Title: Climbing Telperion 
Author: Celebdil 
Email: hrafn@hrafn.co.uk 
Pairings: Celeborn/Finrod, with mentions of Elu Thingol/Celeborn 
Rating: NC-17 
Summary: A tale of Finrod Felagund's Field Research into the Sexual 
Habits of the Dark Elves of Doriath. 
 
Climbing Telperion. 
*********************** 
 
The whole population of Menegroth were out in the forest tonight, Finrod 
thought, wandering with mingled delight and unease among the trees.  The 
air was chill and damp, the leaves like a fire - scarlet and amber and 
gold.  Whipped by the wind, they skirled about his feet, laced among the 
smoke of the many bonfires and tangled in the hair of the dancers. 
Every dark elf in Doriath seemed to have been seized by the desire to 
dance. 
 
At home in Aman this would have been a day of reverence to Namo.  In 
the 
golden hours of Laurelin the princes of the three kindreds would have 
processed to the doors of Mandos and strewn there armfuls of bright 
flowers, while the musicians played trumpets of brass, and cymbals, and 
bells, to remind the souls within that there was a fair new life 
awaiting them outside.  The silver of the day would be spent about the 
forge-fire, drinking hot, spiced wine and telling tales of the monsters 
they had left behind in Middle-earth.  A day to be quiet, and glad of 
peace; to be thankful for the promise that - through Mandos halls - even 
their benighted Dark kin might one day be rescued, might one day come to 
experience the light and order of Valinor. 
 
He had supposed that the Sindar had their own version of the ceremony - 
a dignified coming to terms with death - but if this was Middle-earth's 
equivalent, then the two cultures were far, far more alien to one 
another than he had thought. 
 
Shaking his head, he stopped at one of the fires, where a group of 
youngsters - no more than 40 years old - were drinking apple brandy and 
egging each other on to leap through the flames.  In the light of day, 
most days, he had been happy to find he had no great feeling of 
superiority among these Umanyar.  Thingol was a king at least as great 
as Finwë - with his borrowed Maia power, probably more so.  Luthien... 
there were no nissi equal to her among the Noldor, though his sister 
came close. 
 
Thinking of Artanis inevitably made him think also of Celeborn, for - 
whether she knew it or not - he had become one of Artanis' favourite 
topics of conversation.  Finrod might have grown weary of the 
confidences which began 'Celeborn says...' had he not liked the man so 
much himself.  The Prince of Doriath was a deep man, silent and 
watchful, who spoke little but always to the point.  He had, Finrod 
thought, a clear and sometimes uncomfortably accurate view on many 
subjects, and a wicked, spiky sense of humour, which delighted Finrod as 
much as it did his sister. 
 
Taking a mouthful of the strong spirit, the vapour of it releasing a 
smell of hot summers into the back of his nose, making his eyes water, 
he coughed.  Warmth spread through him from the stomach out, and he 
found himself smiling tolerantly at a courting couple who were kissing 
in full view of the whole company, firelight touching their hair with 
topaz.  At his cough they straightened in surprise, and turned to look 
at him, and his mind went as dark as the sky.  These were both maidens! 
 
They faced him without guilt, but with a certain belligerence.  Their 
slender arms were still about each other's waists.  Then the taller - 
the one he had thought a man from the back - caught his gaze 
challengingly, and stroked her spread hand up to cup her companion's 
breast.  *Valar! *  He closed his gaping mouth and moved away quickly, 
but not before his whole body flushed with more than embarrassment. 
 The 
forest beckoned like a closed room - somewhere where he could flee to 
think.  *Valar! * 
 
Curufin had held forth many times since the host had been reunited, on 
the subject of the moral perversity of the Dark Elves, but it had been 
months since he and Artanis first entered Doriath, and he had seen no 
evidence of it so far.  Oh, yes - things they did differently, things 
that might look strange to an outsider, but bore a perfectly reasonable 
explanation when queried.  But this?! 
 
Now that he was awakened to the possibility he noticed such things 
happening elsewhere among the dancers.  Everywhere folk were drinking 
hard, and neri were kissing neri, nissi entwined about each other. 
Couples disappeared among the trees, or lay, rolled in leaves, oblivious 
to everything but each other.  It was... he thought, blood thundering in 
his ears.  It was... 
 
Everything that Curufin had said.  Yet when his cousin said it it seemed 
vile.  Now he stood here in the darkness, with hidden minstrels making a 
music of flutes and drums, fires sending fountains of red embers 
floating and the thumping feet of many dancers trembling the very ground 
beneath him...  Now it felt different.  He found himself breathing fast, 
charged all over with excitement.  There had been something of this 
feeling when Orome hunted, when he watched Tulkas running, strong and 
splendid over the bright grass of Aman.  Was this in some way part of 
the reverence?  The unnatural nature of death honoured by unnatural 
deeds? 
 
The music was making him tremble, making him hungry, needy.  The 
laughter and innuendo of the past weeks suddenly began to make sense, 
but he needed more, he needed... an explanation.  Yes, an explanation of 
the roots of the ceremony, of the purpose of the perversion. 
 
He had come some way into the dimness of the woods, and now, 
searching, 
he caught a glint of fallow silver further in; Celeborn's water-bright 
hair, distinctive in the shadow.  He would know, he would be able to 
give Finrod the information he needed, not to condemn. 
 
