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05 March 2011 | 19031 words
Title: Faramir’s Dilemma (Part 7)
Characters: Faramir, Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir, etc…
Warnings: AU (ruby-verse)
Summary: About damned time…
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me. They are just here to play.
“Well, at the very least, it frees either one of us from having to be annoyed by him barging in to protect your virtue. Anything beyond that, Faramir, is entirely up to you.”
The blue eyes watched him intently for a long moment, waiting for an answer.
“If you’d rather pretend we didn’t have this conversation, feel free to pick up those pieces and we’ll go back to playing draughts.”
Faramir shook his head.
“No? Tell me what you’d rather be doing, then.”
“I don’t know…”
“Oh, I think you do. But you’re going to tell me, or I’m just going to sit here. I’ve got two thousand years worth of patience. Are you going to say something, or just sit there being dense?”
Faramir heard the challenge and saw it flash across the usually smooth and controlled features, and a hint of his brother’s hot temper flared up.
“Is it necessary to go from being so pleasant to being so rude?”
Legolas shrugged. “Whichever one will work. I can be much, much ruder if you’d like. In fact, it would be remarkably easy at the moment to make fun of that blank expression on your face…”
“That’s more than enough,” Faramir said sharply, thinking distantly that he sounded exactly like Boromir, and he realized that he had a firm grip on the front of the elf’s shirt. Far from being alarmed, Legolas grinned at him confidently, taunting him, and Faramir hauled him closer with his fist wrapped in the fabric and kissed him hard.
He was surprised to find the elf’s mouth warm and unresisting, and knew he could feel him smiling into the kiss.
“What’s so funny?” he demanded.
Legolas grinned at him. “I’m sorry. I thought this was supposed to be fun.”
Faramir had to admit, as he wrapped the lean figure in his arms and pulled him closer, that the elf did indeed have a point.
“Where are you going?” Aragorn asked, looking up at Boromir as he rose from his chair by the fire.
“Just taking a quick walk.”
“In the middle of a blizzard?”
Boromir muttered something under his breath about Finn needing to go out. Aragorn glanced at the puppy, who was snoring softly on her rug and showed no interest in going anywhere.
“I don’t think Finn has the same idea, Boromir.”
Aragorn rose and wrapped his arms around the other man from behind, tugging him back toward the fire.
“Besides, you invited me here, so you can’t just go off and leave me alone. Terribly rude.”
“I didn’t invite you,” Boromir said, distracted by the warm mouth that was now searching along the edge of his tunic, leaving wet stripes on his neck.
“You should have,” Aragorn said, and slid around, steering Boromir back into his chair and pinning him there, one knee on either side of Boromir’s hips, his hands on his chest. He leaned in to kiss him, but Boromir suddenly twisted.
“Wait just a moment. You’re trying to keep me from going to check on my brother.”
Aragorn grinned. “He doesn’t need checked on.”
“He’s alone in his room with that bloody useless manipulative elf!”
Aragorn nodded cheerfully. “Almost certainly, yes.”
“You rotten bastard,” Boromir muttered, raising his hands to push the other man off, but Aragorn was ready for him, and in an instant had each of his wrists in an iron grip, pinning them to the arms of the chair. Boromir bucked, trying to unseat him, but Aragorn was the more skilled of the two when it came to grappling, and he knew how to use his weight to immobilize a larger opponent. Boromir found himself unable to get any leverage to throw the other man off or even get his hands free; Aragorn had too much of his weight on his arms.
“This isn’t funny. Let me up.”
“Why? So you can go interrupt Faramir’s fun?”
“I’m not letting that elf get his hands on my brother!”
“I see,” Aragorn said, jamming a knee into Boromir’s chest as he tried to get up again. “And why is that?”
Boromir scowled. “Faramir deserves much better.”
“Oh? And who would be better?”
“He’s engaged to marry Éowyn. She’s beautiful and clever and strong-minded… she’s a good match for him.”
“I see. And that’s why she’s using their engagement as a cover for her ongoing affairs, right?”
Boromir stopped fighting. “Don’t joke about things like that.”
