Faramir Fiction Archive

Grief and Hope (NC-17)

Written by Minx

21 April 2013 | 40330 words | Work in Progress

Chapter 10

Note: This is much delayed, years really. I’m truly, truly sorry. I was stuck, and distracted by RL, and a fic that had a similar theme, and couldn’t get myself unstuck. Thank you all ever so much for reading on! You’ve all been so lovely and supportive. big, huge hugs I hope to somehow trundle to a finish soon

Faramir spent a pleasant evening after that. He supped alone, as Andreth had accompanied Denethor to dinner at the king’s chambers. After eating, he sat by the fire in his room a while. He’d changed into his nightshirt but wasn’t ready to sleep yet.

The king was everything he had thought him to be, everything he dreamed of. If only the council dinner had not been planned; they could have perhaps spent more time together.

He quelled the uneasy thought of how differently Elessar viewed their…situation. To the king, it would be no more than a tryst. He must also think of it as no more. After all, he reminded himself, Elessar was king, and a married man. Besides, while Faramir lived in Minas Tirith, he could expect naught else from any other man. Even if Elessar was unlike any other man Faramir had known.

He felt his breath quicken as his thoughts wandered back to all that had transpired in the king’s study. He stared down at his hands, remembering how they had looked wrapped around the large, engorged penis. He felt a warm flush cover his face and throat as he thought of how beautiful it had looked and how firm it felt. And he remembered too the touch of Elessar’s fingers on his erection. He found himself hardening at just the thought of those long fingers, the skin rough with calluses that had scraped against his sensitive skin and sent tingles along his back. He wondered how they would feel on his nipples. He undid his tunic and slid his fingers over the small brown nub on the left side of his chest, pinching lightly, as he often did when seeking to pleasure himself. Now though, his fingers felt very different, short and stubby and unexciting. He scraped a nail in circular motions over the tiny surface trying to simulate the rough sensation of Elessar’s fingers. He watched the small mound peak and sighed pleasurably as his penis twitched. He moved on to his right nipple, and then raked his nails down over his lower belly down to his hardening shaft. He came quietly spilling into his fingers, blushing a little as he realised that he’d had managed to release again so soon after his encounter with Elessar.

He cleaned himself and lay in bed, feeling much more relaxed and pleased than he had in many nights now. When he slept that night he dreamt of the king’s bed and of himself lying in it completely naked, silk sheets soft against his bare skin while Elessar made love to him, slowly and pleasurably, all night long, all the way from sundown till sunrise.

Faramir woke the next morning feeling strangely elated, even though his sheets were damp and sticky. His dreams had left him with a pleasant buzz and full of a happy sensation. He found himself waiting eagerly for the afternoon. At breakfast he almost hummed. Denethor glared at him, but even that was not enough to quell Faramir’s happiness. He went through his arms practise diligently and his paperwork rapidly. He lunched alone, wolfing down bread and soup. He felt a little too excited to eat much.

“You did come. Good! Do you want some mulled wine?”

Elessar was actually waiting for him, Faramir realised and felt a thrill go through him, and almost squeaked a yes in response, blushing at the way his throat betrayed him. The king looked lovely as ever, his eyes bright and smiling, and he smelt of fresh mint and lavender soap.

“We need to look at the maps for South Ithilien,” Elessar said. And Faramir felt a cold ball of unhappiness settle in his stomach. He forced his gaping mouth to close as Elessar smiled pleasantly at him.

Aragorn grinned. He knew Faramir was anticipating their other activities this afternoon as much as he was. But he couldn’t help wanting to play this little prank when Faramir had walked in his expression so full of restrained anticipation and that light blush that went all the way down his neck. He held out the goblet of warm wine.

Faramir looked so confused right now. As he took the goblet. He even seemed to have paled a little. And the effort he was making to regain his composure and bring back that sedate sober look, made him look more like a stuffed frog than anything else. Oh dear, Aragorn thought, he was spending too much time with foster brothers. Poor Faramir. The younger man stood in front of him, straight-backed and formal now.

“Of course, sire,” he said, his voice just slightly higher pitched.

“After we finish with what we began yesterday, of course,” Aragorn said, finally taking pity on the other man.

It took Faramir a few seconds to register what he said, and even then he seemed a little unsure. The blush returned, redder than earlier. He made to step forward and then paused.

Faramir wasn’t really sure if he and the king were thinking of the same thing. He bit his lip. What is the king was still talking of maps? They had after all been through maps yesterday as well, before… he swallowed uncertainly.

“Come,” the king said cheerfully and grasped his arm. “I’ve had the smaller chamber prepared for us. So you needn’t fear interruptions.”

Faramir stared at the king’s smiling face. A part of his body proclaimed that that beautiful, wide smile made the king look far, far more handsome, and those lips on Faramir’s would probably reduce him to a quivering mess. The other part was still desperately trying to process what the king wanted.

