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One Word Only (NC-17) Print

Written by Bell Witch

03 March 2008 | 6302 words

Title: One Word Only
Author: Bell Witch
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Characters: Faramir, Rumiard (OMC)
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, shameless smut, bondage play.
Word Count: 6278
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no money is being made from this. As if.
Author’s Notes: Prompt 55: No in the 50_darkfics challenge. Written 10 Sept. 2006. Faramir and Rumiard arc. Details inspired by Shiplizard, and thank you for the beta ;) Also posted at faramir_fics.
Followed by Prompt 51: Yes

“No,” Faramir gasped. “No…”

Rumiard was behind him, holding him steady with an arm around his waist and the other below it, exploring with a thoroughness that was getting more difficult to bear by the moment. They were both on their knees on Rumiard’s bed, Faramir quickly losing the ability to support himself. He slumped back onto the powerful chest only to buck forward again when Rumiard started stroking.


A low chuckle answered him.

“You keep saying that but you keep not meaning it.”

Faramir shook his head. “No.” He closed his eyes, shuddering against the intensity of what was being done to him. His hands were bound fast behind him and he was not allowed to speak but for the one word. Rumiard had him hard and wanting and he didn’t know how much longer he’d have to wait: he had no one to blame but himself.

“Come, Rumiard, you must let me do something for your birthday,” Faramir insisted.

The larger man snorted. “I must, must I? Very well, let us go out and have supper and a pint or two.”

“That’s all? I would give you anything you wanted.” Faramir caught the brown eyes with his own. “Anything I could give you.”

“I know.”

It was frustrating for Faramir. He’d been trying for a long time to find an appropriate gift for his friend. He had looked everywhere he could think of but the truth of it was that Rumiard had little need for things in much the same way as Faramir himself did. And since Rumiard did not share his intense love of books, that avenue was closed to him. At least they could go for evening meal, which was something.

That Rumiard chose a simple inn was not surprising—he was a simple man, he said. They ate good, plain food and had a bit of ale. It was still early, but Faramir could see the signs that Rumiard was uncomfortable in the public setting. The truth was that he was uncomfortable being there with Faramir, which Faramir knew but never really understood.

“You’re the Steward’s son and I’m just a soldier. I always wonder what people are saying,” he’d mentioned on several occasions.

“Am I not allowed to have friends?” Faramir asked. “You’re a perfectly respectable person.”

But he wasn’t, or at least Rumiard did not consider himself to be so. His father had been a man of Harad, though he never knew him because he died before Rumiard was born. Was killed, in truth—for raping his mother. Rumiard said often that nothing good could come out of that but Faramir was sure that Rumiard’s mother did not agree. He never met her, as she died before he knew Rumiard. It was the way he spoke of her that told Faramir that his mother had loved him and that she had taken the child created so violently and cared for him enough for two parents.

He’d gone for a soldier and been very successful at it. He was tall and strong, more powerful even than Boromir (though Faramir would never have told his brother this) if not quite so skilled in swordsmanship. He had dark hair that curled slightly, deep brown eyes and dark skin. His appearance was intimidating but people in his unit knew that he was mostly quiet and a good man for listening. Rumiard was a man who could be relied upon.

It was these things that Faramir listed as reasons for respectability whenever Rumiard was feeling outclassed in Faramir’s company. Rumiard just shook his head and smiled.

Even on the occasion of his birthday he did not feel that he had the right to demand much of Faramir’s time, was surprised when Faramir mentioned that they might do something to mark the day. Pleasantly surprised, but… well, it was not harmful to go have an evening meal with his friend. Then Faramir could go and do more important things during his short stay in Minas Tirith.

“Would you like to walk a bit?” Faramir asked. “It’s a bit cool but it feels good after being inside.”

“Do you not have things to do?” Rumiard asked.

“Yes, I do,” Faramir replied with a smile. “I’m doing them. I have no other place that I need to be until mid-day tomorrow. I thought that we might be out somewhat later drinking. I’d planned on it, even the possibility of staying somewhere if we were too drunk to leave. But you’re not making it very easy for me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.” The expression was between smile and frown and it made Faramir laugh.

“I do love you, my friend. Why don’t I buy a bottle and we can go back to your rooms and drink in private? Then you need not worry about what people will say.”

“If you don’t mind.”

Faramir sighed.

They drank wine and talked about everything. Faramir was explaining the story of the book he was reading when he noticed an odd look on his friend’s face.

“Am I boring you?” he asked, only slightly joking. Rumiard shook his head—that look again.

“No, not at all.”

The look, it was the one Rumiard got sometimes when… That was when he got the idea. If he could not find an appropriate gift for his friend, then why not offer a rather more inappropriate gift to his lover?

“Rumiard, are you tired at all?”

“Not terribly.”

“I was wondering if you wanted to go to bed.”

