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i-did-not-mean-to · 18 days ago

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Year of the OTP - May

I have been largely absent from Tumblr, I apologise.

Vairë has a crush. Estë thinks she can help. In other words, Námo has a very difficult time.

Prompts: Hanahaki, “we’re dating? since when?”, body swap, magical sex toys, stalking, Paper Rings – Taylor Swift

Pairing: Námo x Vairë, Irmo x Estë

Words: 3 005

Warnings: body swap, sexual tension, reference to masturbation, intrigue, sickness, sexual intercourse, penetrative intercourse

Estë leaned back against the richly embroidered cushions of her friend’s sitting room with a broad smile.

“You fancy him,” she crooned. “No, don’t try to deny it! I can sense it!”

Vairë furrowed her brows impatiently; none other than Estë would have been able to read the minute tensing of her shoulders or the invisible rush of heat into her sallow cheeks.

“I think I can help,” Estë then added pensively. “I also know someone I could go to for assistance.”

“Aha!” Vairë exclaimed, pointing a long, spindly finger at the other’s rosy face. “Because you fancy him.”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Estë nodded. “Your beau’s brother is a treat, and I’m almost certain he’d be delighted to lend a hand.”

Vairë didn’t doubt that for a single instant. Irmo was known for being meddling and playful at times, and—more importantly—he was utterly devoted to his stern brother’s happiness.

At the thought that she might be part of that, Vairë felt a new surge of self-conscious warmth flood her face.

“Seriously, though. I do think stuffy, old Námo likes you,” Estë said, as ever unable to countenance another’s senseless pain for too long before seeking to assuage it. “He’s asked about you.”

“And how did he do that?” Vairë pounced on this new bit of information. It was known that Námo rarely spoke to anyone but his siblings or Manwë, and—even if—he never brought up his own feelings and wishes.

“He made a comment to his brother, and…” Estë bit her lip guiltily.

“And Irmo slipped up while in your arms?” Vairë supplied, eyes narrowed.

“He was feeling unwell…Wait…” Holding up a warning finger, Estë let her gaze blur as she pursued the errant thought that had just crossed her mind like Oromë chased a wayward doe through the dark forests. “Ah, yes, that’s an idea.”

Vairë didn’t like the dreamy but resolute expression on her friend’s face one bit, but she was too wise and cautious to refuse an earnest service before knowing exactly what it entailed.

At the beginning of this whole affair, there had been no sign of untoward behaviour or morally questionable motives; charmed by Námo’s veiled poise and captured by his vivid intellect, she’d gravitated towards him quite naturally.

Soon, though, she’d felt his eyes upon her whenever she deemed herself alone, yet he’d never accosted her in a manner that could have been understood as a formal rapprochement.

Thus, the long waiting and desperate hoping had begun.

By now, she’d grown tired and impatient of it all—unnerved by his invisible presence while yearning for his open attention and affection, Vairë had finally given in and sought the counsel of her dear friend on the matter.

Estë’s assurance that she’d lend a helping hand both disquieted and heartened the Weaver considerably, and she decided to sit back and let that mysterious plan unfold.

Turning her attention to her latest tapestry until her eyes burned with fatigue, she welcomed Irmo’s subtle embrace.

“Hello darling,” Estë chirped as she swept down the winding path leading to Irmo’s favourite haunt.

The shifting mists blanketing the small, decorative pond coalesced into the lithe frame of a young man, grinning with delight.

“Well good day to you, charming lady,” he purred, dancing across the water’s surface without causing so much as a single ripple. “To what do I owe this immense pleasure?”

Feigning contrition and bashfulness, Estë cast down her luminous eyes. “I came to ask for a favour—surely, a generous spirit such as you can be swayed to fulfil the humble, selfless wish of his beloved?”

At that, Irmo’s brows rose in wary surprise. “We’re dating? Since when?” he inquired teasingly.

Perhaps, it was his older brother’s regulating, painstakingly dutiful influence, but Irmo had expected a somewhat more formal and official start to their inevitable courtship, and he felt disappointed to be robbed of such a joyous, festive occasion.

“We might soon be,” Estë smiled mildly. “If you’re amenable to such a thought.”