Aragorn finally decided to resolve the confusion.

“You don’t mind if we leave the maps for later, do you?” he asked and reaching cupped Faramir’s buttock through his pants. The younger man blushed again. “And fuck instead,” Aragorn deliberately used the word, knowing that the prude Gondorians frowned upon it. Faramir blushed even deeper.

“N-no,” Faramir said, realising finally that the king had just been having a little fun, “I mean – I don’t mind.” He thought he must clarify the point, just in case.

Elessar pulled Faramir into the small private chamber adjoining the study, his fingers clasped tight around Faramir’s arm. The fireplace had been made up, a large cushioned chair had been pulled in front of it, and rugs and cushions had been piled up on the floor. He nudged Faramir towards the rugs. A bottle of scented lebethron oil lay on a table beside, alongside a jug filled with more mulled wine. They placed their goblets near it. Through the open window the scent of wild roses floated in.

“I – I could – any time you -,” Faramir found himself stammering and then felt the words dry up as Elessar removed his heavy ceremonial robes. He wore a thin tunic under it, and Faramir felt his mouth go dry as he noticed the outlines of the king’s well-muscled torso under it. His nipples were brown and a line of dark hair ran down to his navel. Faramir wanted to rip that tunic off and run his tongue all over the solid flesh.

“We should have done this last night,” Elessar murmured as he knelt on the rugs and undid the bindings on his pants, “I was so distracted all through dinner, just wishing I hadn’t had to be there!”

And he had. He’d found his thoughts constantly dwelling on the visions of Faramir’s mouth wrapped around him, the sensation of being so completely pleasured, for there was no other way to described how he felt after that. He’d had to force himself to not think of how it might feel to have Faramir’s tightness encased around him again. That night in Ithilien seemed so long ago now!

“Oh?” Faramir said, his own fingers fumbling with the ties of his pants. He managed to lower them though, his eyes distractedly wandering all over Elessar’s beautiful body instead. He had still kept his tunic on and just lowered his trousers, his semi-erect penis jutting out.

“Yes, I wished we’d continued,” Elessar said, his voice hoarse as he poured some scented oil over his hands, and took his shaft in his hands, “I – wished I’d been inside you,” he said, and felt almost surprised at such an open admission.

Faramir blinked and moved forward, almost tripping over his lowered pants. Stepping out of them he scrambled forward.

“L-let me,” he said aching to feel that hardness on his fingers in his mouth, deep inside him. He quickly coated his fingers with the oil, and ran his hands lightly and hurriedly over the king’s shaft feeling it harden rapidly as he kneaded it gently, Elessar moaning appreciatively along, his strong thighs trembling just slightly, and his oil slicked hands gripping the rugs behind him. Faramir wished those hands were touching him instead.

“I – desired that too,” Faramir said, feeling himself redden further, as he recollected his dreams, and the way in those dream the king had taken him again and again, gently and lovingly on silken sheets, his fingers and mouth covering every inch of Faramir’s body outside while he filled him completely inside, leaving him completely undone.

Elessar was completely erect now, his long thick shaft glistening golden in the light of the later afternoon soon and the flickering flames in the fireplace. Drops of semen glistened at the tip. Faramir stared at it and swallowed. His groin and nipples felt tight. His shaft was half-hard, bumping against his thigh.

“You have the cleverest fingers,” Elessar murmured, as Faramir slid his fingers off, and sat back. He wanted to remove his tunic and feel Elessar’s hands on him.

Elessar gently nudged him down, turning him over onto his stomach on a cushion so that Faramir’s rear was raised.

Aragorn stared down at the younger man lying sprawled on the rugs below him. He had taken his pants off completely. His legs were pale from too much time spent inside and on the skinny side, the muscle tone still not returned after his convalescence. He wore a blue tunic that ended just over his rear. Aragorn pushed it up revealing the pale, rounded globes. He rested his sun browned hands against their softness. As his hands cupped Faramir’s buttocks, the younger man moaned, sounding almost relieved and immediately parted his legs.

“Pl-please,” Faramir mumbled as he felt Elessar’s hands slide between his buttocks. The rugs were rough under his knees and hands.

“Please what?” the king sounded a little amused though hoarse. His fingers were still hovering between the rounded cheeks, not dipping further inside

“In – in me,” Faramir said, shocked at how crude he might be sounding, but his groin ached at the thought of the king’s erect shaft so close by. He made to move, but the king placed a hand on the small of his back and he almost whined.

Aragorn nudged Faramir’s buttocks apart, exposing the tiny entrance and slid a finger in. The younger man was so tight, and he couldn’t wait to feel that tightness around his full shaft. Faramir gasped softly and twitched a bit as he adjusted to the intrusion. Aragorn slid another finger inside and stretched.

