Faramir Fiction Archive

The Time to Rejoice (NC-17)

Written by Kissa

22 December 2006 | 11846 words

Title: The Time to Rejoice
Author: Kissa
Beta by the wonderful and very patient Iris <3
Pairing: Aragorn/Faramir (main), Elladan/(Aragorn)/Elrohir, Éomer/Legolas (just mentioned)
Rating: Obviously, NC17. In my AU, everyone’s getting it on in Gondor!
Word count: 11,736
Warning: AU and an overdose of fluff
A/N: This story is AU. The war is over, Arwen left Aragorn because she decided Gondor wasn’t the ideal place to spend a mortal life and she’s safely away in Valinor. And Faramir is younger than in the books and movies. Just to motivate myself a bit more J
Summary: The young and capable Steward of Gondor has a very inspired idea and it leads to a wonderful outcome for him and the lonely High King.

Written for the 2006 Midwinter Swap.

Request by Minx: Aragorn/Faramir, with inexperienced and clueless Faramir who needs to be seduced by Aragorn. Would be nice if twins and / or Legolas and Gimli jump in to help with advice or in any other way.

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Chapter 1

The man they all called Thorongil smiled at the baby and bounced him on his knees a few times, careful not to shake him too much. The little one liked that a lot, since his giggles grew louder.

The man knew he would never have heirs of his own so he was very grateful that Finduilas had let him look after the baby while she and Denethor were away on a diplomatic visit to Imrahil.

Boromir was outside, with the sword master, who let him watch the soldiers training and thus kept an eye on the Steward’s first son. At the moment, Boromir was playing with his two dogs and the four kittens his cat had given birth to recently. He had asked Thorongil to help him carry the basket outside, and now he was in the yard, cuddling with the animals.

Denethor’s boys were both cute. Five-year old Boromir was agile and more curious than a cat, a trait which got him into a lot of trouble, while little Faramir was quiet and happy. It only took so little to make the baby smile!

This morning, when he had woken up, Thorongil had gone to wake Boromir, who was clinging on to his baby-brother in their peaceful sleep. Tickling the child’s belly, he had coaxed him out of bed, calling a maid to help him dress and instructing her to give Boromir a large cookie to go with his glass of milk. Looking forward to the treat, Boromir had followed the maid willingly and giggling.

The man had spent a few more minutes in his bed, hoping the baby would sleep longer so he could afford to do the same… and Faramir did sleep soundly until later, when a sun beam tickled his little face and he woke up, sniffing and trying to capture the beam in his small chubby hands.

Thorongil had gone to the crib and had picked Faramir up, noting the little one needed a change of diapers and a bath. He could call the nanny, but he decided he could take care of that himself.

Once Faramir was clean and dry, dressed in a new diaper and clean clothes, Thorongil took him in his arms, went to the kitchens and asked the cook for the baby’s breakfast bottle.

He waited patiently for Faramir to finish his milk, then gently patted his back until the baby burped, making all the kitchen staff laugh. The women in the staff loved the little lord, he wasn’t spoiled or loud and he was easy to look after, unlike most babies.

Thorongil had let the cute little one get to him. He loved holding him while he sat in a rocking chair in the library, reading some old strategy book. Faramir would play with his long hair a bit, giggle at the faces Thorongil made at him, then fall asleep suckling his little thumb, feeling safe surrounded by strong arms, the smell of pipe weed and the sound of a heart beating strongly.

Chapter 2

(three decades later)

Faramir was a grown man, judging by his years, although he didn’t look his age, but much younger. Maybe because he’s so damn skinny, Aragorn thought, looking at the young man’s slender form.

“Your Majesty… er, Aragorn, is something wrong?” Faramir dared after a while since he had noticed the King’s gaze become unfocused.

Aragorn chased away the memories which gnawed at his mind and smiled warmly to his steward.

“Nay, Faramir, nothing is wrong… It is just memories catching up with me. Memories of the happy moments I spent here in Gondor a long, long time ago.”

Faramir nodded and they returned to the plans of reconstruction they had waiting on the King’s desk.

After some hours of sustained work, Aragorn couldn’t put up with Faramir’s fidgeting. Something was obviously on the young man’s mind.

“Speak up, Faramir! For the last hour you have been acting as if you had ants in your breeches!”

Faramir blushed and opened his mouth to speak, changing his mind at the last moment. Taking a deep breath, he tried again.

“My King, I would ask something in the name of the people of Gondor but… I do not know if it will be possible, now that Queen Arwen’s departure is still of recent date.”

“Speak freely, dear Faramir… Arwen and I have parted with the consent of both of us. I am not affected.” Aragorn said. “What was it you wanted to ask?”

“I was thinking the people need a celebration to forget about the hard times of war and destruction… and to get their minds off the reconstruction efforts.” Faramir began, stopping to see what the King would say to this.

“That is the best idea I have heard in weeks! Faramir, I could just kiss you now! It is indeed time we all got rid of the long faces… Arwen is… “ the King’s voice faded into a whisper. “A closed chapter.” Aragorn said. “Do you have something particular in mind?”

“As a matter of fact, your Highness, I do.” Faramir smiled. “I was thinking we should begin celebrating Yule again, like elves do. We could ask Lord Elrond and his sons to come along, and your friends from the Fellowship…”

Aragorn was so thrilled by the idea that he forgot all about propriety and stood up, circling the desk and coming over to Faramir, enfolding him in a bear hug, kissing him loudly on both cheeks, which left the Steward a bit flustered and blushing.

It was only now that he could feel how thin his Steward was… his ribs could be distinguished clearly, even through the thick velvet of his court garments.

Aragorn noted how well the Steward’s slender body fit in his arms and let his hands trail through the silken auburn curls.

“Dear, dear Faramir… you have grown into a wondrous being! Your mother would be so proud of you!” Aragorn let out, sighing happily and sniffing Faramir’s hair.

“You knew her that well?” Faramir asked as they broke apart.

“Aye, I did. You know I used to live under a different name in Gondor some time ago, when Boromir was five and you were but a baby. Finduilas wanted me to assist with your delivery, as her pregnancy had been a complicated one and she feared court healers would not know what to do to save you, in case…”

“You were there at my birth?” Faramir’s eyes bulged out, an even more powerful blush coloring his cheeks. He had always known Aragorn was older than he looked, but this new account changed the way he saw the King. Aragorn had held him in his arms right after he had been born. Somehow, learning that made him feel intimately connected to the man who stood before him now.

As if reading his mind, Aragon spoke again.

“You were such a cute baby! I never knew my way around little ones, but you were just so sweet and never causing any trouble! With Boromir, it was difficult as we had to watch him all the time, because his curiosity would get the best of him at all times. You two were the sweetest little ones I have ever seen, sweeter even than elflings!”

Faramir coughed a bit, wishing they switched to a more serious topic. He was becoming embarrassed at the thought that Aragorn might have seen him naked, even if it was when he was less than a year old, and for the purpose of changing his dirty diapers. The mere possibility was frightening. He had to ask.

