Liquid Fire, by Narya

[narya_flame]

Author: Narya
Title: Liquid Fire

Characters: Finwë, Ingwë 

Pairing: Finwë/Ingwë

Text type / Format: Ficlet

Source / Fandom: The Silmarillion

Rating: T/Soft M (fades to black)

Warnings: Implied sexual content

Word Count: 361

Summary: At the winter solstice celebrations in Cuiviénen, Ingwë’s brew goes to Finwë’s head…
Author notes: Written for the 2020 Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar on Tumblr. I got the Day 11 NSFW prompt 'Drunken Fun'. I work with the round world version of the mythology, hence the reference to the moon pre-First Age.

Many thanks to Raiyana for bouncing ideas about primitive distillation, and of course for the title help! 

“Well?” Ingwë’s lips – red as the iced berry wine in his goblet – curved upwards. “What do you think?”

Finwë sipped again, savouring the burn at the back of his throat. “Stronger than I expected.”

Ingwë tipped back his head and laughed like the dancing north wind. “But it’s good, yes?”

“Very.” He was feeling the effects already, Finwë thought – especially in Ingwë’s warm, well-built house, with the taste of smoke in the air and the heat of the fire in his cheeks. “How did you do it?”

“We allowed the berry juice ferment, then froze it in barrels, and removed the ice a layer at a time as it formed.” Ingwë’s smile grew mischievous. “Take care. Antara was found asleep in the weaver’s hall yesterday after one cup too many.”

“Was he, now?” Finwë tilted his head to one side. His lips were tingling, and he could no longer quite feel his teeth. Perhaps the mead and this strong berry wine were a more potent mixture than he’d reckoned. “And do you think I’ve no more sense than that witless young stripling?”

Ingwë shrugged, still smiling. His face was nearer now. Outside, the light of the great bonfire flared; the dancers shouted; the drums grew faster, and their own small fire hissed and sparked. “I think it is easy to be foolish with a belly full of wine, on a night with no moon, when the seasons are changing and the Powers walk the earth.”

A breath; a heartbeat; a shifting and tautening of the air. Finwë set his cup to one side. “Is it so bad to be foolish, every once in a while?”

Ingwë’s smile widened, and the firelight gleamed in his eyes. “No.” He put down his own cup, and brushed Finwë’s hair back from his face. “No, I suppose it is not.”

Their lips met. Finwë tasted starlight, and sharp heady wine, and the sweetness of honey and cloves. He moaned as cool fingers slipped under his shirt. He slid his hands into Ingwë’s hair, kissed his neck, pressed against him, wanting, needing.

They fell backwards into the blankets and furs, and together, that night, they burned.

Comments

[hhimring]

Early experiments with alcohol!
They may think it worth the potential hangover.

[narya_flame]

I expect so!