Chapter Text
Curufin snubbed his cigarette out on the wall before approaching the doors to Nargothrond. “Hello,” he said, approaching so silently he startled the bouncer at the door.
“Hello,” he said, turning and almost tripping over his feet. Curufin arched a long, slow brow at that, mouth quirked to one side. The bouncer’s companion was standing right inside the door and he moved quickly from a slouched over position with his arms crossed over his chest to standing straight. “Do you know the password?” the bouncer asked.
Curufin’s brow only rose higher as the man inside the door grabbed the arm of the bouncer and tugged.
“That’s his cousin,” he hissed. “He doesn’t need to know the password just let him in.”
“Oh,” the bouncer said, looking back at Curufin’s cold smile. “Sorry. This is only my second night. Don’t worry, I’ll remember your face next time.”
“If you last that long,” Curufin said and breezed past the man who watched him pass with a dark look. Curufin tried to suppress his smile as he walked down the stairs, the creaky staircase hidden alongside an old grocer opening up into a vast underground chamber.
He paused like he usually did at the bottom of the stairs, right after they turned so you were hit with Nargothrond all at once. Tilting his head back, he felt his sardonic smile already coming back as he gazed at the electric lights catching the crystal chandeliers and reflecting that light down to the floor below, tables crowded with drinking patrons and a band at the small stage at the far end of the room. Though the whole room was carved out of natural rock, gold glistened in the corners, metal and gilt-work covering the walls, the tables, the chairs, even the bar along one end. The labels of the whiskey, scotch and old wine, all imported from Europe, had also been given new, golden labels.
It was never difficult for Curufin to spot Finrod on the floor, standing and laughing, Bëor hovering at his shoulders like a silent watch dog.
It was because Finrod made himself as much something beautiful to look at as he made his entire domain.
The glittering necklace he wore around his neck was only half of it.
Once he had his fill at looking at Nargothrond, Curufin drifted across the floor to where his cousin was talking brightly to a tall and thin man with dark hair and heavy eyes. “Turgon,” he greeted first, his other cousin narrowing his eyes at him. “It’s odd to see you out and about.”
“Cousin,” Finrod greeted, a chiding tone in his voice and Curufin only looked at him. Except Finrod was smiling at him, undermining the tone entirely. “Be nice, we like it when Turgon comes out of his own little hole.”
“It is not a hole,” Turgon said. “It is almost as grand as this place.”
“No place,” Finrod said, and he grinned. “Is as grand as this place.”
“I did say almost,” Turgon said, relaxing for a moment when he looked at Finrod and forgot Curufin stood there as well. Remembering, he turned to consider his other cousin. “What are you doing here, Curufin?”
“Can I not come simply to enjoy the company of my cousins?” Curufin asked and Turgon narrowed his eyes, the barest reaction. “Though I admit I only expected one cousin.”
“You enjoy the company of your brothers, not your cousins,” Turgon returned and Finrod laughed, a hand landing on Turgon’s arm.
“Now now,” he said. “There’s no need for either of you to be like that. Turgon came out for once and we should celebrate that with a drink. We even have representation from all the sides of our family!”
Turgon scowled at Curufin, who smiled serenely back until he finally nodded. Finrod dragged them both off to a table in the corner, motioning to Bëor who looked unhappier by the moment to get them all a drink.
“This is not what I came here for,” Curufin said, mouth pressed up against Finrod’s ear in the crowd as they moved toward the table, Turgon in front of them. He felt the tiny shiver that traveled down Finrod’s spine.
“No,” he agreed, lowly, turning his head so only Curufin could hear him in turn. “Patience, and you’ll have it.”
So Curufin sat, ignoring the looks Turgon kept sending him from time to time and sipped the whiskey Finrod put in front of him until Turgon finally rose. Curufin did not have to check his watch to see that it had been a couple hours already.
“I might have had other plans tonight,” Curufin said, once Turgon was all the way gone, looking at Finrod over the edge of the glass as he finally swallowed the last of the whiskey.
“This is better quality then anything your father would have,” Finrod said, waving the bottle. “Do you want another glass?”
“No,” Curufin said, leaning his elbows against the table and tilting forward, watching Finrod’s eyes darken across the small table. “I am surprised you did not walk Turgon to the door.”
“I think you would have tried to kill him if I had,” Finrod said, pushing himself gracefully to his feet. “You were patient enough, I think.”
“I certainly do not want another glass then,” Curufin said, and Finrod hummed, leading the way toward the back of the club, where there were rooms to store the shipments of alcohol and further beyond that his personal rooms, where he lived. “You know,” Curufin remarked, for the hundredth time, walking too close to his cousin. “Most people do not live in their clubs.”
Finrod shrugged. “It hardly feels less safe than anywhere else I could live.” He turned, his smile bright on Bëor who looked resigned at knowing what was already coming. “That will be all for tonight.”