It was cooler away from the fires, and more private.  The air was full 
of the watchfulness of trees, the scent of leaves and rain.  The 
clearing's amber light gave way to a shimmer of starlight, and the music 
became less insistent, but perhaps more sweet for that; yearning rather 
than demanding.  As soon as his view became clear, Finrod stopped, and 
his mind blanked, stalling in shock for the second time tonight.  It had 
not occurred to him that Celeborn would not be alone. 
 
Elwë was with him, crowding him up against the smooth grey trunk of an 
ash, the king's hair loose and falling over Celeborn's face as he leaned 
in to kiss.  His heavy outer robe fell about them both, and Celeborn had 
just untied the inner, was now pushing it apart, his hands exploring 
bare skin as he made small murmurs of bliss under Elu's mouth. 
 
Finrod caught his breath, frozen to the spot, his stomach lurching.  He 
should be appalled.  He knew he should.  Any other among his people 
would have been.  But, oh stars!  They were so beautiful.  The sight of 
these two strong, virile men, each more fair than the other, kissing 
with such abandon, such wanton enjoyment...  Suddenly he could not draw 
enough breath into his body, he was alight from the inside, and hard, 
painfully hard.  He should withdraw, leave them to it, but he could not, 
he could only stand and watch and wonder which one of the two he would 
rather be, would rather be with. 
 
At Finrod's gasp, Celeborn opened his eyes and looked straight at him. 
Tilting his head to give Elu better access to his throat, he wound one 
hand into the king's steel-silver hair, and began to undo his belt with 
the other.  The smile he gave Finrod was utterly different from any 
expression the Noldo had ever seen on his face before.  There were no 
depths to it, no subtleties, nor the slightest hint of shame.  Only 
triumph.  That too struck Finrod deep, making him resonate like a bell. 
 He looked away, flushing, exposed and excited. 
 
By the time he looked back, Doriath's prince had discarded his clothes 
on the ground, and stood blanketed by Elu, both of them enclosed in the 
warmth of Elwe's velvet robe, chest and legs and loins pressed tight, 
just gently moving together while they kissed.  He wondered if, knowing 
they were overlooked, they would restrain themselves to this languorous 
touching.  Knowing that Finrod was there, Celeborn would surely not let 
this go any further, he thought, disappointed, and disappointed in 
himself for feeling that way.  Surely the sooner this was over the better? 
 
Sure enough, Celeborn broke away, licked his darkened, bruised lips with 
some smugness.  But then he reached up, took hold of the tree branch 
above his head and pulling, lifted himself, winding both legs around 
Elu's waist.  Finrod's heart raced and his mouth went dry.  Manwe's 
Eagles!  They were really going to do it!  Right here in front of him... 
Oh Valar! 
 
He hardly dared look, only enough to see that in that position, all of 
the muscles in Celeborn's chest stood out, defined by the effort of 
bearing his weight, gleaming slightly in the moonlight, where sweat and 
Elu's kisses had dampened them.  He couldn't see what the king was 
doing, but Celeborn's head fell back against the smooth bark.  His eyes 
unfocused and fluttered shut.  He breathed out, a shuddering gasp.  Then 
Elu rocked forward, growling deep in his throat, and Celeborn gave a 
long keening moan of agonized delight. 
 
Finrod fled.  It was too much.  He would die if he witnessed any more; 
he would explode.  Whatever this ravening thing was within him, it would 
consume him, making him mad, unfit to be in the company of anything 
but 
beasts.  His steps slowed as he reached firelight once more, and bonfire 
heat prickled his flushed face.  Folk were still dancing, and he noticed 
- for the first time in months - how shadowed, how dark their faces 
were.  Curufin would have warned him.  Did warn him.  But no one had 
seen fit to say that the truth would feel so...  So liberating.  So good. 
 
Taking another dip at the brandy, which steadied his overwrought nerves 
and made everything seem a little more reasonable, he pushed his way 
through the revellers, trying not to flare into aching fire every time a 
casual hand touched his hair, stroked down his turned back.  He took his 
confusion to the riverbank, hoping that he might again hear the voice of 
a Vala in the water, or at least that the cold would drive away the 
sensation of being too big for his skin to contain.  How much did he 
really believe this was wrong?  And how would he ever look any of them 
in the face again? 
 
*** 
 
"Finrod?"  He didn't know how long he had been sitting on Esgalduin's 
edge, watching the slide of moonlight on the great river's gliding 
waters.  No god had spoken, but the drumming had fallen silent, and a 
spider had woven a web in the crook of his elbow.  The sound of 
Celeborn's voice came like a thrown stone in the puddle of his 
tranquility.  He looked up and watched the prince stride towards him 
with more than his usual swagger.  Celeborn had the look of a man who 
was very, very pleased with himself, his expression of concern a thin 
veneer over deep smugness.  As he sat down next to Finrod he seemed 
positively to glow; a buttery aura of sexual satisfaction rolling off 
him.  "Don't tell me you turned down *everyone * who offered for you? 
Why do you sit alone?" 
 
