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Lessons in Archery (NC-17) Print

Written by Minx

24 September 2011 | 5510 words

Title: Lessons in Archery
Author: Minx
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Faramir & Glorfindel
Warnings: Slash

Glorfindel does not like to sit idle, Faramir is unused to elven bows, Arwen likes to help everyone and Aragorn just needs someone else to do his paperwork.

This was started as a birthday present to Iris more than a year ago :o) So well, belated happy birthday for the previous year, dear:) And many thanks for reading through!


Glorfindel wished again that he had not agreed to attend Arwen’s luncheon party today, as he tried not to look bored. Lady Aredhel’s half hour discourse on the differences in the embroidery stitches used in Gondor and Arnor was neither interesting nor pertinent. The lady’s daughter seemed to have been greatly taken by the pattern stitched on his tunic, and had fingered it most keenly, while her mother had been selecting honey cakes.

Glorfindel, comfortably well aware of his physical attributes, and having known many an elf, and humans too, male or female, intimately, could well understand it was not the pattern that interested her. But she interested him naught either, and so he had resorted to a short eloquent speech on the thread work. Unfortunately that attracted the distracted mother’s attention and interest. The young lady herself slipped away towards a group of young elves from Ithilien.

When Arwen rescued him by sending a fresh tray of honey cakes to the old lady, he slipped away thankfully, graciously commending her on her knowledge.

“How do you find your stay in Minas Tirith so far,” Aragorn asked him as they sat down to eat.

“I must say there are many who are glad of it,” Arwen interposed before he could reply, “I do not believe anyone else has yet given Lady Aredhel the opportunity to discuss her learnings after she moved to Gondor from the north.”

Glorfindel glared at her. He held her to blame for a wasted half hour. And then turned his frown to Aragorn, “Why do you ask me that?” he demanded. “I have been here for near a month now. I will admit though, I it would be a far more exciting stay if I didn’t have to help you with your paperwork every morning.”

He had been visiting Minas Tirith with some of the other elves from Imladris. Like them he found he did not wish to sail west yet, and he sought to spend some time in Gondor and the elven settlement in Emyn Arnen first.

“You offered to,” Aragorn said with as much dignity as possible, omitting the fact that he had used all the pleas he had once used as a young child seeking Glorfindel’s help with his studies, “And you said you had not come here to spend every morning helping Elladan and Elrohir recover from their excesses of the previous night.”

“It was aid you or listen to a grown man whine! I should have sent Elladan or Elrohir to help you.”

“That would have me take double the time! And then Arwen would have thrown them out of the city after a week,” Aragorn said smugly, “Be that as it may, you would then be glad to know that Faramir returned to the city today, and he will aid me from tomorrow so you may spend your mornings doing as you please!”

Glorfindel snorted.

“But what will you do then!” Arwen exclaimed, “I know you, Glorfindel, you would not like to sit idle.”

“I could visit Ithilien,” he mused

“And help Legolas with his paperwork?” Aragorn asked, his tone a little too flippant to be acceptable; Gondorian wines were a little too strong. Glorfindel ignored him and spoke to Arwen instead, “He mentioned they had some elflings there who need to start on their weapons training.”

“Oh!” Arwen clapped happily, “Archery training! For Faramir! I have the perfect idea! You need to stay back here some days.”

“Yes, let the elflings enjoy what is left of the summer Glorfindel,” Aragorn added, and helped himself to another cup of wine.

“Are you suggesting,” Glorfindel asked icily, “That weapons training is not an enjoyable pursuit for a young one, elf or human? I remember one young lad who was so eager to start his training that he ran out of his room on his first day without remembering to pull on his leggings.”

To his delight, Aragorn looked mortified while Arwen burst into peals of laughter. But Aragorn started laughing soon too as did Glorfindel, and they spent much of the rest of their luncheon meal in some delightful memories of their lives in Imladris.

It was not until the last course was served; fruits and cream and more honey cakes that Glorfindel recollected what Arwen had said.

“What is your idea on archery training here,” he asked, “And where does young Faramir enter it?” He had some recollection of Aragorn’s young steward from the wedding.
He remembered a rather harried, thin, young man who spent much of his time supervising the wedding arrangements and managing the boisterous Halflings. He knew too from the missives that reached Imladris from Minas Tirith that Aragorn and Arwen were very fond of the young man, and considered him family.