The large man looked mildly perplexed. Faramir had said that he wasn’t busy and now he wanted to leave? Perhaps he’d had more to drink than he thought because that didn’t seem quite right.

“If you wanted to go I could sleep,” he said. He’d not argue with anything Faramir wanted—he never would.

“I did not mean sleep.” Faramir sat and waited a moment, watching as his words permeated Rumiard’s slightly fogged mind. The brick-coloured blush told him exactly when it registered.

“I could not sleep easily enough as well,” the rich voice replied. Rumiard took a quick drink, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Tonight is for you, Rumiard. Anything you want. I need not qualify that, for I trust you completely.”

Rumiard smiled then. “I already have everything I want.”

“I meant tonight, now.” It would only be fair. Rumiard was always deferential in everything, even in private. Even in bed. “I am not Lord Faramir here, not a leader of men. I am only your lover and I offer myself to you. Whatever you wish to take for yourself I will gladly give.”

He would give it anyway, at other times, but he knew Rumiard wouldn’t ask. He’d never ask for anything and content himself with whatever Faramir gave. It was extremely frustrating because he never knew what Rumiard wanted. He could find out now

“What do you want me to say?”

“It’s not about what I want,” Faramir told the older man quietly. “I want to give you something, anything you wish for.”

“You’ve already given me anything I’d wish for.” He smiled—Faramir had. Even the dark, shameful thing that he wanted, Faramir had given him that even though he’d not understood and was concerned because he knew of Rumiard’s mother. It had taken time but eventually he was able to do it.

“What about tonight? Right now?” This was getting nowhere. Did Rumiard truly want nothing for himself? That wasn’t anything Faramir understood.

Rumiard wished he could understand his lover right now. He was sure Faramir wanted something from him—wanted him to demand it so that Faramir wouldn’t have to ask. He didn’t know what it could be but felt that there was something. He was trying to find it.

“Faramir, you madden me at times.”

“You’re maddening me right now,” Faramir returned.

Rumiard smiled slightly, rose and moved to stand so that he could look Faramir in the eyes.

“You want something from me… I know you do. Something I haven’t asked for, haven’t done. Tell me.”

“This was supposed to be for you!”

Faramir did not know how it had happened. He was ever asking Rumiard for things, telling him what to do. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

“I just… please, whatever you wish, even if it’s nothing at all!” He looked up at his friend, eyes wide.

It was a risk, a great risk. Rumiard rose up again, taking Faramir by the wrist and pulling him from his chair.

“Come with me,” he ordered, hoping that this would work. Faramir was the leader; he was in charge and Rumiard followed, gladly. This might annoy Faramir, his taking over. Or it could be… right.

Faramir followed quietly, worried that he’d made his best friend and lover angry somehow. He only wished to give Rumiard the chance to have things his way for once. It never was so and the inequality made Faramir vastly uncomfortable: he felt he was taking advantage, taking and never giving.

“Bed.” Rumiard pushed him down, gentle but inexorable. When Faramir was flat on his back, Rumiard knelt astride him, hands on his shoulders.

“What do you want?” His voice was firm. “Tell me.”

Faramir shook his head. It was not supposed to be what he wanted, but what Rumiard wanted.

“I’ve done something wrong, haven’t I?” Faramir asked and was answered with an exasperated, fond sigh.

Rumiard moved slightly so he could pull Faramir’s shirt off, stripping him to the waist.

“You’ll tell me,” he said, leaning back down and moving to kiss the sensitive places on Faramir’s neck. “There is something, for you’ve given me everything I want and then offer me more—offer it with this fear and want in your eyes, this trust. Why? What is it you think I’d ask for that would take so much trust? You offer me more when I’m satisfied ten times over.”

His hands slid down Faramir’s chest.

“For me, there is one thing that pleases me above all else. It is my favourite thing, the darkest that I want—to be pinned down and controlled, to put myself entirely in your hands. And I have that. There is nothing else that I desire for my own sake.”

One hand rested on Faramir’s stomach, the other moved slowly, palm rubbing over exposed nipples.

“But there is more that I like—because it brings you pleasure. The slow lovemaking, and everything I do with my mouth for you—that makes me burn just as brightly, but only because you want it.”

Faramir lay silently, looking almost stunned—Rumiard did not speak like this.

“I want no more,” the dark man insisted. “But … you want me to take more. Tell me, so I can have that, too.”

Faramir did not know what to say. He wanted to give his lover everything and he’d take almost nothing and be content. It was true—he would never resent not getting more. It was confusing because it was completely foreign. He tried his hardest, gave everything he had to his father and it was never right, never enough. To suddenly be told that you could do no wrong was bewildering in the extreme. He blinked rapidly at the beloved face above him.

