“I unequivocally detest it,” admitted Fingon. They were walking the shores, and crossed the line from cautious courting to complete honesty. Despite possibilities of awkward conversation regarding his grandfather, he continued. “I enjoy the romance: cuddling, kissing, unexpected love notes. I find the act of copulation to be disgusting and unsanitary.”
“This is why Maedhros left?” questioned Miriel, shoes in one hand, the other holding onto Fingon’s upper arm as the tide swept at their feet.
“Why I left him,” corrected Fingon. “His inner flame would have burned me alive had I stayed.”
A pause, then Miriel spoke. “He gets it from his father; his father certainly got it from Finwe.” She mulled it over. “I like you,” she decided. “I think I would find enjoyment in your arms, but not in your bed.”
“Fair enough,” agreed Fingon. “I think, you and I, find our crafts to be our passion.”
Author's Chapter Notes:
Fingon, Miriel; on the topic of sex