The king’s finger slid inside, stretching Faramir. It stung, and a little of the tightness in Faramir’s stomach went away. Another slender digit slid in, scissoring through his tight passage. He shifted trying to accommodate them, wishing the king had used a little more oil on his fingers. And then suddenly a probing finger bent slightly and brushed him deep inside and he forgot everything as he let out a guttural sound. His groin tightened again, and he moaned desperately.

“Faramir?” Elessar stilled, his tone questioning as Faramir grasped at the rug.

“M-more, please?” Faramir almost begged.

The fingers slid out, leaving him feeling empty, and then to his relief, he felt the wet tip of Elessar’s shaft against his entrance.

Aragorn pushed in eagerly grasping the younger man’s hips. Faramir moaned aloud as his passage was filled. Aragorn smiled. The younger man wasn’t exactly quiet, and some of his sounds were quite odd, like the strange grunt he let out now.

The king’s fingers dug into the soft skin above his hips, and Faramir let out a garbled sound as he gave into the whirl of sensations all around him. The large shaft inside him, thrusting closer and closer to that tingling place inside him, the oil softened fingers digging into his soft flesh, his own hard penis pressing into the cushion under him. The silken threads embroidered in some floral pattern that Faramir had barely noticed brushed against his sensitised skin. The rough texture of his tunic shifted against his chest as he moved with Elessar’s regular rapid thrusts. He slid a hand under his body and moved his tunic up, tugging the bindings open, and sliding forward so that the rough wool of the rugs came into contact with his partly bared torso. He felt something catch against his left nipple scraping the peaked mound and let out another whimper. He scraped his nails over his other nipple roughly, and dragged his hand down to his aching shaft.

And then as Elessar thrust in deeper, hitting him at just the right spot and for a while all Faramir could feel an overwhelming sense of pleasure. He tightened himself around the king. Elessar let out a surprised grunt, a sound so erotic that Faramir thought he could come just from that. And then his passage filled with the hot, sticky spurts of Elessar’s release. Faramir tugged at his aching shaft and felt his own release spill onto the cushion and his fingers.

Aragorn took a deep breath and slumped down over Faramir as his shaft finally went limp, still inside the younger man’s passage. Faramir sighed. Aragorn shifted, pulling out of him. Faramir let out a soft, sighing sound. Aragorn sat up, and stared bemusedly at the younger man, with the legs spread apart, streaked with trails of white stickiness that trickled out of him onto the cushions and rugs. His tunic had ridden up revealing his lower back and the sharp bones of hips as he shifted.

The younger man turned slowly over onto his back. His face glistened with sweat, his eyes were half-lidded and his hair in disarray. His tunic had come half undone revealing his thin chest, as pale as the rest of his body but marked with pink indentations from the rug. One streak extended to his nipple, a small brown mound. Aragorn realised a little guiltily that he’d forgotten about the younger man’s pleasure but clearly Faramir had taken care of himself. His lower belly and the front of his thighs were streaked with his own release; his spent shaft lay limply against his thigh.

Aragorn rose slowly, and tied up his pants. He picked up the wine goblets and poured out some wine for both of them. It was still warm, he noted with surprise. The sun was still high outside. He hadn’t realised how quickly they were done.

Faramir was rising now, slowly and unsteadily. He looked a little dazed but pleased. He bent to pick up his trousers, giving Aragorn a delightful view of his rear. Much as Aragorn expected, Faramir wanted to wash up before joining him for wine. He came back, looking damp, but much happier than Aragorn had seen him in a long time.

They finished the work on South Ithilien maps quickly. Aragorn sat back with a sigh of relief and pulled out his pipe.

“That’s all for today,” he said firmly.

“Tomorrow…” Faramir asked a little uncertainly. He hoped Elessar too had enjoyed their coupling today.

“Tomorrow, the council meets after the noon meal. We will not have time to meet on Ithilien,” Aragorn said thoughtfully.

“Oh,” Faramir said, and tried not to let his disappointment show. Of course, they could not meet each day and lie together each day. He needed to remember, this was no more than a mere diversion for the king.

“But we could meet after the council meeting,” Elessar suggested, smiling at Faramir.

“Oh,” Faramir said.

“Just to fuck,” Elessar said grinning, and Faramir reddened, “And then you could stay for supper. It will help you build an appetite perhaps.”

Faramir wished the king would ask him to stay back today, so they could – lie together again. His rear felt a little sore, but the thought of lying with the king, being – in his word, fucked – by him again thrilled him nevertheless.

“And since there are no maps, we could use the table,” he said trying to contain his embarrassing flush.

Elessar raised an eyebrow at that, “I should like that,” he said, “If the council gets too boring tomorrow, perhaps I will think of that – fucking you while you lean over the table. Perhaps you could wear your robes tomorrow. Just the robes. It might make our work easier.”

Faramir let out a slight squeak at that.

