Post by Admin on Jan 1, 2021 16:36:29 GMT
Author: Zhie
Theme: Lesson
Summary: Fingon learns an important lesson about his companion's father.
Rating: PG for pantlessness (but not nudity)
Characters: Fingon, Maedhros (mention of Fëanor)
Warnings: light slash
The look on Maedhros’ face made it evident that he was greatly displeased. Fingon was more than aware of this, and continued to write in his journal, finishing three more sentences before he finally looked up. “You did it again,” were the only words Maedhros spoke.
Eight months ago, they had mutually decided that they could stand to share a little independence, and moved out of the homes of their families. This allowed them to pursue careers, hobbies, and relationships--or rather, just the relationship with each other. It seemed like a great idea when they talked about it for years on end, imagining all of the things they could do. There was talk of parties with cousins and friends, and going on adventures to Formenos or Valmar. Both had siblings in their childhoods, and being in an environment devoid of enforced bedtimes, family meals, and chores seemed ideal.
In reality, here they were, only a few hours after work for the day. The next day was for resting and idle pursuits, and so, they might have planned an outing, or had visitors over. Instead, Fingon was on the settee with a quilt draped over his legs and a fair to middling chance of being pantsless. Maedhros fared only slightly better--he had a pair of worn and torn leggings on that were the most comfortable and impossible to part with, but had long ago kicked off shoes and tossed his tunic in a heap of laundry that inhabited not one, not two, but three corners of the bedroom. As it turned out, adulting was hard. Fingon stretched one arm over his head and stifled a belch. “Did what?” asked Fingon, half for not knowing, and half for not wishing to take the chance he might admit guilt about something unrelated.
“You spoke to my father today,” Maedhros said. “You invited him to dinner.”
“I did no such thing,” defended Fingon. He closed the journal and set it aside. “I gave no indication of invitation.”
Maedhros crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you say to him?”
“He came to the chandlery, he inquired as to your wellbeing, he mentioned that we should have dinner sometime, and I agreed that we should. I never confirmed anything or offered a date. I was very vague.”
“He interpreted your words to mean tomorrow.”
“What? No!” Fingon flung the quilt from his legs, revealing, indeed, that his legs were bare. He stood up, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head. “I never suggested tomorrow. Never.”
“If you do not tell him no, he will think you meant yes,” Maedhros said sagely. “In fact, sometimes, he still takes no as yes. This is just like the time he asked what you thought of that forsaken painting of the owls that is disproportionate, and you said it was nice.”
“And it ended up on the wall in our home,” Fingon said sadly as he looked at the four beady-eyed birds on the wall that stared back at him, their heads attached to their bodies with crooked necks that just looked grotesquely wrong for four grey-green owls with talons as large as their heads.
“At least this will not have quite the lasting effect. He is coming tomorrow, and expect that he will also bring my mother and brothers and I need to figure out what we are making, and you need to start cleaning.”
Fingon groaned. “It hardly seems fair to punish me. I was only trying to be nice,” pointed out Fingon.
“I understand that, but Findekáno, dear, you are the reason there is a mess to be cleaned.”
Fingon could not argue there. It was wholly true; there was no one to blame but himself, from the random socks found on the floor to the towels draped over the banister, to the empty wine bottles on the chair. Sometimes, Maedhros would sweep through and pick up after his companion, but the festivals observed over the past week had provided a grueling number of orders at the butcher shop where Maedhros worked.
“I will try to help after I see what we might need to get from the market in the morning to make a decent meal,” offered Maedhros.
Fingon flashed him a smile and blew him a kiss. “I appreciate it. And I apologize,” he added, but Maedhros waved this off. “I suppose I should put some pants back on,” said Fingon as he glanced around.
“Actually,” said Maedhros with a smirk, “if you want to make it up to me, you should leave the pants off.”
Fingon grinned. “I mean, I suppose, if you think it would help me learn my lesson,” he joked.
“Not a chance,” laughed Maedhros. “I would be shocked if you did not say something at dinner to start this cycle again. However,” he added conspiratorially, “it certainly provides me an incentive to allow you to skip proficiency in this realm.”
