Faramir Fiction Archive

Walk No More In The Shadows (NC-17)

Written by Minx and Iris

12 January 2007 | 50694 words | Work in Progress

Chapter 13

It was dark and foggy around him and terrifying, as he felt the familiar weight descend upon his aching body, followed by the pain that seared through his lower back. Harsh, smirking words echoed into his ears, even as he tried desperately to keep from crying out. It hurt as much as the words did.

He was worth little else, he was nothing like Boromir, he was to be taught a lesson.

He shifted uneasily, he would be held in place and it hurt, his head hurt, and—

He whimpered fearfully. And then louder.

Aragorn murmured softly as the whimpering sound reached his ears, and instinctively moved closer to Faramir’s trembling body. Still sleeping, he slung an arm over Faramir’s waist and buried his face against the thin shoulder.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he whispered, still in deep sleep, “I’m here. All shall be well.”

Tears continued to flow down his cheeks, as his father continued to berate him. And then suddenly the pain stopped, as did the scornful words.

Firm but soft hands circled around his waist, fingers splaying across his stomach, then running up and down his upper body, stroking him gently in calming, soothing motions. Gentle words wafted into his tired ears.

“I’m here for you…”

“Sire,” he murmured as he raised his head to see his king standing before him, resplendent in his regal robes, the crown set atop his head, bending over his ungainly, naked frame sprawled across the marbled floor in front of the king’s throne.

“Dear Faramir,” Elessar responded softly, before helping him up, “Do not worry dearest, I am here for you.”

He felt himself being pulled into a gentle embrace, his aching body coming in touch with the silk of the robes. He fell into those arms, and let himself be touched and stroked gently, slowly, a bevy of strange wonderful feelings collecting in his lower belly.

The king’s robes disappeared, evaporating into thin air, and his skin was touching soft skin now. Hands wandered over the back of his thighs. As though on impulse, he moved to kneel down and pleasure his king, but the hands around his waist prevented that.

“Ssshhh…” Elessar murmured softly, and then shifted his position, so that his erection brushed against Faramir’s semi-aroused length.

Faramir gasped softly. Elessar pulled him closer, holding him in place maintaining that wonderful contact. And then he shifted again. Faramir let out a soundless cry.

They fell to the floor, still holding each other, Elessar still stroking lightly all over. Gentle hands continued to probe his upper body, running over his chest, skimming over his ribs, brushing his nipples, before moving to his lower belly. He spread his legs wide, raised up, breathing heavily. The slight nudge to his backside, caused him to gasp softly from the excitement the touch induced. Greased fingers parted his legs wider, before slipping between them and touching him.

As awareness returned slowly, his mind still processing the feelings his dream had evoked, Faramir found himself waking to a strangely familiar feeling. One that he noted as wakefulness filtered back into him, no longer felt as scary or even uncomfortable as he would have thought.

His dream had left him recollecting the feeling of the king’s nakedness against his own, much as he felt it now. The king seemed to be a morning person, he thought with amusement as he felt the telltale hardness brush his bare bottom. And this morning, the king wasn’t the only one!

He flushed slightly as he remembered how they hadn’t bothered with nightclothes last night after they had cleaned up, their close proximity providing plenty of warmth. Faramir had been so tired but in the nicest possible way. He remembered how it had felt to have Aragorn’s hands touching him so tenderly, the feel of those soft hands lulling him further into sleep.

He ought to feel more embarrassed than he felt, to be naked, in his state, with his king so near. But then again, the king was equally naked, and in a similar state. And truth be told though, Faramir quite liked the feel of Aragorn’s skin on his. It felt warm and cosy and comfortable. He flushed a little more as he recalled all they’d done the night before and how the king had shown him after all these years how it was truly supposed to feel to be intimate with another. It had been pleasurable, and even exciting in a way and most of all, gentle, full of the tenderness and care that came to mind whenever he thought of Elessar.

