Faramir Fiction Archive

Mist (R)

Written by Geale

30 September 2010 | 88324 words

Chapter Twenty-One – More

Tuilë 40

He first registered the half-hearted tapping of rain against the windows, then he felt the warm body pressed against his own. Faramir’s eyes flew open but all he could see in the bleak too-early morning light was a curtain. He had rolled onto his side with Aragorn curled around him and the solid warmth of his body felt fundamentally different than Maelir’s restless limbs. Faramir gently turned with equal amounts of hope and alarm rising and warring in his mind.

With what sounded to Faramir almost as a purr, Aragorn – consciously or unconsciously – shifted to let him find a new position. Some of his dark hair fell into his face and Faramir brushed it away, more by instinct than anything else. It was probably his own imagination but he thought the ever-present dark circles under the other man’s eyes were slightly lighter. However, he dared not place a kiss on Aragorn’s cheek so he lay back down and tried to go back to sleep. It took a while, but finally he drifted off and dreamed dreams doomed to be forgotten.

The second time Faramir awoke that morning he did so because his body was responding to touch. A shiver was lazily crawling across his skin, then another and then one more. He blinked and tried to focus, head heavy and eyelids even more so.

“Hey…” The quiet greeting seeped straight into his heart.

Aragorn’s face came into view: tousled dark wavy hair, grey eyes that bore the same colour as the rain, full lips curved into a hesitant smile and cheeks and chin covered in stubble more than just one day old. His fingertips were running up and down Faramir’s arm.

“Morning,” he mumbled, pushing his sleep-induced mind into somewhat clear thinking. His eyes wandered over the skin visible: that of Aragorn’s shoulders and neck. He knew how it tasted, how it felt and abruptly he missed it.

“Do you regret, last night?” he asked before he had fully made up his mind.

Aragorn dropped his gaze to the covers Faramir had pulled up to his chin in his sleep and his caresses stopped briefly. He shook his head, “No… and you?”

“No.” Faramir said quickly, relief washing over him. “I do not.”

The weak smile on Aragorn’s lips returned and deepened a little. “I am glad.” Cautiously, his fingertips resumed their previous action. “Very glad.”

Faramir offered a smile of his own and drawn to those lips as he was, edged a little closer. He meant to ask but his instincts were quicker than his mind and he leaned in and joined their mouths in a chaste kiss. Yet again, Aragorn grew motionless for a second or two but then he opened up a little. Faramir accepted the invitation eagerly and dipped his tongue tip into the warm heat. The fingertips continued to run up and down his arm as he tried to keep the kiss as shallow and non-demanding as possible. When he pulled back, Aragorn placed a small kiss on his lips in return.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?” Faramir retreated to give him some space. His stomach twisted as he watched the emotion rise in Aragorn’s eyes.

“For being patient…”

He swallowed down the nervousness to be able to speak. “What am I waiting for, Aragorn?”

A faint blush stole across the King’s cheeks. “For more?”

“I would never–”

“No,” Aragorn agreed, nodding slowly, almost thoughtfully. “I know you would never expect more because you are not like that.” He gave a crooked half-smile. “But maybe I want to give you more?”

Faramir stared at him for a long moment as the rain tapped against the windows behind the curtains. “You do?”

The King – his King, the Sovereign of the Reunited Lands – bit his lip. “I do.”

“But…” He frowned. The room was empty save for Aragorn and himself; he detected no other presences. He grew suddenly very aware of how utterly undressed he was – and that Aragorn was in the same state.

“If that is against your wishes now..?” A worried glimmer flickered in Aragorn’ grey gaze.

To his own surprise, Faramir found himself laughing out loud. Even though Aragorn might not be able to sense it, some of the lingering tension dissolved and the energy floated more freely around the room, and the air grew lighter and sweeter to breathe.

“No,” smiled Faramir, “it is not.” A sense of bubbly happiness, one he might normally have ascribed to children, awakened in his stomach. He caught Aragorn’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “Not at all.”

Aragorn shook his head. “You know I am not very experienced… at all. And you know of… my past.” He suddenly smiled despite that dark memory rising. “But I can be no worse than awful, and then I can only improve…”

Kissing his knuckles again, Faramir let his lips linger upon the soft skin. “I enjoyed last night…” he said, turning the hand around and pressing a kiss to the inside of Aragorn’s wrist.

“I was crying on your shoulder – literally,” mumbled Aragorn and Faramir heard the embarrassment in his voice.

Faramir lifted his gaze and met that of the other man. “You were letting go…”

Easing himself down on his back beside the younger man, Aragorn sighed. “Was that how it was for you – were you equally tormented?”

