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“I want a child,” Fingon says.
“You tell me that now?” Maedhros replies, with disbelief.
Their skin is so sticky with a mix of drying sweat and other fluids that a bath is imminent. The bedsheets need a thorough washing as well, but that isn’t Fingon’s problem. The only thing left of the kemmer is the shifting of organs inside them, returning to their dormant state. Fingon lifts his head from where he had pillowed it on Maedhros’ chest. He does his best to find Maedhros as irresistibly attractive as he had been earlier that week, when Fingon had shoved him against the doorway, tore his breeches to get them off, and swallowed his still-descending penis whole.
Mostly, he wants to laugh at the confused furrowing of Maedhros’ eyebrows, and pushes a strand of red hair sticking close to his eyes behind his ear.
“I have been informed it’s in the best interests of the Noldor if I have a child,” Fingon says. “Considering my brother and my sister disappeared with a third of our people, my other brother is long dead, and no one wants to figure out if subsequent succession should return to Maglor or go to Finrod.”
Maedhros makes a face. “An idiot or a magpie.”
“Finrod would do a good job,” says Fingon.
“If he stops being so taken with his little hidden kingdom to rule the rest of the continent.”
“Still cross he ignored your hunting invitation?”
“Maglor composed me a song about self-pity,” says Maedhros. “And sang it every other day. He added a verse about my failure to spear a boar.”
“The woes of being surrounded by harpists,” says Fingon, pushing himself to sit. “Should I compose a ballad to soothe your pains?”
“I’d rather die,” says Maedhros.
Fingon pats his buttcheek fondly. “Join me in the bath.”
Maedhros rolls over and buries his face in one of the pillows. Then, he lifts his head. “I’m not going to bear you a child.”
“I wasn’t asking you to.”
“Again,” says Maedhros. “You tell me this now?”
Fingon shrugs. “I wanted to make sure I would want a child too.”
“You used to say you’d never have one.”
“I’m older and don’t have to babysit anymore,” says Fingon. “And everyone else is going around having children - even Orodreth found himself a wife! And they’re expecting a daughter. Why shouldn’t I join in on the fun?” Then, he scowls at the wall with all his weaponry proudly displayed. “And I think no one will let me go out on hunting trips or to battle unless I at least make an attempt. They’ve gotten very twitchy about my safety.”
“Dreadful,” says Maedhros, and means it. This is why Fingon loves him.
“Bath,” says Fingon. “Then, the next time we’re in kemmer, you make sure to come here again.”
“There’s not any guarantee you’ll have a vagina and me a penis again, next time,” says Maedhros, getting up.
“Well then,” says Fingon, who thought this through very thoroughly, and would indeed give all his father’s council members ample proof he was attempting to have a child. He hoped they choked on the pheromones and frequent visits from his cousin, who would clearly be here just so he and Fingon could fuck. Maybe he should go to Himring too; Fingon going across the continent just to fuck his father’s greatest political rival-ally would certainly be worse. “We’ll just have to do it until it works.”
~~
The next time they’re both in kemmer and in the same location, they fuck in the woods. There’s a nice little hunting cabin just outside of a village that they commandeer and never use. The weather is lovely, there’s no rain clouds in the sky, and the adrenaline-rush of slaughtering orcs translates beautifully into wrestling to see who goes on top this time.
Fingon wins. Fingon usually wins, because Maedhros is careful to remove his sharp-bladed prosthetic before their higher brain functions are sublimated by the overwhelming desire to fuck, and that leaves his entire right side open to exploitation. This time the kemmer gives both of them a penis, and they rut against one another until a first rush of completion brings momentary clarity.
“No child this time,” gasps out Maedhros. Fingon bites his jawline and sucks a bruise into his throat.
“No,” agrees Fingon, admiring the imprint of his teeth in Maedhros’ fair skin. “This is just for us.”
Maedhros always opens up beautifully, no matter what genitals the kemmer gives him. He’s so defiant and proud about it, wrestling Fingon every step of the way even as his legs spread wide to welcome him inside. His spirit rolls over them, the kemmer burning through their osanwe bonds like a resonant harmonic building layers and layers upon itself.
Fingon pushes his legs up and back, puts them over his shoulders, then pushes into Maedhros. He’s burning hot inside, but Maedhros is always burning in one way or another. The warmth clench of his ass, slicked with oil and roughly stretched, wraps tight around his dick.
