Faramir Fiction Archive

You Said It Was Forever (NC-17)

Written by Anorienbean

20 December 2008 | 3793 words

Title: You Said It Was Forever.
Pairing: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: NC17
Word count: 3683
Beta: The lovely Minxkat (*squishes*)
Author’s Notes: I hope this is what you’re looking for.

Written for the 2008 Midwinter Swap.

Request by Wingy: Aragorn/Faramir, post-war. something nice, and calming would be nice, around midsummer or midwinter holiday. Please no emo-Faramir, though a little bit of lightly non-consensual sex is perfectly fine. Fluff, moderate sap, and general mooshyness is what I’m going for here, maybe a little rough sex thrown in for fun.

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“Faramir, I…”

Faramir shook his head and pinched out the candle he’d had burning on the small table that had held their evening meal. “You were busy. I know.”

Aragorn toed off his boots, and tried not to focus on the disappointment in his lover’s voice or the way Faramir wasn’t quite meeting his gaze. “Perhaps tomorrow night we can try again? It was just that the merchants on the east side of the city were distracting the patrons, keeping them out of the bars, and the barkeeps were complaining. With the midwinter holidays coming up, the city is especially crowded, and…”

The king’s voice droned on as Faramir slipped out of his clothes and into their bed. He was busy himself – it wasn’t as if he sat around all day waiting for Aragorn to remember him. He took care of his duties as steward of the city, and at the end of the day, just before the evening meal, he tidied his small desk and decided that everything else that needed to be done could be taken care of the next day.

Pity Aragorn didn’t understand that concept, he thought as he listened to his lover describe his day between mouthfuls of what should have been their dinner. Half an hour later, Aragorn slid into bed behind him. Faramir didn’t even bother trying to stay awake, as he knew Aragorn would be more interested in the paperwork he’d brought to bed instead of lovemaking. Sure enough, Aragorn kissed Faramir on the temple and leaned back against the headboard, making notes on a small bit of parchment for the meeting he was to have the next day. His distracted, ‘Night, love,” was far more common than the whispered endearments and soft little moans that used to end their days before Aragorn decided to carry the weight of the entire land on his shoulders.

“Good night, Aragorn,” Faramir sighed, burying his face against his pillow rather than his lover’s neck, as he would have preferred. “Sleep well.”

Each night, Aragorn returned a bit later until finally, Faramir took his meals alone and simply left his lover’s portion on the table. He knew without a doubt that Aragorn hadn’t taken another lover, knew their relationship was strong, it was just that the king felt he had so much to prove that he seemed to have forgotten that there was more to his life than making sure Minas Tirith ran smoothly.

It wasn’t until Aragorn slept in his study for two nights in a row that Faramir decided to take action. He had given up much for his city. His relationship with Aragorn, however, was not something he was willing to give up under any circumstance, not even for his beloved Gondor.

It took him two days to clear Aragorn’s schedule without him realizing it, and another day to gather everything he needed. On the fourth day, he began working on getting things back on an even keel.

Faramir started by asking one of the guards to send word to Aragorn that morning that he would not be in his study that day, as he was feeling ill. Aragorn had not returned to their quarters the night before, so the little white lie would stir no suspicions.

While Aragorn might ignore summons for dinner or bedtime, he would never stay away when Faramir was unwell. Just as expected, the king was soon striding quickly down the hallway towards their chambers, berating himself for never actually making it back there the night before. When he entered the room, he had to stifle a gasp. Faramir lay curled on his side looking miserable. He weakly waved one hand, gesturing for him to go away. “I am fine. You have work to do, Aragorn. There was no need for you to concern yourself with me.”

Aragorn felt even worse as he sat on the edge of the bed and gently brushed the hair back from his lover’s face. “Concern? Faramir, I am more than concerned! I should have been home last night, I should have known you were ill…”

The king’s words were cut off as Faramir shivered violently despite several layers of blankets piled over his legs. Aragorn toed off his boots and slid under the covers, holding his lover close, hoping to ward off the chill.

“It is all right, Aragorn. The city needs you…”

“You need me.”

“Aye. I do.” With that, Faramir’s fingers moved quickly and deftly slipped a rope over each of Aragorn’s hands. “And it is about time you realized that.” The young steward sat up, suddenly looking healthy and full of vigor – not to mention naked – as he pulled the other ends of the rope tight.

The king found his arms pulled high above his head and fastened neatly to the headboard. “Faramir? What is this? What in the Valar’s name do you think you’re doing?”

