#navëmóre

[edensrose]

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ day three : shame ( navëquen )

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖   navëquen ⠀〳 vanimóre⠀  ❜࿔ 

· ⊰ synopsis. he hates whenever his mind wanders back to angband, but it is the only way he gets to remember vanimóre as of late ( minors dni ៸៸ suggestive descriptions ៸៸ slight dark themes ៸៸ angst ៸៸ scar mention ៸៸ suggested masturbation )

· ⊰ notes. a quick reminder that navëquen belongs to my beloved friend @cilil ! please give him some love, he and vanimóre are my comfort ship <3

He can still feel the chains. 

Still feel the cold. 

Still feel the heat of those stunning crimson eyes staring him down.

With a hushed breath, Navëquen flutters open his grey gaze. To his dismay, it is not the beautiful crimson staring back at him but instead the ceiling of his chambers. His quiet, barren chambers. 

Alone. As always. 

A sigh parts his lips and the Maiar rises from his lying position with great effort. The empty air serves to chill his pale skin and he brings the sheets around him. Yet whether this was to warm up or hide his own flesh from his keen eyes was up for debate. 

Flashes of his dream pour into his mind. Navëquen pulls his lower lip between his teeth and attempts to banish these thoughts of longing. Of desire for the one he knows feels none of those for him. 

'I wonder what he might be thinking right now.'

His own conscience taunts him and he shuts his eyes. He indulges memories for the time being. The chill of chains encircles his wrists once more and the warmth of dark lips caressing his neck sends shivers down his spine. A mirage of rough hands slip down his sides, trace his thighs and before he knows it, Navëquen’s own thumb traces his inner thigh. 

He bites down hard on his lower lip and a bitter feeling nips at his fëa. His lean fingers slowly stroke at the scars of his still healing fána. 

And for a moment,

Just a moment,

He could still feel his touch. Cold and unforgiving, yet to Navëquen, it must have been the most loving and tender gesture he had ever experienced. Even if his counterpart stared at him with such hate and spat venom that brined his heart in agony and burned his ears. 

“Vanimóre. . .’’ he breathes, and the shame nearly eats him up from the inside out. How could it feel so wrong to say his other half’s name? A taint on his tongue. A scandal to his standing. And yet. . . He cannot stop himself from slipping his hand higher. 

His dark hair flushes against the pillows as his head hangs back. A heated gasp leaves his lips as images of his beloved cloud his vision. He needs this. He needs relief. He needs to feel loved again. 

Navëquen shuts his eyes, hoping that it would ease the guilt gnawing at him as his hand sets to work. To feel such immense humiliation over touching himself to the man who has hurt him — and yet is still the one he will always run back to. . . it is almost too much to bear. 

So he allows himself to slip into the bliss. Even if it is for but a moment. As the image of crimson hues overtakes him.

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[cilil]

Author's Note: Thanks @edensrose for requesting this one!♡

This is the last entry for the spicy bingo that I still had to write. Apologies for the delay, other events and health issues kept interfering with my schedule.

ೃ♡⁀➷ Spicy Bingo: Frottage + Navëmóre ৎ୭

He can't remember the last time he was this excited, if ever before. Yet how is he supposed to stay focused on his work when he finds beautiful, gorgeous Vanimóre bathing in the lotus pools of Mandos, showing off his naked fána so shamelessly, knowing full well he can't tear his gaze away from him?

ৎ୭ Synopsis: Looking for his colleague doesn't go as Navëquen expected

ৎ୭ Featuring: Frottage (shocking I know), handjob, more or less clothed

ৎ୭ Oneshot (~ 900 words)

OC info: Navëquen Vanimóre

Their lips meet in a heated kiss, devouring each other until fangs pierce skin and they withdraw slightly to catch their breath. Navëquen barely has time to gasp before Vanimóre leans in again and licks the tiny wound before his tongue pushes itself between parted lips to explore his mouth. 

