Faramir Fiction Archive

Mist (R)

Written by Geale

30 September 2010 | 88324 words

Ready?

Chapter Ten – Release

The corridor lay in darkness. Only a weak silvery light slid across the floor as the waning moon that was now but the slimmest crescent glanced in through the windows. Faramir walked slowly and yet he stood before Aragorn’s closed door sooner than perhaps he had wished. Or maybe he was simply afraid, deep down, not really knowing what the energy speeding through the night air actually wanted with him.

Standing before that door, he ran his palm over the polished wood thoughtfully. It seemed to him now that a previously underlying tension rose from its depths somewhere around him and caught him in an embrace that before had been anticipation but now bordered on nervousness. If he reached out, all he got was his own anxiety swimming around him as if mirroring itself in his own form. Few would guide him now, of this he was quite certain, and so, without postponing, he knocked.

The night greedily drank the noise down and ever so quickly Faramir was left in that pool of complete silence and faint moonlight. Time was slowly turning. It lazed about him in no hurry, teasingly enjoying the dance of the immortals as Faramir perceived it. There exists no such accomplished lover as time, faithful and willing, ever-present, and yet untouchable and impossible to conquer; no one will ever make you yearn, hope and despair such as time does and will do.

Faramir stood in the midst of this, waiting.

When Aragorn called him to enter, he guardedly pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The King was standing by the window, a tall dark shape against the moonlight, with his back to Faramir. No other light was lit in the room – no candles, no lamps – and the long robe that Aragorn wore hid most of his body’s shapes except for his broad shoulders and the hair that gently fell to his shoulders. Without turning around, Faramir shut the door behind him.

My lord.

The night would be a dark one and perhaps dawn would delay, leaving them in this state where thought and instincts grew muddled. Faramir must at first strain to hear when Aragorn softly spoke.

“I have had dreams of late…” he said quietly, and in his voice was a note of wonder but also of defeat ill paired with agony. He still did not move.

“I have had dreams I cannot explain, but I am wishing…”

He began turning and Faramir who could not avert his gaze, watched him while his breathing grew shallower. The moonlight fell upon Aragorn’s hair and no breeze could have moved slower than he did in this moment. As he turned, his robe fell away and Faramir saw naked skin, dully illuminated.

“I am wishing…” Aragorn’s voice lost all strength and yet he continued speaking as he would soon face Faramir fully. “That you would help me.”

With these last words he stopped moving and Faramir was first struck by the raw pain and confusion that desperately shimmered in Aragorn’s grey eyes. Then his gaze was helplessly drawn downwards, past the pale skin of Aragorn’s chest, past his belly and his hips, for in this moment, nothing else claimed his attention but the risen flesh, arching out from Aragorn’s body.

A slow and dull pounding rose within Faramir as the need that flowed from Aragorn’s form finally reached him. He deliberately drew a deeper breath to keep himself grounded, but still the sight affected him and he sensed the night close in on them. And somehow he knew it was too late – far too late – to choose, or wish for, a different path and perhaps, a different fate.

Aragorn said no more as Faramir began crossing the floor, coming closer, moving through the weak white glow that filled the room. Gondor’s Steward said nothing either when he came to stand face to face with his King. Aragorn was breathing softly but this illusion was not powerful enough to hide the torment of his soul. His will was strong though, and kept away the wild panic that threatened to burst forward, but this display of calmness was fragile and would shatter in an instant were it to be challenged.

The last thing Faramir read in his eyes before he sank to his knees before Aragorn was the plea.

He lost some sense of the world as he placed a first kiss on the warm skin of Aragorn’s belly. The older man quivered slightly as Faramir inhaled his scent, keeping his lips near his body, but not touching. He placed a second kiss below the first one, slowly making his way downwards. Faramir knew not well what he was doing, or rather what he was causing, as he marked Aragorn’s skin with his mouth; he held the capacity to fully please a lover, but this was no ordinary man or occasion.

