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Mist (R) ![Print Preview Print](https://www.faramirfiction.com/files/69.gif)
Written by Geale30 September 2010 | 88324 words
Chapter Thirty-Three – Love
Even as Faramir pulled off his shirt Aragorn pressed close to him. The older man stood behind him, resting his hands on Faramir’s hips and leaving kisses all over his shoulders. Faramir smiled and dropped his shirt into a chair. “Your turn.”
He spun around gently to watch and touch as Aragorn loosened his own belt and laid it aside. Faramir’s hands found their way underneath the shirt and pushed it upwards, uncovering the downy chest and dark nipples. Aragorn silently complied as Faramir dragged the shirt over his head and his arms slid out of it, and then Aragorn stood there bare-chested before him. This shirt joined the other and the pile gradually grew.
Faramir kissed the spot just above Aragorn’s heart and smiled. His King’s hands were incessantly running up and down his back, toying with his hair or sometimes drifting further down, daring to brush over Faramir’s buttocks. They had lit a handful of candles but no fire and though the floor was wooden, it soon became chilly enough for them to want to proceed in bed. Faramir pushed down Aragorn’s leggings and pressed against the hardness revealed. Aragorn choked on a breath as their lengths touched but he did not back away.
“Step out of them,” suggested Faramir and left a kiss near his temple.
They did not let go of each other even as they moved towards the bed and sank down upon it. Faramir took care in kissing Aragorn’s lips without demanding anything in return and then moved on towards his other temple. Aragorn nuzzled his neck and his warm breath drifted over Faramir’s skin and made it tingle.
“Can I make love to you?”
The whisper did not at once penetrate the fog that was wrapping around Faramir’s senses. When it did, however, he must pull back for a moment to fully understand. Aragorn was waiting for his answer not with fear in his eyes but with… a curious interest, almost – which Faramir might have found amusing had he not been so shocked.
“You..?”
Aragorn’s fingertips travelled up his spine and he shivered despite the tangle of words in his mind. There was a hint, just a hint of excitement in Aragorn’s grey eyes. “I would like to make love to you.”
“Are you sure?” His gaze drifted down to where his own hands lay, palms down, upon Aragorn’s thighs. And only inches away was Aragorn’s manhood, swollen and twitching. Faramir felt heat rise in his body and a slow and steady pounding in his groin commence.
“I think I am…” The words were not weighed down by trepidation, instead they were gloriously free. “But would you want me to… touch you first… or..?”
“No.” Faramir met Aragorn’s eyes and his stomach fluttered as this new wave of possibilities washed over them. He felt a smile spread on his lips and he leaned forward to kiss the other man. “Please make love to me,” he murmured. “We will…” But his words were chased away by Aragorn’s response and they kissed long and earnestly.
When they parted to breathe, Faramir urged Aragorn further up the bed and fetched the oil.
“How do you..?” Aragorn bit his lip and let the ensuing silence complete his question.
Faramir handed him the oil. “You remember how I stretched you?” At Aragorn’s silent nod, he smiled. “Would you want to try?”
Aragorn eyed the small flask. “If I hurt you…”
“You will not hurt me,” Faramir insisted. “I told you I am not that sensitive.”
A small smile flickered across Aragorn’s face. “So, like last time?” There was something boyish about him then, years were ripped off his true age as he gathered some courage and found his own boldness.
But Faramir hesitated. He thoughtfully ran a hand down Aragorn’s chest and with a smile dipped into the coarse hair at the base of his lover’s length. “A bit different,” he said finally. “Stretch out your legs and part them a little.”
Aragorn held his gaze as he did as he was bidden, and Faramir climbed on top of him and loosely wrapped his own legs around Aragorn’s hips and waist. The sudden pressure on his swollen length as he leaned forward sent a jolt of pleasure through him and judging by Aragorn sharp intake of breath, he was not unaffected either. Faramir leaned his head against the older man’s shoulder and needed to say no more for suddenly a slick finger brushed his entrance and he shivered in response.
Aragorn proceeded with care. It took him a moment to actually push one finger inside, to go through with it, but it seemed that when that first step had been taken, the others came easier. The stretching was somewhat erratic and hesitant, but eventually Faramir, who admitted to himself that he was probably just as nervous, felt his muscles relax and he grew supple against Aragorn’s broad chest. He had not noticed his own heavy breathing until he realised it matched Aragorn’s and then he wrapped his arms around his lover and edged forward a little. He felt Aragorn’s legs bend, too, automatically, to perfect their position and then he whispered, “Now.”