He can't remember the last time he was this excited, if ever before. Yet how is he supposed to stay focused on his work when he finds beautiful, gorgeous Vanimóre bathing in the lotus pools of Mandos, showing off his naked fána so shamelessly, knowing full well he can't tear his gaze away from him? When he is now kissing him so shamelessly and fervently, his fána barely covered by thin silken robes? 

Navëquen moans against his lips, causing Vanimóre to withdraw once more and let out a light chuckle.

"Well, creeps? Is this what you wanted?" he taunts, an impish expression on his face, fangs on display. 

Smug as always, Navëquen thinks, but there's no anger or malice behind it. His desire for the beautiful Maia in front of him eclipses everything else he may have felt in this moment, and he feels his fána reacting as well; yet even so, he hesitates, unsure if any further advances on his part are welcome. 

Vanimóre senses his indecisiveness. "Or would you perhaps like to play some more?" he asks suggestively.

His eyes are half-lidded and his breathing is heavy. Before Navëquen can wonder whether he should interpret this as an invitation to continue, he feels Vanimóre's hand on his thigh, slowly trailing upwards until his fingers brush against his growing erection, stroking him through the fabric of his breeches. 

"Ahn–! Vani–" 

He can't help it anymore, can't resist when the Maia he has loved in secret for ages tempts him so brazenly. Letting his instincts take over, Navëquen flips him around and pushes him against the nearest wall. Vanimóre manages to brace himself against it with both hands, only to be caught off-guard by two arms around his waist and a hand slipping underneath his robes to wrap around his cock. 

Navëquen is pleased to discover that his arrogant colleague seems to have enjoyed their kisses as well and starts pleasuring him without further delay. Vanimóre's previous question still remains unanswered, yet he feels like words are no longer needed–their fánar have long since betrayed them, displaying their lust for one another. 

Without thinking, he starts rutting against his counterpart in an attempt to relieve his own need. It feels so good, holding Vanimóre in his arms, touching him, inhaling his scent, hearing the song of his fëa–even better than in his dreams or anything he could have imagined. As much as Navëquen wishes there was no fabric separating their fánar, it creates a pleasant kind of friction that he hopes will be enough to satisfy him; whether he'll be taken care of in return, he is too shy to ask. 

"Getting–mmh–desperate, creeps?" Vanimóre taunts him again, though it's evident that he's suppressing a moan as he speaks. 

Navëquen slows down his movements on purpose, brushing against the tip of his cock with his thumb. 

"Don't bite the hand that feeds you, doll," he admonishes, "or touches you, in this case."

Despite his uncertainty in matters of intimacy, he won't let Vanimóre get away with such antics. He rolls his hips forward to  let him feel his hardness and increase friction, allowing soft groans to escape his lips. 

"Please..." Vanimóre breathes. His ear twitches and a shudder of pleasure goes through him; he seems to be giving in. 

"Please what, doll?" 

"Don't... tease me–ngh–touch me... please..." 

"Fine then." 

Navëquen smiles and gently bites his ear, eliciting another beautiful, desperate moan. Never did he think he would have Vanimóre begging for his touch, and he begins to realise just how much he loves this, enjoys taking control and asserting dominance over this smug Maia. 

He resumes his task, stroking Vanimóre with renewed vigour and persistence while he continues to rut against him. Everything else is forgotten, gone from his mind, and all that remains are soft sounds of pleasure, his fingers wrapped around a hot, hard cock and the ever increasing heat in his own lower body. 

It doesn't take long until Navëquen feels warm liquid spilling all over his hand and Vanimóre's fána tensing and quivering from his climax. He tries to hold back, to avoid embarrassing himself any further than he already has by grinding on his colleague like a beast in heat, but it's too late; watching and listening to Vanimóre finding his release in his arms, from his touch no less, has pushed him over the edge, and he soon feels a wet, sticky sensation between his legs. 

"Well?" 

Vanimóre recovers quickly and turns around, giving him an expectant look.

Navëquen isn't sure what he wants. Has he noticed that he came as well? Is he about to point it out and comment on the state of his robes? Is there anything he's expected to do that he isn't aware of? 

"I... have to get back to work," he says quietly, cheeks flushing bright red. Certainly not the most eloquent thing he could have come up with, but the first thing that came to mind. 

