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Some of Celebrimbor’s first erotic explorations had been to the thought of Finrod. Partially it was his golden hair, his delicate features - pretty, really - as well as the jewellery and the beautiful clothes that he chose to show off his figure with a complete lack of shame. Partially it was the utter ruthlessness that only appeared if he was crossed.

There was something about the combination that Celebrimbor found irresistible.

So living in Nargothrond was both pleasure and torment. Celebrimbor saw Finrod all the time, and now he was a king he seemed only more beautiful than he had been in Valinor. The Nauglamir enhanced him even further: it seemed to reflect the light of its jewels onto him, and of everyone Celebrimbor knew Finrod needed it the least. He was already disturbingly beautiful.

Celebrimbor spent night after night making himself come to the thought of that golden hair spread out beneath him, of Finrod's musical voice as he begged him for more, of what was beneath the clothes that hid very little, only teased and enticed.

At one feast last year Finrod had worn a golden silk robe. It had shown tantalising glimpses of Finrod's leanly muscular thighs, the smooth flesh of his toned waist, and his small pink nipples - which were pierced by small golden bars with bright flashing diamonds.

That memory was well-worn, and even after many repetitions Celebrimbor still felt the flash of heat that ran through him at the sight - and at the reminder of how Finrod had seen him looking, and grinned at him.

Much like he was grinning now, in fact. Finrod had invaded his forge on some pretext and was now sitting far too close to him, touching his arm, with his open mouth far, far too close for comfort. Celebrimbor shifted uncomfortably and tried not to think of how many daydreams he had had which started this way.

He was entirely unprepared for it, therefore, when Finrod kissed him.

*

“Please,” gasped Celebrimbor, shoving Finrod face-first against the wall. He was so small compared to Celebrimbor that he could move him with ease. And he was so beautiful that Celebrimbor could hardly believe he was here, letting Celebrimbor touch him.

“Please, please, let me have you.”

How long had he wanted this? Ever since he had been old enough to know what touching himself was he had come to thoughts of those striking eyes and the idea of Finrod's pretty face turned up to his in want, in admiration, in pleasure. Countless times he had imagined how Finrod would feel inside, how he would gasp and moan and cry out Celebrimbor's name, how he would bring him pleasure no-one else could…

“Say I can,” Celebrimbor urged, “oh, please, say I can.”

Celebrimbor did not wait for permission - he could not, and anyway, the way Finrod's face was squashed against the wall probably made it hard for him to speak, but he certainly wasn't struggling or trying to get away - he must like it, he thought, Finrod liked how much Celebrimbor wanted him - and he bundled up Finrod's robes until they were around his waist.

Finrod wore nothing underneath. The knowledge - and the sight - made Celebrimbor feel like he might come on the spot. He must not, it would be oh so very embarrassing, and perhaps Finrod would not let him near him again if he did not please him, so he forced himself to think of ugly things as he reverently stroked the curve of Finrod's arse and his slim golden thighs.

He tried to think of his latest project at the forge, and when that did not work, he imagined King Thingol watching him with the same disdainful expression as he had in all of his official portraits. It felt a little like an ice bath.

“Celebrimbor?” Finrod said, turning his head a little so he could speak clearly. Celebrimbor cursed himself - he must have stopped. What must Finrod think of him?

But looking at Finrod, the slice of his face that was visible shining pink, his beautiful eyes eager, his body pliant under Celebrimbor's hands - Celebrimbor could not wait, not even for one moment.

“I must have you,” he said again, and he could hear how strange and desperate his voice sounded. But he needed Finrod more than he had needed anything before in his life.

“You are the most beautiful creature in Beleriand and Aman both, damn the star-kindler, you outshine her like the sun does the stars. I can't last one more moment outside of you, Finrod, please -”

Celebrimbor realised how embarrassing an admission that was and lapsed into silence. Finrod giggled but he looked flattered, from what Celebrimbor could see from his face. “Go on then, Tyelpe,” he said indulgently, as he had when Celebrimbor had been a child and asked for more sweets.

A flash of irritation ran through Celebrimbor - he would show Finrod, he would not be so amused when he was fucking him and Finrod was crying out in pleasure - and he hauled Finrod up higher against the wall, so his weight was on Celebrimbor's arms and he was at the right height for -

– for what Celebrimbor was about to do.