“I… want you to have everything. Touch me everywhere and do everything you’ve ever enjoyed doing or wanted to do. Make me cry out for you to touch me, kiss me, because all you do—I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you and it frightens me.” All out at once, a rush. “Make it overwhelming in the way that only you can because even though I’m afraid I know you won’t hurt me because I trust you—you know it’s true.”

The phrase that caught Rumiard’s attention the most was ‘even though I’m afraid’. That was something he thought he understood. He nodded and sat up, full height.

“I’m going to strip you. Lie still.”

The dream Faramir had told him about, so long ago when Rumiard had explained his dark desire, embarrassed and so worried but Faramir had not been disgusted. He’d blushed and spoke of a dream he had, where ‘no’ meant ‘yes’ and he was frightened but he wanted… Faramir had given him his wish more than once. They’d never again spoken of Faramir’s dream.

“I should explain something,” Rumiard said, once Faramir was stripped naked. He knelt between Faramir’s spread thighs, still clothed, and looked down. He smiled.

“I have not always been clear in the past, always have been vague when I spoke of your beauty. I will explain now and you will not blush or turn your head away when I say this—you are beautiful. This I say as your friend, your servant. But as a man, when I first saw you I thought something else. Listen carefully, because it is different.”

His lips twisted into something between a leer and a playful grin.

“I wanted you. I saw you across the inn the moment you walked in the door. I had no idea who you were but there was this fine thing that had come into the room and I was warmed instantly. Then I heard your name and gave up on any thoughts that I’d ever have you.”

Rumiard closed his eyes, remembering.

“I was nobody and you… I never told you but if you’d been someone else, just another soldier, I would have come to you. I would have wanted to touch you.”

His large hands skimmed over the flat stomach.

“I’d have wanted to kiss you here. There is something about a man’s stomach—the soft underbelly, perhaps—that I love.”

Both hands moved to play over Faramir’s chest.

“I’d have wanted my mouth all over this, of course.” He grinned. “I didn’t know about your neck yet, though I’d have found out quickly enough.”

The hands went down boldly, cupping Faramir’s buttocks, actually lifting and making the smaller man arch out of bed.

“And I’d have wanted a handful of this. Oh yes.” He lowered Faramir carefully, crouched on his hands and knees, large body looming over the man on his bed. “Do you understand so far?”

“Yes.” He made Faramir feel so wanted. Not because of who he was—the son of the Steward—but just because he existed. It was more intoxicating than wine.

“I never thought I’d have any of that. I never thought I’d see you again, to be honest. But I did, and not long after. I turned around and there you were. And you actually stopped to speak with me. I was almost ready to leave but I stayed and drank with you. By the end of the night I was so drunk that I almost kissed you. Never sure if you noticed or not.”

Faramir nodded.

“I wondered why you stopped though I should not have—it would have been because of who I am. It always is.” Usually it went the other way; people wanted him only because of who he was. They didn’t really want him, just wanted something from him.

“Yes, it was, though not why you think. You’re so much better than I am and I knew it.”

Faramir shook his head. “You never would have kissed me.”

“Good thing that you did it yourself, then.”

“Eventually.” Faramir smiled. “I am so pleased that I saw you again, that we had the time to get to know one another else it never would have happened.”

“No. Then I’d never be here telling you how beautiful you are—your eyes and the way your hair looks in the light. No blushing, now.” Rumiard nodded in satisfaction. “You smile at me sometimes and my heart skips, Faramir. But somehow that’s not enough.”

His face softened and he lowered himself, first kissing Faramir’s forehead before resting his weight on the body below him, mindful that his clothes might feel a bit uncomfortable against the bare skin.

“Now, you keep asking ‘what I want’ and I keep telling you that I already have it. Whatever you want is what I want. It’s not so much who you are as what you are—not my commanding officer, but you are my true leader. You always will be.” He put a finger on Faramir’s lips to keep him silent. “You are a leader.”

Faramir did not see it but he would one day.

“But if you weren’t who and what you are… If I hadn’t had to stop that first night, here’s what I’d have wanted from a man who looked and sounded like you—another soldier, not the Steward’s son.”

He kissed Faramir’s throat, long and lingering, before continuing.

“I’d have wanted something loud and fun, the two of us wrestling, kissing and fighting at the same time. A battle of wills that only makes it more fun when one person ‘loses’. I need not wrestle you down now but I am going to make this a contest of wills.”

This was the risk, the big, bad thing, but it felt right.

“So this is what will happen. You are going to lie there and I am going to do whatever I want to you. Until you can’t take it anymore, until you’re so wanting that you can’t stand it, I only want to hear one word from you. No matter what I say or what you want, one word only. You know what that is.”

“Please,” Faramir said. That had to be it. It couldn’t be… a long time since they’d spoken of the dream. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe for what Rumiard had just said. “And I’d never lose to you. You’re larger and stronger but I would not lose unless I wished to. You wouldn’t allow it.”

