#curuwendil

Aiwendil followed him wordlessly, trying hard not to think of that hazy night of the last company Christmas party. Someone had spiked the punch, and they’d ended up making out frantically in the establishment’s impeccably clean backroom.

It had been an unexpected, cataclysmic event, and—to his knowledge—nobody else was aware of what had transpired.

Unfortunately, at least from Aiwendil’s perspective, such a thing had then never happened again.

On the contrary, from that incident onward, Curumo seemed to despise him even more; he could barely look at his young colleague without his thin-lipped mouth curling into a cruel, disgusted line.

They were, of course, much too professional to let the fraught enmity between them have any negative repercussions on the shop, and thus, the little business had known record figures this year around.

It had been generous of Melkor, the owner, to invite all his employees to a trip to the seaside during their obligatory off-season, and Aiwendil was far from ungrateful, but he now wished that he’d declined the offer, nevertheless.

Probably, it had all been a subterfuge to get Mairon, who managed most of the day-to-day affairs for Melkor, alone while wearing a skimpy bathing suit.

A sharp sting of envy shot through Aiwendil’s heart at the realisation that others fared much better with their workplace romances, and he vowed that he’d at least try to clear the air before he spent a whole weekend sharing a room with someone who seemed to hate him.

“Which bed do you want?” Curumo asked as he pushed open the plywood door, only to freeze mid-movement with a small but deep groan. “Never mind!”

Perplexed by this sudden change of stance, Aiwendil poked his head into the room and suppressed a low exclamation of distress of his own.

The point was moot because there was but one huge bed, looming like a pool of quicksand in the middle of the cosy room.

“Ah,” Aiwendil said indecisively because he felt that he needed to say something.

His intense desire to melt into the worn carpet, never to be seen again, remained mercilessly unfulfilled, though.

No matter how often or frantically he blinked, his unfortunate situation—condemned to spend his holiday perched up with someone he’d neither call an enemy, a friend, nor a lover confidently—didn’t change.

“This will absolutely not do,” Curumo grunted, his face ablush with righteous anger.

Aiwendil’s heart sank; he’d never considered the other a rival or even a foe, despite his outright inimical behaviour, and he’d secretly hoped that their inebriated folly would eventually have a positive impact on their strained relationship.

How bitterly disappointed he’d been in that regard. He hoped that it wasn’t too late to change that.

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically as if he’d purposefully booked the room they’d been assigned randomly. “Maybe we can swap with someone else?”

At that, Curumo frowned. “I highly doubt that any of the others would be any more comfortable sharing a bed than us.”

His eyebrow quirked expressively, telling Aiwendil that he’d not forgotten about his fall from grace either.

For a long moment, the only thing in the room was awkward tension and the wheezing of the old air conditioning.

“Maybe we should rejoin the others?” Aiwendil then said dejectedly—as much as he’d hoped that this little get-away would be the perfect opportunity to mend fences with Curumo, he wasn’t the kind of man who willingly, consciously imposed his prolonged presence on someone to whom it was visibly loathsome.

Unfortunately, their streak of bad luck didn’t end there.

When they’d made their way back to the lobby, having been delayed by an uncoordinated, fat woman trying to get all her suitcases out of the lift before the doors could close, their party had already left.

The snooty young man behind the reception desk wordlessly shoved over a glossy flyer, advertising a marine biology museum.

Curumo’s eyes lit up—he’d once dated a half-mad surfer who’d liked to wax poetic about various sea creatures. After the seemingly countless hours he’d listened to Aiwendil talk about local and exotic critters, he felt that it was only fair that he’d for once be the one to bore the other to tears with utterly irrelevant factoids.

“The next bus comes in 5 minutes,” the receptionist informed them before turning to the very same rotund lady from before who was now in tears because her AC unit was not working properly.

“Oh, that sounds fun…If you want to go, I mean,” Aiwendil muttered miserably, picking up random brochures and stuffing them into his very unattractive fanny pack haphazardly.

“Do you think I want to spend the day alone with you?” Curumo hissed. “Let’s go!”

To his surprise, his unwelcome companion’s choices had been much less random than he’d originally thought. As a matter of fact, Aiwendil was able to locate the bus stop and work out a shortcut that might get them to the museum in time to rejoin their group.

Uncomfortable and embarrassed, Curumo launched into a long diatribe about the sexual habits of dolphins—it soon turned out that Aiwendil was a much more gracious listener than his cranky colleague had ever been.

That much could have been predicted, but Curumo found himself nevertheless bemused by the evident swap in roles and powers.

