Kindling by uumuu
Mar. 13th, 2018 09:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MeM Prompt and Category: March 4th Daily Prompt (Fuoco)
Format: Ficlet
Genre: PWP/Porn with Feelings
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Incest, Implied Character Death
Characters: Míriel Therindë, Fëanor
Pairings: Fëanor/Míriel
Creator's Notes: Though this is technically incest, I think we can all agree that Fëanor and Míriel didn't have the time to establish an actual mother-son relationship (I tend to just view them as people who had a lot in common)
Summary: In the Halls of the dead, Fëanor and Míriel become inseparable
“Again already?” Míriel said, but she smiled and set her shuttle down as the flame that was Fëanáro burned closer to the loom where she was working.
She extended a hand towards him, caressing his cheek, hazy and gossamer-like, but warm under her touch.
“Fëanya, if we do this too often the Valar might have something to say against it.”
“The Valar can barely keep me from leaving the Halls...for now,” Fëanáro said, mirroring her amused tone, while he drew her up and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her, and she moaned. The first touch of his immaterial lips was still new and still surprised her. The pleasure was not new and she welcomed it, leaning her weight on Fëanáro as arousal knotted her belly and pooled hot and sticky between her legs.
Her moans changed to breathy gasps when Fëanáro slid his ghostly mouth down over her chin and started kissing and sucking and nipping at her neck.
The room was otherwise silent. The other broideresses had stopped coming to her after Fëanáro arrived, and even Vairë herself only visited her whenever one of her tapestries was done. Míriel didn't miss them: after finally meeting her son, she had found a sense of purpose, and happiness, so long forgotten, came naturally with it.
At first Fëanáro simply stayed with her while she worked, his form ever-changing, now elf-shaped now a tiny spark that hovered next to her, just looking at her work, as if her presence alone was a balm and a haven to him.
But their relationship gradually changed, like a tapestry grows the more threads one adds to it. She felt no guilt or shame about the fact that they had sex. He was all her own, her own, her creation and her most loyal friend. Besides, they had never truly known each other as mother and son, and they were free to be whatever they wanted to be now.
Fëanáro undressed her, lacings and buttons coming undone swiftly under his blurry hands, and soon she found herself lying naked on the floor with Fëanáro blanketing her.
He kissed her her lips again, which were hot and tingling with the memory of his earlier kiss, and put a hand between her legs. One of his fingers found her slit, already moist and ready for him. He dipped the finger inside her once, teasing, and retreated it slowly, added a second finger and slid them up and down between her folds, pressing on her entrance but not breaching it, lingering on her clit.
Míriel bit her lower lip. Her chest arched as she wiggled her hips in mounting arousal.
Fëanáro's mouth was at her neck again, then lower over one of her nipples, sprinkling a hint of heat over her sensitive nub, tantalising. His fingers caressed her, tracing her folds and pinching them, moving in circles over her clit, steady and delicious.
She came once, but her desire hardly abated.
“Inside...inside,” she demanded, and he obliged.
He breached her gently and sheathed himself, their bodies a perfect match even in half-death. Míriel's opening stretched around her son, letting him in and holding him there. Her inner muscles contracted around the thick hardness that filled her, lodged inside her from tip to base. More juices seeped out of her and her clit throbbed unrelentingly.
Fëanáro started moving inside her, back and forth, slow then quick, reaching deeper deeper. Her nipples were painfully hard and she lifted her hands to them to roll them between her fingers in time with Fëanáro's thrusts. The friction against her walls was ravishing, surge after surge of sweet precious fire seeping into her.
And yet she couldn't help wanting more. She wanted to feel her Fëanáro in the flesh – feel his cock pulsate and grow inside her, she wanted to learn the shape of it. She wanted wet kisses and the slippery touch of his tongue. She wanted to taste him – lick his sweat and drink his seed and let their spit mingle.
“We will, I promise you,” he said, and though he was unhoused he did almost sound out of breath. “I tell you this: my eldest will come to us through fire, and a Silmaril will be with him. My second eldest will guard another, and he will be our anchor. The Valar will put the third in the skies, and it will be our shield. We will leave the Halls – you, my other sons and Father too, and we will be together, forever.”
“Your sons,” Míriel whined before what felt like a thumb started massaging her clit again, robbing her of her breath. She yelped, tensed then relaxed against the finger-shape and the pleasure it offered.
“They will die fighting for what they love.”
Míriel nodded. She let her hands go limp over her head, and again gave herself over to the thrusts rocking her, to the greedy squelching and the sweet slapping sounds of her quim.
She came again but Fëanáro didn't stop, keeping up a tender rhythm, her pleasure growing the more stimulated she was. And then he ceased looking like an elf and was a flame, a flame enveloping her, twisting around her legs and around her womb, wrapped over her breasts and around her neck, holding her hands, and his voice was in her ear, whispering words of love and words of hope.