She was not of a manipulative nature, and she loathed the mere hint of a suggestion that her love and loyalty were bound to Irmo’s readiness to back her up in the execution of her hare-brained plan.

“Indeed,” he replied eagerly. “How can I be of service?”

In a few words, she explained that Vairë had finally admitted her weakness for Námo, which drew a stormy wave of applause from Irmo.

“He will be delighted to hear that,” the Lord of Dreams cheered.

“Ah! Here’s where you come in,” Estë interrupted, swallowing the bitter taste of regret at cutting his celebration short. “Do you think you could influence their dreams in a manner…”

She bit her lip as she struggled to find the right words.

“To find themselves in the other’s stead?” she then added vaguely.

Irmo sucked his teeth audibly. “Risky,” he warned. “She strikes me as the self-possessed, stern type who wouldn’t approve of my shenanigans.”

Scoffing, Estë rolled her beautiful eyes at him. “For your brother, she’ll make an exception. I truly think she’s ready to pay any price, swallow her pride, and get her hands dirty.”

The earnest passion in her voice finally convinced the dreamwalker—waving his hands in increasingly intricate patterns, he conjured up a fantasy for their poor victims to share.

“And once that is done…” he said when his dancing fingers stilled. “I shall not watch what nefarious things might come from this.”

“Leave the rest to me,” Estë cooed. “I have an idea or two to capitalise on this strange and enchanting experience they’re about to make.”

“Tell me not so I can remain innocent,” Irmo cried out even though his mind was awash with near-painful curiosity.

With a last cryptic smile. Estë pressed a gentle kiss onto his cheek, knowing exactly what he needed to feel better, and disappeared into the dense foliage once more.

Sighing, Irmo sat down and caressed the pond’s glassy surface beneath which precious dreams swirled incessantly.

Irmo!

Námo was speechless with shock and outrage as he realised that his brother had dared what he’d hitherto never even considered by interfering with his dreams.

Broadening his awareness, the Judge of all things quested for the lingering presence of his wayward younger sibling but found nought but a faint trace of lavender scent at the edges of his blurry consciousness.

He extended a reprobating hand and froze.

The fingers protruding into his field of vision were no longer the nigh-skeletal digits his disinterested gaze had met countless times; in their stead, Námo found pale, freckled skin and strong, limber flesh.

Shivering, he looked down.

“This…cannot be,” he gasped, lifting the hands that were not his own to the alluring swell of his chest but desisting at the last moment.

It felt wrong to touch a stranger’s body in so intimate a fashion, even if he was inhabiting it for a few stolen, somnolent moments.

Was this even someone’s body, or had Irmo, in his misguided generosity, made it up for his entertainment and amusement?

Unable to withstand the draw of an unanswered question, Námo inspected the borrowed hands, wrists, and forearms more carefully as the first wave of paralysing shock abated, and his mind cleared.

He knew the texture and grain of that fine skin, the delicate shape of the slender wrists, and the discreet muscles rippling along strong bone.

“Oh, you didn’t, “ he hissed as he recognised the body of the one he desired so vainly. “Irmo! How dare you?”

It was not so much the violation of his own privacy and bodily autonomy, but more the perversion of Vairë’s beauty that irked him immeasurably.

Unwilling to move a single limb that wasn’t his to command, Námo willed his brother to come undo the reckless spell he’d cast.

Instead of Irmo, another appeared. Robed in swirling, black robes, the tall figure felt like a punch to the gut when Námo recognised himself in the approaching creature.

Did he strike others as so tall and skeletal? The idea of being perceived as looming and forbidding saddened him somewhat.

“Oh!” the other said in a tone Námo knew he’d never used.

“Vairë, is that you? My brother…”

“Surprising, I know,” she replied in his deep, gravelly voice while running his long-fingered hands provocatively across the smooth fabric of his cloak as if to feel out the body he purposefully kept hidden from sight and thought. “But not unpleasant. Who would have thought that there’s such delicious sensitivity hidden under that drab robe?”

Námo, still imprisoned in the beauteous cage of Vairë’s flesh, startled. “What did you do to my…”

As she drew closer, he could now clearly discern that his garments were in disarray and his face flushed on account of the unspoken things she’d inflicted upon his defenceless flesh.

