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The market is bustling and busy, as bright as the open sky and as full as that sky is clear. Kanafinwë weaves between the different stands, eyeing various charms for inspiration. He purchases little, for none sell jewelry as beautiful as what his brothers have made him, he already has more robes than he can count, and he’s already eaten. Sometimes the energy of the crowd is just a good thing to feel, especially with the beginnings of a new song on the tip of his tongue. Muses are everywhere.
One in particular stirs the most feeling in him, and when it becomes clear that that muse has no intention of approaching him, Kanafinwë turns down a side street. Disappearing through the towering white walls of buildings, Kanafinwë leaves the wave of sound. The cacophony of voices and footfalls fade into the background. Kanafinwë wanders aimlessly forward, then finally asks the open air, “Do you plan to show your face at all? I can feel you, you know, and I know that you are here.”
Sure enough, movement stirs in his peripherals, and Kanafinwë comes to a halt to find Eönwë perched casually atop a parked carriage. He looks to have come straight from the clouds, in crisp, cream robes and an array of glittering jewels. Even with his light frown, he’s overtly handsome, and Kanafinwë smiles at seeing him.
Eönwë merely asks, “Was I so obvious?”
“Yes,” Kanafinwë replies, then asks, “But what have I done today, I wonder, to attract the pleasure of your interest? I did not even bring my harp.” Of course, it’s been some time since Eönwë came to him only for song, but that’s how it first started.
Eönwë doesn’t answer, just slips gracefully from his seat to reach the pavement. He’s nearly as tall as Nelyafinwë is, and his countenance is just as strong. He strolls towards Kanafinwë at a casual gait, though his gentle lips are still set in a frown. When he’s close enough, he reaches one slender hand into Kanafinwë’s hair, and he brushes back through it, long fingers caught in black silk. They stop where a thick section is braided through with a lavender ribbon from Findekáno.
This is what Eönwë fixes on, and he plucks at the end to ask, “Why do you wear this?”
“Because it was a gift from my cousin,” Kanafinwë explains, “and it matches these robes nicely. Do you not think so?” Kanafinwë plucks at the collar of his robes as though to demonstrate, but all it does is reveal a portion of his throat. Eönwë’s eyes dart to the movement, and Kanafinwë doesn’t admit this is the real reason he looked forward to donning such accessories.
Eönwë finally lifts his gaze to Kanafinwë’s, and he looks, if possible, a little hurt. “I have given you such gifts,” and the mere words stir a plethora of delightful memories in Kanafinwë’s mind, “and you do not wear them out.”
Kanafinwë bypasses that point to chuckle, “Why ever are you so jealous?” He’d expected to evoke some comment or another, but not quite this. He finds it wholly amusing, given how unaware Eönwë seems to be of so many things, despite all his Maia wisdom.
Sure enough, he balks and answers swiftly, “I am not jealous.” Kanafinwë’s smile grows.
Kanafinwë lifts his own hand to thread into Eönwë’s white-blond hair, as long and straight as his but lighter, smoother. With a little sigh of contentment, Kanafinwë murmurs, “What you give me are not idle trinkets to be displayed for others. They are intimate, private treasures that hold such precious memories.” Eyes flicking up to Eönwë’s, Kanafinwë steps closer, letting their chests press flush together, and he purrs across Eönwë’s lips, “I prefer to wear them when I wear nothing else.”
A supple shiver runs down Eönwë’s body. Kanafinwë can feel it as much as see it. It gives him a flicker of sheer joy; it still amazes him that he was able to seduce someone so wondrous. When Eönwë adds nothing, Kanafinwë lifts over his shoulder to whisper into his ear, “If you are so affronted, my love, you may return home with me and bind my wrists with them. I will submit myself to whatever punishment you deem fit.”
Eönwë sucks in a long breath. Kanafinwë has often wondered if he even needs to breathe, but he seems to do so quicker in Kanafinwë’s presence. Then his arm loops suddenly around Kanafinwë’s wrist, pulling him impossible closer, and Kanafinwë finds his mouth pressed hard against Eönwë’s. He opens obligingly, reveling in the sensual slide of Eönwë’s tongue past his parting lips, while Eönwë’s fingers tangle in his hair. The kiss is passionate and more awe-inspiring than anything Kanafinwë could’ve found back down the main street. He lets Eönwë part them first—he himself could kiss Eönwë for hours on end.
But Eönwë seems to need to steady himself. He leans his forehead against Kanafinwë’s, still holding Kanafinwë close, and murmurs, “I... apologize. ...I do not always understand the feelings you stir in me, but I will try to learn and to... control them. This... ‘jealousy’... most of all.”
With a little laugh, Kanafinwë pecks his cheek and marvels, “You owe me no apologies. And you need feel no jealousy either, for I am yours, and you should know this.” He seals the promise with another kiss, just in case Eönwë should have any doubts. Eönwë leans into it, more reluctant to let go this time.
But Kanafinwë does force them to part, because now his mind’s gone other places. He returns to Eönwë’s ear to purr, “But now you really must follow me home; I think I would very much like to be adorned now only in your gifts.”
Something flashes in Eönwë’s eyes. Kanafinwë knows he doesn’t want to wait the entire walk home. And the next think Kanafinwë knows, they’re both swallowed up in the wind, and then they’re tumbling right onto Kanafinwë’s bed, and Kanafinwë’s laughing in delight as he pulls at Eönwë’s robes.