Rumiard shook his head. “Wrong word. That comes later, when you can’t take it anymore. Let’s try again.”

He bent low, purring the words right into Faramir’s ear. “Do you want me to do this to you?”

As though he could not see already what his words had done! The talking, so unlike Rumiard, had made him long for so many things but he wanted more to allow the other man to do as he wished so he would try not to interfere.


Rumiard sighed and frowned, then pulled back, removing his weight from Faramir.

“I thought perhaps… but it seems not. Can you not say no? Would it frighten you too much? It is meant only to be play.” A little fear, enough to make Faramir’s heart pound, to make the feelings stronger, enough to give him his dream but not enough to leave him with nightmares.

Faramir stared up in surprise. It had been so long ago. His dream had worried him but Rumiard was not angry or upset, was understanding even as Faramir had tried to understand the other man’s desire. It had taken time and effort in order to want it also, to give it properly. Now his lover was asking if he wished to try his dream and he was not so sure.

Could he say no when he didn’t mean it? It was a lie—he wanted Rumiard to do these things, to do whatever he desired. And Rumiard wanted only to give to him, though this would be in his hands and not Faramir’s. Giving to Faramir still, but on his own whim and not when Faramir said.

If I truly meant ‘no’ he would stop.

“Rumiard—no. Please.” He’d see it in Faramir’s eyes and understand, and never hurt him. “No.”

Rumiard smiled again, moving to put some of his weight on Faramir’s upper arms.

“Get used to saying that, beautiful.” He bent closer. “I knew you could do this.”

He pressed a soft kiss to Faramir’s neck, and then moved back, lifting Faramir’s legs a bit so he could kneel between them. He started to kiss Faramir’s thighs, wondering how long it would be before Faramir started to tremble.

Faramir gasped to hear the soft words spoken like that. He didn’t want the kiss to the neck to end but he could say nothing. Perhaps his lover would spend more time there later. Rumiard moved slightly higher and Faramir inhaled sharply. He hadn’t noticed before—how had he missed it? He was entirely without clothing and Rumiard completely dressed but for his boots. Lying there spread open with his lover between his legs he felt suddenly self-conscious.

He did not know that this was part of the plan, even as Rumiard would not be placing any kisses above the chest just now. That made them too equal and Rumiard was meant to be in control for a while. Faramir had done something similar to him once, driven him past understanding. Now he would know how it felt to be shivering and burning in the face of control. It could be such a sweet feeling—until Faramir finally had enough, finally said ‘please’ or ‘yes’ or lost all restraint.

“You should be ashamed,” Rumiard said. He was starting cautiously, unsure of himself and what Faramir would allow though he’d said anything. Rumiard wanted him on the very edge, seeming close to danger but truly safe in his lover’s keeping. “Spread out for me. I shall have my hands all over you.”

Faramir’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He was open because Rumiard had put him that way! So breathless already and Rumiard had barely touched him, but he could not bring himself to be ashamed because he loved the other man so. He smiled.

“No.” Yes.

“This, remember?” Rumiard drew a circle on Faramir’s stomach and then bent down to kiss soft skin, to nip gently. His hands moved, cupping Faramir’s buttocks again, dragging his hips up so that they rested on Rumiard’s knees. “And this as well. I think I like you this way.”

He smoothed his hands down the strong thighs, stroking and massaging deeper but never touching the sensitive places, only the outside.

“You seem rather interested already. I bet you want my fingers up you.”

Faramir swallowed heavily. Barely touched and it was so intense already. This was unlike Rumiard and he was not used to it, though it was not too frightening to go on with because it was Rumiard—there was no danger.

“No.” He stared at Rumiard’s hands.

Rumiard laughed and shook his head. “You say that now.” He rose and went to the nearby trunk, pulling out the ointment he used to ease his aching muscles after riding.

“Look what I have.” He smeared some on two fingers, held them underneath Faramir’s nose. “Smells good, do you not think? Guess where it is going. You can deny it all you like, shake your pretty head and even try to fight me if you want to.”

It was said playfully so that Faramir knew—he could end this easily. If he truly fought or became desperate then Rumiard would stop. But perhaps Faramir, only now, might enjoy being overpowered. It was a heady thought and it warmed him as he moved back into position.

“No.” He wanted to say yes but could not.

“I don’t believe you. Try a little harder—I do not feel you mean it when you say no…”

His fingers slipped between Faramir’s legs, wetting his opening, but not applying pressure.


It had been a long since Faramir had been touched in this manner and it felt so good. It was usually Rumiard who was taken, or at least prepared like this. Faramir was never quite sure if this was something he was supposed to want or not—he could not tell. Rumiard seemed to think that there were things that Faramir did not do, things he received only, things he took only. Faramir felt that he should be able to do as he wished, if Rumiard wished for the same thing. To be touched like this—it felt incredible. Rumiard was careful and would not hurt him ever, so why did it seem that it was something that should be forbidden to him?

