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This story is rated «NC-17», and carries the warnings «Slash, angst, spanking».
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To Love a King (NC-17)
Written by Minx05 April 2004 | 32130 words
Chapter 8
Faramir struggled frantically against the iron hold on his arms, and tried to shout out, but it was to no avail. His hands were held tight to his sides, and a strong arm across his chest kept him in place. He even tried kicking his legs out, but the grip would not slacken, and then he found he was being dragged unwillingly down the passageway. He could however do little but struggle ineffectually.
It was dark and dank, and he found himself breathing heavily through his nose, as the walls seemed to close in on him. His mind was screaming, and arrays of dark, threatening images were swirling through his head ready to assault him any moment now. He could hear the awful laughter of a vicious group of Orcs, he could hear Boromir’s voice, and he found himself stumbling heavily.
Then the hand came off his mouth and he instinctively reacted.
“Let go off me!” he shouted, his voice reverberating through the small space, and his breath coming out in small gasps, as the hand caressed his face gently.
“Hush!” came the response, and Faramir gasped again, although this time, in relief.
“Aragorn!” he cried out, even as the King swung him around and pulled him close for a hug before releasing him.
“You kicked me on my shin,” Aragorn complained, even as he began searching for the mechanism to open the hidden door in that part of the wall. Faramir leaned heavily against the wall, trying to steady himself, and to ignore the closed feeling.
“Whatever were you -,” he spluttered out when he had finally regained some semblance of control.
“I was trying to get you to my bedchamber, without anyone knowing,” Aragorn responded, rather smugly it seemed to Faramir.
“You scared me!” he pointed out.
Aragorn snorted, “My brave Faramir never gets scared,” he declared, as he pushed the lever he had located.
They stepped into the cosy room, and Faramir promptly breathed easier, as he slumped against the wall.
“I don’t like that place,” he said quietly.
“Oh love,” the response was contrite, and he was immediately enveloped in the comforting embrace of the King, “Forgive me sweet heart. I should have realised I could have caused you to panic.”
He leaned in tiredly, snuggling into the warmth of Aragorn’s body against his, “No it is my fault. You are right. A Steward should not panic so. I should learn to conquer my childish fears.”
“It matters not the least but I’m sure you will, darling,” Aragorn soothed, “You have conquered so much more.”
Faramir felt his face flush at the praise, and buried his head into the strong shoulder.
“You always say nice things about me,” he mumbled.
“Because you deserve nothing but the nicest things to be said of you, always,” Aragorn declared playfully yet passionately, crooking a finger under Faramir’s chin and lifting his face so he could gaze into the eyes that were always full of adoration for him.
He found himself staring at Faramir’s parted lips and lowered his mouth onto Faramir’s and began savagely kissing him, slipping his tongue into the pliant mouth under his, matching Faramir’s little moans of pleasure with his own, their hands running over each other’s bodies, until they had to come apart for air.
“I need you,” Aragorn murmured hoarsely when he released his Steward’s mouth.
Faramir stood limply in his arms gasping for breath, his clothes in disarray, much as Aragorn’s were and barely managed to nod in response. They stumbled into the large bed in the centre of the room, falling onto the soft sheets in a tangle, as they kissed once again.
“All these days without you in my arms,” Aragorn moaned when they came apart and finally lay in each other’s arms.
“I missed you too, greatly,” Faramir replied, running his hands over Aragorn’s body delighting in the touch of each strong muscle under his fingers.
“I have been waiting all day for those stupid meetings to get over,” Aragorn complained as he began to slowly undress the younger man, “They took such ages and ages! I really think we need to retire some of the council members.”
“Do they bother you so, My Lord?” Faramir asked troubled, knowing that some of the older council members would every now and then drop a few subtle hints reminding everyone including Aragorn of their experience in Gondorian politics. He rose up slightly to allow his shirt to come off entirely, leaving him bare-chested.
“Merdil is becoming far too stubborn and so is Ardamir. They are used to things as they were, and wary of change,” Aragorn responded, as he began unlacing Faramir’s leggings, “But enough of them! They bore me all day as it is.”
He tugged the cloth down, urging Faramir to raise his hips and finally pulled the pants off with a slight flourish so that Faramir lay completely naked beneath him.
“Lovely one,” the King said and then smiled delightedly as the younger man flushed, the colour spreading across his body.
“Take me,” Faramir murmured softly, “Take me now.”
“Soon.”
Aragorn undressed himself slowly, deliberately lingering over each button when he saw the reaction his actions were having on the naked flesh of his lover. Faramir’s hand snaked down to his groin, and Aragorn promptly grabbed it.
“No,” he commanded gently. Standing up, he undressed himself completely, and then laid his bare body over Faramir’s so that their lips met. He moved his body a little, so that their arousals brushed, and laughed as Faramir gasped in response - a raspy, throaty sound, almost feral in tone.
