Faramir Fiction Archive

Complicated (NC-17)

Written by Wingy

20 December 2008 | 1575 words

Title: Complicated
Pairing: Denethor/Faramir
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: incest (father-son)
Summary: A sweet moment turns sweeter—and opens the door to something more—when Denethor finds his youngest son asleep.

Written for the 2008 Midwinter Swap.

Request by Sarah Elizabeth: Faramir/Denethor but NOT noncon or abuse, please make it a consensual (if perhaps complicated) relationship with two lonely men who find themselves eager and willing to lie with one another. Preferably set before Denethor succumbs to madness. NC-17, pretty please!

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Complicated

Faramir slept restlessly, facedown on the writing desk he kept shadowed in the corner of his room, near the balcony doors. He’d been working, as usual, too hard; a half-eaten plate of fruit and an empty cup of wine stood on the level top of the wood desk, undisturbed by the swing of black hair and the lax arm that was flung out, cradling his head. The paperwork, while not due in imminently, still was scattered under his torso, one particularly crumpled and blotched sheet folded under his cheek.

His exhaled breath made a light hum in his throat, which in turn made his companion smile. Denethor had been standing in the doorway for a while now, leaning back on the wall and watching his son sleep. Even if he was grown… it still brought a sadly tinted smile to his face to see him sleeping in the chair at that old desk. He’d always so loved to sit and write, even if it was just nonsense, till he was so tired he couldn’t keep his eyes open. The older man softened, crouching near the desk to brush his fingers over the smooth cheek.

“Faramir… wake up, little one. It’s nearly midnight.” He crooned softly to his son, still his baby after quite a few years. “Come now, that’s right…” He smiled as those wide grey eyes blinked open, sleepily focusing on Denethor. He smiled, slowly, and even more so with the little kiss to his forehead as he sat up and stretched, the thin shirt he’d been wearing now wrinkled and slipping off one shoulder.

“Mmm… father. Is it that late?” Faramir, still blearily waking up, swiped a hand over his face and smudged a blot of ink that had stained it. “Why are you here?”

“I still have to take care of you, apparently…” Denethor chuckled, a rare sound to come out of the steward, absently straightening his son’s clothes and nudging him towards the bed. “You should sleep.” Faramir yawned, catlike in his motions, as he stumbled back into the wood slatted footboard, falling back hard into the soft feather mattress.

“Mmf!” He brought his hand up fast to his lip, which he’d bitten upon sitting down so hard. “Aah…” His fingers came away stained with bright red, from a tiny split that was bleeding profusely; he licked at it and transferred the bright color to his tongue while he rubbed at his newly sore lip. Denethor moved forward and sat with him, cloak fluttering out as he moved, and took the blood-dripped hand to look it over. “Father…”

Faramir’s face creased with an almost unreadable expression, not expecting to have the steward so close. And to have him taking care of him… he’d never done it when either he or Boromir were boys, but that couldn’t be slighted. It was simply how things worked, and they’d been well taken care of. He just want so much of a father, in anything other than title.

Denethor, instead of saying anything in response to the half-protest, raised his son’s fingers and brought them to his lips, giving each one a tiny kiss, as he’d done when Faramir had shut his fingers in a heavy book, when he was little. The boy had always had delicate fingers… soft to the touch and long, thin like the rest of him. He was more suited to be a handsome scholar than a soldier; but he did both duties well.

Their lips met clumsily, awkwardly, when Faramir dipped his head down, blushing dusky pink over his cheeks, and tilted his head to fit them together. He gave a soft moan, more of a sigh than anything. He wasn’t so much kissing his father, he thought, as just another man. He’d never known him as a father. “Mh… nnf!” He drew back when his split lip touched his father’s, startled by both the sensation and the strangely knotted feeling somewhere in his stomach.

They only sat looking at each other, both momentarily stunned for a minute, Denethor apprehensive, and Faramir closed the gap again with another kiss, this time a little more intentional. He was almost shy in exploring, reaching to open his father’s shirt cautiously. “Can I…?” He queried softly, raven gloss hair swinging messily over his shoulders and Denethor’s fingers.

