#at that point mae only has eyes for finno

[arofili]

Finno slowly untying his braids while sitting on Mae's pelvis, he glares at him with a mischievous look and Mae leaning back bites his lower lip

(I’m not really sure what you wanted from this ask...so I wrote you a ficlet. Hope this is what you were going for!)

~

Findekáno’s fingers move slowly but gracefully as they untie his braids. Gold ribbons slip from his dark locks, and he dangles one tauntingly above Russandol’s face. Russo stares at him intently, like there’s nothing in the world more enchanting than Findekáno, and he can’t help the way love and desire bubble up within him. With his husband looking at him like that...he knows what kind of night this will be.

He lets the end of the ribbon brush against Russandol’s nose, and his husband sneezes lightly. Findekáno tuts and glares at him mischievously, as if he’s done something to earn his disapproval. He shifts in his position seated on Russo’s pelvis, grinding against him, letting him know exactly how interested he is in the nér before him, beneath him.

Russandol leans back, biting his lower lip. “Finno,” he rasps. “Do you...want something?”

“Only you, my love,” Findekáno purrs, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. Russandol’s eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly, opening his mouth for Findekáno’s questing tongue. Findekáno loves this, loves him, everything about him. He wants and he has, and that delight and wonder never ceases to bring him joy.

He frees the last ribbon from his hair and slaps it across his husband’s face lightly. Russo gasps and bites at Findekáno’s lip, and that’s just exactly what he wanted.

And then Russo is sitting back up, eyes sparking with a playful challenge, and he’s pushing Findekanon down into their bed even as Finno laughs and shakes out his dark mane of hair. Now it’s Russandol who’s on top of him, grinding against him, and oh, life has never been more perfect.

“Finno,” Russandol growls, lifting up his shirt to touch his skin, and Findekáno lets out a breathy moan, loving the feel of his hands on him, large and roving and possessive.

“Russo, my Russo,” he hisses, and bites at one pointed ear, and Russo’s shudder passes through them both.

“You’re wearing far too much, darling,” Finno gasps as his husband mouths hotly at his neck. “Come, now, Russo—”

“Not yet,” Russandol teases. “You’ll have to earn it first.”

Findekáno laughs, grasping him with both hands, and shares all the joy in his fëa with his husband, his beloved, his Russo—and feels all of Russandol’s love echoing back, just as bright, just as strong.

Yes, he thinks dreamily as Russo takes him apart in the sweetest, tenderest way, life is perfect, here in his husband’s arms.