Faramir Fiction Archive

Under Pressure (NC-17)

Written by RubyElf

20 October 2011 | 40533 words

Title: Under Pressure
Author: RubyElf
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Faramir
Warnings: violence, hurt/comfort

With Boromir and the hobbits missing, an attempt on Arwen’s life that endangers Legolas instead, and an army gathering at Gondor’s southern borders, Faramir’s unique abilities are called upon to help defend Gondor even while those he loves most are in grave danger.

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Faramir stepped into his room and found Legolas stretched out on the couch, an open book on his chest, grinning at him. Arwen had apparently brushed and braided his hair and propped him up with some pillows before leaving.

“You’re an evil bastard,” Faramir said.

Just having fun.
The man scowled. “I’m here now. Talk to me like a normal person.”

The elf’s smile vanished and he glanced away. Faramir frowned.

“Come on, now. If you can sit up and read a book, you should be able to talk.”

I can… just not very well. Can’t seem to get my mouth and my tongue and all that coordinated. Tried to talk to Arwen and came out sounding like a drunken dwarf with marbles in his mouth.

Faramir chuckled and slid one of the armchairs from beside the fire until it was close to the couch, but not close enough for Legolas to reach him.

“It’ll be all right, Legolas.”

Not fair that you recovered from all this so much faster.

“I’m not the one who was most of the way to being dead, remember? Have a little patience with yourself.”

Legolas scowled. Patience… ugh. I’m bored out of my mind and I want to get up and go outside.

Faramir smiled. “I’ll take you outside in a few minutes. But there’s something else I need to attend to first.”

Oh?

“That’s right. I must do something about the state that your little picture game managed to put me in… in the middle of a council meeting, no less.”

Legolas grinned and pushed himself up slightly. I might be able to assist…

“Oh, no. You’re not assisting with anything. If I have to sit in a council meeting and look at pictures of you naked and tied to my bed, you can lay there on the couch and watch me doing this.”

He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes but still fully aware of the elf’s eyes watching every move intently, and untied the laces of his breeches.

What are you up to?

“Giving you a taste of what you’ve been doing to me.”

He glanced over at Legolas; the elf’s blue eyes widened as the man reached into his breeches and slid them down slightly, releasing his cock, which rose eagerly as soon as it was freed. Legolas’ eyes grew even wider, and he gave Faramir a hopeful and somewhat desperate look, but Faramir ignored it and slumped further down in the chair, making himself comfortable.

This isn’t fair.

“Oh, and you tormenting me during my meeting was fair?”

Legolas licked his lips and shifted uneasily. This is even less fair.

Faramir chuckled as he began to stroke himself. “You’re not in any kind of shape to do anything about it anyway.”

Part of me is!

Faramir looked over again and smiled to see the distinct and growing bulge in the elf’s breeches. “I see that. But you’re still recovering, you know. I can’t just be jumping all over you.”

Yes, you can!

“Oh, I don’t think so,” the man said, leaning back and continuing to stroke himself, picking up the pace slightly when he heard Legolas growl in frustration.

He had intended to keep this up for quite some time and torment Legolas for as long as possible, but he quickly realized that he was not going to be able to carry out this plan. Even though he refused to look at Legolas, just knowing that the elf’s wide blue eyes were fixed on his hand and what it was doing proved to be more exciting than he’d anticipated.

“I think you’re cheating,” he said.

How do you suppose I’m doing that?

“I don’t know.”

If I were going to cheat, it would be more like this.

The image that flashed into Faramir’s head was vague and half-formed, but the position the elf was in could be made out clearly, and Faramir had to pull his hand away from his cock to keep the thought of it from undoing him immediately.

“That is definitely cheating!” he said, glaring at Legolas.

Why is that cheating?

“Because… it’s not as if I can just come over there and…”

Legolas raised an eyebrow. _Who made that rule?

“Well, you’re not…”

I may be weak at the moment, but I’m not broken, Faramir!

Faramir sat up, attempting to clear his mind enough to think rationally. “I suppose…”

Legolas grinned. You’ll have to do the work for both of us.

“That hardly seems fair.”

Will you stop talking and start doing something?

“You could at least comment on the fact that we managed to end this mess with only one death,” Boromir muttered, as Aragorn walked briskly down the street in front of him. “And the one who died deserved it.”

“What exactly would you like me to say?” Aragorn replied, without slowing down or glancing back at Boromir.

“I don’t know… ‘Good job’, maybe, or ‘Fine work, Boromir’.”

