Faramir Fiction Archive

A Moonlit Night (NC-17)

Written by Minx

31 March 2004 | 8436 words

Pairing: Faramir/Legolas
Rating: R
Disclaimer: LOTR and all its characters belong to Tolkien Archiving: Drop me a line before you do
Warnings: Slash
Summary: A moonlit night in Minas Tirith provides two people a quiet and romantic atmosphere to talk of memories and other things – PWP, one-shot.
Feedback: Please do give! – greenrivervalley@gmail.com
A/N: I’m sorry, this is an extremely pointless, plot-less ramble, the result of a bored day spent at home thanks to a sprained ankle, and I’m not entirely sure it’s turned out aswhat it was meant to be.

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A Moonlit Night

The city of his birth had an ethereal quality to it on a moonlit night. Standing at the balcony of the chamber he normally used on his visits these days, he watched the cool night breeze ripple through the trees in the gardens outside. They were trees of the same variety that were to be used to re-lay the gardens of Ithilien. As tall and graceful as the elves who had brought them to Gondor, they swayed gently in rhythm with the wind. Below the garden the remaining levels of the city lay spread out bathed in the milky whiteness of the moon. All was quiet, as he stood in the citadel and looked upon Minas Tirith, until his thoughts were interrupted gently by a soft musical voice.

“My lord steward.”

The prince of Ithilien turned in surprise for he had not expected the speaker to be here tonight, standing by the door to his chamber. He must have opened it very silently.

“A beautiful night, is it not?” his visitor asked coming and standing by him.

He nodded.

“You have arrived today?” it was beautiful voice, more melodious than the sound of a harp, soft, and as beautiful as the speaker, as ithil lit him up in its glow.

“Yes, this afternoon,” he replied, slowly drawing his mind away from the mesmerizing golden glow.

“All is well at Rohan?”

“Aye.”

“And you will leave for Ithilien soon?”

“In a few days. I will attend the meetings and then leave.”

“And your dear lady is not travelling with you?”

“Surely you know when all of Arda does, that my lady and I do few things together, perhaps none these last few months.”

One exquisite eyebrow was raised as he continued speaking in a dry disinterested tone.

“Éowyn finds that the training of shieldsmaidens in Rohan has slipped badly since her departure. She has stayed back to restore the system. She also hopes that when she returns, she will not find a similar slippage of standards here.”

“I see.”

“You do? Then I am glad to hear that. Many do not. They see other reasons.”

“And there are no other reasons?”

“You came here to discuss my marriage?” he asked bluntly.

“Nay, my friend. But, you yourself have admitted, it is a matter of much interest across Arda,” the lilting voice held neither scorn nor even pity; it held nothing but its pleasing quality.

“I would have thought the interest would have died down much earlier,” he sighed heavily.

“Very well, I see then, you are still not fond of discussing this. Let us talk of other matters.”

“Yes, let us,” Faramir said maliciously, “what brings you here at this time. Should you not be with Elessar? My queen, I am told, is away visiting the vales of Lossarnach with my cousin.”

“He meets with some delegation. A pity on a night such as this,” the first hint of moroseness crept into the lyrical voice.

“The king of Rohan arrived a day before I did,” Faramir said in a tone of mock innocence.

“He dined with your uncle tonight, and expects to receive fine wine and words of wisdom late into the night.”

“And Verasul?”

“You are very well-informed about me, my lord,” the finely carved eyebrow arched up again.

“You did explain it all very clearly to me,” Faramir replied mildly, “Seven months ago.”

“Seven months? It seemed a much shorter time to me,” came the sincere reply.

“It is true then, time feels different to your kindred. But where is Verasul?”

“In his chambers. We have a relationship much like you and your lady do. We do not come in the way of the other’s ‘other’ interests.”

“Not all that similar. My lady and I have a legal binding but we have naught but ‘other’ interests. If we were to come in the other’s way, no doubt our lives would be shorn of anything of interest to either.”

“You must be tired,” there seemed to be a faint hint of concern underlying the statement.

“It is a long ride form Rohan, and I rode fast, and the king wished for a bout of sparring.”

“It is obvious. Never otherwise would you speak of your marriage so candidly, much less speak of it at all.”

“You did ask,” Faramir pointed out, realising with dismay that the wondrously fair creature next to him had assessed the situation carefully. Tiredness, he decided, could be as bad for loosening one’s tongue as ale.

“Aye, I did,” his guest spoke a little sadly.

They stood in silence for a while watching the vista before them, till the musical notes sounded in Faramir’s ear again.

“It is seven months, you say?”

“A little more,” he replied casually.

“Seven months…”

“Yes,” he said patiently wondering what seemed to surprise the other so much.

“You were going to retire?”

“I was going to take a bath first. The water lies ready.”

“Yes, you should.”

