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This story is rated «NC-17», and carries the warnings «Implied and graphic non-con/rape, incest, prostitution, power games, angst».
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Simulacra (NC-17) 
Written by Vanwa Hravani09 November 2011 | 30013 words | Work in Progress
XVIII
The afternoon was a fine one. From the balustrade, the world stretched out golden and blue, as if the Citadel really was a ship sailing through the sky to forever beyond the Pelennor Fields. A glorious day for beginnings.
When Haldir arrived at the training grounds, Faramir was already in the ring, coaching some new recruits who had come early for extra practice of yesterday’s drills. He glanced up at the strongly built elf, standing unobtrusively to the side of the gate, and nodded greeting. Haldir watched in admiration as Faramir patiently worked with his charges, managing to make his corrections seem mere suggestions, while at the same time pushing each toward better and better skill.
He saw, too, the open awe and thinly veiled desire in many of the soldiers’ eyes as they gazed upon their respected leader. He knew it for a product both of Faramir’s renowned ability with his weapons and words, and of his fey beauty and graceful familiarity as he handled them. He was singularly disarming and none seemed unaware of his charms – except perhaps the gentle Captain himself. There was no question that his men loved him. As a soldier, Haldir knew this to be the highest compliment awarded a leader. As a man, he felt a twist of jealousy.
When the group was complete, the young Captain called them to attention and introduced the day’s drill.
‘And we are honored to have among us one of Middle Earth’s greatest masters of this elven martial art, the very elf who taught it to me. Please show your respects to Haldir of Lothlorien, who will be working with you today.’
The soldiers’ eyes lingered long on the comely elf warrior, his features haughty and masculine, yet indescribably beautiful. A few lips twitched in thought.
Quickly Faramir returned them to attention, called out pairings and set them to work. He and Haldir moved among them, observing, praising where deserved, correcting stances and grips as necessary.
After half a dozen fight sequences had been taught and drilled for several hours, Faramir thought to call the day. One of the bolder recruits asked permission to speak.
‘Yes, Thirion? What is it?’
‘Sir, I was wondering if we might see our completed goal. Could we see how the sequences look in action?’ Murmured agreement from the group, fascinated, eager. It was clear that they loved this new skill already, and that they had begun to sense the beauty of its dance.
Turning toward Haldir, Faramir glanced questioningly. With a courteous smile, Haldir bowed to him.
‘It would be my pleasure, Captain.’
The recruits cleared the practice ring to lean over its fences; their instructors took up their blades. Moving to the center, they bowed to one another again. Haldir felt the first snake of energy reach out from him to caress his opponent’s hair. He smiled again and Faramir caught his eye. Returned the briefest smile.
They began circling.
As they prowled the edges of the circle, facing one another, gauging strengths, openings, Haldir could almost see the ropes of energy, golden and live, crossing the circle between them, binding them within its centrifugal force. They were two planets orbiting one another, held fast by a celestial energy they could not escape, circling, ever circling.
Who made the first move, no one would remember. A feint, meant only to close the circle, break the pattern, pull them inwards to engagement, and they both followed. The match began in earnest, a spinning mandala of fluid strikes and blocks, sweeping thrusts and lightning dodges. To those watching it was less a battle than an exquisitely choreographed dance, as if each anticipated the other’s moves and stepped, not to counter them, but to encourage and advance while at the same time evading contact. As if they were not opponents, but in this together, creating a whirling display of deadly precision and glittering beauty. Breathtaking and erotic in its speed and grace.
Silence fell over the yard.
The muscles of the onlookers cramped with tension as they watched, enrapt. Still the battle continued. Haldir could sense Faramir was tiring, but they were both still locked in the joy of the dance, the power of their muscles, the grace of movement. He would not best the Captain before his own men. He would end this with dignity. But not yet. Their sweat slicked one another’s skin. This is the closest I’ve been to him in years. Faramir breathed the scent of his old lover, remembering it on other days, in other places. He fought on.
Haldir was upon him, a flurry of flashing blades and whipping hair. Faramir spun, swiftly ducking inside the plane of engagement to meet Haldir chest-to-chest. A sharp clang as their crossed knives caught and locked above their heads. They stood a long moment, panting against one another, arms outstretched, each maintaining the perfect block. Blue eyes met gray, held. The merest nod. They stepped away. Turned to face the others.
The watching soldiers remained silent, the hush of awe, respect for what they had seen heavy upon them. The electric sexuality a shame to dispel. As one, their instructors bowed slightly, and the gathering released itself in applause, whistling its satisfaction.
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I am looking forward to reading more of this – I adore all of the undercurrents in their relationship.
— pinbot Wednesday 6 August 2008, 20:25 #