“Did you… um, see me naked?” he asked, wishing he would have shut up the very moment the words left his mouth.

Aragorn laughed.

“Of course! More times than I can count! I even gave you a few baths! Finduilas was amazed at how tame you were when you were bathed… she said most children hate to be bathed. Boromir sure had a most bumpy relationship with soap and water, since his early years.”

“Oh…” Faramir gulped. It was useless to hope he still had the faintest trace of dignity and credibility in his King’s eyes. To the King, he would ever be the babe splashing water out of the tub while this enigmatic man was touching him everywhere, washing him. That gave the young prince an odd feeling, which was only partially unpleasant.

“Too bad we will not have snow for Yule,” he said, in an attempt to change the topic.

“I think Gandalf and Elrond can help with that. “ Aragorn chuckled. “And you shall have your snow, little one!” he added, pinching Faramir’s cheek.

Faramir wondered at the king’s sudden change of mood. His melancholy seemed to have simply evaporated.

“Shall I begin planning the celebrations, my King?” Faramir asked.

Aragorn looked at him as if his Steward had just asked for some exotic sexual favor.

“Er… Now?” He looked puzzled. “I was thinking that now I feel like asking my Steward to join me for a cup of hot wine with cinnamon and honey… but if he is so intent on working all the time…” Aragorn pouted, which yanked a smile from Faramir’s tightly controlled self.

“If the King commands it…” he said, and rang a small bell for a maid, to whom he told what the King’s wishes were.

Aragorn came close to him again and put a parental hand on his shoulder.

“Faramir, am I that hard to cope with? I was merely asking you to join me for a moment of enjoying little pleasant things… as friends, not as King and Steward… I wish you could be more at ease around me, like you were when we first met in the Houses of Healing. It will be your Yule present to me! Nay, I am wrong… your friendship is the most precious gift this year could bring me!”

“But Aragorn…” Faramir began, not really knowing what he wanted to say.

Aragorn raised one long, bony finger and wiggled it slowly from left to right and then back.

“No buts, Faramir. As a healer, I say you should cut yourself some slack, eat a little and rest a little more, to give your body time to assimilate some energy! I am sure your beloved is worried sick over you and how thin you are!”

Faramir blushed violently and looked away.

“Idonothaveanyone.” He mumbled, his eyes fixed on a spot somewhere outside.

Aragorn’s hearing was still as accurate as in his Ranger years. His mind registered Faramir’s words, but he decided not to push further at the time.

The maid came in bringing the carafe of hot, spiced wine and two mugs. Aragorn took the tray from the astounded woman and put it near the fireplace on a low table, inviting Faramir to sit on the thick rug near the fire.

When the maid left, Aragorn filled both their cups and invited Faramir to have a taste.

They spent the whole night talking, Faramir’s reserve being melted away by the wine, helping him gather the nerve to ask Aragorn about his mother, their family and Gondor from the times when he himself had been a newborn. The King was more than happy to revisit those memories and to use the occasion to reassure Faramir of how worthy of admiration and praise he was.

When the light of day interrupted them, a sun beam tickling Faramir’s face, making him react the same way he had when he was a baby – by giggling -, Aragorn reflexively reached out to caress the young one’s face, the moment from the past merging for a second with the present.

“Now, dear one, go to your room and get some sleep, and don’t come out until I tell you to!” the King said seriously. “You need to rest and eat some, or else you will fall ill again, and I will have none of that!”

As Faramir got up, bowed to him and walked away, Aragorn decided he liked his Steward, once he had gotten to know him a bit. As it had turned out, the young one wasn’t glacial; he was merely shy and bore the marks of a life spent in the shadow of his older brother.

Chapter 3

The day of the celebration drew near and Faramir felt like the world was crumbling down on him… He had the feeling that there were so many things to do over so little time, but somehow everything seemed to arrange itself at the last moment. He was sure it had everything to do with the King’s magic touch. Aragorn had written the invitations himself and had sent them out to his friends. Elrond and his sons had already confirmed their attendance.

The evenings had been the same in the last weeks, with the King and the Steward talking in front of the fire in the King’s bedroom, having some wine. In time, Faramir had grown more confident around Aragorn and now he let the King see him dressed less formally. At times, he caught himself looking forward to the end of the day, when he would have the King’s company exclusively. Aragorn was simply flawless in his eyes. The best King Gondor could have, the most accomplished warrior and the most handsome man. He would then wonder why the Queen had changed her mind… forever must have sounded too long for an ancient being as she was, who really knew what eventually would happen with her husband.

Aragorn had found himself missing the young Steward during the day, when Faramir was away carrying out his commands. But Faramir always worked himself too hard, and recently the King had found out why. Not from Faramir himself, because the young man was not one to complain, but from the chronicles in the library which spoke of the times when Denethor ruled over Gondor. He had known Denethor for a short while, when both of them were still young, and he had seen the abusive and impulsive nature of the Steward back then…The chronicles mentioned bits and pieces of facts which troubled Aragorn a lot: one account mentioned the people leaving their work to watch as the Steward’s son received thirty whip lashes in the main courtyard, the next contained a recipe given by one of the healers who had tended to the boy’s injured back and legs, another one mentioned the castle staying awake with screams coming from Denethor’s wing…

This was the evening when he would talk to Faramir openly. He could not stand to watch as the young one died inside little by little, since it had become clear that Faramir, after losing his beloved brother and after assuming the stewardship, had had to give up all he held dear. Aragorn could understand why Faramir missed the wilderness and his Rangers… he had once been one as well, and he sometimes wished he still had the freedom to only be where he wanted to be.

Watching the Steward closely had made Aragorn’s feelings shift from caution to trust, friendship and… even more. Aragorn cared for the young man more than he did for any of his other friends. He knew Faramir was a skilled warrior and could defend himself in case of an attack, but when it came to feelings and dealing with the loneliness… sometimes Aragorn could feel his pointless struggle, the knowledge he had to perform excellently every time although there had been no one to teach him and his only allies had been books and – on some rare, happy occasions – Gandalf.

He had put on a long, silk undergarment and a richly embroidered robe for when Faramir arrived. Nervously, he measured the room with his legendary strides over and over and finally went to the window, looking outside to the starlit sky. It was a small ritual for him, to watch the stars every night before he went to bed, and to ask himself how the sky would have looked if no man had been spared by Sauron’s wrath and destruction.

A knock at the door ended his musings.

“Come!” he said and turned around only halfway, trying to look composed in front of Faramir, even if he was nervous, worrying about too many things to name.

He just prayed Faramir would not shut himself away again if he tackled those topics now.

As Faramir stepped closer and into a moonlit patch, Aragorn’s breath caught and he forgot what he had meant to say. The Steward looked more beautiful than any elf Aragorn had ever laid eyes on. Faramir’s blue eyes stood out in contrast to his pale complexion, his lips were parted and red because he was biting them in sign of nervousness and the simple, light outfit he wore made him look almost ethereal. Aragorn wanted to touch him, to feel him close and to never let him go… He growled possessively, thinking that now he had discovered the treasure which lay beneath the uptight façade, he would not give it up without a serious fight.