“But,” Bëor started, ignoring the dark look from Curufin and melting already under the bright smile Finrod gave him. “My job is to protect you, sir.”
“I hardly need protection from Curufin,” Finrod said and Bëor’s expression showed how little he believed that. “I have been dealing with him quite successfully since we were children.”
Curufin waited until Bëor had finally turned the corner before tilting his head at Finrod. “Successfully,” he repeated, running a hand down Finrod’s spine and feeling him shiver. “Do you call this dealing with me successfully?”
Finrod’s smile was totally different from the one he had on the floor and Curufin pressed him back against the nearest wall, holding his arms above his head at the wrists. “I am getting what I want,” he said, tilting his head for Curufin to press a hungry kiss there. “I think that is the definition of successful.”
“Perhaps,” Curufin agreed, inching their mouths together and swallowing Finrod’s tiny sound of want. “Have you missed me?”
“No,” Finrod said too flippantly and Curufin bit his neck. Finrod bent his knees slightly, enough to press a kiss to Curufin’s mouth before he could draw back, even though Curufin still held him. “But I am always happy when you decide to come.”
“Are you,” Curufin said, not a question as he released one of Finrod’s hands to trail his fingers across his cheekbone and down his throat. “You know, most people wear ties, bowties even,” he said, fingers brushing across the jeweled necklace Finrod wore around his throat instead.
“I like this more,” Finrod said, the jeweled collar heavy and tucked into the collar of his shirt.
“I suppose it does suit your persona,” Curufin agreed, dragging his teeth down Finrod’s jaw line.
“Yes, I rather think it does,” Finrod said, tilting his head, still pressed against the wall barely feet away from his actual door. “Though I suppose I would argue it suits me, not solely my persona.”
“You are your persona,” Curufin said quietly, biting at the juncture behind his ear and Finrod laughed again, fingers digging into Curufin’s waist.
“Ah, Curufin, you are the only one who gets away with talking to me like that,” he said, tilting his chin back before gently shoving Curufin until he could step away from the wall.
Curufin followed him with his eyes before he moved to catch up, grabbing Finrod by the waist before he reached the door and yanking his back against his front, teeth finding Finrod’s ear. “And you adore it,” he said, Finrod tilting his head with another hum, not quite the moan Curufin had been going for. “You wait for the nights I come with your heart in your throat. Do not think I do not see the way your smile changes when you see me.”
“Perhaps everyone else is just a little boring,” Finrod said and broke out of Curufin’s hold again, entering his chambers. “Say, your shadow is not here tonight. He usually is, even on the night when I first took you in here.”
Curufin scowled at the memory. “My brother is capable of taking care of himself.”
“Really?” Finrod was smiling again. “Because he was not then. As I recall, it was pouring rain and you both looked like drowned rats, him covered in blood.”
Curufin did not mention that Celegorm often was. “And yet you were willing to let us inside and kiss me anyway.”
“Ah,” Finrod held up a finger, pressing it against Curufin’s lips. “You kissed me and I let you.”
Curufin wrapped his arms around Finrod’s waist. “You let me do a great many number of things then. And still.”
“And still,” Finrod agreed, twining his arms around Curufin’s shoulders as Curufin’s hand came up to tug on the necklace around his throat, twisting the metal and jewels in his fingers to drag Finrod in to another open mouth kiss.
-0-
“You seem distracted,” Tulkas said, when Oromë had been staring out the window in his office for several minutes of silence. Outside Tulkas' door, the police station hummed along, the night shift coming in and the last shift leaving.
Startling, Oromë turned back. “My apologies,” he said. “I did not sleep well last night.”
“I could give you another position you know,” Tulkas said, the old and tired fight. Oromë narrowed his eyes, not bothering to do much more then shake his head. “You do not have the work the hours you do for the pay you do. Your family—”
“Which you married in to,” Oromë pointed out.
“They, and I, want to support you.”
“Next time you want to try and promote me, you might consider approaching me with my own merits first,” Orome said, and Tulkas sighed, propping his chin on his hands and considering the dark skinned man in front of him.
"I already tried that," he pointed out. “Are you not sleeping because of Morgoth?”
Oromë inclined his head. “Of course," he said, like it was obvious. "You know he was released today again.”
“Funny, how he has such good behavior in prison and such horrible behavior once he is out yet again,” Tulkas said, voice low and angry and Oromë shrugged.
“He is good at charming his jailers,” he said.
“As well as his family,”
Oromë sighed, looking out the window again. “Not that fight,” he murmured. “Manwë ever does what he feels is right.”
“Which might as well cause the whole city to burn down, considering how kindly he is on his brother,” Tulkas snapped.
“You may take it up with him the next time you are at his house,” Oromë said. “As we all have at varying times. It would be easier to move mountains that convince Manwë his brother is beyond saving.”