"I.." his voice failed, he had to clear his throat before trying to make 
sense.  Everything had changed.  Before this night, Celeborn had been a 
fëa to him, a mind he had befriended, pleased to find congenial company. 
 Someone to talk to, who possessed a reason which had fled from his own 
family.  But now - now he could not sit thus close without being 
deliciously aware that the Sinda was embodied, and his body itself was 
very pleasing; graceful, strong, confident, and evidently responsive and 
experienced in the act of love.  "I...  What offers?" 
 
"Over this past week," Celeborn laughed, "all the touches, all the lewd 
jokes.  And you noticed none of it?  I swear you are the most desired 
man in Doriath, and - on this evidence - the most oblivious."  He 
frowned, the light flush on his cheeks beginning to fade.  "Do you do 
this differently then, in Aman?  I'm sorry.  I should have thought." 
 
"We do not do this at all in Aman!" said Finrod, harshly.  If only the 
Sinda could appear at all ashamed, at all contrite, it would be so much 
easier to be sure he occupied the moral high ground; easier to feel 
superior, and armour himself that way.  "We are chaste until we wed, and 
after it we are faithful." 
 
The prince's frown deepened.  He stretched, thoughtfully, working the 
kinks out of his back, and when he had settled once more said, "So are 
we." 
 
Humiliation and confusion, disgust and desire, escaped Finrod in a 
somewhat manic laugh which reminded him of his uncle.  "Celeborn, I 
saw 
you!" 
 
He could practically hear the man thinking.  Absently, Celeborn leaned 
down to pick up a dusty stone, flicked it into the river where it made a 
plopping noise and ripples, like a leaping fish.  Eventually, after 
silently negotiating some unseen pathway of the mind, he said - with the 
air of one explaining everything.  "That wasn't sex." 
 
More laughter.  "I'm sorry!" Finrod exclaimed, disbelieving, "I think it 
was!" 
 
"No."  One of the things which continued to surprise and please Finrod 
about the people of Doriath, was that they did not automatically receive 
everything he said as if it came straight from the Valar.  Outside the 
Fence he was accustomed to receiving a certain reverence, as an emissary 
from the gods.  Inside, he was just a visiting foreign cousin, to whom, 
sometimes, the facts of life in Ennor had to be carefully and gently 
explained.  So it was now.  Celeborn leaned forward persuasively, Finrod 
noticing that the ties on his tunic had been haphazardly laced, and were 
coming slowly undone.  "Sex is what you get between a man and a 
woman," 
he said.  "Isn't that what the Laws say?  'The union of marriage is 
unique'.  That means that there should be no other union like it in a 
person's life.  But this - this sport between ellyn - this is *not * 
like it.  How can it be?  We do not have the same," he gestured in a 
vaguely suggestive way, "equipment, nor the same possibility of creating 
life.  Even if one were to say the Names first, there would still be no 
wedding, and the fëar would remain separate.  So it cannot be sex, can 
it?  Only a form of play which has an outward similarity to the act of 
love, but none of its meaning. 
 
Our custom is, in these dark days when the leaves fall, and ice is on 
the winter wind," he smiled up at the dark sky, as if at a welcome 
watcher, "to remember the dead among us who are houseless - without 
form 
and flesh.  We drink and dance, feast and sing and play, to show them 
that it is good to have a body - to persuade them, maybe, to finally 
answer Mandos' call.  Or if they will not, then merely to share some of 
our pleasure with them.  It makes us thankful too, for the bite of the 
wind, fire's warmth, the comfort of another's touch.  We celebrate such 
things, knowing how easily they can all be lost." 
 
So, Finrod thought, with a sigh which seemed the cessation of great 
pain.  He had been right at first.  An explanation really was what he 
had needed all along.  In truth, there was both logic and reverence 
beneath this seemingly savage ritual.  That it achieved its purpose, of 
bringing to mind the advantages of being embodied, was obvious.  He had 
never before seen Celeborn, or himself, as quite such carnal creatures. 
 If it *didn't matter *, was merely an expression of physical pleasure, 
like sharing a good meal with a friend, then how could it threaten the 
sanctity of marriage in any way? 
 
Perhaps, he thought, the idea tingling through his body like brandy, the 
reason why he could not stop wondering what it would be like to take the 
prince of Doriath, part that unravelling tunic and bring the flush back 
to his face, was because it was a good idea?  Was he not a Noldo?  No 
one could accuse him of being afraid to travel to strange lands and lay 
claim to whatever he found there. 
 
Dislodging the spidersweb, he shifted, coming to stand over the 
sprawled, easy form of the Sinda.  "What is it like?" 
 
Celeborn looked at him, for the first time in the conversation 
uncertain.  "I could not describe it," he replied.  Aware, perhaps, that 
he was giving Finrod the perfect opportunity to reach down, clasp his 
hands and say, hoarsely, "Show me." 
 
*** 
 
Celeborn padded back into his room, a linen towel around his waist, 
drying his shoulders with another.  Finrod sat on the bed fully clothed 
and tense as a harpstring, with a look of mingled fear, curiosity and 
lust.  He had not moved since Celeborn went away to wash, though his 
over-bright eyes were exploring the room, flitting from the lyre swathed 
in deerskin which lay on its own shelf, over the stand of armour, the 
litter of last night's supper he had not thought to clear away, the 
small box of rings and the carved chest of clothes, dwelling with some 
amusement on the collection of interesting stones in the dampest corner, 
where he was encouraging three different sorts of moss to grow. 
 
He wasn't sure about this.  Not at all. 
 