Dicks are always so sensitive.
Just being inside someone else when he has a dick burns all the thoughts from Fingon’s mind, swifter than the kemmer’s pheromones can act on him. He thrusts harshly into Maedhros until his hips meet his ass. Each thrusts sends sparks of fire up his nerves and makes Fingon’s perineum ache, the kemmer-swollen gland holding sperm aching with impending release. He reaches down from Maedhros’ dick to rub at his engorged gland, just above from where Fingon’s dick meets his ass, and is rewarded with Maedhros tightening to the point of pain.
He groans, bending over Maedhros and spilling inside of him. Maedhros works his own dick to completion, come spurting onto Fingon’s chest. Fingon’s clothed chest.
“I’ll have to wash that,” he says, in a reprimand that he’s too satiated to really mean.
Maedhros blinks up at him, equally lazy and entirely unrepentant. “You should have remembered to remove your clothes.”
“I was busy removing your clothes.”
“Tough luck,” says Maedhros. He stretches, and the rippling of his muscles around Fingon’s dick is too much. He pulls out and collapses beside him, and Maedhros pulls him close with a one-armed hug.
It’s a very good kemmer, and Fingon feels satisfied with the certainty that his father’s council members can suffer from their own instructions, before he finally gives them that kid they want.
~~
The next time is in Himring, and they both have vaginas.
“I feel like the universe is playing a trick on us,” Fingon says. “Do you feel tricked?”
“I feel like you need to stop talking,” says Maedhros. His hand pulls on Fingon’s braids, pushing Fingon back between his spread legs. Fingon bites a bruise into the crease where his hip meets his thigh before returning to his task.
“Oh, God,” says Maedhros. Fingon hums around his clitopenis, the small nub already red from his earlier attentions. One of his hands is wrapped around Maedhros’ knee. The other is inside him, two fingers buried to the knuckle. He curls them, trying to find the gland that’s just for pleasure, now, when it isn’t holding sperm, and when he finds it Maedhros tightens around his fingers.
His thighs try to close around Fingon’s face and rut down on him; but that was what the hand on the knee is for. Fingon keeps him open, sucks on his clitopenis a few more times, and pops off. “I’m just saying, why is it that the moment I say I want to get pregnant we don’t end up in the correct configuration?”
“Fingon,” Maedhros says, warningly, “I do not give a single fuck - “
Fingon flicks his clitopenis. Maedhros cuts off into a squeal. With his body prepped up for the potential of child-bearing, his breasts enlarged into something Fingon can cup in his hands. They bounce as he shudders, his back arching wide as his mouth falls open.
Fingon pulls out his very wet hand radiating smug silence.
Maedhros catches his breath, then says, “That was rude.”
“I thought you wanted me to get back on task,” says Fingon, his eyes widened innocently.
“You interpret instructions however you see fit,” Maedhros complains.
“A good general knows when to take command into their own hands,” says Fingon. He crawls up Maedhros’ body to pinch his nipples into hard peaks, then presses their breasts together. With their mouths breathing the same air, he murmurs, “And I am very good at getting the job done.”
~~
The next time marks two hundred years since Fingon decided he did, indeed, want a child. He’s starting to get a bit annoyed with the delay. It’s not that they’re never in the right configuration. It’s that they live on opposite sides of the continent, and rule their own respective realms, and can’t always make a little trip to each other whenever their cycle occurs.
This time, the issue of distance is unwittingly solved by Fingon’s father. A great gathering has been called for the occasion of ‘ what the fuck was that huge lizard and how do we kill it .
Fingon is the guest of honor. He’s very pleased with the praise and the ballads (Maglor’s third one could do with being a bit less of a metaphor for Maedhros and Fingon fucking, but was still good), and equally as pleased with the way Maedhros kneels at his feet, licking into the wet heat of him.
It’s not like their biology was adapted for years of the sun. There’s at least a decade or two in between each kemmer cycle. And there was only a one in fourth chance of any line up, and yet -
“Why couldn’t you have just had a dick this time?” he groans. “It would be such a good story. Fight the dragon, have a baby, eternal peace.”
“Should I stop?” says Maedhros, mildly.