Usually, it was Aiwendil who was chattering away while he tried to keep things running smoothly. He was also astounded by how relaxing it was to, for once, let someone else worry about the applicable minutia and rules while he could simply prattle on and on with gusto.

“No! Really?” Aiwendil exclaimed, proving that he’d been listening carefully, as they got out of the last bus. It had been an unbearably hot and uncomfortable ride, but Curumo almost regretted its inevitable end.

He even grimaced when he saw his bosses and colleagues standing around aimlessly in front of the wide-open glass doors.

“Melkor lost his wallet—again!” Mairon snorted. Their manager wore his white linen suit with the enviable elegance of a black widow squandering her inheritance at the French Riviera, and his designer eyewear flashed in the merciless sun as their chaotic boss crawled on his hands and knees under benches.

“I had it when we left,” Melkor swore and narrowed his eyes at his employees in a silent bid for assistance.

“At once,” Aiwendil exclaimed and dropped to his own knees readily.

Curumo watched him scurry this way and that, and—behind his own sober sunglasses—he shamelessly ventured a few lingering looks at his colleague’s small, firm behind poking out from behind a massive flowerpot.

Finally, when the renegade wallet had been located and retrieved, they all shuffled into the blue penumbra of the museum obediently—it was uncomfortably hot and muggy inside, and people soon split up into smaller groups so as to not overcrowd the displays.

When Aiwendil looked up from an explanatory plaquette about the conservation efforts made by the local government he’d been perusing with earnest interest, he was startled to discover that Curumo was still hovering at his side, evidently patiently waiting for him to finish.

“Would you like to go see the tunnel?” he asked sheepishly. From where he stood, he’d seen his colleagues rush through the hallway that cut right through one of the bigger aquariums, and he’d been irrationally dismayed by their lack of patience and admiration for their unique surroundings.

“The glass is solid, right?” Aiwendil mumbled. “I’m not a superb swimmer.”

“If it should collapse, swimming would be least of your worries,” Curumo assured him in what he only realised had been more of a threat than a kindness when Aiwendil’s eyes widened in sudden alarm. “Nonsense, the glass is perfectly safe. Come!”

Since that night when Curumo’s thin, firm lips had driven him half to distraction, Aiwendil had never received another invitation of any kind, so he was not about to forego this one. He lurched into motion.

Standing in the flickering darkness, he felt his heartbeat quicken and his cheeks warm up as he listened to Curumo explain the different species that were gliding past them with majestic equanimity.

Aiwendil was a creature made for verdant forests and muddy ground, so—between the ever-shifting hues of dark blue and sea green and Curumo’s intense gaze—he felt as if he was floating through a foreign, not entirely soothing world.

“Oh, look at that school!” Curumo suddenly exclaimed softly, his long finger pointing at a silvery cloud of tiny fish.

“They look like stars,” Aiwendil mumbled, awe-struck, and then immediately ducked his head in anticipation of the harsh reprimand for having spoken such a silly, unnecessary observation.

“They rather do, yes,” Curumo mused.

“Is that a ray?” Aiwendil asked breathlessly to distract himself from the surge of unbidden, yet indomitable hope.

“So it is,” Curumo whispered. He was mesmerised by the way the light, reflecting off the innumerable bellies of passing fishes, danced upon Aiwendil’s gently smiling face. Why did he always have to look so enviably happy?

For months, Curumo had more or less consciously tried to dim that fierce light of compelling optimism and pure joy lest it break down all his walls and overcome his cautious reservations.

Standing here felt oddly intimate—he was used to seeing Aiwendil under the bright, flickering lights of the coffee shop, his hair tied back and his best customer service smile plastered across his cute face, but this dreamy, undeniably private smile inevitably awakened something dark and dangerous in the depths of Curumo’s heart and soul.

He leaned forward ever so slightly.

“Batman, I mean Sea Batman, won’t like this,” Melkor hooted from behind a corner and was promptly shushed by Mairon who dragged him away to look at a fearsome octopus instead.

“Sea Batman,” Aiwendil chuckled nervously, his eyes darting to and fro between Curumo’s intense expression and the majestic ray hovering above them like a living parasol.

“Don’t listen to him,” Curumo laughed. “We’re on holiday—he’s not our boss right now.”

“He’s always our boss,” Aiwendil started to protest but his display of unconditional loyalty to his place of work and his superiors was silenced by the brush of blessedly cool lips against his own.

The featherlight touch was silken and smooth, just as Aiwendil imagined the sleek bodies floating around them to feel under his twitching fingers.