“He needs archery training,” Arwen said simply.

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows at that, “Faramir captained the Ithilien rangers I recollect, and is an excellent archer from all I have heard. Surely he needs no training! I would think Legolas should use his help to train his eflings!”

“I wish you would let me complete,” Arwen complained, “I know very well of Faramir’s archery skills. But – and I am sure you know of this too, he hurt his shoulder some months ago when he and Legolas led a troop against some Haradric rebels. It is the same shoulder he hurt in the war so the recovery is taking long. And like you, he does not sit quiet.”

“He has a little trouble using the longbow, enough that he will admit to it,” Aragorn said, “He would not endanger his men by hiding an injury. But he insists he needs to stay in training. I recollected the Imladris bows are much lighter and the draw would be easier on his shoulder, so I have offered to lend him my old bow. I was going to him show how to use it. But I think Arwen has the better plan now.”

“Yes,” Arwen said happily, “You must teach Faramir. And it is an excellent idea. Faramir is very lonely.”

“Pray what has loneliness to do with archery?” Glorfindel asked puzzled.

“Lonely?” Aragorn demanded, “He has all of us, and Legolas and the twins are in Ithilien.”

“He’s a little overawed by Legolas and the twins,” Arwen mused.

“And he would not be overawed by me?” Glorfindel felt a little affronted. He had after all taught those elflings almost everything they knew.

“He could be intimidated, but he’s a brave young thing so I’m sure he’ll get over it. But I know he admires you greatly. He saw you in the gardens today when he arrived. He looked… most… admiring,” she said.

“He thinks you’re very handsome,” Aragorn said suddenly, “He said so when you entered the city first with Arwen. I don’t think he realised he said it out loud, but I was near him so I heard it. So it is decided. You will help Faramir. He’s exactly the kind of student you would like. And he admires you. It will make for an excellent situation.”

Glorfindel sighed, “Oh very well.” He quite welcomed Faramir’s admiration. The lad seemed interesting.

“Now remember,” Arwen said, suddenly, “He doesn’t know of the classes. He tends to get embarrassed by perceived shortcomings, and then he will refuse the offer of the bow and stubbornly use his longbow and hurt himself more. So you must let him think that it is his idea to learn from you. Tomorrow morning. You bring your bow out Aragorn, and Glorfindel you join us in the gardens.”

“No, Glorfindel must have his classes in the afternoon,” Aragorn reminded him rather plaintively, “I need Faramir in the morning. Tomorrow before the noon meal in Arwen’s bower.”

That set Arwen off again on trying to find things for him to do in the morning. He politely rose when she mentioned Lady Aredhel’s early morning classes on Khandrim breathing exercises. “For clearing the mind, she says, and ridding oneself of excess fat,” she said brightly.


Faramir was very interesting; Glorfindel decided when he met him in the gardens the next day. He had spent the morning in the archives trying not to fall asleep over a book of Rhunic poems. Faramir was as a fresh breath of air.

He had forgotten how handsome the boy looked His grey eyes were bright and keen, his build was lean and lithe, long raven hair framed his fine features and when he smiled, he looked quite delightful.

Faramir was pleasantly surprised to see Lord Glorfindel in the gardens; he recollected then that the elf lord was visiting and in fact had been helping Aragorn all these days. He must thank him, he thought, for his work with Aragorn in the morning would have been unmanageable as it always was when he returned from his stints in Ithilien. Aragorn avoided paperwork as much as he could.

He greeted him politely and felt himself flush a little when the elf suggested he dispense with the honorific and call him merely Glorfindel. He had read of him!

The elf smiled at him and joined Arwen on a stone bench where she sat sewing.

Glorfindel greeted Arwen as he sat next to her. She was working on her needlecraft, and promptly handed over a bundle of silks for him to hold.

Aragorn had taken the bow out of its leather wrappings and handed it over to Faramir. They watched as the younger man took it.

“These are quite different from the bows we use,” Faramir mused, as he ran his hands over the smooth light wood.

