Faramir Fiction Archive

One Last Time (NC-17)

Written by Iris

08 January 2004 | 1657 words

Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Denethor / Faramir
Summary: Faramir can endure one last time.
Warning: The pairing is Denethor and poor darling Faramir. So we're talking incest. And not the consensual type either. Also: vomiting; presence of a hobbit. And mind that this was written at a time when D/F fics were all but nonexistent.
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. The first lines are movie quotes; don't own those either.

A/N: Ever grateful for Minx for comments and encouragement - and for all those wonderful Faramir fics of course!

This one is short, very short, but there might be sequels. Or prequels...

Archivist's note: There's a prequel: Force and Consideration by Minx
And a sequel: Walk No More in the Shadows by Minx and Iris

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"I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outer defences, defences that your brother long held intact."

"What will you have me do?"

"I will not yield the river and Pelennor unfought! Osgiliath must be retaken."

"Tell your men to get ready and then come to my private chambers."

"As you wish, my lord"

Faramir was more nervous than usual as he walked the halls to his father's chambers. Although he could be very rough at times, he didn't fear him, he just hoped he'd be able to walk and, more importantly, ride afterwards. He couldn't let his men down, not at a time like this. Well, he'd get on a horse somehow, he told himself, it was but a short ride to Osgiliath, and he didn't expect horsemanship to be of great importance today.

Once he reached the right door he knocked, waited until he was called in, entered and found his father sitting behind his desk, his heavy fur robe already hanging open. He quietly watched his father circle the desk, standing in front of it now, leaning back. "Come here and kneel"

Faramir couldn't help but let out a small sigh of relief. Even though he probably hated this above anything else, at least he would be able to ride properly later. He did as he was told, moving swiftly across the room and dropped to his knees at his father's feet. He could now see not only the robe was open; also the ties of his father's breeches had been loosened. He winced ever so slightly as Denethor freed his semi-erect penis, but no more commands were necessary, Faramir knew what was expected of him. It was easier not to protest.

Faramir shuffled a tad closer on his knees, and brought his hands up. As he lightly stroked his father, the smell hit him, and he almost winced again, stopping himself just in time. 'Come on, be strong, you know you can do this.' he told himself. He closed his eyes, leaned in further and softly pressed his lips against the tip, immediately feeling a twitch. He slowly snaked his tongue out just a bit, circled it around the head, then opened his mouth a little further and sucked lightly.

Denethor, however, had no intention of going slow. He placed one hand firmly behind his son's head, the other under his jaw with his thumb pressing on his cheek, pushing his mouth further open. He forced his now fully erect cock deep into Faramir's mouth, almost making him gag. Faramir panicked for a second, tears filled his eyes. 'Oh, be strong now. Yawn, relax, swallow - don't gag, don't throw up on him again! You can do this, you've done this before, just remember to keep breathing, slowly, and swallow, don't gag. He won't last long this way.'

Denethor was thrusting forcefully now, both his hands entangled in his son's hair. Faramir tried to please his father as much as he could, knowing it would be over more quickly that way. He tried to suck the best he could, use his tongue and muscles in his throat. But his jaw hurt so much from being stretched open too wide for too long, and with every thrust - all of them too far down his throat - he had to fight the reflex to gag.   

The thrust became even more furious, and Faramir could hear Denethor moaning and grunting. Soon he felt his mouth filling with a most foul tasting liquid. Again, no further commands were needed - Faramir swallowed even though it seemed like glue in his mouth and then licked his father clean the best he could.

Denethor let go of his hair and pushed him away, almost making him tumble back.

"You are excused."