Shaking his head to snap out of his daze, Aragorn invited Faramir to sit on the soft rug in front of the fire and brought two steaming mugs full of spiced wine. Sitting down, he could not cross his legs because of the robe, so he chose to recline and thus allow himself to lazily catalogue every little detail about Faramir, finding him absolutely exquisite.

“Aragorn? Is everything alright? Am I improperly dressed?” Faramir asked as he noticed the King eyeing his entire outfit closely.

“Nay… you are dressed just fine! I was merely trying to figure out whether you wear these big fluttering shirts to conceal the fact you’ve been missing out on your meals again…”

“I promise, Aragorn, I did eat! I just cannot get used to easting so much all of the sudden!” Faramir said in a small voice which sent chills down Aragorn’s spine. Where had the warrior gone? The one who was now speaking to him was a scared, submissive creature who waited for his verdict.

Aragorn sat up and came closer to Faramir, placing a hand on his shoulder, kneading it almost imperceptibly. Faramir’s first reaction was to twitch and pull away, but then he immediately went pliant and let Aragorn do as he wished.

The older man’s kneading became a caress before it shifted to a mere touch.

“Faramir… It will all be fine, you are safe here. Who hurt you so? Will you please tell me, dear one?” Aragorn spoke softly, trying to conceal his nervousness. Would Faramir open up or shy away?

Faramir’s lips trembled and his eyes became blurry, which told Aragorn he was reliving scenes of the past. Taking in a deep breath, Aragorn went for broke and hugged Faramir, sighing in great relief when he felt the other man mould himself onto his front.

It felt like they had been hugging for a long time when they broke apart, and Aragorn looked at the man he was holding. Faramir’s eyes were now huge, utter amazement written clearly readable in them.

“Do not fear me, Faramir. I was first your friend and healer, and only then your King. Never forget that. I give you my word that I would never do anything to harm you in any way. You are very precious to me.” He said softly.

Standing up, he held out his hand for the young man to take.

“Let’s go sit on the couch and talk.” Aragorn said.

Faramir followed him like a well trained pup, but then, seeing the King gracefully sit down, careful not to wrinkle his robes and patting the seat next to him invitingly, he asked:

“Why?”

“Because I have read the chronicles of your father’s rule and I am worried by what I have read. And I want you to face that and vanquish it before the celebration… it will be one of my gifts to you.”

Faramir crossed his arms over his chest, defensively.

“I do not want your pity, Sire!”

Aragorn looked at him, eyes wide from shock.

“But … it is not pity! Faramir, you are my friend and it hurts to see you get skinnier with each passing day!”

A long silence followed, but then Faramir seemed to make a decision and came to sit beside Aragorn, looking at him calmly.

“You read about the beatings and the humiliation… and you are wondering whether my father laid his hands on me in other ways as well.” He said. He knew it. Even Gandalf had questioned him once, assuming the same thing.

Aragorn’s heart cried for the man he was now facing. He should not have been left all alone to deal with all this! he thought, even so, he is doing a magnificent job at standing tall and proud!

“My father did not touch me in any improper way. He only tried to correct my many weaknesses.” Faramir spoke again.

“But you see, Faramir,” the King burst out, “you do not have ‘many weaknesses’. You are the strongest of the brothers. You grew up into this valiant, capable man who is wise beyond his years, with all the odds against you. Boromir had it all since his birth, as first son to the Steward! So do not suspect me of pitying you… I merely wish to chase away the sadness in your eyes, it breaks my heart to see you punish yourself like this!”

“You still don’t see it, Aragorn…” Faramir almost whispered. “I am not like this because Father beat me… I am sad and lonely because I am malformed, I am a monster! Otherwise, why do the people look at me and shake their heads oddly, why do maidens treat me the way they do?”

This proved a bit too much for Aragorn.

“A monster? Malformed? And how do the maidens treat you? All I saw were girls giggling in your presence and flirting with you!” He blurted out.

“No one wants me! And I cannot approach any of the maidens because they are all wild and they scare me! In the first month after the war ended, I thought one of them liked me. I agreed to meet her in the garden and what did she do? As soon as I got there, she pushed me against a tree, pinched me here-“ Faramir pointed to his left buttock “and she put her tongue in my mouth while I was gasping!”

Aragorn did not know whether to laugh or to cry. What he had heard was not what he had expected, and he was not easily surprised.

“You did not enjoy anything she did?” He carefully asked, and was perplexed to see Faramir vigorously shake his head.

“Is there no one in this kingdom or in another to have caught your heart?” Aragorn wanted to know.

Faramir nodded slowly and looked away.

“There is… but it is improper.” He mumbled.

Aragorn reached over to him and tilted his chin up, making him look into his eyes.

“Are you talking about a man, Faramir? Is that what eats at you? That I would punish this love?”

Faramir was blushing a deep crimson, still trying to escape Aragorn’s questions.

“Is it Gandalf?” Aragorn tried.

Faramir tilted his head and made a very eloquent grimace that obviously meant “gods, no!”

“I know: it must be Beregond! And I can see why… he doesn’t exactly resemble an Uruk Hai.”

A snort and an annoyed grunt.

“Oh come on,” Aragorn laughed “do confess: ’tis me!” He said, hoping that would tick Faramir off into telling him everything.

What he got was the most terrified look he had ever seen on a human face. After a few seconds in which they stared at each other silently, Faramir lowered his gaze and Aragorn could see tears fall onto the young man’s lap.

Taking Faramir’s closer hand into his and squeezing lightly, Aragorn spoke, pouring all the sweetness he could muster into his next words:

“Does this mean you want me, Faramir?”

He knew it was a risky question to ask, but he was now relieved that he had been given a chance to say how he felt.

To Mordor with my imprudence! I knew he was magical, but I refused to heed it… Poor, silly Faramir, what have you done? You have betrayed your King’s trust in you and made yourself into a fool! Faramir reprimanded himself mentally.

“Faramir?” Aragorn asked, when the young man did not speak for minutes, sheer horror etched on his face. “You still have not answered my question. Is it me you want?”

Faramir would have said he did not just “want” Aragorn, if he had been able to speak. He revered him and he hoped that one day someone like the King would come along and maybe, just maybe choose and like him. What he felt for Aragorn was well beyond “wanting” him.

“My King… please do not ask a question I cannot answer.” Faramir said, shaking visibly.

Oh to the fires with it! Give the boy the chance to relax a bit! Aragorn’s mind screamed at him and it almost sounded as if Gandalf had taken residence in his head.

“We have a problem then, my Steward.” Aragorn said, thus securing Faramir’s undivided attention. He tilted his head and smiled at the Steward, trying to reassure him. “There is this wonderful young man I see every day. He is the most effective Steward that Gondor ever had and the fairest creature I have seen in the realms of men. I find myself missing him when he’s away and wishing I could make him loosen up and come closer to me when we meet for our quiet evening chats. Do you think there is any chance I might get to him and tell him that my life without him has lost all its meaning and glow?”

