Faramir Fiction Archive

All It Would Take Would Be One Small Step (NC-17)

Written by Suemichave

24 June 2007 | 2744 words

All It Would Take Would Be One Small Step
Pairing: Faramir/Pippin
Rating: NC-17
Author: Suemichave (sue)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien
Summary: Pippin feels drawn to Faramir, but is gently rebuffed. It takes a concerted effort on the hobbit’s behalf to win over the man.

Written for the 2007 Midsummer Swap

Request by Kimber Leigh: I believe that Pippin was in lust/love with Faramir from the first moment he saw him. And Faramir’s feelings were simply brotherly. So what happens when when Pippin’s first advances are gently denied? How does a resourceful and determined Pippin go about seducing a rather reluctent Faramir? Be creative, no whimping out and having Pippin get Faramir drunk, Faramir would see through that and Pippin can be very sneaky and tricky. A bit of angst is fine (espically on Faramir’s side, but don’t drown the poor boy in it), Humour is great, and hot interspecies sex is really great. I would like to see it set within a few days of their first meeting, Pippin moves fast when he finds something he wants.

---

It was the merest glance before the hobbit looked away unable to bear the intense gaze of the man. It was only the voice of the wizard that brought the man back to the gathering. It was only the wizard’s words that gave the courage to the hobbit to look back at the man, his curiosity and joy overcoming his embarrassment. It was in that moment that the hobbit saw something within the man.

Pippin sat at the far end of the table and watched Faramir gesture to Gandalf, pointing at the map with his forefinger, hand sweeping over the rough wood of the table which at this point represented the landscape of Middle Earth. Pippin could not hear clearly the words said, so he watched the man instead, particularly his eyes.

Eyes that burnt with sadness and regret, yet blazed also with a nobleness that Pippin had rarely seen. Here was one who regarded honour highly, but had seen his best efforts compared poorly to another. It had not beaten him entirely, there was still a spark there of defiance in the face of critique. Pippin looked away as Faramir turned the dark eyes to him, feeling the same regard as he had in the courtyard. He looked back only when he heard the voices resume the conversation. It was then that Pippin noticed something else. He frowned as he thought on it. Merry would say he thought too little and acted too much, but that wasn’t always true. Sometimes things just needed a little more time, and this was one of those things. At that moment Faramir looked back and Pippin knew.

Loneliness. That was what it was, hanging like a veil over the handsome face.

Pippin wondered why, in a city so large and so full of people that one man could be so alone. It would be different in The Shire, but then Gondor was nothing like The Shire, with its stone walls, narrow streets and lack of green. Pippin found himself wondering what Faramir would make of his home, wondered what difference it would make to the man if he could experience it all. He wondered what Faramir would look like freed from the worries that not clouded that handsome face, and he wondered what Faramir would look like freed from all those clothes.

“Pippin!”, The voice was loud and the hobbit blinked, shaking his head, looking around for a moment until he registered where the call had come from. He sat upright, realizing he had been resting his head on his hands, and he had been staring quite possibly most impolitely in the direction of the end of the table, and he realized had been getting deeper into a most delightful fantasy, if the tightness of his trousers was anything to go by.

“Did you hear anything of what was asked?” the wizard continued.

The hobbit shook his head sheepishly in reply.

“Hobbits!” Gandalf pronounced,” probably thinking about where the next meal is coming from, rather than on the situation at hand.”

Pippin nodded. It seemed a far more proper explanation than the truth.

Faramir laughed, and Pippin couldn’t help but think how attractive that looked.

“Well then, lets us relieve at least that worry, the kitchen will have something prepared.” Faramir rose, smiled to Pippin and gestured to the corridor. “Come let us eat and forget for a short while the troubles that surround us.”

What Pippin could not forget about, even in the face of the food that was arrayed on the table was Faramir. It seemed every movement he made had Pippin squirming in his seat. He hung on each word spoken, the voice as melodic as any he had ever heard. Not even the frequent elbow nudge by Gandalf seemed to make any difference. He was however, saved some dignity when the wizard relieved him of his cup and pronounced the night over. Pippin cast one last glance to Faramir who bowed his head in goodnight before meekly following Gandalf to the rooms they had been given.

Once safely inside Gandalf regarded the hobbit with a rueful shake of his head.

“Well young hobbit, you certainly set your sights in lofty directions.”

Pippin swayed a little. “I have…no idea…what you mean,” he slurred as the room spun around him.

“Perhaps not at this moment, but take care with whom you seek to dally.”