“He is endangering everyone else,” Tulkas started and Oromë shook his head. “Fine,” Tulkas sighed. “I will bring it up with Manwë next I see him.”
“I am simply worried that so much of his gang remained untouched,” Oromë said. “We never got close to pinning anything Sauron and who knows what he has been doing while his master has been away.”
Tulkas frowned. “Is it really right to call your cousin his master, like he was some sort of dog?”
Oromë’s eyes flickered up and he stared at Tulkas for a moment before shrugging. “Perhaps not. But it has always seemed to reflect their relationship best. Sauron serves, Morgoth rules, and they kill and destroy whoever they please while we only try to catch them.”
Tulkas sighed, rubbing his temples. “I am sorry,” Oromë said. “Was this more of a headache then you were wishing for tonight?”
“Yes,” Tulkas said and Oromë pushed himself to his feet.
“Then goodnight,” he said. “I am due to go home anyway. If you will excuse me, I will finish the last of the reports and head home.”
Tulkas nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “We’ll discuss Morgoth and what can be done more tomorrow. I would hate to see him simply pick up where he left off.”
“As would we all, I think,” Oromë said, stepping out of Tulkas’ office and pausing when he heard a commotion from the door. Several officers came in, dragging behind them a blond man with a bloody lip and knuckles, who seemed to be laughing at the officers holding him. It wasn't that the station was ever quiet, but somehow the man entering made everything so much louder, like he was a one person storm.
Oromë froze, grabbing the first passing officer. “What is going on?”
“Oh, that’s one of Fëanor’s sons,” the officer said. “One of the middle ones. It's infuriating we can never make anything stick to any of them, though. I bet he'll be out by morning.”
“Of course,” Oromë said, and he could not tear his eyes away. As the officers dragged the man past, his eyes flickered up and for a horrible moment Oromë and his eyes met. The Noldorian’s eyes widened, even though he had clearly been drinking, and he held Oromë’s gaze as long as he could, until he passed the point where he could twist back to look anymore. “What is he in here for tonight?” Oromë asked, having taken an unconscious step after him. Realizing what he was doing, he stopped, forcing himself to stand still and not follow.
He wondered if anyone had felt that, the electricity that seemed to come in the man's wake.
“Who knows,” the officer shrugged. “Usually all we can do is nab him for disorderly behavior, even though it is clear he’d been drinking and fighting. We’ll never be able to find the other person he was fighting with. In fact, even if we have witnesses saying him and some other fucker were fighting, they will both swear at point blank they were only having a friendly chat, even with the same bloody knuckles.” The officer shook his head. “Goddamn Noldorians. Think they can kill each other and fight each other and outsiders have no business in theirs. We usually throw them in the cells overnight when we can.” The officer squinted at Oromë for a moment. “Huh. Guess you don’t usually work the night shift.”
“Not usually,” he agreed, fingers twitching and he forced himself to turn and walk to his desk, listlessly looking at the reports he had just promised to finish.
He'd heard of Fëanor, and his sons. Anyone walking the city at all had heard of them, along with Fëanor's half brothers and their own children. He'd just avoided them, usually working the other side of town.
For a moment he sat, flexing his fingers and trying not to stare toward where the Noldorian had been dragged, and he wondered if he was still laughing. Running a hand through his hair, Oromë swore under his breath and straightened the reports in front of him. Losing himself in the reports, he spent another hour there before rising.
On his way to the door, having left the reports on Tulkas’ desk, he found himself stopping again, almost walking back to the holding cells. When he had stood frozen for five minutes, he gave up and walked at least as far as the officer on duty.
“That Noldorian,” he said. “Who came in here earlier. Do you know what his name is?”
“Sure,” the officer said, not begrudgingly but a little surprised. “Celegorm. Goddamn menace he is. Son of Fëanor, the worst of the lot in all of Little Beleriand. One of these days, I almost guarantee we’ll get him in here on a murder charge.” Oromë heard a scoffing laugh from the cell, but he forced himself not to look.
“Yes, thank you,” he said, feeling distracted.
“Sure thing. See you in the morning, sir,” the officer said and Oromë nodded, still distracted as he walked into the night air. He tried not to think about the wide eyes that had met his across the room, or the jolt that had gone through him upon seeing the other.
“It’s nothing,” he wanted to tell the pavement he walked home on.
“I’ll never see him again,” he wanted to tell the stars above him.
“I am too old and too smart for this,” he wanted to yell at the water he walked along.
Except that when he finally reached home, pulling his uniform off and sinking down into the bed, all he could think about was the blood on the man’s lips, the light in his eyes, and the control of his body even when being dragged between two officers.
And he remembered standing outside in the thunderstorm as a child, wondered how long he'd been chasing that feeling again, and how surprised he was to see it all wrapped up in a person he'd never even met.