When Finrod made the suggestion, the Noldo had been tentative; too 
vulnerable to reject outright.  Especially when he was making such an 
effort to adjust his principles for Doriath's benefit.  To soothe him, 
Celeborn suggested they came inside.  He had long seen how much 
happier 
all the sons of Finarfin were when they had solid walls around them. 
'Your room?' he had said, and Finrod replied 'No, my sister might come 
there, looking for me.  Yours.' 
 
He had a feeling that Finrod believed him far more experienced than he 
actually was - that Finrod had seen the revels as a sort of orgy, such 
as the Avari were rumoured to hold, where anyone might couple with 
anyone else, not even knowing their name.  The fact was that he had 
never touched another person in that way, other than Thingol.  Never 
wanted to.  But to explain as much to Finrod would be to open himself up 
for more questions on the nature of love than he wanted to face.  His 
own feelings about Elu gave the lie to everything he had said about how 
meaningless this was. 
 
And Finrod was Nerwen's brother.  Even now, looking at the river of 
golden hair, wondering how it would feel against his skin, watching the 
way Finrod's aura of light made the colours of his room seem dim, and 
wishing he would not cover it up with the dead heaviness of clothes, 
even now he wondered if this was fair to Nerwen.  She had somehow 
tangled herself in his life, and all but the oldest threads of his 
thought led to her.  If he kissed Finrod, would he think of her?  If he 
laid Finrod down on his bed and spread the Noldo's legs and buried 
himself within, would he think of her?  That would be so... wrong. 
 
He found the covered flagon of wine he had left under his bed this 
morning, and filled his one cup, passing it to Finrod.  They both needed 
a good drink.  "Are you sure you want to do this?  It is not an obligation." 
 
Finrod's fingers flinched from the touch of his, and a wave of sensation 
went through his arm, as though a spark of Aman's light had leapt from 
the Noldo's skin to his.  Doubts slid away from him as Finrod drank 
half, offered the cup back, his generous mouth glistening as he licked 
his lips.  His eyes were grey like Elu's, and had the same blaze in 
them, though their expression was gentler, more quizzical.  It could 
be... it could be like taking Elu for the first time - a younger 
version, an innocent, to whom he could return the fervour and dedication 
and teaching he had once experienced himself. 
 
He sat down, the mattress bowing between them, tipping them towards 
each 
other.  Reaching up, he slid one hand into the sunrise hair.  It was 
like taking hold of summer, but that no season ever shivered 
involuntarily beneath his touch as Finrod did, closing his eyes, his 
lips parting a little, instinctively inviting.  Celeborn leaned in, the 
hand at Finrod's nape pulling him closer, and kissed.  The firm mouth 
yielded beneath his, Finrod's hands came up to fill themselves with his 
hair, pulling, demanding more.  Yet when he responded, licking each lip, 
pushing his tongue between them to touch Finrod's own, the Noldo gave a 
little yelp of surprise and wriggled away.  It seemed bloody typical 
that he would think better of it now, just when Celeborn was starting to 
like the idea. 
 
"Are you well?" he said, trying not to pant too obviously.  That had 
been good.  "You don't have to, you know." 
 
*** 
 
Finrod was not sure about this.  He had thought himself brave, had 
thought himself already aroused beyond bearing, but he had not imagined 
that something so stupid, so... nasty, as feeling another man's tongue 
in his mouth would go so deep, would feel so amazing and stir such 
depths of hunger in him.  "Oh stars," he said, when he could form speech 
once more, "don't talk!  Do it again." 
 
Celeborn laughed aloud, and the discomfort eased about them, as though 
they had established something important and could go on with more 
confidence.  He might have wondered what it was, but for the realization 
that he only needed to give one tug to that towel and the Sinda would be 
naked.  It was a wonderful thing, the way the folds fell away from one 
long muscular leg, as though the gape was designed to guide his hand up 
to the tuck that held the material tight.  The second kiss was less 
shocking, nicer.  He was ready to experience the warmth and guarded 
strength, ready to explore, and wonder - with a deep throb of excitement 
that caused him to make an undignified whimpering noise - whether he 
would still be able to taste Elu in Celeborn's mouth. 
 
He pushed his fingers through the twisted material, his hands tingling 
with the touch of white linen and flesh, the shapes of lean hips and 
flanks.  Something was wrong with this blissful moment and he knew 
what 
it was only when Celeborn finally got his tunic undone and pushed it off 
his shoulders.  That was it!  He wanted to touch with more than hands. 
He wanted to do what they had been doing at the tree - just rub himself 
wantonly all over Celeborn, feel every inch of his skin covered with the 
imprint of of a lover, slicked with someone else's sweat.  Oh Valar! 
Were all his desires so revolting?  Yet it was revolting in a way that 
made him whine with frustration when the cursed belt of his trousers 
would not come off fast enough. 
 
Leaving him to accomplish the tricky task with fingers that didn't want 
to be doing anything so bland, Celeborn lay back on his down-filled 
coverlet, kicked the towel off the bed and watched him with a look of 
lurking amusement and fondness, as though yes, he was making a fool of 
himself, but no, it didn't matter.  Distracted by looking at every inch 
of that sprawled, willing form, he got his foot tangled in his 
trouserleg, and had to hop, mostly naked and furiously embarrassed. 
 