“What did you do when you understood your condition?” she shot back defensively.

“I stilled,” he declared.

“I did not,” she confessed. “My curiosity was too fierce. I admit, I unravelled the mysterious tapestry, letting each thread glide through my fingers and probing every knot carefully.”

Vairë shrugged in a motion so familiar and yet so incongruous to behold in her present form. “You’re blessed with inherent wisdom and understanding about all manner of things—I, on the contrary, must investigate with my flesh and soul to know.”

Even though her words sounded eminently reasonable, Námo couldn’t ignore the fact that she’d confessed to not only witnessing but explicitly touching his body in her quest for the truth.

“And did you like what you’ve found?” he asked breathlessly.

“Very much,” Vairë exclaimed at once, drawing closer and laying a hand upon the alluring swell of her breast under which Námo’s soul shook like a captive bird.

As she gave a pensive hum, he was alarmed to register a surge of white-hot desire burgeon within this strange flesh.

Of course, he was no stranger to such impulses, but they’d always felt more remote and muted as they rippled through his own body.

Now enmeshed in the countless vibrating strings of Vairë’s sensitivity, Námo was overwhelmed with the intensity of the sensations and wants her seemingly anodyne caress had triggered.

“Are you not curious at all?” she asked gently, dragging one reedy finger up and down the column of the white throat before her. “I know this body well, and I can show you what it feels to be me whenever you arrive.”

“No need,” Námo croaked. He could hardly breathe now, and the knees that carried his weight threatened to buckle at any moment.

Was this really the effect his veiled, gaunt form had on one as savagely beautiful and intimidatingly self-possessed as Vairë, the Weaver?

He could hardly believe it.

“No,” he added, panic lacing the smoky, throaty voice he so admired. “I couldn’t possibly…Irmo’s lurking around just outside our reach. Let’s not…”

In a dizzying mental disconnect, he saw his head drop to the side questioningly as if his reflection had suddenly decided to detach itself from him.

“You make me feel like a villain,” Vairë complained, mouth drooping into a moue of dejection.

“No,” he repeated passionately. “Believe me, I want nothing more than to discover and study every secret of your glorious body. Only, I’d like you to be inside it when I do. It’s…upsetting to have to look at myself while your flesh catches fire all around me.”

Vairë sucked her, his, teeth disapprovingly. “You’re a rare beauty, Námo. Believe me, I know for I’ve seen it. You should not be dismayed…”

Bowing in gratitude, he laid a shapely, nimble hand upon the bony one, still pressed against his softly rising and falling bosom.

“I thank you,” he said. “If you like it so much, you’re welcome to come look upon it whenever you want.”

Suppressing the uncomfortable shiver the paradox sparked, he kissed the back of his own hand, making Vairë snigger under her breath.

“Excuse me, I must find Irmo,” he whispered.

Wrapping her intricate shawl tighter around her shivering body, Vairë willed her feet to fly until she was almost running towards the wavering darkness of Námo’s domain.

She still didn’t know what Estë and Irmo had done to the poor creature, but she was almost certain that it was bad.

While she’d found the tiny excursion into Námo’s body highly informative and amusing, she now felt a little guilty for having enjoyed it so much when he’d been visibly aghast by the discovery of his trespass.

Moreover, when she’d gone to confront her friend about it, Estë had smirked and assured her that this had only been the beginning.

“Does Irmo know?” Vairë had asked accusingly, confident that Námo’s brother wouldn’t let any harm come to his beloved older sibling.

“Eru forfend, no. He’d never agree,” Estë had confessed.

Without even bothering to chide her friend, Vairë had turned on her heels and fled the premises to mitigate whatever catastrophe Estë had unleashed upon the poor, unsuspecting fool.

Surely, Námo would understand that Estë meant well and not judge her too harshly for going too far in her desire to help Vairë.

“Námo?” Vairë called breathlessly as she approached the opaque wall of shadow that served as two-way protection between Námo and the outside world. “Are you there?”

Usually, she’d never have dared countermand the rules of courtesy and decorum in such a brazen manner, but she was animated by frantic despair, which pushed her to extremes.