He was a little taken aback to hear that from one who had always been so gracious to him. Trying not to let the disappointment show in his voice, he nodded and admitted, “It was long ride, and I wished to be here this morning, and even a mere friendly sparring makes one dusty. Time and material enough for cleanliness and grooming now.”

“I merely meant that it would help rid you of the tiredness in your limbs and relax you,” came the puzzled reply, “Remember I have ridden with Elessar in his days as a ranger. If I could live with that, I could live with anything. You, dear friend, are a paragon of cleanliness next to him. Come, let me not detain you,” a long graceful hand settled on his shoulder almost making him jump. He had forgotten how magical the touch could be.

He turned to look at the clear blue eyes and quirked his eyebrows questioningly.

“Come where?” he asked.

“Come, let me help you. You are tired. Would you like me to massage your shoulders and back for you?”

“It is kind of you to offer –” he began hesitantly, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Verasul?” his guest stared at he newcomer, “What is it?”

“The king is free now and wishes to know if you would come by.”

The tall, lithe figure moved close to the newcomer, very close, and the soft whispered words could just about be made out, “Tell him I am asleep. I have some matters to discuss with Lord Faramir, and later I wish to sleep a little. If you have finished whatever you have to do, let us greet the sunrise together in some hours.”

Verasul’s eyes glinted with pleasure, as he bowed farewell to them, and left shutting the door behind him.

“Very well, that is done now. Come. This way, is it not,” he was expertly steered towards the small chamber next door where a tub full of hot water had been kept ready for him. It was still warm, and the aroma of the herbs in it wafted up to their nostrils as they neared the tub.

Faramir waited expectantly.

“You do not wish to bathe with your clothes on do you?” came the question.

“If you would let me undress –” he murmured softly.

“Faramir, my love, I have seen you naked. I explored every inch of your body the day you insisted you would share your bed with me!”

He flushed a little at that, “That was seven months ago,” he protested weakly.

“I can still remember what you look like,” came the serious reply, “I can remember each mark on your body, even the tiny little spot where you yourself can’t see it.”

Faramir shut his eyes briefly.

“Come now, love, take your clothes off, as you did that day,” there was almost a teasing note to it.

He took off his tunic quickly, slipped off the leggings with equal dexterity, and hurriedly lowered himself in the tub, all in one swift motion.

“Still as lovely, I see,” this time he definitely detected a teasing note, and murmured a few soft curses in return.

The water felt good, and he sank a little deeper into the big metal tub, idly watching the vapour rising from the water, carrying the herbal scent with it. He let out a soft sigh and relaxing his shoulders, leant his head back so that his nape was resting against the warm metal walls of the tub. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and opened his eyes fully. Blue eyes looked back into his face, and a small smile played along the perfectly shaped lips.

“Let me help you relax a little, my love.”

“Why do you call me that,” he asked tiredly, closing his eyes as the slender, gentle fingers began kneading his taut shoulder
muscles skillfully. For one as lithe as that, his friend had a lot of strength, he decided.

“Do you not like it?” came the answering purr, very close to his ear, so close he could feel the other’s warm breath on his cheek.

“But there are others worthy of such words. And I am nowhere near their stature in your life,” he murmured sleepily.

“Seven months ago, when I called you that, you kissed me.”

“Seven months ago, I was not in full control of my faculties.”

“I asked you when you had regained your control, whether you regretted it. you said you had not,” came the matter of fact reply.

“I did not,” Faramir admitted softly, as the memories of that beautiful night floated into his mind.

“Our sensible steward, always so careful, always so stoic, always so poised, drinks a little too much ale one night, and whose arms does he throw himself into and beg to bed? A male and not even one of his own kind,” it was a teasing tone, but a loving one nevertheless, as the fingers continued their work deftly.

Faramir could feel the knots disappearing in hi shoulders, and he sighed in pleasure before responding, “Aye, no female elf would look at me.”

“But how did you find me, love, I did not even know you knew of my, should I say, tastes?”

It was lovely sensation, calming and soothing, “I knew not it was you, all I saw of you was your hair, from the distance. It was a blur, the ale being so strong.”

A soft musical laughter sounded above him, “You thought I was your lady?”

He sat up surprised, splashing water about him, and turned a flushing face to the laughing figure sitting back on the floor now.

“It was the hair,” he muttered feeling a little foolish.

“And then?”

“Then we entered the room, and then the bed…”

“Not before you threw off all your clothes, and pulled mine off too!”

“ And the moon came put from behind the clouds, and…”

“You jumped out of the bed naked. You should have seen your face! It was priceless. And the way you stammered about trying to apologise, and oh Valar, the look on your face when I asked you if you had any other plans for the night, and…” here his friend broke off into peals of laughter.

“I think the ale vanished form my mind after that, the steward replied a little sourly.

“You said you had no plans, and when I asked you if you wanted to complete what you had started… Elbereth, what a look on your face!”

“You pushed your sheet off!” he said accusingly as the gentle hands pushed him forward a little and started rubbing a cloth spread with cleaning herbs on his back.

