Faramir Fiction Archive

Simulacra (NC-17)

09 November 2011 | 30013 words | Work in Progress

V

‘My love? Where are you? Your thoughts are so far from us. Can you come back to me? Can you tell me where you are, meleth? what you want?’

Haldir’s voice was gentle in his ear. Understanding, concerned. Perhaps a little disappointed.

They had crawled into the large bed in Haldir’s guest quarters an hour ago, ostensibly to sleep, and Faramir had dropped off quickly in exhaustion, but Haldir had been ready for loving. He nuzzled against Faramir’s warm body, luxuriating in the salty scent of the damp skin beneath the younger man’s hair. Ageless lips brushed the soft golden baby hairs at the nape of his lover’s neck. His battle-hardened fingers traced a line down smoothly muscled ribs to the sensuous curve of a hipbone. Haldir liked the way his three fingers fit perfectly in the dip in front of that bone, as if they completed a whole. That the tips just brushed the beginnings of the enticing red-blonde curls below made him shiver. Half a tender smile slowly drew up one side of his noble mouth.

Faramir was again amazed that the elf’s ancient calloused hands could feel so soft, touch so gently, that he could lose track of the skin boundary between them. Could forget that they were two people in separate bodies. Sometimes they dissolved into one, and he treasured that. Sometimes.

But tonight he was disappearing and needed to feel his edges. He needed to feel real.

He tried to relax into the whispering touches anyway. He wanted to do this for Haldir, to let himself be loved and let Haldir see his pleasure. He meant to. He knew the Silvan warrior hungered for intimacy and release tonight, and that he hated to feel pleasure without bringing his lover along. Even more so Haldir hated it when Faramir pretended. But sometimes there was no other way.

Loving the elf was easy. How often had Faramir been stunned to silence by the fragile beauty of sunlight glinting in his loved one’s hair? Or marveled at how every movement of the archer’s long limbs became a perfect dance of strength and grace? Or reveled in his entrancing scent of honeysuckle, cedar and rain? Yes, the love part was easy.

But lying to him was hard. They saw and felt too much, these ancient creatures. When they understood the language of the rocks and trees, how much more so that of ordinary mortals? The Steward’s youngest was so used to being more fey, more attuned than those around him, able to read and predict other’s thoughts and to respond beforehand. Yet now he had met his match.

Lying to Haldir meant going deep inside himself and shutting something down, closing a door, so that when he came back out, even he could believe the feelings he performed for his lover. Only by believing it himself could he convince Haldir — and even then he sensed the older one knew better. And learning to believe his own lie meant denying what was really real. He feared sometimes he would forget the path to the closed door. Or lose the key forever and forget the door even existed.

Faramir had practice at this, but he hated it. He hated being locked inside, small inside himself. He felt like he was cheating, cheated. He wanted this to be over. But to please Haldir meant everything. Faramir owed him his life, his sanity. The least he could do was not deny him pleasure when he wanted it.

If Haldir knew what his human lover did to be there during those times, the elf would have held back his own passion in sad resignation, dampening his own sensations despite a desperate need to explore them to the fullest. Faramir knew the Marchwarden would abandon his own desire without hesitation, to care for him gently, like an injured child. And they would both be left bitter with disappointment and self-blame. Alone. He had enough pain and guilt already without adding that. And was he not also allowed to do something for the one he loved?

Haldir gazed at the side of his golden ranger’s face where the candles’ amber glow kissed cheekbone and jaw, and purple gray shadows pooled in the hollow of his cheeks, under his brows. They had started out well enough tonight, exploring one another, fingertips and tongues lingering, savoring. As always, Haldir made sure to express his passion quietly and slowly, to keep all memories of what had happened before in the past.