The smile on Faramir’s face was half-innocent, half mischievous, and despite the circumstances, heat gathered low in Aragorn’s stomach at this turn of events even as he struggled against his bonds. Always till now he had been in control; he had been the one to pursue Faramir, to convince him that no one would think less of him, or that he was shirking his duties, if he were to openly be in a relationship with the king. He had been the one to decide they would take their dinners alone and in their room so they could make love long into the evening…

Gods… when had they last made love?

The question startled Aragorn so much that he ceased his struggle. Faramir was studying his face intently, that odd, endearing little smile still touching his lips.

“I am simply reminding you, my Lord, that while I understand you have responsibilities, that you have meetings you must attend, disputes you must settle, and laws you must pass, beneath it all, you are still a man.” As he spoke, Faramir reached behind him on the bedside table and produced a rather large and menacing-looking dagger. Even the morning sun seemed to be on Faramir’s side as a single, extraordinarily bright ray shone through the window, showing Aragorn just how sharp the blade had been honed. “A man,” the steward continued as he slipped the dagger beneath Aragorn’s tunic, causing Aragorn to suck in his breath “with certain needs that match my own. Needs that I intend to make sure do not go unfulfilled.” Slowly, he tilted the tip of the blade up, slicing easily through the thin cloth just below Aragorn’s collarbones.

“Faramir… you have made your point. I will spend more time…”

“Aragorn, I will gag you if I need to.”

The king’s eyes widened and his face flushed. Even as they spoke, the blade moved inexorably down, parting his tunic and overshirt neatly, just over his chest. “You dare threaten your king?” His voice wasn’t nearly as firm as it should have been, but Aragorn was having a hard time concentrating with a blade so close to his skin.

“You told me once that inside this room, you were my lover, not my king.” With a final jerk of the knife, Aragorn’s shirts gave way completely. Faramir quickly straddled his hips and leaned forward, but not before Aragorn saw that this little – game, or whatever Faramir was calling it – had aroused him as well. Aragorn’s own erection was trapped not only beneath his breeches, but firmly beneath Faramir’s backside. “That was your rule, not mine.” Faramir’s mouth was so close to Aragorn’s that they were sharing the same air. The steward’s tongue lazily snaked out and licked at Aragorn’s lips.

“Night after night, I have waited for you here, in this very bed…” Faramir kissed Aragorn, then drew away, causing the king to moan in protest. He was beginning to enjoy this little game, though he was loathe to admit it. Before he could say anything, Faramir had the dagger again, and was carefully cutting away his breeches.

“The longer I waited, the harder I would be for you.” Faramir spoke matter-of-factly as he worked, looking up occasionally at Aragorn to see what effect his words – and the dagger – were having. “Finally, I would realize that you either would not be home, or if you were, then you would be too tired to make love, or have more work to do. And so, I became quite adept at taking care of myself.” An especially loud rip signaled that the crotch of Aragorn’s breeches was gone, and Faramir made quick work of the waistband afterward. His smile widened as his lover’s arousal came into view, thick and hard already. And Faramir had barely touched him.

Aragorn had been almost in a daze as Faramir moved over him, but suddenly he wanted to touch the man, to grab him, throw him down on the bed, and show him there would be no need for him to take care of himself any more. “Untie me.” His voice was low and ragged, and when Faramir simply looked up at him and moved to the end of the bed where he began lazily fisting himself, a feral growl filled the room. “I said untie me, Faramir.”

“No.” Faramir moved up on the bed, staying well out of reach of Aragorn’s long, still unrestrained legs. Settling next to the king’s shoulders, he let their gazes meet. His face was flushed, eyes dark with desire, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “I want you to know what it feels like to want what you cannot have,” he said softly. “To crave what is just out of reach.”

Aragorn’s mouth, which had been dry only moments earlier, was suddenly almost watering to taste his Faramir – any part of him. He remembered just how sweet and delicious Faramir tasted, his skin, his sex, his release – and needed that now.

Too long since that as well. How could you have forgotten, even for a moment?

Aragorn strained in his bonds, trying to get closer, and was rewarded with the velvety head of Faramir’s cock running smoothly over his lips. Then it was drawn away before he could taste it. “Faramir, please…” Gods, his own arousal was beginning to ache and burn with need, and more than anything, he longed to be buried inside the heat of his lover’s body. “I am sorry… untie me now and let me make it up to you… Faramir, Gods…”

Faramir licked at his palm then resumed fisting himself with one hand while the other reached down and cupped his balls, rolling them gently. A soft moan fell from his lips and he had to fight to keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to miss one moment of Aragorn’s discomfort; while he didn’t want to see him suffer, exactly, he did want to see how this affected him. An especially loud moan caused Faramir to glance down at his lover’s erection just in time to see a single drop of precome drip down onto his belly. It seemed that his little ‘lesson’ was working.

