Home » Fiction

Warning

This story is rated «NC-17», and carries the warnings «The explicit sex is strictly M/M, as well as inter-species, so don’t read any further if that’s apt to disturb you. A past rape is referenced but not described in detail.».
Since you have switched on the adult content filter, this story is hidden. To read this story, you have to switch off the adult content filter. [what's this?]

Remember that whether you have the adult content filter switched on or off, this is always an adults only site.

A Fellowship of Men: Tonight Belongs to Us (NC-17) Print

Written by Buttonbright

16 November 2004 | 7282 words

Email: pdana@sfopera.com
Pairings: Faramir/Mablung, Faramir/Frodo, Frodo/Rangers, Sam/Rangers, Sam/Frodo/Faramir
Rating: NC-17
Summary: No one is poaching Henneth Annûn fish in this alternate universe. So what is it that keeps Faramir and his rangers up at night? Frodo and Sam learn the answer.

Warning: The explicit sex is strictly M/M, as well as inter-species, so don’t read any further if that’s apt to disturb you. A past rape is referenced but not described in detail.


I woke abruptly to the sound of moaning.

It must have been going on for quite some time, for it had made its way into my dream. My body still shook from the terror of that dream! I had found myself standing in a desolate landscape of rock and slag, horribly familiar, while lines and lines of armored men marched past me toward an unknown destination. They towered over me, of course, and though I stood in full view they ignored me utterly, as if I no longer mattered. It came to me all at once that this was because I had lost the Ring. One of them, one of these many thousands of grimly marching soldiers, had taken the Ring and was bearing it further and further away with every step.

But which soldier? I spun round, hoping against hope that I would remember. That was when I realized where I stood, and where this endless army was going. The Black Gates of Mordor gaped before me. The Towers of the Teeth flung their vast shadows over all. Men had recaptured the Ring, and they were taking it to Him.

In the face of this catastrophe, someone moaned on and on. Was it I myself?

I woke in a panic. What darkness was this? Moria? Or had I come at last to the dungeons of Barad-dûr? My hand scrabbled at my chest. The Ring! But here it was, still hanging on its slender chain, a burden for which, at this moment, I thanked Elbereth.

And the thread of light flickering under the drawn curtains of our alcove was not the sickly light of an orcish lamp but the warm light of a friendly torch. And here beside me, sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion, lay my own faithful Sam. His face brought it all back to me: the Southrons, the oliphaunt, then Captain Faramir and his hooded company. We had been brought blindfold to the secret cave of Henneth Annûn, behind its curtain of glittering water, and here we were as safe as anyone could be so near to the Black Land.

Safe? Then who was it that moaned, even now, beyond the curtain? There it came again! And was that a low chuckle, only just audible? Perhaps the Rangers had taken a prisoner, or more than one, and were torturing him while I listened.

Wide awake now, I slipped out of bed and crept across the smooth stone floor. Our alcove was virtually a private chamber, joined to the main cave by a single curtained arch. Toward this arch I made my way, silent and stealthy, until I could draw the curtain and peer out. Dazzled for a moment, I caught no more than a vague impression of movement here and there throughout the great cave. Did these men never sleep? What work was afoot so late at night?

When my eyes grew accustomed to the light, I didn’t understand at first what I was seeing.

I saw hands moving down a broad back glistening with sweat. I saw buttocks half in light and half in shadow, clenching and unclenching as they moved slowly backward and forward. Further off I saw a mane of dark, shoulder-length hair buried in a muscled chest. I saw two faces fused together, it seemed, at the mouth. And more, much more, for the cave was large and full of men.

If my first thought had been that this must be how the men of Gondor washed – for why else would they all be naked? – the thought vanished when I observed the two closest to me. One leaned sharply forward from the waist, his left hand propped on his knee, his right hand busy at his crotch. His bowed head concealed his chest, but torchlight played up and down the golden flesh of his sides, his hips and his powerful thighs. Directly behind stood another man whom I recognized as the gray-bearded Mablung. His chest was covered in curls of black and silver, and both hands gripped the hips of his companion. Mablung’s own hips moved strongly, rhythmically against the man’s backside.

Was I still asleep? And if so, was I in the midst of a dream or a nightmare? More than anything else, it was the heady mix of smells that told me how very real this vision was: the sharp tang of sweat, the musk of warm bodies writhing against each other, a lingering whiff of wine, and something unfamiliar – something plant-like, herbal perhaps, but sweet and strangely intoxicating. Even more intoxicating, and frightening too, was the spectacle of so many male bodies gleaming in the torchlight. Real, all real, and unlike anything I’d ever seen or imagined in my life.