Theme: Lesson
Summary: Fingon learns an important lesson about his companion's father.
Rating: PG for pantlessness (but not nudity)
Characters: Fingon, Maedhros (mention of Fëanor)
Warnings: light slash
The look on Maedhros’ face made it evident that he was greatly displeased. Fingon was more than aware of this, and continued to write in his journal, finishing three more sentences before he finally looked up. “You did it again,” were the only words Maedhros spoke.
Eight months ago, they had mutually decided that they could stand to share a little independence, and moved out of the homes of their families. This allowed them to pursue careers, hobbies, and relationships--or rather, just the relationship with each other. It seemed like a great idea when they talked about it for years on end, imagining all of the things they could do. There was talk of parties with cousins and friends, and going on adventures to Formenos or Valmar. Both had siblings in their childhoods, and being in an environment devoid of enforced bedtimes, family meals, and chores seemed ideal.
In reality, here they were, only a few hours after work for the day. The next day was for resting and idle pursuits, and so, they might have planned an outing, or had visitors over. Instead, Fingon was on the settee with a quilt draped over his legs and a fair to middling chance of being pantsless. Maedhros fared only slightly better--he had a pair of worn and torn leggings on that were the most comfortable and impossible to part with, but had long ago kicked off shoes and tossed his tunic in a heap of laundry that inhabited not one, not two, but three corners of the bedroom. As it turned out, adulting was hard. Fingon stretched one arm over his head and stifled a belch. “Did what?” asked Fingon, half for not knowing, and half for not wishing to take the chance he might admit guilt about something unrelated.
“You spoke to my father today,” Maedhros said. “You invited him to dinner.”
“I did no such thing,” defended Fingon. He closed the journal and set it aside. “I gave no indication of invitation.”
Maedhros crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you say to him?”
“He came to the chandlery, he inquired as to your wellbeing, he mentioned that we should have dinner sometime, and I agreed that we should. I never confirmed anything or offered a date. I was very vague.”
“He interpreted your words to mean tomorrow.”
“What? No!” Fingon flung the quilt from his legs, revealing, indeed, that his legs were bare. He stood up, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head. “I never suggested tomorrow. Never.”
“If you do not tell him no, he will think you meant yes,” Maedhros said sagely. “In fact, sometimes, he still takes no as yes. This is just like the time he asked what you thought of that forsaken painting of the owls that is disproportionate, and you said it was nice.”
“And it ended up on the wall in our home,” Fingon said sadly as he looked at the four beady-eyed birds on the wall that stared back at him, their heads attached to their bodies with crooked necks that just looked grotesquely wrong for four grey-green owls with talons as large as their heads.
“At least this will not have quite the lasting effect. He is coming tomorrow, and expect that he will also bring my mother and brothers and I need to figure out what we are making, and you need to start cleaning.”
Fingon groaned. “It hardly seems fair to punish me. I was only trying to be nice,” pointed out Fingon.
“I understand that, but Findekáno, dear, you are the reason there is a mess to be cleaned.”
Fingon could not argue there. It was wholly true; there was no one to blame but himself, from the random socks found on the floor to the towels draped over the banister, to the empty wine bottles on the chair. Sometimes, Maedhros would sweep through and pick up after his companion, but the festivals observed over the past week had provided a grueling number of orders at the butcher shop where Maedhros worked.
“I will try to help after I see what we might need to get from the market in the morning to make a decent meal,” offered Maedhros.
Fingon flashed him a smile and blew him a kiss. “I appreciate it. And I apologize,” he added, but Maedhros waved this off. “I suppose I should put some pants back on,” said Fingon as he glanced around.
“Actually,” said Maedhros with a smirk, “if you want to make it up to me, you should leave the pants off.”
Fingon grinned. “I mean, I suppose, if you think it would help me learn my lesson,” he joked.
“Not a chance,” laughed Maedhros. “I would be shocked if you did not say something at dinner to start this cycle again. However,” he added conspiratorially, “it certainly provides me an incentive to allow you to skip proficiency in this realm.”