He couldn't even imagine it, afraid that he might come if he did, so he tried to close his mind and think about the next steps. Holding Finrod up with one hand, he pulled aside his own robes and freed his eager cock, then rubbed it with spit until it was shining.

Then he tried to tuck in Finrod's robes between him and the wall so they would stay out of the way, and then spat on his hand again and smeared it on Finrod's hole. It looked too small to take his cock, he thought, and a moment of doubt ran through him.

He knew the mechanics, from books and engravings and his father's excruciating now-you-are-an-adult-Tyelpe talks, but despite having now been an adult for some hundreds of years, he had never actually done this. What if the books were wrong? What if he missed some vital step?

But he was moments away from being inside Finrod and his cock would not let him forget it. Almost without his own permission he pressed himself up against Finrod, looking at how deep inside him it would go once he was - inside Finrod, he would be inside him...

He lined his cock up and thrust upwards, ready to finally be -

His cock slid up instead of in, and Celebrimbor cursed. His hand shaking, he lined himself up again and tried to find the right angle.

Starting to panic now he pushed wildly in the right direction to find Finrod's entrance. If he could not even do this! But finally he found it and he could feel Finrod parting for him, opening up and letting him into his body - but then it was not enough, and he was in the cold outside again. Finrod's body had rejected him.

Celebrimbor felt like he might cry. Even his erection was starting to wilt. He did not know what he was doing wrong, and he wanted, he wanted so much, and to be so close and to fail and to not know why -

“You have to go a bit steadier,” Finrod advised him, slightly muffled since he was still pressed against the wall. “Harder, but more consistent pressure.”

Finrod still wanted him, despite the fuck up he was making of this. Celebrimbor’s heart soared and so did his cock, which was well on the way to hardening again.

Celebrimbor spat on his hand and then rubbed it on his cock again - the last thing he wanted was to hurt Finrod - and then tried again. He held the base of his cock this time with his hand, which made it easier to guide where he wanted it to be, and then tried to remember what Finrod said: harder, steady, consistent.

He pushed again where he thought was right, and for a moment he thought that he would fail again: but then Finrod's body gave, and Celebrimbor was fully inside of him, where it was hot and tight, the ring of muscle squeezing his cock so tightly.

Finrod cried out into his arms, and the noise added to the sensation. Celebrimbor was definitely fully hard again now. He instinctively started thrusting, gripping Finrod's arm hard for leverage. It felt - Celebrimbor could not catalogue all the ways it felt, he could barely think, only that everything he had imagined before had fallen short.

He knew he was supposed to find a rhythm for Finrod's sake, to find the angles that made him react, but instead his hips were driving into Finrod of their own accord, fast and hard and desperate, Finrod grunting as he fucked into him - was he pushing him against the wall too hard, was he hurting him? - and it was so overwhelmingly good, all he could think about was his need -

Then familiar warmth started to spread over him and Celebrimbor cursed, pulling out too late, and could not help but tip over the edge, dulled as the sensation was without stimulation, and ended up coming over Finrod's back. His orgasm had dwindled and left him with nothing but frustration and the dribble of seed from his cock staining Finrod's robes.

Celebrimbor panted as he rutted against Finrod, trying to salvage some sort of pleasure but to no avail. He felt like he might cry as it left him with a desperate want for more despite his cock now being limp and soft and oversensitive.

“I'm sorry,” he said wretchedly, as he lowered Finrod down. He still pressed against him, unable to bear parting from him, and leant down to bury his face in Finrod's beautiful golden hair. How long had he yearned to touch it? “I'm sorry, I'll do better next time, I promise, I just couldn't - you were so -”

The fear that he wasn't good enough for Finrod took over. Finrod would never let him touch him again - and rightly, how could he have been so selfish, to think only about himself -

“I should have made it good for you, I’m sorry,” he said miserably.

Finrod twisted around in his arms and reached up to stroke his hair. “It's okay, Tyelpe,” he said kindly. “It'll be better next time.”

Next time! Then Finrod might give him another chance - or he might just be being polite. Celebrimbor wanted to say something to make it better, but his brain was fuzzy and he could not find the words.

