(But the dawn is brief and the day full often belies its promise.)

[castintoflames]

FORM: Sending Crystal
SENDER: Maedhros
RECIPIENT: Anyone with a crystal.
WHAT: Manic? Did anyone say manic? This can't be good.
WHEN: Spanning a week? (7-10 days?)
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Someone is afflicted with a strange Flu.

(The fires are high in the Forge and someone is working at all hours. Have they come out for food? Water? Air? Well if you wondered, he does make a quick message.)

Whoever thinks knocking on the door is a good idea, will not leave unscathed next time!

(There is a strange light in his eyes - and if anyone knows of his father, they will recognize it immediately. Abort mission!)

I am on the cusp of making something spectacular and I do not need any interference. Do I make myself clear?

(What happened to the gentler Maedhros? Some might claim he has been swallowed by the flames of ambition.)

Comments

[castintoflames]

How can I wreck anything being stuck in here all day? (He wipes his brow with his arm, breathing out in the hot air.) This project will protect us. I started thinking: why am I making lesser weapons and armor for others when I could be making great pieces for us?

(The color is already high on his cheeks - tell-tale of a fever - but he finally looks at Fingon, some of that crazed light failing.)

I haven't locked the door.

[utulien_aure]

You wouldn't be the first craftsman to wreck a project because you were too angry to see straight. And alienating our hosts would count as wrecking things, wouldn't it?

[He tosses his head angrily as he enters, the light of the forge glinting off the gold in his hair] Protect us? Maitimo, where did you get the idea that I am defenseless? That Makalaure is in need of the protection a new sword can give him?

[He stares at Maedhros, transfixed. He is so very beautiful, and so very stupid.]

If you had, I'd have broken it to get in.

[castintoflames]

I'm not angry. (...yes, he really does sound calm, doesn't he.) I just don't like interruptions.

(Said interruptions might have come from children he has befriended. Good job, Maedhros. Yet, no matter his mood or his foolishness, he is just as transfixed by Fingon as the smaller Elf is of him.

What can he make to hold those braids?)

I never said you were defenseless! But anything can happen. (He waves his hand.) Kano can be as reckless as I am. A sword made for him with my will behind it will do him good.

(He is without a shirt or tunic and his hair is tied back. The only scars on his body are left over from when he arrived.)

With a battering ram.

[utulien_aure]

You have six younger brothers. You've been dealing with interruptions for your entire life.

[Fingon would be quite happy to have new fasteners for his hair, particularly if it distracts Maedhros from this weapons business.

And concentrates Maedhros on him, as it should be, some part of Fingon whispers.]

Anything could happen has been our watchword for five centuries, there is no need to begin panicking now. Kano is busy with Elros, and in no danger that I can see.

[Fingon's eyes linger over that naked skin, over that broad neck and shoulders, far longer than they should. Four hundred years and more since he'd seen Maedhros shirtless in a forge, and the thought brings up old memories.

Entirely unwelcome ones at the moment, this forge is too hot to be comfortable as it is even in shirtsleeves, but they are there.]

You know me so well.

[castintoflames]

Precisely! Think of what I could have made whilst they were heckling me.

(That's not fair and he realizes it, biting his tongue. His brothers are precious - irreplaceable - and any time he spent with them was a gift. Yet somehow, right now, hiding behind his introverted - and defensive - side is easier.

He follows each of Fingon's movements, his hands still for the first time in days.)

Is that why you're here? Do you seek to...busy...me?

(His voice dips in a way that suggests he does not find the idea repulsive in the least.)

I know all of you well.

[utulien_aure]

Are you even listening to yourself? What are you, possessed?

[How many times have the younger Feanorians wandered into something Maedhros had promised would be just them? How many times had Fingon ground his teeth when his cousin had just smiled and turned to dote on whatever little cretin had wandered in this time?

Part of him registers how patently bizarre it is, that this argument of their youth has returned in such a fashion. But the old irritation adds another spark to the emotions bubbling under his skin. He growls out his next words]

I came here to slap some sense into you-literally, if I had to. [He takes on step across the room, then another, eyes fixed as a duelist taking the measure of his opponent]

So you should know what I want. Will you give it to me, beloved?

[castintoflames]

Passion has oft been confused with possession. I hold the flame of my father within me; I must put it to work.

(As Fëanor had descended into madness, Maedhros had taken on an almost parental role with his brothers. His time with Fingon is a pleasure and so he felt guilty partaking of it anytime his brothers were in need. Unfortunately that left both of them quite unsatisfied.