Glorfindel watched the long fingers moving knowingly over the curve of the bow.

“They may take some getting used to,” Aragorn mentioned, “You may find you have to position them a little differently from the longbows that you use.”

Faramir inclined his head in agreement, “Yes, but I deem you spoke truly when you said they may be more comfortable on my shoulder as it is now. It will take time, as you say. I must thank you for letting me use this.”

“It is no matter. I have not used it myself in many years,” Aragorn shrugged, “I am more comfortable with my sword, as you know. But bringing this out today brings back many happy memories of my training in Imladris. Glorfindel taught me how to use this bow,” he declared.

“Oh!” Faramir said. He continued fingering the bow. He picked it up, held it and seemed to be weighing it mentally.

Glorfindel watched. The bows were designed for taller elves. Aragorn, and even Boromir had managed fairly well with them in Imladris for they had a larger frame. Faramir was more slender in build and not at his full strength. But these bows could be used to one’s advantage and Faramir had plenty of those… he looked at the knowing fingers stroking the smooth wood and the sharp eyes.

“As much as you would learn!” Glorfindel retorted at Aragorn, “And you were only too ready to discard your archery lessons for your sword fighting lessons I recall,”

Faramir smiled at that. And then he stared at the bow and bit his lip.

Glorfindel sighed silently. Dropping Arwen’s silks to the ground, he rose. Ignoring her annoyed protests he joined Faramir.

“I could assist you with this,” he offered.

“Oh!” Faramir said, surprise etching his young face, “But you must be busy,” he said, the eagerness clear in his voice as was the warring worry.

“Not at all,” Glorfindel declared, “I would welcome a keen student, who would learn to use this bow as it must be.”

“I would like that,” Faramir said, “When can we start?”

“Tomorrow? Meet me in the archives.”

“The archives?” Arwen said, “It is archery you need to help him with, Glorfindel, not poetry!”

Glorfindel sighed, “First you must learn about the structure and design of these bows, for they are very different from what you use. It will take you some days of study. It is only after that, that I will teach you with practice weapons,” he said firmly, and waited for a response. Humans had little patience. Aragorn himself had tried his best to sidle out of his theoretical classes; so too had many of his younger elven students.

But he saw no reasons to make exceptions here.

“That sounds logical,” Faramir said thoughtfully, “It does matter to know the science behind a weapon.”

Glorfinel found himself smiling at that.


Faramir turned out to be diligent and most pleasant student. He attended Glorfindel’s classes with interest and listened carefully and when he spoke, he did so thoughtfully and knowledgably. He read everything the Elf asked him to and took the classes so seriously, Glorfindel realised how long it had been since he had had a truly interested student. The younger elves, like most humans, were always anxious to get into the practice fields.

And as everyone had said, Faramir was a pleasant, intelligent and thoughtful young man, and most charming to be with. And it was clear he certainly admired Glorfindel. The elf could ask for little more in a student.

Faramir looked forward to his classes eagerly. He was learning a lot about aspects that he knew only cursorily; the design and makeup of the bow and arrows, how it affected their path, even about musculature and how each muscle in the body reacted to different movements and how those impacted weaponry. Aragorn asked him one day if he were getting bored.

“Oh no, it is all very interesting,” he said happily, and was a little surprised when Aragorn gave him a doubtful look.

“You don’t have to feel scared of Glorfindel,” the king said reassuringly.

“I’m not,” Faramir said. And he wasn’t. He’d always admired him. He was truly beginning to like him now. Glorfindel was very handsome, very intelligent and had a strange sense of humour that he often aimed at Aragorn and Arwen, but he was always considerate and very patient. Faramir found himself looking forward to the afternoons they spent in the archives.


They met for the first practice session by agreement in one of the practice grounds set up in the plains near the city. The ground was in a large grassy knoll, surrounded by trees and fenced off by a high wall. Faramir had set up archery targets.

It was a long and frustrating first hour for Faramir. Glorfindel moved the targets three paces behind, handed him the bow and a dozen arrows, and told him to start.

He took up position with the bow.

“How do I take stance?” he asked.

“As you please.”

“But you said the stances are different.”

“You may stand as you please,” Glorfindel said, a little more encouragingly this time, “Try it.”