His eyes drifted to the bottle of oil on the nightstand, where Elessar had replaced it. The sight of the oil bottle had usually filled him with trepidation all these years, bundled as it was with memories of countless occasions where he’d been sent summons by Denethor just as he’d been ready to retire for the night, and had had to hurriedly prepare himself before leaving. Today though, a strange tingling feeling coursed through him.

Wouldn’t it be nice, he thought sleepily, to give the king a nice start to the day, just as they had done the previous day. The king had seemed to like it the previous morning. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind if he’d help him out again?

Yes, perhaps he could give the king a nice start to the day again. He reached out for the small bottle taking care to ensure that he did not disturb Aragorn with his movements. He shifted as discreetly as possible and smiled as Aragorn murmured something indistinctly. He took out some oil and deftly prepared himself. The king was still asleep, lying on his side, when he was done.

How was he to go about this now? It would not be fair to disturb the king before everything was ready, he decided. He would do it slowly. Quietly, he lay back down by the king on his side, aligning himself till he could feel the stiffness against his buttocks. There was a slight murmur.

Elessar seemed to be waking up he decided, smiling, and then curling up his legs, pushed himself back against his arousal. That should wake the king!

It did. Aragorn’s eyes flew open as he felt the tip of his erection breach Faramir’s entrance.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, in surprise.

“Good morning,” Faramir was glancing back over his shoulder, a small smile on his face.

“Oh, it is good indeed!” Aragorn managed to reply, feeling very wide awake now, “If only all mornings could be this good,” he gasped out as Faramir pushed back against him again.

“We could try,” Faramir offered, blushing a little.

“Hmm…” Aragorn murmured, wrapping his arms around Faramir, as the steward pushed against him again, a little more assertively this time. Aragorn moaned at the sensation that pulsed through him, and gently pushed into the welcoming passage, sighing softly as the tight muscles constricted around his stiffness, “We could…”

Faramir felt himself filling up slowly and for the briefest of moments nearly froze, waiting to be pushed onto his stomach and the rough, hard thrusts to start. But all he felt were gentle nudges and he felt himself begin to relax slowly, and pulled his knees up further allowing Aragorn deeper inside, before the tender pushing stopped. They lay like that for a few seconds before Aragorn began to push in slowly once again, his arms still around Faramir.

The thrusts were slow and so unlike the painful ones he was usually used to, Faramir realised, gasping a little at the tenderness he felt. Aragorn was in no hurry… he was almost lazy in fact. His hands meanwhile were roaming over Faramir’s chest, the touches soft and gentle, brushing his nipples, his ribs, his navel. The fingers played with his nipples, kneading them gently, hardening them. Faramir moaned softly, he’d never known a touch like this… he could hardly move, Aragorn was holding him snugly in place. At any other time, he’d have panicked he knew, but this time, Faramir didn’t want to move. He felt perfect here. He coloured a little as he realised how much he was enjoying this feeling. Soft kisses landed on his back and shoulders, as the almost lazy thrusts continued, engulfing Faramir in a dream-like feeling that didn’t let up until Aragorn touched him in that place again. He moaned loudly as the warmth coursed through him. He’d never realised it could feel this way, he though hazily as they climaxed together, and Aragorn continued to hold him and kiss him gently.

They parted only when the sun filtered harshly through the curtains into the room, Faramir still blushing a little. Aragorn studied him carefully for a moment, suddenly anxious over going against Gandalf’s advise as well as his own intentions and becoming this intimate already this soon. But there was nothing but relaxed bliss in the steward’s features.

He smiled at the slightly silly expression, as he wondered just how long he would have waited if Faramir wouldn’t have made the first move. Just be glad he did, he quickly concluded.

“Did you sleep well?”

Faramir’s blush deepened as he once again remembered his dream. “Yes, very well, thank you,” he answered smiling.

Aragorn couldn’t help but smile back. “Good. That’s very good to hear,” he said planting one last kiss on Faramir’s shoulder.