“Are people going to be commenting on what a good job I did when they find out I led an entire army here for nothing?”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Boromir said, feeling half guilty and half annoyed. “If it hadn’t been for the threat of your army approaching, Gríma Wormtongue might have decided to take up where Saruman left off and renew the attack, or the Haradrim might have decided to…”

Aragorn finally stopped and turned to give him a sharp look with those piercing gray eyes. “That’s fine, Boromir. But you do seem to have a rather frustrating habit of charging into things without my knowledge or consent…”

Boromir scowled. “What do I need your consent for?”

Aragorn smiled ruefully and shook his head. “Not only do you not respect me as your King, but at times I’m not sure you even respect me as an equal, which is really all that I ask of you.”

Boromir forced himself to keep silent as he opened the door to the tall stone guard tower where they had stopped. “At least come up here and look upon the enemy with your own eyes, Aragorn.”

“I don’t need to…”

“Yes, you do,” he said firmly.

Aragorn shook his head. “Fine.”

They climbed the long spiral of stone steps together, their boots echoing in the empty tower. Finally they emerged into a small guard room, its plain wooden table and chairs casting long shadows in the orange sunset glow that entered through the tall, narrow windows.

“There doesn’t appear to be a body in here, Boromir.”

“I know,” the other man said.

Aragorn turned to him and frowned. “More games? Just leading me wherever you want me?”

“No, I wanted to…”

“I know, I know. You wanted to bring me up here where no one can hear us so you can have your little victory over me now that you’ve had your great one over the enemy, right?”

Boromir winced at the bitterness in Aragorn’s voice, and when he spoke his tone was soft and even.

“No, my Lord.”

Aragorn glanced over his shoulder at him and raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you call me in front of the people of Gondor. When we’re alone…”

“We’re alone now,” Boromir said, reaching into his pocket. “And I’m sorry, Aragorn, that I didn’t wait for you to arrive. You must understand, though… if your army had been spotted, Saruman might have tried to escape. And even if our troops were able to protect Pelargir and drive the Haradrim away, there would have been no protection from him. No protection for you, for Arwen, for my brother… for anyone close to you…”

Aragorn turned and leaned back against the wall, studying him. “I had not thought of it that way, my friend.”

“I was not willing to let him live and escape to prove a threat to any of us in the future. A creature like that… kidnapping is rather low, but at least I was a tactical prize as well as a valuable one. But to poison a lady in her own house…”

“I had not realized a threat to Arwen would upset you so much,” Aragorn said, smiling slightly.

“Of course it upset me! You know perfectly well that I would kill anyone and fight anything to protect you and the things you love!”

Aragorn straightened up and looked at him as if seeing him for the first time since his arrival in Pelargir. Boromir met his gaze evenly, his face serious but his green eyes bright and flashing.

“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you,” Aragorn said.

Boromir nodded. “You know I would.”

Aragorn shook his head and smiled. “So where is Saruman, anyway?”

“Next guard tower over. I figured that this way if anyone caught us strolling out of here, we could just claim we got the wrong tower.”

“So you did lead me up here with questionable intentions,” Aragorn said, raising his eyebrows.

“There is nothing questionable about my intentions,” Boromir said, pulling a small jar of salve out of his pocket.

“I see that. I suppose you’re going to instruct me to take off my clothes now, right?”

Boromir looked thoughtful for a moment before reaching out and handing the jar of salve to the other man.

“No. I believe I’ll do that.”

As Aragorn watched, Boromir stepped back and untied the laces of his tunic, then dropped it onto one of the chairs before bending over to pull off his boots. Aragorn watched him with some amusement and growing arousal, letting him strip until he was wearing nothing but his breeches before reaching out and pulling him closer for a kiss, tangling his fingers in dark blond hair.

“You would yield to me?” he asked quietly, his lips against Boromir’s ear.

Boromir nodded.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

Another nod.

“All right, then,” Aragorn said, gently steering the other man backwards toward the table in the middle of the room. Boromir felt the edge of the table against his lower back and shivered as Aragorn took him by the shoulders and turned him around, sliding his hands down to grasp Boromir’s wrists and place the strong swordsman’s hands flat on the smooth wooden surface. Boromir leaned forward and lowered his head as the other man’s familiar hands ran slowly over his arms, his shoulders, down the long muscles of his back, tracing the lines of old scars before finding their way to the waistband of his breeches. Boromir leaned back into the touch as the cloth was drawn down over his hips, then down his legs. Aragorn’s lips followed, tracing over the just-bared skin on the backs of his thighs.