The arrow fell well short, as did the next and the next. Not one was anywhere close to the target.

Glorfindel gathered them and handed them back to Faramir.

“Try again,” he suggested.

He moved the target a few more paces behind. Faramir said nothing.

Glorfindel watched with interest. Faramir’s slender frame moved easily and beautifully, with a warrior’s grace. A soldier and a poet, he thought, smiling to himself.

Faramir bit his lip worriedly after a third round of attempts at the target. The sun was high in the sky now, bearing down on them and he was soaked in sweat, and beginning to ache all over.

“I am not doing this correctly,” he said, “I think I am not placing my weight correctly. The arrows should travel with more force.”

Glorfindel stood behind him, “Indeed,” he said, “You are unnecessarily straining this part of your shoulder,” he placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, “You should use this part of your arm. And your back needs to be straighter. Do you recollect what you read of the muscle movements?”

“It is not as easy to apply what we read then.”

“It takes time,” Glorfindel agreed, “Most elflings I have trained took until the third or fourth training session to get close to the targets.”

“But I have used another bow before, and they would have been unused to any,” Faramir said quietly, “I tried at times after class to see how those movements worked out, in the mirror.”

“That is a good idea,” Glorfindel said, “Perhaps if we were to remove our tunics and watch how the muscles move?” He immediately set to unbuttoning his tunic.

“Oh! Yes. Indeed,” Faramir said glad to have come up with a useful idea “And it is a warm day too.”

He watched as Glorfindel’s tunic slipped away, revealing smooth skin that glinted a pale golden in the sun.

He began undoing his own tunic, annoyed as his fingers fumbled, and the knots on the bindings slipped from his sweaty fingers.

“Let me help you,” the Elf suggested; he stood now bare-chested, revealing a firm chest, and a flat hard stomach. Without awaiting a response, he gently batted Faramir’s hands away and began working at the bindings, undoing them swiftly. His soft fingers brushed Faramir’s skin, cool and soft against the warm, sweaty flesh. Faramir felt his mouth go dry as the Elf leaned in closer to slip off his tunic, unmindful of the sudden quickening of his heartbeat. Glorfindel smelled of fresh flowers and warm sun ripened hay and fragrant lavender.

He was sure he himself smelled of sweat and mud and dust.

Glorfindel smiled as the tunic slipped off to reveal Faramir’s neat and compact frame. The sun bronzed skin was marked with old and new battle scars. His nipples were pebbled and brown. A thin line of coarse hair ran down his chest to his navel, and again down to his groin, as black as the locks on his head. He wondered how it felt to touch.

“There you are,” he said cheerfully “Watch,” he continued, and picking up the bow took stance, “See how the shoulder moves? And the back, and now this hand, and the legs?”

Faramir forced himself to concentrate and watch the play of the muscles across the Elf’s body, with a clinical view. Desire coursed through him with every slight movement, as the taut muscles rippled. He clamped down on it and tried hard to detach himself, to focus on learning archery.

“Now you try it.”

He took up his stance, starting with the legs, placing his feet as shown, putting his weight where Glorfindel had shown. He felt the stretch in his thighs and calves, a little different from his usual stance.

Glorfindel came and stood next him.

He aligned his back and shoulders next, and almost jumped when he felt a soft hand on his lower back.

“Straighter here,” Glorfindel commanded. Another hand moved to his stomach, the cool palm flat against it; a finger pressing gently near his navel. Sweat trickled down his upper body.

“Pull in here,” Glorfindel said, and shifted his hand downwards, resting the palm across his lower abdomen.

He took a deep breath, and tried to follow the softly voiced instructions.

“Release the arrow now,” Glorfindel said, and Faramir did. It landed close to the target this time, not yet hitting it but not as far off the mark as earlier, either.

“Again now.”

Glorfindel made him try out various positions and hold each; they were hard but now that he knew how to breathe in each and where to place his weight, he found them easier. It was hard work, though and sweat trickled down his body constantly. And all along, Glorfindel’s hands moved gently over him, resting on his thighs, claves, all along his bare upper body, on his back, shoulders, chest, at one time resting on his nipples so long he felt them begin to harden. He continued trying to ignore the growing sensations and focus.