It was just as I realized how deeply stirred I was, and how tight the front of my breeches had grown, that Mablung’s companion raised his head and looked straight into my eyes. It was Captain Faramir.

A long moment passed while we gazed at each other. I probably looked as stunned as I felt, staring stupidly with eyes wide and mouth open, unable to move. Faramir, however, showed no hint of alarm. If he had, I might well have bolted from the cave in terror. But his right fist slid steadily up and down his shadowed shaft, except when it paused to fondle the ball sac; and he groaned and shuddered at whatever Mablung was doing behind him. As for Mablung, he too had seen me by now, yet he continued to thrust his hips against Faramir. My breathing slowed and deepened. It seemed to me that this strange dance would go one forever.

Someone else broke the spell.

“No rest for me, I see,” said a man’s voice some way off. “I’ve got Damrod’s ramrod to polish, and I mean to make the job last.”

Appreciative laughter was heard in several parts of the cave. Faramir’s rapt face broke into a grin, and, slowly straightening his body, he reached backward to clasp as much of Mablung’s torso as he could manage. Mablung, groaning, wrapped both arms around Faramir’s belly, so that the two were pressed together, front to back, even more tightly than before. And in the midst of all, still hard and gleaming now in full light, Faramir’s erection bobbed with the undulations of Mablung’s hips.

“Frodo,” Faramir said, his voice husky and his breath labored. “Welcome to our Fellowship of Men. I know almost nothing of your people, and maybe what we do here seems strange to you. If you want to go back to bed – by yourself, I mean – no one will blame you. But if you choose to join us, I swear on my honor that every man in my Company will embrace you as a fellow warrior and an enemy of the One Enemy.”

Embrace me! My own breath caught in my throat and my tight breeches grew tighter still.

Faramir’s words caught the attention of the men nearby. Now several curious faces turned my way – some clean-shaven, like us hobbits, some lightly bearded in the manner of Aragorn or Boromir, or indeed Boromir’s magnificently naked brother. As I took in the scene, I saw that as many as four dozen men fondled and embraced one another by twos, threes, even fours. In the torchless shadows far to my right, a great many more appeared to be sleeping on low beds or pallets, but here all were wide awake and busy.

Embrace me! A fine sweat had broken out on my face. I swallowed.

“Faramir,” I heard myself say. “What exactly is Mablung – I mean – what are your and Mablung . . . doing?”

Then I blushed. What a ridiculous question! It was no business of mine what they were doing, but it seemed the swelling in my crotch had developed an avid curiosity all its own and was telling my mouth what to say. Mablung hid his laughter in Faramir’s hair. Faramir, however, smiled kindly. “Come and look,” he said. “Don’t be afraid. Our Fellowship of Men is also a Fellowship of Love, and we have nothing to hide. Come. Look.”

Again, it was my crotch that settled the matter. A good thing too, because my brain couldn’t so much as frame a coherent thought, let along make a choice one way or the other.

I moved alongside the two men. Faramir bent over again to give me a better view. I heard the slap of flesh as Mablung’s hips collided again and again with Faramir’s sturdy backside, and in the space between – now opening slightly, now closing with another slap – I saw what my bursting crotch, rather than my paralyzed mind, had so desperately hoped I would see: Mablung’s hard flesh burying itself in the hot, moist channel between Faramir’s buttocks. A cry escaped my own lips and I crammed my knuckles into my mouth.

In and out Mablung thrust himself. But it was not the same each time. Sometimes he drove in close, narrowing the gap and pounding home with a sudden fever. Sometimes he drew back, barely penetrating the outer ring of Faramir’s pucker with quick, short jabs. And sometimes he pulled out altogether, only to plunge back over and over like a spear. Faramir loved it all, his back arching and contracting, his throat raw with groans that seemed to flow straight out of his belly. He wasn’t stroking himself just now, and his sagging cock slapped back and forth between his thighs.

Suddenly I found myself on my knees, scooting right under Faramir’s chest and reaching up between his legs. His cock felt slippery in my hands. Sharp in my nostrils was the unfamiliar herbal smell I had detected before. I still didn’t know what that smell was, but it drew me like a magnet. Just inches away Mablung’s balls swung free as he kept up his animal thrusts. I kneaded and stroked Faramir’s cock, teasing it back to hardness and coaxing a thread of clear fluid from its swollen tip. Faramir shuddered and squirmed. His head hung down, his bright eyes fixed on me. He was on fire to see what I would do next.