“Of course not,” says Fingon. “I’m just saying - “
Maedhros licks into him. He doesn’t say anything, but this close, with the edges of their flesh blurring together, it takes very little for Fingon to hear his thoughts echoing. Right now it's some sort of challenge to himself to make Fingon shut up, because if he was still talking, Maedhros wasn’t doing his job right.
Fingon laughs and says, “It happened twice in a row before I - ah, deeper - said I wanted a kid. Twice! Oh, god - and then it just stopped happening at all. What if I want to be fucked by your cock? Ah, there, right there - and - and - “ He shudders, clutching Maedhros’ red locks tight, pulling him closer. Maedhros only has the one hand to spare for balance, and when Fingon ruts on his chin has no way to stop him. He bites into Fingon’s flesh, and Fingon bites back a scream.
Maedhros pulls away the scant distance between Fingon’s grip on his hair and Fingon’s cunt on his mouth. His lips are very wet. “And what?”
“What what?” echoes Fingon, pulling at his hair. But though Maedhros’ eyes are consumed by his dark, dilated pupils, he doesn’t allow himself to be pulled further in.
“What were you going to say?” He blows a small puff of air on Fingon’s clitopenis.
Fingon groans. “Have I told you you are evil?”
“You were saying something about how much you wanted me to fuck you,” says Maedhros.
“Yes, that sounds right,” says Fingon, pulling at his hair again. “Less talking more fucking.”
“Hypocrite,” says Maedhros, but he sounds very fond and proceeds to ruthlessly make Fingon come in the next minute, so Fingon forgives him.
~~
Around a hundred years after that, Maedhros gains a new vassal when said vassal marches up to him and demands to be in on the punching orcs agenda. Fingon approves immensely. He loves Amlach. Amlach is the best thing to happen to the Eastern Marches since dwarves. He joins them on a hunting trip and when they end up bathing in one of the cold, clearwater streams running down from the mountains, accidentally looks over to Maedhros, stares, and blurts out, “Didn’t you have a dick?”
It takes Fingon hours to stop laughing.
“‘Didn’t you have a dick?’” Fingon cackles. “Why, my good Man, ‘tis odder that you always do!”
Maedhros' lips twitch. “Have pity! Did you not see that concerningly red hue his face took on?”
“Should I have shown him my dick?” suggests Fingon. “To even out the embarrassment? I saw his, it’s only right. It’s nearly descended now, so it’s not his fault for not noticing it earlier. He was quite understandably distracted.”
“Oh, go ahead,” says Maedhros, “As if one penis wasn't traumatic enough.”
They look very seriously at one another and burst into laughter.
They’re in that mildling stage of pre-kemmer where organs are still shifting and heat was only just building in Fingon’s gut. He mouths sloppy, wet kisses into Maedhros’ flesh, and stops every other freckle to laugh about Amlach again.
“When did he see you naked in kemmer?” Fingon asks into the soft, swelling curve of Maedhros’ breasts. “With a dick. I don’t think you’ve had one recently.”
“Last cycle,” says Maedhros, curling into him. “You were caught up with Aegnor and Angrod doing some kind of tomfoolery.”
Last cycle Fingon had a vagina. “Figures,” he grumbles, and takes a nipple into his mouth. Maedhros lets out an approving noise, his stump cradling the back of Fingon’s head.
Normally, Fingon wouldn’t care about who saw who naked. Just a few hours ago he didn’t give a single thought to baring himself in front of Amlach (poor, easily embarrassed Amlach). But now, the knowledge of Maedhros’ other escapades burns at him, and he curls a possessive arm around his waist.
“You’re jealous,” says Maedhros, catching the edge of his thoughts, and laughs at him. Fingon mutters something disparaging into his flesh. Maedhros is always slower to be overcome by the kemmer; his bouts of jealousy are always second to Fingon’s.
“Poor Amlach, if only he knew what you think of him now,” says Maedhros. He leans into Fingon’s grip and then rolls over him. His copper hair falls around them, the only light coming from their eyes, and most thoughts of Amlach flee from Fingon’s mind.
“I think he overreacts.”
“I think most Men assume we don’t have genitalia at all, or sex, and sprout out of some secret plant.”
“We’re Noldo,” Fingon sniffs, “Everyone knows our parents crack us out of gemstones.”
