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16 January 2014 | 590 words
Title: Good Enough
Warnings: Slash, sexual scenes.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. All written in good fun with no offence intended!
Author’s Note: A little bit of PWP with some added feels :P
I wrote this in literally ten minutes (so you can be assured of its quality…) because my writers’ block is chronic now but I needed to do something. Hopefully this will encourage me to finish something longer soon.
He remembers Faramir in the beginning, how shy he was, how he would wait to be touched, or kissed, how he would never initiate anything through a misplaced fear of rejection, of being unworthy. It took time to cure him of that, and time was the only cure, and Aragorn knew this and was patient with him and showed him through those touches and kisses that rejection and the embarrassment of it were an unfounded fiction.
Now, Faramir’s ways have altered. He is not brazen, nor is he forceful or rampant. He is as he ever was: gentle, tender. When Aragorn returns to their chamber late, when he undresses quietly so as not to disturb Faramir who sleeps in their bed, when he lifts the blankets and slides in beside him as carefully as he can, when he lies back and closes his eyes there will come a slithering of sheets, a movement and an arm that snakes over his middle and the sandy scratch of an unshaven cheek against his shoulder. A kiss in the crook of his neck, and sometimes nothing more as they both drift into a shared dream, heat mingling together.
And sometimes Faramir asks him for more, gently, tenderly. The fingers on Aragorn’s chest fan out and draw patterns and move downwards carefully and without hurry. The kiss on his neck moves, lips find his pulse and print a greeting there, the ice of a nose-tip presses behind his ear. He can feel Faramir’s breath on his skin as it quickens, hear the moan that is drawn from him, low. Aragorn will turn over and lie facing him, worming an arm beneath him and draping the other atop. He will push his thigh between Faramir’s legs and find rigid proof of his intentions. He will move his hips against him until they align and trap Faramir’s arm between them with a sighing laugh that disappears as a hot tongue curls around his own. His hands will measure the firmness of a backside and grasp and haul closer and the hand that lies betwixt them will grasp him in return and rub and stroke and twist. It is at this moment that Faramir forgets he is shy, it is at this stage that he will push Aragorn over and climb astride him, ride him, grind against him and allow his hair to be tugged in fistfuls. Or he will roll onto his own back and pull Aragorn with him, spreading his knees, encouraging a mouth to descend between them, rolling his eyes and head back and finding speech impossible.
When they are spent Aragorn will pull Faramir to him again and kiss him deeply, deeply. You are the light of my life. And Faramir will gaze at him afterwards with a question in his eyes that he never voices and Aragorn never answers, not in words. Another kiss perhaps, or a tendril of hair pushed behind an ear and arms encircling him forever because he knows Faramir will never change, but he will always be good enough.
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Thank the author
The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: Rothesis , Icefairy