What I did next surprised even me. I took his cock into my mouth, as far as it would go. Faramir give an instinctive thrust, sending it still further, but even though I gagged I knew nothing would stop me now. My tongue danced around his cock like a mad thing, my lips slid over its entire veined length. Faramir’s pleasure was obvious in every sweet groan, every helpless quiver. Such quivers! Such groans! Had I wanted this all my life without knowing it? I was being sucked slowly and voluptuously into a womb of male flesh, and at that moment I wanted nothing more than to stay there forever.

But Faramir had other ideas.

“Frodo,” he panted. “I want you to stop. I’m almost there, but I don’t want to come yet.”

Mablung had withdrawn himself and stepped back a pace or two. Faramir pulled his cock gently from my mouth and dropped to his knees beside me. If the smile on his face before he kissed me was the single most thrilling sight I’d ever seen, then the heat of his kiss was the most thrilling sensation I’d ever felt. Every sight, every sensation, it seemed, was destined to be more terrifyingly wonderful than the last. What else would this wonderful night bring?

“This is all new to you, isn’t it?” Faramir said when the kiss finally ended.

I nodded, my heart too full for speech.

Faramir went on, “Your newness is a gift that’s been put into our hands, and we want to cherish it with all the love and knowledge we possess. We would do so for any young man of our people who came here for the first time, and we will surely do so for you, Frodo Baggins. That is, if you wish it.”

I nodded again, more emphatically than before.

There was a ripple of quiet laughter. Five or six other men had left their own revels and joined us, their grins as bright as any torch. Faramir rose and draped his arms around the shoulders of those on either side.

“My friends, “ he said. “Let us make our guest welcome.”

I barely had time to slip Ring and chain over my head and stuff them into my shirt pocket before I felt myself lifted on a cushion of strong hands: strong hands under my head and neck, strong hands under my back, strong hands under my buttocks, strong hands under my legs and feet. Gentle fingers closed my eyes and I was afloat on a hot, wet wind, a wind that gently unbuttoned my shirt, undid my breeches, stroked the smooth flesh it so tenderly uncovered. Soon I was naked, and it became clear that this wind, the wind on which I floated so happily, had mouths as well as hands: mouths that kissed my own mouth, deeply and lovingly; mouths that closed around my nipples and teased them with delicious, darting tongues and nipping teeth; mouths that ran up my belly and under my arms, tickling me as I’d never been tickled before; mouths that engulfed my hard cock and nuzzled my balls till my whole body threatened to explode. Yet the mouths seemed to know when that explosion drew near, and then they would slow, shift, and begin again in newer and even more glorious ministrations.

Could I have asked for more? Perhaps I’ll seem ungrateful, but there was one spot that as yet remained untouched, unkissed, unlicked, unloved, and it was this spot that cried out now for attention. Had they forgotten? Were they afraid of hurting me, new as I was? Did they think me too small to endure it? While hands and mouths flamed about me I waited, loving every touch yet wanting so much more than I knew how to beg for.

And then – was it over? Many hands delivered me into one pair of encircling arms, which hugged me to one warm torso sprinkled with fine, soft hair. My legs wrapped themselves around that torso.

“Faramir,” I said, and opened my eyes.

His answer was a kiss, brief but sweet.

“Is that the end?” I asked, searching his beautiful face.

“The end?” He paused to consider, and for a moment I almost thought he was serious. “The end. Why, what more could there be? Is there anything else you could possibly want?”

I laughed. He knew what I was after but he wanted to make me say it. The other men, with their strong hands and hungry mouths, stood grinning at my predicament. Even those who had not joined my initiation, who had continued their own rites of passion, were listening now. Finally I put my arms around Faramir’s neck and whispered in his ear, “What you were doing with Mablung. When I first came in and started watching.”

Faramir’s eyes widened. “Is that what you want?”

I nodded my head. “That’s what I want,” I told him, and in telling him told every man in the cave.

“Then you shall have it,” he said with a grin. “Mablung! The lubenas, please.”

Before I had time to wonder what lubenas might be, Mablung reappeared with a thick, green stalk topped by a cup-shaped blossom. Apparently he’d had it ready before Faramir even called for it. Well, if the whole thing was planned, I thought, so much the better for me.

