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02 October 2009 | 558 words
Title: Days of Love
Rating: R overall
Pairing: Faramir & Aragorn
Summary: Drabbles mirroring the daily life in the Tower after the War. One drabble – 100 words. Guest appearances by OMCs.
Disclaimer: Middle-earth and its inhabitants belong to Tolkien.
”Come..! I know you have them.”
”I know not of what you speak…”
He steps forward and holds out his hand, even considering using a tiny bit of force – but he does not.
There is a playful gleam in the bright grey gaze, but eyebrows are raised in an innocent fashion.
“I could use them you know… The north wind is most cruel to the skin.”
You do not attack a King.
You do not attack a King.
Aragorn’s warm laughter fills the hall. His arm steals around Faramir’s waist and pulls him close. “A kiss for your gloves.”
Darkness seizes the bedchamber abruptly. Before even a single candle is lit, the first drop falls in the City. This sudden rain batters the window-glass with an eagerness that could easily shatter it. But then it ends, just as swiftly.
Faramir lifts his head from the pillow. “We should rise…”
“No, ‘tis still raining,” comes the muffled voice from beside him.
Confused, Faramir glances down at Aragorn’s tousled form.
Aragorn dives deeper into the mess of blankets and since he is partly on top, Faramir must stay between sweet lips and soft linen.
“Let us pretend,” murmurs the King.
”No.” The King is quite determined. The Rohirric envoy lets out a sigh.
“No?” Aragorn will not waste good soldiers for no reason.
Darkness is not brooding anywhere, he maintains.
Does he wish to honour Denethor II with a feast – a day of remembrance, five years after his passing?
“No!” Never will he rip open Faramir’s old wounds.
That night, stars glimmer in the heavens and his burning skin is flooded with sweat. Aragorn wraps his legs around Faramir’s waist to urge him deeper inside. His lover buries himself completely in his body and he cries out in bliss: “Yes!”
“Pip, what are you waiting for?”
Merry shoots him a puzzled glance but Pippin only shrugs. “You know those big folks,” he says nonchalantly. “They like to finish their business in private.”
After another moment, he knocks again and finally pushes open the office door.
King Elessar looks up from his documents and greets Merry with a smile. Faramir stands by the nearby window.
“All under control?” queries Pippin.
“Yes.” Aragorn turns to him and nods. “Thank you.”
If Faramir’s lips are reddened and his eyes bright, and Aragorn’s hair tangled, Merry does not see.
Pippin smiles to himself.
Faramir’s wide eyes follow every move the elegant figure does. Aragorn wishes that his brother would stop talking – listening, laughing. With a smooth sweep of his head, Elladan causes his dark hair to ripple down his back in silky waves. Over the rim of his glass he says something that makes Faramir smile and Aragorn cringe in his seat. Blue and grey gazes mingle and glitter, but not one turns to him.
Then he feels Faramir’s hand cover his own and his lover gives a gentle squeeze. Unable to swallow a tiny sigh of relief, Aragorn hopes it passes unnoticed.
TBC… some time.
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Thank the author
The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: ophelia , alecia