Finally freeing himself of all clothes, he looked back, a little 
enviously.  Celeborn fitted - he fitted into Ennor, into Menegroth, into 
this room, into his body, like a jewel into its setting.  His conscience 
was easy, and he was at home.  Finrod wanted all of that, though he 
wasn't sure whether the desire to lick that cream skin all over, like a 
cat with her paws in the butter dish, was entirely due to philosophy. 
He kneeled on the bed, tentatively, lifted a handful of the spread 
silver hair - it was heavy and fluid as water, and flared in the light 
of his hands, so that he felt as though he held the liquid radiance of 
the stars.  Lowering his head, he washed his face in it, and the soft 
slither across his cheeks and brow, the scent, made him feel as though 
he had indeed breathed in light.  "What do I do?" 
 
"Anything you like," said Celeborn, with a twisted smile.  He lifted 
himself up on an elbow so that he could lean in and kiss Finrod's 
stomach, his hair trailing into Finrod's lap, surrounding him in teasing 
softness.  Tingling fire rushed through him, from toes to fingertips. 
"Just don't bite anything you wouldn't want bitten in return." 
 
He hadn't thought of biting, but that had been what Elu was doing - 
there was a faint, already fading, mark on Celeborn's throat to prove 
it.  He lay down and pressed himself against the Sinda, something in him 
giving a huge sigh of relief as he did it.  That was so much better! 
Skin was so smooth, so warm.  Celeborn's hands drifted down his back, 
and the flesh beneath them awoke and cried out.  They settled on the 
swell of his buttocks, gently circling, digging in slightly, and at once 
it felt as though all the blood in his body had rushed there, he only 
lived there.  He was going to explode - he was so hard that it hurt. 
Shifting restlessly, the friction of lean hips against his made the need 
and agony triple.  Then Celeborn twisted, bringing their loins together, 
and the Sinda was as hard as he was, and - oh Varda's stars - he was 
pushing himself against another man's naked cock - how could he - and 
"Oh!" 
 
He had to fasten his mouth on something, or he would have screamed. 
Instead he thrust again, instinct taking over, sucked at the bruise Elu 
had left, exulting in the way it made Celeborn drop his front of 
invulnerability and moan for more.  He bit hard, the Sinda surged up 
beneath him, crying out, and he couldn't hold it any longer.  He came, 
conscious at first only of how fantastic it was, but then, panting and 
shuddering, he became aware that not only - according to his people - 
should he not have done this at all, but also that he hadn't done it 
well.  His partner might be stroking his hair reassuringly, but he was 
still hard as stone and his body seemed to follow Finrod's movements, 
blindly determined to have more.  He shouldn't have done this at all, 
but to do it and leave his lover unsatisfied?  "I'm sorry," he said, 
squeezing his eyes shut against a self-reproach at which he was deeply 
practised, but had hoped to leave out of this.  "I'm sorry." 
 
**** 
 
Celeborn forced himself to hold still, to stop seeking more contact.  It 
took only friendship, only a smile to open one Eldarin mind to another, 
and - after such a gesture of trust - he could feel Finrod's doubts and 
distaste like a cold air on his flushed skin.  How complicated the 
Noldor were - to be able to want something and not want it at the same 
time, as though their souls and bodies quarrelled with each other even 
as their leaders did.  But no one could accuse them of being boring, and 
in a world where everything had been the same for the past ten thousand 
years, that was something to be treasured. 
 
"I was just the same," he said, and lifted Finrod's chin to kiss the 
scrunched up eyelids.  Even his brows and lashes were like the best 
ring-gold, the gold of crowns.  "My first time.  I was wound up, 
overexcited - it only took a kiss." 
 
"That must have been some kiss," said Finrod, opening sea gray eyes and 
looking down at him with curiosity. 
 
"Oh, it was."  Saying nothing more - giving the Noldo something else 
with which to occupy his ever inquisitive mind, he disentangled himself 
and found the towel he had dropped off the end of the bed.  It helped, 
to spend the time cleaning Finrod up with carefully dispassionate 
strokes - helped to get himself back to a level of calmness where his 
mind and not his body was in control.  However much he might have liked 
to take the spilled seed and slick himself with it, and push into 
Finrod's body using only his own fluids to smooth the way, he doubted if 
it was something Finrod could accept, he who had clearly been brought up 
to think even spit disgusting. 
 
But he was not going to leave it at that.  If Finrod was going to tell 
his sister that he had dallied with the Prince of Doriath last night, 
then Celeborn was going to make sure that not only was it worth the 
wrath for both of them, but that Finrod could not talk of it without 
smiling.  Whether she hated him for a libertine or not, she was not 
going to go away with the understanding that he was an indifferent lover. 
 
"Besides, you don't think that's it, do you?" he said, and went to 
retrieve the ointment that he had stupidly left in the bathroom.  "That 
was more of a... taster."  Returning, he took the draped saddle-blanket 
off the mirror.  A dwarvish gift, the mirror was of polished silver, the 
size of a doorway.  All of the king's family had received one, and it 
had been diplomatically necessary to be overjoyed.  Normally Celeborn 
hated it - hated the feeling there was another world in there, and 
another him, who might be living his own strange life when his back was 
turned.  He kept it covered.  But he had seen Finrod in the glade, 
gazing, thunderstruck and needy, and he had a good idea that Finrod 
might like to watch. 
 
