This story is rated «NC-17», and carries the warnings «Hot tempers... slash!».
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15 January 2009 | 4300 words
Paraing: Faramir & Aragorn
Summary: A Steward has duties too, but that does not always please the King. A twist on an important matter!
A/N: This is entirely Trixie’s fault… A propos my usual way of dealing with the issue of Aragorn’s bloodline having to continue despite his relationship with Faramir, she mentioned that Aragorn himself perhaps wouldn’t be so understanding if it were Faramir who had to sire heirs in another’s bed. Well, it got me thinking!
Warnings: Hot tempers and slash!
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the Magnificent Amazing Tolkien The Beloved.
Lovers and Bloodlines
“The Council is ended. You are dismissed.”
The King of Gondor was standing up at the large oak table, visibly shaking with anger. Those assembled clearly heard how the control he up until now had kept over his voice was terribly close to shattering.
Faramir rose also, but this time it was not meant as a gesture of support. The Steward’s jaws were tightly set and his eyes were trained on Aragorn, sending forth a rage that matched the King’s perfectly. His own harsh breathing was ringing in his ears, but he kept his mouth shut for he was not wasting more time on pointless argumentation. Instead, Faramir did what he had never done before: he kicked back his chair and stalked towards the doors, and without a word he exited the Council Chamber before the King.
The hallway was blessedly empty and he began walking along it with a tempest raging in his body, even if he knew he would not get very far.
And sure enough.
A loud banging rang out behind him and was immediately followed by a crashing sound as Aragorn evidently slammed the doors shut.
“COME BACK HERE!” he bellowed in a voice that probably carried all the way to the downstairs kitchens.
Faramir briefly considered ignoring him, but the implacable truth was that it would not help. At all – no matter how good it would feel in this very moment. He drew a long breath, and then he turned around.
Aragorn was standing by the doors with his shoulders heaving. His dark hair flew about his face as he began stomping towards Faramir, as if he wanted to make absolute sure that his Steward did not get away.
They met halfway, to the rumbling of the darkened skies outside; a storm was speeding swiftly towards the City on a wind that seemed most eager to reach them before nightfall.
Faramir raised his chin as he spotted the flicker of fury in Aragorn’s gaze. It was quite evident that the King had not changed his opinion during these past two minutes.
“What?” he demanded.
With a feral growl, Aragorn caught him by his shoulders and spun them both around, towards the doors, but in move so limited that Faramir could not break free. He felt his back slam against the wall opposite the Council Chamber, but he was quick to pull his chin to his chest to save his head from being smashed.
Aragorn slammed his hands against the wall on both sides of Faramir’s head, creating a barrier on either side of him with his arms. The King’s eyes were two orbs of flashing grey that looked like they were of the same energy as the raging lightning bolts that occasionally cracked the skies outside.
Faramir presented an unyielding expression; his own blue eyes bore into the grey wildfire and refused to give way. “What do you want? This is preposterous!”
“Oh what is?” Aragorn spit out. “My anger? Or your own mad idea? For that is certainly inconceivable to me!”
His hair was dishevelled and framed his face with untamed locks.
“It is not a mere idea!” exclaimed Faramir, thrashing before the body that was still a couple of feet away but which effectively held him captive. “It is reality – it is something I must do! Surely you can see the logic?”
The King snorted. “Logic! There is no logic to this.” He shook his head vigorously. “No. No!”
“What do you mean ‘no’?!”
An explosion in the skies flashed in the window-glass and suddenly the rain came down so heavily that it almost drowned out Aragorn’s rapid breathing.
“I mean no!”
Faramir stared at him, his mouth opening to protest, but Aragorn gave him no chance. He threw himself down upon it and claimed the lips by alternately sucking and biting not too lightly.
Faramir pushed forward a little to counter the attack. He nearly crushed their lips by pressing so hard against Aragorn but two could play at this game. His teeth grazed the tender flesh that before long, he suspected, was about to experience a whole new set of tactics. As soon as Aragorn sensed an opening, he forced his tongue through and it took some effort for Faramir to deny him entrance and shut his mouth.
“Let me in.” It was a clear demand.
Controlling his breathing, Faramir dumped his head against the wall. “No.”