They snicker into the next three kisses. Then, the kemmer properly washes over Maedhros, who rubs his wet cunt over Fingon’s dick until the head catches on his opening, and he properly sinks down.
Fingon is stiff enough he bites his lips to not burst. Maedhros lets out a pleased little sigh, and slowly rocks up and down, using Fingon to find the best angles inside of him. Fingon tries to reach for his hips and speed things up, but realizes that at some point, Maedhros pulled both of his wrists up and together and was pinning them down with his hand.
Fingon tests the give of his restraint. “I’ve been outmaneuvered,” he admits, and Maedhros squeezes down on him in what might be a reward for admitting defeat.
He groans, arms straining, and can only sloppily kiss Maedhros’ breasts when they come within mouth-reach as Maedhros rocks them to a slow, syrupy release.
~~
The next time, as they rub their cunts together, Fingon says, “It’s not that I’m complaining but - “
~~
As Fingon bounces on Maedhros’ cock, “ - Why is it that when you finally have a dick again so do I?”
~~
The moment Fingon snaps is when one of his father’s council members makes a disparaging comment in his earshot, loosely amounting to, “Can’t he just fuck someone else?”
“They have a point,” Maedhros points out.
Fingon stops pacing across the room to glare at him. “I’ll fuck whoever I like. You’re the only one I want a child with, and they should be glad I’m even willing to entertain having one for the sake of the succession.”
He resumes fuming. Himring in late spring was cold and wet, but even the lingering chill was not enough to make Fingon stop seething.
“I almost don’t want to give them the child now,” says Fingon. “See how they like it! But it’s been four hundred years of the Sun! Four hundred! I want it now too!”
“It took longer for some of our siblings to be born after our parents started trying,” says Maedhros.
“Well, I’m impatient! I want to go kill orcs! I can’t just go wantonly slaughtering my way across the continent when every little bruise I get makes all of Hithlum have hysterics.”
Maedhros makes a dubious face. “Who exactly do you plan to have raise the child?”
“Obviously me,” says Fingon. “Father can do the rest.”
“Historically,” says Maedhros. “High Kings do not make for very good fathers.”
Fingon looks at him. Maedhros looks back. “Finrod, then,” says Fingon. “He can project all his empty nest symptoms.”
“Better,” says Maedhros.
Fingon resumes pacing. “This still doesn’t solve my problem. What point is there to fucking you often and in many configurations - not that I’m complaining - if none of them are the right one to get me pregnant?” He points at Maedhros. “There’s herbs to get this right. I know there are. I’ve heard some of the Laiquendi practically live like Men do, perpetually in kemmer. And they can choose which genitals to end up with.”
Maedhros is still reclined on the bed, watching him pace with a small, amused smile pulling at his scars. The smile tilts up at his words.
Fingon stops pacing. “What do you know?” he demands.
Maedhros gets up. He goes to a cabinet at the bottom of his desk and draws out two small pouches. They are neatly labeled with Sindarin transcriptions of the oldest terms for each genitalia configuration, something along the lines of progenitor and inseminator.
“You - !” says Fingon.
“I was waiting for you to bring it up,” admits Maedhros.
“You’re lucky I find you attractive,” says Fingon, and wrestles him to the floor.
~~
A few months later, Fingon makes his way back to Hithlum. Fingolfin had not been expecting him back until the next year, at least, and says, “Fingon, do you remember where I put the taxation notes for the past decade?” before doing a double take.
“Caranthir took them the last he was here,” says Fingon.
“Sneaky brat,” says Fingolfin. He scowls in the direction of Thargelion and then does a second, slower double-take. “Are you pregnant?”
Smugly, Fingon says, “Yes.”
“Congratulations,” says Fingolfin. Followed by, “I need to find the plans I made to childproof this entire place. I didn’t think you’d actually get around to it.”
Fingon’s eyelid twitches.
“I’ll be indisposed for the next year or two,” says Fingon. “For the obvious reasons.”
“So little?” Fingolfin frowns. “You know parental leave is much longer.”
“I know,” says Fingon. He cracks his knuckles. “But I can’t let the Enemy forget I exist, can I?”
Afterall, thinks Fingon, buoyed by the small, burning light growing in him. With a child on the way, it won’t do to have the continent infested with orcs. He’ll just have to kill them all so the little bundle of starlight inside of him will never know war at all.