“You think Faramir’s well-being is the subject of jokes for me? You know I love him like my own brother.”
Boromir sighed, slumping into the chair. “And these… affairs… Faramir knows about them?”
“He has for quite some time.”
“He didn’t tell me…”
“Would you have told him, if circumstances were reversed?”
“I’ll make her pay for…”
“She would put a stop to all of it, if Faramir asked her to.”
“But he won’t,” Boromir said, wincing. “He’s always been too willing to let himself be hurt so someone else could have what they needed.”
“So why not let him take a chance with someone who doesn’t need anything? Legolas has been alive for a long time and he’s quite accustomed to being alone. He doesn’t need to be saved from himself and he’s not looking for redemption or to mend a heartbreak.”
“Wouldn’t it be much simpler if he just found himself a nice, pretty, good-natured wife?”
Aragorn smiled wryly. “Wouldn’t that have been simpler for you, Boromir?”
Boromir nodded. “Much simpler, yes.”
Aragorn leaned in, rubbing his face into Boromir’s neck and speaking quietly into his ear. “Would you trade this for that simpler life, love?”
Boromir shivered and turned his head to kiss him.
“No, but I’d trade you for someone less impossible to deal with.”
“You would not,” Aragorn laughed. “If you were to fall in love with someone who always agreed with you, you’d go out of your mind from boredom.”
Boromir rolled his eyes. “An elf, though? Really?”
“Are you still on that?”
“Yes, I’m still on that. What does an elf want with my brother anyway?”
“Oh, I don’t know. What does anybody really want with anybody else? To enjoy each other’s company and please each other, to understand and be understood?”
Boromir shook his head. “I don’t know about that last part, Aragorn.”
“Because half of the things you do, I don’t understand at all.”
The other man laughed. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing we do so well with that other part.”
“The part about pleasing each other? If you’d let go of my arms, we could get to work on that.”
Aragorn shifted and tightened his grip, the weight of his body pressing Boromir back into the chair.
“Oh, no. You’ve been much too busy telling other people what to do. So now, you’re quite finished telling anyone what to do for today.”
“It’s only afternoon, though, Aragorn. You know I can’t go the entire rest of the day without telling someone what to do,” he laughed.
“I’m going to make sure you’re too busy for any of that.”
“Are you,” Boromir said, licking his lips distractedly.
“That’s right. Rangers have many talents, you know.”
“Too bad that shutting up and getting on with business isn’t one of them.”
“If you’re going to be rude, you’ll end up gagged.”
“You won’t gag me.”
“Because,” Boromir said, his voice low and intimate, his lips brushing Aragorn’s ear, “then I wouldn’t be able to do this.”
“I’ll still gag you if you don’t stop complaining.”
Faramir found himself wondering how the elf underneath him could manage to make their shirts disappear so quickly, but the question was entirely erased from his mind the moment he wrapped his arms around the lean, yielding body, feeling the pale velvet skin, the twining muscles, and beneath it all, the core of flexed steel, bending willingly at the moment, but tight with coiled energy. He ran his hands over the sleek shoulder blades and down the ridged column of the spine, face pressed against the pulse vibrating under the skin of the soft throat. Legolas contentedly permitted this handling for a while, compliant and relaxed, shifting his weight to allow the man’s roaming hands access to whatever they were reach for. The splint on his leg was a nagging annoyance, and as he absently enjoyed the strong hands on his skin and the warm breath against his neck, he was already contemplating how best to work around that hindrance.
It took a long moment for the man to drag his mind back to a state where it could process language. “What?”
“Sofas are not ideally designed for this sort of thing, you know.”
“Oh. Right. I do have a bed…”
“Yes, you do,” Legolas agreed, grinning as he draped an arm over Faramir’s shoulder. “I don’t see where you’ve tossed those stupid crutches, but you’ll do just fine. Shall we?”
Aragorn knew he couldn’t keep Boromir pinned for the rest of the day, so he’d set about making sure that by the time he did let him go, Boromir would have no intention of leaving. At the moment, his hands were knotted tightly in Aragorn’s dark hair, his eyes closed, all his attention on the warm tongue leaving wet stripes up the length of his shaft, leaving him shivering and muttering under his breath.