“Shall I see you again tonight?” Aragorn asked softly as he rose from Faramir’s bed, not wishing the younger man to undergo the same turmoil that he had the day before, worrying over what Aragorn may think.

Faramir nodded quietly, and gave a small smile in return.

They had to spend the morning and afternoon apart, Faramir having to go through some old work still leftover, while Aragorn had an audience with an envoy, meeting again only at an early supper where most of the conversation was monopolised by Legolas and Gimli who were arguing about something Aragorn paid no attention to. It was only after supper that they got time together again, to discuss Aragorn’s talks with the envoy.

Gandalf came by just then, and found both men in Aragorn’s study.

“Mithrandir!’ Faramir said smiling, “You do look much better today!”

“Thank you, child,” the wizard replied almost sarcastically, “So do you. I trust the new arrangements are comfortable enough?”

“Indeed!” Faramir said his eyes shining as he looked at Aragorn.

Aragorn simply nodded.

“I suppose you won’t need me tonight,” Gandalf said grumpily.

“No,” Aragorn agreed steadily, “You could do with more rest.”

Gandalf shrugged, “Good,” he grunted, “The hobbits have some idea of visiting taverns tonight. I think I should go along, just in case!”

Gandalf said nothing a day later either when Aragorn told him that he would spend the next few nights as well with Faramir. He merely shrugged.

Faramir welcomed Aragorn’s sharing his bed each night shyly but willingly. And Aragorn for his part decided to ensure that whatever they did, Faramir got to sleep regular hours each night. The younger man had been through a lot, he knew, and he ensured that he was at all times nothing but caring, a sensation that, he realised each day, was new to the younger man. It made Aragorn all the more determined to ensure that Faramir know that sex could be enjoyed. He was old enough and sensible enough to know that the act when not forced was meant to be just that, but years of being taken against his will would be difficult to overcome. Aragorn was the first person he’d met who had been in such close contact with him and not wanted to abuse him sexually.

He carefully but discreetly, along with Gandalf kept a watch on the younger man’s eating habits and work hours, never hesitating to pull him away for a walk whenever the young Steward seemed to be getting overwhelmed by the necessity to learn so much of the Stewardship in such little time.

Faramir sighed softly as he leaned contentedly against a tree. It was beautiful outside, and the air was crisp, so Aragorn had suggested a long walk in the gardens after they’d finished going through a particularly gruelling set of papers on new trade treaties. Faramir had agreed, for he had begun to feel exhausted, the recent illness still troubling him. They had spent a wonderful hour in each other’s company talking about books and poems, and had only stopped when Aragorn had decided it was time for Faramir to rest a little. They sat on a small stone bench in a shaded nook enjoying the view, and he felt his eyes drifting shut.

“Here you are!” the sudden sound made his eyes fly open and he found himself instinctively moving closer to Aragorn.

Twin faces grinned back at them in delight, as Aragorn protectively wrapped an arm around Faramir’s shoulders and pulled him close and then stared back at the sons of Elrond who sat on either side of them now.

“Elladan, Elrohir,” he said with a calmness that Faramir envied. His own heart was beating furiously as he realised what an odd position he and his king were in. The elven twins were not only the brothers of the King’s betrothed, but also like foster brothers to Aragorn himself, and he wasn’t sure how they’d react to his nearness to the King. Aragorn however made no move to release him so he stayed where he was, staring from one to the other.

“Hello Aragorn,” the one sitting near him said cheerfully, Faramir thought it might be Elrohir, “How are you now, Lord Faramir? We have missed you greatly. We hardly see you nowadays, even though Gandalf says you’re continuing to recover quite rapidly now. Aragorn seems to have claimed most of your time.”

Faramir opened his mouth intending to say something, anything, but the other Elf interrupted him, “Well, Aragorn did always have surprisingly good taste, although that doesn’t explain Arwen!”