“You were so scared, I thought you were going to scream!”

“I am no maiden,” Faramir snorted.

“You nearly swooned! I had to help you sit on the bed.”

“It was the shock!”

“Of finding yourself on another’s bed?”

The circular motion of cloth on his aching back relaxed him once again, as he replied, “of seeing you like that.” The fingers were on his lower back now, and he couldn’t help but remember how once they had gone just a little lower and given him such pleasure as he had never experienced.

“You humour me,” but the smile in the voice was unmistakable.

“Why else do you think I agreed to complete what we started?” The hands now moved onto his chest and stomach, and he sank blissfully back against the tub yet again.

The fingers brushed against his nipples for a little more than the briefest second, and he felt a shudder go through him, but almost immediately the strong fingers were running over his flat stomach.

“Do the two kings know of each other,” Faramir asked suddenly.

“Nay.”

And of Verasul?”

“Nay. They are neither as perceptive as you dear one.”

“You told me.”

“You asked.”

“I did?”

“You do not remember what you said as you lay in my arms?”

He did. Lying exhausted against the other’s chest he had known he was not the only one and said as much, “Will we ever again lie together like this?” he had asked., and had received the answer with characteristic calm. His first time with a male had given him an experience that might never be replicated, because the other was committed not only to one of his kind, but also to the king of Gondor, through old ties in younger days, and then after a reckless night in Edoras, to the king of Rohan, because as he had said the young man would have been heartbroken if he had told him the truth.

“The sparring was a little in excess?” came the sudden question, as he felt a slight twinge when the fingers ran over one of the bruises he had received.

“The king seemed to wish to work out some… emotions, I daresay?” he replied as he remembered how short-tempered Elessar had seemed, “what did you do to him?”

“He harkens not after gentle lovemaking, our king.”

“Not gentle,” he asked puzzled.

“Roughness is what he likes. It was his ranger days I presume. Tell me love, did you not do such in your days as ranger.”

The hands were around his lower belly now, and he could feel a heat spread through him that was not caused by the water. He tried to get rid of the feeling by splashing water on his hair to cleanse it, “Nay, the enemy was too strong, and took all our effort and concentration, and I… they would not come to the steward’s son for such. But you say, rough? That is strange indeed. Why would one crave what hurts?”

Another short burst of laughter greeted this, “aye, I see what Éowyn means.”

“Éowyn?” He felt one arm being picked as the cloth was rubbed slowly on it.

“Your gentleness does not satisfy her.”

“Does all of Arda really know what happens in my bedchamber?” he supposed he should be furious but he really didn’t care. Nothing of note had happened in their chambers after their first night together, barring a few more attempts at kindling a passion in their relationship. The hopelessness of such a cause soon became manifest, so that they settled for the present situation.

“Éowyn told Arwen and Arwen told Elessar, and…”

“No more, please! But surely such news is many months old. My wife and I have not been near each other for many months now.” His other arm began to receive its share now.

“Then, in these seven months you have not…”

“No,” he stated, eyes still shut, suddenly feeling almost empty. The dormant frustration he had kept locked inside him was welling up once again, with no scope for release. His hand was lain down, and his legs were taken up.

“What of the king of Rohan?” he asked desperately to take his mind off everything.

“He is like a big, impetuous puppy,” came the reply, half exasperated, half amused, but underlain with fondness and love, “Rough and tumble. Both of them are. Not for them lotions and creams, they like their lovemaking raw.”

“Does it not hurt?”

“Aye but the pleasure one gets far overrides it,” came the dreamy reply.

The dexterous fingers worked up his calf and thigh, inching closer and closer to the source of a throbbing feeling. Then his legs were placed back in the water. He settled in a little deeper and let the water cover him till his neck. A new kettle full of warm water was poured into the tub, and he almost purred in satisfaction at the feeling of fresh warm water mingling with the old, tepid water around his skin. His eyes grew heavy and his mind foggy, as the sounds around him drowned themselves out. He felt himself being pulled up and murmured a sleepy protest, as a rough huge cloth was wrapped around his bare skin. He was scooped up gently, and he snuggled against the support offered, till he felt himself lowered into his bed. And something brushed his lips, something soft and sweet. The most perfect mouth in Arda was upon his for a fleeting second as he struggled to open his eyes. The huge towel was unwrapped, and he sat up, realising his nakedness.

“Do you?” came the soft musical lilt.

“Yes,” he breathed out.

“I will be gentle,” promised the other.

“Do not. I would like to see how it feels.”

“Nay, not you! You, I will never hurt!”

“You reserve your special treatment for special folk, is it?” he needled the glorious fair one before him, “One hurts those one loves.”

The insinuation was deftly ignored, “They are both bigger than you, with none of your grace. I like you too much to hurt you, my love.”

“Like? Éowyn says she likes me too. Not loves, but likes.”

“You ask to be hurt? What are you?”