Feeling as if he’d just delivered a speech based on quotes from the romance novels court ladies read, Aragorn caught his breath and became silent for a while, awaiting Faramir’s reaction.

The young Gondorian blushed to the tips of his ears and looked away from him, out the window, when he said: “But you are the King, Aragorn…”

“I was born a man, not a king. I wish you would see past the crown. Will you at least try to look at me and tell me if there can be love beyond the allegiance? I know you are scared of what this could mean – as it is not the usual way among men – but that makes two of us.”

Faramir could only stare agape at his King. Aragorn had obviously wanted to say this for a while and he looked like he meant every word.

His hand reached forth of its own will and the pads of two fingers gently touched Aragorn’s lower lip.

“You… you will admit to being scared in front of me?”

Aragorn took Faramir’s hand in his and gently turned it over, kissing each knuckle softly.

“I will admit to much more in front of you, dear Faramir.” He spoke carefully, then opened his arms in invitation.

Faramir pondered for a while whether he should take the king’s offer or not, whether it was moral or not, but he found that the need for some significant closeness was stronger than all other considerations. Inching closer, his eyes never leaving Aragorn’s smiling face, he let himself be enfolded in a big, warm and healing hug.

Aragorn nestled Faramir’s head under his chin and stroked his hair slowly, like in a dream.

“Rest for this night, love is here. Right here under my wings…” Aragorn said sofly, humming the lines of a lullaby he had once sung to a baby Faramir.

Chapter 4

A few more days passed, during which they both worked hard at preparing the celebration, meeting in the evening to cuddle on Aragorn’s sofa.

One evening, Aragorn gathered the nerve to kiss Faramir softly on his lips, and he became addicted. He had expected roughness, but he only encountered velvet softness. Kissing Faramir made all his other kisses seem rushed, sloppy and coarse. He caught himself thinking he wanted to learn better, more pleasurable ways to show his beloved a good time. The rough ways of a Ranger seemed the improper approach if he wanted to have Faramir and to hold him for longer than one night. But even under his awkward attempts in the beginning, the younger man would go pliant and soft under his touches, sighing happily every time his mouth was claimed.

Faramir desperately sought his King’s arms and the comfort they brought, as he had quickly figured out that Aragorn’s closeness chased his recurring nightmares away and silenced the infernal voices in his head.

Aragorn had sensed that Faramir was hiding something serious, something which placed a huge weight on his heart, but he was more than happy to oblige in Faramir’s wish for them to be close whenever time and duty allowed it. After all, knowing the young Gondorian, he would speak when he was ready.

And so, it came out one afternoon, as Aragorn sat in the library, reading a book in Elvish, with Faramir nestled near him and catching a cat nap. Aragorn put the book down and looked at the young man sleeping near him. Such a beauty, such a wise and capable creature, yet so cruelly tested by life in his very early years. The King leant down and kissed his Steward’s forehead, caressing his hair. It made Faramir stir and wake up.

“Aragorn. You are still here.” He said, in complete amazement, as if he had expected the King to leave him and feel offended at him having fallen asleep.

“Aye, I am, dear one. I have been watching over your sleep, as I know you cannot get any on your own.”

Faramir blushed and looked away.

“I am sorry for being weak. But the nightmares have not stopped haunting me.”

Aragorn knew what the young one was talking about. Faramir had seen the White City in ruin, had walked among piles of corpses, staring into empty eyes of men he had known as friends and who lay dead, crushed and burnt. Faramir had nearly burned to death himself, by the hand of his own father, and had lived to see Denethor’s tragic end.

Aragorn felt tears prick at his eyes, but held them back, not wanting to make Faramir think he was crying out of pity. Instead, and to prevent the lad from seeing the two tears which spilled quietly, he pulled him into his arms and held him close.

“Would you like to come and sleep with me tonight?” Aragorn found himself speaking. As Faramir twitched in shock and stiffened in his arms, he continued in the same casual, soothing voice: “I shall watch over your sleep and hold you close… nothing more, dear one.”

Faramir moved away a bit to be able to look Aragorn in the eyes when he nodded and said a faint aye. In reality, he did not care what the others might say or what the King’s intentions really were. All he cared about was that he would be allowed close to the man he loved.

When the evening came, Aragorn was already in bed, dressed only in a thin nightshirt, looking over some letters he had received from Elrond and Gandalf. When Faramir knocked shyly, he got out of bed and went to open the door himself.

Faramir was greeted with a hug and led into the room, where Aragorn held him some more and began to undress him, leaving him only in his breeches. Then he was taken to the bed and Aragorn waited for him to lie down under the covers and make himself comfortable before he joined him, taking him in his arms.

Faramir felt like he was living a dream… the King, Aragorn, the most wonderful man he had ever known, was offering to hold him through the night. He fell asleep to gentle words and endearments, safely held and feeling loved.

In the morning, the first ray of sunlight which entered the room tickled Faramir’s nose and he woke up huffing. Opening his eyes, he stared into deep grey-blue ones as Aragorn was propped up on an elbow, still holding him close and watching him.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Aragorn said and lowered his head to kiss Faramir hungrily.

The young man panicked at feeling his body stiffen and his male flesh harden in his thin breeches. Aragorn had a leg flung over his and their groins were touching, so his state would soon be known to the king. But then Aragorn moved and Faramir could feel he was not the only one hard, and it surprised him greatly that the King’s body reacted to his closeness. He had never known anyone who desired him and did not know how to handle this, what to do in order to avoid embarrassing Aragorn and himself. Mewling in distress, he tried to escape Aragorn’s grip and go to the bathroom to make the hardness go away, but the older man wrapped him even tighter into his embrace and lowered his mouth to Faramir’s neck.

Aragorn had never touched anyone like that, he had only ever been interested in Arwen while he was growing up and although the elves around him had the habit of a new sweetheart every week, be it male or female, he’d always been the “clumsy man” and he had never thought he might appeal to any of them enough to take part in their frolics. So he could very well understand how Faramir felt… He’d read the decree, hand-signed by Denethor himself, that no one was allowed to touch his second son unless he required life-saving attention. Why a father would want to isolate his son that way, Aragorn could not understand. Had it been because Denethor had been afraid Faramir might be quicker to provide him with an heir than Boromir, the favored son?

He did not find the touches vile or condemnable, all he knew was he wanted to make Faramir blossom into a happy being who lived for more than to do his work correctly, then retreat to his lonely, miserable hole. Aragorn couldn’t care less that there would be people talking, that it was not proper for two men to engage in romance…but he had to be honest and admit to himself that he loved Faramir as the young Steward awoke in him feelings richer and deeper than he had ever felt for Arwen.

That Faramir was male, just like him, was of little importance to his strongly burning love.

Kissing Faramir gently, while a hand caressed his hair away from his forehead, the other one slid between them to caress the hardened length trapped in the breeches.

“Aragorn… Please… I will make a mess…” Faramir begged, although silently he prayed the feeling of the older man’s hand stroking him so tenderly would last forever.

“You’re right, “Aragorn smiled, “These breeches are in the way.” He added as he moved off Faramir to start undressing him.