“I have to go,” Finrod said, gently untangling himself from Celebrimbor. It showed exactly how illusory Celebrimbor's hold on Finrod had been: he was holding Finrod with no less force than he had been before, and yet Finrod removed himself as easily as if all Celebrimbor's forge-earnt grip meant nothing at all.

Finrod pulled his robes back down from around his waist, although not before Celebrimbor had seen with a sinking heart that Finrod was only at most half hard. He really had not done well. How long had he lasted? Less than a minute, certainly. It would serve him right if Finrod never looked at him again.

Finrod stood up on his toes and kissed Celebrimbor's cheek - even slumped against the wall as he was, he was much taller than Finrod, who was smaller than almost any other elf in Nargothrond. Even Celebrimbor's father was taller than Finrod, if only just.

“See you later, then!” Finrod said cheerfully before walking off, smoothing his hair with his hands as he went.

Did - did that mean that Finrod wanted him again later? Hope rose in Celebrimbor's chest. He was a fast learner. He was one of the best smiths in Beleriand. He could learn to do this well, and please Finrod as he had not managed to this time.

He retired to his own rooms to plan.

*

Of course, Celebrimbor's father figured it out almost immediately.

Celebrimbor did not tell him - but then, he did not need to. He took one look at Celebrimbor's faint flush and asked, “Well, who is it? A Noldo, I hope.”

Celebrimbor hesitated, not looking forward to his father's response. Unfortunately Curufin was always sharp, always far-seeing, and somehow guessed it in that inexplicable way he had always had of seeing to the heart of something.

“Oh, Tyelpe,” he said, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “Was there really no-one better?”

Celebrimbor glared at his father, who raised his eyebrows in response. Celebrimbor was an adult and had been for a long time; he had travelled extensively, and had fought at Alqualonde, at the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, even in the Dagor Bragollach. He was an accomplished smith, well respected by all, with several momentous inventions to his name. And yet his father managed to make him feel a hundred again.

“Don't try and interfere,” he said. “We're courting.”

Curufin's eyebrows raised even higher at that.

“You're not courting, don't be ridiculous,” snapped Curufin.

His father was jealous. He had always watched Finrod in his secret way, judging and belittling him to the extent that it gave him away. Had Curufin really held Finrod beneath contempt as he pretended to, he would not have spoken of him at all except when he had to.

“You're just jealous that he wants me and not you!” Celebrimbor burst out, though he knew as he did that it was a mistake. He would never have said something like this to anyone else, would have held his tongue, but his father managed to bring out the worst in him.

But his father did not seem angry.

“He's just using you to get to me, Tyelpe,” Curufin said scornfully. “He's sleeping with half of Nargothrond already and he won't stop for you.”

“Don't insult him like that,” Celebrimbor hissed.

Curufin laughed then, genuinely laughed. “I'm not - Tyelpe - knowing him he thinks he's doing you a favour.”

His father's pity was even worse than his scorn.

*

Curufin's words rang in his ears that night, and the next morning. He had made a gift for Finrod - a ring with lapis lazuli in gold, where the band was the body of a snake, which then coiled around the stone itself until its head emerged slightly onto the top of the gem.

Finrod's smile was blinding, and he immediately slipped the ring on and admired it, holding out his hand at different angles and distances. His pleasure was so genuine that Celebrimbor could not help letting go of some of the worry he felt.

That is, until Finrod fixed him with his lovely grey eyes.

“Your enthusiasm is flattering, Tyelpe,” Finrod said with a smile, his eyes dancing. “And it's fine to not have much experience. We all started somewhere.”

He reached out to hold Celebrimbor's arm reassuringly, and all Celebrimbor could think of were the accusations his father had thrown out yesterday.

Celebrimbor flushed. He had not told Finrod how inexperienced he really was - he did not want to give Finrod yet another reason to reject him - but it seemed he had realised himself.

He would have to do better.

“Can I… tonight?” he asked, his voice cracking embarrassingly as he did.

“I'm looking forward to it,” Finrod said warmly.

*

That evening Celebrimbor prepared himself. He washed thoroughly and selected the jewellery he would wear. Then he touched himself to completion, once, twice, both times thinking of just how Finrod had felt inside for those few moments, how warm, how soft, how intimate. Even at the memory something churned in Celebrimbor's stomach. It had felt a thousand times better than touching himself did now.