As they progressed, he found that he could relate back many of the things Glorfindel told him now to what he had read. Glorfindel’s lessons had covered all aspects.

Finally after he had taken about a dozen shots at the target, each from a different position, with Glorfindel guiding him through each, they stopped. The sun was still high, and Faramir was panting softly from the exertion. His skin felt flushed and his body was now soaked with sweat, his loose leggings too were sticking to his skin and his boots felt extremely uncomfortable.

Glorfindel looked just as he had in the morning.

They gathered together the arrows and bows.

“I should welcome a bath now,” the Elf said conversationally, “It is a pity we have to go all the way back to the citadel for that.”

“Oh! There is a small pond here, very comfortable for bathing. It is in a small glade, cool and quiet.”

“That sounds charming,” the Elf said, “Would you like to join me?”

He hoped Faramir would. The straight-laced young Steward could do with the freedom that a forest pond offered. And he did feel very nice to touch.


“This is a fine place,” Glorfindel said, when they reached the glade. The small pond was surrounded by trees and ferns. A tiny brook gurgled into it. One side was ringed with smooth rocks.

“There are some rocks there to sit on in the water if you do not feel like swimming,” Faramir pointed out.

Glorfindel nodded, “A good place to rest tired limbs.”

Faramir removed his boots, and moved to the water. A soft cough from the Elf stopped him. Glorfindel had slipped off his boots, and his leggings, revealing long, smooth well-muscled legs, a soft, long column of flesh between them half hidden by a thatch of golden hair.

He swallowed.

“The water does look lovely,” Glorfindel said and stepped down the rocks into the water, giving Faramir a clear view of taut, firm buttocks tinged with the same pale golden hue.

“Come on in,” he called out

Faramir moved forward.

“Take your leggings off, the water is excellent,” Glorfindel shouted out.

Faramir obeyed, slipping down his pants.

Glorfindel watched as Faramir stepped in. His lower body was as fine as the rest of him. Strong muscled legs, sprinkled with dark hair and perfectly rounded firm buttocks, paler than the rest of his skin. The line of hair from his navel trickled down to a thick thatch of coarse black hair. A slender, long shaft hung between his legs. The young man slipped quickly into the water, covering the view.

They swam lazily for a few minutes before moving towards the rocks. The pond was shallow enough there to let them stand in the water. The cool sand at the bed of the pond was pleasant.

“That was a good lesson, I think,” Faramir said and laid his back against a smooth slope of rock.

“Aye, you learn well,” Glorfindel said.

He smiled gratefully.

“And you learn fast.”

“The science helped, I believe. You teach wonderfully well.”

“Thank you.”

“Will we have any more lessons?”

“It is mostly for you to practice now,” Glorfindel said. He climbed onto a rock near Faramir and sat there, unmindful of his nakedness.

“Oh…” Faramir moved a step up; he felt the soft sand slipping through his toes. Water lapped at his crotch and he moved his hand lower to cover himself.

They sat there a while. The sun was still high and the day was still warm.

“I could teach you other things now,” Glorfindel suggested. His bare body was almost touching Faramir’s.

Faramir felt his pulse quicken, and his groin tighten. He could feel his shaft hardening, and he sank lower in the water.

Glorfindel glanced at him, and then at his arousal.

“I think you would like those as much as archery…”

Glorfindel laid a hand on Faramir’s hip under the water.

“Yes,” he breathed out.

“I’m delighted to hear that,” he said softly, in Faramir’s ear.

Glorfindel’s breath was warm in his ear and he felt his toes curl just from that sensation. He let out a soft acquiescing moan and turned towards Glorfindel. Strong arms pulled him close.

Their lips met, and then Glorfindel’s tongue was in Faramir’s eager mouth; warm and insistent. They moved closer, hands roved over bare, wet skin, exploring and feeling each contour.

Glorfindel pulled Faramir closer, wrapping one arm around the lean waist, hungrily attacking the younger man’s eager mouth. He could feel his hardness against his. He slipped his hands lower to cup the smooth buttocks and began kneading them gently. Faramir’s hands wrapped around his back.

