Meadow

...Would the real Fearghas be this obliging, this sweetly open and vulnerable and trusting?

-The concept hit Varanduil in the stomach and made him queasy with fear, because he had an awful feeling that he would be, and what was he doing here, doing nothing, accomplishing nothing, when Fearghas was unguarded and unsafe in the- no, no. He remembered Fearghas' tense, nervous, trustless stare when he'd first slinked out of the shadows in the Savanna, and breathed out a low, shuddering sigh. And even if Fearghas was too gentle; too caring and unprotected for his own good (and he was, he was), he had Ally, who was fiercely not. Ferociously able and ready, and Varanduil doubted she would ever trust easily again (his stomach flipped again, with a different sort of tension, but he swallowed this down too).

"What face d'ye want me to make then?" asked the doppelganger, and the accent was so perfect that it tripped and tingled up Varanduil's spine, but the tone was-... Slung low in his deep throat, vocal cords tense, as if Varanduil had him on a leash and was twisting it tight, tighter, and- the fine hairs of his body rippled up in a shuddering wave, and he viciously tore his thoughts elsewhere, focusing ferociously on the minutiae of the body beneath his head instead. -The too-vast, too-muscled body that was trembling under him, warm and damp and quivering with a hurried pulse, and hadn't he made Fearghas this big to be invulnerable..?

The sudden touch of hot, soft flesh along his back made him jump, so caught up in the ugly, squirming heap of thoughts he was trying to ignore. Only Fearghas- no, only a dream, he reminded himself, a little desperately, and he didn't know why this dream was being so gentle and warm and indulgent to him, but... He could let himself enjoy feeling wanted, just a little bit, couldn't he..? '-Not too much,' he thought, even as Fearghas' shiver-inducing explorative touches suddenly became fierce, unexpectedly rough (desperate, he very carefully didn't think), drawing his lean body against that warm, powerful, vulnerable shoulder so firmly that Varanduil would have stumbled, if they hadn't already been so near that he was breathing in the steam of Fearghas' quivering body. -Not too much, he told himself again, even as he shuddered and melted limply into the embrace, because he still had to wake up sometime, and waking from this Fearghas' naked gentleness and shivers and heartful, hallowed voice would already be ruinous enough.

And he did have to wake up sometime, for his beloved real brother- that familiar twisting blade of guilt rammed a little deeper under his sternum, just as this too-sweet, too-caring, too-wanting Fearghas whispered his nickname in a velvet husk, and he hiccuped a little sob that caught against the back of his teeth before he choked it back with a growl, fitting his teeth around a mouthful of the translucent white of Fearghas' muscled hip, squeezing gingerly to give his pathetic mouth something to do other than cry and beg.

"V, what have ye done?" that sweet, deep, singing voice whispered on, and he wanted to wail like a child. Oh, that was clever; that was so ruthlessly clever of him. His brother had been suspicious in dreams before; been accusatory before, but always so bluntly and openly. To melt down all his defenses first- oh it was cunning, too cunning for the real thing, only Varanduil would do something that underhanded to himself through the beloved mask of his tenderest weakness. "Come home with me." And oh, he hated himself so much he couldn't think straight.

"I miss you," and then, barely audible, more the movement of his soft, hot mouth against Varanduil's quivering flesh than sound, "I need ye." What a vertiginous sensation, and he was taken with a sudden, dizzying panic that he was about to wake up, and it was worse than he'd thought.

"I didn't-!" he whimpered, pressing himself desperately against what he knew was a fake, not sure what he was even trying to say, only knowing that he'd say and do anything if it meant this sweet dream didn't abandon him. "I promise, I promise, I didn't do anything- please!" He tried to strangle his shaking, shrill voice back into some semblance of sanity, pressing his face hard to the spot he'd bitten; a pleading apology far rougher than the bite had ever been. "I thought he'd come after me, I thought he'd be too angry to ignore it- I'm not lying, Fearghas, please- I'll go after him if you want, I'll make him focus on me, I promise," he begged in a quavering whisper, his ribs crushing so hard into the jutting bone and meat of Fearghas' shoulder that it ached.

Feverishly, urgently, he brushed his contorting mouth down Fearghas' spine again and again, as if fumbling to comfort a crying child, though it was him on the verge of a panicked fit, not this lovely shade of his brother. "I promise- I need you- I promise," he chanted under his breath like a clumsy prayer into the gentle, trembling pulse under his lips. "Whatever you want, Fearghas, I promise- don't go."