But this time he was determined: he would make Finrod feel just as good. He would last longer, and be steadier, and do it right. He would change the parameters of the experiment, and he would succeed. Persistence and trial and error gave him the tools to succeed in his craft; they would give him the tools to please Finrod, too.

Celebrimbor came a third time, imagining Finrod's face as he felt the same pleasure that Celebrimbor did.

*

Edrahil was on guard outside Finrod's rooms that evening, and he moved aside when Celebrimbor approached. He said nothing but Celebrimbor thought he looked at him for slightly too long, and straight in the face as well. Annoyance flared in his chest: Finrod indulged Edrahil too much in his opinion, who was, after all, only a guard and a servant. He had even heard that they were rumoured to be intimate, which of course Celebrimbor knew was nonsense. Still, the fellow was too bold.

When he entered Finrod's rooms, the only light was a candle half-burnt down, and at first he looked around in confusion. Finrod did not greet him.

Trying not to trip over any of the mysterious things on the floor, he opened the first door he saw. It must be the right one, because there was a huge four-poster bed, and in it, Finrod lay curled up and asleep.

He looked so peaceful asleep, Celebrimbor thought as he approached. His face was slack and his grey eyes relaxed, and despite how much he had looked forward to this night he hesitated to disturb him.

But the noise must have done it for him because his ears flicked around, and then he sat up and looked at Celebrimbor blearily.

He was very drunk, Celebrimbor noticed. He stank of wine, his face was flushed and even awake his eyes were glassy. But he grinned at Celebrimbor when he recognised him.

“Tyelpe!” he exclaimed, slurring his words. “I expected you earlier!”

Celebrimbor could not help but smile at Finrod's obvious enthusiasm. Well, there would be no sex for him today: but actually Celebrimbor felt a bit lighter as the pressure he had felt all evening lifted. It would be nice just to touch Finrod with no expectations, perhaps to hold him…

“How do you want me?” Finrod asked, and despite Celebrimbor's three earlier orgasms, his cock immediately jumped.

Finrod did not wait for an answer, but moved onto his hands and elbows. The gown he wore hid nothing.

Celebrimbor hesitated, reluctant for a moment to escape his fantasy of Finrod, soft and asleep and in his arms. But also…

Finrod had felt so good inside. And the look of him as he was now, his arse and thighs on display, his golden head down on the pillow, waiting for Celebrimbor to take him, urging him on…

Celebrimbor had never seen anything so erotic in all his life.

Celebrimbor knelt behind Finrod and struggled with the fastenings of his robe. He was hard with just a few strokes, and this time he was careful to hold the base of his cock steady as he pushed into Finrod's wet welcoming warmth.

He groaned at the inordinate pleasure that swam through him as he took Finrod. It was much easier than last time: had Finrod prepared himself for Celebrimbor?

But Finrod's nails were long and decorated as they were always: he could see them now as Finrod gripped the sheets. He could not have done it himself.

But this was not the time for thinking about it. He started to fuck Finrod, careful this time to keep his thrusts hard and even. Finrod made some beautiful noises, and Celebrimbor thrilled to hear them.

Perhaps three orgasms was too many, though, because Celebrimbor was nowhere close to coming even after some time. But surely it was a good thing to last longer? He focused on the rhythm, imagining he was hammering a piece of metal in his forge. The more he thought about orgasm the further away it seemed.

And Finrod had become entirely silent. Even when Celebrimbor fucked him harder and faster, Finrod still said nothing.

Concerned, Celebrimbor stopped.

“Finrod?” he asked.

Finrod let out a small soft snore in response.

*

Celebrimbor could not sleep. He felt humiliated, shame running down his spine like cold water. He felt guilty for that, too: Finrod did not owe him anything, and he had kept Finrod waiting. Finrod had tried to please him, and again, Celebrimbor had failed.

And he could not help thinking about how prepared Finrod had been. He could not have done it himself with those nails: therefore someone else had. Was that paranoid? Had his father been correct?

He could not help but imagine impertinent Edrahil with his fingers inside Finrod, twisting them as he moaned. Perhaps Finrod would talk about Celebrimbor, and the two of them would laugh together.