“Will you let me try to pleasure you, sweet Faramir?”

He is your King, it should not be like this… but he wishes to do so, let him! the thoughts dueled for a while in Faramir’s mind until he nodded, reluctantly.

“But only if later… maybe… you will let me do the same to you… Aragorn.” Faramir pleaded, gathering all his courage to at least try to sound bold in front of the most wonderful man on Arda, who had miraculously chosen him.

Aragorn rested his head in the curve of Faramir’s neck, breathing in his fresh scent, then he completely blocked out everything that wasn’t Faramir out of his system, looking down at his hand which glided easily over the young one’s lovely length. Had he seen this being done by others, he would have felt disgusted, but Faramir was so unlike anyone Aragorn had met, be it elf or man.

It wasn’t long before Faramir’s hips began to lift off the bed and push his shaft into Aragorn’s tight grip. Unexplainably, the King was feeling the tide of pleasure rise high in him, only from watching the young, slender body writhe under his touch. Although with Arwen it had always taken him a lot to let go and find his completion, Aragorn’s surprise was not small when he felt his body being taken over by the sweet madness, at the exact moment when Faramir yelped and spilled his seed into Aragorn’s fist.

Trying to recover from the intense experience, the older man reached under his pillow, where he had conveniently placed a soft cloth, which he used to clean Faramir and his own hand.

You have no idea how much I love you, Faramir! he thought, looking at Faramir, who was only then recovering from his daze.

Once his eyes came back into focus, Faramir contented himself to just look at his love’s reclining form, following his chest as it rose and fell in ample panting. Aragorn had never looked more beautiful than in those moments, thought Faramir while cuddling close to him for another hour of blissful sleep.

Chapter 5

On the day when Elrond and his sons arrived, Aragorn was a nervous wreck. He knew his worthy Steward would give them a proper welcome and that everything would go flawlessly, but he was more worried about the fact that his beaming state would not pass unnoticed by his elven family. He did not know what Elrond would say to his being in love with his Steward, especially in light of the Arwen episode.

Though he had nothing to reproach to himself, Aragorn still feared his father’s judgment. Quickly though, the reunion with his brothers erased all his worries. Faramir remained with Elrond to show the elven lord around and to make him feel at home while Aragorn and his twin siblings went to the gardens to catch up on their latest deeds and news.

In the garden, as the sun set, Aragorn returned to the blanket they had laid out on the ground so they could talk, as he had been back in the castle to ask for fruit and wine to be served in his room. He made it back just in time to see Elladan lean in and share a slow, languid kiss with his brother.

Aragorn stood there, looking mesmerized at the sight in front of him. His brothers were… aye, they were kissing, and they were so beautiful together! He felt his groin stir, but decency dictated him that he should move away and give them some privacy, but Elrohir suddenly turned and spoke casually, a sign that they had been aware of him watching:

“Estel, do not leave! You are welcome between us! Come, join us, lie with us!”

The elf’s clever words had a double meaning and Aragorn chose to ignore the less virtuous one, as Faramir’s big, trusting blue eyes appeared in front of his mind’s eye.

He hesitated and took half a step back.

“I cannot, Elrohir… “ he confessed, eyes still peeled to the two embracing elves.

“Lie between us nonetheless and talk to your brothers about this thing which keeps you from giving in to what your body so clearly desires.” Elladan cut in, pointing shamelessly at Aragorn’s bulging groin.

Blushing, Aragorn looked away in embarrassment, but Elladan pressed further:

“Or is it a man, not a thing, that has your loyalty? Perhaps someone with eyes so deep and clear as the Bruinen on sunny winter days? Will you not even share your new happiness with your brothers, Estel?”

“I… do not wish to trouble you with such things. I am afraid you will laugh at me being in love at this age, when I should be doing more ruling and less chasing of handsome young stewards.”

Oops! thought Aragorn when he realized he had slipped and had told his brothers who it was he loved.

“Oh, Estel, but that is wonderful! I have seen Faramir watching you adoringly when he thought no one would observe…” Elrohir remarked with a musical giggle, running a delicate hand trough his silky long hair.

Aragorn was puzzled.

“What, no lecture? No ‘you are a Man and a King, you cannot play at the same things elves play!’?” he thought aloud.

The twins both laughed melodically and shook their heads in a mirrored gesture.

“Estel… one would have thought you knew us better by now… Ada knows we are together and… although he is upset because he will never be a grandfather, he still loves us! You are part of our family; neither Ada, nor us would judge you!” Elrohir spoke, and Elladan nodded in assent, snaking a hand under the collar of Aragorn’s shirt to lightly caress a warm collarbone.

Aragorn gasped. He had always found elves incredibly seductive and beautiful, males and females alike, and he knew he was weak before their charms. And now the most incredible-looking elves in Imladris, his brothers, were showing interest in him?

“Please, stop. I am Faramir’s…” he mewled in a manner unfit for a King of Men.

“Now, darling, hush and answer our questions… and then, we will answer yours. It will be worth the effort, I promise you.” Elrohir purred in Aragorn’s ear.

Aragorn shivered, but found himself unable to get up and simply walk away. The twins had a most compelling influence on him. Not in a totally disagreeable way, though.

“Have you kissed Faramir?” Elrohir began. “Like this?” and he closed the distance between him and the man, taking his mouth quite aggressively.

“Mmmph…hmmm…!” Aragorn mumbled into the kiss, trying hard not to respond, especially since Elladan’s hands were undoing the frogs of his robe. “Yes!” he said, a bit too eagerly, once his mouth was released.

The twins chuckled and exchanged a mischievous look.

Opening Aragorn’s robe and undergarments, Elladan boldly reached for the straining manhood, sliding the pad of his thumb over the head.

“Have you touched Faramir like this?” Elladan looked up.

“Or like this?” Asked Elrohir, who bent down to lick over a nipple and gently bite at it.

Aragorn could only nod, as he felt one of Elladan’s fingers trace the ridge on the head of his shaft with a fingernail.

“Gods!” he screamed when he was swallowed abruptly by a moist mouth, which tightened and sucked around him, throwing him into an abyss of pleasure. Never would he have suspected there could be such pleasure for a man.

“I take it you have not done this yet, have you?” Elrohir grinned smugly and moved his mouth to the other nipple.

Aragorn was way beyond answering, little animal sounds leaving his mouth unrestrained.

He felt Elladan add two of his fingers into his mouth, alongside the shaft, and wondered briefly what those were for.

Elrohir leant over him and grabbed his knees, bringing his legs up and apart, while Elladan continued to suck on Aragorn’s thick shaft. While he was still doing that, Elladan took his fingers out of his mouth and gently circled Aragorn’s opening with them, wetting it thoroughly before slipping one inside. Because of the position and the distraction provided by the attention to his manhood, Aragorn did not stiffen and the finger found its way inside quite easily.

“I wager you are wondering how two men can make love and enjoy it, do you not? You must think this is an act of cruelty, having read only the… healer’s approach.” Elrohir asked, his voice barely a purr in Aragorn’s ear.

