Faramir Fiction Archive

Tales from Gondor (R)

Written by Minx

23 September 2012 | 36179 words

Title: Evening
Author: Minx
Characters: Aragorn / Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: None, but expect much fluff
Disclaimer: All characters and places are Tolkien’s.
Author’s Notes: Written for the ‘Massage’ prompt on the 25fluffyfics LJ community.

Many thanks to Iris for reading through!

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“Ow,” Faramir said, in an aggrieved tone, as he attempted to stretch for the highest shelf in order to pull out the book he wanted, just as Gandalf walked into the room

“And well you might howl in pain, young Faramir!” the wizard admonished as he noticed Faramir rubbing his back awkwardly, “Whatever have you been doing to yourself?”

“It’s just a little stiffness. I pulled something yesterday I think,” Faramir mumbled, flushing slightly, “Must have been at – at the – the practice… yes that could be it. I didn’t realise it earlier. It’s nothing much really, just a slight strain. It should be fine in a day or two.”

“Perhaps, you should-,” Gandalf started only to be interrupted by Faramir.

“Show it to the healers? It’s not that bad really,” he said rapidly, his face flushing a little.

“I was about to say that perhaps you could ask Aragorn to do something about it,” Gandalf said.

“The king?” Faramir stuttered, surprised, his face blanching now, “Wh – what would he have to do with it?”

“He is a healer, you know,” Gandalf said, frowning at the younger man, “And he did take a look at you the last time you fell. Are you all right, child?”

“He must think all I do is hurt myself,” Faramir mumbled.

“You weren’t supposed to return to such strenuous arms practise until your back had healed,” Gandalf retorted.

“It wasn’t really strenuous,” Faramir said, blushing a little deeper, not quite willing to let Mithrandir in on exactly what sort of practice had caused the pull.

He did not speak of it to Aragorn though. It was hardly something to trouble the king with, especially considering how he had come by the ache. He found himself flushing uncomfortably at the thought, and hurriedly went back to looking into the preparations for the emissary from Rhun due that week. He also managed to evade Gandalf through the day. After all, it was nothing more than a mild twinge and would be gone soon, surely.

By evening though, the mild ache had not subsided, and Faramir found himself gritting his teeth every now and then as every sudden motion caused a stab of pain. He’d be glad to lie down for a while, he thought to himself as he sat down to dinner, nodding absently at the smiling hobbits.

He ate quietly as usual, not speaking unless asked, and even then reluctantly, trying to forget the constant dull ache, as he listened to the hobbits prattle on about their plans that night. Summer was upon them and the young hobbits sometimes organised an evening’s entertainment after dinner, music and dancing or other activities, all noisy but pleasant. It was an activity the king encouraged and on Gandalf and Faramir’s advice often invited their dinner guests to attend.

Aragorn was at the other end of the long table, talking a visiting envoy, when he glanced towards the Steward, who was sitting up straight in his chair, as he spoke to the head of the merchants’ guild seated next to him. He frowned slightly at the sight of the younger man. Faramir looked a little pale and his face was coated with a fine sheen of sweat.

As soon as dinner was over, Aragorn quietly moved away from the table and walked up to Faramir who stood leaning heavily against a large column, watching the harpers play.

Faramir glanced up at the king, trying not to move too suddenly. The king inched close enough for Faramir to feel the warmth of his breath on his neck, a sensation that had the younger man almost shuddering in a very pleasant sort of way.

“It’s your back isn’t it?” Aragorn whispered in his ear, his lips almost touching Faramir’s reddening ear.

“I’m all right, Sire,” he murmured, inching closer to the king, seeking comfort from the older man’s nearness.

“You’re also a terrible liar,” the king said calmly, “Gandalf said you were in pain. Come with me.”

“But the evening entertainment,” he muttered urgently, “The halflings –”

“The revelry has begun. Our absence will barely be noticed,” the king said and grabbing Faramir’s hand tugged him along into his study. Pulling Faramir in, he closed the door.

“Take off your shirt,” he said.

Faramir stared at him surprised.

“I can help you with that pain but you’ll need to take your shirt off. Then it’s easier for me to see what I’m doing,” the king said in a very patient tone, “I don’t recollect you being so shy earlier,” he added teasingly, although he did feel Faramir was still quite shy, even after the intimacy they had begun to share recently.

Faramir ducked his head at that and began to remove his surcoat, his fingers fumbling a little with the ties as they had done the night before.

“And your tunic,” Aragorn sighed, as he noticed the layers the Steward wore.

Faramir removed his tunic and then his vest, finally standing bare-chested in front of the king, looking a little uncomfortable, much as he had done the previous night.

“And you look so much better without your clothes on,” the king murmured and grasping his arms, pulled him close and kissed him lightly on the lips. Faramir reddened, but smiled.

Aragorn continued holding him as he made him lie down on the rug on the floor on his stomach, and knelt by him, “Does it hurt a lot?”

“It is just a little stiffness,” Faramir said, his face still flaming a little, “I think I- I spent too much time, in – in one place, perhaps…”

“Where does it hurt now?” Aragorn asked gently, allowing his fingers to ghost lightly over the younger man’s bony spine.

“Lower,” Faramir murmured, and then as Aragorn’s fingers found their mark, hissed out, “Th – there… But – but – the d-dancing?’

“For one who usually hides away during the dancing, you are certainly worried!” Aragorn murmured amused, “It will continue just as well without us. This should not take too long.”

“I am ruining your evening,” Faramir said softly. The sounds of the music and laughter, although muted were still discernible, even in Aragorn’s study.

“Nay, I am ever gladder in your company,” Aragorn said reassuringly, “Hush now and let me take care of this.”

He pressed his knuckles gently against the small of Faramir’s back before moving his hands slowly upwards, tenderly kneading the skin. He ran his hands over the tight knots, loosening each muscle gently and carefully. He felt the younger man begin to relax, and continued the movements, inching downwards now.

As he continued, Faramir made a soft, purring sound, “Th – that feels nice,” he mumbled.

Aragorn smiled.

He stilled his hands after a while, once he was sure the tenseness had dissipated sufficiently, and helped the younger man sit up.

“There… do you feel better now?” he asked softly.

Faramir grunted softly as he rose, “Yes, much better.”

“Would you like to stay with me this night as well?”

“Yes,” Faramir said without hesitation, and slipped into the king’s embrace.

“I would never count an evening spent with you as ruined,” Argaorn said pulling him closer, “and considering the alternative was to listen to our noisy Halfling friends…”

“I like our evenings together too,” Faramir replied, opening up to the lips that covered his mouth.

“Tonight we had better stay on the bed,” Aragorn murmured when they pulled apart, panting a little, “I should not wish to explain to Gandalf that you strained your back again because we found a new use for the table.”

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