Faramir Fiction Archive

The Cure (NC-17)

Written by Minx

29 March 2004 | 13289 words

Chapter 2

Somewhere in his sleep-laden mind Aragorn could piece together disjointed memories of dark haired maidens wearing diaphanous clothes and exotic perfumes and beautiful cream coloured flowers that emanated a strong sweet smell, as the skilled fingers of the courtesans of Khand squeezed them into exquisitely moulded clay bowls.

“Faramir!” he barely had time to gasp out his lover’s name before he found his open mouth claimed in a tender, loving kiss. Sleep left him immediately, as he stared back into enraptured face above him.

His shirt now lay open, exposing his well-muscled chest, and Faramir had wrapped his arms around his neck. He had climbed onto the chair now and was kneeling over Aragorn in such a way as to render it impossible for him to move. His tongue explored Aragorn’s mouth gently, making him moan involuntarily.

The sound made Faramir press his body down further upon him. All that the Steward wore was a thin nightshirt that reached to his knees. But it had ridden up as he knelt and Aragorn could feel an unmistakable hardness pressed against his stomach. He felt his fists clench, as the heat of Faramir’s arousal combine with the kiss threatened to sweep him away. In the hot tongue that set upon him, he could taste the juice of the flowers.

“Did you like that, my liege?” came the hoarse whisper as Faramir drew away. The King bit back a whimper at the feeling of loss that instantly washed over him. Faramir rose in a swift, graceful motion, and held out his hand.

“Come, Sire. Come to my bed, and let me pleasure you,” he said softly. The faint light of the moon played upon the planes of his body under the thin robe he wore, as he waited expectantly. Aragorn automatically put out his hand and grasped the thin, damp wrist. The pulse raced erratically under his fingers, and as further proof, when he raised his eyes, he could see that just his touch had made Faramir throw his head back in ecstasy.

“Aragorn!” he murmured reverentially, before tugging his King over to the bed.

It was the gentle tug that brought Aragorn back to his senses. He gently but firmly disentangled his hand and frowned at his Steward.

“Tell me what you wish me to do, my liege,” Faramir said huskily.

“No!” he replied calmly, “you are ill, and I insist you go back to sleep now. You need the rest! And so do I.”

Thin, long fingers reached up for his cheek and brushed them lightly, “You said you desired to lie with me. I heard you, my liege, my love.”

Aragorn winced mentally. He had thought Faramir had been asleep. The Steward was continuing to speak, “ You will not let a mere fever come in our way will you, my lord? ‘Tis so short a time we get to ourselves. We have wasted enough time already. Come, my King, let me pleasure you,” the voice was rich with a throaty sensuality that had Aragorn clenching his fists.

“Nay – ,” he began weakly, only to stop short as he saw Faramir’s seductively smiling countenance change into a unhappily pouting one.

“Do you not desire me anymore then?” the hand slipped off his cheek.

Aragorn felt his heart wrench at the words. The tone that accompanied them had lost the huskiness. It was raw and unhappy. But Faramir had not given up yet. The hand that had slipped off Aragorn’s cheek, now rested on his bare chest.

“Tell me what I must do then, my liege. I would do anything, you just need tell me. Even if you love me no longer, let me at least give you some joy this night.”

Aragorn grasped the hand that had trailed down from his cheek and stared back into the other man’s eyes.

“Of course I still love you!” he exclaimed, and then gasped as Faramir’s warm fingers began to work on his nipple. The other hand snaked around his waist, and he found his own hands automatically reaching for Faramir’s lithe body and pulling him closer.

In one sudden, swift motion, the younger man reached forward and fell into Aragorn’s open arms, kissing him everywhere. His wet lips roved Aragorn’s bare torso, while his hands pulled the open shirt off. Then, the King suddenly felt himself falling back onto the soft bed behind him, under the onslaught with Faramir spreading his body over his. The pillows felt soft and cool under his back, while at the same time his chest seemed to be on fire as the kisses continued, accompanied by purring sounds from the shapely mouth that was now attacking his flat stomach.

Aragorn moaned softly as a tongue explored his navel and lower belly. Faramir’s hand was toying with the waistband of his leggings, shifting it up and down but never pulling it down completely. He ran his hands up and down the Steward’s back cursing the cloth barrier. He wanted it off, but then that would mean Faramir’s mouth would be off him and he did not want that.