Faramir moaned into his mouth and moved up closer to him, pressing his arousal against the smooth wall of Glorfindel’s thigh.

Glorfindel pulled out reluctantly, as he felt Faramir lean breathlessly into him, but continued to hold Faramir close, clasping his backside.

“I’m honoured you think me worthy of this,” Faramir said, softly, and brought his hand to Glorfindel’s cheek.

“Oh you are most worthy. You have delighted me all these days with your interest and diligence in archery and you make me most happy now with your interest in – this…”

He bent and licked a line along Faramir’s collarbone and then started kissing him along his throat.

Faramir whimpered at the sensations that assailed him all over, the water around him, the soft evening breeze on his wet back and shoulders, Glorfindel’s mouth on his skin. He felt strangely fevered and aching, his breath quickened.

He felt the hands on his buttocks, palms splayed over them, fingers sliding gently between them, slightly callused by the recent practice; the indentations against his sensitive skin sent a thrill through him. He let out another moan, knowing he sounded almost like a callow youth. He felt his buttocks parted, water lapped at his entrance, and then the feathered touches of Glorfindel’s fingers on the tight ring.

The elf had moved his mouth to Faramir’s chest, running his tongue around Faramir’s nipples, slathering the small nubs into hardness.

Faramir moved his hand towards his crotch.

Glorfindel bumped closer to him, nudging his hand away with his hip.

“Please,” Faramir murmured.

“Tell me what you need,” Glorfindel whispered softly against Faramir’s mouth, his fingers still trailing over Faramir’s entrance.

“You,” Faramir said, shivering.

One wet finger slid slowly inside him. Faramir let out another moan and warm fluid trickled out of his aching shaft.

Glorfindel pulled Faramir up, one hand resting below his buttocks, while the other continued to explore him inside. He ground his own erect shaft against Faramir’s. The Steward raised a leg and wrapped it around Glorfindel’s hips, angling his shaft closer, wanting as much contact with Glorfindel’s arousal as possible. The finger moved further inside him.

“M-more,” he murmured, and moved his legs further apart.

A second finger moved into him.

Glorfindel found himself moaning softly too as Faramir’s arousal rubbed against his own aching hardness. He moved up to kiss Faramir on his jaw, angling his fingers deeper inside the younger man. He scissored them around the tightness, slowly, using the water lapping around them to help his fingers slide in. Faramir continued to move eagerly against him, breathing in short, heavy gasp, letting out tiny delightful moans.

His fingers found the tiny spot inside Faramir and he stroked there gently. The Steward let out a soft wail His buttocks clenched around Glorfindel’s fingers and his release spurted out between them. His leg slipped off the elf’s back, and curled loosely around his thigh.

Glorfindel found himself coming undone just by the sounds and senses of Faramir’s desire. Finally, he slipped his fingers out and the younger man felt himself crying out, feeling deprived.

They stood in the water for awhile after that, in each other’s arms, still wrapped around each other, the stickiness of their release trickling down into the water around them, their limp shafts resting between them.

They helped each other clean up, running their hands over their bare bodies. Glorfindel lapped more water against Faramir’s crotch, wiping away a patch of white on the fold of skin above Faramir’s hip.

“I need us to complete this lesson,” Faramir whispered, “Preferably today, so I don’t forget…”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, and smiled.

“Let us get out of the water,” he suggested. Faramir nodded, but found himself unwilling to move out of the embrace.

Glorfindel could sense Faramir felt comfortable but tired, as he slumped against him. Swiftly, he gathered him in his arms and waded out of the water, smiling at Faramir’s surprised cry – laughing but embarrassed. The young men felt right in his arms. He deposited him gently on the bank. Warm sunshine poured through the gaps between the leaves. They would dry off in no time.

He sat by Faramir and kissed him again, lingering longer this time.

“Lie back,” he suggested when they pulled apart again, “I need something from my bags.”

Faramir sighed happily as he lay back on the grass watching Glorfindel kneeling over his bags. The grass was ticklish but warm against his back and buttocks, a sensation he liked. He raised his legs and spread the apart as Glorfindel rose and walked towards him. The Elf had brought along some oil to smoothen the arrow shafts.

Glorfindel took the oil in his fingers and moved his hands down to his arousal. Faramir rose.