In the very beginning, just after Haldir found him, the broken ranger had not yet known he could refuse — or how to — and he given in as a matter of course. They had had plenty of sex back then – intense and adventurous sex, for which Haldir still faulted himself even as its memory stirred his blood. But when Faramir had finally begun to understand that he was free and trust that his golden saviour wouldn’t hurt him, the true horror of his life became clear. He had withdrawn suddenly and violently from any contact at all. After that, it had taken many months before Faramir had been able to share even the most innocent of touches, and longer still before he had let Haldir begin teaching him what loving was supposed to feel like, the difference in the experience when one’s spirit and mind occupied the same space as one’s body. Even still, Faramir sometimes slipped into what seemed to be shock, when he shut down and went deep into himself or far away, to places Haldir could only guess at and could seldom retrieve him from. Like now.

Faramir stirred vaguely at the gentle words and Haldir began to sigh in relief. Not so long this time. The young man’s eyes were still distant, but his soft hands reached for Haldir’s own.

Haldir’s exhale stopped abruptly in surprise. Faramir had spread the elven thumb and fingers wide and now pressed the larger hand against his own throat. Hard.

The guardian’s body tensed with resistance as he tried to pull away, but Faramir would not release his hold. Instead the lithe ranger used his motion to turn his own body so they faced each other. Haldir still struggled to pull back. He would not help his lover relive the pain. He would not do this. The memory of that same throat so recently covered in bruises was too near. The memory of the man-child weeping and vulnerable in his arms. His own inability to protect the flaxen beauty. His unrequited need to avenge. Something dark stirred within the elf; he felt himself begin to stiffen.

Faramir’s hand pressed harder, forcing the flat of Haldir’s palm against his own windpipe, the pads of the fingers into his flesh, wrapping around, seeking bruises. Storm gray eyes caught blue ones for the merest second and Haldir saw not the blank empty gaze he had expected, but a flash of recognition — and of clear will.

Faramir refused to yield his hold and kept the elf’s grip locked around his own throat.

Breaking the gaze, the young man’s eyes rolled back beneath his lowered lids and he began to alternately catch his breath and gasp – as if fear and pain battled pleasure for control of his body.

And indeed they did, exquisitely so. His body felt like a bowstring stretched beyond taut, poised between its breaking point and the delicate tension that would loose an arrow on its most glorious, most powerful flight. Awaiting only the intention of the archer.

Faramir’s hands remained tight on Haldir’s hand and wrist in a show of both insistence and resistance, and he arched back before his lover, writhing as if overcome, nearly thrusting his arousal into the empty air between them.

Confused, Haldir tried again to pull away. Was Faramir having a flashback? Was he doing what had been expected by those who had trained him so well? Surely Haldir should rouse him from this, hold him and keep him safe until the memories let go. Surely? Until he felt his lover straining and saw how hard he had indeed become. And hadn’t his eyes been dark with desire? Had Haldir imagined it? Did he just want it to be so?

Faramir ached for his lover’s touch. He ached to be roughly taken in hand, fondled, plundered, hurt. To feel the boundary of his own skin, to know where he was, where he ended. And then to be used by one who took his pleasure by strength, who demanded and would not be denied. To be controlled and forced into abandon, so that his own release would be inevitable, beyond his power to refuse. He wanted to be free so desperately! But he couldn’t. There was too much guilt. He craved absolution. He needed to be given permission to feel, commanded to do so. Made free by another’s control.

Faramir was ashamed of his need. Knew it was probably one of those sick things he had learned from other teachers. But he couldn’t deny it. No soft loving gentle sweetness was going to give him peace tonight. Tonight he needed force. He needed to walk the razor’s edge of his body’s memory to find the high stakes pleasure. He couldn’t do this alone. Could Haldir do this for him? Would he?

The sound of Faramir’s gasping breath made Haldir’s blood tingle and surge. He could feel his sex twitching, stiffening as a familiar tight ache spread across his lower belly and down. He mustn’t respond to this! It was wrong. He should treat Faramir well, especially with something he knew for a fact was a repetition of abuse. He should teach him another way to be, help him learn to have pleasure without pain. He knew this.

But his rapidly stiffening cock thought otherwise. The dampness of his lower back and the new earth smell of his own body told him his morals ran only so far. The tip of his tongue pressed the sharpness of canine teeth. The Marchwarden inhaled deeply, breathing in Faramir’s scent of hay and honeysuckle, clove and dark fear.