The oppressive, damp heat of the tunnel seemed to grow inexorably, but that long-awaited kiss nevertheless felt like a soothing caress of cool water and fresh air against Aiwendil’s burning skin.

As from far away, they heard their colleagues declare that they’d seen enough.

“Let them go,” Curumo murmured. “They won’t miss us. We’ll find our own way.”

The thought of having dinner alone with his most cherished foe made the tall man grin sharply. “You’ve proven that you can steer us safely through the city, haven’t you?”

At one, Aiwendil nodded proudly.

They waited for another 5 minutes, giggling and kissing like schoolboys under the motionless, expressionless gaze of thousands of aquatic spectators before they left, breathing in the clean, cool night air greedily.

“Let’s not switch rooms,” Curumo laughed, took Aiwendil’s arm, and started walking towards the city centre.

Thank you for reading and sorry for the delay!

-> Masterlist

Barely taking the time to give his master an impatient look, Curumo rolled his shoulders and focused on this last, vital part of his work.

He could hear Aulë's heavy foot tapping the plain flooring of the forge impatiently.

"I have something to finish," he grunted and turned his attention back to the task at hand.

If Mairon had not made a major fuss by arriving late and dishevelled, he would already be done, Curumo thought, fighting down the flutter of nerves that made his stomach roil uncomfortably.

"There is someone waiting for you, I think," Aulë added in a muted tone. After having observed the handiwork of the young Maia for a time, he had finally understood what tremendously important work had kept him inside when their very essence was inexorably drawn to the wild outdoors.

"I know," Curumo moaned. He was late, he was so terribly late. He had promised Aiwendil that they would go down to the stream he so loved, and he had planned every moment of this day so meticulously that impuissant rage threatened to choke him as he realised how much of a mess he had made of things.

Undoubtedly, that nervous, endearing bundle of insecurities and sweet affection was already declaring him a lost cause. He would not leave though, Curumo knew, because Aiwendil was nought if not steadfast and patient. He deserved better!

This thought spurred Curumo on more than all the bright light and warm air in Valinor could have—he would not let Aiwendil doubt his word or his own worth!

When he had finally finished, his master gave him an appreciative nod. "That is well executed," Aulë praised, "now, go!"

All but running out of the forge, Curumo forgot about the deplorable state his hair and clothes were in; all he could think about was that Aiwendil was waiting unwaveringly and that he himself had solemnly promised not to desert him.

"Oh dear," Aiwendil cried out when he caught sight of the harried, wild-eyed expression on the other's face as he slithered into the clearing where they usually met. "I didn't want to keep you from important work. I am sorry!"

"Don't," Curumo barked breathlessly. "It is I who should be sorry for being so unpardonably tardy. Where are we headed then?"

When Aiwendil didn't move but only stared at him, nervous and visibly undecided, Curumo confessed that he had been looking forward to this outing all day.

He would never have admitted as much out loud, but nothing quite compared to seeing Aiwendil in his element—peaceful, calm, and enchantingly happy—and Curumo couldn't wait to witness that profound change in the usually so fretful and scurrying demeanour once more.

"Here," he said gruffly, pushing his brand-new creation, still hot from the welding, into Aiwendil's shaking hands. "I've made it for you, because...I don't want you to get lost."

It took a moment until Aiwendil managed to pry his admirative gaze from the strong, imperious Maia in front of him, but when he dropped it to the surprisingly heavy present, he couldn't swallow down a gasp of astonishment and deep-felt emotion.

"Oh," he whispered, tracing the intricate lines of the small lantern tenderly.

"I know that you follow your feathered and furry friends deep into the woods," Curumo explained awkwardly, "and I think that it's rather dangerous."

He could see that Aiwendil initially wanted to object and then thought better of it.

"That is ever so kind," he squeaked instead, "let me grab a candle and we can take it down to the stream, so we don't have to be back quite so early."

Curumo cocked one eyebrow—as far as he was concerned, they could stay out all night, watching the light change and the fireflies dance, but he had not expected Aiwendil to be willing to so blatantly disregard the rules of decency and the prescriptions of their respective Valar.

"I will send someone to let Lady Yavanna know," Aiwendil smiled patiently. "She'll understand."

Throwing a puzzled gaze back into the direction of the forge, Curumo nodded absent-mindedly. Yes, he thought, maybe she would.

"Well," he then said, pulling a candle out of his trouser pocket, "if Mairon can come and go as he pleases, I don't see why we couldn't. Lead the way."

@fellowshipofthefics here's the next one.

