Yet Were Its Making Good For This- Walking The Line
The fire that had not long ago crackled merrily to their songs and merrymaking had burned itself into a heap of glowing ambers. No sound could now be heard but the occasional rustle of a cloak as it was adjusted to cover its owner more snugly against the cold, the cry of an animal far off and the whispered talk of elves settling down for the night. The stars gleamed overhead, unveiled by even the slightest wisps of mist, and the air was still and freezing. Mablung did not mind, huddled between Beleg and Elwë as he was. Beleg gazed idly into the dying ambers, Elwë had his face turned towards the heavens as was his custom. Nowë claimed that his cousin had been named after the stars for that very reason, and whether it was true or not, it made a nice and fitting tale. As if he had taken up Mablung’s thoughts, Elwë started to sing softly, not one of the cheerful songs they had sung together earlier, but a praise to Varda, the star-kindler, Queen of Arda and heavens alike. Mablung had heard him sing this song before, but it moved him to the core each time anew, so even after the song had ended, they remained sitting in silence, until Beleg broke it by getting up. He stretched and yawned, then smiled at the other two, apparently not caring at all the he had just broken the spell of a moment that Mablung had rather enjoyed.
“I’m off, my friends. I still have to find a cloak to share for tonight.”
Elwë raised his eyebrows, clearly daring Beleg to truly mean what he implied to mean.
“What?” The archer asked innocently. “It is cold, and I hate spending nights alone.”
He bent to run his fingers through Elwë’s silver hair, twirling his braids around teasingly.
“… and as you keep being reluctant, I have to seek my fortune elsewhere.”
And with that, he brushed his finger over the tip of Elwë’s ear, a caress to shamelessly sensual that Elwë gasped, unable to hide the shudder that went through his body.
“Beleg!”
The archer only grinned back in a very unconvincingly innocent fashion, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He bestowed a mock bow upon his lord, then turned away, but for the briefest moment, his eyes met Mablung’s and his gaze said only too clearly: you owe me! Mablung’s mouth went very dry. So Beleg had planned that all along, had timed all of his actions as perfectly as he would time the drawing of his bow while hunting. That was not what Mablung had bargained for, he didn’t feel ready for it at all, had no idea how to do it. Elwë meanwhile seemed quite untroubled by the situation, for he just shook his head and smiled wryly after Beleg.
“He sounds like he’s gathering trophies…”
Mablung snorted with laughter at Elwë’s remark, and to his great relief, that laughter seemed to deal with his apprehension, too.
“Well, you could argue that he is a hunter.” he chuckled.
“Verily. But I am no game, and he knows full well that I cannot afford such… things.”
Mablung swallowed. He knew that it was now or never.
“What would you do, though, if someone just came up to you…” he drew a little closer to Elwë, laying his hand gently on his cheek “… and simply kissed you? Like this, for example.”
He tenderly pressed his lips to Elwë’s, and when the latter did nor draw back, Mablung plucked up his courage and let his tongue brush against Elwë’s lips, parting them softly. For a moment that felt like all Ages of Arda they stayed thus, every nerve in Mablung’s body tingling, his heart about to burst in his chest from the trepidation he felt, until finally, he felt Elwë relax into their kiss, and his hand wander into his hair, and was lost. The world seemed to dissolve around them and form anew, and nothing was tangible but the elf in his arms, and the feeling of Elwë’s skin beneath his fingers as Mablung slunk a hand under Elwë’s tunic. When finally they broke apart a little, Elwë drew breath to speak, but Mablung forestalled him, laying one finger over Elwë’s lips.
“Hush. Don’t say it. This is not about bonding, I know you won’t.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Elwë whispered breathlessly against Mablung’s cheek. “I care about you way too much for that. I can never lose you as my friend, Mablung, ever!”
“You won’t hurt me and you certainly won’t lose me. I know what I am offering. I’ll say it again, I know that this has nothing to do with making the bond for life. We’ll fuck, and stay friends, like I do with Beleg. I’m happy when you’re happy. Does that sound good to you?”
Elwë nodded, and Mablung could feel the trembling of his whole being, speaking so clearly of relief the likes of which no words could express.
“Beyond good” Elwë mumbled, his lips caressing Mablung’s jawline and neck. Lights exploded before Mablung’s eyes like a thousand stars as he gave himself to Elwë wholly.
It was lucky, perhaps, that Elwë had his face turned away from Mablung, and was focused so much on his own body and the thin line between pleasure and pain that he noticed nothing around him anyway. Mablung would have been loathe to admit to the tears that ran down his face before his friend, whom he had always sought so much to impress. Beleg, of course, would have called crying while fucking all sorts of things, mawkish being perhaps the nicest of them, and yet Mablung could do nothing against being overcome by his emotions. Like he had said to Elwë earlier, he knew what he was offering, knew of the trap he was putting up for himself, but still it was a bittersweet thing. He tried his best not to think about what would happen once they reached Aman, and frankly, he did not know what he wanted to happen. He would never love anyone else the same way he loved Elwë, but the mere idea of being his companion once he was crowned was ridiculous.
He would come back to that when he had to deal with it, Mablung mused, at last giving his attention wholly to the moment. He knew that this was the first time for Elwë, and he was careful, giving his friend the time he needed to get accustomed to every movement, every touch, every caress. It was clumsy and awkward and devastatingly beautiful and Mablung savoured each moment, took in every detail of Elwë’s body, every sensation, and by the time they both found their pleasure, Mablung felt as blissfully raw emotionally as he knew Elwë must feel physically.
Elwë’s duties kept him far too busy for Mablung’s liking in the time that followed, but he knew well enough himself that it was better that way, so that things didn’t get too serious between them. And when they would find the time, Mablung whole-heartedly enjoyed being the one to whom Elwë would flee whenever he could not bear being in charge any longer. Mablung loved being the one who could make Elwë relax, and to feel tension slowly leaving him as he held him, but he also cherished the rare occasions on which their roles were exchanged. Every one of the times Elwë would claim him stood out clearly in Mablung’s memory, when it was he who could give himself entirely to his sensations, to Elwë’s gentle caresses and kisses, and when the thrill of not losing balance on the thin line they walked concerning bonding was almost as arousing as each other’s touches.
As the years passed, they were helped in keeping their balance also by Beleg, who would often join them, something Mablung was quite grateful for. It made pretending so much easier- pretending to have with Elwë what he truly had with Beleg, apart from the fact that it was just outright beautiful to have these intimacies with his two dearest friends. Looking back, this was what Mablung easily called the happiest time of his life, and even in all the grief and pain of his later years, there was still this one comfort- that he could not have cherished that time more even had he known what was yet to come.