“Vairë?” came the wheezing, weak answer. “I’m ever so…sorry. I wish I could welcome you in my Halls as you deserve, but I find myself…indisposed.”

His speech was halting, interrupted by violent coughing fits, and Vairë gave a short, strident cry of dismay before flinging herself bodily into the abyss.

“Vairë!” Námo exclaimed in shock as she stumbled into a darkened, roughly circular room. “What…”

At his feet, a pile of oval flower petals had amassed in a shimmering heap.

Vairë blinked in confusion—a moment later, another vicious tremor racked his lithe body, and she discovered whence the pale pink blossoms had issued.

“Oh,” she gasped.

In this world, entirely plunged into various shades of grey and black, the small, translucent flecks of colour shone bright like stars in the night sky.

Heaving and huffing, Námo brought forth another wave of petals which danced through the still air before coming to rest atop the hillock like snowflakes.

“What happened? Are you in pain?” she cried, falling to her knees and clutching his bony legs possessively. “Oh, she really went too far.”

As she looked up, Vairë caught a glimpse of Námo’s pale, taut face and understood that he was violently suppressing a visceral reaction that fought to get out.

Already, his limbs were trembling as if under immense strain, and her heart went out to this stubbornly proud beauty.

“It will pass,” he ground out between his teeth. “As we well know, it cannot kill me.”

“But you will suffer,” she contradicted mildly. “Tell me how I can help. I’m afraid it was my weakness that put you into this miserable position, so it’s my duty to alleviate your pain.”

“So hot,” he groaned. “So…You have to restrain me—I don’t know how long I can control the shivers on my own.”

Vairë, who remembered the delicate, silken texture of his skin from when she’d run his oddly sensual fingers all across it, nodded solemnly.

“Rope and cloth are my domain,” she purred. “Leave it to me.”

It was undoubtedly a novel and illicitly exciting use of her talents, but Vairë extended her hands and wrought the swirling swaths of shadow into solid bonds which she wrapped around Námo’s quaking limbs.

Beneath her quick, skilful fingers, his robes seemed to melt away from his burning flesh even while increasingly more vehement bouts of choking shook his slender frame.

“A moment,” she whispered to herself. “I remember this from one of Estë’s theoretical exposés.”

As understanding sank in, her eyes grew hard with resolution—she now knew what she had to do.

“Trust me,” she pleaded, finding no understanding in the mad gaze meeting her own.

Conjuring up the fractured memories of her exploration of Námo’s body, she reached out and willed the flexible, silken ropes she’d fashioned to stiffen.

It felt wrong and yet so right to use her powers to coax the undulating column of woven mist into Námo’s hallowed intimacy, pinning him in place to keep him from hurting himself in his frantic writhing.

Then, her hand alighted on his hot, clammy skin, and she swung herself astride his bucking hips, straddling him with compelling strength.

“Námo? Do you understand what I’ll have to do? It will help, I promise,” she said.

“Yes,” he moaned, an obscene edge to his voice. “Do it! I want it. I’ve always yearned for it.”

This was all she’d ever longed to hear, so Vairë straightened, her nimble fingers finding Námo’s engorged, leaking cock and guiding it to her own swollen flesh resolutely.

When she let herself sink against him as into a soothing sea, she gave a long, guttural cry of relief and tension alike.

Driven by whatever dark curse had been laid upon him, Námo thrust up haphazardly while whimpering as every movement exacerbated the torturous overstimulation of his seemingly raw, incandescent skin.

“Hush,” Vairë cooed. “It will all be okay. I’ve got you—I’m holding you so tight, nothing will get you.”

He’d asked her to restrain him, and she feared that she’d gone too far by enmeshing him in every facet of her being.

When he arched into her once more, though, his lips parted to let out a stream of sweet, loving words that dispelled the last vestiges of shame and reticence within her.

With a short groan of abandon, she plunged into the blazing darkness of this mysterious creature fearlessly.

“Hold on to me,” she murmured mendaciously. “And we’ll get through this unscathed.”

He obeyed eagerly, and she loved him endlessly for it.

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i-did-not-mean-to · 19 days ago