Faramir Fiction Archive

Infrequent Meetings (R)

Written by Minx

24 June 2006 | 3135 words

Title: Infrequent Meetings
Author: Minx
Pairing: Faramir/Éomer
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash

Written for the Faramir Fiction Midsummer Swap.

Request by Laurelote: I'm pretty flexible about this, but I guess I'd like to read some more Faramir/Éomer, maybe something set before the war?

Many thanks to Iris for her help and encouragement!

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Éomer walked swiftly into the great hall behind the other riders, his eyes searching the room anxiously for their visitor. Faramir was sitting by Théoden, talking quietly to the king, he realised. Smiling, he strode towards the large table, his eyes never leaving the other man as he moved closer.

He looked exhausted, Éomer thought dismayed, and as he glanced at the lean face. He thought he could see lines that had not been there the last night. He was thinner too, and tiredness radiated off him, in the slight slump of his shoulders once Théoded had turned away and in the listlessness of his eyes.

He reached the table and slipped in next to Faramir, causing the other man to turn towards him. Dull grey eyes lit up with a spark of brightness that made Éomer hurt in a most pleasurable way.

“Éomer!” Faramir’s voice was soft yet eager, “They said you were out and unlikely to return for a fortnight.”

“Your message from Ithilien was delivered to me with the despatches,” Éomer said quietly, feeling strangely self-conscious, “It was a surprise, albeit a pleasant one. I thought you were in Minas Tirith to attend your father’s councils for some weeks still.”

“I was a day in Minas Tirith, no more, before Father asked me to join the party reaching here. I left as soon as I could.”

It had been more than a year since they had last met.

It was the first time they’d met. Éomer had been sent to Minas Tirith with a delegation similar to the one Faramir accompanied now.

Éomer felt a little nervous but he knew he mustn’t show it. He had just been given an eored and here he was in Minas Tirith surrounded not just by other Riders, all of them older than him, but Gondorian captains too. They were not unalike his companions, save in colouring. They ‘d seemed quieter but now gathered together in the large hall in the citadel, sprawled over the large stone tables, surrounded by good food and ale, they were much like the riders. Loud and overly cheerful, trying to forget their soldering lives for the moment.

He still felt a little awkward surrounded by older men, who’d seen so much more than he had. Loud, cheerful laughter cut into his quiet thoughts, and he turned to see his cousin Théodred talking to Boromir. They laughed again and Éomer found himself smiling just at the joyousness he heard in their voices. It was good to see Théodred smile. Often these days, all he seemed to do was worry over the defences.

He’d been curious about the Steward’s sons. Boromir had been much as he’d heard he would be – tall, well-built, handsome, especially when he’d smiled at his cousin Théodred, when they had all met for dinner. Éomer was anxious to speak to him and get to know him better. He’d been hearing all about him for long now, and not just from Théodred who seemed to know him quite well. He wished he could have been seated near them, instead of at the foot of the table. But then perhaps, it wasn’t so bad… he actually felt nervous about talking to him.

Faramir had been different. He had returned from Ithilien that day, and his brown and green outfit was still streaked with mud. At eighteen, Éomer was already as broad as him. Boromir had laughed and talked boisterously with the men around, Faramir had smiled, exchanged a few words and lapsed into silence. Yet, the silence was not accompanied by sullenness as Éomer would have envisaged.

The supper finally broke up as the men began staggering home or to taverns, still cheerful but not yet drunk. Éomer watched as Théodred and Boromir rose together. He rose too, intending to join them but they slipped away through the door before he could, laughing and talking, hands slung around each other in a manner that Éomer had seen many a rider do. He tried to bite back the disappointment. He’d have liked to have joined them. Surely they must be discussing the horses Théodred had brought along this year. Some of them, Éomer had trained.

He found himself left alone with Faramir, and mad to leave, awkward still, wondering whether to return to his chambers or to search for the other two. Faramir had risen with him, he realised then, and turned awkwardly towards him.

