There were few menial tasks Kili enjoyed in life. Tasks, by and large, were tedious things that took him away from time better spent working on his aim, or trying out new foods.
However, spending hours unraveling and rebraiding his brother's hair enthralled him.
He didn't find it to be menial at all. In fact, when he held Fili's surprisingly soft, golden tresses in his fingers, he felt a sense of peace and calming. First, he'd unbraid each plait, luxuriating in the way it fell in amber waves on its own accord afterwards. From behind Fili, he'd sink his face into the golden depths, hug him from behind, and inhale deeply the scent of clover, leather and the sweat of Fili's exertions—and he felt the pull of home-safe-Fili.
"Go, bathe," he'd tell Fili, sending his brother off to a warm (if they were lucky) tub in another room. Kili would have just come from a bath himself.
Kili would spend the time while Fili was washing carefully polishing and bending his hair clips back into shape. Occasionally, he'd fashion Fili new ones of different metals, always trying to enhance his brother's features without taking away from his manliness.
Fili would exit his bath, clad only in his smallclothes. Ritually, and laughing, Kili would toss a sheepskin over his brother's head and lead him to a wooden bench, where he'd sit behind his brother and dry his hair slowly and deliberately, until it was workable. Then, Kili would take up a well-worn comb carved from the bone of a bear. The teeth were just the proper width for unsnarling Fili's thick mane.
Washed and oiled, Fili's hair was a sensual delight for Kili. He'd slide up to be as close behind his brother as decency allowed, then slowly and methodically comb every snarl from his locks. While he worked, Fili told him stories about his day, about Uncle Thorin, about their childhood. Kili never tired of it.
When he was satisfied that his brother's hair was workable, he'd move around front and comb his mustache with a smaller toothed comb, always careful never to yank or pull too hard. Their eyes met often during this intimate task and then they did not speak.
Fili raised his hand to palm the side of Kili's face and kissed him gently on the forehead. With a soft sigh, Kili allowed himself to sink into the touch. Then, he remembered himself and cleared his throat.
"New ones today, brother," he reached to the nearby table and held up a pair of brass, circular clips. "Wolves," he smiled.
Fili took one clip in his hand and marveled at Kili's metal shaping skills. The same hands that forged razor sharp arrows had crafted a meticulous, tiny wolf head, its snout raised in a howl at an unseen moon.
"Arooo!" Fili tilted his head back slightly, lips pursed with the gesture of howling softly.
"They howl for pleasure, and in it—much like you," Kili blushed. "These are for your mustache."
Fili locked sapphire eyes with his brother's brown ones. "By all means, Kili… do me up." He bit at his lower lip and Kili surged forward and onto his lap, lips seeking his.
He buried his hands in his brother's unbound hair and slotted their mouths together in a breath-stealing, crotch-grinding kiss.
Kili started to slip off Fili's damp thighs and pulled away, breathing hard and scrabbling for purchase. "I-I," he breathed, righting himself on the bench. "Where was I, Fili?" he smiled.
"Braiding my mustache," Fili's voice was husky with lust. "But braiding can wait if we're only going to muss them again." He handed the wolf clip back to his brother.
Kili put the clips back on the table, and his smoldering gaze met Fili's. "Braiding can wait."