"What's that for?" said Finrod and helpfully sat up to study the detail 
of the embossed design about the mirror's edges, making Celeborn want to 
laugh again.  Did he have no idea that he looked like a young god, the 
god of a summer's day, with that tree-tanned golden skin of his?  Lither 
than Elu, more slender - still muscled like a dancer, not a warrior.  He 
looked vulnerable and unsure, but determined, a combination that fanned 
Celeborn's eagerness - little though it needed encouragement. 
 
He came to kneel behind the Noldo, and the touch of Finrod's back made 
him remember exactly how hungry he was.  The sunlit hair slid across his 
nipples, filling him with famished heat.  "That's so you can see how 
glorious you are."  He lifted the hair away from Finrod's neck and 
lapped at the light that pooled there, grazed his tongue up to Finrod's 
ear and suckled on the lobe and then the tip.  Kissing across shoulders 
lit by an otherworldly glow, he slid his hand down the sculpted chest 
and between Finrod's legs.  Finrod's sex stirred against his palm, shyly 
at first, then bold. 
 
"I think," he said, looking up and meeting the Noldo's glazed gaze in 
the mirror, seeing how his chest rose and fell, how the dusk-pink 
nipples puckered when he rolled them between his fingers.  Oh Araw!  He 
was going to have to take Finrod soon, or go insane.  "I think I may 
have a bit of a thing for Calaquendi.  You are so...  So magnificent." 
 
*** 
 
*Magnificent? *  Finrod looked at himself, kneeling on the bed, his legs 
spread and his sex jutting again, hard against his stomach, encircled by 
Celeborn's hand - the talented fingers teasing, urging.  His hair poured 
over his shoulder, bright as Laurelin's noontide.  Yes, he was sweating, 
but what of it?  It only made him gleam more.  It only made him look 
more beautiful.  He glowed within, a less desperate, more kindly swell 
of warmth.  *Magnificent. *  He supposed he was.  But did Celeborn not 
realize that he too looked sublime - tall and strong and straight and 
silver as Telperion?  If only... if only there were some way the lights 
could mingle, some way he could unite himself with the dark, glorious 
power of the body now pressed into his back. 
 
"I need..."  All the playfulness had fled from Celeborn's face, his eyes 
were wide and dark as the caves of the Narog - dark as the space between 
stars - "I need to be inside you, Finrod, please!" 
 
The mere request sent a jolt of lust through him, the lazy sensuous 
pleasure of being lovingly mapped by those knowledgeable hands no 
longer 
enough.  It sounded good, more than good - exactly what he yearned for - 
but "How?" 
 
"This is the bit you don't have to think too much about," said Celeborn 
with a shaky but wry smile.  "Just... let yourself enjoy it.  Worry 
later if you have to." 
 
Almost all of Finrod's troubles - all the troubles of his people - could 
be put down to acting on irresistible passion and worrying later, but 
that big warm hand had begun to glide, slowly, rhythmically, up and down 
his shaft, and his mind was far more occupied with the regular, pulsing 
waves of pleasure than with the lessons of history.  One more time, what 
did it matter?  "Mm," he said, "yes." 
 
Celeborn leaned away, came back with a small jar of green ointment. 
When he scooped some out it melted in the warmth of his fingers, flowed 
glistening over his palm, smelling of comfrey and the tall, candle-like 
flowers of chestnut trees; a soothing, cool smell.  "Why...?" said 
Finrod, before the oiled hand closed again over him, and he found 
himself thrusting mindlessly into slick bliss.  Udun!  That made a 
difference! 
 
"Whoa," Celeborn took his hand away - the hateful son of an orc!  "Not 
so fast."  And Finrod turned to find him stroking the oil onto himself. 
 It was wrong, in so many ways, but in his current state Finrod found 
that unbearably arousing to watch. 
 
"Get on with it then," he said, "I want..."  He had not even the vaguest 
idea what he wanted, only that it had better begin quickly.  "I want 
you.  Now." 
 
At this discourtesy, the prince laughed again, took Finrod by the 
shoulders and turned him to face the mirror again.  Wrapping his arms 
around Finrod's chest he leaned, gently but forcefully, until Finrod 
bent down, braced his hands on the faded green coverlet and raised his 
head to look at his reflection, to find himself on all fours, enfolded, 
encompassed by his lover's long limbs.  The sight filled his mouth with 
a desire so intense it tasted of copper; he looked as bestial as a dog 
under its mate, his backside nestled into Celeborn's lap. 
 
The exact nature of the act he had just demanded finally occurred to him 
at that point, and the everyday part of him, the part that he knew he 
would be waking up with tomorrow, blanked in horror.  *No.  No-one 
could 
want to do that?  Surely? *  It was...  And he had thought mere open 
mouthed kissing nasty? 
 
"Sssh," Celeborn murmured, drawing away a little, his hair a long, warm 
stroke of silk down Finrod's back, "No thinking, remember." he had 
filled both hands with skin-warmed oil and now reached beneath Finrod to 
take hold of him again, the sensuous glide of flesh around his shaft 
making it suddenly much, much easier to stop worrying.  The other hand 
smoothed across the curve of Finrod's buttocks, waking them again - he 
really had had no idea they were that sensitive - and the fingers 
slipped, firmly but tenderly into the crack between and slid over the 
opening there with a gentle press and drag. 
 