And… and… of course he’d not believe the ‘no’. Faramir didn’t mean it at all. It was playing only, and this teasing was something he’d done to Rumiard but never expected it in return. He’d enjoyed doing it and Rumiard had felt so good—he knew it. He simply wondered when Rumiard would move on.


The other man laughed despite himself. Sweet little ‘no?’ But the shout had been enough to tell him that he needed to do more. How to make Faramir fear him, just a little? A bit of fear to make the blood race…

The fingers slipped in, just less than rough, seeking and no longer teasing.

“Tight. I think I shall play in here for a while.”

“No, no.” Faramir’s voice was still fairly clear but that would all change once Rumiard started to touch that place inside.

“You love it.” The fingers curled up and the deep voice became conversational. “Do you like it? Being in my hands? I’ll not let you leave—you’re mine now.”

He did, he did love it—and he loved Rumiard also. He liked being in his hands and did not want to leave. Faramir was content to be his for a while. He wanted to say yes, it would be so much easier than this. The fingers curl.


Rumiard had a free hand, which he put to work teasing Faramir’s shaft. Light touches—he slid his thumb across the head.

“Now this I like.”

Faramir jumped—he’d not been expecting the hand and he moved his own reflexively. Rumiard caught it before he could bring it where he needed it to be.

“I understand—I do. But this is something you’re doing because I wish it. I am in control for a while.”

Faramir nodded slightly. He knew, but he’d forgotten for a moment. It would be fine. Or better than fine, which he was afraid of. He was strong enough to take this—it was not wrong to feel good.

“No,” Faramir said, meeting his lover’s eyes and pushing slightly against his hand.

“Mine.” Rumiard removed his fingers and rose to clean them. He returned after a moment with a bit of cording worn soft with use. He pulled Faramir up and shifted him onto his knees with his back toward Rumiard. He pulled Faramir’s hands behind his back and tied them carefully. He would have liked this himself but he was unsure of Faramir’s reaction—deep breaths only, so far.

“Bend your head back, or I’ll pull it back.”

Faramir did so, figuring that if Rumiard truly wished to pull it back himself he would have already done so.

“No,” he said clearly.

Rumiard shook his head. “You are still far too composed. Not for much longer—you shall beg me.”

This position was better, the smaller man with his head on Rumiard’s shoulder—he could touch more of Faramir’s body, could lean in behind him. Best of all, Faramir would not see when he started to sweat also. He began again, both hands stroking up Faramir’s thighs, nails running lightly over sensitive skin.

“Not too much longer and you’ll be wild, shoving back against me. My fingers will enter you until you can’t talk, pet you until you can’t take it anymore. My hands will drive you mad.”

Faramir shook, confused. He’d thought that Rumiard liked it when he was calm, wanted him to be calm when he took Rumiard—how could he have power over his lover if he was himself out of control? He was out of control now. No, that was not true—what Rumiard wished was that he be out of his own control and under Rumiard’s. That was a bit frightening but… So far it had all been good and there was nothing to worry about. But… How could he beg if he could not say anything but no?

“No.” Faramir was trying hard not to bite his lip. Fingers, petting… “No.”

“You are doing so well. I knew you could do this, and there will be relief when it’s too much.” The reassurance was a tiny whisper, then Rumiard leaned back.

And just explored, running his hands over Faramir’s chest, making pleased noises and saying little things. “So sweet. You look almost edible. Maybe I’ll suck you later.” Every spot on Faramir’s body that he knew, every place that would make him respond and drive him closer to begging. Every time Faramir said ‘no’, it meant that he retained mastery over himself. Rumiard needed to change that.

“No,” Faramir gasped. “No…”

Rumiard’s arm was around his waist and the other was moving downward. He leaned back a moment but thrust forward again when the stroking began.


A low chuckle answered him.

“You keep saying that but you keep not meaning it.”

“No.” Faramir shook his head and closed his eyes. It was so intense already. Suck him later? Yes. Now? Yes! Being touched everywhere and it was so good that Faramir was nearly lost. His neck, throat, legs… “No, no, nooooo.”

Rumiard was very pleased. It took a great effort to keep his voice casual, playful. He truly wanted to stop it, untie his lover and let things be even between them but even more he wished to show Faramir how good it had felt when Faramir had dominated him those times.

“Are you ready to give up yet?”

Faramir bucked wildly into the hand stroking him—too gently. It felt good but was not enough to end it. He wanted to, he was trying but there was not enough pressure.

“No.” Please, please, I can’t say anything else… “No.”

Faramir was moving forward and back, pushing into the hands and against the body behind him, wanting. He was so close to where he needed to be that soon he’d forget that he needed to say ‘no…’

Rumiard pushed him down, spread him out with his hands tied and cleaned him quickly, teased him, using his tongue between Faramir’s thighs until he was panting and writhing. It would not be long.

