Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You are drunk,” Elrond remarked. He’d been on a walk and thought to stop by to see if the smith was home. The last descendant of Fëanor had shouted at him to enter, and Elrond had foolishly hurried to open the door, not expecting the scene that was waiting for him. 

“I am!” Celebrimbor waved his glass. “You noticed. Good for you!” 

The healer sighed and stepped into the smith’s home, carefully shutting the door behind him. “Why are you-“ Before he could finish the question, his answer came in the form of a thick smell. “Heat.” 

Celebrimbor grunted and took another swig of his alcohol. 

“Shall I fetch-“ 

“I don’t want an Alpha.” Celebrimbor pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. “I need my forge-“ 

“No!” Elrond hurried after him, grabbing his arm. “It would be too dangerous-“ 

“Done it before,” grunted Celebrimbor, pushing Elrond away. 

“I forbid it,” said Elrond. 

Celebrimbor snickered and grabbed the door, pulling it partway open. Elrond slammed it shut. 

He squared his shoulders and met Celebrimbor’s irritated face. “As the king’s healer, I forbid it.” 

Celebrimbor reeled in shock. Elrond rarely flaunted his rank, and never raised his voice if he could avoid it. 

As the smith was stuttering, Elrond grabbed him and pulled him back to his chair, pushing him down and pouring him more wine. After a moment’s consideration, he poured another glass for himself. 

With a sigh, Celebrimbor accepted the drink, kicking off his boots and leaning back in his chair. “If you leave, I’m going to my forge.” 

“I suppose I am staying then,” said Elrond, leaning against the wall and making himself comfortable. “Unless you would prefer an Alpha.” 

Celebrimbor shrugged and drank the wine down in one gulp, then reached for the bottle to refill.

Elrond took a sip of his own glass and watched him worriedly. 

“You’re an Omega.” 

He’d never hidden it. “I am,” Elrond agreed. 

“Like it?” 

“I don’t mind it,” Elrond said truthfully. It didn’t matter to him if he was an Alpha, Omega, or Beta so long as it didn’t interfere with his work. 

“Huh.” Celebrimbor grunted and downed another gulp. “I was in Nargothrond when I presented.” 

“Please, put the glass down, Tyelpe,” Elrond pleaded, reaching to feel Celebrimbor’s forehead. “You’ve had-“ 

Celebrimbor slammed his glass on the table. “How was your first heat?” 

“I- my false heat Kanafinwë spent with me.” Elrond knew him well enough to know he wasn’t as intoxicated as he was pretending to be. It seemed he had decided that he needed an excuse to ask about the Feanorians, and pretending to be inebriated (and overcome by heat) had been his solution. 

Clever asshole.

Celebrimbor grunted. “Father called me a whore.” 

Elrond didn’t know what to say to that. “Ah-“ 

“He hated Findarato,” grumbled Celebrimbor. “Made him hate Omegas.” 

He picked up his glass and tried to take another sip, but found it was empty and threw it aside in disgust. It clattered across the floor. 

“Come here,” he said, pushing his chair away from the table and grabbing for Elrond. 

The half-elf was caught off guard, and found himself stumbling forward into Celebrimbor’s lap. 

For a moment panic jolted through his chest. Celebrimbor had several inches and a few dozen pounds on him. But surely Celebrimbor wouldn’t-

Elrond took a deep breath, reminding himself that - no matter how drunk he may or may not be - Celebrimbor would never hurt a soul. He simply wasn’t capable. Indeed Celebrimbor seemed only interested in burying his face in Elrond’s shoulder and inhaling his scent.

Perhaps… perhaps he was inebriated. 

He could feel Celebrimbor’s heartbeat thudding under his shirt, and his face was sticky with sweat where it touched Elrond’s neck. It took everything in him not to pull away, but something told him the smith needed him to stay. 

Elrond sighed, moving his hand to rest against Celebrimbor’s dark hair, only to have the smith grunt and shake it off.

Alright, if he wanted Elrond to just sit there then he could manage that. The half-elf rolled his eyes in fond amusement.