Vanimóre opens his mouth as if to protest, but Navëquen quickly disappears in a flash of green, teleporting back to his room with no intention of coming out any time soon. 

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @edensrose @i-did-not-mean-to

spicy bingo master post | my masterlist | tag list form

[angbandsgeneral]

( bartender!au ft. @cilil 's oc)

Vanimóre: piña colada please

Navëquen: alright

Vanimóre: can you make it virgin?

Navëquen: ( trying not to tear up ) yes I know how to make it

[ofainur]

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ pre corrupt!vanimóre ⠀〳 navëquen⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. eager to see his counterpart for being tardy — the last thing vanimóre expected was to be standing there, caressing his hair

· ⊰ note. I'm so obsessed with these two please. if you want to know more about navëquen, check out this post. he is my darling friend @cilil 's oc, the maia and attendant of námo ~ I love him so much<3 I thought I'd give these two some fluff since their story absolutely breaks me

♡. — 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅

‘Where could that pesky creeps be?’ 

Raking a hand through dark hair, Vanimóre groans from the strain in his legs and arms — still heavy with the weight of lingering sleepiness. He has always been the ‘slacker’ of the two, as Navëquen put it. In Vanimóre’s humble opinion, his counterpart was a workaholic and thus made him look bad in comparison. He took breaks when needed and indulged in slumber; many would assume he was the Maia of Irmo rather than older Fëantur. 

That aside, Vanimóre now scoured for his other half with pursed lips and a small irritation in his crimson eyes. Navëquen was typically the first one sitting in their shared office. However, upon entering the other found him nowhere to be seen. Granted, it was rather early but was the creep not uselessly good at his job? One would expect him to be there in that blasted, favourite chair of his at the onset of a new day. 

‘Maybe he is still sleeping?’ The thought crosses his mind as he approaches a particular cobblestone corridor. A tickle pricks at his fëa. A brief tug. A melody seeping into his own. Vanimóre thus glances in the direction of this allure and realises the aforementioned Maia’s room is right down the corridor. He must still be there — their bond tells him so. 

“Hypocrite. You’re still in your fifth dream I bet.’’ Clicking his tongue he steers his steps down the hallway and makes a beeline for the room. To think, the one time he shows up early the criticising voice that always buzzes in his ear is in fact late. Oh, Vanimóre simply could not let him live this down. He’d do anything to drive both his colleague and closest friend up the wall. Even if it resulted in the other giving him the silent treatment for a few good hours. It mattered not to Vanimóre, he knew that Navëquen couldn’t resist him for long. 

“Creeps!”

His voice echoes the hallway as long-nailed fingers wrap around the doorknob and fling it open carelessly. Hoping to startle the Maia awake and witness his spout of dishevelled panic. Eager to tease the poor thing on being ‘tardy’ when in reality neither of them was to start shift yet. 

Yet that was not the sight that awaited Vanimóre’s eyes. At the far end of the room stood a man. Tall and of fair face. In front of a silver, full-length mirror with a brush in hand and viridian ribbons wrapped around his wrist. It took a second for Vanimóre to recognise this man as Navëquen. Which many would deem strange at first — but the reasoning behind it was far too valid. For not only did Vanimóre behold his closest friend in a dishevelled state, but with his hair, which was typically fastened in a tight braid without a strand out of place, now framing his stunning — ahem. . . pale face. 

Ebony tresses lay loose and extend down to his waist. Messy, yet perfect in every way. It was certainly a rarity to see Navëquen’s hair open, let alone a little all-over-the-place. But coupled with those deep grey eyes and his porcelain-like face staring back at him, Vanimóre could only find one word to describe him in this moment. 

‘Gorgeous.’ 

“Vanimóre — How many times have I told you to knock?”

The spluttering tugs him from his brief haze and only then does Vanimóre take notice of the flustered, almost panicked expression spread across Navëquen’s face. His cheeks give away his embarrassment with a soft pink tint and Vanimóre cannot help but think it adorable. 