Both of them snickered loudly at that while Aragorn groaned and looked around for help in the form of Legolas or Gimli to shoo the twins away. All he could see was one of the councillors in the distance sitting in another shaded bower, reading a book, Tarnost he though his name was.

Meanwhile, Faramir tried to sit up, slipping out of Aragorn’s embrace, confused and a little fearful.

“I did wonder to see Faramir smiling at breakfast. It was a fine sight but curious nevertheless. I see now what caused it!” Elladan said irrepressibly.

The twins arose together and Elrohir smiled at a gaping Faramir, “We are very glad to see you are well again.” Bending down he grasped the Steward’s face lightly and bestowed a small kiss on his forehead.

Faramir gasped softly in surprise, and felt his face redden. He dropped his eyes to hide his embarrassment, even as Elladan too dropped a kiss on his lowered head.

He looked up bewildered, to find them smiling gently at him. Aragorn was giving him an amused yet fond look, “You’re embarrassing him,” he said lightly, and brought his arm around Faramir once again and kissed him lightly on his cheek.

Aragorn could see too that more than a few people noticed Faramir’s changed mood over the next few days, though he was sure no one was aware of the full circumstances as much as the twins were. He was certainly going to ensure the younger man continued to take things lightly for a while!

Aragorn couldn’t help but think there were many more things also that he could teach Faramir, especially when it came to his ways in bed. The young man was inexperienced enough in many matters and Éowyn for one would not care much for a husband like that, he thought. For now he was glad though that he was beginning to drop his reserve with him, even if it was only in bed. He’d convinced him to call him Aragorn while they were alone, and to hear his name being uttered in a voice so thick with emotion and an almost reverence had thrilled him and awakened a strange feeling inside him.

They were in Aragorn’s study a few nights later, when Aragorn put his quill down and rose from his seat, “Come,” he said warmly to Faramir, “I’m a little tired and I’m sure you are too!”

They walked down the winding passageways with Aragorn leading the way. He’d decided they might as well spend the night in his chambers. The bed was larger and much more comfortable than Faramir’s straw-filled mattress. He stopped at his chambers and opening the door, stepped inside. Faramir waited outside politely.

“Well, come along then,” Aragorn said smiling.

Faramir stared at him worriedly, but stepped in all the same.

“I was thinking we could sleep here instead,” Aragorn said, “It’s a larger bed and more comfortable as well.”

Faramir stopped hesitantly and stared around the room, causing Aragorn to look at him in consternation. Faramir was biting his lower lip unhappily as though thinking of something else altogether and Aragorn felt a pang in his heart.

I thought he said he liked being with me… Is Gandalf right? Did I rush things after all?

“What’s wrong?” he asked anxiously, “Do you not wish me to spend the night with you? Is it because of—” Aragorn stopped mid-sentence, seeing Faramir’s apprehensive expression, still focussed on the bed. “Don’t worry,” he tried to reassure the younger man, “we can also just go to sleep. All I want is to keep your nightmares away so you can sleep easily, just like Gandalf did. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

“I know,” Faramir said sincerely, turning to Aragorn now, but a troubled expression remained on his face.

“Then what’s the matter?” Aragorn asked gently. Something seemed to be bothering the younger man.

Faramir took a deep breath before answering hesitantly, “It’s the room. Father used it sometimes… with me.”

It took all of Aragorn’s self-control to not look as aghast as he felt on hearing that. “He did? This room? Why not his own bedroom?”

“He used that too, but only at night. If he wanted the use of a bed during the daytime, he’d send me here. These rooms were not in use then, so it was quiet here.”

“But surely it would be noticed if the rooms had been used? Someone would have had to clean up, put fresh sheets on the bed.”

“I did that.”

“Oh,” Aragorn said. He looked at Faramir closely. The younger man was staring at the bed again, clearly unhappy, “You’d be more comfortable in your room then?”

Faramir nodded in response.

Aragorn nodded and led Faramir out.

“I’m sorry,” Faramir whispered miserably.