“Do you like that?” he whispered into Faramir’s ears, and received an enthusiastic nod in return. He brought his hands up, placing each over Faramir’s nipples and massaged them slowly in circles.
“I want to make love to you. Is that what you want?” he asked, using his fingers to pinch the nipples lightly.
Faramir nodded again, “Yes, yes please!”
Aragorn rose, causing his Steward to almost whine in response. He reached for the table near his bed, and pulled out a small vial full of oil.
Faramir spread his legs in anticipation. Aragorn knelt between the parted legs. He bent to kiss Faramir on his lips, and then pouring some oil onto his fingers began to massage it into the cleft between his buttocks.
Faramir bucked in response, his excitement at the touch coming across clearly. Aragorn gently rubbed the oil over his puckered opening, his nimble fingers massaging the sensitised skin gently, but not entering yet.
“Hurry,” Faramir moaned desperately as another feather light skirted over his opening but refused to breach it yet.
“Hush, love. Have patience. I need to prepare you,” Aragorn admonished.
“You take forever,” came the complaint.
Aragorn looked at his impatient lover, flushed and breathing heavily under him, and promptly withdrew his hand from the well-oiled cleft.
Faramir nearly whined, “What -?”
“Well, if my ’speed’ displeases you,” he said teasingly, “Perhaps you should prepare yourself?” he handed the jar of oil to Faramir, and stretched back at the foot of the bed.
Faramir actually whined this time. Aragorn grinned and got back to teasing Faramir with his fingers. The Steward kept wriggling and writhing as the fingers flew lightly over his most intimate parts. The King had his other hand placed firmly across Faramir’s belly to prevent him moving, but he could not help but writhe.
“You move about too much!” Aragorn muttered, “I ought to tie you up!”
Faramir looked up immediately, his eyes gleaming, “Why don’t you?” he suggested softly as Aragorn raised his eyes.
“What?” The king stopped his ministrations and sat up. Faramir too arose, with a little difficulty, his breathing slightly laboured, for the hardness in his lower body refused to go away.
“You could tie me up, and –“
“No,” Aragorn started, frowning a little.
“Oh, yes!” Faramir breathed out enthusiastically, his eyes shining, “Tie me to the bed and make love to me.”
Aragorn had an uncomfortable feeling Faramir had probably done this before. He’d known he wasn’t Faramir’s first lover, and that others had experienced his Steward’s usually yielding body before him, and that not all of them might have done it out of love. He had guessed that Faramir had been starved enough for love in his younger days to willingly accept wanton lust as love. He just did not like to think what all the younger man may have acquiesced to merely to feel a little wanted.
“Tie me up and take me now, my king,” Faramir rested his head on Aragorn’s shoulder and began fingering his left nipple, watching fascinated as the dark nub began to harden under his ministrations. Aragorn grunted in pleasure, when he gently pinched it.
“Thrust into me. Push yourself into me till I scream,” he continued hoarsely.
“I’m not -,” Aragorn began uncomfortably, trying unsuccessfully to crowd out the image of Faramir lying under him writhing in pleasure, unable to do anything about it. He groaned involuntarily as his right nipple received the same gentle massage.
Faramir let go of him and arose. He looked around the room, as though searching for something and then finally shrugged. He grabbed his under tunic and ripped it into strips. Aragorn stared at him in surprise, and before he could even realise it, his lover had thrust the strips of cloth into his hands and stretched himself on his back across the bed. He stared down at the lithe body, the light from the lamp bathing it in a dull yellow light, bringing out each contour, each ridge and furrow.
Faramir looked at him impatiently, “Aragorn,” he murmured, deliberately tingeing his voice with a raw, hoarse quality.
Aragorn breathed heavily in response. Faramir looked like a long, sleek cat as he stretched himself languorously displaying his lean, spare frame to his feasting eyes. With a seemingly deliberate slowness, the younger man parted his legs, pulling them up, folded at the knee, exposing himself completely. He lazily reached a hand out to touch himself.
Aragorn immediately latched at the wrist. He picked up the pieces of cloth, and used them to bind each wrist to the bedpost. He was forced to lean over Faramir to do so, and was rewarded by a series of strategically placed licks over his bare skin. Once he had tied each wrist securely, he leaned back on his haunches and stared down at his lover, the well- muscled thighs quivering in anticipation, the obvious arousal eagerly awaiting attention, the luscious lips almost pouting in need. He bent and kissed him slowly on the lips.
Then he kissed him on his chest and shoulders, marking him with little bites all over. Faramir trembled at each touch, and constantly cried out his need. Aragorn deliberately avoided touching him anywhere near his arousal, concentrating instead on the upper body. Still tingling from the feel of Faramir’s hands on his nipples, Aragorn could think of no better way to return the favour. Instead of massaging them however, he took one hardened knot between his teeth and tugged at it, invoking a garbled cry from Faramir.