He adjusted himself, leaning forward a little to pull up the thin cloth exposing his lover’s taut backside to him. Faramir made a noise between a squeal and a delight, and lifted his head up to smile at Aragorn. Straightening up, he sat kneeling over Aragorn’s thighs, effectively trapping the King under him, a situation Aragorn found extremely intoxicating.

Meanwhile Faramir had pulled his robe off, revealing the familiar contours of his body. Sweat glistened on the pallid skin, making it seem almost like velvet. Aragorn had seen his lover many times, but this one night, he thought he looked as he had never before. His eyes travelled down from the face, to the chest, down a flat stomach to the arousal that made itself apparent between the Steward’s long flanks, and found himself groaning as a wave of desire swept over him. Faramir’s long, slender fingers went back to the waistband of his leggings. He felt the aching sensation in his groin intensify.

Aragorn tried shutting his eyes and telling himself that Faramir was ill and probably in no condition for to do what Aragorn wanted to do with him. He scrunched his eyes tightly, trying to think up the correct phrase to use. How was he to convince Faramir to lie back quietly, without hurting him immensely? Even one wrong phrase would make the sick man think he was rejecting him. And the effect of the drug was obviously not helping. He had always wondered what Faramir’s thoughts were behind the intense stares he used to bestow upon him at all times. He seemed to be getting a good indication of that now.

The sensation of having his leggings yanked down interrupted his thoughts. Long fingers clasped his erect shaft and stroked him slowly, causing him to nearly shout out. He shuddered as much from the sensation as from the look in those eyes, that even now stared up at him. Grey eyes gazed at him hungrily, questioningly, even as the beautiful lips parted a little, and a pink tongue snaked out, hovering enticingly over his aching shaft.

He tried to tear his eyes away, but he could not. The usually solemn, noble mien of the man he had come to trust the most now looked enchantingly beautiful. There was no other word for it. The flush of fever had seemed attractive, but the drug’s effects had added to that many times over. Wanton need was etched on the thin features.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, unable o help himself. The signal was immediately understood. His tiniest gestures could be interpreted accurately by the younger man.

The shapely mouth closed over his shaft, as Faramir took in the engorged length, not slowly as he usually did, but swiftly this time, sending Aragorn scrabbling at the sheets in an effort to control himself. He grasped at the unruly hair bent over him and felt himself thrusting forward as a skilful tongue attacked him. He had been aching for this ever since he had seen Faramir that evening, and his body responded swiftly. When he came, Faramir took his seed in hungrily, and the trickle of wetness that spread over his legs told him that the Steward had found his release too.

He shuddered as Faramir finally removed his mouth, and collapsed over him, the damp, sweat-lined face resting against his flat stomach, strands of thick hair splayed over his chest.

It was a while before he could sit up slowly and pull Faramir up along with him, holding him in his arms, feeling the warm body of his gentle Steward leaning against him. He gently kissed him on his lips. Faramir reacted promptly and kissed him back, surprising Aragorn. Aragorn felt a hardness against thigh and looking down, remembered what his Steward’s brew had contained.

Faramir moaned needily into his mouth, and thrust himself against Aragorn. The feel of the hardened member sent jolts through the King’s veins, and he closed his eyes trying to control himself. He couldn’t so he opened his eyes again and decided to make the best of the situation.

“Do you know what I really want tonight?” he asked softly pulling away a little.

“Aye, tell me what you want,” it was almost a demand.

“Tonight, I wish to give you all you desire. Why don’t you tell me what it is you desire, my sweet one?”

“You are all I want,” came the muffled reply as Faramir began nuzzling his neck, “I want you – inside me.”

Faramir pressed against him and he could feel the warmth of his arousal against his belly. He was being pushed down again, and Faramir’s legs snaked around his own. They fell together against the pillows, onto their side. His hands strayed to the Steward’s backside, running over them lightly. Then Faramir turned onto his back so that Aragorn lay over him.

“I love you,” he said, his eyes shining and his voice slurred, as he ran his hands all over Aragorn’s body, “I love you inside me. I want you to take me till I scream, my liege.”

Aragorn tried once, reason poking its head through for a brief second, “But dearest you are ill–“

Faramir wrapped a leg around his waist and thrust himself up, positioning his opening near Aragorn’s arousal, “Yes, my love, and you are the one who can always heal me.”

Reason fled promptly.

“I need some oil,” he aid determinedly. He was not going to hurt Faramir.

“Why?”