I watched while Mablung tipped the blossom onto his palm. A clear fluid poured out, and with it a scent so compelling that I breathed it in great gulps.

This was it! This was the fragrance I’d been smelling all along, the intoxicating aroma that permeated the entire cave. This flower, this lubenas! With a thick film of it shining on his palm, Mablung reached under me and traced his fingers along my waiting cleft.

So slight, that touch! The knowing fingers barely brushed my small pucker. Yet I heard myself whimper like a puppy, my back arched almost convulsively, and I buried my face in Faramir’s neck. Strong arms held me tight. As for Mablung, he knew better than to stop. His silky fingers circled my tender flesh, drawing near to my taut, trembling vortex. Now the fingers found it, the tiny opening that tightened itself at their approach while silently begging them to draw nearer, nearer, and nearer still. The fingers obeyed, smoothing the way with precious lubenas.

It can’t have been easy. I writhed and squirmed as eagerly as a young hobbit that sees breakfast coming. Mablung knew his business, however, and by the time his middle finger probed the first ring of hard muscle, I was ready to scream with pleasure.

Sam tells me I did scream, loudly enough to wake him from his deep sleep. I don’t know about that, but what is certain is that he burst into the chamber with eyes blazing and fists ready. I missed his entrance for I was sucking voraciously at Faramir’s neck; but I heard him well enough, and so did everyone else.

“Oi! Oi! What’s that you’re doing to my master? Put him down! Put him down, I tell you, or someone’s going to catch it hot!”

I craned around, but Sam had already vanished behind seven or eight naked warriors who leaped between him and their beloved captain.

“Faramir!” I cried. “Don’t let them hurt him. Put me down! Let me explain!”

I cannoned out of Faramir’s grasp and pushed my way between two pairs of lubenas-streaked legs. Poor Sam lay gasping on the stony floor beyond, all the breath knocked out of him. I took his head in my arms.

“Frodo! Mr. Frodo!” His hands gripped my bare shoulders, tight as a vise. “What have they done to you? Did they hurt you? I’ll kill them! I’ll kill every one of them!”

“No, Sam,” I crooned. “It’s not like that. You mustn’t speak of hurting anyone. Not here, not now.”

“Mr. Frodo, you’re too soft-hearted by half. After what I just saw, these great hulking men will be lucky to leave here with black eyes all round! But first we’ve got to find your clothes, Mr. Frodo. And – “ Sam’s eyes widened suddenly. “The Ring!” he whispered. “Where’s the Ring?”

The Ring! My belly contracted sharply. An unreasoning fear raced up my chest and throat. I tried to choke it down.

“It – I – it’s safe, Sam. It must be. I put it into my shirt pocket.”

But where was my shirt? My own brain shouted the question before Sam did, and of course I didn’t know the answer. All my clothes had been taken from me. Who knew where they’d gone?

Then I remembered my dream.

A vast army. Lines and lines of armored men marching into Mordor. The Ring going with them. Going to Him. The Quest in ruins.

Men!

I leaped up. But when I turned, ready to spring, I saw Faramir kneeling before me. In his hands he held my breeches and my shirt. He was still naked. There was an angry black bruise forming on his neck where I’d –

No! I darted forward, seized the clothes and scuttled back to Sam. He watched while I plunged a hand into my shirt pocket. Would it be there? Or was it already on its way to Mordor, spirited away while I writhed in the arms of men?

Of course it was there. I dragged it out where Sam could see it, still on its chain, untouched and unharmed. At once I slipped the chain around my neck, felt the familiar weight of the Ring against my bare chest. How heavy it was! How I needed that heaviness. And how I loathed it.

Behind me I heard the gentle, kindly voice of Faramir.

“I wanted you to be free of it,” he said. “Just for an hour or two, maybe three. Whatever small fragment of night could be given us. I wanted to see you happy, Frodo. If only for a little while.” His hand was on my shoulder, warm and solid. I felt my panic begin to ebb, my breathing to slow, my heart to stop pounding. I had the Ring. For better or worse it was here around my neck. No one had taken it to Mordor, least of all this noble beautiful man who knelt so patiently behind me. Tears welled up in my eyes. Impulsively I yanked the chain off again and stuffed it back into my shirt pocket.

Sam wasn’t having it.

“Hands off, you!” he snarled at Faramir. “Touch him again and I’ll –“

“My good Sam,” Faramir said. “Won’t you hear what we have to tell you? Your master is in safe hands.”

