Faramir Fiction Archive

Captain of Mordor (NC-17)

Written by Draylon

29 July 2004 | 21204 words

8: Rumbled

Late one afternoon, Faramir returned from a supply-gathering trip downstairs in the Uruks’ barrack-room. He found Shagrat already back and waiting for him, as had become his recent habit. He was sitting on a low window ledge, where he was silhouetted against the already-darkening sky while he watched the door, and as Faramir entered, the Orc jumped energetically to his feet, with weapons drawn in both hands. Shagrat seemed to sag down, relaxing slightly on seeing Faramir, but kept him fixed in a cold, predatory gaze which was quite, unnervingly unlike anything the young man had come to expect from him in the Uruk’s more usual persona of an amiable, if ham-fisted, love-struck admirer.

“I heard a funny rumour,” Shagrat said, still watching Faramir closely. “They say that the Steward of Gondor’s second son went missing, not long ago, somewhere near the Black Gate. They’re still scouring the countryside, searching for him even as I speak. Now that’s funny, because not many people know the Steward of Gondor even has a second son. Everyone’s heard about Boromir, darling of the people, apple of his daddy’s eye and so on. Can’t go for long in this neck of the woods not hearing something about brave Captain Boromir. Now the other one, I forget his name but you’ll know it, Goldilocks won’t you –“

“Faramir,” Faramir said.

“Yes, this other one, Faramir, now he’d be quite a bargaining chip, a real feather in the cap for anyone who could lay their hands on him. So you’d think he’d have turned up before now, wouldn’t you? But no sign of him anywhere. That means either he’s dead, on their side of the Wall, which I doubt, since they’ve been looking everywhere, and if not that then he must already be here in Mordor. Dead, right enough, maybe, but otherwise he might be playing some poor mug for a fool, mightn’t he, hiding in full view. What do you think?”

The game was up and Faramir knew it. “My Father doesn’t know yet, does he?” Faramir blurted out anxiously. Before the words were out of his mouth he already knew the answer to his question. Of course Denethor would know that Faramir had been captured by the Enemy, and that he had failed to conduct himself with valour, once again. The anxiety he felt on realising that overshadowed completely any apprehension he felt, knowing that his true identity had been revealed.

Shagrat looked quite taken aback. “Well, Goldilocks,” he said, “that is interesting.”

“You knew it already,” Faramir countered, as Shagrat shrugged his assent. “That doesn’t tell you anything new.”

“No, but it does tell me that you stand more in fear of your own father than you do of me,” Shagrat told him, “and given who, and what I am, to you, I think that’s surprising. But perhaps not so surprising after all. Who was it decided you should be sent for an Ithilien Ranger, Faramir? Ask for the job yourself, did you?”

Faramir didn’t reply.

“It’s about the most dangerous posting that exists in your military, isn’t it? Order couldn’t have come from your dear old Dad, by any chance, could it? Do you ever think he might be trying to tell you something?”

Faramir nodded curtly, his eyes dark and troubled. That thought had occurred to him, of course it had, though he’d tried to make a conscious effort not to admit it to himself.

“Ithilien. Right on the border between your country and Mordor. If I was some big-shot Tark, I wouldn’t want anyone I wanted to keep a hold of within a hundred miles of that place,” Shagrat said flatly. “You know, if you were mine, or anything to do with me, I’d want to take much better care of you than that.”

This handicapping reminder of Denethor’s public and obvious lack of regard for him once again eclipsed the more immediate difficulties Faramir was facing, and he felt the beginnings of a hot flush of shame colouring his cheeks and rising up the back of his neck. He looked down at his hands. “What do you plan to do with me?” he said quietly.

Shagrat ignored the question. “What sort of name’s ‘Faramir,’ anyway?”

“My Mother was of Elvish descent,” Faramir said. Shagrat growled at him, stiffening aggressively on hearing this and Faramir continued nervously. “It means, it means ‘sufficient jewel.’”

Shagrat grunted non-committaly. “Sounds like someone didn’t think too much of you, did they?” he said.