“Do not the others?”

“Have you not hurt enough? I know you have.”

“Éowyn?” he sneered back.

“You talk in your sleep love, I heard you that day.”

“Let me be the judge of that. Those hurts were of a different nature. They brought no pleasure. If this will, I want it,” Blue eyes gazed sadly at him, and he pleaded once again, “It will be just this once. Let me feel this pleasure too that others feel. I have had none for seven months and for just as many before that. You know of my marriage. Give me something to last me the next seven years, if you could.”

A soft hand reached up to his cheek and he trembled at the touch. Grasping it in his own hands he squeezed it tightly.

“Turn around then.”

“Why? The last time you said you wanted to see the pleasure on my face.”

“I cannot bear to see you in pain. And, it will hurt,” he was warned.

It did. At first. Seven months ago, the kisses on his body had been light and feathery, now they were hard, and demanding, more bites than pecks, breaking skin, bruising him, sending out pinpricks of pain across his chest and back. Before he was pushed onto his stomach, his mouth was claimed with brute force, leaving him gasping for breath. Seven months after they had first entered his body, the slender long fingers entered him yet again, but this time with no preparation. The last time they had been coaxed in lovingly into a well-oiled entrance. Now they were rammed in. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, scared that the other would stop. And then the intrusion grew larger in size and he knew it would hurt more. His hair was grabbed and tugged, his shoulders bitten into, as the relentless pounding began. His tight muscles were stretched and stretched, and the pain grew so much he could feel it ringing through his ears.

Beads of sweat began to stand out on his forehead as he buried his face into his bed. Just when he thought he could take it no more, he felt it. Untold pleasure, a deep overwhelming sense of joy flooded through him as he began to thrust his hips in rhythm with the pounding in him. Soft moans of pleasure came unbidden out of his mouth, as he felt his ears being nibbled at. His groin felt on fire, but a delicious fire, and now it was both hot and cold as something wet began spreading across it.

They came at the same time, he weeping silently in joy and the other crying out in pleasure.

“I think I understand,” he said a while later as he circled a finger along the other’s smooth hairless chest.

“Your lady will like that,” said the other sincerely.

“Nay, it is too far gone for that.” He replied lazily, as he felt his eyes grow heavy again.

“Why?”

“Why?’ came the puzzled response, “why what?”

“Why do you humour me? What am I to you? Not a kindred, that would be Verasul, not old friend, that is Elessar, not one you wish not to disappoint as Éomer , what am I then?”

“My special one,” he felt a soft kiss brush his forehead, “You will need another bath.”

He snorted in reply. He was almost asleep when the wet cloth was rubbed over his now limp member, and he moaned in pleasure once again. Then on his sore entrance, and he nearly squealed. Across his chest, and then his stomach the cloth went cleaning him up again. He lay still though the ministrations patiently moving aside as the soiled sheets were removed and new ones pulled out from the closet.

“I will take the soiled sheets away,” he was told.

He felt the golden hair splay across his face and chest as the other bent down to kiss him lightly on his forehead, “Sleep well, dear one. The next time will not be as far away as this, I vow.”

“There will be a next time?”

“Yes, love, there will be. Our kings, I feel will find they have a duty to their queens. There is however, a steward of the realm with no such duties.”

“Were we not supposed to discuss the re-laying of the gardens in Ithilien, so you can bring your folk there?” he asked sleepily.

“That is what the meeting is for tomorrow, dear one. Good night.”

Pairing: Faramir/Legolas
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: LOTR and all its characters belong to Tolkien Archiving: Drop me a line before you do
Warnings: Slash, PWP
Summary: A not very sober steward wants to spend the night in his wife’s arms, while a bored elf finds himself lacking company. It could be seen as a prequel to A Moonlit Night, though there might be a few differences. You don’t have to have read that.
Feedback: Please do give! – greenrivervalley@gmail.com

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When the Moon Came Out

The Steward of Gondor put down his empty goblet, and stared around the room unhappily. His wife was nowhere to be seen, and he wondered whether she had returned to their room or had gone off the new horses that had arrived from Rohan. He would expect no less from her, he decided. The hour was late and the sky outside was dark but the White Lady from Rohan would not pass up an opportunity to mingle with horses. Or, he wondered idly, she might be with someone else.

We are a strange couple he mused to himself. And they might have seemed so to others. They liked each other, there was no doubt about that. They were in fact quite fond of each other and the bright conversations they had with each other, peppered with intelligent verbal sparring usually left anyone listening to them, smiling. But that was all. They were more friends than husband and wife. He wondered often if he had done correctly in marrying Éowyn. They had no spark between them at all. Their very first attempt at lovemaking had made that clear to both. It was completely devoid of passion. A few half-hearted attempts later, they had decided to abandon the idea altogether. They would enjoy each other’s company and that would be all. They did share a bed off and on, but it was a dry, lacklustre affair.