“Yes. I’d like it if you did… You’ve grown very handsome, since…” He didn’t have to say the rest; both of them knew what he would have said, about Finduilas. “You are a very attractive young man.” Faramir blushed lightly, ducking his head with a slight smile and nosing at the older man’s throat. He let Denethor touch him, reaching for his laces and sliding one palm down his stomach, fingertips barely grazing his semi-soft length as the hand curled around it.

“I… do you—?”

“Mmmhm.” Denethor cut his son off with a deep kiss, winding his free arm around the slim waist, fingers teasing under the loose shirt. He hadn’t brought oil with him, having not intended to be so intimate, but the lamp oil from the boy’s bedside would do finely. He slid the band of the leggings down, exposing his son’s hips to his hands.

Faramir nudged his hands into Denethor’s shirt, shifting to spread his legs around the hand that reached between them, sliding around his side from his back. He was getting aroused from the teasing, cool touches, the feeling so like his own hands on his skin. “Aah…” he chuckled lightly, down his throat, “Cold fingers.” It made Denethor laugh as well, framing the side of his son’s face.

“I’m sorry. They’ll warm.” He tipped the extra bottle of lamp oil into one hand, slicking his fingers before he moved back up, taking another kiss as he slid his fingers around the puckered and warm entrance to Faramir’s body. The next moments passed without words, each exchanging merely soft gasps and groans as one was breached, and the other sliding long digits into his son’s entrance, slick and hot and entirely… welcome.

Faramir pulled his face into a pleasurable grimace as he was entered, moving into a more comfortable position, grasping his hands under one knee; he sighed nicely as the fingers were replaced by a hard length, stroked to fullness by Denethor’s hand, and his own. The movement eased, still tight and filling, but growing pleasurable.

One short thrust, though, let loose the gasping moan from Faramir that he’d been holding tight, squeezing a hand around Denethor’s hip. “Please…” He rocked his hips back, used to the gentle ebb and flow of pleasure as his partner moved, connecting with his hips with gentle slaps, over and over. “Mmh… mn, ah!” Faramir’s soft, low moans escaped, floating through the heated air on a wavering note as he was thoroughly, but gently, fucked. It was different… having someone take control of his body so.

“Ohh… oh, yes!” The soft exclamations from both partners quivered in the air as one came, Denethor filling his son with his seed. “Faramir…” He tugged, rougher than before, on the man’s cock, fingers combing through the short, wiry curls at the base of his length. The excited but subdued moans coming from his son aroused him, though he was already softening too much to enter him again, just yet.

“Mmm. Yes…” The young man readily complied, moving his own hands down to his arousal and stroking it, hesitating briefly when the same fingers from before entered him again, finding and stimulating his prostate easily. Denethor knew where to look for it, and knew how to rub at it just enough, just the right way, to make his cock twitch as he stroked, the older man’s other hand wrapped around his. That insistent rubbing, prodding at the small bundle of nerves, tipped him over the edge just enough to let his own stroked carry him the rest of the way.

“Ah! Father!” Faramir came with a short cry, bucking up into the sure hands and coming down, sweating from effort, into the caressing strokes with a shaking sigh. He felt his arousal soften slowly, as he covered himself with his hand, splashed with his milky-clear come and sweat. “Mmmh…” He breathed heavily, covering his father’s hand with his own, and twisted into a warm, open body that was dusted with the same sheen of dampness. With the silver at his temples, and the glistening sweat his father looked for a remarkable second as if he were unreal… a faery stripped of his wings.

With a slow breath, Denethor nosed gently at his son’s cheek, pressing a soft sideways kiss to it as he settled with him on the wooden slat frame. He could very easily fall asleep here… like he would with any of his other lovers. It might be just a tad more complicated, being in a relationship with Faramir. But not so much that he couldn’t enjoy it.

After all. What was love if not complicated?

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