The past rushed back to him, inevitably, brutally. “No,” Faramir shook his head against the pillow. “I was terrified of discovery… But then, those who would bed me knew that Denethor would not look kindly upon them either. It was potential outsiders and onlookers who were feared.” He lay silent for a while. “I was never abused… I guess I could have been but I tried to be careful.”

“And your father?”

“Maybe he suspected, but he never had any proof.” Faramir let go of Aragorn’s hand, maybe to give him some space – maybe to give himself some, but the older man grasped his in a reversed hold instead. “He let me know what he thought of men who slept with other men, though. More than once.”

“Did Boromir know?”

That too was a question that felt as ancient as the lands that cradled him. “I do not know,” Faramir admitted. “I never told him outright and he never spoke his own mind… In the eyes of our father I was already lesser than Boromir’s shadow and I feared to discover that he shared the same opinion.”

“Is that the prevailing view in Minas Tirith still, do you know?” asked Aragorn after a while.

“In the whole of Gondor, I presume,” said Faramir quietly. “It is my guess that not much has changed… In Emyn Arnen few would reveal their disgust, if they nourish it, for I guess my ways are known to most… But elsewhere… Deep-rooted beliefs and prejudices will not vanish solely with the beginning of a new rule.” He managed a weak smile at Aragorn. “Not even yours, my lord.”

A thoughtful look had settled in Aragorn’s features. “It should not be so…”

But before he could respond there was a knock at the door. “Lord Faramir!”

Aragorn tensed where he lay and his eyes widened, but Faramir placed a gentle hand on his chest. “No one enters without my leave.” He felt Aragorn relax somewhat. “Yes?” he called out.

“Morning, sir! There is warm water in the bathing chamber.”

He called out his thanks and listened to the sound of footsteps disappearing down the hallway. Conflicting emotions quickly rose in his breast. He withdrew his hand from Aragorn’s chest and tried to breathe evenly.

“Do they…?” The confusion in Aragorn’s voice betrayed him and Faramir did not need to look at his face to confirm it.

Faramir licked his lips, searching for words. “Usually I send for water myself, depending on when I wake up, but…” he hesitated, “sometimes they prepare it in advance. Usually when someone has… slept over the night before. That is – the other morning we needed to wash…” His cheeks burned.

The following silence crept under his skin and made him twitch in discomfort.

“When someone has shared your bed?” Aragorn concluded quietly.

“They got used to it…” Faramir swallowed. “Maelir never liked to hide. It became easier to bring water here than to have him…” Numerous images of his young lover striding to the bathing chamber dressed in only his confidence flooded Faramir’s mind but there was nothing erotic about them now. “And since he was here again a few nights ago…” he finished lamely.

Raindrops upon window-glass was the only thing heard for a good long while.

“I see,” Aragorn said finally.

Faramir snapped out of his miserable ponderings. “What?”

The King was not smiling but there was an almost rueful light in his eyes when Faramir finally dared to look at him.

“I meant not to sound as if I judge you, Faramir. And you need not explain and excuse yourself. Should I demand that, then I am no better than your father.” He lifted a hand and shyly traced the younger man’s cheekbone. “Forgive me, it is just that… I do not like the idea of you sharing your bed with someone else.”

Faramir watched him in growing surprise. His cheek was tingling. “My lord?”

But Aragorn seemed not to hear him. “And I have absolutely no right to say so… I, who can hardly give you what you seek.”

“Aragorn?”

The older man blinked at him. Then he closed his eyes. “I am sorry.”

“What are you saying?” Faramir pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at him.

Aragorn opened his eyes and his smile was feeble and completely without self-assurance. “I am saying, Faramir, that despite my fears I want you and there is nothing in the thought of you with someone else that gives me pleasure.”

The words reached Faramir in a mess. He sorted through them, tried to arrange them differently but had no success for the only thing he could make them imply was something he did not dare to even think about.

Aragorn traced his jaw line with his index finger and then fastened a few stray copper strands behind his ear. “I have no right to lay a claim on your bed and I should definitely not lay a…” he stopped himself from continuing and the sentence was left hanging unfinished between them.

The world spun as Faramir felt an urgency of the wildest kind grip him. He hardly knew where to begin but in the end he simply dove forward and pressed his lips against Aragorn’s in a fierce kiss. “Please do, my lord,” he breathed against the soft flesh, “please do.”