Faramir was staring thoughtfully after the door, and then he turned to Éomer.

“Would you join me for some wine in my chambers?” he asked suddenly.

Éomer stared at him, confused, unsure what to say. He was about to decline politely when he recollected that Faramir too was the Steward’s son. It would not be polite, he decided, to refuse.

“Certainly,” he said overly cheerfully, in a bid to trying to sound enthusiastic.

Faramir’s rooms were not far from the guest rooms that had been given to Éomer and Théodred. They were not very large but looked comfortable enough with tall windows looking out over gardens and terraces below. A small terrace led out through a large wooden door. Faramir led him into a small sitting room, where a fire lingered in the hearth.
They were rather dull rooms, Éomer thought as he looked around curiously, taking in the old, frayed curtains, the dusty vases that held no flowers, the books crammed untidily into a wooden shelf, a faded multicoloured rug no longer as bright as it must have been. For all that people spoke of Gondorian culture, his chambers in Rohan were better he thought.

“Do sit,” Faramir said courteously, waving towards the chairs near the hearth, “I’ll ask the kitchens to send us something to eat too.”

Éomer decided not to point out that they’d just had supper. Faramir had joined them later and missed most of the meal. He nodded quietly instead.

He walked out into the small terrace. It was chilly outside and he could feel the nip in the air. The winters were nearing. He looked out interestedly, wondering if he could see a view of the city from here.

Théodred had said Boromir’s rooms looked out over the city. From Faramir’s room all that could be seen were the same gardens and that he could see from his room, he realised. And a level lower, a smaller balcony jutted out right over an ornamental pond. He was still looking around when he heard the soft sounds from near the pond.

There seemed to be someone there, he thought, surprised, two people perhaps, and they seemed to be lying there together. Whatever were they doing out in the cold he wondered, and then realised that they seemed to be partly undressed. A languid movement revealed that they seemed to be completely undressed. He could see a tangle of arms and legs, glowing palely under the starlit sky, and then they untangled, their bodies gracefully curving apart and then sliding against each again, as they kissed briefly. He leaned forward curiously as they came apart and gasped softly as he recognised the men.

He could see his cousin’s lean and well-muscled body arching, and then Boromir was kissing him. A wild tangle of golden hair pressed against a dark head. He moved closer to the railing as he watched the way their mouths met, and they seemed to be melding into each other, their strong, beautiful bodies glistening in the starlight. Hands flew quickly all over, touching exploring, and then Boromir moved, bending his dark head between Théodred’s parted legs.

The sounds wafted up to his ears, louder now – soft grunts growing louder, until they turned into low, pleasured moans, that left him wishing they were emanating from his mouth for they were the sweetest sounds he’d heard.

A strange feeling coursed through his lower body. He took a deep, ragged breath as he felt it again, a strong surge of such pleasure as he had never felt even when he touched himself on lonely nights out with the riders.

He stepped back and then pulled up short almost immediately when he realised Faramir had come up right behind him.

“The food is here,” Faramir said, and then lapsed suddenly into silence. Éomer jerked his head away from the sight below to force himself to reply.

“Oh,” he said, and then noticed where Faramir’s gaze had fallen to his leggings, which seemed to be confining him now. He moved away from the terrace, feeling his face flush rapidly, trying to steady his rapidly beating heart, and to calm the sensations that coursed through his lower body. He couldn’t though.

He found his eyes moving towards the couple below again. Their sounds still wafted up. He gazed up at Faramir, feeling strange and trying not to blush.

“I – Théodred -,Boromir –“ he stuttered uncertainly, glancing back towards the oblivious couple, “I didn’t – I thought they were here to talk of horses,” he said lamely.

“They meet often on various matters,” Faramir told him quietly.

“Oh,” he said flushing, “I didn’t know. I didn’t -,” he broke off in confusion.

They stood there uncertainly for a moment, and with each passing second Éomer blushed more deeply as his arousal refused to subside.