The man opened his eyes widely and watched his elven brother attentively. Did Elrohir read minds as well? He nodded absently in answer to the elf’s question.

The elves exchanged a look and Elrohir cautioned:

“Elladan will add another finger now… it will not hurt, if you remain relaxed…”

That was easy, especially if Elladan kept sucking him so expertly, and if Elrohir added to the fun by taking his mouth again. He felt the two slender fingers breach him, but it did not hurt. It was rather uncomfortable, but bearable, and Elladan was going very slowly. When the elf crooked his fingers and grazed a spot inside him, Aragorn almost bolted into the trees. Fireworks exploded beneath his closed eyelids and he felt like he was floating for a split-second, screaming from the top of his lungs. He had never known…

Grinning around his member, which was now throbbing and leaking profusely, Elladan relaxed his throat and let Aragorn’s hips do the rest, at the same time pushing his fingers deeper so he could rub Aragorn’s spot constantly.

Aragorn was completely powerless as his body coiled and uncoiled under the triple assault, his pleasure drawn from him as if by magic. Astounded, he took many minutes to fall back from the heaven where his brother’s touches had propelled him.

When he regained his sense of orientation and his vision cleared, he saw the twins, naked, entwined, long black hair untied and flowing like silk on their shoulders. Elrohir was straddling Elladan’s hips, rocking slowly on his lap and moaning lustfully as his brother caressed him everywhere, kissing his neck, mouth and shoulders and stroking his engorged length.

They were lying in the grass not far away, so that Aragorn could see every small detail of their coupling as he lay, still boneless, on his back with his head turned to one side. He watched as Elladan’s elegant length disappeared inside Elrohir and reappeared every time Elrohir ground his hips forward, to push his member into his twin’s grip. The sounds they were making were most arousing to him, making him squirm again. It took all of his willpower not to rise and join them.

That enchanting sight definitely answered all of Aragorn’s questions. The elves were beautiful together, both of them looking entranced and caught up in their mutual pleasure. If he had had any doubts, now they vanished like a memory.

He opened his mouth to say something, but something wet and cold fell on the tip of his tongue. And then something else, on the tip of his nose. Looking cross-eyed at it, Aragorn knew it was a snowflake.

Gandalf is here! he thought and sprang up, hastily adjusted his robes and ran to the castle.

Indeed, Gandalf had arrived and had gone straight into what was known as his lair inside the castle, a room right near the library where he kept healing potions, all sorts of ingredients and wine, lots of it.

The wizard had shut himself in there with Elrond and giggles could be heard from inside. Obviously, Elrond and Gandalf were making snow again. And the gods know what else they do in there! Aragorn thought and sighed.

Aragorn sighed in relief, thinking he had some time to make himself look respectable before he met Gandalf.

In his room, he began to prepare a bath for himself, taking the buckets of hot water which were always placed into the bathing room before he came to his bedroom for the night and filling the metal tub. Dripping some fragrant oils into the hot water, he sat in the tub and relaxed, soaking a bit before he began scrubbing. While he just sat there with his eyes closed, all he could think was how he would love to make love to Faramir just like he had seen the elves do… Now his lust expressed itself uncensored by thoughts of decency or apprehension.

He did not heed his member’s call for attention. Grinning, he used a relaxing technique he had learned as a young Ranger to make the hardness go away. He would wait. It would only make the realization of his dreams sweeter.

Chapter 6

The evening of the Yule party came and Gandalf took on the task of presiding over the fun. He had come up with the idea of hanging mistletoe over each door, just like it was done in Imladris. The halls smelled pleasantly of cinnamon and oranges and baked goodies, Lindir was playing his harp in the main hall and everyone was helping with preparations.

Elrond had suggested they set up a big fir tree with sweets and little presents in it, just like in Imladris. Faramir had brought a ladder and, together with Elrond, they were hanging the many objects from the tree branches.

Aragorn saw Elrohir talk to Faramir and at one point he even saw them retreat from the main hall. Smiling to himself, thinking that maybe his intrepid brother was going to play the same question-and-answer game with Faramir as well, Aragorn did not begrudge Elrohir his initiative. Instead, he went to help with the decoration of the main hall.

He had climbed up the ladder, wanting to hang an ornament from the big chandelier, but he slipped and fell from high above the ground. The entire hall went deadly silent. Luckily, he was caught by strong warrior arms and he opened his eyes to look at Legolas, who had just made his appearance in the main hall and had sprung to his friend’s rescue.

After the elf placed him gently on the ground, helping him regain his balance and smoothing his ruffled hair, Aragorn looked at his long time friend. Never had Legolas looked more beautiful. A quiet bliss radiated from the elf and his smile was brighter than ever.

Legolas was wearing white, his tunic, leggings and boots all shining clean in spite of the long road he’d traveled. A mithril circlet adorned his serene forehead and Aragorn could only stare at the elf’s perfect beauty. There was also something else about him… it looked like Legolas was… puffier? He had definitely put some weight around the waist and hips.

Wait a moment! Elves do not gain weight… Unless… Aragorn reasoned. Gods, son of Arathorn, you are so thick sometimes! he chided himself and smiled at the elf.

“Welcome, Legolas! This was quite an entrance you made…I guess I owe you my gratitude, and my life, like many times in the past!” he spoke.

They hugged and held each other for a long time, until someone coughed behind Legolas. Aragorn opened his eyes and stared into Éomer’s frowning face.

“Hey, Ranger that is my queen and heir you are squashing!” Éomer said in a friendly tone.

The elf protested at having been called a queen in public, but the protest was only half-serious.

Releasing Legolas, Aragorn went to give the King of Rohan the same treatment, hugging the slightly bigger man until his ribs cracked.

When all of the surviving members of the Fellowship were present, they drank to their reunion and to the new era of peace. Aragorn was glad he did not have to look into Faramir’s eyes during his brief toast, and he was even more thankful Faramir wasn’t there to witness the scene, as it surely would have brought him much pain. The party started without any more heart-stopping events and everyone had lots of, especially the elflings and children present, who insisted on playing outside in the snow once they had received their presents.

At some point during the evening, Aragorn was taken aside by Elladan, who whispered something in his ear and they had a rather long conversation in the relative privacy of a window sill in the main hall. It was the elf who left first, smiling smugly and looking quite pleased with himself.

The dances began and Elrond’s sons were the stars of the party, their grace as they danced together unparalleled… that, only until Legolas was dragged onto the dancefloor by Éomer. The man looked at his elf with such adoration and devotion as they glided over the shiny floor that everyone was mesmerized by the odd couple, although they only had eyes for each other and were oblivious to the admiring stares.

Towards the morning, when everyone retreated to go to bed, Aragorn headed for his bedchamber, hoping Faramir would be there, preferably resting after days of struggling to plan a perfect party.

Faramir was nowhere to be seen, and Aragorn could only hope he would have his Steward to snuggle close to that night. He did take the time to look for the item Elladan had suggested and set it in place.