Pippin took off his boots slowly, thinking of the man who had so captivated him. He had a feeling it would be a long night.

The body was not soft as were hobbit’s bodies. This one was hard and lean, sunkissed skin crisscrossed here and there with faint white scars from battles past. Strong taunt muscles fashioned from bow and sword rippled along arms, stomach and thighs. Perhaps not all men were like this, fine hair trailing down to a soft patch around the groin, firm buttocks as he turned and flexed. Long slender fingers, roughened by the rugged life of the ranger, reached out and played along the curve of a hip bone, sliding further to trace along awakening flesh.

Pippin groaned softly as he slept, unconsciously slipping his own hand across his body mimicking the dream.

Those beautiful fingers curled round the erect flesh, smoothing along the velvet taunt skin, a calloused thumb rubbing gently over the now moistened tip. The fingertips played over tight sacs, rolling them gently between thumb and forefinger. The handsome man with the dark soulful eyes then dropped to his knees, hands steadying himself as he looked up, lips parted.

The sleeping hobbit let out a groan as he tossed on the bed, a sound caught by the pillow by his head.

The soft lips closed round the aroused flesh, moist lips glided along the length as the man’s head moved and his copper hair fell over his face. Tender hands locked over buttocks, parting them a little to explore further. A tongue wound its way around and over the hardness, gently teeth skimmed the skin.

Pippin cried out, alerting Gandalf who sat on the balcony watching the fire of the night sky. The wizard, fearing Sauron’s call to the young hobbit, lay a waking hand on his shoulder. Pippin shuddered, stared blankly at the white shape before him, then with his sleepy mind becoming clearer, flushed bright red.

Gandalf frowned, in two minds whether to scold the errant Halfling for scaring him so, or to laugh at the embarrassed hobbit before him.

“There is a basin of cold water on the table,” he huffed as he resumed his watch, “it may be of benefit.” He took a draw on his pipe and sat back, his thoughts now centered fully on what was to come, though he spared a wry smile for his companion.

Pippin gathered himself and did as he was told, wiping his warm face with the cloth first. He hadn’t had one of those dreams for a long time, not that he had minded this one, it was a most welcome departure from the nightmares that had haunted him since he had left home. He did not sleep again for a long while, each time he closed his eyes it was the face of the steward’s son he saw.

If Gandalf felt the night’s experience would temper Pippin’s less than subtle admiration of Faramir he was only in part correct. Though Pippin did blush at the morning meal when the man entered the dining hall and sat with them, it didn’t take long for the downcast eyes to look up. There was a fleetingly moment of exchange before Faramir’s attention was taken by a series of questions poised by the wizard.

Breakfast over, Pippin was ushered away while Gandalf spoke at length with Faramir. It would not be until the evening meal that Pippin saw the two again. He spent his time wandering the upper levels of the vast city, looking out over the battlements, in awe and fright at how far a Halfling had come. He gazed over the mountains, his thoughts with Merry. Rarely without his friend, he felt lost, particularly now as he found himself in such strange circumstance. Merry would have known what to do, and told him so. He could imagine him standing before him in no uncertain terms, telling him to leave well alone, that this was too far above his station. Pippin could even hear the tone of voice. He laughed openly as he leaned over the stone wall. Well, Merry wasn’t here to remind him of proper behaviour and even if he was Pippin doubted he would listen anyway.

The banter in the hall belied the tension and the concern beyond the walls. All knew what was to come, though many not the extend of it. They had all lived in the shadow of the Dark Lord long enough, seen too much and heard too many tales to not know. Yet for a few hours they would forget and pretend. Brewed beverages of many sorts flowed, laughter and harmless boasting and jesting filled the hours. Faramir looked around at the gathering, smiled sorrowfully, and took his wine to a quieter place. He did not leave unnoticed, a keen pair of eyes spied his departure to the balcony, and a determined hobbit followed.

Faramir didn’t take his eyes from the flaming mountain as Pippin approached, saying nothing. Pippin stood next to him, his eyes riveted on the same spot. Neither spoke, taking some ease simply in the presence of each other. It was after some time that Pippin took a deep breath to look at Faramir. Pulled by some unseen strings, Faramir gazed to the hobbit. No words passed between them as they looked deep into the soul of the other. Pippin placed his hand on Faramir’s. He felt the muscles tense then relax, then Faramir slowly shook his head.

“None know what the next days will bring,” he began,” I am a soldier at the command of the Steward, I cannot offer anything to you.”