Aragorn’s snarl rang out in the corridor to the crash of the beating rain as he leaned in closer with a menacing look painted across his face. Their bodies still did not touch, but even at the distance, Faramir could feel the smouldering heat that radiated from the King.
“Because this reaction of yours is beyond all reason!” Faramir defiantly stated. “We both knew it would come to this eventually.”
“Well I do not like it,” Aragorn hissed. “In fact, I highly dislike it.”
He tried once more to capture the Steward’s mouth, but Faramir thrust his head to the side. “You cannot stop me from marrying, Aragorn!”
“What if I could?”
“Then you would no longer have me as a friend, or a lover,” Faramir easily declared.
The growl that Aragorn emitted at his words sent his burning blood speeding through his veins. Faramir changed his expression and turned his gaze back to Aragorn.
“You do want me as both, do you not?” His voice was lower now, but more calculating – and no doubt Aragorn heard it.
“If I did not want you I would send you into the North, and never see you again.” Aragorn glared at him. “You know that.”
“Yes,” acknowledged Faramir. “I know that very well.”
Without warning, his hands flew up to Aragorn’s lower back and tugged fiercely, taking the King by surprise and making him buck. The heat pierced him as Aragorn’s clothed, but noticeable, semi-hard arousal brushed his own awakening length and he unwillingly groaned aloud at the intensity of the touch. Not waiting for a polite invitation, Aragorn seized the opportunity and pushed his tongue deep into Faramir’s mouth. With a victorious sweep, he set out to conquer the younger man’s mouth and he confidently claimed all he found.
Cursing silently, Faramir gave a shove of his hips and brought their groins together once more. He could feel the pounding of his own heart, and he sensed the boiling passion underneath Aragorn’s skin. A faint sheen of sweat was already wetting the King’s brow and Faramir was under no pretences that he himself would not soon be looking much the same. At this second meeting of their risen flesh, Aragorn moaned into his mouth and lost just so much control that Faramir was able to catch his tongue and suck on it demandingly.
When he released his lover, his breath came in gasps.
Aragorn pushed away and in spite of the obvious lust seeping from his eyes, he managed a look of resentment.
“And this you would abandon?”
Faramir let go an exasperated cry. “I am not abandoning! As the only one left of my bloodline, I am only ensuring that it continues into the future. Truly, Aragorn, if you cannot see the importance of this…”
Behind Aragorn, the doors leading to the Council Chamber was sliding open cautiously and a pair of eyes peered out into the hallway. The dignitaries of Gondor were apparently attempting an invisible departure from the scene, but Aragorn must have caught Faramir’s straying eyes for he glanced over his shoulder.
A few more heads appeared between the doors, faces carrying a mixture of fright, surprise and a strong willingness to leave as swiftly as possible. With a rumble in his chest that might have been a replacement for the growl he could not currently utter, Aragorn turned his attention back to Faramir and scraped his teeth against his lower lip.
Under other circumstances, Gondor’s Steward might have opposed this behaviour in front of such an audience, but he was far too angry to care. His hands tightened their grip on the fabric of Aragorn’s tunic, tempting him, challenging him.
Casting another eye towards the doors, Aragorn gritted his teeth.
“I said: you are dismissed.”
A low murmur consisting of numerous ‘my lord’ and ‘sire’ accompanied the Council members as they filed out through the doors, instantly making their way down the hallway in the other direction. Nowadays it was common – albeit unofficial – knowledge that King and Steward were lovers, but it was mostly a discreet affair. However, this open display of emotions, at least on this level, was new to everyone.
Aragorn’s face was flushed as his interest in Faramir returned full force, but plainly it was not out of embarrassment for his knee dove forward in a struggle to force Faramir’s thighs further apart. Faramir held his ground though, and would not budge.
A new wave of rain struck the windows and made the glass shatter at the onslaught. The last couple of Council members were quietly slipping through the doors, throwing only fleeting, uncomfortable glances in the King’s direction. Taking advantage of the moment, Faramir let go of Aragorn’s tunic. Without delay, he pressed his open palms hard against the bulge in Aragorn’s breeches and to his grim delight heard his lover’s breath catch forcefully in his throat.
The sizzling stare that Aragorn sent him was of one kind and one kind only.