“Should we go inside?” he said nervously, and without waiting for a reply, stumbled into Faramir’s chambers and threw himself into a chair.

“Éomer?” Faramir said gently.

“They looked beautiful,” he blurted out suddenly and then bit his lip.

“Yes,” Faramir said agreeably and poured out the wine into two goblets. He handed one quietly to Éomer.

Eome took it and shifted uncomfortably. The hardness remained, if anything it felt worse as he remembered the way Théodred and Boromir had moved against each other, skin on skin, touching each other, their arousals meeting. He moaned softly, and then tried to cough to cover it. What must Faramir think of him!

“Théodred never told me he – that he –,” he faltered again, “In Edoras all the women fawn over him and he in return courts them all.”

“As does Boromir in Minas Tirith,” Faramir replied.

“I did not know – some of the riders, they do well, they do –“

“It’s often so for soldiers – riders and other alike,” Faramir murmured, Away from others so long, and faced with what we do constantly, the comfort of companionship is welcomed. Another soldier sometimes understands as no woman away from the battlefield might.”

“I suppose so,” Éomer said softly, “But none looked as these two did… they looked so beautiful,” he repeated wonderingly, and then, “I have never-“ he added blushing, and wondered why he was revealing something as intimate as that to another. But somehow, with Faramir it did not feel so wrong to reveal that.

Faramir looked at him understandingly and he found himself wondering a little more about the other man.

“Have you?” he blurted out and it was Faramir’s turn to look startled and redden slightly.

“Sometimes…” he replied briefly.

Éomer looked at the other man, at the intelligent grey eyes and the slender archer’s figure and wondered how Faramir might look if he’d been on the balcony sprawled naked on the floor with someone. It was a surprisingly delicious thought; he realised, and felt himself hardening some more. He groaned and brought his hand to the waistband of his pants, but a touch on his wrist prevented that.

He looked into Faramir’s face.

“You’re beautiful too,’ he murmured, and then paled as he realised what he’d said. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so hard any more. Gasping softly, he sat up straight and stared back into Faramir’s amused face.

“You are very kind,” the other man said, smiling.

“I should leave perhaps before I utter more such inanities,” Éomer muttered, “And take care of my needs…”

“I could help,” Faramir said hurriedly.

Éomer raised his eyebrows, trying hard not to picture Faramir naked again. The Gondorian however misinterpreted his expression and backed away slightly, “Forgive me, I –“

“No,” Éomer said softly, “I would be glad…but you would have to teach me… what to umm…do…”

And he did.

Éomer could never forget that night. He often lay awake nights recreating in his mind every moment, every little word, every touch, every gesture of Faramir’s, from the moment the Gondorian had led him to his bed and helped him undress. Faramir had kissed him then, his lips soft and wet, with the taste of the sweet wine still lingering.

Éomer had been with women, but not as many as perhaps Théodred would have. But then, Théodred was older, stronger, braver and much favoured by the young women in Edoras, and the young men too, Éomer realised now.

Not one of those women had made Éomer feel even half of what Faramir made him feel by merely kissing him on his mouth, his jaw, his neck, his shoulder blades. When Faramir undressed, Éomer watched with unrestrained pleasure. Faramir was every inch as he’d imagined, and more.

They felt each other, bare skin against bare skin, and he gasped at the sensations that flooded through him when his arousal pressed against Faramir’s, and responded eagerly as Faramir kissed him again snaking his tongue into the older man’s throat, hesitantly at first but then eagerly as Faramir opened up encouragingly, breaking away only when they were out of breath.

“You are most beautiful too,” Faramir murmured huskily, “I have not taken my eyes off you, since I first saw you yesterday… do you know your hair gleams as gold when the sun falls on it,” he whispered before moving down and licking Éomer’s nipple, causing the younger man to cry out soundlessly.

“Would you like to take me?” he asked in that same husky tone and Éomer nodded, unable to speak.