Chapter 7

He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling on which moonbeams played. He heard his door being open and soft footfalls approaching. Smiling , he sat up and looked at the slender figure, saying:

“Welcome, beloved. I was sad to see you missing and afraid you would not come.”

The cloaked figure spoke back:

“There is nothing that would hold me back from being in your arms.”

He came near the bed, almost within Aragorn’s reach, but not quite, and he paused. Removing the cloak, he unveiled a wonderfully sculpted, marble-like naked torso. He had tied a white ribbon across his chest and, opening his arms, Faramir waited for Aragorn’s say on his offering.

The King said nothing, to Faramir’s distress, but instead he got up and began removing his own robe, and if it hadn’t been for the enrapturing smile on the older man’s face, Faramir would have definitely thought Aragorn had got up to chase him out of the room and to punish his insolence. This way, he was pinned in place, watching as the king slowly got rid of his clothes.

Naked, Aragorn was a sight to behold. Faramir blushed instantly, feeling a bit dizzy at the thought of the most wonderful man on Arda letting him see such a thing. Looking up and shyly skipping over Aragorn’s manhood, Faramir’s eyes were attracted by a stripe of fabric, a red ribbon identical to the white one he’d worn.

He was jerked out of his amazement by Aragorn’s voice:

“Do you like what you see, lovely Faramir? Does the sight please you?”

Gods! the young steward thought, he is asking me if I’m pleased?! Well, how could I not be?

“May I… touch you, Aragorn?” Faramir said aloud, his voice dying out into a mewl.

The king stepped closer, until he could untie the white ribbon across Faramir’s chest. Smiling, he nodded and took one of the young man’s hands, placing it on his own chest.

“Do with me as you wish!” Aragorn purred, moving Faramir’s hand towards the left side and over a pert nipple.

The steward first untied Aragorn’s red ribbon, blushing as he whispered:

“Red stands for passion…”

“As white stands for innocence-“ Aragorn purred, right before seizing Faramir and pulling him close for a fierce, yet loving kiss. Their groins, separated only by the thin fabric of Faramir’s breeches, rubbed against each other and twitched.

“How do you want this, Faramir? How do you want me?” Aragorn spoke in a hoarse tone as he kissed a trail down his lover’s neck.

“I… I don’t know what to do, Aragorn. I always saw us together with you making me yours….and it felt so good in my imagination!” Faramir spoke in a dreamy voice.

Next thing he knew, he was scooped up and carried to the bed, flopped onto it unceremoniously and pounced on.

“It will feel even better if you are wide awake to feel every touch, you will see!” Aragorn said in a raspy voice, then began to lick Faramir all over with small, but determined swipes.

The young man arched up, trying to get closer to the source of his pleasure, but Aragorn pinned him down by entwining their fingers on the soft sheets and pressing Faramir’s hands with his. They both groaned at the new sensations and Aragorn gave in to the temptation, lowering himself on the slender man, rubbing his groin against Faramir’s own.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Aragorn released his lover’s fingers and slid lower, kissing his way down the quickly rising and falling torso, licking over a hairless chest and small, responsive nipples, all the way down to the navel, in which he dipped his tongue and played a bit, thrilled to taste Faramir’s skin and to elicit such wanton sounds from him.

Getting closer to the young one’s arousal, Aragorn looked up to see if Faramir would let him do what he wanted so badly. Licking the fluid which seeped from the small slit, he saw Faramir buck and shut his eyes in abandon, which he took as his cue to begin paying attention to his lover’s proud member.

The smallest lick made the steward yelp in surprised pleasure, and when Aragorn swallowed the top part of his shaft, carefully dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin and sucking strongly at the throbbing head.

“Aragorn!” Faramir called rather mindlessly. “What you are doing to me… feels so good…”

“Does it now? Hmmmm….” Aragorn hummed around his member, “Want to try and show me?”

For a moment, Faramir froze, trying to make sure Aragorn had really asked for that. He was new at all this, but he desperately wanted to give something back for all the tenderness and love he’d been shown by this one man… his King… his lover.

He nodded quickly and watched as Aragorn shifted position so that now he was straddling Faramir’s shoulders and bending over to take him in his mouth again. Hesitantly, Faramir opened his mouth and closed it around the tip of the hard and heavy shaft, trying to be gentle and to give as much pleasure as he was receiving.

Faramir’s first touch to his shaft was maddening and it made Aragorn rear up and release a howl into the night. When he came back down to bend to his task, he noticed the view was somewhat restricted and parted Faramir’s legs with his hands, grabbing his hips from underneath and pushing them upward, which resulted in him swallowing Faramir whole, sucking around him to try and prevent gagging. He wanted to see all of Faramir, so he parted his buttocks and looked avidly.

The Steward found what they were doing incredibly lewd and pleasurable, and he also realized that not only did he not dislike Aragorn’s taste, he loved it and wanted more, wondering briefly if Aragorn would agree to come in his mouth. He felt powerful for the first time and in an incredibly arousing way when he felt his older lover’s shaft swell and pulse under his attentions, but soon he was deprived of the sensation as Aragorn moved off of him and sat near him, panting and watching greedily, raking his eyes over a heaving torso, a retracted belly and a swollen shaft, still glistening with the traces of his oral assault.

“Gods, Faramir… we should do this more often… it was… Gods!”

Faramir’s mind was only focused on the rising wave of sensation which washed over him, letting him know what he needed in that moment, and he could only nod at Aragorn’s words.

“Aragorn… I…” he began, feeling his tongue wasn’t cooperating.

The older man lay next to him, took him in his arms and put a leg over Faramir’s shaking ones.

A finger was pressed to his lips and Faramir heard Aragorn speak:

“I know what you want, my treasure. I can see it in your eyes, it shines so beautifully and clearly… I feel like every moment that goes by without me inside you is torture, but no way will I make our first time a rushed or a painful experience.”

“Don’t hold back because of me. I can take pain!” Faramir gasped, writhing as one of his lover’s fingers grazed over one of his nipples. Aragorn kissed him to silence his protests, which died into little moans and annoyed mewls. Was the King stalling?

“Uh-huh!” Aragorn cautioned. “There will be no more pain for you, as long as I can help it. I know you can take it, but you do not deserve it…. You never have!”

Another passionate kiss silenced Faramir again and Aragorn’s mind reeled from the realization of what they were about to do. Thankful now for a few very embarrassing lessons about male physiology which Elrond had taught him back when he was training as a healer, he bent to his task with the utmost care for the pure and perfect being in his arms.

“Faramir… before we lose ourselves in our bodies and reason fails us… I want you to know I love you. More than I have loved anyone or anything in my life.” Aragorn said, and reading the question Faramir did not dare ask in his eyes, he added: “Yes, even more than Arwen.”

“I love you too, Aragorn… And nothing else matters.” Faramir said, gathering all his calm to be able to speak.

Smiling, Aragorn kissed him again before he slid lower and parted Faramir’s legs to settle between them. He returned his attention to Faramir’s leaking shaft, stroking it tenderly and pressing kisses and little licks to the underside, licking over the drawn up balls and lower, over the flat plain which led to Faramir’s untouched entrance. All the while, he kept caressing the insides of the young man’s thighs, making him quiver and beg for him to hurry.