“Don’t be,” Aragorn said reassuringly as he closed the door behind him, “I can understand if you have unhappy memories of that room.” Indeed he could. In fact, he briefly wondered how he himself would feel, next time he slept in his own bed, now that he knew what had come to pass there, in his room, in his bed… But no, those were not healthy or helpful thoughts. The last thing Faramir would need right now, was for him to get upset too.

Seeing that Faramir still looked unhappy, he continued, “Maybe, in a while, we can make some happy memories for you in that room, so it won’t be all bad ones. How about that?”

Faramir gave him a tiny smile and ducked his head sideways, nodding.

Faramir smiled shyly at Aragorn as he finished undressing and sat upon his bed. Aragorn was struggling with the bindings of his ceremonial robe. Faramir had offered to help him but he’d shaken his head.

While he was slowly beginning to feel more and more comfortable with him, the king’s nearness still caused a strange sensation in him. It seemed unbelievable to him that Aragorn could actually want to spend so much time with him, being so gentle with him. He felt himself redden a little as he remembered how Aragorn’s hands felt on him, how his mere fingers had caused that strangely pleasurable sensation inside him…

He watched as Aragorn finally untangled the bindings. He reached out for the small bottle that he’d ensured was readily placed on the nightstand. He’d even ensured it contained a sweet smelling oil instead of the usual saddle oil he’d often used for want of anything else. He uncorked the bottle, preparing to take the sticky substance on his fingers, when Aragorn came and stood by him.

“No, don’t use that,” Aragorn said.

Faramir stared up at him.

“I don’t think we’ll need this tonight,” Aragorn said firmly and plucked the bottle of oil from Faramir’s nerveless hands.

The Steward barely managed to keep the scared surprise he felt off his face. He watched dumbly as Aragorn replaced the stopper in the bottle and placed it on the table, and then recommenced undressing. They were not going to use the oil?

He wondered whether to protest, no perhaps plead that he be allowed to use some oil, but then — Aragorn was his king. And he had been through this before.

He gulped noiselessly at the unbidden memories that filled his head. Denethor had always seemed to like it better when Faramir hadn’t used the oil. There had been times when he’d been summoned unexpectedly and had had no time to prepare. It had pleased his father to catch him unawares, and it had pleasured him the more the pain was. He could still remember the pain he’d experienced each time, even as his father had gloated into his ear calling him tight as a whore in the first circle, and told him this was his sole use.

But these had been rare occasions. Faramir had made it a habit to prepare for the worst each and every time he went to see his father, as well as each time he had to appear in front of the Council since Denethor often called him back afterwards. It had been humiliating, standing there in front of all the councillors, delivering his reports and all the while feeling the oil creep between his buttocks. Especially since soon enough his father as well as a number of members of the Council were well aware of his predicament and taunted him mercilessly with it. But it was a humiliation he had gladly accepted. For he could not easily forget the one time, when he had been summoned a mere half hour prior to leaving for Ithilien and had gone unprepared; he still remembered the tremendous pain he’d been through on the ride there and the his ensuing efforts to hide his awful predicament from the rangers concerned over his clearly pain filled and ailing demeanour.

But on all such occasions, Denethor had always been more than satisfied. He didn’t shove him away roughly off his bed as he usually did after finishing with him.

No wonder Elessar didn’t want the oil either. He would get more pleasure without it. And that was what Faramir was meant to do after all — to please the king. Why had he ever thought otherwise? He had been foolish to think Elessar might have liked him! Why should he? He was the king of Gondor due to marry the elven daughter of the Lord of Imladris. How could someone like Faramir be more than something to pass the night until then?

And as if anyone could love someone like him. He was too spoiled and defiled for anyone at all to want him for any other reason. Of course Aragorn knew how worthless he was. He was of use for only one thing. All of them knew that.

