Faramir Fiction Archive

State of Undress (NC-17)

Written by Laurëlóte

17 October 2006 | 1876 words

State of Undress is a ficlet I wrote as a sequel to two drabbles written for a drabble challenge. Since it follows on from them, I thought I’d post them here first… The ficlet is on the second page.



Dressed to Kill

He was the first thing Aragorn noticed as he walked down the steps to greet his friends who had gathered to watch him receive his crown.

Head bowed, he wore a cloak of deep blue, edged with gold which shone as much as his polished armour.

Never had he looked so handsome, or as noble as he did in that instant, and Aragorn paused to wonder if the wrong man had been crowned that day.

As Faramir lifted his head, their eyes met, and in that split second, Aragorn lost his heart without a single word being passed between them.

Image of Dreams

It was one of the finest things to ever happen in Gondor, and Faramir was proud to witness it.

In fact he was lucky to be there at all, and it was all thanks to the man stood in front of them fulfilling his destiny.

The hands of a king truly were the hands of a healer.

Aragorn looked like one of the Kings of old as the silver crown was placed on his head.

As he raised his head, their eyes met, and an unspoken understanding passed between them.

This really was a day for dreams to come true.

Title: State of Undress
Author: Laurëlóte
Beta: Minx
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Aragorn / Faramir
Summary:
Feedback: Feedback is always highly appreciated. Send it to laurelote@hotmail.co.uk
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, they all belong to Tolkien, I’ve merely borrowed them

A sequel to the drabbles Dressed to Kill and Image of Dreams



State of Undress

Aragorn slipped down a corridor as the guests passed into the ballroom. As his steward passed by, he reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the flow of people.

“My Lord Steward,” he purred softly. “Might I have a quick word before we join the festivities?” He gestured towards one of the studies near by.

“Of course my Lord,” replied Faramir with a frown, instantly worrying about what might be wrong. Distracted, he followed Aragorn into the room, while contemplating what he had might have missed during his meticulous planning of the Coronation celebrations.

Aragorn could not help but grin as he saw his Steward lost in
thought, and wondered if he would ever get him to stop worrying about every little thing. Quietly he closed the door behind them and stood directly behind the younger man, curious as to whether he would notice.

“Faramir stop worrying,”

Faramir looked up in surprise at the words, cursing himself for becoming distracted when the king wanted his presence. When he noticed that the king was nowhere to be seen, his eyes scanned the room in panic. He was just about to turn around when a voice hissed in his ear.

“Relax, everything is perfect.”

“Then why…” started the steward, then broke off as Aragorn continued speaking.

“The trouble is… there is one thing that is so perfect; I do not know if I can resist it.”

Aragorn’s breathing had increased dramatically, simply from standing close to the young man. His fingertips hovered just over the surface of Faramir’s neck. He was desperate to caress the soft skin and to explore every inch of the steward’s body; there was no way he could resist now.

He just prayed that he was right about Faramir. If he was wrong and the young Gondorian was horrified by his actions, then it would destroy their relationship completely.

But then, there had definitely been something in that look that Faramir had given him…

Cautiously he placed a single lick along Faramir’s earlobe, and waited to see a response.

By now, Faramir’s breathing had become heavy with anticipation, Aragorn’s seductive tones and the feel of his tongue, sending shivers down his spine.

His heart sank momentarily when there was no further action on Aragorn’s part and he thought that perhaps the king had been teasing him all the time. This only lasted a moment however as he realised that the other man was silently waiting for his permission to continue. It was permission that he was all too happy to give having dreamt of this moment ever since he had first looked into those eyes in the Houses of Healing.

Despite his nervous feeling that Aragorn might suddenly come to his senses, Faramir took a deep breath and spun round, clasping Aragorn’s head firmly in both hands, pulling him forward and kissing him hard on the lips.

To his relief Aragorn replied almost instantly, groaning as Faramir submitted to him beautifully, allowing his tongue entry to explore.
The kiss, one that had started cautiously, quickly turned into one filled with passion and want as their desire took over any feelings of nervousness the two men had had.

Never breaking off the kiss, Aragorn unclasped Faramir’s cloak which landed in a heap on the ground before desperately fighting with the buckles on the armour the young man was wearing.

The breast plate fell to the ground with a clatter, but landed unnoticed by the two men, as all thoughts of the white tree vanished from their minds, as if it was only the two of them left in the world.

Faramir mirrored the actions, quickly ridding Aragorn of his outer layers of clothing, now desperate with need. He had wanted this for weeks and now fantasy was becoming reality, but this was no time to savour the moment.