At that, Faramir quickly scrambled to his feet and practically ran to the door that opened into the adjoining chamber, barely noticing the small figure he knocked over as he barged in. He blindly grabbed the chamber pot he knew was kept on the shelve to his left - it was kept there mostly for this purpose - dropped to his knees again as he felt nausea overpower him, relieved he could finally give into the feeling. He stomach contracted, violently almost, while he became aware of small hands moving on his shoulders, gathering up his hair and holding it back in one hand, as the other stoked his back in soothing circles. It calmed him down quicker than usual, but he was still retching for some time after his stomach was already emptied. He had tried to hold back the tears since he was not alone, but had failed miserably. That together with the sheen of sweat the exertion from fierce vomiting had left on his face, he looked utterly forlorn.

Faramir sat back on his heels once his stomach settled down, panting, trembling. He kept his head down, too ashamed to look the hobbit in the eye. Yet Pippin moved away from him, to the dresser to pour him a cup of water.

As he looked up to accept the cup, he noticed he wasn’t the only one who had been crying. Not trusting his voice just yet, he just gave him a small, weary but thankful smile. Not trusting his stomach either, he didn’t drink the water, but used it to rinse his mouth, and spit it out into the pot. Pippin handed him a dampened towel now, taking back the empty cup.
Hmm... the towel felt so good on his flushed face, cleaning away the sticky sweat and tears, leaving him nice and refreshed. He was so grateful to the hobbit for these simple gestures; someone taking care of him felt so wonderful.

Pippin stood ready with a fresh cup of water, so Faramir draped the towel over the chamber pot and took the cup from him, with a brighter smile this time. Taking a small sip, he sighed: “This water must be the sweetest I have ever tasted. Thank you so much Master Hobbit, for taking such good care of me.”

Looking up at Pippin he frowned. ‘Do all hobbits look like this, always? I thought they were supposed to be cheerful folk, but all hobbits I’ve come across have this sad look of desperation in their eyes.’ Faramir wondered.

“That wasn’t the first time, was it?”

‘Oh gods, he has seen!’ Faramir felt bile coming up again and quickly took another sip of water. He bit his lip and kept his head down, embarrassed beyond words now so he merely shook his head. But when the silence became too awkward he found his voice: “No. No, it wasn’t the first time.”

“Did Boromir know?”

“Boromir would have killed him had he known. He couldn’t know, it would have only have made matters worse. A lot worse. We had to keep it secret. Please, I beg you, you can’t tell anyone either, please.”

“But I must tell Gandalf!”

“No! Least of all him! You can’t tell Gandalf!”

“He can’t tell me what?” The wizard enquired as he stepped into the room. 

“He raped him! Denethor raped him!” Pippin cried out.

“He didn’t rape me.”

“He did, I saw it! Just because he only used your mouth this time doesn’t mean he didn’t rape you!”

“This time?” The wizard repeated, dragging Faramir up by the shoulders. “He raped you? And not for the first time either? How long has this been going on?” Faramir felt himself go dizzy now; his head slumped to the side. He was happy his friend held on to him tight, or else he may have fallen, but he’d so much rather be on his own right now, away from prying eyes and difficult questions. He shyly looked up at Mithrandir and knew he wasn’t going to get away without answering him.

“Ever since Boromir left”

“Since he left for Rivendell?”

“No” he replied timidly, looking away again.

“Then when? Surely not since he left to join the army?”

“Yes” – a mere whisper.

“When he was eighteen?”

Faramir bit his lip and just nodded in reply.

“And you were thirteen? Faramir, no! This can’t be! Why have you never told me?”

“I was happy whenever you visited, I didn’t want to ruin that. Besides, there was nothing you could have done anyway, it would only have caused harm.”

“I could have talked to him!” Gandalf suggested.

“And you think he would have listened to you? He would have banned you from Gondor forever! You were one of my very few friends then, I needed you.”

“Then I could have taken you away, taken you to some place safe.”

“I wouldn’t have gone; I can’t leave Gondor. I would have never left Boromir; I loved him far too much for that. And it wasn’t that bad, not as bad as being away from Boromir would have been. But it matters no more – this was the last time, for I do not expect to return from Osgiliath. I have to go and get ready, my men will think I’m a coward if I leave them waiting too long.”

 

 

On to Walk No More in the Shadows

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