He lay down on his back, spreading his legs slightly, and waited, trying to control his rapidly beating heart. He was used to the pain, after all. He shouldn’t be so worried. And it was not as though he had much work on the morrow. Perhaps, Elessar would let him rest off the pain awhile in the morning. He hoped he would. He could catch up with his work later in the morning. A few hours of rest extra, that was all. He mustn’t ask for more.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Aragorn sat by him, having finally divested himself off his outer garments.

“Turn around,” he said calmly, and Faramir obediently flopped onto his belly. He laid his head on his hands as he felt Aragorn’s weight descend on the bed between his legs. He should have expected this too, he told himself, nevertheless feeling slightly dazed.

Denethor had always made him face away from him. Facing Denethor had invariably meant a stinging slap. More than once, the Steward’s ring had scratched his face; he still had a series of faint little scars, running almost parallel across his right cheekbone, to prove it.

He raised his hips slightly. Aragorn’s hands were on his buttocks now, spreading his legs wider apart. He shut his eyes tight, burrowing deeper into his hands, trying to force himself to relax, despite the pain he knew was to follow.

He couldn’t help but tense up as Elessar’s hands spread his buttocks wider. A breath of warm air hit his backside and then he felt something wet enter him, pushing into him… before he scrabbled up in shock, a squeal erupting involuntarily from his shocked mouth.

The sudden movement sent him up against the hard wood of the headboard even as Aragorn let out a startled exclamation and drew back from his flailing legs.

Faramir huddled against the headboard now, rubbing at the bruise that was forming where his forehead had impacted against the carved wood.

Aragorn was nearly at the edge of the bed now, a bemused expression on his face.

“You almost kicked me,” he complained as he moved towards Faramir.

Faramir stared back at Aragorn’s face, at the tip of the pink tongue that had entered him barely seconds ago, “I — I’m sorry, Sire!” he gasped out, “I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

Aragorn’s expression turned to one of concern, as he took in the fear and confusion in Faramir’s eyes. He moved closer to Faramir, “You didn’t hurt me at all,” he assured him

“Wh — why did you do that?” Faramir stuttered and hugged his legs to his chest, covering himself.

“Why? Didn’t you like it?” Aragorn countered, “I had to use something to prepare you, didn’t I?” he continued teasingly, “You don’t expect me to just —” and then stopped suddenly.

There was an awkward pause before Aragorn swiftly pulled Faramir into his arms, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said quietly, a little alarmed at how fast Faramir’s heart seemed to be beating, “You’ve bruised your forehead.”

“N— no. I’m fine,” the steward answered. He had that same confused look Aragorn had thought he’d seen earlier but not thought to probe into. He wished now he had.

Apparently Faramir had indeed expected him to not bother about preparing him. Somehow he didn’t think he’d have to explain to Faramir that that would have hurt him a great deal. He continued to hold the tense young man in his arms, and then gently kissed the bruise on his forehead.

As he waited for Faramir to calm down, Aragorn debated on what to do next. Knowing Faramir, he would probably clam up about this, especially if Aragorn let him go off to sleep now, much as he would have liked to. Once Faramir seemed to relax a little, he spoke.

“Faramir?”

The younger man looked up at him mutely, his grey eyes filled with an almost fearful expression, but he made no move to leave Aragorn’s embrace, for which the king was grateful.

“I told you earlier this should always be enjoyable for both partners, it can’t be a one-way stream, remember? And I would certainly never do anything that would hurt you. You know you can always say ‘no’ if there’s anything you don’t like — I won’t be upset,” he said sincerely, “Will you tell me, from now on?”

He received a meek nod in reply, and settled for that. Pulling Faramir closer, he gave him what others had called his ‘naughty smile’ and hoped it would work on Faramir as well as it had often worked on those others.

“Then should I assume from your earlier reaction that you do not like this preparation method or should we try that again before we reach any final conclusions?” he asked in a half teasing tone.

“No!” Faramir said softly but emphatically, moving away from Aragorn slightly. His ‘naughty smile’ wasn’t going to work on Faramir, the king realised quietly.