This time it was he who surrendered. Aragorn’s tongue pushed inside his mouth to mark and possess. Faramir melted against him, his skin heating up a little more with every swirl and every nibble. Aragorn pushed himself off the mattress and they rolled over; the King almost straddled him now and Faramir’s flesh stirred. The warmth of Aragorn’s body seeped into his own and he groaned as something – arm, thigh, whatever it was – brushed against his awakening length. Aragorn left his lips and trailed kisses down his throat, his beard scraping against the tender skin. Faramir wanted to push him further down, wanted to stretch and push inside, wanted to be taken in turn but he would not, could not, rush it.

He felt Aragorn’s mouth on his chest as it sought out one of his nipples. The King took the hardened pebble in his mouth and gently sucked but Faramir buried his fingers in his hair and managed to catch his attention.

With an embarrassed shrug against the sheets he confessed, “I have never been very sensitive there…”

Contrary to what he might have expected, Aragorn flashed him a mostly steady grin after a second or two. “Shame, I do know that technique…”

Laughing, Faramir would have pulled him up to kiss him once more but Aragorn slid down his body and the distance between their mouths grew. With eyes widening, Faramir watched as kisses were scattered all over his upper body. Aragorn was still hesitant, it was evident enough, but he fought his fear bravely and soon his lips were drawing very close to Faramir’s groin. The sight in itself made Faramir painfully hard and there was no way of hiding it now. He tried not to squirm but it grew more and more difficult as Aragorn kissed first one of his hips and then dipped his tongue tip into his navel.

“Faramir…” Aragorn wore a rueful expression, “would it be alright if I did not… taste you right now?”

Faramir decided to focus on the promise woven into the words instead of on the initial disappointment. He nodded. “Will you touch me?”

“Yes…”

Producing a hazy memory from the night before, he gestured towards the floor; he could not move as Aragorn was draped over his legs. “The oil is on the floor I think… I prefer that to just dry hands.”

He knew he was staring but when Aragorn raised himself up a little and Faramir saw him fully aroused for the first time in daylight, there was nothing that could convince him to look away. He felt like Damrod – although he suspected that Damrod himself would rather face an army of Orcs alone than find himself in this position – when he decided that Aragorn really should put on some weight. Other than that, he was perfect.

Aragorn retrieved the oil and popped the cork. His cheeks were flushed – whether from knowledge about exposure or his present task Faramir could not tell – as he poured a generous amount into his palm and carefully set the vial back on the floor with his free hand.

Faramir smiled. “I am not that sensitive,” he gently teased.

Aragorn looked from him to the oil and back again. Then the sheepish look in his eyes was replaced by a far more enticing gleam. “If you are not sensitive at all, I do not see the point of this…”

With a grin, Faramir tried to shove a foot at him, not really succeeding.

Aragorn rubbed his palms together and then lay back down. As soon as he was stretched out on his belly, the mood shifted and shade of seriousness drifted through the air. He left a string of kisses along one of Faramir’s ribs, skimming his tongue over skin that prickled at the touch. Faramir fought to keep his eyes open as heat simmered along his spine and pushed downwards. His arousal twitched and a tiny moan left him as his body and Aragorn’s tongue traded kisses and licks for trembles.

He missed the moment when Aragorn first touched him. His eyes flew open as slick fingers encircled the base of his member more firmly and carried out a hesitant stroking motion.

“Yes…” he breathed, “like that.”

The strokes grew a little bolder and longer, and Faramir’s hips came off the mattress at the surprise.

“Oh…” He lifted his head to look at Aragorn and the older man wore an expression of such concentration that he must smile through the heat that continuously poured into him.

There was little he could set against the pleasure, however, as it mounted and his head dropped back down onto the pillows. The strokes were slow but evenly spaced, and the pressure just about right. Faramir twisted on the bed, his own breathing heavy, as Aragorn pulled back the skin and exposed the sensitive head. He would need very little – the fact that Aragorn was actually doing this here and now was enough to push him towards his climax.

He dug his fingers into the sheets as Aragorn brushed over his sacs and then resumed his stroking. The heat that coiled around the base of his spine grew nearly unbearable as Aragorn’s fingertips slid across the slit at the tip of Faramir’s member and smeared the pearly liquid that heralded his release.

Aragorn’s heavy breathing matched his own but Faramir’s hands stayed twisted in the sheets as the pleasure augmented further. Then he reached the edge and the air grew thick and foggy in his throat.

“I will…” He got no further before his climax hit him and his senses spiralled out of control.

When he resurfaced and the blissful darkness he had been thrown into transformed into a bleak, rainy morning, he was not even sure of his own name. With a great effort he opened his eyes and glanced down. Aragorn’s hand was resting on his belly, fingers splayed and he was watching Faramir with an anxious light in his eyes.

With a pang, Faramir realised there was nothing he could say that would not betray the depth of his feelings for the other man. He tried to smile and hoped it would draw attention from the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes.

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