“I want nothing,” Pippin countered, “that you wont be able to give.”

“No,” Faramir replied gently, “I would give you what you want, what I want to give, but wisdom tells me I should not. Tomorrow I may lie cold upon the plains, and what then, what would you have?”

“Memories of a brave and true soldier,” Pippin replied softly.

“No, I cannot…..I am sorry.” With those words Faramir turned, leaving Pippin to watch the retreating figure, shoulders slumped in defeat.

For a while Pippin continued to watch the empty space. He watched the sky line for a lot longer.

The next day Faramir excused himself from Gandalf’s company, moving to the edges of the hall. As Pippin played with the food on his plate before instinct took over and he ate, Faramir alternated between the floor and casting glances in his direction. Pippin held one such gaze before Faramir left. A consoling hand was placed on Pippin’s arm.

“There are reasons Pippin,” Gandalf advised carefully, before he too left, leaving the hobbit confused and curious.

Pippin mopped around the city without purpose, mulling over the situation and its implications. By the time the lamps were being lit along the streets, he had reached a decision.

“What happened?” he asked as he entered the room.

Gandalf looked up, patting the seat next to him. “It was some years ago. I will tell you what I know, what is generally known, the rest, is not for us to discuss, that is between those involved. “

Pippin listened as Gandalf told his tale of two friends, who were close, who shared their hopes and ambitions, two who planned and dreamed, until one died, and the other was left a shade of what had been.

Pippin understood but could not accept the path that Faramir had followed.

“But,” he began.

Gandalf shook his head. “Be careful.”

Pippin spent the next few hours pondering, forming and reforming a strategy, from walking straight into Faramir’s room and throwing himself on the bed, to waiting for Faramir to come to him, to giving up on the whole idea. Somewhere in between all of that was the answer, the key to all of this.

There was little chance of sleep as Pippin rose from his bed, put his boots back on and left the room. Gandalf stirred smiling as the door closed.

“Hobbits!”

The knock on the door was more forceful than Pippin intended, it rang out in the dark corridor, echoing off the walls. The answer came slowly, the door opened only a crack, illuminating a thin sliver of floor.

“Pippin?” Faramir frowned quizzically.

“I…….can I come in?”

“Of course, yes.” The door opened wider to reveal a simple room, sparsely furnished with the essentials, books lay on the table surrounded by a variety of candles.

There was silence, Faramir offered a drink by holding up a mug, Pippin nodded his reply, accepting the mulled wine as he looked out of the window.

“The view…….is….nice,” he said, not knowing what else to say, despite the rehearsals along the corridor.

“Yes.”

With a deep breath, Pippin turned. “I……” the words still would not come, at least not the way he had envisaged.

“It is not possible,” Faramir stated once more.

“But it is possible.”

“You know so little about me.”

“I know you are courageous and loyal, and you once were in love.”

Faramir stared, eyes narrowed, and Pippin wondered if he had overstepped some confidence. Then the expression softened.

“So you know why.”

“No,” Pippin countered, “I don’t know why.”

“Because I would not gift that sorrow to anyone else, my duty lies in the defense of this city, and I will die for it…..I cannot ask someone to share that future with me.”

“Have you ever asked…..or do you hide away your feelings and have others believe they do not exist?” Pippin had never spoken so fiercely or so directly to another, particularly one of Faramir’s standing. He almost smiled as he thought what Merry would make of it all.

“And what if I choose that?”

“There is more to life than the thought of dying.”

“And who would I ask to share this life ?”

“You could ask me,” Pippin whispered.

Faramir stared for a moment. “You?”

“Yes,” Pippin replied defensively.

“And if I did what would you say?”

“I would say yes.”

“And if I didn’t ask?”

“Then I will hound your every step.”

Faramir laughed. It was a genuine sound that made his mouth curl and his eyes sparkle.

“Is the tenacity of halfling folk as famous as their love of food then?”

Pippin shrugged. “I don’t know about that, but when we want something, not much stops us,” he laughed.

Faramir put his hand on Pippin’s. “I am beginning to see that……I could put more resistance.”

Pippin looked seriously at Faramir. “You wouldn’t would you.”

“I should, but I think perhaps you are right, life should be lived, particularly if there is one willing to share it.”

Pippin smiled as he put his hand into the offered one. “I have been having these dreams,” he began as they walked across the carpet of the outer room, “I will have to tell you about them.”

Faramir nodded as he opened the door. “Then I will tell you of mine,” he grinned.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/all-it-would-take-would-be-one-small-step. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!