“That tickles, you bastard,” he murmured, chuckling.

He felt Aragorn smile against his skin before opening his mouth and nipping him sharply. Boromir jumped, feeling his already hard cock twitch at the sting of Aragorn’s teeth. Then Aragorn was standing again, reaching around to run strong hands over his chest and his stomach while his mouth found the back of Boromir’s neck and, beneath the hair where no one else would see it, bit him again, harder, and sucked at the skin, raising a livid mark and making Boromir moan and press back against him, the fabric of Aragorn’s clothes rough against his bare skin. He felt long, familiar fingers sliding gently, slicked with salve, leaving a line of cool wetness from the middle of his back downward.

“It’s been a while since… are you sure you want this?” Aragorn asked.

“It’s been too long,” Boromir answered, his voice rough.

Aragorn nodded, and his lips on Boromir’s neck distracted him for a moment from the fingers sliding gently over his opening before slipping inside. He jerked forward involuntarily, but as Aragorn’s other hand rubbed steady circles over his lower back, he relaxed and lowered his head again.

“Are you going to growl at me to get on with it?” Aragorn asked, smiling.

“I was thinking about it.”

The fingers slid and stretched, and Boromir realized he was breathing hard.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to stop messing about and… ahh…”

He lost the ability to speak as Aragorn steadied him with a hand on his back and used the other hand to guide himself before pushing slowly but relentlessly forward. He felt Boromir tense, knew he was hurting him, but also knew that Boromir would not let him stop now even if he wanted to; he was pushing back hard against Aragorn now, ignoring the burn in the more urgent need to have all of Aragorn, and Aragorn was willing and happy to give it to him.

He stopped, running his hands over Boromir’s sides, feeling the sleek skin now damp with sweat, the muscles flexing as he shifted back against Aragorn, his ribs rising and falling rapidly. He took a moment to enjoy this stillness, the feeling of Boromir’s body tense and waiting, before he drew back and slid in again, sending shudders along Boromir’s back. The next thrust drew a low moan that he could not quite hold back, and when Aragorn took hold of his hips with both hands and began to move into him in earnest, finding a rhythm, Boromir arched his back, directing Aragorn to find the perfect angle. When he found it he was rewarded with an unrestrained, wordless cry from Boromir, and continued his pace until he could feel Boromir gasping and shaking under his hands, until he was clenching his jaw to hold himself back, and then he reached around and grasped Boromir’s cock in his slick hand and stroked it roughly, his hand demanding and tight. Almost immediately Boromir was moaning, thrusting forward into his hand, and only a few strokes later his body was clenching hard around Aragorn’s cock as he shuddered and his release spilled over Aragorn’s fingers. A moment later Aragorn was gasping and clutching at Boromir to steady himself as he surrendered to his own release before slumping forward, his forehead resting against Boromir’s sweat-slicked skin.

Aragorn finally drew back reluctantly, taking Boromir by the shoulders and pulling him upright again so that he could wrap his arms around him and bury his face in the damp, darkened hair clinging to the back of his neck.

“Are you all right, love?” he asked quietly.

Boromir nodded and tipped his head back, exposing more of his neck to the tongue that was licking at the salty skin there. “I believe I’m just fine.”

The stood for a quiet moment before Aragorn winced and drew back. Boromir turned, worried.

“What’s wrong?”

Aragorn flinched. “Just my back. I think I threw it out the other day.”

“How did you do that?” Boromir asked, frowning.

“Carrying Legolas.”

Boromir laughed. “Perhaps you ought to be letting the young ones like Faramir do that sort of thing.”

“Well, Faramir couldn’t really do…”

He froze, realizing that no one had told Boromir yet about what his brother had gotten himself into. Boromir, though, caught the hesitation and scowled.

“Aragorn, don’t you dare keep secrets about my brother from me!”

“You would have found out when we got back to Minas Tirith anyway…”

“Found out what?”

Woken from a half-doze, Faramir sat up in his armchair when he heard the soft knock on the door.

“Come in…”

Arwen slipped in, closing the door behind her.

“I brought you some supper… I don’t expect you had a chance to eat today. And I brought a few things I thought Legolas might be able to eat, and some tea and wine for both of you.”

He smiled and motioned for her to sit down. She set the tray she was carrying on the table before gracefully slipping into the chair next to his. She glanced over at the couch, where Legolas was stretched out, hair disheveled again, face slightly flushed, obviously sound asleep.