Lots of love and all my gratitude to @cilil 💖💖💖

Usually, Yavanna’s devoted, soft-spoken Maia would not have thought of himself either as a coward or as a disingenuous creature, but—when it came to Curumo—he had to admit that many of his best resolutions and most solid moral principles were insidiously amended and corrupted by the overwhelming desire to please and impress one so accomplished and masterful in his own right.

As they made their way through an increasingly dense patch of wild underbrush, though, Aiwendil’s soft, compassionate heart was no longer able to bear the muted grunts of discomfort and pain his diligent companion uttered time and again.

“Dearest,” he said very softly, lifting a tender hand to express his benevolence and controlling his face to erase even the last vestige of patronising indulgence. “I should have warned you that it would not be an easy trek—forgive me for being so thoughtless!”

Turning around to Curumo, he caught sight of a multi-coloured array of twigs and leaves, deeply enmeshed in the silken strands of his fellow’s unbound hair. Indeed, Aiwendil could retrace their whole path by analysing the entangled layers of greenery and nought else.

“I’m quite all right,” Curumo declared haughtily, but—in a moment of weakness and vanity—he tried nevertheless to extirpate a particularly pesky branch that was dangling mockingly from a lock falling messily into his dour face. “There is no need to change anything to your habits on my account!”

“I am not,” Aiwendil cried immediately, waving his sensitive, soft hands to and fro. “Nevertheless, allow me to take care of your beautiful hair."

Curumo’s face froze into a mask of unequivocal vexation.

“We’re halfway there, and the weather will hold. Surely, you would not deny me a break? Remember, unlike you, I am not used to strenuous physical exertion,” Aiwendil cooed and started moving again, leading his beloved friend, for whom he harboured the most tender, vulnerable, and laughably hopeful affection, to a sunny clearing within a ring of benevolent old growths.

Uttering a deep sigh of feigned fatigue, he let himself drop to the soft grass and looked up at Curumo expectantly. “Join me, please!”

“If you so say so,” Curumo muttered under his breath—his face was high in colour, and Aiwendil would have loved to know whether it had been his offer or the tiring trek through the foliage that had painted that stern, angular visage such a gorgeous shade of sunset pink.

It was not customary for Maiar of different vocations to touch one another in so intimate a fashion if there was no immediate, pressing need for such an intervention, and they were both painfully aware of that fact when Curumo wordlessly slotted himself between the other’s spread thighs.

His back was straight and tense, and his long-fingered, skilled hands were folded neatly in his lap as he waited for the unspeakable to happen.

Overhead, a few birds chirped their alarm.

“You have such a beautiful voice,” Aiwendil whispered into Curumo’s ear. “Compelling, mighty, enchanting—would it be too impertinent of me to ask for a song? My friends are surprised to find you here, and they would certainly love to hear you sing.”

Unseen—for he still had his back resolutely turned to those soft, pleading eyes—Curumo gave a low grunt of annoyance; he was hardly the kind of being who easily countermanded his dignity by warbling to foolish, feathered creatures.

Before he could make his refusal known, though, warm fingers slid into the hopelessly knotted strands of his hair. With the skill and delicacy of a small critter foraging for berries, Aiwendil had begun the arduous task of freeing Curumo’s head from the manyfold mementoes of their forest walk.

The silence—only disturbed by the demanding chatter of the birds and the muted rustle of discarded greenery—soon became unbearable, so Curumo resigned himself to his unseemly fate of serenading the avian inhabitants of the idyllic meadow while his most cherished friend carded his diligent digits through his messy hair.

Every time Aiwendil’s blunt nails raked across his scalp, Curumo’s harmony faltered a little as he had to bite down a visceral moan of pleasure and illicit greed—Aiwendil, he thought, was far too seductive for his own good.

No doubt, the little fellow thought of himself as being a good, helpful friend even as Curumo battled the least amicably pure thoughts he had ever conceived.

“Will you permit me to braid your hair?” Aiwendil asked, a little breathlessly, when he had finally finished fishing out the last debris. Curumo’s hair ran like a magical waterfall—warm but dry—across his palms, and his heart broke at the mere thought of having to let those smooth locks fall to bony shoulders never to be touched again.

“Braid?” Curumo mused aloud, astonished and discombobulated. He had always admired the intricate hairdos Mairon favoured, and—admitting that Aiwendil probably knew best what lay ahead of them yet—he ultimately agreed.

“I think we’ll take the scenic view,” Aiwendil babbled as he started plaiting with calm, rhythmical efficiency. “It will take a little longer, but at least the path is wide and mostly clear.”

“Thank you,” Curumo croaked throatily. “I think I’d like that. How did you enjoy my performance then?”

He was desperate to distract both of them from the heat flaring in his cheeks and gnawing on his insides.