He rose, disinterestedly from where he sat, and set off on an aimless walk. He thought he might be drunk, as he stumbled off down a hallway, feeling extremely funny. It took him a few minutes of walking into different large ornaments and hitting up against walls to decide that he was indeed not entirely sober and that he wanted his wife. That realisation nearly stopped him in his tracks. He wanted to feel her soft skin, he decided. He wanted to be kissed, not that silly brushing of lips, he wanted to feel a real kiss. He thought he might have felt one in a brothel near the stables once. The girl had had red hair and showed him how to kiss. She was probably an ageing crone by now, his fuddled mind told him.

Perhaps he could persuade Éowyn to hold him a while. He had had too much ale and that always gave him bad dreams. And it was the time of the year again when they would celebrate their victory in the ring war. The weeks before the anniversary were always the worst time of the year for him. The memories associated were all unhappy ones. He would never be able to sleep unless she held him as she had done when they had first been married. The security of each other’s touch had been their sole comfort then.

“But how do I find Éowyn anyway?” he asked aloud, as he stood at a landing where three hallways met, “She can’t still be in the stables! It is dark now…”

Almost as though in answer to his question, a shaft of moonlight broke through one of the windows in the hallway to his left. It fell on a long golden sheet of hair.

The moon dipped behind the clouds and the corridor was bathed in darkness again but he had seen what he needed. He found himself smiling happily as he sneaked down the corridor, deciding to surprise her. He could sense her turn halfway, even as he approached. He had not been very quiet then, he thought remorsefully, a she lurched forward, and gently taking her arm pulled her into the nearest room. He knew this corridor; it was where the second set of guest rooms was. He was sure they were unused right now, but they were always kept readily furnished. No one would disturb them, and anyway, she would allow no more than a kiss and a cuddle.

She was wearing a new scent he decided as he smelt a soft smell that reminded him of leaves and the forest. But he could also smell the strong horsey odour that always trailed her.

“I was searching for you,” he said softly, as he hugged the slim waist and buried his face in the golden fall. He felt the figure in his arms stiffen a little and almost despaired at that. He needed someone tonight, of all nights. It was maddening, but he knew he could not sleep alone.

“Please, will you lie close to me tonight? Hold me a while. I do not think I shall sleep otherwise. I had too much ale and the day has been wearing,” he murmured hating the almost pathetic tine his voice took on. But he was desperate now. He had felt this nearness and he needed more of it. The figure in his arms moved closer. He thought he could make out a nod in the dim light. For a second it almost seemed that she was taller than him, but he dismissed it as a trick of the light.

They entered the room in all its darkness and he felt his knees hit the hard wood of the bed.

“This way,” he said, and led her unresisting figure towards the large bed. He undressed quietly, and joined the prone figure he could just see outlined against the pillows. She seemed to be loosening her clothes too. They looked different, he thought but then realised she must changed into clothes more fitting for the stables.

“Oh love,” he murmured brokenly, as he lovingly ran a finger over the soft smooth curve of the neck and simply sighed as the golden tresses caressed his face, imbibing the new scent.

A shuddering sigh sounded out in reply. It was all he needed.

His mind in a whirl, he pulled her close and brought his lips near hers. Outside the window the clouds parted and moonlight flooded the room with a magical glow. Faramir smiled into the figure in his arms, and then froze, almost in terror as he saw who it was he had actually mistaken for his wife.

“You! Oh Valar! What are you -?”

He stared back at the prince of Mirkwood in shock and confusion for a second before realising he still held him in his hands. Then he promptly dropped him and jumped out of the bed all in one fluid motion.

“What have I -?” Oh dear Eru! I – I – Legolas! I – do not – I apologise – it was – I am not –”

He stared back remorsefully at the Elf who was now lying under the pristine white sheets that covered the bed, his tunic half open displaying a smooth chest gleaming a milky white as the moonbeams danced over it.

“Were you expecting someone else?” came the query, as the elven prince rose and gracefully slipped off his tunic.

Even in his bewildered state of mind, the steward could not help but notice his flawless beauty. Then he realised he was completely naked himself, and grabbed for the other sheet to cover himself up, even as he continued blurting out apologies. The sheet would not move. He looked up and saw Legolas sitting firmly upon the sheet, his blue eyes twinkling merrily as he refused to let it go.

“Yes, I thought you – oh Gods! I –I shall leave now. My apologies – I do not know what came over me,” he continued stammering.

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the night, my lord steward?”

“No,” he replied without thinking, and then realisation hit him as he saw a curling smile his friend’s lips, “What???”

“Then why do you not finish what you began, my friend. It is most unlike you to leave matters incomplete like this,” came the musical voice, as the elf stared at his bare body unashamedly.

Faramir gaped back. Was Legolas mocking him?