Suddenly Faramir was torn away from the wall, and before he could master his own feet, he found himself being pulled down the hallway behind Aragorn who had a firm grip on his arm. He thought about protesting, but decided he would much rather see this through, if only to explore exactly how far he could push the King.
As the storm drew nearer to Minas Tirith, the sky darkened further and the winds’ power grew. Water ran down the window-glasses in so many broad streams that it was practically impossible to see past them.
Aragorn did not have to drag him far. He threw up the door to the Steward’s chambers and pushed Faramir inside, banging the door shut behind him as soon as he was over the threshold himself. His eyes narrowed and nailed Faramir to the floor as his voice turned dangerously slow.
“I do not like to share.”
The Steward raised an eyebrow. “But you can be shared?”
He knew it was low, but he could not resist.
As anyone might have guessed, this detail – however accurate it might be – did not bring forth a happier version of Aragorn.
“Arwen has no trouble sharing me with you,” he said with a flare in the grey gaze.
“As I have no trouble sharing you with her,” Faramir countered immediately.
He moved quickly, stepped up to Aragorn and suggestively dragged his fingers down the broad chest before him. His hand landed on the waistband of Aragorn’s breeches and he tugged hard. The King leaned in and bit into the sensitive skin of his throat and this time managing to stir up some serious interest in Faramir’s body.
“And I suppose you have already told the Lady of Rohan about our…” Aragorn pushed Faramir’s hand further down to cover his arousal, “liason?”
At the contact, Faramir drew a sharp breath that caused Aragorn’s lips to curve into a wicked smile.
“How do you know I have not?”
He loved touching Aragorn and between them it was no secret. He never needed to be persuaded into stroking his lover or taking him in his mouth, and now he felt his hand dip inside the breeches to brush against the heated flesh.
But then, his lover loved to be touched.
Aragorn’s eyelids fluttered and a shudder racked his frame.
“Have you?” he asked in a raspy voice as Faramir’s fingers fought the restraining fabric and the stubborn laces to curl around his length.
“I do not think I will tell you.”
Aragorn’s hands went straight to Faramir’s groin, and he tugged frantically at the lacings. The fabric fell away and revealed the hard member within. Aragorn’s hand closed around it and began fisting. Fast to begin with, but as Faramir fell against his body, he increased the speed further. Waves of maddening pleasure rolled over the Steward, making him ache for more and arch against his King. Faramir maintained a loose grip on Aragorn’s own length which bobbed and throbbed in his hand, but even this slight pressure was enough for Aragorn who was pleasing not only Faramir but also himself by the relentless pace of his stroking.
Groan after groan fell from Faramir’s lips and he heard his lover answer him with his own sounds. Liquid smeared on the top of Aragorn’s sex and wet his hand as hips bucked against him. The King’s voice was no more than a harsh series of breaths as his mouth found Faramir’s ear.
Faramir’s hand shot down and his fingers encircled the twin globes beneath Aragorn’s shaft and he purposefully brushed his thumb over them, satisfied when the King gasped and bit into his shoulder.
“…mine.” Faramir hoarsely concluded.
He pushed back from his lover and contentedly watched how Aragorn’s slightly unfocused gaze followed him as he began undressing. His shirt dropped to the floor in a heap and he kicked off his boots. He backed away slowly, knowing very well the way to the large bed. When he stood next to it and began pushing down his breeches, the room was suddenly aflame with the blaze of lightning.
It seemed to push Aragorn into action for his own clothes flew from his body in a whirlwind of motion. As he strode closer, his eyes briefly glanced down at his naked arousal and he smiled devilishly as he took in Faramir’s similar one.
“Now what are your sentiments?”
The Steward dropped down on the bed and lazily stretched out upon the richly embroidered coverlet.
“What do you say about an early summer wedding?”
The King of Gondor leaped forward and stole the vacant space in the air above Faramir, dipping the mattress with great force, using hands and knees to support his weight.
“I will hear no such talk,” Aragorn harshly warned him as he loomed over his lover with the anger returning to his features.
“We cannot keep this up – in this fashion – forever!” said Faramir. “You must allow me to have children!”
“Have as many children as you desire,” snarled Aragorn, leaning down to swipe his tongue over Faramir’s exposed nipple.
“Legitimate children, Aragorn!” Faramir hissed as he felt teeth scrape against the other risen nub. “Just as yours and Arwen’s will be.”