He bit in harder and the Steward bucked beneath him, his hardening member poking into Aragorn’s hip, and nearly causing him to lose control. He transferred his attentions to the other nipple, sinking his teeth into it, pulling at it, causing his lover to shudder intensely. He let go, dragging his tongue down the skin over Faramir’s ribs, slowly licking each bony outline, dipping into the furrows between, until he reached the smooth skin of Faramir’s flat stomach. He swirled his tongue in the depression of the navel, and looked up. Faramir’s body was arched up, his head thrown back, his arms stretched taut. His legs were struggling to stay in place.
Their gazes met. Aragorn rose, his eyes still locked in Faramir’s enraptured eyes. He knelt between Faramir’s outstretched legs, in front of his now erect shaft, his own arousal throbbing almost painfully with need.
“Please . . .” the Steward’s voice was almost plaintive, as Aragorn urged him to fold his legs back and lift his hips up and then edged his hands towards the oil slicked entrance.
It turned into a high-pitched whine when he slid in first one finger, in one swift move, and then another, scissoring them in through the tight passage, letting the remaining oil lubricate the way. He removed them and placed the tip of his swollen member near the tiny hole.
Faramir’s eyes were full of need and desire. “Now,” he moaned.
Aragorn needed no further invitation. He entered the narrow passage, slowly at first but then as Faramir thrust his hips up to take in more of him, he too increased his pace, pushing and probing inwards until he hit the spot he searched for. Faramir’s entire body seemed to go rigid, as he screamed out Aragorn’s name. His legs wrapped around Aragorn’s waist, the knees pressing into him.
The King started rocking back and forth, gripping Faramir by the waist and lifting him higher to meet his thrusts. They moved in unison, the feel of the narrow channel tightening around his member sending Aragorn into ecstasy.
“Harder,” Faramir grunted out.
Aragorn felt the muscles constrict around him, squeezing him, encasing him in the warmth he loved. He leaned forward and felt something wet bump into his stomach. Letting go of Faramir’s hips he grabbed his engorged member and ran his hands lovingly up and down it. The younger man reacted immediately. His breathing became shallow and rapid. His muscles constricted and the two of them came simultaneously.
Aragorn felt his release spurt out filling up the tight passage, even as his hands filled with Faramir’s juices. He shuddered letting his head fall forward, and his grip on Faramir’s shaft tightened, squeezing it gently, before collapsing on him in a boneless heap.
They lay like that for a few minutes, getting their breath back. Aragorn finally heaved himself off his lover.
“I love you,” Faramir stated quietly.
Aragorn kissed him gently on his lips. He felt better than he had all week, and he suspected Faramir knew that.
“Let me untie you,” he offered.
“Can’t I stay here forever, like this?” Faramir asked, smiling.
“I would do that, you know,” Aragorn growled out, his eyes twinkling merrily. Rising, he went to the small antechamber nearby, leaving Faramir as he was.
“Aragorn, come back!” Faramir panicked.
“Hush, love,” Aragorn said as he re-entered the chamber, with some wet cloth in his hands. He had wiped himself, and now he proceeded to do the same to his young lover. Faramir was ticklish, so it took a little longer than they thought it would.
“Let me untie you now,” he said, smiling, when he’d finished.
It was as he was undoing the first of the knots on Faramir’s left wrist that someone knocked on the study door.
“My Lord,” came a familiar voice from outside.
Both King and Steward started. Faramir cast a fearful pair of eyes up at Aragorn, who groaned.
“Sire!” the voice and the accompanying knock came louder this time.
“I’ll get rid of him,” Aragorn promised quickly and rose, giving him a gentle reassuring smile. Faramir tried to smile back but all that came out was a look of abject misery.
Aragorn quickly grabbed a robe, and pulling it around himself walked out of the chamber into his study, closing the connecting door behind him. Faramir heard the outer door opening and a murmur of voices and the scraping sound of desk drawers being opened, as he struggled to remove the bonds that Aragorn had loosened. He had just managed to almost get the bindings off his left wrist when he heard the odd sounds from outside, as though someone had fallen.
Before he could react, however, the door flew open, and Aragorn appeared. Or rather he seemed to slump in and then hang limply as though held by someone. Someone who now walked into the room, and cast a derisive glance at Faramir, naked in his king’s bed, struggling to get rid of his restraints.
But Faramir’s gaze was focussed entirely on what he now realised was the unconscious form of his king.
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i’m so hooked with this fic…even if i’ve read it before!! gotta love it!
— Daze Monday 7 May 2007, 5:53 #