Suddenly he found himself pinned against the desk, as both men tried frantically to pull each other’s tunics over their heads at the same time.

Finding this impossible, they both paused momentarily using the time to catch their breath and to regain some of the control which they had lost.

With a primal growl, Aragorn dragged off his own tunic and threw it on the floor, before adding Faramir’s to the ever growing mass of clothes.

Clad only in their leggings, the men resumed their frantic kisses, knowing, but not caring that their lips would appear bruised in the morning.

Faramir’s slender fingers skilfully untied the bindings of Aragorn’s leggings, before quickly untying his own, leaving the other man to remove the offending items of clothing.

A few moments later, both king and steward stood proudly in their naked glory, their eyes roaming over each other, taking in the sights for the first time.

Aragorn swept the papers off the desk with his arm, and lifted Faramir onto it, grabbing his wrists and pushing him downwards, causing him to lie across the surface.

With his prey pinned to the desk, hands held above his head, Aragorn looked round desperately for something he could use to ease his passage. To his frustration, he found nothing as he searched through the drawers and cupboards in the room.

He paused startled, as Faramir squeezed his hand and slid off the desk onto his knees. His hand ran up the side of Aragorn’s thigh and gently teased his testicles with his fingertips as he moved his lips slowly over the top of the aching erection which stood proudly in front of him.

“Gods Faramir!” exclaimed the older man as Faramir took his shaft right to the back of his throat before pulling away, teasing the slit at the tip with his tongue, and then repeating the process again and again.

Aragorn tasted perfect to the young steward. The taste was exquisite, something to be savoured, and Faramir could not help but growl possessively as he imagined others sharing in this delight.

The growl sent a shiver through Aragorn’s body, managing to arouse him even more. The feel of the young mans lips around him driving him closer and closer to the edge.

Reluctantly he pulled away, there would be more chances to enjoy such pleasures, but now he wanted to be inside his gorgeous steward.

Almost as soon as Aragorn had pulled away his arms were around Faramir, lifting him onto the desk once more. Never had he seen a more erotic sight than the Gondorian splayed out before him, his pale skin highlighted by the evening sun, and his hair shining like polished copper.

Licking his lips, he moved his hands over the young man’s body, down towards the cleft of his buttocks.

“No. Take me now,” begged Faramir huskily, wriggling as Aragorn started to press a finger against his tight entrance. “I want to remember this for weeks to come.”

The Dúnedain knew that he should argue, that he should treat this special man with every bit of the care with which he would treat Gondor herself, but all control vanished as Faramir uttered those words. He wanted him now.

After swiping his tongue over the entrance to lubricate the way the best he could, Aragorn carefully positioned himself and pushed himself slowly into the tight heat, stopping as Faramir winced to give him time to adjust to the intrusion.

The Gondorian tried to blink back the tears from his eyes, the pain of his entrance being breached was almost too much, but he knew that it would be worth it, and that the pain would disappear with time.

“Move, Aragorn please,” he begged as he realised the older man was waiting for a signal to continue.

Aragorn thrust gently at first, moving slowly, conscious of the fact that he was causing his lover pain, but soon got swept away with the feeling of muscles clenching firmly around him.

“You are so tight,” he groaned, wrapping Faramir’s legs around his waist, enabling him to change the angle of his thrusts.

Faramir cried out in pleasure as Aragorn hit his prostate, all traces of pain vanishing in that moment. “So perfect, love,” he whispered breathlessly, unable to keep the endearment from escaping from his lips.

Addicted to the sounds coming from the younger man, Aragorn thrust harder, hitting his prostate again and again, rapidly pushing himself towards the edge.

“I am so very close,” he whispered, leaning in to capture those sweet lips, as he thrust a final time, moaning into the kiss as he spilt his seed into the tight passage of the man who held him in a tight embrace.

The action proved to be Faramir’s undoing, and he too erupted with a guttural moan, biting down hard on his lover’s neck, muffling the sound as he claimed him for his own.

“I have hurt you,” said Aragorn guiltily as he watched Faramir wince as he pulled up his leggings.

“I will be fine. Do not forget, the hands of a King are the hands of a healer.”

“Is that so?” replied the King with a teasing look in his eye. “In that case, you best come to my quarters tonight so I may put them to use.”

“Certainly my Lord, how could I turn down such a request?” Faramir replied seriously for a moment as he helped Aragorn with his armour, before allowing the playfulness to return to his voice.

“And now I believe that we have a celebration to attend.”

Fini

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