“I am King!”
“And you love that so very much…” muttered Faramir as he reached up to teasingly drag the back of his hand along the straining erection above him.
“I… I learn to li-i-ve with it!” Aragorn sucked on his lower lip and bit into it. “And I have my Steward to help…” The rest of his words were swallowed up by a howl of thunder and the gasp that escaped him as Faramir’s hand closed around his arousal for a second time and began stroking him in earnest.
“Well I am Steward,” Faramir ground out, “and I make my own choices.”
“Éowyn?” grunted Aragorn with arms shaking violently. “You love her?”
Withdrawing his hand, Faramir caught hold of Aragorn and dragged him down to lay on top of him. He gave a thrust of his hips, pressing into his lover and feeling the rush of heat that assailed him. “Stretch me.”
Heedless of any other items on top of the bed table, Aragorn shifted and reached out blindly to snatch the salve that rested there. A pile of books fell to the floor with a crash, but soon enough he produced the jar.
It seemed to Faramir that no more had he opened it before slick fingers sought out the cleft between his buttocks. The warring of the rain and the winds continued outside as the Steward spread his legs to allow better access. Aragorn rolled on top of him again, draping his body over one of his legs and most of his chest.
As the first finger slid inside and sent sparks rushing through him, Aragorn licked a wet line along his throat. “You love her?”
The finger twisted around, feeling the muscles and making it harder to breathe.
A second finger entered and a scissoring movement caused him to shudder helplessly.
“She loves you?”
“So she says…”
A tongue plundered his mouth and Aragorn’s erection pounded against his thigh.
The third finger breeched him and nearly made him spill himself, but he bit his lip and pinched the base of his member to hinder his release. Aragorn let out a long groan as if saw the movement himself but had no words for it.
Then the fingers pulled out and left Faramir trembling on the bed. Aragorn rolled off him and loomed above him once more as he slicked his shaft slowly and very much in plain view. With his clouded mind clearing a little, Faramir smirked and licked his lips, taking much delight in seeing how the smooth stroking briefly became erratic as Aragorn realised just how close he was to Faramir’s mouth.
He did not give in however and pulled back instead, settling between Faramir’s legs. There was a stern look on his face despite the rapid rising and falling of his chest and the glaze of desire that had covered up the most intense glimmer of his eyes.
“You love her.”
Faramir pulled his knees to his chest, opening up. He tugged at his own neglected length and arched upwards as a burning sensation washed over him. “I love her differently…” he managed.
“I love you.” With a glare, Aragorn unexpectedly bent down. “I will show you differently!”
When his tongue drove into Faramir’s opening, the younger man was sure he lost his mind. The rain was beating down hard upon the windows and the skies above the City were roaring, but all he was aware of was Aragorn’s wet heat probing his inner channel and licking him savagely. Then, as abruptly as it had began, it ended, and before he knew it, the blunt head of Aragorn’s arousal pressed against him and slid inside.
Faramir’s shout of pleasure mingled with another roll of thunder and when he forced his eyes open, he saw that Aragorn was beyond intelligent thinking as well. The Steward wrapped his legs around his King’s waist and pushed back, drawing almost a roar from him.
With fervour, Aragorn thrust into him, claiming him, marking him, but also loving him – just as Faramir claimed him, marked him and loved him as he reached out for him and left biting kisses upon his skin.
A slap from Aragorn’s hand chased his own one away from his erection and he submitted to being stroked and filled simultaneously. He clenched his inner muscles and Aragorn shook above him, too lost to form coherent speech.
It was hot and hard, in the dim light that filled the room in between the lightening flashes that illuminated it with a shining white.
Faramir was swelling in Aragorn’s hand; he was being driven into a realm of blinding lust – as if he had not already spent several moments there this afternoon. And Aragorn was swelling inside him, he could feel it. He pushed himself towards the edge, thrusting, with sweat leaving shimmering patterns on his body, and hitting the gland inside Faramir with every thrust.
He came first, admitting his weakness and surrendering, with a release that was fiery hot and which rushed forth as a shaking of terrible beauty took hold of him and for a short while owned him. His grip on his lover’s shaft strengthened in this moment and it served to lure him too into completion. To the sound of his own cry, Faramir emptied himself over Aragorn’s hand and his own belly.