“What are you mumbling about?” Aragorn asked, looking up at him, grinning.
The familiar green eyes flickered open and glanced down at him. “I was suggesting that you either get on with what you’re up to down there, or go fetch us some oil and find a nice, convenient piece of furniture for me to bend you over.”
“Impatient,” Aragorn chided. “I’ve been instructed to keep you busy until morning, and if I give you what you want now, you’re likely to start being difficult again.”
“I’m going to be really difficult if you don’t… ohhh…”
“Besides, I have every intention of having you on the receiving end of things tonight, love.”
Boromir opened one eye again, trying to maintain some ability to speak coherently as those very knowing and familiar fingers slid along the back of his thigh.
“What if I don’t intend to be on the receiving end of things tonight?”
The blue-gray eyes had a sudden flash of steel behind them. “I wasn’t asking, Boromir.”
He felt Boromir’s muscles tense under his hands for a moment, but then all the resistance left him with a slow exhale of breath, and the stubborn set of his shoulders slipped away. Aragorn smiled to himself.
“Let’s take this into the bedroom, shall we?”
Legolas laughed and pressed a hand to Faramir’s bare chest, easing him back. Faramir looked down at him anxiously.
“Is something wrong?”
“Not at all. But I don’t want things to be over before they’ve properly begun.”
Faramir nodded and attempted to force his brain to take some control over the rest of his body, which was more than eager to resume what it had been doing. The entire length of the elf’s body was pressed tightly to his own, and he realized he’d been thrusting himself blindly, quite lost in the sensation of hot bare skin and the breathless electrical shock of feeling another hard, eager length against his own.
“I wasn’t complaining,” Legolas said, grinning. “It’s just that there are so many other things yet to do…”
Faramir looked at him, suddenly uneasy. “You want to…”
The elf chuckled. “Not at the moment. You’re always much too willing to let others take what they want from you, Faramir. I believe it’s your turn.”
“Oh…” he murmured, eyes widening. “I don’t… I mean, I’m not sure how to…”
“Well, surely you’ve got some oil or something like that in one of those drawers.”
Faramir turned slightly red. “I suppose I do.”
He slid the drawer open and retrieved a small capped bottle. Opening it released a distinct scent of almonds with a trace of lavender and sage. Legolas nodded approvingly.
“I suspected you’d have something nice, and not just an old bottle of something for cleaning swords.”
“Why is that?” Faramir asked, frowning.
“Because, as I said before, you have discriminating tastes. Unusual to find in a man. When you live as long as elves do, you discover that it’s always worth taking the time to enjoy fine things.”
He took the bottle from Faramir and sat up.
“I have no objection to letting you take what you want, but something tells me that you’d rather learn to do it properly.”
“And that’s part of why I like you,” the elf said, smiling, and kissed him until Faramir had almost completely forgotten everything that had just been discussed. A gentle tap on his shoulder brought him back to reality.
“Shall we commence with the teaching?”
“I don’t think I like the idea of using you as a training dummy,” Faramir said.
“You don’t make this sound very romantic,” Legolas said, with mock reproach. “I’ve put up with far less considerate lovers. You won’t do me any harm. Elves are quite resilient.”
Faramir felt his face turning very red. “Yes, but I want… you should…”
“I should enjoy it? Don’t worry. If I’m a proper teacher, we both will. Stop looking so anxious. I thought I told you this was supposed to be fun.”
“You did say that.”
“Well, start having fun, then. Give me your hand.”
He poured the oil liberally into the man’s bow-calloused palm, slender fingers stroking over the larger ones until Faramir found himself wondering exactly how someone touching his hand like that could have such an immediate effect on other parts of his body. Then one finger flicked across his wrist, tickling, and Faramir couldn’t help but twitch and laugh.
“That’s better,” Legolas said approvingly.