“No?” he responded, “You didn’t like it?”

“No!” Faramir retorted with a little more force this time, “It’s too undignified for you. A king shouldn’t have to stoop to that for his subjects!”

“I think that’s for the king to decide,” Aragorn countered, “And besides I didn’t know you thought of me as just your king here. I thought I was more than that to you,” he said.

The little fire that had developed in Faramir promptly fled at that, “You are more than that to me, Sire!” he said frantically, “But —”

The use of the address didn’t escape Aragorn’s notice but he knew it was difficult for Faramir to slip out of an ingrained habit, so he simply sighed and pulled him closer yet again, “Then nothing we do between us can ever be too undignified.”

Faramir bit his lip uncertainly in response.

“Should we try it again?” Aragorn suggested. He truly wanted Faramir to feel the pleasure he knew he could give him, if he would only let him.

There was a pause before Faramir glanced doubtfully at him and finally gave a very tiny nod.

Aragorn smiled and after kissing Faramir lightly on his bruise again, gently laid him back on his stomach. Faramir automatically spread his legs out, yet Aragorn couldn’t miss the tension that marked his entire body. The slender back was rigid, and every muscle seemed to stand out, the arms and legs lay spread out stiffly, and the discomfort was evident on Faramir’s face.

Sighing silently, Aragorn placed his hands on Faramir’s backside, and the tenseness seemed to increase. Making up his mind rapidly, Aragorn simply placed a light kiss in the hollow at the base of Faramir’s rigid spine. The younger man’s face turned towards Aragorn, confusion writ clearly on his features. Aragorn smiled gently at him, and then placed another kiss on his spine right above the spot where he’d kissed him previously, then another above that and another till he’d trailed all the way up the tense backbone, interspersing the feather-light kisses with tiny licks. Faramir’s tension eased somewhat, though the confusion remained on his face. Aragorn placed another light kiss between his shoulder blades and then reached over him for the oil still on the nightstand.

Faramir tensed imperceptibly, an involuntary gesture on his part, for in his heart he was glad that Aragorn had decided to resort to the oil instead of his tongue.

“It’s alright, Faramir, please don’t worry,” Aragorn said softly.

Faramir nodded dumbly.

“Would you like it if I were to give you a massage? It will help ease the strain I know you felt in your shoulder this afternoon while pulling those books off the topmost shelf in my study, and it will soothe me to knead your muscles.”

Faramir turned onto his side at that and gaped at him.

Aragorn continued in a soothing tone, “I know we have been making love each night but I thought tonight I’d like to just touch you and be close to you.”

Faramir nodded again, a little hesitantly this time.

Aragorn brushed his cheek lightly with his lips and nudged him back onto his stomach. Taking a generous amount of the oil, which he noted had a sweet smell to it, he began by kneading the muscles between Faramir’s shoulders, which he knew would need extra attention. Faramir’s face was turned sideways and his eyes were open.

He worked his way slowly down Faramir’s body, noting the gradual relaxation in the tense muscles with gratitude, over the upper back, frowning slightly at the scars he could still feel there, then onto the lower back, down the thighs, even the calves, and finally the buttocks.

As he kneaded the soft buttocks letting the oil spread over them, the wariness lessened very gradually, and after a while Faramir had simply let his face rest on his pillow, his eyes half-closed, a smile half-forming on his lips, once in a while letting out a soft noise almost like a cat’s purr that made Aragorn smile in satisfaction. He returned to knead the shoulders once more, before dropping a kiss near Faramir’s ear.

The grey eyes opened and glanced expectantly at the king, who had realised that there was still a fair amount of oil left in the bottle.

“Would you turn over now?” he whispered in Faramir’s ear.

Faramir complied immediately but not without giving him a confused look. Aragorn poured some more of the oil onto his hands.