“No,” Faramir replied, looking him in the eye, “they didn’t. But it fits me well enough. Me being the second son, you see. What. What does ‘Shagrat,’ ah –“

“What do you bloody well think it means?” roared Shagrat. “Are you trying to be funny, or what?”

Faramir ducked his head. “What are you going to do with me?” he repeated.

Shagrat paused, staring at Faramir, where he sat, for a long time. If he had met his gaze, the young man might have seen something very like pity in the Orc’s expression. “You and me are going to carry on just as we have been doing,” Shagrat replied at length. “What I told you’s come from the top. The Snaga who found you won’t hear anything for a while, maybe never, if I can keep a lid on it.”

Shagrat’s reassurances hadn’t sounded particularly convincing, least of all to the Orc himself. But despite this, in the spirit of carrying on just as they had been doing, or perhaps because he felt he had something to prove, Shagrat dropped to his knees in front of Faramir, coaxed him into a state of abandoned arousal, and then proceeded to service him orally with every bit of the consummate skill, talent and expertise that, Faramir would later realise to his shame, he had already begun to take for granted from the Orc. When it was over Shagrat rose to his feet – a little more breathlessly and unsteadily than usual, perhaps, preparing to make his customary exit.

Faramir caught hold of him as he went past, stepping in close and snaking one arm around the astonished Uruk’s waist. He had already decided to do his best to try and please Shagrat. It was, as Faramir argued to himself, the least he could do, to try and repay Shagrat for services rendered – as it were – and it would probably help keep him on side. Of course focussing on this also made it easier for Faramir to overlook the fact that for some time now, he had secretly been longing to do something like this.

Faramir pulled Shagrat with him down to the floor, persuading him to rest on his side. He could feel Shagrat’s erection butting through the leather of his long tunic, and he ran his hand over it, rubbing appreciatively, as Shagrat had so often done to him. Shagrat drew back immediately, muttering under his breath that he wasn’t fit to be handled, much. Undaunted, Faramir persisted, pulling aside the various layers of clothing and slipping his hands up Shagrat’s naked thighs.

“Gently,” Shagrat hissed, “careful! I’ve got – “

Faramir breathed out in surprise. His hands on the Uruk’s groin had encountered the evidence which told him that someone, or more likely, some people – given the extent of the damage – had in the past been neither particularly careful, nor gentle with Shagrat.

“- quite a bit of scar tissue in places,” Shagrat finished, lamely. He didn’t pull away from Faramir again, but didn’t draw any closer either.

Even so, the Orc was still terribly aroused – his member was absolutely rigid, standing out right-angled from his body, leaking streams of clear fluid, and he gasped frantically as Faramir closed his hands around him. In that state he couldn’t possibly have lasted long, and he didn’t. Faramir slicked his fingers with his own spittle and used it to give Shagrat some of the additional lubrication he obviously needed, as carefully, mindful of hurting him, Faramir pulled the Uruk’s too-tight, tattered foreskin back and forth over the head of his stiff, throbbing cock. Accomplished as Shagrat’s sexual technique was, the Orc was clearly unused to receiving this kind of attention, and he came, shuddering, not making a sound, after only three or four quick, firm strokes.

Shagrat had closed his eyes when Faramir began manipulating him, and he kept them closed for some time after he’d ejaculated. When he opened them again, he stared at Faramir speechlessly, looking shocked, bewildered and not a little panicked. All traces of his usual morose defensiveness and cynicism were gone, and the young man felt sorry to see how easily, and over such a little thing he had been so completely undone. On an impulse, he brought his face close to Shagrat’s, and planted a quick, chaste kiss on the Uruk’s mouth.