And then Legolas pushed back the sheet that covered him from the waist down and pulled off his leggings with a flourish. Faramir stared back at the supple, pale body slowly uncurling from under the sheets. A dim roar filled up his ears as his eyes involuntarily slipped from the smooth chest, down the slim, flat stomach. He felt his legs wobble, and then Legolas was helping him sit down.

“Do you always behave so, when someone invites you to their bed, my friend,” came the crooning notes in his ear.

“You – you – want me? In your bed?” Faramir could not believe his ears. He must have misunderstood. An Elf, and one like Legolas – and him?

“Yes,” came the simple answer and then he was pushed back against the pillows, and Legolas was leaning over him.

“To – to do what? I mean, why??”

“Why? What do people do in bed, dear friend?” the elf’s exquisite face was barely inches away from his own, “But what if Éowyn returns?”

“This is a spare room. No one will come here. I must be dreaming,” Faramir said decisively, as he stared into the azure depths of the blonde’s eyes, “I shall wake up and find myself back on my bed all alone.”

A smooth hand tenderly caressed his cheek, “Do you often get such dreams?” then the hand slipped down to his chest and brushed his nipples. He gasped loudly, and his open mouth was immediately claimed by exquisitely shaped pink lips.

He felt Legolas pull him up. They were both slender men, but the Elf was naturally lighter than him. Hands caressed him even as an insistent tongue examined every corner of his mouth. He shut his eyes and let the strange emotion wash over him.

The kiss was passionate, and everything he had dreamed of, but never received till date. He could not even remember the last time he and Éowyn had even brought their lips near. A hot tongue roved his mouth, exploring each corner, and he felt his entire body go limp at just the sensation of having another’s lips over his. He thrust himself closer to the slender but strong body of the elf prince and wrapped his hands around his back, feeling the strong muscles of the slim back under his trembling fingers. He could feel hands roving his own back, a shivering touch down his spine, coming to rest at the base. The other hand was gently placed behind his neck. He shut his eyes, letting the bliss overtake him.

The hand on his neck moved down while the other one came up his chest. His eyes opened wide at the touch, even as the kiss deepened. Warm fingers toyed with one of his nipples, and his entire body began screaming. He felt himself hardening even as he continued to push against Legolas’ body. He was almost breathless now, but he did not care. He simply clutched at the smooth skin under his hands and let himself go limp as the ministrations sent him nearly dizzy with desire.

Legolas pulled away from the kiss, and smiled as he took in the completely enraptured face looking up at him, want dripping out of the sea-grey eyes. Then he looked down at the man’s body and smiled even wider, and twisted the nipple a little. Faramir moaned incoherently and threw his head back in delight.

Legolas held him by one hand, and took in the sight of a thin torso and a flat stomach, marked here and there with battle scars, the ribs accentuated as the steward arched his back. He ran a hand over his midriff and explored a little lower, smiled as another soft cry erupted from Faramir’s throat. Then he returned to explore the exposed chest and stomach. He ran a hand lightly over the now swollen nipples, inducing another soft cry. Then he ran a finger down in a line to the navel before placing his palm flat against the taut lower belly. Faramir pushed against him once more before letting his head drop forward and falling against Legolas’ chest, moaning all the while.

“Please -,” he whined, not sure what it was he was pleading for. A gasp sounded out of his lips as the intrusive hand settled over his groin, pressing him lightly, rubbing gently, and causing complete chaos in his mind.

“You are needy, aren’t you?” came the amused reply, “Very well, you asked for it, love.”

Legolas pulled the steward of Gondor down to the bed so that he lay spread out, nude, and took in the sight with a deep breath. He had never really noticed the younger man earlier, though now he wished he had. He was smaller than most men he had known and Legolas had known a few and something told him he would be a lot more pliant than any of his other lovers. Perhaps it was the way he kept arching up in desire, he decided, as he stood up straight in front of his latest conquest, letting the moonlight play on his beautifully proportioned body. He had a feeling he was going to have to take the lead here. It was role he liked very much.

Faramir’s eyes were wide open as he took in the flawless, smooth skin of the elf in front of him. His own body was nowhere near this – very far, in fact, he thought miserably, as he looked down at his body. Years of fighting had left ugly marks all over him and outdoor living had made his skin look weathered in comparison to Legolas’.

“Are you going to take care of your own needs, dearest,” came the teasing voice as Legolas hopped onto the bed. He held a small box in his hand, and Faramir wondered idly what it might contain.

“Enough of this fooling around, I think,” Legolas murmured softly, “Shall we get down to the real thing, my lord steward.”

“Don’t call me that,” he mumbled, “It reminds me of those old fogies in the court.”

The elf threw his head back and laughed.

The steward spoke on in what he hoped was a teasing tone.

“Are you not going to get down to the real business then?” he asked, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“I think I shall like this little thing we have going,” Legolas said dreamily, “Such want, such desire.”

He moved forward and spread Faramir’s legs apart, not noticing the little tremor that rippled through the steward’s body. He made him bend them at the knees, and then pushed a pillow under his hips before teasing his finger along the inner thighs. Faramir felt his arousal throb even more at the mere touch and whimpered again.