His stubbly chin brushed against Aragorn’s risen member and a sigh sped out into the room, and in Faramir’s mind it echoed all around them for many long moments. He brought his hand up and gingerly encircled the base of Aragorn’s length with careful fingers, watching as the skin darkened a bit further. Softly, longing to taste, Faramir accepted the King’s arousal into his mouth. A long moan, low and anguished, tinged with both fear and joy, washed through him. The pounding in his own body sped up a little and a warm ripple of satisfaction caught hold of him. Faramir let his tongue slide against Aragorn’s erection as his hand held it out to him. He placed another kiss at the tip of the member and used his lips to pull back the skin that hid the head. Generously he laved at it, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin just a little to intensify the feeling. Aragorn was breathing hard. Small tremors were rushing through him and he shivered in the moonlight. In an attempt to soothe him, make him accept more of this desire that he so clearly fought, Faramir made a humming sound, showing Aragorn that he too liked this, and that they both were allowed to enjoy it.

The King’s hands landed hesitantly on his shoulders but they immediately retracted as Faramir withdrew his mouth for a second, letting the night air cool the burning skin a little, before taking it all in his mouth again. A sharp intake of breath from above set his mind swirling and he repeated the action, causing Aragorn to groan. For the very first time, Aragorn thrust forward, albeit so little that Faramir could not be sure it had happened at all.

His own desire was mounting quickly and he felt his own erection beginning to stretch the material of his leggings. Almost unconsciously, his other hand found its way there and he pressed down a little upon it. If it was this, or something else, that made Aragorn thrust into his mouth a second time, and a bit more forcefully now, he could not tell.

When the shaking of Aragorn’s body intensified, Faramir made sure he kept his mouth firmly around the quivering shaft. He sucked harder and his tongue constantly moved against the skin. He had no further warning before Aragorn emptied himself with a last, desperate moan that he quenched nearly at once though it was still building in his body. He was trembling violently and as Faramir struggled to swallow, he also tried to comfort, holding Aragorn as close as possible, his arms encircling his hips and thighs.

Aragorn’s length would not slacken at once but Faramir let it slip from his lips and rose unsteadily to his feet. His own body was screaming for attention but the man in front of him needed him too. Banishing all rising doubts, Faramir wrapped his arms around Aragorn and let him collapse against him as his sobs wrecked his frame.

A few words that Faramir did not understand wove themselves into Aragorn’s crying. All Faramir could do was to run his hands down the older man’s back and stay where he was. Gradually, a fragile peace settled around them, but he knew fear still lurked in the corners and had only retreated for the time being.

His hips and groin were pressed against Aragorn and desire did not leave him. Though his tunic was being wetted by tears, his blood was blistering his veins. As Aragorn’s crying ended and he straightened somewhat, Faramir knew he ought to leave and find release.

He intended to say something but when Aragorn drew back and his tear streaked face, dimly lit by a silvery light, was before him, he found no words. The King looked straight at him and there were no longer any defenses in place.

“Please…” Aragorn’s whisper hit him hard.

Faramir briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, all willpower left him. He nodded.

Aragorn’s shoulders dropped as if he no longer could hold himself upright. As Faramir followed him to the bed, no thoughts entered his mind. He dropped his clothes unceremoniously on the floor and joined Aragorn underneath the covers. Extreme tiredness hung around him but as Aragorn moved closer and his skin met Faramir’s he lost all ability to hold back.

Closing his eyes, he quickly licked his palm, and then sought out his still hard length and began pumping it. He was vaguely aware of how Aragorn pulled back the covers and in silence watched him. He pushed into his own hand, succumbing to pleasure, and he knew eyes followed his movements. Through him pushed Aragorn’s fear, mingled with curiosity and this fueled his desire further. To the sound of his own moans, barely repressed in the otherwise complete silence of the night, Faramir spread the first liquid that spilled from the tip of his length over himself, slicking his hand and further easing the friction. When he came, he arched upwards and had just enough sense left to cover himself and not send his creamy essence all over the bed.

Long after this, he lay panting while the world spun at an astonishing speed. When his chest stopped heaving and silence grew around him once more, Faramir let his head fall to the side and slowly opened his eyes. Exhaustion crashed down upon him in the same moment and as the waning moon cast its last shreds of failing light in through the window, he thought a hazy image of Aragorn’s face appeared before him. There were no lines or contours, but the glow in his eyes bore straight into Faramir’s heart. Then the vision shifted and as sleep mercilessly claimed him, Faramir’s last conscious thought was that it resembled storm clouds sweeping across a dark sky, or shimmering mist rolling into the gardens.

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/mist. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!