He didn’t taste of sunshine. His lips were neither full nor soft, and they were not flavoured with strawberries. He’d bitten them through when he’d climaxed, his fangs ripping ragged tears into the thin flesh, and his mouth, as Faramir kissed him, had the dark iron taste of blood. He smelled of it too – and more strongly of rusty metal, leather and sweat, a suite of rangy odours that blended themselves together with the forceful scents of his skin and scalp into something that was just, purely, essence of Shagrat. That had become oddly familiar, even appealing, and beyond anything else at that point, Faramir found to his surprise that wanted to keep the Orc near him – as close as he possibly could be, in fact. Daringly, he reached up and tangled his hand into Shagrat’s snarl of long, unkempt locks, and held his head in place as he used his tongue very tentatively, to explore the inside of the Uruk’s mouth. Shagrat had not been kissed much before either, and at first as Faramir deepened his kisses, he kept himself rigid and tense, his fists clenched tightly in front of him, obviously having little idea what he should do. He was a quick learner however and was soon kissing back, with ever-increasing confidence. They spent some time spooning together, the Uruk responding so enthusiastically to whatever the young man did to him that it was soon clear to Faramir that from Shagrat’s point of view, he really couldn’t do a thing wrong.

It was an intensely appealing thought to Faramir and he worked his way downwards, kissing and biting at Shagrat’s throat and neck. Below his collarbone, in contrast with the weather-beaten, roughened hide that covered his hands and face and the other exposed portions of his body, his skin was soft, supple, and was in places every bit as smooth, warm and yielding as Faramir’s own. Faramir was struck by an immediate and undeniable urge to find out what the rest of Shagrat was like. He unlaced the ties at the front of Shagrat’s tunic, and then encouraged Shagrat to remove it, together with his breastplate, his other armour, and then all the rest of his various layered garments until at last the Orc was before him, quite unclothed.

Faramir gaped at him. The dim lighting in the Tower, which hid many of the superficial imperfections that marred Shagrat’s body and face might well have played its part, but Faramir found to his astonishment that Shagrat, naked, was a surprisingly enticing sight. His long, clean limbs were attractively-proportioned and though he lacked much of the hulking brawn that characterised most other Uruks, Faramir realised that Shagrat’s muscles were in their way just as well-developed, his height and his much leaner frame largely belying his very obvious physical strength. The Orc’s chest and lower body were quite devoid of hair – like his face, which was beardless as an Elf’s, and he held himself with, if not Elf-like grace, exactly – for fierce apprehension and wary mistrustfulness were all too apparent in his posture – certainly with some innate sense of self-possession, if nothing else.

Without taking his eyes off the Orc for a moment, Faramir quickly unpacked his blanket roll, and spread it out on the floor between them. He lay down and pulled Shagrat after. The Uruk still was obviously in two minds about joining Faramir on his makeshift couch, and looked ready to bolt. With newfound confidence, the kind of feeling he had never before experienced, Faramir insisted, and drew Shagrat down beside him.

They lay, face-to-face, Faramir’s body pressed full-length, tight against Shagrat’s, and he gasped deliciously into the Orc’s open mouth while he held him close, kissing him. The warmth of their bodies coalesced into those two key points of contact between them, the place where their lips were fixed, panting breath to breath in scalding hot kisses, then lower, where they ground their hips together, moving themselves languorously, one against the other.

Faramir – without caring what would happen later on that day, or even tomorrow – had urged Shagrat to take things further. But the Orc, in some respects, retained a terrible air of raw inexperience, amounting almost to virginity, even, about him, and admitted that he hadn’t much idea how to go about that, without severely hurting himself, or Faramir, both. So Faramir contented himself with encouraging Shagrat to thrust himself into the channel presented by Faramir’s pressed-together thighs, and though the intensity of his own climax, when at last it came, did not perhaps quite compare with the heights it had reached when the Orc had taken him and manipulated him in his mouth, the happiness and satisfaction he felt more than compensated for that, for he knew that when they had come together, at last Shagrat had felt his own pleasure and gratification in some measure too.

The Captain stared at him, his whole heart and soul in his eyes, still dumbstruck, too frightened to speak. He flinched away only a very little from Faramir when the young man reached out to caress him, but seeing it, Faramir sighed out, affectionately, exasperatedly. Shagrat was clearly more used to the rough-and-tumble aspects of physical contact and to cover the Uruk’s confusion, Faramir, obligingly, began to manhandle him over onto his back. When Shagrat was in position, he drew himself closer, and rested his head on the Orc’s chest.

“That’s better…..Shagrat…love,” he muttered unthinkingly, as he drifted into sleep.

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