Oh, that's so good, he imagined Finrod saying to Edrahil. Tyelpe paws me like - like -

Celebrimbor shook his head in disgust at himself, and got out of bed, abandoning all plans of sleep. He wasn't being fair to Finrod, who was always kind and thoughtful. Or at least, he always intended to be.

He got dressed and went to his workshop, where he busied himself making a silver cloak-clasp in the form of a seahorse with mother of pearl for its body and diamonds along its spine.

It was for Finrod, of course.

The motion soothed him, and he stumbled back to bed as dawn came. This time he slept soundly.

*

When Celebrimbor went to find Finrod to give him the cloak-clasp, he was sitting in the gardens by the statue of Finwe, and Edrahil was standing far too close.

When Celebrimbor approached, Finrod dismissed Edrahil with a fond smile.

“Finrod,” Celebrimbor started. He had not planned to ask, and yet now he must know.

“You can call me Ingo,” Finrod replied, and took his hand. “You've been inside of me several times. Surely we're intimate enough for short-names now?”

Celebrimbor blushed. “Ingo,” he said. It felt improper to address the king so. “Forgive me, but are you and Edrahil…?”

Finrod's eyes gleamed. “Oh, naughty Tyelpe!” he laughed. “Do you want to know the details?” he leant towards him in a conspiratorial manner. “Well…”

“No, no,” Celebrimbor said quickly. Blood was pounding in his ears at the confirmation - was that a confirmation? “I just… well, are we courting?” he blurted.

“Courting?” Finrod drew back in what looked like genuine surprise. “Tyelpe, whatever gave you that idea?”

“Someone asked me,” Tyelpe lied. “I wasn't sure how things worked in Nargothrond, so I thought I would check.”

Finrod narrowed his eyes. “It wasn't your father by any stretch of imagination, was it?” he asked shrewdly.

Celebrimbor’s lack of answer was the same as telling him.

“But, Tyelpe,” Finrod continued, worried. “That's not what you expected, was it? You're not looking for, I don't know, courtship and marriage? With me?”

He said it with such disbelief, almost scorn, that Celebrimbor could only shake his head. “Of course not,” he said weakly.

His father had been right. About Finrod's proclivities, about them not courting.

Surely he was not right about anything else?

It was only later in his rooms that he realised he had forgotten to give Finrod the cloak-clasp.

*

Celebrimbor’s instinct had been to hide and lick his wounds, but Finrod had not realised anything was wrong, and had caught him in the corridor and invited him back to his rooms that night.

Celebrimbor accepted immediately, but as soon as Finrod was gone he regretted his choice. But - of course Finrod would not want to court someone who did not please him. Perhaps if Celebrimbor could then Finrod would see him differently.

Celebrimbor stroked himself to orgasm once just before the meeting, which he hoped would be the correct balance, imagining Finrod's face soft as he admitted to Celebrimbor just how much he loved and wanted him.

When he got to Finrod's rooms, it was with a certain amount of trepidation. But this time Finrod was sober and awake, lying back on his bed and watching Celebrimbor approach with bright eyes.

This time he could do it.

He pulled off what remained of his clothes and let them fall to the floor along with everything else that Finrod left strewn there. He knew he looked good, with his muscles from the forge and his Curufinwean beauty, and Finrod's admiring glances confirmed it.

Celebrimbor approached with determination. This time, surely…!

As Finrod watched him, touching himself idly, Celebrimbor could not help but think of all the other people that Finrod fucked. Surely Finrod would be judging him against them all, and Celebrimbor knew he would not be doing well in the ranking.

He quailed a little under Finrod's bright eyes.

“Can you turn around, please?” he asked, his voice rough.

A flash of hurt and confusion ran across Finrod's face, and Celebrimbor kicked himself, but Finrod complied. He lay down on the bed, his face in his arms, waiting silently.

Celebrimbor climbed on the bed, and straddled Finrod. It was the first time he had seen him completely naked: he stroked the dimples in his back with reverence, the slight curve of his narrow waist and slim hips.

He was lost in the moment, in Finrod's skin and smell and eager anticipation. But then his father's words rang through his mind.

Was Finrod really doing him a favour?

Or did he feel like he was, at least?

Celebrimbor felt like it was true, he had to admit to himself. What did he have to give Finrod, the king? Celebrimbor was tall and muscular and considered comely, but Edrahil was taller and stronger. His father could make Finrod better jewels. And Celebrimbor couldn't even fuck Finrod properly. What use was he?