Faramir stiffened at the sound of breath hard against his ear and Haldir felt a growl rising from his chest. His grip on Faramir’s throat tightened and no longer needed encouragement from the young one. He pulled Faramir toward him by the neck and turned the golden Ranger back around until the man’s back met hot Silvan skin and his body was pinned to the Marchwarden’s chest by the arm that stopped his breath. The arm that commanded him. Their faces were side by side as Haldir slid his hand up to force Faramir’s head fully back against his shoulder. The man’s throat was now totally exposed, his chin held in a crushing grip that brooked no protest. The pulse of mortal lifeblood fluttered beneath bow-strengthened fingers and Haldir felt the rush of absolute power. He traced a fingertip from the young one’s temple to his jawbone, a whispered warning.

Faramir held his breath.

The elf’s growl may have been no louder than a sigh, but with his full lips pressed against Faramir’s ear the sound was a physical thing, not heard, but felt through vibrating bones and skin, reaching into the depth of Faramir’s being. Unnerving and inescapable and deeply satisfying.

‘Now listen, Faramir. I will say this once. I love you and I don’t want to hurt you. But I am going to make you feel. Through both pleasure and pain. I am going to make you feel more than you ever have before.

‘Because I am going to forbid you to escape inside your mind. I forbid it. I will take you to incredible heights of pleasure and of love, and all I ask is that you stay with me. Stay. Here.

‘You will have to trust me. I will never do anything to you against your will. But if your will says you want to hurt, I will give you that. As much as you can take. As much as you desire.

‘You can tell me when to stop and I will. But to get me to hurt you, you will have to trust me and not hide, so I can trust you. I have to know what you really want if I am to give it to you. And I have to know that you will stop me when we reach your limits, so I can be free up until then. And then I promise you, you are going to enjoy what I do to you.

‘Will you trust me like that? Will you stay here with me?’

Something melted. Deep deep inside. Something began to break free. This was beyond his dreams, more than he dared hope for.

Faramir felt a surge of both fear and pure exuberant pleasure rising up, carrying him on its crest, threatening to overwhelm him. He moved as if to nod, but found he couldn’t manage it. The elf would not release his head even so much.

‘Say it out loud.’ came the hot breath in his ear, so threatening, so enticing.

‘Yes!’ The shaking man let out a breath only to quickly gasp in another. ‘Yes. I trust you. I am here.’

In truth he was now so aroused he might have agreed to anything to get Haldir to touch him. He was no stranger to lies under duress. He even knew how to believe them himself. He agreed without thinking.

Haldir’s heart sank at the young man’s quick reply, for he knew it could not be honest. Knew it for the response of lust and the moment’s intention. He felt a twisting pain in his chest, a crucial bit of himself dying.

How to make this elusive young thing commit? This one he ached to hold close, to confide in? To get him to trust, so that Haldir himself could trust in return? Could open up and reveal who he was, what had happened to him, how he lived through it and with it? He wanted desperately to go there with Faramir, where his own soul felt free. Where every touch spoke of honesty, where every moment required and practiced absolute trust. To the dark places where every glimmer of light became more visible, more achingly beautiful. To the place where love and pain met, and they could be whole.

‘Yes. I trust you. I am here.’ As the words left Faramir’s cracked and trembling lips, the fear hit him. The Ranger realized with dread that the elf would hold him to this. He was promising not to lie. Promising no more hiding. Promising to be there, inside his own eyes, not behind them. Always.

As if watching from a distance, he also realized that he meant it this time. Just as his body ached to be gripped and filled, his heart ached to relax, to open up and trust, to set down his blame and control and be held in every way. He didn’t know how, and he was terrified. But he wanted. This time he knew what he wanted.

He knew Haldir had heard the lie in his words. Now he let his body melt further back into Haldir’s to show his real decision. His eyes closed as he reached his mind toward the face alongside his own.

Please believe me.

Haldir felt his lover’s body soften into his, silently giving way, meaning it.

Thank the Valar.

The trace of a hesitant smile flickered the elf’s lips. He was still scared, but he would try.

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