“I loved it,” Aiwendil admitted with unashamed enthusiasm. “It was beautiful, as everything else about you. There—I am done. If I may say so myself, this is quite a successful tress.”

Fingering the thick braid falling over his shoulder now, Curumo smiled to himself. His hair smelled like verdant plants and wildflowers, and he would relish the scent for as long as he could.

Reconciled and merry, they took up their wandering once more.

“Oh, I just remembered,” Aiwendil then said when they reached a plateau, overlooking the vast valley at their feet. “We’ll soon pass a hot spring…Do you care to take a bath to soothe those sore muscles?”

Curumo pondered an instant. “Will you redo my braid after?” he grinned.

@fellowshipofthefics Here's the first one. 01/01/2024 - I am punctual!

Lots of love from me!

-> 🌟Masterlist 🌟

Of course, his heart was like the flowers and furtive beasts he tended so lovingly—all they needed were a little rain, a dash of sunshine, and a bit of time.

Curumo—on the other hand—needed blazing fire and heavy hammers to coax even the tiniest sliver of emotional ore from the unyielding stone that was his mind.

As he walked, Aiwendil became so absorbed in his thoughts that he barely noticed that he had already arrived at the foot of the mountain where he was supposed to meet his friend.

"Are you dreaming again?" Curumo laughed, extending a staying hand to prevent Aiwendil from barrelling straight into him.

"What? Sorry!" the other muttered, visibly embarrassed. "It is so lovely a day, and I had such joyous thoughts that I was not paying attention."

The bright, intelligent eyes of Aulë's Maia zeroed in on the gentle, friendly face before him with burning curiosity.

"Would you care to share those musings with me?" Curumo thus asked in his most compelling voice.

He knew Aiwendil not to be a secretive person—a welcome change amongst their peers, who habitually relished in keeping their secrets close to their chest.

To his astonishment and dismay, Aiwendil shook his head though, blushing beautifully even as he pressed his lips together stubbornly.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked bashfully, his mud-stained hands lifted as if in a wordless plea for lenience. "It was nothing mean, I promise."

"Of course not," Curumo barked, more deeply vexed by his refusal than he cared to admit. "Even among the good and the virtuous, you are particularly exempt from malice."

Aiwendil flinched—even though the words themselves had been kind, he couldn't help but feel that there had been a hard, angry edge to that hypnotic voice he so admired.

Unable to bear the thought that he had ruined the fragile friendship and the trust they had built, he launched into an uncharacteristically wordy apology—if necessary, he decided in a fit of despair, he would lay his heart and all its desires bare.

No matter how painful it would be, he preferred that Curumo derided and pitied him for his hopeless crush rather than let distrust and resentment take root between them, choking the tender growth of affection he had been nursing so lovingly for so long a time.

"I like you," Curumo declared gruffly, rudely cutting off Aiwendil’s lengthy explanation.

Silence.

Aiwendil blinked in confusion—the avalanche of words pouring out of him had drowned out all other things, the song of the nearby woods and the echo of Curumo's steady heartbeat, and he was not at all sure whether he had heard those three words or if it was just his addled mind playing tricks on him.

"This is not how I wanted to tell you," Curumo groaned, lifting a slender hand to his dark brow in self-loathing. "I have prepared a picnic for us. You've been so kind to me—patient, supportive, and just overall lovely—and I wanted to do something nice for you in exchange."

"Oh, you don't have to," Aiwendil said quickly, but he drew closer, nonetheless. "I am inconsolable, but it seems that I have drowned out your words with my inane rambling."

"I like you," Curumo repeated, enunciating every syllable painstakingly. "I truly do."

A sheepish, but candid smile spread across his face.

"I did not mean to frighten you," he then added in a soft tone. "It seems that I was rather nervous about telling you—so you see, you're by far not the only one to have burst into impassionate speech at the seemingly wrong moment."

It was clear that Curumo did not fully trust his feelings, his words, and himself, but he straightened his spine and lifted his chin defiantly.

"Well," Aiwendil muttered after a long moment of tense quietude, "that is very fortunate, because—as you surely know—I have a lot of affection for you too. It is my honour and my pleasure to be good to you."

Scoffing to mask the surge of overwhelming weakness within his every bone and muscle, Curumo turned to the steep slope of the mountain, looming above their heads like a benevolent witness to their clumsy declarations.

"It certainly is harder for me," he then admitted, "but I am willing to give it my best shot. Let's go."

@fellowshipofthefics: Here's the first for this month!!!

Thank you, @cilil for being such a darling to me!