Reaching the small opening, Aragorn pulled back a little to look avidly at his lover’s body, laid out and uncovered only for his eyes to see. Feeling humbled and overwhelmed by the happiness which had been bestowed on him, he mentally thanked the Valar before leaning back down and pressing a kiss to Faramir’s most intimate spot, letting his fingers trace gently the place which he had kissed.

Faramir’s hips bucked up and off the bed, and Aragorn waited for him to settle back down before he went any further, getting more and more aroused at the sight of a writhing, pleading Faramir.

He bent back down and licked around and across the quivering entrance, loving the feel of it pulsing beneath his lips and enjoying his lover’s sounds of pleasure. Parting Faramir’s legs further and lifting them up by the knees, Aragorn gained better access to his target and thrust his tongue inside Faramir, which earned him a choked yell from his willing victim.

Even if he had begun this with the detachment of the healer, knowing that nothing about the man he loved was disgusting, Aragorn found himself loving the taste and silky feel of Faramir’s secret places, wanting to feel him more with every press of his tongue inside the warm channel. Not forgetting to stroke and tease Faramir’s member, Aragorn brought him to a devastating completion first, before continuing.

Faramir lay in a boneless puddle on the bed, feeling open and exposed, but safe and loved. All he was seeing was his caring and gentle older lover, his Aragorn, whom he did not have to share with anyone now or for the future.

When fingers slick with flower-scented oil replaced Aragorn’s tongue, Faramir whined a bit at the loss, but then his lover bent down and licked his cooling seed off his belly, which brought tears to the young man’s eyes. Never would he have hoped for anyone to love him to that extent, let alone hope that the very King he worshipped would be the one to love him so.

Aragorn took his time stretching Faramir’s entrance, making sure all his four fingers fit easily inside. Although he was rather long and slender, like the elves, Aragorn wanted to avoid causing his lover any pain.

Looking into Faramir’s eyes, Aragorn saw the trust and the love shining in them and once again he felt humble… and blessed. Images from the past flashed in front of his mind’s eye, bringing back the sight of a man reading an ancient scroll with a baby resting peacefully in his arms, his little head pressed to the man’s chest. It was as if, since then, he had known a great bond would form between Faramir and him.

And now that bond would be sealed.

Faramir would have a multiple first time that night. First time being made love to, first time being in the arms of someone who shared and returned his love, first Yule… the thought put even more pressure on Aragorn, but he did not have the time to think of such abstract things too much, as a needy squeak got past Faramir’s lips and he was pulled down to lie on top of the slightly slimmer man.

“Are you alright, meleth?” he asked softly.

A nod reassured him and, pressing his lips to Faramir’s, he took his mouth fiercely as with one hand he lined himself up and slowly pushed in.

Faramir’s passage was relaxed and well-oiled, but it was still awesomely tight around him. He had only got his head inside, and already he was so close to spilling. Steeling himself and trying to control his body the best way he could, Aragorn pushed further inside, his eyes never leaving Faramir’s, looking for any sign of pain. All he saw was profound devotion and adoration shining back at him.

The young Gondorian had tensed in the beginning, but Aragorn had been so skilled at diverting his attention with a heated kiss, that he had not felt any pain, and all he was feeling now was an overwhelming feeling of being finally completed, as if something had always been missing from him. The physical sensation was even more dazzling as Aragorn’s silky hard length dragged over his sensitive inner walls and over…

Gods! What was that?! Faramir almost panicked at the blinding pleasure which annihilated his consciousness for a split second. With the next slow inward thrust from Aragorn, it happened again, and it made him cant his hips so that his body would accommodate the shaft deeper and make the drag over his spot last longer.

Aragorn was not less dazed by the experience. Faramir’s body felt so hot, so soft inside and so tight around him, unlike anything else he’d ever known. It was so intense that tears clouded his vision and he leant closer, blindly searching for Faramir’s mouth and speeding up the pace of his thrusts as his body dictated.

“Yes, oh gods Aragorn, yes!” Faramir nearly shouted, trying to get the words out before his breath caught. Aragorn’s shaft had been tormenting his newly-discovered spot relentlessly, and the older man’s movements above him had only served to overstimulate his member, which lay hard and squashed between them.

Faramir found the most devastating and fulfilling completion in his life, gripping the sheets and trembling violently as his seed spilled hotly between them, soiling their bellies. At the same moment when his body gave up its thick essence, Faramir’s tears flowed freely, running down his cheeks silently. He had been all alone for so long, he had gotten used to leading a hermit’s life and now he was claimed by the only man whom he loved with all his heart.

The channel he was buried in to the hilt contracted around him, and Aragorn was caught into his own release like in a whirlpool, rearing up and arching his spine in abandon while his seed shot forth into Faramir’s welcoming heat.

Not having regained full control of his senses yet, Aragorn lay panting on top of Faramir, nibbling his ear and licking the side of his face slowly.

“That was…-” he tried to speak, “I love you, my Faramir!”

Gentle, trembling hands came up to caress his sweaty shoulders.

“Aye, I am yours now, Aragorn. You have given me the perfect gift for my first Yule.” Faramir whispered in awe.

“Nay, it is you who have made me the happiest man on Arda. You are so pure and precious! I swear I will never let any harm come to you as long as there is life in me!” Aragorn replied passionately. He moved slowly, pulling out of his lover’s body as soon as his member softened, trying to cause a minimum of pain.

“Have I hurt you, love?” Aragorn asked carefully after some silent cuddling and kissing.

“You are my healer,” Faramir said, meaning more than one thing, “- and you could never hurt me!”

They lay naked between the soft sheets, Aragorn holding Faramir close after having kissed his tears away, until dawn broke, Anor rising over a city completely covered in snow.

Aragorn went outside to the terrace, uncaring of his nakedness and the fact that Éomer and Legolas could see him from the next balcony, leaning on the edge of the railing and watching the sun rise and color the snow in the nuances of the rainbow. It wasn’t long before he felt a blanket being tucked around him and Faramir’s worshipping hands holding it in place. The Steward, always observant of the rules of decency, had put a robe on before joining him outside. Smiling, Aragorn took one of Faramir’s hands and pulled him flush against his front, settling his chin on his lover’s shoulder and pointing at the horizon.

“Is it not wonderful, beloved? This is what a new beginning looks like… You have given me the hope I thought had deserted me for ever.” The King spoke.

Blushing modestly, Faramir found he had nothing to add, and turned his head around asking for a kiss, which Aragorn gave promptly, not caring there were people watching.

“Happy Yule, Faramir!” Aragorn said breathlessly when the kiss finally ended.

“Happy Yule, Aragorn… my love!” answered Faramir.

In the next balcony, one Rohirrim King was getting very aroused by watching the reserved former Ranger with the young Prince of Ithilien, and while his hand snaked down to grasp Legolas’ length, the puffy elf was rolling his eyes, thinking:

Not again, not for the fifth time this morning!

~ END! ~

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