Incoherent noises did not count as words, and ‘oooh’ was close to ‘no’ anyway. Said he’d have mercy when it was too much! Faramir could not get away and could not finish like this. Rumiard had to stop—he couldn’t think.

“No, no,” moaning constantly, as quietly as he could manage. “No, Rumiard please!”

Faramir froze and Rumiard’s ministrations ceased—he was not supposed to say that. What was going to happen now?

“Yes.” Rumiard turned him and took him suddenly deep, sucking hard. When it is too much there will be relief—when you ask, I give.

Faramir’s body bowed and his head went back, mouth open. Had his throat not constricted he’d have been screaming. As it was he was almost completely silent as he came hard and fast, losing breath as the hot mouth worked on him. It lasted a long time and there were tears at the corner of Faramir’s eyes when it was over.

“Rumiard…” he said, and it seemed so quiet compared with the harshness of his breathing.

Rumiard undid Faramir’s hands, helping him move his arms again. It kept his own casual air from falling apart. His pulse throbbed and he was panting in clothing entirely too hot. He stripped quickly now that there was no role to play. And… now that his part was over he wanted to kiss Faramir but had to wait as they both were having trouble breathing. One closed-mouth kiss on the cheek, and he stroked Faramir’s face instead.

“You look about to come undone yourself,” Faramir said. “I’ll be able to breathe again in a moment, what should I do then?”

“Then you can do whatever you like,” Rumiard responded with another soft kiss. At this point, it would not take long.

Faramir closed his eyes and breathed deeply, wondering if he dared…


He sat up and breathed again, centering himself. He looked down the powerful body next to him and touched gently, one finger tracing slowly downward until it reached the hard length and ran lightly up and down, avoiding the tip.

“Rumiard,” he called softly, pulling the finger back and sucking the end of it.

“Yes?” He replied as well as he could but it was strangled. It wasn’t… Faramir didn’t… But he seemed to be enjoying doing this.

“Tell me now if you truly do not like it,” Faramir said. “If that is the case, then I will not do anything you don’t like or want.”

He stopped and smiled.

“But if it’s merely something you think that I don’t do then I say now, not as lord of anything but as myself, your lover, that I do as I wish—if you wish the same thing. Do you want it?” He moved closer, allowing their breath to mix.

Rumiard shut his eyes because everything seemed suddenly overbright.

“You are Faramir and you do as you wish,” he said so quietly. Faramir never had done it, tried once and Rumiard stopped him, unable to consider taking such a thing from a man like Faramir. He never thought that Faramir would enjoy it as he did, but the man’s face—not hesitant at all, not trying to return a favour. Oh, he wanted it truly.


“Do you not wish to see?” Faramir moved lower, breathing deliberately hard on the broad chest, stomach, lower, until he kissed the tops of Rumiard’s legs and slightly inward; simple, gentle kisses.

“I do, but it’s difficult to watch you do this.” He opened his eyes and shivered.

“You can do it.” Faramir smiled. “I don’t want to be distracted from what I’m doing worrying about you. It will be all right.”

Rumiard nodded and Faramir moved up and over, slowly following the path his finger had taken with the tip of his tongue, ending with lazy strokes up and down Rumiard’s shaft. They were light at first, then a bit harder, with a gentle scraping of teeth that made Rumiard hiss. He had to pull away a moment to find a better position—this was new. He found that Rumiard’s position of lying between the legs was truly best—he could touch freely the tops of the thighs, heavy sac and behind it. He glanced upward quickly—was Rumiard watching?

He was, watching and trying to form words and succeeding only in making a small choking noise. It wasn’t the touching or even the licking—it was the smile. And… he grit his teeth against the feeling of thumb teasing drops of seed from him. No, Faramir didn’t do this, but his mouth was there, so close, licking and kissing. And he was enjoying it!

“Faramir, you must stop. I’m going to…” He shook his head quickly, fists tangled in the sheets. He couldn’t look or it would finish him.

“Please, Rumiard. Open your eyes and see—I’m going to watch. You’ll peak and I’m here.” He took wrapped his hand around the base of the hard shaft and stroked up, then licked at the ridge, alternating. Stroke, lick, stroke, lick. “I am so close to you here.”

Faramir closed his eyes a moment, catching his breath, daring…

“I am so close that I could taste you if I wished.”

“No!” Yes.

Did not want to think about it, could not help his hips arching up into Faramir’s hand, into his (NO!) tongue. He tried to speak, tried to give a warning but could not—it was too late. And it was too late because he’d already seen it, seen Faramir flick his tongue over the head once, capturing just one taste. Rumiard shuddered and fell limp.