“Ah, when do I ever listen to you?” He coughs, hoping that his own cheeks did not mirror the blush of the other. Nevertheless, he attempts to brush it off with his typical, sharp-toothed grin. Yet it trembles, and barely reaches the likes of a smile as he takes a small step forward. “I was wondering where you were. I arrived early only to see that you’re slacking off.’’ He chuckles at the click of tongue he receives in response and watches as Navëquen shuffles back to the mirror. Ignoring — or at least trying to ignore — his presence. 

An awkward silence sets upon them like a heavy sheet. Neither Maiar utter a word despite stealing each other small glances through the mirror; if only to avert their eyes swiftly once caught. Vanimóre fumbles a little, taking a gander at the door and wondering whether he should head back to their office. Instead, his own words betray him as he takes another step towards the chest of drawers displaying the mirror. 

“Would you like some help?”

The question stiffened Navëquen’s brushing movements and struck a lump in Vanimóre's throat. Grey meets crimson through the reflective glass and for a few, silent seconds, they aimlessly stare at one another. Pink faces and surprised expressions galore. 

“. . . Or I could just —”

“Yes.’’ 

Vanimóre swallows the lump in his throat at the acceptance of his offer. His fána moves on its own accord and he soon finds himself directly behind Navëquen who continues to eye him through the mirror. “Alright then,’’ Vanimóre mutters, motioning to the seat in front of the vanity, waiting for Navequen to adhere to his instruction before he takes a hold of the dark locks. 

So soft, he almost mutters, but manages to bite his tongue at the last second. For awhile he gently rakes his fingers through the silky strands — if only to be handed the brush. 

“Ah,’’ he blushes. “Sorry. Forgot about that.’’ Chuckling to quell his own fluster, Vanimóre sets to work on brushing through long hair. Admiring each and every inch of it. So soft, silk-like. . . stunning. It felt as though he was holding his breath for the entire styling process and had to practically scold himself to set the brush down and actually fasten the hair into its signature braid. 

Much to the surprise of the common eye, Vanimóre was expertly skilled in the art of hair-styling. He recalls the number of times his little sister would run to him with pink ribbons and dazzling eyes. Tugging at his sleeves and begging him to try a new style she had learnt of. All those times of endless brushing and ribbon fastening paid off. Vanimóre recounts that she too preferred her hair in a braid, so it was something he could do blindfolded and with one hand tied behind his back. 

From the corner of his vision he sights the faint specks of pink on porcelain skin. A quick stolen glance would confirm that Navëquen was indeed still blushing. 

‘How cute.’ He smiles to himself. If not only to immediately mentally reprimand himself. ‘Damnit, Vanimóre. Would you give it a break? His heart’s not yours.’ 

The smile on his lips falters at the reminder — only emphasised when he takes the viridian ribbons from around Navëquen’s wrist and works on fastening them into the braid. The soft silk of the ribbons felt like a burn on his fingertips. For he knew what this specific colour choice represented. Their lord’s preferred colour.  A certain swell spreads throughout his chest, and Vanimóre is unable to stop his sigh which escapes into the air. 

“What’s the matter?” Navëquen’s quick question prompts him to curse at himself as he finishes the braid off with a neat, viridian bow at the end. “It’s nothing.’’ Vanimóre quips and brings his gaze back to the mirror where pools of grey await him. The arch of a brow and the shine of disbelief tells him that Navëquen was not so easily fooled. He should be aware of that. Navëquen knew him well.

Navëquen knew him most. 

“It’s just. . .’’ releasing the braid, Vanimóre cannot escape the awaiting eyes of his counterpart. With another sigh, he shakes his head. “I was just thinking that you actually look quite. . . pretty,’’ a brief pause. “With your hair down.’’ 

‘Why do I feel like this? It's just a braid.’

Red not only shined itself on Navëquen’s face but on Vanimóre’s as well, and the latter immediately backs off and starts making his way towards the door with a few coughs. “Anyway, I’ll see you back at the office. Lord Namo’s probably already looking for us.’’ Escaping not only his own embarrassment, but his true feelings once more — Vanimóre scampers out of the room without another word, leaving Navëquen all by his lonesome. 