Faramir took him in his mouth, causing Éomer to nearly scream, licking and kissing him into hardness. Éomer watched through lidded eyes as Faramir quickly prepared himself, and then sprawled across the bed, spreading himself out for Éomer.

He then guided him into entering him, encouraging Éomer to push into the tight warmth, harder and harder, telling him to breathe in then out to stop, to push, to push harder. Éomer tried to be gentle, pushing in slowly, until he’d sheathed himself, and then he could control himself no more, even as Faramir kept urging him to move faster. And then the older man cried out, and he knew he’d done something right, for Faramir had clenched around him.

He came inside Faramir, his entire body trembling as he felt his release spurt out and fill up the tight space. He’d moved his hands fumblingly over Faramir’s hardness, stroking him until Faramir had cried out again, and he’d felt warm fluid spill out over his fingers. And then he suddenly found himself feeling extremely lightheaded, and closing his eyes, slumped over Faramir’s bare stomach, breathing heavily, hoping he wouldn’t black out.

“You are beautiful,” Faramir had repeated softly.

“I want you inside me,” Éomer murmured.

They’d spent the night together, exploring each other. And later, they had lain together in in front of the hearth, drinking warm wine, a rug carelessly swept over their bare bodies, and talked and discussed their likes and dislikes and Faramir had flushed and retrieved a book tightly wedged in between two fat tomes, and they had glanced through the illustrations and made plans for the rest of Éomer’s visit.

It was all they could do. The next morning when Éomer had entered the council room, Faramir had been standing in front of Denethor, his head bowed, shoulders slumped tiredly. He’d watched anxiously, then Boromir and Théodred had entered, and Denethor turned to them.

“Faramir, you may leave now. Set out immediately.”

“Set out?” Boromir frowned, even as Éomer gaped.

“Faramir needs to return to Ithilien,” Denethor was saying decisively. He was saying something about movements and Boromir protesting about his barely having reached Minas Tirith but Éomer heard none of it. Éomer was staring solely at the misery etched on Faramir’s face.

“Why do you wait here?” Denethor snapped at Faramir, suddenly, causing him to flinch and leave. Boromir had followed him out, and Théodred. Éomer slipped out after them and waited for them to finish speaking to him and bid him farewell before entering the room he had spent the previous night in.

They had parted with a passionate kiss, each trying to display understanding.

“I shall try to return soon,” Faramir promised, “There is that thing we discussed about the fruits and honey.”

Éomer smirked in reply and kissed him again, “I’ll look forward to it,” he said smiling.

But Faramir could not return till the day they were to depart, and all they could manage were a few furtive kisses as Éomer packed.

When Éomer and his men rode out the next day to check the defences on a hill to the east of the city, Faramir offered to join them since his councils with Théoded were completed.

“It is good of you to ride with us,” Éomer said, quietly although in his eyes he could have done with more rest than work.

“I am glad I could,” Faramir replied.

They spoke little that day, for they needed to ride hard, stopping only briefly at midday to have a quick meal.

They camped that evening on a small stretch of land by a stream. Éomer’s tent was pitched some distance away, closer to the small stream that stumbled down the hillside. He finished seeing to the men, giving them his instructions and then returned there.

Faramir was lying under a tree, his head resting on his saddle pack watching the tall yellow grasses swaying in the soft wind. A wayward appleblossom floated lazily down from the tree they sat below. Éomer plucked it gently off Faramir’s hair, and continued to watch the older man.

“Éomer,” Faramir smiled up at him.

“You looked tired,” Éomer said softly.

“I’ve never felt better,” Faramir said, “What do you think of?”

“I was thinking of when we met last year.”

“I have thought of naught else all these days,” Faramir said softly.

“Would you rest,” Éomer asked gently.

“That would depend on what you mean by rest,” Faramir rose himself on to his elbows slowly.

Éomer sat down beside him.

“Well you would have to just lie down, and I could see to that thing we spoke of with fruits and honey…”

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