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Scars (R) Print

Written by Liz

08 October 2005 | 9762 words

[ all pages ]

Part Six: Hope’s Arrival

Aragorn wasn’t sure what Imrahil had said to his steward, but whatever it was, it had worked. Faramir seemed to have shed a great deal of weight from off his shoulders, and had been seen to have smiled once or twice.

The king tried not to think about what else Imrahil had done with Faramir, the feeling in his gut telling him that it was unwise to dwell overmuch on the possibilities. When he asked where he could find the Lord Faramir, he was told by one of the pages in the city that the Steward was once again in the library. Typical, Aragorn thought to himself. If anything was going to stay the exact same in this world it would be his love of books.

“Haven’t you read that one before?” He asked, startling the man out of his literature.

Faramir glared up at him for a moment before giving up and smiling slightly at the intrusion.

“You can never read a good book too many times, has no one told you that before?”

“You sound like my foster father, Lord Elrond. He is a great scholar as well. It seemed he could not pass on that love of parchment to me though.” Aragorn wrinkled his nose and laughed at a particular memory. “Once I dropped an entire bottle of ink onto his lap. He had to go change, but I think the ink had set on his skin as well as his robes. I don’t believe he ever tried to make me hold a quill again.”

“I think if I dropped ink on my father, his robes would be the least of my worries.” Faramir replied dryly.

Silence.

As if he had heard what had just been said for the first time, Faramir paled. “I meant...” he stammered before falling silent.

“I know what you meant.” Aragorn said gently.

“The scars...they aren’t that bad, are they.” A statement, not a question. Aragorn found that Faramir even saying that was a giant leap in the right direction.

“No, they are not. It’s a pity I cannot touch you to show you that.” Aragorn mused out loud, wondering if he was making a gigantic mistake in bringing the pair of them to this crossroads. “Well, I mean,” Aragorn tried to explain before falling quiet at the look of amusement in the younger man’s eyes.

“I know what you mean.” Faramir answered quietly and put his hand on the king’s. The two men looked at their hands and then at each other. “I think...” Faramir began, before swallowing and starting again. “I think that perhaps, I haven’t been as open to new...opportunities as I could have been.”

Aragorn covered Faramir’s hand with his own and then stroked it, trying to memorise the feeling of his steward’s skin into his consciousness. “Do you think that now you are more open? Perhaps to new feelings, like this one?” Daring greatly, the king brushed a finger against Faramir’s small scar on the neck.

Faramir froze, thoughts of Imrahil’s warm and heavy hands wandering over his lower back suddenly vivid in his mind. Aragorn’s hands were different, cooler and rougher after longer years of swordsmanship. “It seems that it’s the season for new feelings.” Faramir replied faintly, trying to repress the contradicting emotions that roiled in his stomach.

There was still the feeling of taintedness and the impulse to step back from Aragorn’s intimacy. But there was yet another, one which Imrahil had awoken in him and which Faramir had all but given up on feeling; desire for another person. A desire which, as Aragorn moved his hand slowly down the scarred side of Faramir’s body, was not decreasing in the slightest.

Aragorn went slowly, despite his body’s protestations. He had been delighted when Faramir had become less reclusive, but apparently Imrahil’s headway only went so far. But that was fine, since he decided that the hands of the king could do the rest. “Would you give me your hands?” He asked.

Faramir looked up from where he had been watching Aragorn trace his fingers and blinked at the other man. “My hands?” A nod was his answer, and with a shrug the steward placed his hands in those of his king.

Aragorn held them for a moment, squeezing them affectionately and placing them on his chest. He watched Faramir’s frozen expression as he carefully moved them down his chest to his abdomen before raising them again to his shoulders. “You know that I wish for your touch. Will you give it to me?”

A hesitant nod was his answer.

The touches on both sides were soft, tentative and careful. Faramir took the initiative, and kissed him hard, slipping his tongue into Aragorn’s mouth. Did this tongue touch another man’s? Aragorn couldn’t help but wonder, as he cupped his new lover’s face. Did Faramir sleep with him, or was it merely a discussion that he and Imrahil shared?