Cheeks still burning with blushes, Navëquen timidly glances back at the mirror. His hair was back to its average stature — yet something felt different. The warm, fluttering feeling within him told him so.

Subconsciously, he shifts the braid over his shoulder and glances at the Maia’s handiwork. Not too bad, he thinks before bringing his gaze to the mirror once more.

Was that a smile?

He blinks. 

Indeed it was. One that only grows with fondness as he relives the recent encounter. . . Who knows when he’ll bring himself to unfasten his hair again. 

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[cilil]

Character Profile - Navëquen (OC)

Navëquen likes to braid his hair and does so pretty much every day. For the most part, he opts for two smaller braids in the front and a bigger one containing the rest of his hair.

He prides himself on being reliable and accurate in terms of his work, as well as being exceptionally observant even for an Ainu.

Probably Vanimóre finding his drawings of him, especially those with little hearts drawn in the corners. He hasn't let Navëquen live it down either.

Vanimóre (OC) - a puppy crush that later evolved into something more.

Among the things Navëquen is most proud of would be the massive files he compiled for Melkor's trial (it took him... a while).

Cherries🍒

A butterfly necklace gifted to him by Vanimóre as well as a raven pendant and his sword, both of which he received from Námo.

Most likely Námo, since he's his Vala and Navëquen still sees him as a mentor figure and source of wisdom.

Mostly crows, but also ravens and magpies.

Navëquen himself would say he's a realist, though others might say he's a bit of a pessimist, since he can be rather cynical in certain situations (due to his eye seeing past misdeeds in particular).

Happy Weekend, Fellowship! 💖

Fic writing should be fun, so we’re here to share some games to help keep that fun going for both authors and readers! Try to only spend ten minutes max on these games. If you get carried away, that’s awesome! But it is okay to give us unfinished pieces.

Character Profile…

Give the following information for your character(s) - canons, OCs, whatever charcter inspires you most!

How do they like to style their hair?

What features do they like most about themselves?

What is the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to them?

Who was their first love?

What do they consider their greatest achievement? 

What is their favorite fruit?

What is their most treasured possession?

Who would they turn to for help?

What do they consider their spirit animal?

Do they consider themselves an optimist, pessimist, or realistic? And is that a true depiction?

Bonus: Make it an ask game where your followers send you a character from one of your fics!

[cilil]

𝓐𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 - 𝟐𝟎 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

⊱ Ósanwe

Characters: Navëquen/Vanimóre Synopsis: Two Maiar of Mandos conversing and teasing each other during their working hours. Warnings: /

"So what do you think? Guilty or not?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Vanimóre rolls his eyes when he hears Navëquen's voice in his mind, laced with a hint of smugness – nigh undetectable within his usual calm, even tone, yet he knows him too well not to notice.

He glances at his fellow prosecutor and notices the corners of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly and an almost mischievous glint in his right eye; his left however, the one that sees the past, remains dull and black, still observing a couple of fëar in the distance. 

Cute, Vanimóre thinks to himself. Part of him wants to snatch one of Navëquen's intricate braids and pull on it to teach the smug bastard a lesson, but alas – he finds himself surprisingly enamoured with those little smiles of his at times. 

"What?"

The other Maia's voice interrupts his train of thought. Vanimóre freezes, realising that he may have still been listening through their connection. 

"Hm?" 

His fëa shrouds itself in feigned innocence. 

"What is cute? Certainly not a bunch of kinslayers?"

He bites his lip in embarrassment, but thanks to his quick wit he swiftly picks up on the latter half of his statement and seizes the opportunity to turn the conversation around. 

"So that's what you weren't telling me. They are guilty indeed, and you know exactly why." 

Navëquen lets out a small snort. "It weighs so heavily on them, I can practically sense their regret with both eyes closed. Whether this shall be counted in their favour or not, Lord Námo may decide."

