Pairing: Maedhros/Fingon

Chapter word count: ~1,800 words

Some keywords: romance, implied sexual content, secret relationship, some humour, some fluff

A/N: This is a three-year-old fic I only now dare to post here on ffnet. I had the idea for this fic when I was myself making plans for anniversary celebrations with my then-boyfriend (now husband) though we are no Noldor princelings and thus celebrated our anniversary somewhat differently.

There is a second chapter that I will post in a few days' time.

Your colours, chapter I:

Tirion on a summer's day during Years of the Trees

The first kiss of the night is breathless for both Maitimo and Findekáno, if for different reasons. Findekáno is breathless after running across the garden and climbing up a tree and then jumping to Maitimo's window, and Maitimo is breathless just out of anticipation and worry.

'I'm always worried you're going to fall. I know you have been climbing trees all your life, but what if one day your jump is too short?' Maitimo whispers against Findekáno's lips, unwilling to let go of the kiss but also feeling a need to make his concerns known.

Findekáno entwines his hands in Maitimo's hair, long and red and left to flow freely down Maitimo's back just like Findekáno likes. 'Then my screaming while I fall will scare your baby brothers and the unholy racket they will undoubtedly make will allow me to make a swift and undignified exit from your parents' garden, picking out thorns from my backside.'

'I had the rosebush moved away from under my window, there are no thorns there now', Maitimo says distractedly as Findekáno's strong fingers massage his scalp to relax him.

'So you've even taken precautions! All is well.'

Findekáno pulls Maitimo in for another kiss but Maitimo opens his mouth to speak at that very moment, and the kiss turns to spluttering.

'What now?' Findekáno sighs, his patience fraying.

'What if you don't fall on your backside, what if you fall on your head–'

'My head has sustained worse than a fall into a soft flowerbed from the second floor. It can withstand a lot, you know that. Just like my backside.' Findekáno wiggles a brow, and Maitimo cannot help but blush and chortle at the terrible innuendo.

'Now, if we are done with your fussing, let's move on to more pleasant matters.' Findekáno bends down to pick up a parcel he dropped in his hurry to kiss Maitimo.

Maitimo wants to protest the word 'fussing' but before he can do so, Findekáno is passing the parcel to him.

'What's this?' Maitimo turns it in his hands. Whatever it is, it is light and soft, wrapped in linen and tied with a golden ribbon like the ones in Findekáno's hair.

'An anniversary gift.' Findekáno's smile is uncharacteristically diffident.

'Anniversary of what?' Maitimo asks, the dread of having forgotten something important creeping in.

'The day you finally let me kiss you.' Findekáno shrugs with a studied nonchalance that fools few, and never Maitimo.

'Oh', is all that Maitimo can think to say.

It had been a rainy day and the drops of water in Findekáno's hair had sprayed onto Maitimo's face when Findekáno whirled around and kissed Maitimo after Maitimo admitted in half-choked words that he wanted it as much as Findekáno did. Findekáno had already been turning away from him, about to give up on persuading his cousin that it was all right to act on the feelings they shared.

Now every time it rains, Maitimo remembers that first kiss, the smell of summer rain in the air and the coolness of Findekáno's skin that soon turned to searing heat as they kissed like their hearts would break if they stopped clinging to each other…

But Maitimo hadn't remembered that today is the anniversary of that day, and he feels terrible. 'I'm so sorry, Finno, I don't have anything for you.'

'It's all right, I know you've been absurdly busy lately', Findekáno says, and his smile convinces Maitimo that he means it. 'Your gift to me will be seeing you wearing my gift.'

Brows raised, Maitimo begins to unravel the gold ribbon. Wrapped in the linen is a garment of much finer fabric, finest silk that flows through Maitimo's fingers like water, cool and smooth.

It is a dressing robe, beautiful and luxurious, perfect for lazy summer days – not that Maitimo has much time to laze around – and it is a deep blue, like the sapphires Findekáno's father is fond of, with gold trimming at the sleeves and collar and a golden sash.

'It's in your colours.' Maitimo strokes the fine fabric. Blue for Nolofinwë, and gold for Findekáno himself; these are the colours Findekáno has chosen as his own.

Findekáno nods, his gaze intense. 'Put it on.'

A year has been just about enough to make Maitimo able to strip in front of his lover without getting self-conscious. The way Findekáno looks at him in those moments, or how eager he is to do it himself, makes Maitimo feel more worthy of his mother-name than any amount of praise from others ever could.

This time Findekáno doesn't rush to tear off Maitimo's clothes; he closes the heavy curtains and then leans against a wall and watches, the warm flickering light of candles reflected in his eyes.

It feels like such a waste to put on clothes when he looks at me like that, Maitimo reflects, but Findekáno asked, so he pulls on the new robe as soon as he has shed his old clothes.