The elf prince ignored his cries and gave him a soft kiss on his lips. Then he kissed his forehead, the tip of his nose, and his chin, all the while hovering over Faramir’s body, brushing their erections lightly. Then the kisses moved lower down his throat and neck and chest, all the way to his navel. He rose, and smiled at Faramir who was uttering tiny whimpering sounds at each touch, and writhing under him. He placed his hands around the erect shaft and squeezed gently. A whine erupted from the steward’s mouth.

“Pl-ease -,” he moaned.

Legolas tightened his grip the slightest bit, and began murmuring dreamily, “If I had known you could look so, my dear, why I might have carried you off one of those council meetings that you sit so stiffly through!”

Faramir took a deep breath, and whined again. Legolas grinned. He had never seen the man like this. He had always seen him as a solemn quiet figure that always had an intensely serious expression on his face. Instead of the trim, expressionless young steward, he now had under him a flustered young man with his hair disarray and his skin flushed.

Still smirking, the elven prince removed his hands and observed the disappointment that was induced by that simple move. He could feel himself getting aroused even more so. Then he ran an oily finger over the tiny opening exposed to him. The steward looked very tight. He knew he was going to enjoy this night greatly.

Faramir realised what the box contained when the finger poised itself at his puckered opening and then dipped in. He tensed up immediately at the intrusion, causing Legolas to give him a look of confusion.

“Relax, young one,” he cautioned, as he twisted his finger in a little more. Looking up he saw the desire in Faramir’s eyes crowded out by fear and apprehension, and promptly pulled out his finger, causing the steward to hiss in pain.

“Have you ever been with a man before?” Legolas asked gently, and then sighed as Faramir shook his head, “Ah yes, the sons of the lords of Gondor don’t just tumble into bed with every common soldier, do they?”

“There is a very strict hierarchy in the army,” he agreed, “besides, there was no time when we were out and when we were back, well, there were many accommodating women to be found.”

“You should have told me before,” Legolas chided gently, as he leaned forward and pulled the young man into his arms. Stroking his face gently, he spoke again, “What should we do now?”

“Do it,” Faramir mumbled.

“What?”

“Please – I want you inside me,” Faramir repeated.

“You are sure of this?”

“Yes.”

Legolas didn’t need a second invitation. He could hardly remember the last time he had bedded an uninitiated man.

“But you must tell me when it hurts,” he said.

Faramir nodded nervously, and steeled himself as he was placed back against the pillows and the finger entered him once again, this time covered with more oil. He clenched the sheets to help him relax and not fight the intrusion. He wanted to cry out but Legolas was watching his face and he had to keep himself composed.

The elf prince did notice the spasm of pain crossing his young lover’s face and though he felt remorseful, he also felt a twinge of excitement. No other man he had bedded had ever looked so nervous, so scared and so completely vulnerable. They always seemed to be big and strong. Until he had them weeping like babes. But Faramir had already reached that stage and he had done nothing yet. He pushed another finger in, frowning a little at the tightness he encountered, and tried twisting the two digits around.

“Don’t fight it,” he told Faramir whose eyes had widened even more. He could clearly see pain on his face now.

He stretched the unyielding muscles some more, and the eyes in front of him screwed shut. He spoke softly and got Faramir to relax and let his fingers move in with more ease. When he was sure the man was ready for him, he pulled out his fingers and leaning forward kissed him on his lips.

Faramir watched nervously as he coated his shaft with the oil, stroking it with gentle precise movements, engorging it further. Legolas watched his eyes, and then suddenly handed the box of oil to him.

“Will you do it, please, dearest?”

Faramir stretched out a hand in a dream-like state, his eyes not leaving the perfect body in front of him. He still found it hard to believe that Legolas could want to make love to him. The elf prince took in his stupor with an indulgent smile, and had to literally shove the unresisting hands into the box, and coat them with oil. Then grasping them, he brought them to lie over his member. He was aching for release but he knew he would have to go slow. He wrapped Faramir’s hands around his arousal, and then moved his own fingers away, watching the way the steward’s eyes went wide at the touch. He himself felt the thrill course through him as the grip tightened. He gave out an encouraging nod and Faramir began to slowly, uncertainly move his hands up and down, covering him with the oil. He hissed at the feeling. Slowly the fingers moved, hypnotically, methodically, up and down his length. They were inexperienced hands, but still able to work magic. He covered the fingers with his and the two pairs of hands soon began to move in tandem. He could see that just the touches were affecting his partner too.

Finally when he could take it no longer, he moaned and took the steward’s hands off. Confused grey eyes stared back at him in surprise. He returned a reassuring look, and gently laid the man back against the pillows. The oiled entrance waited invitingly in front of him, and he tentatively placed the tip at the puckered hole. At his questioning look, Faramir nodded slowly. He entered him slowly, allowing the inexperienced muscles to widen and contract around him, as he pushed.