“I can do as I wish, and I love you,” Faramir said. “You’ve done it for me and I’ve wondered for a long time what it would be like to give you the same pleasure. It wasn’t exactly the same but close, and it did please you, I know it.”

A large hand slowly unwound itself and moved to touch a beloved face.

“It did. I love you, too.”

Faramir smiled and sat up. He did not wish to move but he had to. He could clean up a little bit and then lie down. This wasn’t exactly drinking too much and staying at an inn, but he wasn’t expected back and he so rarely had the opportunity to stay with his lover. He so much wanted to stay. It was bliss to lie here, listening to Rumiard’s breathing as it slowed, seeing the face turn for a kiss or two before falling into slumber.

So rare, to be able to hold him like this. Faramir fell asleep next to his powerful lover, a gentle smile on his face.

Rumiard appeared to be sleeping but he was not. His mind reeled even though his body was exhausted, spent. What he’d done to Faramir, what Faramir had done to him… No, he did not want to think of it.

He wanted it for himself, to have Faramir push and order and take him, use him even. But tonight it had been the other way around and… Oh, he wanted that again. He had to fight it, not give in. Such violence was how he was created and Rumiard knew it always, fought it always. Become a soldier to fight in a useful way.

But now… Rumiard held his eyes tightly closed. Faramir’s cries… No. No.



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4 Comment(s)

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Haha, yes, this was a bit tricky reading it out of order, I kept thinking back on the next story, picking the differences between what Faramir did there and how he usually satisfied Rumiard’s ‘darkest’ longing in order for that other thing to be classified as ‘something new’.

Reading this, I thought of how you said you were into braining :)
It’s fascinating how in this story one thing keeps meaning another, and sometimes you cannot even tell with complete certainty what means what. I repeatedly paused in the reading to ponder over things…
On the one hand, it apparently arouses Rumiard to hear a protest in response to his advances, even though he knows perfectly well that now a protest is just a code word for asking him to continue. At the same time, even this rather innocent harmless game where his partner actually has full control to stop it at any moment gets R feeling, well, guilty. He craves to tap into both his father’s and his mother’s experiences, but while the latter he seems to rather embrace, the former is a tricker ground – even though (again, not what it means) what he does to Faramir has nothing whatsoever in common to what his father had done.
Agh, I’m afraid of getting myself lost, it’s like one of those math problems where there all these minuses and plusses and they keep cancelling each other out and you have to keep track really carefully.
So on the one hand he understands it’s just a game, but on the other he does not and sees in it things that are really not there – or maybe it is precisely for those things that he wants to play these games. It’s hard to tell whether by doing all this he tries to find some fundamental acceptance for his father (he does not need to do that for the mother, seeing as she had stepped over the past and not taken it out on her son, and therefore playing out her experience comes quite easily and is a well-recognised need for him) or, on the contrary, to prove to himself that he is not like his father at all, that his intentions and reasons are entirely different. Maybe a bit of both. It’s also curious how in his general conduct he seems stable and balanced – quiet, a good listener, reliable, a simple man with a solid understanding of his place in life – whereas in truth he is carrying inside all this confusion of needs and fears. He keeps saying he does not need anything – but he actually needs so much. He is obviously unsettled by the social difference between the two of them, and yet even when given the chance he does not quite strip Faramir of that difference, still giving more than taking, still placing Faramir’s comfort above all else, still refusing to accept some forms of touch. So in the end it is still not possible to decide whether he understood what Faramir wanted to do for him or rather he followed his own interpretation after all and ended up doing something for Faramir again.
I suppose for one with his sort of history confusion and duality more or less come with the package, seeing as his father had mocked the very values that are supposed to lie at the base of the act whereas his mother, although the opposite could have been fully expected of her, took no bitterness to the child. Does the latter mean she had somehow managed to forgive the father or rather that in her mind she had disengaged the child from the father to see them as two completely separate people and the child therefore not responsible for the actions of the father? Is this the same question Rumiard is trying to solve for himself also? Can this question actually be answered?
No wonder it’s not always easy for Faramir to understand him. It’s interesting that Faramir actually trusts him more than Rumiard trusts himself, that it’s simpler and easier for Rumiard to trust Faramir than himself…