Still sheathed deep within his trembling body, Aragorn crashed down upon him, breathing so rapidly it sounded almost dangerous.
Faramir’s hands cradled his head where it rested on his chest. He stroked the dark hair as their bodies calmed down and he once more found he could speak.
“You know it shall be like this always.”
Aragorn sighed and his breath ghosted across the sweat covered skin and cooled it. “I know.”
“You know too that I must marry.”
A displeased huff was his only answer. Faramir kept smoothing the wild locks down. “You know that Aragorn.”
A low mumbling that was impossible to understand drifted to his ears.
Aragorn grumbled some more and followed the threads in the embroidered bed spread with a lazy forefinger.
“I am afraid I shall lose you.”
He traced the outline of Aragorn’s ear and destroyed his earlier work by snaking his fingers into the mess of hair and gently massaging his lover’s neck.
“Then we will make sure you do not.”
“Not every man has a wife like Arwen,” said Aragorn, shifting slightly to give him more space to work. He pressed a kiss to Faramir’s skin. “I love you both so very much.”
The drumming song of the rain filling the bedchamber was the only sound heard for a few moments as Faramir raised his head from the bed and looked down at Aragorn fondly. His King might be hot-tempered but he could also be as solemn as a sleeping tree in winter time.
“I love you, Aragorn.”
A frail smile passed over Aragorn’s lips as he too raised his head and locked eyes with Faramir.
“I should know that, should I not?” he said in a small voice.
“Well,” Faramir chuckled quietly,” you could try to remember it this time.”
He let his head fall back upon the bed, but he sensed Aragorn’s gaze upon him for many long minutes. Then he felt the King’s head resume its previous position and he continued the circling movements his fingers had briefly abandoned.
“You do not have a quilt or something down there?” Faramir asked him after a while.
“You want me to find one?” Aragorn was stroking his side and hip with slow motions.
“Only if you can bring it here without leaving the bed. I quite like you in this position.”
He felt Aragorn’s beard gently scrape his skin as he grinned. “I shall have to move eventually, even if I do love being inside you.”
“Oh very well,” sighed Faramir, but he smiled.
Aragorn roused himself enough to pull out and sit up with an energetic shake of his head. “Next time, remind me to bring food. I am starved!”
Faramir shoved a foot at him. “I will only take one wife.”
Aragorn eyed him suspiciously as he rose to fetch a blanket. “You might have some other stupid idea in the future.”
“I was thinking of taking up residence in Ithilien…”
“Oh no!” Aragorn spun around and the wild look was back even if it was not as livid as before. “Oh no! I will not see you married and living in Ithilien! You are desired at court!”
He threw the quilt at Faramir who laughed and covered himself up. “Some desire!”
He was soon joined by Aragorn who brought him close and draped a strong arm around him. “Yes. Everyone can see how much good you do in Minas Tirith.”
“Indeed,” Faramir grinned, “I am quite sure that after today, there will be no one left who doubts it.”
“Less speculation then,” stated Aragorn and placed a kiss in the corner of his mouth. “That is good. Untamed rumours are never a healthy addition to a rule.”
“You are very wise, my lord,” Faramir snickered. “Albeit a bit obstinate at times… You do know that Arwen and I tried to tell you a week ago about my betrothal to Éowyn..?”
Aragorn raised himself up on one elbow and stared at him incredulously. “You did not!”
“Yes we did. At supper. On the same day that I returned from Rohan.”
“She knew about this before I did?”
“Arwen or Éowyn?” Faramir teased him.
“Arwen!” The King was frowning like never before.
“She is a female – I needed advice on women!”
“Women!” Aragorn snorted. “Women… I am warning you, they are very strange.”
“You are married to one…”
“No, I am married to a female Elf… whom I have known for over sixty-five years.”
Faramir made a face. “All right. Fine. But we tried to tell you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! But we guessed we did not get through to you… And judging by recent events, that was a correct surmise.”
Aragorn muttered something but a faint rising of colour in his cheeks gave him away rather effectively. “I was too happy to see you again…”
“…to listen properly.”
“Perhaps,” Aragorn reluctantly admitted.
Tiredly Faramir shook his head and brought his hand up to rest on the back of his lover’s head.
“Elessar…” he sighed and slowly pulled him down to capture the lips of his King.
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