*
fëanya = my soul
Genre: PWP/Porn with Feelings
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Incest, Implied Character Death
Characters: Míriel Therindë, Fëanor
Pairings: Fëanor/Míriel
Creator's Notes: Though this is technically incest, I think we can all agree that Fëanor and Míriel didn't have the time to establish an actual mother-son relationship (I tend to just view them as people who had a lot in common)
Summary: In the Halls of the dead, Fëanor and Míriel become inseparable
“Again already?” Míriel said, but she smiled and set her shuttle down as the flame that was Fëanáro burned closer to the loom where she was working.
She extended a hand towards him, caressing his cheek, hazy and gossamer-like, but warm under her touch.
“Fëanya, if we do this too often the Valar might have something to say against it.”
“The Valar can barely keep me from leaving the Halls...for now,” Fëanáro said, mirroring her amused tone, while he drew her up and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her, and she moaned. The first touch of his immaterial lips was still new and still surprised her. The pleasure was not new and she welcomed it, leaning her weight on Fëanáro as arousal knotted her belly and pooled hot and sticky between her legs.
Her moans changed to breathy gasps when Fëanáro slid his ghostly mouth down over her chin and started kissing and sucking and nipping at her neck.
The room was otherwise silent. The other broideresses had stopped coming to her after Fëanáro arrived, and even Vairë herself only visited her whenever one of her tapestries was done. Míriel didn't miss them: after finally meeting her son, she had found a sense of purpose, and happiness, so long forgotten, came naturally with it.
At first Fëanáro simply stayed with her while she worked, his form ever-changing, now elf-shaped now a tiny spark that hovered next to her, just looking at her work, as if her presence alone was a balm and a haven to him.
But their relationship gradually changed, like a tapestry grows the more threads one adds to it. She felt no guilt or shame about the fact that they had sex. He was all her own, her own, her creation and her most loyal friend. Besides, they had never truly known each other as mother and son, and they were free to be whatever they wanted to be now.
Fëanáro undressed her, lacings and buttons coming undone swiftly under his blurry hands, and soon she found herself lying naked on the floor with Fëanáro blanketing her.
He kissed her her lips again, which were hot and tingling with the memory of his earlier kiss, and put a hand between her legs. One of his fingers found her slit, already moist and ready for him. He dipped the finger inside her once, teasing, and retreated it slowly, added a second finger and slid them up and down between her folds, pressing on her entrance but not breaching it, lingering on her clit.
Míriel bit her lower lip. Her chest arched as she wiggled her hips in mounting arousal.
Fëanáro's mouth was at her neck again, then lower over one of her nipples, sprinkling a hint of heat over her sensitive nub, tantalising. His fingers caressed her, tracing her folds and pinching them, moving in circles over her clit, steady and delicious.
She came once, but her desire hardly abated.
“Inside...inside,” she demanded, and he obliged.
He breached her gently and sheathed himself, their bodies a perfect match even in half-death. Míriel's opening stretched around her son, letting him in and holding him there. Her inner muscles contracted around the thick hardness that filled her, lodged inside her from tip to base. More juices seeped out of her and her clit throbbed unrelentingly.
Fëanáro started moving inside her, back and forth, slow then quick, reaching deeper deeper. Her nipples were painfully hard and she lifted her hands to them to roll them between her fingers in time with Fëanáro's thrusts. The friction against her walls was ravishing, surge after surge of sweet precious fire seeping into her.
And yet she couldn't help wanting more. She wanted to feel her Fëanáro in the flesh – feel his cock pulsate and grow inside her, she wanted to learn the shape of it. She wanted wet kisses and the slippery touch of his tongue. She wanted to taste him – lick his sweat and drink his seed and let their spit mingle.
“We will, I promise you,” he said, and though he was unhoused he did almost sound out of breath. “I tell you this: my eldest will come to us through fire, and a Silmaril will be with him. My second eldest will guard another, and he will be our anchor. The Valar will put the third in the skies, and it will be our shield. We will leave the Halls – you, my other sons and Father too, and we will be together, forever.”
“Your sons,” Míriel whined before what felt like a thumb started massaging her clit again, robbing her of her breath. She yelped, tensed then relaxed against the finger-shape and the pleasure it offered.
“They will die fighting for what they love.”
Míriel nodded. She let her hands go limp over her head, and again gave herself over to the thrusts rocking her, to the greedy squelching and the sweet slapping sounds of her quim.
She came again but Fëanáro didn't stop, keeping up a tender rhythm, her pleasure growing the more stimulated she was. And then he ceased looking like an elf and was a flame, a flame enveloping her, twisting around her legs and around her womb, wrapped over her breasts and around her neck, holding her hands, and his voice was in her ear, whispering words of love and words of hope.
*
fëanya = my soul
no subject
Date: 2018-03-19 10:14 pm (UTC)And I love, completely love, the idea of the Silmarils being their key to escaping from Mandos. It turns the tragedy of Maedhros' suicide into victory, and means that they will be all together again, as they should be! <3 <3 <3
no subject
Date: 2018-03-20 10:10 am (UTC)Maedhros's suicide is very intriguing to me - it seems to fulfill Mandos' prophecy about the Silmaril going into the earth sure, but the element Maedhros meets with is fire, and he not only takes the Silmaril with him to his death but also puts it out of anybody else's reach (which must have been very meaningful to him). It may be a weird thing to say, but I think Maedhros's suicide has a lot potential.