“Rest well,” Elessar said softly, when he was leaving, “You look tired.”

“But it is a nice tiredness,” Faramir told him, though he had to bite back a yawn. He supped in his chambers and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

As it turned out quite unfortunately, the council meeting the next day was delayed due to Iriel’s late arrival, and then stretched late into the evening. Incursions were reported on the Rhunic borders and the matter needed much discussion. Aragorn strictly banished all thoughts of the younger man and got into the discussions.

Faramir had changed into his robes in the late afternoon, as he awaited a note from the king to come over. He’d had a bath using fragrant oils and scrubs so he too would smell as pleasant as Elessar did, when he wasn’t smoking pipeweed. And he’d taken some of the lavender oil onto his fingers and coated himself with it. He still felt a little sore and he’d realised that Elessar was unused to slower lovemaking. And then he’d reminded himself that they were not making love.

A note came later in the evening to say the council would stretch longer; they could meet later. The council stretched into supper. The lavender oil was beginning to feel sticky and Faramir felt more than a little odd in just the soft robes and nothing else.

He sighed as he read the second note that arrived just as Andreth informed the servants that Denethor would not arrive for supper.

Elessar regretted that they could not meet today.

Faramir changed out of his robes, cleansed the oil off him and joined Andreth for supper. It was a quiet awkward meal, as Faramir realised that he and the younger man barely had anything to converse of. He tried, asking politely about lessons, and receiving short, but equally polite responses.

Supper was over very quickly and both men retired early. Faramir wandered restlessly around the house for a while. After a while he returned to his rooms, and decided to read in bed instead, an old text from Anorien on political strategy. He could barely finish a page before he found himself rising.

He retrieved an old worn book from the depths of a trunk. He had been given the book once by a young Khandrim minstrel he had met in Pelargir. They had met when Faramir had used a few days’ furlough to visit the ruins of an old castle there. The minstrel had been comely, and charming, and had taught Faramir much, and not just Khandrim romantic poetry. The book itself was a collection of illustrated songs. Faramir had understood that they were romantic songs about male lovers but on later going through the poems and illustrations realised that they were of a more erotic and instructive nature. He had in the past often leafed through the book and wished he could have a lover whom he could practise some of the more exciting illustrations. He’d tried some, including one where he’d let himself be tied down. That had been interesting. He turned some more pages till he reached the illustration where the table was used. He ran his fingers over it.

He moved over to his table, and leaned against it. He pushed himself up so that he was sitting at the edge of the table. Moving further up, he raised his nightshirt and parted his legs, folding them so that his heels rested at the edge of the table, exposing his groin and buttocks. His hands rested behind him for balance. He imagined Elessar, standing between his legs, his hardened length pressing between his buttocks, his fingers playing with his sensitive fingers, his mouth dipping down to tongue at Faramir’s navel.

He felt his breath quicken. His groin tightened and involuntarily one hand moved to clutch his own hardness.

They tried the table two days later when the incursions had been curtailed, and Elessar was finally free to meet him. They’d spent an hour on the Ithilien work first though, the scribes needed the notes.

Elessar had made him lean over the table and lowered his trousers to his thighs. The carved edge of the table pressed against his bare belly. He had leant over it, and Elessar had entered him swiftly. They had come all over the table, and Faramir had been very glad they had removed all the papers from it.

It soon fell into a comfortable pattern. Faramir would join Elessar in the afternoon, they would work for a while, and then quickly spend some time in the smaller chamber. It would usually be quick and rushed coupling, with both men barely undoing their clothes.

He’d tried other things, but Elessar reacted largely with bemusement, and Faramir would be forced to recollect each time that the king much like other soldiers would see another man differently. He had explored the king’s chest once, with his hands but when he’d tried to use his mouth on the king’s nipples, the older man had moved away discomfited. And he didn’t seem to want to explore Faramir’s body either.

“I am unused to such intimacy with men,” he’d admitted, when Faramir had once undone his shirt and stammered out a request for Elessar to touch him.

Aragorn stared at Faramir’s brown nipples on his pale flat chest and thought of Arwen’s beautifully rounded pert breasts, and the pale pink nipples, just the colour of the wild roses outside their window, her flat, smooth stomach, and the round navel. He had spent hours exploring those with his hands and tongue. The curves moulded around his fingers perfectly, so unlike the awkward feel of sharp bone and muscle tones in a male frame.

Faramir therefore, fell in with Elessar’s pattern, willing to acquiesce to anything that gave him at least these few moments with the king. He found that that precious bit of time in a day when the king lay with him, left him far better suited to face the world than anything else did. With the thought of spending time with Elessar in his heart, he could tolerate Denethor’s increasingly frequent outburst, Andreth’s indifference, the rudeness and scorn of various councillors, and his own worries for himself.

It was some days later that Faramir realised the queen would be returning soon.

TBC…

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