Aragorn could do little but moan at the display in front of him. His legs moved restlessly against the sheets, parted slightly, and had his hands been free, he could have brought himself off with just a few strokes, Faramir had him so aroused. His normally innocent-looking steward looked positively wanton at the moment with his tousled hair, flushed and deliciously damp skin, and the way he was touching himself with no sign of shyness?

“I would prepare myself for you on some nights,” Faramir murmured, lying back on the bed so Aragorn could see just what he was going to do. Long fingers dipped into the small jar of salve they kept by the bedside, then rubbed over his opening, which looked to Aragorn as tight as any virgin’s. He wondered how on all of Arda he’d found anything to keep him away from Faramir over so many long nights, but couldn’t find the words to say so at the moment. In fact, he couldn’t find any words at all; it seemed to take all his effort just to catch his breath and remain still, suddenly afraid that if he struggled again. Faramir would stop what he was doing.

“I would start slowly, hoping you would be home soon to finish the job…” One, then two fingers, pressed into Faramir’s opening, disappearing up to the first knuckle. Aragorn could see the fingers pulling apart, knew they were stretching inner muscles, he could remember how often his own fingers had done the same. Faramir’s breath hitched as the fingers delved in even further, now buried as far as they would go, still twisting and turning in maddening little circles.

“Gods, Faramir, I need…”

“Yes, well, I needed you too on those nights,” Faramir interrupted. He pulled his hand away, applied more salve, then inserted three fingers, slowly fucking himself on the digits, so close that Aragorn could hear the soft squelch of lube when the fingers went in especially deep. The normally pink and wrinkled skin was now smooth and reddened, as Faramir opened himself even more and Aragorn couldn’t seem to look away. “So, I touched myself, pretending the fingers inside me were yours, until I came, but it was never the same.” Faramir shifted positions just enough so that Aragorn could see both his backside and his cock, which he was now fisting with abandon. He was silent for the most part then, watching Aragorn with dark eyes as he brought himself closer to the edge.

“In my mouth,” the king whispered. “Please, at least let me taste you.”

Faramir’s hands – both of them – faltered for a moment. He wanted Aragorn to need him, and perhaps, he convinced himself, this would make the need even greater. Without a word, he moved to straddle Aragorn’s head. His hands grasped the headboard where the restraints were tied and he tilted his hips back just enough so that the swollen head of his arousal brushed over his lover’s lips. When Aragorn swallowed not only the head, but a good part of the shaft as well, Faramir realized he was no longer in control, despite not being the one restrained.

Aragorn’s mouth was hot around his shaft and he was buried to the root. He was usually the one in this position and had no idea his lover could even take him this deep. The mere thought caused his flesh to swell even further, eliciting a groan from Aragorn. Faramir could no more have stayed still than he could have stopped his heart from beating and moments later, he was thrusting into the slickness of Aragorn’s mouth, watching as his flesh disappeared again and again inside the delicious wetness that his lover was so freely offering (well, perhaps not freely, exactly, considering that he was still restrained). It felt so good, to be this intimate with his lover again, to feel wanted, to feel a touch other than his own. Sharp teeth scraped over sensitive skin and the king’s tongue seemed to hone in on the most sensitive nerves, licking and pressing hard against them at just the right intervals. When a few drops landed on the back of Aragorn’s tongue, Faramir started to pull away, but Aragorn was having none of that. He redoubled his efforts, humming softly and swallowing around his still thrusting lover, and in almost no time at all, Faramir was shouting a warning, loosing his rhythm completely, clutching at the headboard and spilling down his lover’s throat.

Resting his head against his hands, Faramir’s eyes closed and he simply tried to catch his breath. It took him a moment to realize there were two hands on his thighs rubbing soothingly.

“Aragorn! How… you…!”

Aragorn was suddenly no longer between his legs looking up. Somehow, he’d managed to escape his bonds and move behind him, leaving Faramir feeling very vulnerable… and aroused.

“You always forget just how old and experienced I really am,” Aragorn whispered in his ear, resting one hand on each of Faramir’s hips and holding him steady. “And while you, my handsome Ranger, are more than a match for any man on Arda, I am not just any man.”