Sam gave an angry growl. “Safe hands? Oh aye, and him screaming like a child! I saw, Captain Faramir. I saw what you were doing to him. And you won’t be doing it again, not while Sam Gamgee’s here to stop you!”

I tried to speak, but if I had I would have sobbed out loud. Here was Sam, my own dear Sam, defending me as always. But from what? From the sweetest bliss I’d ever known, from a joy that flowed back to me now in waves, to warm the spaces within where fear and mistrust had so suddenly taken hold. This was what poor Sam fended off so staunchly. How could I tell him? How could I explain?

Faramir tried. “Please understand us, Sam. Frodo understands. We could never harm your master. None of us could. He is tired and heartsick, crushed with the weight of his burden. We gave him what comfort we could, the best that is in us, such as it is. I promise you, Sam, we would not have touched him without his leave.”

“Without his leave?” Sam shook his head in disbelief. “What leave did he give you? I heard him screaming. Dead asleep I may have been, but I heard it and I came running. Is that what you call leave? Or did you even hear it, you and your big strong men with just one thing on your minds?”

“Sam, listen.” Faramir shook his head sadly. “Frodo had every chance to say no. From the very start I concerned myself only with him, his wishes, his fears. So did Mablung. So did every man who touched him. And if at any moment Frodo had told us to stop, we would have stopped. But he didn’t. He didn’t want us to stop.”

“Fine words!” retorted Sam. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know a thing or two. Yes I do, Mr. Frodo,” he went on, for I had looked at him in surprise. “I may be a ninnyhammer, as my Gaffer always says, but I do know a thing or two. And I know my master would never be willing. Not if he had any choice, he wouldn’t.”

“What do you mean, Sam?” Faramir asked worriedly. “You say you know a thing or two. What do you know?”

“That’s none of your business!” Sam muttered. “I wouldn’t tell you, not though all the swords in Gondor was at my throat.”

“Tell me, then.”

Sam stared. I had found my voice at last.

“Tell me, Sam. I can see there’s something inside you, some secret you’ve been keeping. Won’t you tell me what it is?”

His eyes were wet. “Please, Mr. Frodo. It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”

“No, Sam. It’s something. I can see it. Tell me.”

I leaned toward him and kissed his forehead. With a cry he pushed me back, so hard that I fell into Faramir’s arms. I wasn’t hurt, but a look of horror washed over Sam’s stricken face. He burst into tears.

And so the story came out, bit by bit, amid wracking sobs and tears beyond count. I wanted to hold him, but he wouldn’t let anyone touch him till he was finished. It was one of the hardest moments of my life.

The incident had happened, we learned, when Sam was in his early tweens. He was walking in the woods near Hobbiton, his head full of Bilbo’s stories and his own fervent hope that he would one day meet an elf. Instead he met Ted Sandyman and three of his friends. They held him down and raped him, all four of them, one after the other. The pain had been terrible, the shame and rage even worse. He fought back, of course, as hard as he could. Two he could have beaten, perhaps even three. But four were too many, and they had their way with him. He never told anyone, not even the Gaffer, and when he finally found his chance to bloody Ted’s nose, the Gaffer punished him severely. Even then he kept his shame hidden within his battered heart. He’d kept it hidden ever since.

“And that’s how I know!” he cried, rousing himself from his tears. “Ain’t no hobbit alive would take that willingly. Ain’t no hobbit alive would want to feel what I felt. So don’t talk about giving leave and saying no, Captain Faramir. I heard Mr. Frodo screaming. I know what he felt. And if he didn’t say no it’s because you never let him!”

Sam glared wrathfully at Faramir, Mablung and the others. Not a sound could be heard but the far-off murmur of the waterfall. All the rangers, even those who had paid little or no attention to me, had gathered around us and were listening with sad, troubled faces. The heartache of Sam’s tale seemed to touch them all.

And I, who thought I knew Sam inside and out – I couldn’t believe he had hidden this agony so deep inside that I had no inkling of it.

After a long silence, Faramir spoke.

“Sam,” he said. “If the hobbits who hurt you were anywhere within my reach, you can be sure they would not go unpunished. A violation such as yours is beyond my understanding. It is orc-work and cannot be sanctioned by any of the free peoples of Middle-Earth. I wish I could reach into your past, grab those villains by their wretched necks and fling them down the nearest well!