“Haven’t finished,” Aragorn murmured hoarsely, before laying his hands on Faramir’s chest, and gently rotating the heel of his palm. Faramir stared up at him silently as Aragorn began running his oily fingers over his chest. As the fingers drew a light circle around his nipples however, he gasped softly. Aragorn let his fingers flit over the now sensitised nubs before running them down each rib. Faramir gasped again. Aragorn set to work on the flat stomach next, dipping his index finger into Faramir’s navel. Faramir was definitely purring now, he realised with a smile, at least when he wasn’t gasping.

He returned to the nipples now, gently rubbing the tips of his fingers over them, feeling them harden, just as he felt a hardening sensation in his own groin. Glancing down he realised Faramir too was getting aroused now. He worked his way down again. Faramir looked flushed now, but he seemed to be enjoying himself, Aragorn thought as his steward smiled shyly at him through half-closed eyes.

He stopped as he reached the lower belly and then reached for Faramir’s arousal. The steward’s eyes flew open and he gasped aloud this time, and let loose a hoarse moan. Aragorn felt like groaning himself as he ran his hands up and down the thickening shaft feeling it throb under his fingers.

He let go suddenly, inducing a protesting moan but then immediately spread himself atop Faramir, grinding his hardness gently against the Steward’s and kissed him in the hollow of his neck.

“Aragorn,” the younger man murmured, clutching at the older man’s body and pulling it closer. They moved against each other, the rubbing motion inducing them to release simultaneously.

Aragorn collapsed against Faramir when they were done, “Sweet heart,” he murmured, lovingly.

“Aragorn,” Faramir murmured softly in response, an almost dreamy smile forming on his lips.

Aragorn rolled off him but continued to run still oily fingers down his arm, lazily watching Faramir’s eyes flutter close again from the soothing feel. He must be exhausted, Aragorn thought to himself. Once Faramir seemed to have fallen into a light doze, his lips still curved in a smile, he moved.

“I think, young one, you need cleaning up,” he said affectionately, and rose.

Faramir simply purred in reply, and Aragorn laughed softly as he searched in Faramir’s chest for a towel. Finding one, he cleaned himself up rapidly, and then came to Faramir’s side. The Steward still laid dozing, lines of tiredness beginning to show up on his face, his body glistening lightly from the oil, his stomach covered with the traces of their combined release. Aragorn thought he’d never seen a more attractive sight.

“My sweetling,” he whispered softly, as he began cleaning up the younger man.

Faramir fell asleep shortly after that but Aragorn stayed awake, gently running his fingers through Faramir’s sweat dampened hair having noticed that the movement seemed to calm the younger man.

He needed to be careful with Faramir, he realised yet again.

He’d been through far too much at too young an age. And yet, when it came to such matters as receiving a little pleasure himself he knew so little. Had he even been kissed properly, Aragorn wondered, as he traced his fingers lightly over the slightly open lips. He doubted it.

Aragorn awoke before Faramir the next morning. He opened his eyes to find Faramir curled up against him, his head resting near Aragorn’s chest. The massage would have helped him sleep he realised as he ran gentle fingers through the soft hair. Faramir stirred slightly and after a few seconds opened his eyes slowly. Seeing Aragorn in front of him, he smiled, but then his expression changed a little as though he had remembered something.

“Sire?” he said softly.

“Sweet Faramir,” Aragorn whispered softly, inducing a look of confusion on Faramir’s face.

“I— last night — I —”

“I really enjoyed last night,” Aragorn said gently, and pulled Faramir up, into his arms, “And you look as appealing this morning.”

Faramir blushed at that and made to duck his head but Aragorn cupped his cheek gently.

“I’d like to kiss you,” he said calmly and covered his lips with his. He felt Faramir stiffen a little as he slipped his tongue into the warm mouth. Pulling Faramir closer to reassure him, he continued to run his tongue around his mouth. Faramir responded, a little awkwardly though and Aragorn knew he couldn’t have had many kisses.

He pulled away gently when he sensed Faramir was about to run out of breath but too scared to say it.

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