didn’t enjoy that often. The soft sheets of his bed felt like silk against his skin, he was squirming a little to really relish in the sensation, he felt so blessedly drowsy and carefree. Why he didn’t really know but why not make the best of the moment. He lay there, eyes closed and drifted in the state between being awake and asleep. He felt the scent from their garden, rich and sweet and it was rather quiet, normally there would be quite a racket. Even if his sons all had come of age there was hardly a quiet moment in such a grand household.
Then there was movement on the matrass next to him and he started, turned his head slowly. He gasped when he saw who it was, his father. “Atya?!”
Why was he here? Finwë ought to be in Tirion? Finwë smiled, a gentle and loving smile and Fëanor felt his heart skip a few beats, he had rarely seen his father like this, so seemingly carefree. "Yes my son, I am here”
Fëanor blinked, he didn’t understand, not that he was complaining at all. The thought of having his father there, alone, was almost enough to bring him to tears. He had missed him so terribly, always fearing that they would steal his affection and time. “Why?”
His voice was groggy and he didn’t get over the almost dreamlike state he was in. “Does it matter? I am here now my sweet son”
Finwë let a hand run through Fëanor’s silky black locks and he shivered, it felt so good, brought back so many fond memories from when it had been just the two of them, before…before her! Then his father leaned down and kissed him, a gentle kiss which yet carried within it the promise of more and Fëanor responded immediately. How often hadn’t he dreamed of this, craved it? He had hidden his sinful secret thoughts and desires but somehow he couldn’t hide anymore. He grasped onto his father’s elegant braids and brought them together yet again, in a searing hungry kiss, desperate.
Finwë answered it, didn’t pull away and that almost drove him insane, he was grasping onto his father, the kisses deepening and becoming those of lovers. He was feeling as though all his dreams had come true. “ I love you son, Eru as my witness, I love you so much!”
Finwë’s voice was raspy, Fëanor felt his father’s hands slide over his skin, awakening his need and desire in a way nobody ever had, not even his wife. He whimpered and then it was skin against skin, Finwë was as naked as himself. How that came to be he didn’t know and he didn’t care. All that mattered was the presence of that one person he loved more than anyone else in the world, he was aching, yearning, pleading for so much more, for something his mind couldn’t even dare to put into words.
Kisses and caresses, thick silky black locks mingled with his own and the storm that raged within him ought to be frightening but it wasn’t. He welcomed it, embraced it and whimpered with pleasure and need as his father’s strong hands caressed him, brought forth sensations he hadn’t even known he was capable of feeling.
His father’s hot mouth was all over him, so were his hands, teeth were nicking, lips sucking and tugging and he was panting, gasping his father’s name, engulfed by a firestorm of raw need. Finwë was gently stroking his cock, the pre come already leaking from him made the grip slick and teasing and he arched against it, begging without words. Finwë kissed him again, so hard his lips were bruising. “ So eager, so beautiful. My little spirit of fire, my lovely son”
Fëanor keened, he was so close. “ A…Atya..I need…”
Finwë nodded. “ I know son, relax. I am here now, I am yours, as you are mine”
Fëanor gasped, kissed him with a sort of ferocious possessiveness he hadn’t known he had in him. “ Yes, mine, all mine!”
Fingers were brushing against his entrance, slicked with oil and he surrendered to them, eyes closed and heart racing, it was mind blowing, so much more than he could even have dreamed of. He was rutting against Finwë, shamelessly and needy and as soon as he was ready he was pulled into position and he felt his father’s impressive length slide into him, slowly and with force. He yelled, trashing around, it hurt but it was a pain he welcomed more than anything else, finally he knew, knew for sure that his father truly loved him above anyone else, more than that ill begotten spawn of that vanyarin whore who had taken his precious mother’s place. “Atya…Oh Eru!”
His voice a mere whisper, a gasp, a plea. He was filled, completed, they were one and he wept with joy as the pleasure mounted and rose and made his entire body shiver. “ Yes my beautiful one, let me love you.”
He grasped onto his father’s strong shoulders, felt protected and cared for like when he was a child, this was heaven, this was bliss like none he had ever felt before. He whimpered as his father found his rhythm and he wanted this to last, to just stay there in this state of almost completion until the end of days but he knew that he wouldn’t last, it was too much, too good. Finwë was skillfully pushing against that sensitive spot within him with each thrust and it made his see stars and explosions. He was clawing at the sheets, writhing, sweat making his body slick and shiny and each move made him growl and pant. His father shared his passion, their voices mingling, creating a symphony of carnal pleasure and desperate need. Before long Fëanor felt his body tensing up. His stones had pulled up and he tossed his head back, almost shrieking as his father teasingly grasped onto his cock, stroked him towards climax.
“Atya…Atya…I…love…you!” It was a scream, a guttural almost animalistic roar as he felt his father tense up and follow him into an orgasm that was the most violent he had ever felt. His mind went blank, his body limp and boneless as he spilled over his father’s hand and his own belly and felt how his father’s hot seed flooded his insides. It was beyond description, it was mind blowing. He felt tears running down his cheeks as he shuddered through the last spasms and then there was a hand on his cheeks, wiping the tears away, gently. “ Do not cry my precious one, be strong. I love you like I have loved life, do never doubt that, do never forget that”
He felt a sting of confusion. “ I know Atya, I know now.”
Finwê leaned over his son again, kissed his sweaty brow, wiped long strands of wet hair out of his face. “ You are my pride and joy, my heir. Prove that you are your mother’s son.”
Fëanor felt drowsy, so terribly heavy and the closeness of his father so comforting, so safe. “ I will”
A hand slid through his hair again, there was a sigh, soft and yet so sad. “ Then I will leave knowing I have proved my love for you, live son, live and use what we gave you for the good of our people”
Fëanor didn’t understand. “ Leave? Why? “
He tried to open his eyes but they felt like lead and he could smell the musk of his father’s skin once more, a kiss on his brow, a tender whisper in his ear. “ I love you Curufinwë Fëanaro, keep them safe”
Fëanor jerked, opened his eyes with a shout, confusion rushing through him. His body still heavy with the effect of his forceful orgasm. His sheets were sticky with his seed and cold and clinging to his body and they were not his own. The room wasn’t the bedroom of his house in Tirion, nor was it the bedroom he used in Formenos where he had spent the last years. It was a guestroom in the palace of Tirion and it came back to him, the meetings with his half brother, the attempt at bridging the gap between them. He had been dreaming, he had dreamed the whole thing and come in his sleep like some randy youth barely come of age. He frowned, the curtains were pulled over the windows and it was rather dark, he couldn’t have slept that long? But…
Then it seeped into him, he still felt his scent there, his lips stinging from the kisses, his body sore and aching and the darkness that seemed to crawl into the room not as it ought to be. It had been real, and yet it hadn’t and he grasped onto the sheets, panting with a sense of rising panic. He reached out, using his Osanwë. ( Atya, answer me! Answer me, please, please, I beg you)
There was nothing, only silence, only nothingness, a blank empty spot where his father’s mind ought to have been and he was already crying when the servants came running up the stairs, terrified and confused, carrying torches and lamps to ward of the darkness that had fallen upon them all. He already knew his father was no more.