He clasps his hands behind his back, chin raised in defiance, and it's Vanimóre's turn to smirk. Oh, he knows all too well that the poor thing is now mentally berating himself for giving up his insight too easily. The two of them have a way of messing with one another that's quite simply unparalleled; a welcome distraction from their often monotonous and gloomy tasks. 

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

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[cilil]

Navëquen

“ You may lie about the past, yet the truth always remains like a shadow upon your fëa ”

Some of you may have already read about Navëquen, a Maia of Námo tasked with upholding law, order and justice, on @edensrose's wonderful Ainur blogs.

After many of you gave positive feedback in regards to OC content on my blog, I decided to compose an info doc to formally introduce Navëquen to you. I hope you'll enjoy learning more about him!

◇ info doc

◇ Navë art by @ela-draws

◇ twin fates, a lovely fic written by @edensrose, featuring Navëquen and his counterpart Vanimóre

◇ a fun little interaction between the two on Vanimóre's blog

◇ a wip of a lovely artwork featuring them by @edensrose

◇ masterlist

[cilil]

Vanimóre: Look I practiced my shapeshifting. I can do snakes now Navëquen: Let me see Vanimóre: (shapeshifts) Navëquen: (boops his nose) Heehee you have a face like a puppy Vanimóre: >:3

[angbandsgeneral]

Luthien: ( commencing the lament )

Námo: ( on the verge of tears)

.

.

.

Prosecutor's Office: ( VERY weird thumping and vocal noises )

Luthien:

Námo:

Námo: ( actually starts crying ) iluvatar almighty not this again

Maia: my lord, navëquen and vanimóre are at it again

Luthien: does. . . does this happen often?

Námo: ( whispering ) they're soulmates too

Luthien: well fuck

Maia: well at least someone's still singing

[cilil]

Vanimóre: Behold my snake form! One of Arda's greatest predators, dangerous and magnificent, with fangs like daggers and venom that paralyzes even the fánar of Maiar-

Navëquen: Angry noodle goes boop :] (boops the snoot)

[edensrose]

Navëmóre right here 🤣

Oh no, you must've misheard me. I never said morally GRAY, I said morally GAY. As in he takes a certain homosexual approach to dealing with ethical dilemmas. Also he's killed 200 people

[angbandsgeneral]

LET HIM BE A GAY LITTLE MAN AND KISS THE OTHER HOT MANDOS GAY

; DKXKXKX petition to let vani kiss the other hot mandos gay @cilil

[cilil]

Vanimóre: ah, it's my favorite creeps~

Navëquen: why, hello, my beautiful colleague~

Vanimóre: ...what

Navëquen: ...what

Vanimóre: ...did you just-

Navëquen: no.

find out more about Navëquen here

Vanimóre is @edensrose's OC, find out more about him here

[cilil]

Vanimóre: I can braid hair blindfolded and with one hair tied behind my back

Navëquen: ... we can arrange that, you know...

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

just a small shitpost to celebrate @edensrose's wonderful fic in which Vanimóre braids Navëquen's hair <3

[ofainur]

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ vanimóre ⠀〳 navëquen⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. an au in which vanimóre is eventually redeemed from his corruption, leaving him and his boyfriend navëquen to have lots of fun together. well, until vanimóre tries to gift him flowers and doesn't exactly do a background check on their pollen ( minors dni ៸៸ smut ៸៸ explicit descriptions ៸៸ penetrative sex ៸៸ creampie ៸៸ handjob ៸៸ sex pollen )

· ⊰ note. once again at it with @cilil 's oc because I love the mandos gays. and this time, with spice ~

— 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 !

"Fuck. . ."

"What? Can't take it?" He breathes out heat. "Pathetic."

A startled cry leaves him at the abrupt slam against such a sensitive bundle of nerves. His head hangs, dark hair sticking to the pillow as his nails dig deeper into the back of the other's neck. "V-Van. . ."

"Says the o-one. . . Sobbing on my cock. . . Ahn," grabbing onto his boyfriend's soft thigh with his large hand, Vanimóre's free arm loops around his middle and hoists him up against his heated form. He wasted no more time and immediately begins slapping his hips against Navëquen's, gasping at the intoxicating feel of being inside of him.