“That satisfaction is not to be mine. But one thing I can do, and that is to explain who we are, we Rangers of Ithilien, and why we live as we do. I hope you will listen, Sam, and reserve your judgment till you’ve heard me out.”

Faramir paused, waiting for Sam’s reply.

“Please, Sam,” I begged. “Everything Faramir says is true. What happened to me is nothing at all like the terrible thing that happened to you. Won’t you listen? I want you to.”

At last Sam nodded. It cost him bitterly, but he did it.

“Thank you, Sam,” said Faramir. “And thank you too, Frodo. When our tale has been told, I hope all of us will understand one another better.

“Our love, the love of men, has never been common in Gondor. Yet it has always existed in some form, and a place of honor has usually been found for it. Stories going back hundreds of years, even to the days of the Kings, can be read in my father’s library.

“Yet even a place of honor is not always at the center of things. Our place is often far from the side of King or Steward, a haven of sorts but also a kind of exile. There are those who prefer not to witness our ways. Allowances must be made on both sides. All live their lives in freedom.

“Ithilien is one place that has always harbored the love of men. Now, sadly, it is ours no longer but a haunt of the Enemy. Yet here we return at times, fighting a war that cannot be won, and if anything our love for each other is greater than ever before. You saw the battle we fought today. Men died in that battle, not just Southrons but our own companions, men we have known and loved for years. Tomorrow will be the same. Each day when we leave our refuge we know that some will never come back. This is our sorrow. It is also our bond, a bond that unites us, heart to heart, body to body. For though death may lay claim to tomorrow, tonight belongs to us. We die for Gondor but we live for each other, for our Fellowship of Men.

“Fellowship. It is a sacred trust. No man comes here against his will. Those who do come are initiated gently to our ways, and only such ways as they themselves find good. No man does more than he chooses, and no man stays when he would rather go. We hold to this. We live it.

“Many have died. My first lover died here almost twenty years ago, before I was old enough to join. Just one night together – that’s all we had before my father parted us by sending him to this place, to this war that he didn’t know how to fight. Now, devoting my self to these men, I keep his memory alive.

“There are some who go back to Minas Tirith, where they find wives or lovers more to their liking. We who stay, stay for our lovers both living and dead. You will find here couples who have sworn vows like the vows of marriage, one to one, and they remain faithful even unto death. But most of us have pledged ourselves to the Fellowship, and the love of the Fellowship is our reward. It is this that we celebrate here tonight. And it is to this that Frodo gave himself freely, if only for a few short hours. He made that choice, Sam. You too may choose – to shun us if you will, or to honor us and yet hold aloof, or to join us in whatever way you think best. No one forced Frodo. No one will force you.”

Faramir fell silent. After a moment men began drifting back to their loveplay. Arms encircled torsos, lips pressed against lips, and hands found their way into hardening groins or slippery clefts.

Sam was at a loss.

“I don’t know,” he said, watching wide-eyed as a kneeling man took another’s cock into his mouth. “It all sounds right enough the way you tell it, Captain Faramir. And I can see it makes sense in this lonely place. But for me and Mr. Frodo – “

“Leave me out of it!” I interrupted. “Sam, it breaks my heart to think of what happened to you, and I promise I’ll find some way to make it right. But the only choice you’ve got right now is your own. Mine’s already made. And there’s something I have to do before I leave here, something you may not want to see. I’m hoping Captain Faramir will still help me with it.”

Faramir grinned and gathered me to his chest. I nestled in as close as I could, stroking his irresistible sides and glancing upward in hope of a kiss. He gave it gladly.

Sam stood up, fidgeting uncomfortably. “But Mr. Frodo!” he protested. “You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for. It hurts! It hurts a lot, as who should know better than me! You’ve had enough pain in your life. You don’t want anymore.”

I looked up at Faramir. “Does it hurt?”

“Well, yes,” he admitted. “In all honesty there is a bit of pain involved. We prepare the way as best we can, but the head of a man’s cock will give you a pang or two going in.”

“See!” Sam exclaimed. “That’s just what I was saying. Thank you, Captain.”

“Hold on,” Faramir chuckled. “That’s only the beginning. And remember, you’re not dealing with men who want to hurt you. We want to make it good for you, and we’ll do everything in our power to achieve that. The initial pain is brief. Once it’s over, a whole new world opens up inside you. I’ve had a great deal of experience, as Frodo knows, and I certainly know more of love than you do of violence, Sam. You need not try it yourself, but please don’t come between Frodo and his heart’s desire.”