"Nnnnh!" Finrod groaned, not even recognizing his own voice.  Oh Valar! 
 Oh Manwe and Varda!  It was the most intimate thing that had ever been 
done to him.  The tug and pressure combined into a hot, deep, dull 
pleasure, an ache of pleasure.  Mixed with the bright, metallic 
desperation of his sex, it was as though his whole body had become one, 
monstrous need.  He would think tomorrow - or not at all - he didn't 
care, he just needed his hunger to be filled. 
 
"Open to me, Finrod"  The voice which had been fire and honey had 
darkened now to smoke, curling about him, caressing.  "Open and let me 
in." 
 
And put like that, what was so wrong about it?  He wanted this.  Why 
should he not have it?  He was no Adan, whose body would not answer to 
his own commands.  Deliberately, concentrating only on the need of the 
moment, he loosened the muscles that had been so prudishly clamped 
tight,.  At once the two fingers that had been circling, pressing, 
teasing him, slid inside, and it was a magnitude of invasion beyond the 
earlier touch.  He had someone's fingers in him!  And - Udun - the way 
they pulled and twisted - he couldn't think, this was... 
 
"I'll show you..." said Celeborn, breathlessly - he too seemed to be 
having problems with words now, "Show you.. why Iluvatar.. must have 
planned this."  He turned his hand and first one then the other finger 
brushed over a spot within Finrod that transfixed him with pleasure, 
stunning as a lightning strike - the second touch so close on the first 
he could not come down between them.  Lights burst behind his eyes, his 
arms collapsed, and he yowled with complete abandon, spreading his legs 
further and pushing back for more. 
 
"Now.. everything at once."  The hand pulled out, and Finrod was so far 
gone in need and bliss as to be able to welcome the slow push of another 
man's body into his.  It was... as Celeborn had said, it was like music, 
all the separate themes coming together into a deeper, driving 
crescendo.  Celeborn's thrusts rocked him forward, drove his own shaft 
hard into the slick hand that held him firm.  His mouth was dry with the 
taste of iron and his belly blazed with heat.  The deep, invasive, 
bruising pleasure that drove all the breath out of him, that made him 
feel filled, possessed, consumed, mingled with the more soaring 
ecstasies of his sex, of that place inside him that speared him with 
delight each time it was touched. 
 
How could... *oh stars! *  how could anyone... *oh Varda's stars! *  how 
could anyone think...  "Aaah!  *Please! *"  that this... *Eru, God 
Almighty! *  was wrong? 
 
He came so hard that for a moment he blacked out - a soft descent from a 
pillar of fire into tranquil, sated darkness - woke again to find he had 
been rolled over onto his side, Celeborn lay still spooned against his 
back, an arm over him, his breathing slow, peacefully drowsy.  The quilt 
had been doubled over them both, and he was warm, inside and out.  He 
felt ...sleek - as though a heavy golden light surrounded him, welled 
from his pores - sleepy, sticky, and more than a little sore. 
 
Resisting the urge just to slide into dreams, he turned over and studied 
his bed-partner.  Celeborn frowned at the movement but did not quite 
wake up - only shifting closer to re-establish the broken contact.  His 
usually pristine hair was tangled, strands sticking in the sweat on his 
cheeks, one lock trapped in the corner of his mouth.  Smiling, Finrod 
brushed it away, and wondered what had happened, what had changed.  If 
it was true that this act was meaningless, why did he now feel more 
tender, more protective towards the Sinda?  Was it possible there *was * 
some kind of bond established - more attenuated than that of marriage, 
perhaps, but not less real for that? 
 
He shook the other elf awake, laughing at the filthy look he received as 
a reward.  "Will people see this in me?  How do I treat you now?" 
 
"You could start by treating me like someone who wants to go to sleep," 
said Celeborn.  But his hands were gentler than his words, smoothing 
down Finrod's side, drawing small, comforting circles on his back. 
"Seriously?  You treat me exactly the same.  And no, no one is going to 
notice.  Not unless you choose to flee down the corridors shouting 
'Telpë, you son of an orc, how could you do this to me?'  Which I hope 
you won't, will you?" 
 
There was real worry behind the joke.  Understandably, Finrod thought. 
Given his inner conflict - which no lover could have failed to detect - 
he well could have woken out of lust into guilt, and solved it by 
claiming he had been lured, forced to act against his true will, by Dark 
Elf magic.  "Would I be such a fool," he said, leaning in to kiss the 
bruise that had made Celeborn lose control earlier, "as to leave your 
bed voluntarily?  Unless, of course, to clean myself so we might do it 
again.  Next time," Even in his satiated state the thought was a whisper 
of new heat.  "Next time, I want to be Elwë." 
 
The hands stalled for a beat, and Celeborn closed his eyes briefly, 
hiding something.  Then guilt did indeed come over Finrod, not because 
he had received what he asked for, but because only now did he remember 
the subtle signs that Celeborn had not been at all eager for this; that 
he had given what was demanded, out of generosity, even obligation, 
rather than true desire. 
 
"Please leave Elu out of this." 
 