Maitimo glances at the mirror on the far wall. He is not used to seeing himself in this shade of blue, and the contrast between the deep colour and his pale, freckled skin and reddish hair is startling. He ties the sash and considers going to take a closer look at his reflection. But this moment is for Findekáno, not for himself, so he clears his throat and asks, 'Does it look like you thought it would?'

'It looks even better than I imagined.' Finally Findekáno comes to Maitimo and touches him, glides his fingertips across silk-covered chest. Maitimo shivers when his lover presses his hand over Maitimo's heart; surely Findekáno can feel how it races, and the hardening of a nipple when fingers pass over it caressingly.

'You are very beautiful', Findekáno tells Maitimo.

'Thank you', says Maitimo who has learned that this is the right way to answer; objecting or demurring will only make Findekáno unhappy. 'So is the robe. Thank you for that too, Finno.'

'I'm really glad you like it', Findekáno murmurs and slides his hands down Maitimo's arms now, feeling muscles shift beneath the silk as Maitimo fights to stay still in his excitement.

'It is very short, though', Maitimo observes to distract himself from how marvellous Findekáno's touch feels even through the fabric. He looks down at his knees that the robe leaves bare. 'Shouldn't you have learnt by now how tall I am?'

'Oh, believe me, after a year of standing on my toes to kiss you, I know exactly how tall you are, and I also know how much I like looking at your well-shaped legs.'

Maitimo's lips barely have time to curve into a smile before Findekáno rises up on his toes once again. Maitimo gives up on the smile and gives all of himself to Findekáno instead, stepping closer so their bodies are flush against each other, and he bends his head so Findekáno doesn't have to stretch so much, and twines his arms around Findekáno's waist. Findekáno holds him just as tight, his hands again gently twisting in auburn hair, his lips firm and warm and wonderful on Maitimo's.

Their relationship is forbidden and secret, still fairly new too, and sometimes Maitimo fears that it is fragile, but Findekáno himself is solid and strong, and steady and safe, and Maitimo never doubts a thing when Findekáno holds him.

'I love wearing your colours', he breathes when they finally break the kiss. 'I hate knowing that I will have to keep this beautiful robe hidden most of the time.'

'I know, darling. I hate it too.' Findekáno plays with Maitimo's hair, drawing long locks to flow down the front of the blue robe, enjoying the contrast in colours, and guiding Maitimo towards the bed with gentle nudges at the same time. 'But I think you don't always mind secrecy so much. I'm fairly confident that on a few occasions you have burnt all the hotter for knowing that we might be discovered in a compromising position.'

Aware that Findekáno is trying to raise his spirits, Maitimo makes a show of protesting. 'That is an outrageous accusation, Finno. I really can't remember any such occasions.'

'There was that dinner party in uncle Arafinwë's house where we told everyone that we would go to a tavern together afterwards while our families went home, and instead we snuck into a guest bedroom and the lock wouldn't work but you still let me have you on top of that counterpane aunt Eärwen was so proud of embroidering–'

'I didn't want to be discovered; I stuck a chair under the door handle!'

'You didn't choose a very sturdy chair.' Findekáno grins and slides his hands up Maitimo's thighs and under the hem of the robe, a movement made easy by the robe being indecently short. Maitimo's breath catches, and Findekáno drawls, 'Come now, Russandol dear, admit that you burnt hot for me that night.'

'Oh, Valar', replies Maitimo at first to what Findekáno's hands are doing, and then to his words, 'I always burn for you.'

'Unyielding tonight, are you, unwilling to admit I'm right? I will persuade you to see things my way.' Findekáno draws his hands up and pushes Maitimo on to the bed.

Maitimo falls back happily and settles on the pleasantly cool sheets. Feeling wanton, he spreads his legs and beckons Findekáno to join him. 'Come here so I can take your clothes off.'

'Quicker if I do it myself', says Findekáno and proceeds to do so while Maitimo laughs, delighting in the mingling of happiness and desire that fills him.

When Findekáno joins him on the bed, kneels between his legs and begins to undo the golden sash of the blue robe, Maitimo draws his hands away.

'I want to have your gift, your colours, on me when you take me', he tells Findekáno and watches his beloved's eyes darken.

'That is more than I dared to hope, and exactly what I meant when I said seeing you wearing this would be your gift to me', Findekáno says hoarsely.

Maitimo takes his hand and pulls him closer, always closer, as close as they can be.

Later, when they are curled up together and the robe is draped over them both like an decadent, impractical blanket, Maitimo whispers, 'I still feel a little bad I didn't get you anything.'

'You do that another time, my love', Findekáno murmurs sleepily and settles his head more comfortably in the crook between Maitimo's neck and shoulder. 'Now I need to sleep off winning this anniversary.'