Legolas felt the warmth encircle him. The steward was tighter than he had expected and he gasped as his hardened muscle was hugged by the resisting walls of the virginal passage. The squeezing feeling sent him into raptures and he soon gave himself in entirely to thrusting inside Faramir, feeling the unyielding ring of muscle cover more and more of him. In his excitement, he didn’t notice the beads of sweat forming on the steward’s grimacing face, until a soft whimper made him glance at him with concern. Faramir was trying hard to keep from grimacing. But he was too deep inside to pull out now so he leaned forward and kissed him gently instead. Faramir’s legs were hugging his waist now, and he could feel the knees digging into his back. The sensation only served to arouse him further. He grabbed the steward’s erect shaft and began running his fingers up and down it.

Faramir felt as though he had entered a dream-like state. Nothing was clear to him any longer, save that he was experiencing great pain and untold pleasure at the same time. Legolas was completely sheathed inside him now. He felt the elf begin to rock against him. He was about to cry out in pain as the intrusive organ shifted when he felt a sudden indefinable pleasure hit him.

The pain vanished and the feeling that washed over him left him breathlessly begging for more. He thought he might have screamed. He thought he beat his hands down on the sheets, and kicked his legs out. His back arched up over and over again, as waves of pleasure hit him.

When reason returned, he was lying panting on the bed, with a smiling Legolas leaning over him. He lay spread eagled among twisted sheets, his stomach and legs and covered with the sticky evidence of their releases. He felt completely limp and lacking the energy to even lift a hand as the elf prince stroked his face gently.

“Did you like it, sweet one?” Legolas purred into his ear, taking in the sight of the dishevelled but overjoyed man under him. There was something incredibly arousing about that entire state of disarray.

Faramir stared up at him wild-eyed, “I have never known anything like it,” he said quite sincerely. Legolas had no doubt he’d meant it. From what he’d seen of the steward and his wife, he was quite sure they completely lacked passion towards each other.

“Better than your wife?” he asked wickedly.

A look of pain flashed through the grey eyes below him, and he felt a stab of guilt at having said what he had, “That is a very different experience,” came the dry response finally.

Legolas could think of only one way to atone. He stretched out over the passive figure, covered him completely and kissed him on his lips. He ran a hand down the side of the face under his and gave him a deep, loving kiss.

“You were wonderful too,” he murmured when he pulled away, and lay down by the steward’s side.

It was the way he said it that brought the question to Faramir’s heart.

“Will we ever again lie together like this?” he blurted out, almost scared of hearing the reply that he knew he would receive.

“I am committed to another,” came a calm reply.

He had guessed that, but the lilting voice continued even as the skilful fingers lovingly played with his hair, “Well, more than one.”

“Elessar?” the closeness between the king and his old friend and companion had not gone unnoticed especially by one who spent much of his time with either or both of them.

“Hmm… yes. We have known each other many days,” Legolas admitted.

“And the other -? Your friend – Verasul, is it not?”

“Why, yes, dear one. You are so very intelligent. I have been with him for many years; even before I met Aragorn. And he is very understanding. But Aragorn might not be. And Éomer definitely will not be.”

Faramir nearly leapt up at that, “Éomer !!!”

“Yes.”

“Éomer ? My brother-in-law Éomer ?”

“I know none other, dear heart.”

“But – but – he is to – my uncle wants him to – and Elessar too – they want him to – to marry my cousin!”

“And he will. “

“But how?”

“We met in Rohan. He is such a dear child, so young, such energy. I thought one night would be enough. Btu he will be heartbroken if I do not spend a fair deal of time with him,” Legolas explained with a sigh.

“So, this is this one night, is it?” Faramir asked softly.

“You have a wife, love.”

“Yes, I do,” he replied with a sigh.

“Do you regret this?”

“I? No! You have – you have given me such a beautiful night. How could I ever regret this?”

“Ai! Now you are a poet too, are you?”

“No,” he said sincerely, “You have truly given me a night such as I have never known before. Even if it is just this once, I cherish it.”

“Dear love,” came the laughing response, and he was pulled into a loving embrace.

Faramir kissed Legolas lightly on his lips. He knew that he merely meant the words merely as an endearment. But it still felt good.

“There will be more times,” Legolas assured him.

“There will?” he could not prevent the note of excitement creeping into his voice.

It did not escape Legolas’ attention and he felt almost flattered at the reaction, “there will,” he assured, looking into the sleepy grey eyes of his newest lover, “you said you had a tiring day. Rest now. We can always continue this another night.”

Faramir smiled at that; a sweet smile that crinkled up his eyes at the comers and made Legolas smile back at him.

“Would you like me to stay with you till you sleep?” he asked, and received a relieved nod in return.

The moon dipped behind the clouds again, as they snuggled under the sheets, secure in each other’s arms.

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