The fingers immediately slipped out of him and there was an icy cold moment of reborn terror only that swept through Aragorn and made him stiffen. Faramir challenged it by tipping his head back and claiming his mouth in a deep kiss. He pushed through the barriers and walls and finally tasted the sweetness that lay beyond. Aragorn shifted underneath him and then something around them exploded as Faramir’s body was breached and everything that was not warm crumbled into nothingness.
Aragorn gasped as Faramir pushed down, completely impaling himself on the heated flesh and moaning as he did so.
“Oh…” a raspy whisper.
Faramir’s head swam as he was filled for the first time in what felt like forever. “Gods…”
Aragorn groaned something that made no sense and it took them both a moment to adjust. Then Faramir began rocking softly, letting anything but his mind guide him for he did not want to analyse now.
There was heat… so much heat that his body was melting. Aragorn trembled as they rocked, warm breaths mingling, kisses traded uncontrolled, soft – at first – moans floating out into the room; then they deepened, transformed into groans, building a twirling spiral of energy around them. Faramir lost sense of his own limitations as he clung to Aragorn, hissing when a series of thrusts hit his gland. His own length ached between them but this time, he knew, this time he needed not touch it.
There was heat and sweat-slicked skin and only sound and the glorious pounding, and then they tumbled over the edge, almost at the same time, Faramir following where Aragorn led. And the dark night was bright and blazing.
When Faramir regained awareness he was lying atop Aragorn, legs no longer wrapped around him. He filled his lungs with air and found that there was a smile on his lips he could not, and would for no reason, chase away. Gradually he became aware of Aragorn’s arms holding him in place and the heartbeat that was not his own.
“I love you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the patch of skin closest to his lips. “I love you so.”
Though it felt heavy, he raised his head to meet Aragorn’s gaze. The grey eyes were filled with tears.
For a terrifying second Faramir was certain Aragorn regretted what they had just done. Then the King smiled. “And I love you.” He shook his head against the mattress. “I cannot believe I just…”
“Made love to me?” Faramir finished for him when it seemed he would say no more. “Ah, but you did.”
Some colour crept across Aragorn’s cheeks and his gaze grew a bit clearer. “I enjoyed it.”
“So did I,” smiled Faramir. “So did I.” With a content sigh, he stretched out on top of Aragorn, smearing his own release upon their skin. “And we managed to untangle just in time though I do not remember it.”
Aragorn’s drew patterns on his back with lazy fingertips. “I dreamt of this,” he said in a low voice. “When you had left for the repair works I dreamt about you…”
There was a rush of something along the far-off wall but it did not venture closer but stayed away. Faramir lay still, only listening.
“I woke in the middle of the night, aching for you…” Aragorn mumbled. “And it frightened me so… but every time I closed my eyes I knew the longing would not pass with the death of night and birth of day.” He fell silent.
“Then you shared my dreams,” Faramir said at last, his own voice no stronger than Aragorn’s.
Aragorn lay silent for a while and Faramir did not pressure him. There was more he could have said, more they could have speculated over and pondered, but also it seemed to him that all that needed to be said was now out here, leisurely floating around them, in silent confirmation of the truth it was. In the end, Aragorn lifted his head and pressed a kiss into Faramir’s hair.
“Then I am lucky,” he said softly.
Tuilë 49
Faramir bent down, slid his gloved hands underneath the mud-smeared branch and hoisted it up from the trampled ground. He dragged the branch, almost measuring his own full height, over to a large pile of bracken and dumped it there. It was good to be outside again and doing something. Granted, it left him sweaty and his clothes stained and soggy, but he felt his muscles flex and it was a welcome sensation. And behind the thin veil of clouds that covered the sky, there was a suggestion of a pale blue.
The trees around him were finally waking up to greet the season properly, he thought. With all the rain and mist, somewhere along the way the natural rhythm of the ways of the woods had been disrupted. He supposed it was foolish to think that nature had thus cast itself off balance, but he stuck to his own reasoning, nonetheless.
“You look happy.”
He jerked at the remark; he did not have to spin around, he only had to raise his eyes. Arwen stood a few feet away from him, blending perfectly with the trees and the surrounding greenery. She was smiling.
“Lady.” He could not help the bow.
She lifted her skirts and stepped carefully out into the small clearing he had created. He saw now that she wore heavy boots and it contrasted oddly to the rest of her. She noted where his gaze fell and said, “You see I learn, Faramir. When I am to speak with you I must not fear the temper of your land.”