The corners of Faramir’s mouth turned up and he shook his head. He was about to agree with his lover when suddenly, without warning, his body was breached. The familiar and oh-so-addicting sensation of being filled completely by his lover’s thick shaft caused him to lower his head to the pillow, opening himself up even more, and Aragorn slipped a little further in, then held perfectly still. His fingers danced over Faramir’s spine as they both adjusted, and when Faramir pushed back against him, Aragorn wasted no time at all in setting up an almost punishing pace. “Do you have any idea, Faramir, how hard I was, watching you?”

Faramir moaned and reached between his legs to tug at his already reawakening sex. “Aye. I could see, Aragorn. You were so hard and… and… uuungh… dripping for me. Yet you… oh gods… would leave me alone night after night…”

Aragorn slowed, then purposefully pushed the tip of his arousal hard against Faramir’s prostate. “You have me there. But you could have told me, rather than tie me up and torture me.” His thrusts picked up speed and he tightened his grip on his lover’s hip, carefully aiming for his lover’s sweet spot again and again.

“You are stubborn,” Faramir panted. “Telling you is never enough. Sometimes, showing… Gods!… showing you is the only way.” His hand on his cock was moving in time with Aragorn’s thrusts, and he was almost surprised that his body had responded so quickly after his earlier orgasm. His legs parted and he pushed back even further, meeting Aragorn thrust for thrust. “Besides, I knew you would get loose eventually… and pay me back. Just. Like. -Oh Gods yes, right there… – This…”

Aragorn was driving hard and deep into Faramir, the knowledge that this was what he’d wanted all along making him love the man all the more. Sometimes, Faramir knew him better than he knew himself. With a half dozen final hard thrusts, he buried himself one last time and spilled deep inside his lover, feeling his cock pulsing and releasing as Faramir’s inner muscles wrapped around him, fitting like a glove, and milking every last drop of his seed from the quivering shaft.

Faramir was still pulling on his own sex when Aragorn’s shaft softened and he pulled away. He replaced the organ with his fingers – three, just like Faramir liked it – and slowly brought him off for the second time that morning.

When he finished, they both collapsed on the bed and Aragorn wrapped his arms around his lover. “So, you were planning on us spending the entire day like this?”

“Aye.”

“And you took up upon yourself to cancel all my appointments?”

Faramir’s eyes were sparkling as he met Aragorn’s gaze. “Aye. Every last one of them. And I am going to do whatever I can do convince you to rest at least one day every week, and come back here every night for dinner, even if it means I have to bring chains up from the prisoner’s quarters and chain you to this bed.”

The king huffed softly and shook his head. “I can get out of chains as well, you know.”

Faramir leaned up on one arm and rested his hand over Aragorn’s heart. “I know you can. But… would you want to?”

Aragorn stared up at the man he’d fallen in love with at first sight almost two years ago. Back then, Faramir was shy and lonely, and would never in all his life have even dreamed up such a scheme as this. Aragorn had pursued him, won him over, given him the love and confidence he so sorely lacked, moved him into the master bedchambers… and then left him alone. What a fool he was, he thought, as those mesmerizing blue eyes looked so lovingly back at him, and the warmth of Faramir’s body seeped into his own.

“No. I would not want to,” he agreed, pulling Faramir down into a deep kiss. His fingers tangled in long, soft hair and when he pulled away, he was slightly flushed and breathless. “I love you, my steward. Never forget that.”

Faramir snuggled closer, letting his fingertips trace over Aragorn’s face. “I never have, Aragorn. You just needed… reminding.”

Aragorn tugged the blankets over them both and felt the exhaustion of the last few weeks overtaking him. “I am thankful that you have such confidence in us,” he smiled, letting his eyes stay closed a little longer each time he blinked. “And in me. I mean… I have not exactly been the ideal lover lately, yet you never doubted me. How did you stay so certain?”

Faramir too, was ready to drift off to sleep, so his words were slightly slurred. “You told me, of course. The first time you told me you loved me, you said it was forever.”

A smile touched Aragorn’s lips. He had, indeed told Faramir just that, and he’d meant it with all his heart. He loved how easily his lover had taken him at his word, but was thankful a million times over that he had not fallen in with someone who used words carelessly to get what they wanted. For all Faramir’s skills and cunningness as a Ranger, when it came to matters of the heart, he was as innocent as a child.

“That I did, love,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Faramir’s head. “That I did.”

“I know.” Faramir drifted off before the last word had fallen from his lips and was snoring softly before Aragorn could say a word.

There was nothing to say, really, though. He was going to love Faramir forever, he thought, as he began dozing off himself. When he had someone with so much love, and goodness, and innocence (and, apparently, imagination when he wanted something specific) how could he not?

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