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26 August 2011 | 2549 words
The Palantír shows many sights
Many thanks to Iris for reading through and for some very lovely suggestions and ideas on the plot and for reading through and titling:)
“People react to the stone differently,” he was told, “As time passed, and the minds and ways of men changed, the power of the stone manifested itself in different ways. The stone shows you all it can see, more than any other mortal man can view. Such a sight brings with it feelings that are difficult to curb. It is overwhelming…”
The black, smooth surface of the orb gleamed. He sat in front of it, hunching forward so that his intense gaze stayed on the rounded surface, and the images that it showed him. He continued watching, fascinated even now after all these days, as the visuals spanned near and far.
Seabirds nesting in the high cliffs at Dol Amroth, close enough to see the speckled pattern on their eggs… snows melting in the high mountains beyond the city… roses in bloom in Lossarnach, bright splashes in the green valleys…
He sat back after a while, holding his aching head in his hands. He had been using the seeing stone for some days now, and yet with each use, it seemed to him his mind tired faster from the effort involved. He had known it would take concentration and effort to use this seeing stone, but perhaps he should have been more prepared. He felt strange – pained but restless. And yet intent on learning more. He leaned forward again.
He saw a small pond in a clearing in a peaceful, emerald wood; Ithilien he recognised.
All seemed well. He was about to channel his gaze away towards the outposts, when he spotted the familiar figure.
He watched Faramir climb out of the stream, completely naked, and felt himself still. He drank in the sight of the young man’s bare body, droplets of water glistening in the sylvan sunshine as he waded to the shore; the play of muscles on the strong legs, the flat planes of his chest and stomach, nipples hard and pink from the icy stream of water, the tuft of dark hair between his legs, the soft pale flesh below… and as he bent to collect the clothes lying on a dry rock; the perfect curves of his firm buttocks …
He sat back and forced his gaze away. He should feel guilty. Yet he did not. The vision of Faramir’s nakedness was most attractive. He leaned forward again, a thrill coursing through his veins.
He returned to the stone the next day, sooner than he had planned. The visions spanned the land, far and wide…showing him hills, rivers, seas, even some extremely comely bare-chested seamen on the prince’s flagship in Dol Amroth. Their tanned, lean bodies, glistening with sweat, would have been enticing any other time; not as much now. He could still recall Faramir, wet and glistening, beautiful in his nakedness. He viewed through the stone often that week; lingering over Ithilien long, watching the pools and streams intently.
Faramir returned to Minas Tirith the next week, much to his eager delight. But it helped little; for any time he was not at work, he seemed ever busy with his own devices – books, he claimed one day, training another. Perhaps, he thought, the younger man had a lover now. The more he thought of it and he thought of it often…the more convinced he was. It seemed unlikely that Faramir would be without a lover; his delightful body was evident despite the long, heavy robes he often favoured in the city.
Now his gaze turned often to the city buildings – the bath houses and the citadel windows; even the training grounds.
And then one evening; he let out a small cry of delight. There he was; framed in an open high window; his clothes half undone! He leaned forward eagerly…and then hissed softly as he realised the younger man was not alone. So, he did have a lover, he mused, and continued watching intently.
Faramir stood in a bare room, his frame taut, as the lover standing behind him worked his tunic undone. He had his head thrown back, exposing his long neck and throat to the lover who had his head bent over his neck and shoulders. Tanned hands roved the bare chest and stomach, lingering over the nipples until they hardened, firm and pink. One hand snaked down and swiftly undid his pants, pushing them down to his thigh as the fingers curled around the soft pale flesh; kneading the flaccid length slowly.
He watched the hands roving, the bent head and Faramir’s lips forming ecstatic words that he could not hear… he could imagine him pleading, begging his lover for more… and then Faramir leaned forward, hands resting on a table, spreading his legs apart; his undone trousers slipped to his ankles. His lover moved with him; a rich, silken robe falling open, revealing well-muscled, long legs, and a large, hardened arousal standing upright. Long strands of dark hair spilling out of their ties, and spread over Faramir’s shoulders; as he leaned over him. One hand continued to work along Faramir’s front; the other grasped the lean waist and held him in place as the taller, stronger lover thrust his length into the young man in a swift, quick motion.
The two men moved in unison rising and lowering, as the lover moved rapidly in and out of Faramir.
He gritted his teeth and turned away. He wondered what it would be like to be in the mystery lover’s place, to thrust into Faramir’s body like that, in one swift stroke, to have that beautiful body tighten around his own length. He clenched his hands, watching his fingers open and close, wondering how his hands would look on Faramir’s body. And how Faramir’s face might look while he entered him – the play of expressions over the beautiful features…
He turned back to the stone. Faramir now stood in his lover’s arms, his back to the window; tunic hanging off one shoulder. He wished briefly that he could have seen Faramir’s face as he neared completion. He stared at Faramir’s bare back and buttocks, and sighed softly. Faramir’s back and waist were littered with reddish, purple marks from his lovers insistent fingers; his buttocks and thighs were covered with signs of the other man’s release, streaks of white still glistening wet, his pants still at his ankles . The man pulled him close now, his hands rested on the rounded buttocks, fingers clenching the soft skin, squeezing, kneading, causing more marks. A small signet ring glinted on the smallest finger; it pressed into the soft flesh, leaving embedded its impression; marking him, he thought.
The hands moved between Faramir’s buttocks, spreading them apart, opening him up again, exposing the tiny glistening reddened entrance to the hungry gaze; then long fingers moved swiftly in, disappearing into the tight folds; causing the younger man to thrust himself forward…
He moved away, breathing heavily; feeling his arousal heavy and damp between his legs. He forced himself to take deep, calming breaths. He closed his eyes and then turned back to the stone forcing his gaze away from the citadel, back to viewing the far outposts, the hills… trying not to think of Faramir’s lover wrapped around him.
The stone showed him the sea ports again and he moved away swiftly from the sight of the working seamen; and then from the plainsmen, sweating over the late harvest. He moved to the high mountains. The sun was beginning to set in the west; the light skies were streaked with red and pink and purple. He remembered the purpling marks on Faramir’s soft, pale buttocks…
He groaned and reached into his robes to take care of himself; when the tower door opened.
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The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: LN Tora , pinbot , dream.in.a.jar