Faramir Fiction Archive

A Twisted Tale (NC-17)

Written by Minx

29 November 2011 | 4154 words | Work in Progress

Part 2: To Rohan and Beyond

2.1 The marshalls of the Riddermark

Prompt 048. Leather

The Riders encountered him shuffling through their windy grasslands alongside a limping horse; cold, tired and bruised.

They bound him, despite his protests and took him to their encampment on the hillside, a few bare, ramshackle stone dwellings.

“We’ll certainly allow you passage,” Théodred said, after identifying himself. “But for a price,” he smirked, running a leisurely glance over Faramir’s body.

Large, gauntleted hands shoved his upper body onto the low stone wall, holding him down, tiny pebbles pinching his bare groin and chest. He gasped as pain flared between his legs. Théodred was large, and he’d breached Faramir’s entrance in one swift, deep thrust, aided with merely some spit. The larger man’s loud, lust-filled grunts thrummed in his ears, drowning his own soft cries of pain, as his tight channel was invaded deeper. Leather gloves grasped his waist for purchase in a bruising grip.

He felt the horselord pulling out and then pushing back into him, harder. The smell of leather and wood smoke mingled with sweat and semen.

“I heard he was pretty.” A second rider walked over. Faramir looked up into amused grey eyes.

“You can have his mouth, Éomer,” Théodred declared generously as he continued thrusting.

2.2 The king’s advisor

Prompt 094. Lick

A horse could be his in Edoras, if the king would say so. Éomer and Théodred had told him after taking turns with him.

“An audience with the king?” Gríma, the councillor, queried, “He has no time for Gondorian pups!”

Faramir sighed, tired, cold and aching.

“Please,” he tried, “I ride far north and the way is rough and untested.”

Gríma licked his lips and stared at him.

“I suppose if you are really desperate,” he murmured and placed a hand on Faramir’s shoulder, slipping it under his collar, his fingers cold and clammy on the soft skin.

It was a familiar sensation. Faramir lay naked on his back on the councillor’s table, legs apart and raised.

He shivered as a dark pink tongue worked its way up his torso, cold breath whispering against his bare skin. Long, greasy strands of black hair trailed over his stomach, teeth scraping his nipples as thick fingers probed his sore entrance roughly, before moving away.

He bucked up moaning, his dry passage stretching painfully to accommodate the thick member pressing into him. Fat palms held him down, as he was penetrated hard and deep.

Gríma took him once more before letting him leave.

2.3 Pleasing the king

Prompt 003. Rule/Ruler

The king of Rohan looked old and tired, when Faramir arrived at his private chambers. But the dull eyes lit up at the sight of the younger man.

“Faramir!” Théoden’s lips curled into a strange wistful smile, as the young man knelt before him in greeting. He pulled him up into his arms, and embraced him.

“You have not changed much,” he murmured stroking Faramir’s hair and back, “It seems like merely a week ago that you came to my chambers in Minas Tirith, wearing nothing but your riding boots under your cloak.”

He sat back on his chair, pulling Faramir down to sit at his feet.

“A horse cannot be given away just like that, though,” he said frowning, hands stroking Faramir’s lower back.

“I can give payment,” Faramir said desperately and reluctantly placed his hand on Théoden’s groin.

Théoden sighed, “I am older now, and have little energy for these.”

Faramir heaved a silent sigh of relief.

“But if you would just pull that small chest over here. There are some things that can aid.”

Théoden’s toys were many and varied.

When Faramir finally left Rohan, he walked by his new horse for two days, sore and exhausted.

2.4 Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards

Prompt 066. Midnight

Faramir strived to make his way as swiftly through the gap of Rohan as he could. He knew Isengard lay in the distance, and dreaded that idea of coming across Saruman.

He had met him earlier when the wizard had visited Minas Tirith. He had been given chambers near Faramir’s. They met rarely for the wizard spent much time conferring with Denethor alone.

Until Faramir awoke, one night in his chambers, to a cold touch on his stomach and found himself lying naked on the cold floor on his back. His legs were bent at the knees and spread apart, exposing him completely. The lanterns in his room had been lit. Saruman sat by his side.

He sat up with a start, and automatically curled his legs to hide himself.

“You are quite a fine looking young man,” Saruman said kindly, “If you please me, I could give you all you desire.”

Faramir shrank away, terrified, well aware of how exactly he would need to please.

“I could else ask your father for you. I have heard he is not ungenerous with you.”

Faramir paled.

Saruman laughed softly, “Fear not. I will wait. Someday I know, you will reach Isengard.”

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