Sam rocked back and forth on his heels. Clearly a battle was raging inside his head.

“All right,” he said at last. “All right. But on one condition: whatever you do to Mr. Frodo, you’d better do it to me first.”

My mouth fell open. It fell still further when Sam began stripping off his clothes.

Even Faramir was taken aback. “But Sam – after all you told us! Why this sudden change?”

“I’d have thought that was plain,” said Sam, flinging off his shirt and starting in on his breeches. “Prove to me it won’t hurt. Do your best, or your worst, or whatever you mean to do. Show me this brave new world you’re talking about. If I’m satisfied, then maybe I’ll let you go to work on Mr. Frodo. Have we got a bargain?”

“What we’ve got is a challenge!” said Mablung, dropping to his knees beside Faramir. He’d been listening with great interest and now his grizzled face wore a smile.

“A challenge,” mused Faramir. “Yes, and in more ways than one. Obviously our expertise has been called into question and we mustn’t be caught napping. But we may also have a chance to right a wrong. If we can change Sam’s mind, perhaps his terrible memories will leave him in peace. I, for one, am willing to give it a try.”

“So am I,” Mablung concurred.

And so, it seemed, were several other men who had stayed to listen. All in all, ten naked men stood ready to make Sam’s second time a great deal better than his first.

Sam looked at them and gulped. Completely naked himself, and hairless except for his head and feet, he stood revealed in all his pale pudginess. “Right,” he said. “Might as well get started.” And with that he bent over, planted his hands on his knees, and gritted his teeth.

Five minutes later, he barely knew which way was up and which way was down.

I had the pleasure of watching a ritual very like the one I had undergone. As beautiful as it had been to experience, it was almost as beautiful to behold. The men made a dance of it, and although Sam took some while to relax, he gave in at last and fell prey to the delights that enveloped him. His hard cock received all the teasing it so richly deserved, and the rest of his body was explored like a landscape of infinite fascination.

I did wonder what would happen when they finally reached his sweet white cleft. That was where he’d been hurt, and it seemed possible that his joy would end there.

But Faramir and Mablung never faltered. A stalk of lubenas was produced (it grows wild in the Shire now, thanks to Sam’s long labors and the Lady’s gift), and Sam’s final epiphany began. My one small scream was as nothing compared to the cries, gasps, chirps and chortles that issued from his throat. I crept close enough to observe that, at last count, three of Mablung’s fingers had been devoured by Sam’s backside. I envied him, but I knew my own time would come.

When Faramir knelt at my side, I thought it had come. What came instead was the last thing I expected.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Faramir grinned.

“Me? But I – I’ve never done that before. I don’t know how.”

Faramir laughed. “It’s not one of life’s great mysteries, though it is one of life’s great pleasures. We’ve prepared him; he’s hungry for it already. Just move slowly and all will be well. In any case, I believe there’s only one cock he really wants inside him, and that cock is yours.”

How could I say no?

Faramir hardened me up, an engrossing delight in itself, and when I was ready I found that Sam had been laid on his back with his knees against his chest. His eyes were closed, his face alight with anticipation (no more teeth-gritting, I was glad to see), and Mablung was still massaging his dilated pucker. The thought that my cock would soon vanish inside him made my breath come in gasps. I positioned myself, placing my hands on his calves as Faramir directed. Then, guided by Mablung, I made my first probing move. The spasm of pain that crossed Sam’s face was only momentary. I pushed a little deeper, and a beatific smile replaced the spasm.

“Mr. Frodo!” breathed Sam. His eyes popped open and I saw the happiness that was in them. “Oh, Mr. Frodo, I knew it was you. I knew it! Your Sam is ready for you – ready for all you’ve got!”

Hard muscles gripped my cock, all but drawing it on inch by inch. Were such things possible? I breathed deeply and gave another small push. The way was opening before me, a hot, moist channel that needed my flesh to fill it. Further and further I probed, then back a little, then on again as before. In, out, in, out – the sensation was glorious – and between us we soon managed to establish a slow, voluptuous rhythm.

But more surprises lay ahead. Faramir had found another stalk of the lubenas plant, and with its slippery help he applied his fingers to my own exposed rear.

“You want to hear me scream again!” I whispered as he brought his face close to mine. He kissed me while Sam watched, agog.

“More than you can imagine!” he replied. Then his finger was inside me and I knew that what was coming would be better than anything that had gone before.