Finrod had heard that tone in Feanor's voice when he tried to explain 
why he kept the Silmarils locked up, where only he could see them.  A 
mix of possessiveness and passion, with a reverence for something 
sacred.  Something which should not be touched by those who did not 
understand.  He realized then that he had been trusted with something 
far more intimate than any game of flesh, and he almost laughed, softly, 
at the irony of it.  What was missing in Celeborn's mood, this time, was 
the radiant happiness that he had had by the riverbank.  More than 
physical, it had been the soul deep delight of having been touched by 
one he adored. 
 
"You love him!" 
 
Celeborn moved away slightly, pushing up onto one elbow, though the 
other hand still idly untangled the strands of hair that lay plastered 
to Finrod's flanks.  For a moment Finrod thought he would continue on in 
silence, and he wondered why he should have thought the Sinda had no 
secrets, no regrets, just because he was not one of Finwe's folk.  He 
was a man grown, no childish innocent, no matter his race or homeland. 
 
"I always have," he said at last.  "Long ere I lay with him, I loved 
him, and I have lain with no other since, until now.  Never before have 
I done anything this *normal *: sleeping with another merely out of 
lust, or because I was asked.  Now, although I understand I have done no 
wrong, I still *feel * guilty.  He would laugh at the thought, yet my 
heart cries that I have betrayed him." 
 
Finrod laughed ruefully and nuzzled closer, enjoying the warmth, the 
peace of not being alone.  "If Thingol would laugh, then you are lucky," 
he said, turning the tide of emotion as he had learned to do with his 
mother.  In his experience the Teleri felt things strongly, but were 
easily distracted.  "Artanis would not be as tolerant with me.  Already 
she speaks of you as belonging to her, as her own, fancying that you 
merely wait for her to speak.  She would lop off my relevant parts, I 
have no doubt, and sent me home to Amarië in a sack." 
 
At this reminder of Finrod's formidable sister, Celeborn laughed.  "I 
will not tell her.  But if she did find out, it would do her good to 
know that she does not now, nor ever will, own me." 
 
"I'll not tell Thingol then," Finrod replied, "though it might do him 
good to learn the same." 
 
"It might at that." 
 
Throwing the doubled-over bedcover off ruthlessly - the wave of cold air 
bringing Finrod out in all-body goosebumps - Celeborn stood up and 
walked away to the bathroom to run a second bath.  Menegroth's plumbing 
was - in the Noldo's opinion - one of its unknown triumphs, and one 
which he intended to replicate in Nargothrond.  Hot *and * cold water on 
demand! 
 
He followed, and walked into an embrace.  The water thundered behind 
them as he stood, enveloped in just a hug - an almost brotherly hug. 
Gladly, he wound his arms around Celeborn's waist and returned the 
gesture.  Touched, and not quite sure why. 
 
"I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have let your first time become a discussion of 
my personal problems." 
 
"No," Finrod said, with more honesty than tact.  He had found that tact 
was not something the prince valued greatly, either in himself or 
others.  "I mean, no, I find it very interesting."  He perched on the 
edge of the bathtub, and ran the dark brown, peaty water through his 
fingers.  "I have been taught that this is wrong, but feel it's 
something I've been waiting for all my life.  You have been taught it's 
right, but feel that it betrays a trust." 
 
A distracting thought occurred to him - of how it would feel for them 
both to be submerged in that whiskey coloured water, slippery with soap, 
close and wet and warm.  Regretfully, he pushed it aside.  "Feelings are 
harder to argue against than beliefs.  So if you wish, I will not ask 
for anything else.  I have no desire to make you carry more guilt than 
you do." 
 
"I agreed to show you what it was like, and you have as yet had only 
half the experience," said Celeborn, with a proud but playful glint in 
his eye, "I will not go back on my word.  Now it is your turn to please 
and mine to be pleased."  He scooped up a jug full of hot water, going 
to pour it over the Noldo's head.  Catching the upraised wrist, Finrod 
responded to the challenge wholeheartedly, and they wrestled, 
increasingly breathlessly, with the result that soon the marble floor 
was swimming underfoot, the jug lay broken, and both of them were 
dripping, clinging together, frantically kissing. 
 
"To have Finrod the Beloved naked in my arms, and not to make love to 
him," said Celeborn at last, when they had finally managed to get into 
the tub and slowed down a little, drunk on the heat, "*that * would be 
an unnatural act." 
 
Finrod chuckled, embarrassed but pleased.  His face was aching with all 
this smiling, but he had the feeling he would be doing a lot more of it. 
 "Such Cultural Relations are very complicated," he mock sighed. 
 
"It can be a bore," the Sinda agreed, his eyes half shut in bliss, his 
head pillowed on Finrod's shoulder, "learning the customs of so many 
strange peoples."  He yawned.  "But sometimes it's worth it." 
 
"Yes," Finrod let his hands glide down the curve of pale, muscular arms, 
breathed in the scent of hair darkened to pewter in the damp.  "And 
every so often you find you are less learning about them, than 
discovering something new about yourself." 
 
At that Celeborn choked, and his back shook as he broke out in peals of 
laughter.  "What?" said Finrod, after it had gone on for long enough for 
him to become bemused and annoyed.  "What's so funny?" 
 
"Now when anyone asks me about you, 'do you think he philosophizes 
even 
when he fucks?'  I will be able to answer 'yes'." 
 
"You...!" 
 
It was definitely time that the prince of Doriath received a lesson in 
yielding to higher authority.