There is another creation Maedhros does not mind pouring his mind, body and soul into. The love - the passion - he feels for the dark beauty before him is greater than his need to craft. His body burns like the fires around him and he smiles with open admiration.)

Slaps, you mean? (He takes a taunting step forward, closer, his gaze traveling over Fingon hungrily.) You can slap me.

[utulien_aure]

Your father was often guilty of that very confusion, and you are worryingly close to following in his footsteps.

[Fingon does know what was going on in Maedhros' head at the time- indeed, that knowledge is part of the reason his cousin's behavior is so alarming now. Dismissing his little brothers- anyone he perceives as smaller and weaker than him- out of hand? It is not like him at all.

But it's a fight to keep those rational reasons in mind, for them to be the priority in the face of an anger well-spiced with lust. Against the urge to take that lovely smile and bite it off-

(What's happening, here? Some ever-smaller part of him thinks, because this isn't right either)]

Well, as you asked. [He moves closer, matching step for step, and his hand flashes out to hit Maedhros' cheek. The slap of skin on skin is more loud than painful, but it may still sting a bit.]

[castintoflames]

(Underneath the relentless drive to create, Maedhros feels a stab of pain. Fingon is very good at finding words that can either help the most or do the most damage.)

I am not confused. Atar made jewels; I am making weapons. There is use in what I do.

(It's strange. The more his anger is inflamed, the hotter his desire becomes. Fingon's barbs are enticing him - even as they hurt. Maedhros knows a few ways to close that lovely mouth or put it to better use.)

...Findekano. (His voice is husky and his gaze is heavy with lust. Though his cousin moved forward, he wants him closer still. And less clothed.

The slap rings out in his head, startling him from his temper and all of the other confusing tumult of emotions. His Finno has -

While the contact itself merely stings, his heart hurts from the act. He steps back, scowling. Picking up a bucket of water, he douses the flames.) I can't do this.

[utulien_aure]

[So where did he happen upon the one he pointed at my father, a sapphire mine? Fingon thinks, but just manages to bite back.]

It's not the work I object to- the problem here is the way you approach it.

[That terrible intensity, that narrow focus on nothing except the work at hand...it's worrying. And irritating too, though Maedhros' refocus on him alleviates that just a little bit.

For a moment, the slap rings out and there's a deep satisfation in Fingon's heart- but then Maedhros' eyes go wide in shock, and it dawns on him what exactly he has done.]

...Maitimo?

[This is not what he'd wanted, not what he'd intended- what did he do now?]

Warning: Forceful Sex

[castintoflames]

(Yes! A sapphire and sword mine. Those are common, right?)

I feel better putting all I am into it. I can't explain it right now.

(But his focus can be shifted - quite easily if you are the one who holds his heart. Except as soon as that heat begins to grow in him, he is slapped instead.

It is an eye-opening experience, yet as he watches the ashes smoldering in what was once a fire, he realizes what he wants most of all.

And Fingon is going to have a hard time denying him.)

Enough. (He strides to the smaller Elf and lifts him easily so that he is sitting on an empty table. His lips are not gentle as he gives his cousin a searing kiss, his hands tangling into Fingon's hair.)

also dimwits not functionally communicating

[utulien_aure]

Half the Gallows restless at the moment, that doesn't mean you can start shouting at everyone who passes by!

[Funny how the person who's arguing for calming down is helping this get out of hand, isn't it, Fingon?]

What- [He hisses out a curse in Quenya-Maedhros knows how much he hates being reminded of their height difference- and grabs right back, hesitation and sense forgotten. He meets the kiss just as roughly, digging fingers into Maedhros' neck and shoulders hard enough to bruise.]

what is healthy communication?

[castintoflames]

Who is going to stop me? You? (All of that energy can be focused on better, more pleasurable matters, Fingon. Maedhros ignores the cursing - he ignores how angry he has made someone he has always sought to cheer. The bruises are accepted with a low growl of impatience. How many marks must this love of his make?!

Many more, likely. He welcomes the pain and pleasure, bucking his hips so that Fingon could have no doubt of what he planned. But first -

His hands pull, tug and tear at the clothing separating them, his mouth descending to the smaller Elf's neck. He bites and sucks, running his tongue over the mark possessively.)

Good question. Next question.

[utulien_aure]

Try me.

[Fingon hisses in Maedhros’ ear, scraping his teeth against his cousin’s jaw. Every mark and every bite is met, passion for passion and force for force- Fingon could do nothing else. And that is even more true than usual, given that that strange irritation that has blossomed in to fury. Fingon yo wants to mark, to claim, to possess.

He lets out a savage laugh as his shirt rips open.]

I liked that shirt!

OOC

[castintoflames]

Moved here!