“The thing to remember is this,” he went on dreamily. “If you feel yourself coming, don’t hold back but take it for all it’s worth. If you can manage to hold off, though, it will be that much better when it arrives. Keep pushing into Sam – like that, yes – but rest from time to time. Lean down and kiss him – you see how much he wants it – then start again, slow and steady.”

“I’ll try,” I told him between gasps of sweaty bliss. “But what will you be doing?”

A second finger slid into my body. “You’ll find out in due course,” Faramir said when my answering moan died away. I had guessed, though. And I was right. Oh, how right I was!

The first penetration, when it came, was a small shock of pain that caused all my muscles to contract as one. But the head of Faramir’s cock moved deeper and deeper, the pain disappeared and an enveloping heat took its place. Something within me, some small, potent point that had slept till this moment, woke up and heard the call of utter revelation.

If I hadn’t chosen that moment to rest inside Sam, I would have come then and there. I wanted it all, however, and for that I would postpone the final explosion. Meanwhile, it was thrill enough to lean over, as Faramir suggested, and give my mouth wholly to my beautiful Sam.

Does the entire world know already that a body, when it loves and is being loved, is full of strange and wonderful echoes? I never knew it till this moment. Our tongues, Sam’s and mine, dancing inside each other’s mouths, sent an echo that was answered at once by the thrust of Faramir’s cock up my backside. Sam must have felt it too, for his muscles tightened around my own cock and yet another echo was sent, hot and sweet from between my legs. Faramir, pushing into me, pushed me deeper into Sam – more echoes, my whole body was alive with echoes! Faramir’s hands on my back, my shoulders, my hair – my hands on Sam’s dear chest, then meeting his own hands when he raised me high enough that our fevered eyes could meet in a long look of surpassing joy. Echoes upon echoes, joys upon joys!

Ultimate transport was near – Sam’s, Faramir’s and mine. I heaved myself upright and began my thrusting again, more urgently this time.

“Look about you,” Faramir’s voice whispered in my ear. I did so and realized that countless men had gathered close about us. We were surrounded by a forest of men’s legs, men’s chests, men’s faces – dark- haired, fair-haired, straight-haired and curly – and men’s cocks, worked to hardness by the hands that pumped them. Several were coming already, their white jets arcing through the warm air and raining down on us. I had Sam’s cock in my hands – when had that happened? – and his cries mingled with the cries that broke out on every side. Faramir cried out too, and I – I screamed till the cave echoed with the echoes inside me, over and over. Was the sound really so deafening, or was it blood roaring in my ears?

I raked Sam’s balls with my left hand, and then he was coming into my right as it pistoned up and down his slick shaft. His voice sobbed in my ears, but I took no pity on him – he would feel it all, my Sam, every spark and spasm I could wring from him. There was come in the air and come on my hands, come on Sam’s face and chest, come on Faramir’s arms that had wrapped themselves tightly round my body. The whole world was coming at once, it seemed, and when it was done we would lie down and die in one another’s arms.

Now it was Faramir’s cock that pistoned suddenly inside me, and though I couldn’t feel what he unleashed I knew he was filling me with his flood. His teeth were on my neck – what bruises would I find there tomorrow?—and his fingers dug frantically at my nipples. If it hurt I didn’t care, for I was coming too, coming into the hungry heat of Sam’s body. My own body was one mass of echoes – Faramir’s cock, Faramir’s arms, Sam’s hands entangled with mine amid the creamy splendor of his cock. No Ring, no Quest, no Dark Lord, just me and Sam and Faramir and all the men whose come continued to rain about us.

Sam’s fevered eyes locked onto mine. We smiled, for we were thinking the same thing. Could such transcendent wonder ever be ours again? Could our hopeless, ceaseless quest culminate in anything other than final destruction? The chances did not look promising.

Thanks, Faramir. Thanks for this moment.

Thanks, Mablung.

Thanks, Damrod.

Thanks, brave, beloved Rangers everywhere.

Death may lay claim to tomorrow. But tonight belongs to us.

 

Finis

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at http://www.faramirfiction.com/Fiction/a-fellowship-of-men-tonight-belongs-to-us. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!



Thank the author

The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: snoopydance4me , Moríen

  [ what's this? ]

View all recent Thanks


Be the first to comment

  Rules & Help

All fields except 'Web' are required.
Your email address will NOT be displayed publicly. It will only be sent to the author so she (he) can reply to your comment in private. If you want to keep track of comments on this article, you can subscribe to its comments feed.