“Please,” he was steadily growing more used to being alone with her but still it made him very aware of his new place in Aragorn’s life, very self-conscious, “ let us go inside then.” He gestured in the general direction of the house.
“No, no!” She shot him almost a playful glance and more gracefully than he would have expected came to stand beside the pile of fallen branches and bracken that had been steadily growing since after breakfast. “This you burn?”
“Yea…” He peeled off his gloves and raked a hand through his hair. He must look a mess. “This will be carried off to the Midsummer bonfires. The recent rains tore down a lot.”
“But now you have high hopes for a fine summer?”
He inclined his head. “Yes, I admit I do. The winter was long and dreary.”
She opened her mouth to respond but then hesitated, and when she did speak, he suspected that she had chosen a new direction for their conversation. “You will be staying here, I gather? Most of the time?”
It seemed this particular subject never lent him any peace. “I will, my Lady.” He almost managed to swallow a sigh. “My allegiance to Gondor–”
But she held up a hand and he effectively fell silent. “Faramir, I care little about your allegiance to Gondor.” Her expression was hard to read; there was a sternness about her and yet the smile had not really left her eyes. “What I care about is my son’s and Aragorn’s wellbeing. And yours,” she added. “I seem to care for you more these days.” The spark of jest in her eyes was soon gone, however. “Gondor… well Gondor has always frightened me, believe it if you will.”
There was some rush of something in the air but it was of a kind he had never known before. He tried to focus on what Arwen had just said but he was quiet for a moment too long and so she continued, “Gondor was what lay a heavy weight upon Aragorn’s shoulders when he was still very young, Gondor is what will claim my son – has already claimed him in a way. Gondor was, and is, a world I will never understand.”
He considered this. “I think I see your point, my Lady.” He glanced down at the dirtied gloves he still held. “Ithilien I love well, but the rest of Gondor…” He raised his eyes to her face. “And Emyn Arnen…”
“You are bound to,” she finished simply for him. “Do you think I cannot see that? I am of an ancient race and we too live in the arms of nature.” Once again, some of that sternness flickered over her face, and Faramir saw now what a truly magnificent Queen she could have been had fate taken a different turn. “We are not so different, Faramir.”
This had never occurred to him before but when he pondered it, he saw reason in her words, though he had never thought to compare himself to an Elf before. A question wholly unforeseen left his lips, “What would you have me do, madam?” His voice held the slightest tinge of desperation. “I love Aragorn and I could love Eldarion also were I allowed, but I could never move back to Minas Tirith.”
Her unexpected laugh caught him unawares. “You should no nothing you have not yet consented to,” she smiled. Stepping over a few odd twigs and branches, she came to stand face to face with him. She was tall and so he need not look down to meet her gaze. “You should stay here, keep your house and provide a safe haven for Aragorn and my son, if you will have him too. Visit Minas Tirith when it suits you but do not run thither for that is not your place in the world.”
He shook his head. “You sound like my own heart. Is that wisdom?”
She tilted her head to the side and he was sure her silver-blue eyes caught that suggestion of fairer weather in the air. “It would be folly to do otherwise, I think,” she said. “This is a blessed place. By the grace of the Valar some ancient magic will be woven into the City’s walls with the planting of the saplings but you have pledged yourself to this land, I assume..?”
He nodded silently. It was Ithilien that had felt his fear in the War; here that he had led his Rangers on missions that seemed akin to hopeless; here he had bled, cried, sweated, laboured, suffered… hoped, laughed, made love, met with freedom. He still offered some blood, to renew the vow, their bond, twice a year. And he wondered if Arwen did not know of this also, somehow.
“Emyn Arnen will not curse you for spending some time away now and then,” she said softly.
There again was that rush of something new in the wind. Frowning, Faramir tried to name it but failed. He shook it off and met Arwen’s gentle eyes. “How can you tell?”
She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I get along tremendously well with this place.”
It took him a moment to catch the underlying seriousness in her remark. “You may come and go as you please, Lady.”
“Ha!” She actually snorted. “I am sure you would love to house me while Aragorn stays here as well.” She shook her head but a broad smile he had never seen on her before made her almost glow. “Oh no, I shall not trouble you so. But it is good to know. Thank you.”
He smiled. “You are very kind.”
“Indeed, I am,” she nodded and bent to pick up a slender branch. She dropped it on top of Faramir’s pile. “See, I even help.”
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