Helplessly, Navëquen keeps his arms hooked around the Maia's neck and whimpers at the harsh pace. Every thrust of his lover's cock tore through him, urging him to arch his back and cry out at the unquenchable heat.

"V-Van. . . Van," he whimpers, parting his swollen lips that barely brush against his lover's.

"I know, sweet thing." The other rasps, pressing butterfly kisses to his open mouth as he steers his thrusts faster. Harder. Prompting the headboard to repeatedly hit their bedroom wall. The cacophony of sounds left little to the imagination. Wet noises, gasps, moans, even cries. It was obvious what both Maiar were up to.

"How many times do I tell you. . .mmn, to listen to me?" Navëquen manages through bated breaths and a pink face. "I-If it wasn't for you and your stupid flowers, we wouldn't. . . hah — b-be here. . ."

"This is why you. . . can't have nice things." Vanimóre clicks his tongue, forcing his lover's hips into the sheets and fucking him into the very mattress. The pace draws mewl from Navëquen as his little hole clenches around the other's cock altogether.

"N-Nghh fuck," whimpers Vanimóre, his body giving out and collapsing into the Maia's. With spluttered, pathetic moans, he rapidly picks up his pace. Grabbing onto his boyfriend's cock and stroking, just as Navëquen buried his face into Vanimóre's chest and wraps his lips around his pierced nipple.

"Fuck, N-Navëquen," Vanimóre gasps again, his head tossing back. He cares not for the creaking of the wood. Only his lover's touch. His clenching hole that has him seeing stars. And his beautiful, sinful noises that are prettier than any symphony an ainu could muster.

"Close. . ." Navëquen whines, thrashing in the other's hold. His hips bucking against not only his cock, but up into the hand that strokes him relentlessly. He parts for a second, swirling his tongue around Vanimóre's perked nipple and groaning all the whole. "I'm so close. . . D-Don't stop. . ."

Vanimóre positions himself so that his face is a mere inch from the Maia's. Both gasping, as though searching for air in each other. "I kn-know, darling," he grunts, pressing messy kisses to his kisses to his mouth once more. "M-Me too. . . Damnit, you're so perfect." His indulgent, loud moan fills the air and he couldn't give a damn of how pitiful he looks. He collapses into his lover, pressing their lips together.

Their tongues wrestle, hands claw, as though they attempted to steal the very air from one another as they both approached the devastating high that left both of their knees shaking.

"V-Vani. . .móre, I c-can't," Navëquen cries against his lips, tightening his hold on the dark hair between his fingers. "Cum for me. . ." Is all the other can gasp. His thrusts become near-torturous, even for him.

With one last cry of each other's name, the two spasm. Navëquen staining Vanimóre's hand white and yanking him down into a messy kiss as Vanimóre lets out a deep, pathetic whimper against his lips. Shivering as his seed paints his lover's walls and squirts out of his trembling hole.

The two are reduced to quivering, pitiful messes. Clawing and whining into each other as they ride out their high out. Until the ecstasy crashes and they melt into each other's arms with ragged pants and teary eyes.

"Damnit. . ." Groans Navëquen, his forearm pressed onto his forehead. "I-It's still so hot. . ."

"I know," Vanimóre breathes, his eyes fluttering as he tightens his hold once more on the Maia's thighs. Only to have Navëquen's hand wrapped around his wrist. He gives a questioning look, only for his back to meet the soft sheets.

He almost whines when Navëquen removes himself off of his cock, his eyes just as needy. "Creeps, what are you —"

"It's my turn, doll." Navëquen replies. The sternness in his voice wavering with his own need and tears as he brings his wet cock against his lover's awaiting hole.

Sucking in a breath, Vanimóre gives no complaint. This time, his arms hook around Navëquen's neck — and the other grabs his thighs. With that, their lips crash again in a needy frenzy, eager to quell the insufferable heat.

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[cilil]

Vanimóre: Why are you calling my little sister "Lilómelda" while all I get is "snake" or "slut"?! Navëquen: ...am I wrong though

@edensrose