“Love – “

Faramir grinned lazily up at him, “It is said of you, my liege, that you must have had some magic in your tongue to have charmed the dreaded Lady of Morthond with your words.” He leaned back against the pillows and spread his legs apart exposing himself to Aragorn.

The King of Gondor stared at his lover, who seemed to be making all the decisions. But then, he told himself, that was what he had wanted – for Faramir to make the decisions. So he shrugged and leant down to tiny, puckered opening on offer.

He licked the ring of muscle, and smiled mentally as Faramir squealed in delight. Slowly, he continued to lick the tight ring of muscle but refused to penetrate it yet, sensitising it further and further. Then he stuck his tongue in, and Faramir released an incoherent moaning sound as he slicked it in and out, wetting the narrow passageway liberally. He pulled out causing a whine to emanate from between his lover’s lips. Then he attacked him again, sending his tongue in deeper this time, simultaneously cupping Faramir’s buttocks in his hands and lifting him slightly. He explored him slowly, taking his time, and felt Faramir clutch at his head, somewhere a voice in his head told him he should be forcing Faramir to sleep, but he ignored it, and listened to his lover’s call instead.

“I need you inside me,” the Steward was groaning, “I need to feel you, Aragorn, my love, my king.”

He pulled his tongue inciting an aching whimper. Leaning forward, he brushed Faramir’s lips with his, and then stuck a finger into his passage gently. Faramir smiled dreamily and mumbled out more jumbled words. He pushed it in slowly, gently, feeling the tight wet, channel close around it. He probed on watching as Faramir arched his body up sobbing for more. Then he pulled it out and bending down, stuck his tongue in again. He wet him thoroughly before pulling out again.

“Please Aragorn, my dearest!” the grey eyes looked beseechingly at him, and fell upon his now engorged member. Faramir’s own arousal was glaringly obvious and he seemed to be aching for release as much as Aragorn as. Or, perhaps more, Aragorn thought ruefully, as he remembered his own experiences with the drug.

“Soon, sweetling, soon,” he said reassuringly. Whatever the young one said, he was not going to hurt him now.

He reached towards the small table by the bedside and grasped the jar of oil the healers had been using to massage Faramir’s forehead when he had had a headache. He applied it liberally to his hands and shaft, and then turned back to Faramir whose eyes were upon him, still pleading. Gently preparing Faramir to receive him, he worked his oiled fingers in carefully watching Faramir’s face for any sign of pain as he stretched him. They had not lain together for more than a month now, and Faramir felt very tight. All he saw was the same expression on his face.

Pulling out his fingers, he positioned himself carefully and slowly entered the slicked entrance. Faramir shouted in delight, his sudden noisiness amusing Aragorn greatly. The drug obviously manifested itself in many ways.

He pushed in slowly, allowing the muscles to clench around him.

“Faster,” Faramir screamed.

He ignored him, and thrust slowly in. He brought his hands forward and grasped Faramir’s shaft and began slowly rubbing his hands up and down it, in rhythm with his thrusts.

Faramir jerked up and brought his legs around his waist, his hands clutching at Aragorn arms, the nails raking into his skin, as he arched his back, and shouted again. A sudden intense shudder as Aragorn thrust further in told him he had hit Faramir’s sweet spot. The steward’s release coated his fingers and dripped onto the sheets. He came almost immediately after that.

They collapsed in a heap bonelessly, Faramir kissing him all over his face and chest repeatedly telling him he loved him and that he was the most wonderful being on Arda. Aragorn felt his hot breaths fall all over his skin, and the clammy feel of his lover’s face and sighed.

“Well, you’re not at all wonderful. You never listen to me. You were supposed to sleep!”

Faramir stopped kissing him and looked up, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “Then punish me, dearest,” he said eagerly.

“Your punishment is this,” Aragorn said pulling him close and claiming his lips in a deep, passionate kiss, even as he wondered whether how long the drug’s effects lasted. He had little energy left, while Faramir seemed to be ready to jump out of bed and fight an army of Orcs single-handedly. It would fade as the drug’s effect faded, he knew, and Faramir would be back to normal.

Faramir hugged him tight, and Aragorn was suddenly worried to note that the heat radiating off his lover’s body had increased now.

“Love,” he murmured uncertainly, “you are ill, youngeling. Please rest now, dear one.”

And surprisingly this time, Faramir murmured in acquiescence, his head sinking tiredly against Aragorn’s chest. The drug seemed to be wearing away.

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