December    3 June 2011, 07:23    #

December—I had to re-read, as it has been a while since I’ve looked at this one. I’m trying to remember what all went into writing it.
The social difference is easy. The circumstances of Rumiard’s birth will always make him feel lesser, even though Faramir is too logical and fair to judge him on something that was not his fault. He probably didn’t become a soldier so he could fight against Harad consciously… It’s a natural thing for a big, strong man to do in a time of near war. Of course, since he is so large, people are going to judge him based on his appearance as well. His social equals are likely afraid of him even though he works daily to be just one of them, to be reliable.
He is that person, the one that wants to be able to be counted on. It’s not that he seeks to rise above in a political/social rank way, but in the human way—to better himself among the people by being a good guy. The question is that even though this is what he wants, is there darkness in his nature because of how he was made? Does nature overpower nurture? (As it were.)
Faramir sees the man that Rumiard is trying to be, the man he is. He can understand Rumiard’s worries about his father only on a basic level. Since Faramir is such a good person it follows that others are capable of being so also. He doesn’t consider himself particularly remarkable, largely because of his own father. He knows the power of words and what they can do. He believes that telling Rumiard that he is a good man helps make the man believe it. He can trust Rumiard because he doesn’t know just how hard the conflict is. His own conflict with his father isn’t that subtle.
They both want to be just ordinary men for a while. In each other’s company this could be possible—if they can only get rid of all that social conditioning for just a little while.
Thank you so much for you long and thoughtful review.

— Bell Witch    3 June 2011, 11:05    #

Ah, so he does want to fight against Harad… Well, that answers a few of the questions I posed above: he not only not wants to make some kind of peace with his father, he actually extrapolates that on his father’s whole culture. Woah… The war must be especially tough on him, seeing as he’d likely feel some kind of similarity between his parents’ conflict and the men of Harad coming to defile his motherland…
By the way, do we get to learn how Rumiard fares in the War? Are there more Rumiard stories out there?
And I wonder if, after the War, Faramir will be able to relate better, namely to the question of ‘if my father did something evil, does it mean I have the same propensity given I carry his blood?’ I always felt Faramir would come to forgive all of Denethor’s actions and explain them as Sauron’s bewitching influence – but does Rumiard have anything at all wherewith to comprehend his father’s conduct? All we know is that he was of Harad and what he did. We don’t know why. Was it because the man himself had been hurt and unloved and therefore hurting and humiliating others seemed to him a logical way to deal with his inner aggression and he raped or beat someone up every week? Or was it based on ethnicity and he consciously wanted to humiliate specifically a Gondorian woman and thus express his contempt and hatred for Gondor? Or was he, perhaps, in love with her but she denied him because he was poor/black/had a funny accent/whatever and in the heat of his pain and humiliation he thus took his revenge? Or maybe he was just drunk and in a foul mood and it was her misfortune to come upon him in an empty street? I’m not saying any of the above would in any way justify his conduct – I don’t really believe in mitigating circumstances when it comes to sexual violence – but at least it would give Rumiard some kind of context to try and penetrate his father’s motivation.
Do we get to learn anything of his childhood? He knows his history – do others? Did the boys he grew up with know how he came to be? Was his mother scorned? Was he taunted? Or wa she taunted regardless just because he looked different? I remember I saw this photograph in a magazine of a woman in France who had fallen pregnant during the Occupation (well, not from a French man) and how when the War was over the crowd made her shave her head and walked her through the streets in shame. I thought after that she’d really have to leave the town and go somewhere where no one knew – did something like that happen to Rumiard’s mom? How did her family take to the whole incident?

December    7 June 2011, 07:27    #

There are no more Rumiard stories except for the two posted here. There were going to be more and there might still be—I’ve had so much difficulty writing. I’m not sure how he fares during the war, although I believe he survives it. (I don’t know why I believe it, but I get the feeling that he does.)
It’s actually easier for Faramir to forgive his father. Sauron’s influence drove him to it. Rumiard’s situation is different because we don’t know why and probably never will, just like in the real world. I imagine it was a crime of opportunity and politics—that he would probably not have harmed a woman in his homeland but a Gondorean woman was fair game. I think they used to live farther south but moved. Either because they had to or because the woman didn’t want to stay anymore. Her family gave her money to move, I am sure.
Of course, if I write more, any of this is subject to change. Sometimes I have an outline and know how it will turn out and sometimes I’m surprised. Sometimes I have to re-do the outline because things change in the course of writing.
All I know about Rumiard’s mother is that she loved him and didn’t blame him for something that was his father’s fault. They had justice upon him and she moved away, moved on. I think she’d be proud of him and be there when he had his crisis.

— Bell Witch    7 June 2011, 17:58    #

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About the Author

Bell Witch

Most of my fanfiction is linked through my livejournal Feed link

Finally an update of my profile. I’m behind on linking fics posted here on my LJ, so these are pretty much my LotR fics. The Harry Potter links are on the LJ below a lot of silly quizzes and memes. For sillier results, my online RPG Faramir takes these quizzes also—in character. Most of his results are better than mine. His journal is faramir_hurin, for those so inclined.

I’ve also written a number of segments for the interactive story linked through this site.

I’ve been writing fanfiction for four or five years and I haven’t progressed into writing for many fandoms yet, which may be a blessing for all of those fandoms I’ve not written for. I don’t really count the online RP as fanfiction, though some would. That adds a few fandoms and a new dimension to LotR, as I now play Sauron in his Annatar persona.

As you can see, I am still not skilled at writing author profiles.