The king was jerked from his jealously when Faramir pulled back, standing up and collecting his papers. “Where are you going?” He asked desperately.

“It may have been a long time, but I still know when someone’s mind is on something else when they are with me. If something is distracting you, perhaps you should go deal with it. I have work to do.” Faramir said calmly, his trembling hands betraying his hurt feelings.

“No!” Aragorn shouted, the anger in his voice startling both of them. “I just...don’t leave. I don’t want you to leave. I was thinking of you; and Imrahil. Of the two of you together, and I just...” Aragorn looked down on the floor marvelling how he could have ruined this moment so badly.

It was one of those awkward moments that simply could not dissipate. Neither had anything to say on the matter, and Aragorn could not bring himself to ask what had occurred between the two.

“You are in love with my uncle?” Faramir whispered, stunned beyond all belief.

“Of course not, Faramir. I admire him, respect him, but he is just a friend. He isn’t you. But if you want him, I know that he and you are...” Aragorn paused to search for a word; “that your relationship is very close.”

“I did not realise that when I was with you, we would be talking the entire time about Imrahil. Is there something in particular you want to ask about him?” Faramir said tartly.

“We don’t need to talk, we could do something else.” Anything. Aragorn thought, in a last ditch effort. Anything except Imrahil, Imrahil with his tenderness and intimacy that Aragorn didn’t have with his steward; yet.

“Can we? Or is Imrahil going to be getting in the way again?” Faramir asked tiredly. His next question was cut off when Aragorn walked quickly over to him, cupped the back of his head and began kissing him in earnest.

It was apparently warm in the library since both men decided to rid themselves of boots, tunics and shirts before Faramir gasped out that the door was still unlocked.

“You want to stop?” Aragorn asked incredulously.

“Do you want a page boy to walk in on us?” Faramir retorted, trying to get his senses around the burning feeling left by the king’s hands on his scars. The burning wasn’t painful now, simply hot; hotter than he had thought his skin could ever be.

He watched Aragorn jog over to the door, place a chair under the doorknob and then come back to him. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve done this with a man; done everything.” Faramir added, to make sure his lover knew what he wanted. Imrahil had opened the door, but Aragorn was the one to see him through it, of this Faramir was very certain.

Aragorn caught his gaze, and then nodded. Gentleness, it was not even a question now. He rained soft kisses on Faramir’s neck and shoulders, before backing the steward against a desk. “Well that is good, for I’ve been wanting to do this for a very long time. You know what to do?” Aragorn asked needlessly.

A smile was his only answer as Faramir reached for the ties of his breeches.




They lay together afterwards on the floor, breathing in the smell of sex and sweat in the air. Their joining hadn’t been very romantic, nor was it smooth as either had wished. Faramir had frozen or become anxious as the scars became an issue for him each time Aragorn had touched him. Aragorn had become nervous he wasn’t helping, or was even hurting Faramir whenever he had tried to help.

But still; it was done and both men were happy it had happened. Faramir turned his head and grinned at Aragorn, something he would never have done two weeks ago.

“I’m going to say this once, and then I won’t bring it up again.” Aragorn said, staring at the ceiling.

Faramir propped himself on his elbow and stared at his king. “Let me guess; Imrahil.”

Aragorn nodded. “Imrahil. Faramir, I know you and he are close and that you don’t want to give him up. I can’t blame you for that, and he was the one that brought you out of the darkness.” And all I did was love you, Aragorn thought bitterly. I wonder which one of us loved you first, Faramir. Though in my defence I spoke of it to you long before he did.

“If I must give up his love for you,” Faramir began only to be interrupted by his king.

“You don’t; have to give him up I mean. I won’t force you to choose.” Aragorn stated. I don’t want to know which of us you would pick. “I...you know of my feelings. You know what I want of you. If you would be with me, I will be willing to share.”

Faramir stared at Aragorn, before nodding once. Then he rose, kissed the older man on the mouth and gathered his clothes before leaving.

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