“Let me,” he suggested. He slathered his fingers with the fragrant oil and ran them gently along Glorfindel’s member.

His fingers moved swiftly and cleverly, pressing at all the right places, circling the slit, moving all the way down the length, lightly brushing Glorfindel’s balls.

“Enough,” the Elf said finally, “I fear I will not last longer!”

Faramir smiled and lay back, raising his legs again, moving his oil slicked fingers between his buttocks, “Hurry then,” he said softly.

The elf smiled, knelt between the outspread legs, batted away the Steward’s hand and took over. He gently nudged one folded leg further back, and pulled Faramir’s buttocks closer so they were resting on his knees. He slid his oil slicked fingers into Faramir, coating his channel, watching Faramir.

Glorfindel’s fingers felt wonderful inside him, Faramir decided, but he needed more. He found himself growling impatiently, which only seemed to amuse Glorfindel. Finally the Elf moved his fingers out. He raised Faramir up so that he was seated on his thighs and positioned his shaft against Faramir entrance, positioning his hands on his lower back to support.

He entered Faramir slowly, sliding into him, letting Faramir open up as he thrust slowly into him. He pulled him closer, kissing him. He felt Faramir’s mouth running along his shoulder the hands and legs wrapped around him.

The Steward let out a long blissful sigh, as they rocked against each other, exploring each other with hands and tongues and teeth.

They lay back against a fallen tree for a while after they were done, and had cleaned themselves cursorily. They were still naked, sated and happy, and feeling too lazy to return to the city yet. The sun would descend soon, but it was still warm. Faramir slumped peacefully in Glorfindel’s arms. The Elf ran a hand through his hair.

“I would not like to practice this alone,” Faramir said suddenly.

“I would not like you to either,” Glorfindel agreed, “But I would like an earlier start. Elladan and Elrohir return to the city tomorrow. I’ll ask them to aid Aragorn in the mornings.”

“That sounds excellent,” Faramir said smiling, “I will meet you in the archives tomorrow.”

“The archives?”

“Surely there is some science in this too. I believe the restricted section may have some reference texts,” Faramir’s smile grew wider, “And Aragorn would never think of looking there when he comes searching for us!”


“They were in the archives,” Arwen said, “I suppose they thought it was the last place you’d go hunting for them.”

“Whatever were they doing in the archives?” Aragorn growled; rifling through the papers Elladan had left on his table.

Arwen smirked awfully, “You remember what I wanted you to do after the midsummer feast, with the strawberries and butter, but instead we tried your idea with the honey, which I really liked too.”

Aragorn stared at her.

“Well, they were using saddle oil I think and cherries, and Faramir was making some most delightful sounds; I really think we should try it too.”

“How -” Aragorn said desperately. Surely his wife had not intruded on their privacy!

“How did they do it?” Arwen continued cheerfully, “Well, Faramir was lying back on that large heavy table, and Glorfindel –“

She clearly had.

“Oh dear,” he groaned.

“They look very nice together. I think we did a good thing nudging them towards each other.”

“Nudging?” Arwen had practically handed Faramir over to Glorfindel.

She was rubbing her hands in satisfaction now.

“So. Now, Haldir is visiting next week, is he not? Did you notice at the coronation-“

Aragorn sighed and sunk his head into his hands. He wondered too, if strawberries were in season yet.


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

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The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: LN Tora , anita , wolfy , , Mel

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4 Comment(s)


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Very nice story, sexy and fun.
I like the way you describe Faramir and you put him in a positive light.
I happen to like Glorfindel, too, so this story is really nice.
Thank you for sharing it with us.

— lille mermeid    24 September 2011, 16:53    #

Thank you Lille! I’m delighted to hear you liked the characterisations and story:)

Minx    27 September 2011, 17:42    #

What a delightful piece of work! And what a contrast to what I was just reading yesterday: your Yearning (for the 356 times!)
I wish Iris has 10 birthdays each year so that we can read more stories!
Thanks a lot for this wonderful story!

dream.in.a.jar    28 September 2011, 15:33    #

Thank you Dream for such lovely words!:)

Minx    2 October 2011, 19:12    #

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Minx

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