“What did you do to him?” she asked, laughing.

Faramir’s face reddened slightly. “I know I shouldn’t have… but he…”

She shook her head, still laughing, and took the bottle of wine and two glasses from the tray. “Faramir, you won’t harm him. The closer to you he is, the faster he’ll heal. As long as you don’t play too roughly with him, anything you do will only help him.”

Faramir decided not to mention the fact that Legolas much preferred to be played with roughly, and had been quite annoyed by Faramir’s attempts to handle him gently, but he suspected she already knew. She handed him a glass of wine and poured one for herself before raising hers with a smile.

“A toast, Faramir.”

“To what?”

“To many happy days for you and Legolas. To my husband and your brother returning to us safe and victorious.”

“And,” Faramir said, touching his glass to hers, “To my brother not killing either one of us when he finds out what happened while he was gone.”

“That too,” she agreed. “So, have you learned how to keep him from getting into your head when you don’t want him there?”

Faramir raised his eyebrows. “No…”

“I’ll teach you. Galadriel taught me, and my brothers… all her grandchildren have some touch of her abilities, and you can’t imagine how extremely infuriating it is to have Elladan and Elrohir getting into your head all the time…”

Faramir swallowed hard, thinking of the things that had gone through his head on occasion while watching the slender, dark-haired twins with their hands all over each other.

“Err… can they do that to…”

Arwen giggled. “We could only ever do it to each other, all three of us. Besides, even if they did know you’d been thinking things like that, they wouldn’t exactly be surprised, you know. They’re quite used to it by now… even men who think they aren’t interested in men find themselves staring at my brothers.”

“To your filthy-minded brothers,” Faramir said, raising the glass again. “Now, teach me quickly, before the bastard wakes up.”

Six days later, a guard came knocking on Faramir’s door early in the morning, announcing that the returning army had been sighted, with King Elessar and Lord Steward Boromir riding in the lead. Faramir managed to sit up enough to shout at the guard that he’d got the message and to go away before Legolas pulled him back down again.

“You do realize I have to get up and go greet my brother,” the man protested.

Legolas laughed and wrapped the badly wrinkled sheet around both of them. “It’ll be an hour before they actually reach the city.”

He entwined his long legs with Faramir’s and pressed closer to him, letting the man feel his cock hardening against his naked thigh.

“Gods, elf… I thought you were relentless before all this happened!”

“If you won’t let me get out of bed, you’re going to have to do something to keep me entertained while I’m stuck here,” the elf said, reaching down to discover evidence of Faramir’s reluctant but definite interest.

“Arwen is the one who said you had to stay in bed.”

“What does she know?” Legolas said.

“She knows that when you tried to get up yesterday you fell and almost hit your head on the table.”

“A minor detail,” the elf said, stretching. “Besides, didn’t she tell you that being close was the best way to help me heal?”

“I’m not sure that by ‘close’, she meant… oof! Hey there!”

Another knock on the door, this one very loud and very determined. Faramir sat up quickly, frowning.

“Who the bloody hell is that?”

From outside in the hall, a familiar voice boomed, and Faramir winced; he’d heard that Éomer had arrived the evening before but had been making a concerted effort to avoid him. He liked Éomer; it was difficult not to, but the man was loud and excitable and demanding to know where these tales of Arwen’s death had come from and where Aragorn was and why Rohan hadn’t been invited to participate in a good bout of Haradrim-slaughtering, and Faramir hadn’t felt up to dealing with it. The rumor of Arwen’s death had apparently reached Edoras a few days before, and Éomer, always quick to react, had been on his horse and off for Gondor within an hour of hearing the news. Now, finding Arwen alive and a war going on that he had not been invited to play in, he was in a tempermental mood and Faramir planned to avoid him till he settled down.

“Faramir! I know you’re in there!”

Faramir winced. “Shit.”

Legolas grinned. “I can get rid of him.”

“Oh?”

The elf winked at him before sitting up and calling out, loudly enough to be heard outside in the hall.

“Oh, Faramir! Do that again! Oh! No, that other thing… oh, gods, yes, that!”

Faramir turned bright red, but he suspected Éomer was probably blushing as well, and the hall went silent as the Horse Lord apparently decided to go find someone less busy to talk to.

“You’re evil, elf.”

“I told you, Faramir… it’s a very, very bad idea to allow an elf to be bored.”

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