To his horror, he realised that he was getting soft, and he already knew it was pointless as he lined himself up with Finrod's entrance. But still he tried, and tried again.

Concern creased Finrod's face as he rolled over to ask hesitantly, “Do you… not find me attractive, Tyelpe?”

Panic crested and Celebrimbor snapped, “Be quiet.”

Finrod looked visibly taken aback but turned back onto his front in silence.

Celebrimbor stroked himself furiously, suddenly raging at everyone: at himself, his father, at Finrod, at Edrahil, anyone who came to mind. But the anger helped. As soon as he was hard enough he lined himself up and plunged into Finrod.

This was better: like this, he was not so self-conscious.

Finrod hissed and flinched as he did, though, and it was only after a few more thrusts that he realised that it was too hard, too erratic, that he was fucking out his frustrations into Finrod. But his warm yielding body was exactly what Celebrimbor needed, and he could not slow down, he could not stop, and he sped up until he was coming open mouthed inside Finrod, moaning embarrassingly as he did.

“I'm sorry,” he babbled, as soon as he came back to himself. “I'm so sorry, I don't know what I was thinking -”

He scrambled off the bed. Finrod turned around to face him, wincing a little as he did. Guilt and shame rushed through him. He opened his mouth to apologise again, but Finrod interrupted him.

“It's fine, Tyelpe,” he said, smiling kindly, and held out his hand towards him. Celebrimbor’s stomach dropped as he saw that Finrod was not hard at all this time. “Relax, please. As long as you enjoyed yourself, that's all that matters.”

He thinks he's doing you a favour. Curufin's words echoed in Celebrimbor's mind, and suddenly he could not. Celebrimbor grabbed his clothes and ran for it, not caring that he was half naked.

“Wait!” Finrod called out. “Tyelpe -”

But he slammed the doors of Finrod's chambers behind him. Edrahil gave him one look and raced into Finrod's rooms himself, but Celebrimbor did not care. He just wanted to be far away from here.

*

Celebrimbor had spent the last few days ignoring everyone, particularly Finrod. He had spent as much time in his workshop as he could at night when no-one else was there, and the rest of the time drunk.

But he eventually decided to talk to Finrod honestly. He thought perhaps he should have done that from the start, rather than get so caught up in his own head. Finrod would have advice for him. Perhaps he might even tie Celebrimbor up and use him as he desired, which Celebrimbor would not be able to fuck up. The thought was an attractive one.

He asked the guards for Finrod, and was told that he was in an unusual location: the forge. But when he approached, he could hear his father's voice through the half-open door.

“Aren't you ashamed?” Curufin hissed. “Tyelpe’s barely been out of his room for days. Have a care, Ingo.”

Celebrimbor thought he ought to feel embarrassed about them discussing him, but he mostly felt warmth gather in his stomach. His father was fighting for him.

Finrod sighed. “If he would just relax,” he said plaintively. “I've tried, Curvo, I really have, but nothing seems to help.”

Curufin laughed in his superior way. “Come on, Ingo, we all know who you really want,” he said.

There was silence, and then, “Oh, I shouldn't,” Finrod protested, but he did not sound convincing.

“Stop pretending,” Curufin said sternly.

“Make me.” Finrod's tone was… coy. Flirtatious.

The sloppy noises of kisses floated through the door, and then Finrod was whining and moaning in a way that Celebrimbor had never heard him. Not once.

“Oh, Curvo,” Finrod moaned in a way that went straight to Celebrimbor's cock. “Your mouth...”

There was a wet pop, and Curufin's silken voice echoed, “Am I better than my son at this?”

“He doesn't - he's never - don't stop, please, Curvo, you feel so good -”

His father had been right after all.

Everything in Celebrimbor told him to get out, to flee, to run away and pretend this had never happened or, if it had, at least that he hadn't heard it; but the beautiful noises that Finrod was making because of his father no no no went straight to his cock.

Finrod's low, musical moans that conveyed such pleasure were exactly as Celebrimbor had imagined in his fantasies. Better, even. He could not have torn himself away for all the jewels in Beleriand.

Slowly, reluctantly, as if he were battling some invisible force, Celebrimbor reached underneath his robes and took himself in hand.