29 June 2007 | 1635 words
Pairing: Aragorn / Faramir
Summary: “We got the afternoon, You got this room for two, One thing I’ve left to do, Discover me, Discovering you.”
A/N: I never intended to write a LOTR fic, much less post it somewhere, but here I am. (Those plot bunnies are vicious in their demands) This also being my first fic in this area, be gentle with your comments (they are much appreciated, especially constructive criticism) and no flaming objects please. This is dedicated to Shannon, who assured me that I shouldn’t click the delete button and that I wasn’t putting Tolkien to shame with this (I owe you the world for that!).
Disclaimer: Simply put, they’re not mine, much as I would like them to be. I promise to clean them up and put them back where I found them, although I cannot be held accountable for what these two get up to afterwards. The song in my summary is Your Body is a Wonderland by John Mayer. And oh how I wish he were mine too.
The first rays of sunlight are just beginning to find their way through the windows when I open my eyes. I blink a few times trying to get the sleep out of my eyes and focus on the world around me. When I finally banish the fog from my mind, I look around the room. I can tell by the warmth radiating from the open window that its already a beautiful summer day. The sun has not yet fully risen, but the light that does fill the room casts an orange glow over everything. The window sill, the drapes that are softly fluttering in the light breeze, the hardwood floor, the soft bed I am currently laying in, and last, but certainly not least, the lover I share my bed with.
He has yet to surface from the ocean of his dreams, and lies beside me with a content and innocent look on his face. I lean back a little to admire the beauty that lies before me. He always looks like an angel in his sleep. Well if I am being honest he looks like an angel all the time, but especially now as the lines and creases of worry are absent. His dark, shaggy hair is splayed across the pillow in an array of tangles I know I will have to help him sort out later. Not that I mind. It is no secret that we both love the feel of each other brushing and generally playing with the others hair. I cannot stop myself as I take a lock of the silky hair and brush it away from his face, letting my hand gently caress his cheek as I do so.
Thankfully this does not rouse him from his slumber, and I am free to continue observing him in this state. My eyes linger on his face, which is very calm and serene. I’ve seen his face change with his many different emotions, and I have yet to find one I don’t like. Its his eyes that are especially captivating. The deep blue pools that are truly the windows to his soul. Even when his guard is up, and his face is bereft of emotion, his eyes give him away. Maybe not to the average passer-by, but I have learned to read him through his eyes. Whether they’re narrowed in annoyance, wrought with a look of sympathy, or darkened with desire, I know exactly what he is feeling by looking at them.
My eyes wander down to his lips, which are slightly open in his sleep. I have the strongest urge to lean over and kiss them, but I know doing so would definitely wake him up, so I resist. His lips are certainly my downfall. When they are curved up in one of his dazzling smiles, and when they are pressed firmly against mine in a breathtaking kiss, are the times when I find it impossible to resist him. Those lips have the power to do wicked and wonderful things to me, inevitably causing me to write under their ministrations.
Continuing my way down his body, I come to his throat next. There are two places that I can lick on his body that I am sure to get a reaction from. One his behind his ears, and the other, his neck. So I do this rather often, usually because it amuses me to no end the various reactions I do get. Whether it be him stiffening up immediately when he hasn’t heard me coming, or a low growl when he knows its coming. Both reactions are quite acceptable in my books. I do so love the noises he makes in moments of pure passion. Low growls that cause a shiver to travel down my spine, husky whispers promising what is yet to come, light (and heavy for that matter) panting, loud groans that serve as a warning among other things, and especially quiet murmuring in my ears. Of course his voice in even the most innocent of situations has always been something I have adored. When he is talking in a normal tone, or a more serious one to get his point across, or when his voice is tinged with laughter threatening to escape, all mesmerize me. But at the moment not so much as a snore is emitted from his throat.
Next I am drawn to his strong, broad chest. I always feel safe and content when I rest against it. And when my sorrow over those lost in the great war overcomes me, the simple act of snuggling against it calms me down as if all my sorrow is absorbed into the expanse of skin and muscle. Further down is his stomach, which has yet to plump with age (causing many feelings of jealousy from our companions). His stomach is also a particularly ticklish spot, and I use this knowledge to my advantage when needed.
The blankets are currently tangled around his waist, halting any further exploration downwards. Not that it is any great loss, I certainly know what lies beneath the soft white sheets. So instead of trying to find creative ways to rearrange the covers, I busy myself with observing his long arms. One is up cradled under his head, a favorite position I have learned, the other draped across his stomach. His arms are so strong, and I long to be held in them again. But I shall let him sleep on for a few more minutes at least. His hands are rather large, the veins sticking out slightly on the top and around his fingers.
In the time we have been together I have learned of the skill in these hands. He is an extraordinary artist, able to recreate landscapes and people in the most intricate of drawings, something he does frequently. I oft wake up to see him sitting at the table near the window drawing, gazing up every so often to look at the subject of his drawing for reference. When this happens I am usually said subject, although I have yet to figure out why he gets so much pleasure from drawing me while I sleep. I am not about to stop him though, everything he does turns out to be a work of art. He is skillful in many other things with his hands, and my mind wanders briefly to the gutter as I recall them. As I am in this daze I do not notice my lover gently waking up from his slumber. I am only woken up from this trance when a hand gently cups my face and he speaks in a rough voice usual for his state of awake ness.
“Good morning, my dear Faramir.”
“Good morning.” I whisper back, leaning down to kiss him lightly upon the lips.
“Watching me as I sleep again, love?” He inquires in a light tone.
“I find it hard not to. You are so lovely when you rest.”
“Only when I rest?” He asks, his eyes already shining with happiness.
“Oh certainly not,” I reply, “You are indeed fair at all times.”
A bright smile crosses his face, and I know that was the right thing to say.
“Well when you put it that way…” It’s at this point he gives up on talking and concentrates instead on devouring my lips. I’m especially compliant in the mornings, and he uses this to his full advantage. I find myself being pushed onto my back against the bed, gentle hands that I had been observing earlier finding their way to my waist. I wrap my arms around his neck, desperate to get that much more contact. As per usual for this early in the morning, our kiss is slow and languid, not the frenzied meeting of lips and tongues that will surely come later. Eventually I lean back and gaze at my lovers beautiful face, getting lost once again in those magnificent eyes.
“Aragorn.” I whisper, his name only a sigh that escapes from my lips.
“Yes love?” He answers, then starts nuzzling against my neck.
“I Love You.” They are words we have said countless times, but we never grow tired of hearing or saying them.
“I Love You too,” Just then a low rumble emits from his stomach, making his hunger known, “However although I would love nothing more than to stay here all day, I require food.” He kisses me one last time, then gets out of bed and starts getting dressed. I remain where I am, content to keep staring for a few moments longer. I sigh once again, an audible sign of how at ease I am. I feel safe, and happy, and most of all, loved. And I could want nothing more.
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