Aragorn couldn’t remember the last time Boromir had yielded control so willingly, and with it the past few days of worry and frustration and anger and defensiveness. Now he was stretched out across the bed, hands above his head gripping tightly at the sheets, hips rising eagerly to meet the smooth motion of Aragorn’s slick, seeking fingers, his heart pounding in Aragorn’s ear as he bit at one tight nipple.
“You’re unusually cooperative today,” he murmured. “Why do you suppose that is?”
“Tired of…” he attempted, then lost the words in a gasp as Aragorn’s fingers found their target. “Tired of thinking.”
“Since when do you think?” Aragorn teased gently, leaning in to kiss him.
“Tired of being in charge of everything.”
“Nobody asked you to be, you know.”
Boromir smiled. “Nobody has to.”
Aragorn drew his hand back, straightening up and taking a firm hold of Boromir’s thighs, pushing them up and back. Finding no resistance, and Boromir’s muscles relaxing even further as they yielded to his direction, Aragorn took only a moment to steady them both before pressing forward, sliding steadily and relentlessly until Boromir’s legs wrapped around him, and then he grasped at Boromir for leverage and fell into the familiar rhythm, knowing exactly when to drive forward and meet the hips thrusting up to meet him, when to hold back and wait for the strong legs to tighten around him and pull him in, until Boromir’s back arched against the bed and he was demanding, breathlessly pleading, and Aragorn grinned and wrapped his hand around him, taking them both over the edge together.
Faramir bit his lip and buried his face in disheveled blond hair. With his arms around the elf, he could feel the chuckle as Legolas pressed his back against Faramir’s chest.
“I told you, slowly.”
“It’s getting extremely hard to remember what you told me,” Faramir muttered, not at all sure how he was still managing to maintain any rational thought with this warm body nestled up against him and the blinding heat and tightness he’d just discovered. Legolas, his head resting against Faramir’s shoulder, smiled to himself.
“Good things come to those who wait.”
Faramir growled and tightened his grip. “And how much waiting is involved?”
Legolas relented and reached up, taking Faramir’s hand from his chest and leading it downward, pushing his hips back into the man’s lap. Realizing he was tormenting Faramir, he closed his own hand over Faramir’s around his shaft, taking just a moment to enjoy the broad palm and the fingers with their bowman’s callouses before tightening his grip.
“All right, then. Enough waiting.”
He grinned and braced himself, expecting his over-stimulated partner to slam into him, but Faramir apparently still had some self-control left, because he kept his motions steady, even though Legolas could feel the man’s body stretched tight as a bowstring against his back. He had not expected Faramir to find a rhythm so easily between his thrusts and the smooth strokes of his hand, and he stopped guiding him and let go so he could grasp Faramir’s arms with both hands, steadying himself against the unexpectedly rapid spiral of excitement. He knew he had entirely lost control of the situation when he realized that now it was Faramir chuckling, holding back, tormenting him.
“Enough,” he gasped.
“Good things come to those who wait,” Faramir said, breathless amusement in his voice.
“I’ve been waiting for quite a while,” Legolas said, head jerking back against Faramir’s shoulder. “It’s not my fault you’ve been so dense this entire time.”
Faramir rewarded this remark with a thrust hard enough to leave both of them seeing stars, and then neither of them had any breath left for talking, and both bodies were arching eagerly, and Faramir cried out something unintelligible and gripped Legolas harder, until they both sank back breathing hard and shaking against each other.
“You,” Legolas said breathlessly, “are an excellent student.”
Faramir pressed his face into the back of the elf’s neck and waited for his pulse to return to something approaching normal.
Boromir yawned and rolled over against Aragorn, making room for the un-amused puppy who was insisting upon being given her spot on the bed. Aragorn mumbled something in his sleep and shifted himself closer, head tucked against Boromir’s broad shoulder, and his steady breathing gradually lulled the other man back to sleep.
Legolas was not, of course, asleep, but he laid contentedly on his back, looking up at the ceiling and feeling Faramir’s sleeping body stir slightly against him as he dreamed. He smiled in the darkness and reached over to absently run his fingers through the man’s still-damp hair.
“Wasn’t expecting to be surprised by much, after a few thousand years,” he said aloud.
“Glad I could help,” Faramir muttered sleepily.
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