Faramir Fiction Archive

Borne Upon a Dark Wind (NC-17)

Written by Ithiliana

18 December 2005 | 25334 words | Work in Progress

Faramir was warm, utterly relaxed, when he woke a second time. He did not want to open his eyes but could feel the mist had lifted, burned away by the rising sun that had also freed the wind to carry the smells of salt and spice to land.

An arm was draped over Faramir, and he could feel the body pressed against him. Even breathing stroked the damp skin of his neck. Rhisiart’s chest was solid against Faramir’s back, his body tucked into the curve behind him, the heavy wool sheltering them both.

No tree root, but slowly Faramir realized just what was pressing against his back. He twitched, and the arm around him tightened, hand sliding up his chest.

Words half muffled against the back of Faramir’s neck, Rhisiart spoke softly. “’m not snoring.”

“Uh,” Faramir said vaguely as Rhisiart rocked against him.

His member hardened, trapped in the tightness of his leggings. If they’d been inside, in bed, he’d have been naked. For some weeks, they had stripped casually at night, slept only a few feet apart, and dressed in morning light, easy in their skin as only men who had served in the caves of Ithilien could be. The slow burning curling through his belly made Faramir wonder why they had wasted so much time. He arched his back, moving his hips in rhythm with Rhisiart’s, feeling the deep pulse within.

The arm over him curled around his waist, tugging him up enough so Rhisiart’s other arm could slide under him, between his legs, shocking in its familiarity, the sure hand curling around him, pleasure sparking through him greater than before.

Faramir lay in the circle of Rhisiart’s arms until his breath steadied enough to speak. “Let me go.”

The arms immediately pulled apart. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Faramir turned to face Rhisiart, surprising a look he’d never seen, tucking it away to think of later, pushing against the broad chest. “Lie back.”

Hesitating, Rhisiart frowned. Faramir shook his head, smiled, and said more loudly. “Lie back.”

Rhisiart lay back, closing his eyes, as Faramir bent over him. Feeling the heart beating against his hands, Faramir said, “Last night…”

“I was drunk.” Rhisiart smiled, one corner of his mouth opening more than the other, teeth gleaming. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good.”

Faramir tugged the thin shirt up, running his hands over the arch of ribs, down the muscled belly. The leggings were sloppily knotted, the ties easily tugging open. Faramir exulted feeling muscles tense under his seeking hand as Rhisiart thrust up. Stiff curls tickled Faramir’s palms as he freed the hard member, skin velvet soft, fingers stroking, pulling a soft moan from Rhisiart. Hands slid up Faramir’s arms, gripping.

Tugging the heavy cloth down, Faramir bent to tongue, then suck, the solid length, lips and tongue moving in a rhythm he had learned at Rhisiart’s hands.

Rhisiart grunted, sounds deep in his throat marking each of Faramir’s movements, hips jerking, blunt hardness thrusting into Faramir’s mouth. The hands gripping his arms spasmed as Faramir sucked hard, one last time, bitter fluid flooding his mouth tasting of salt and earth.

They lay, Faramir’s head pillowed on Rhisiart’s belly as the light strengthened around them.

To Be Continued

For further updates, please monitor Ithiliana’s Livejournal.

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/borne-upon-a-dark-wind. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!