Faramir Fiction Archive

Stone (NC-17)

Written by Minx

26 August 2011 | 2549 words

Title: Stone
Author: Minx
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Faramir
Warnings: Slash, non-con

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:)

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“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…”

I

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.

II

The floor was cold and hard under him, when Faramir woke slowly, opening tired eyes to the pale grey light of the winter morning, trickling in through an open window high above. He took in the unfamiliarity of his surroundings first, before blinking his eyes. He was in a small room, with a raised area against one wall, and a small window high above it. It was sparsely furnished, with nothing but a table and chair on the raised step.

And he was lying on the cold stone floor, naked.

He sat up, surprised, only to cry out as his body protested the sudden movement. He was sore all over and cold. He moved slowly, stumbling to his feet on unsteady legs, and tripped over, for his pants were bunched at his ankles. He grabbed at the wall for support and stood there, breathing heavily.

He stared down at himself in the grey light, taking in his state of undress and the bruises littered across his body. His tunic hung off one shoulder, torn, the bindings ripped, the ties on his pants too were torn. Finger marks littered his chest and his hips and thighs, dark purple against the paleness of his skin. Streaks of white ran down his legs, speckled here and there with spots of red.

He glanced around, trying to quell the panic that rose in his chest. His outer robe lay in a heap by one wall. He hobbled towards it, as the pain in his lower body manifested itself. He picked up the torn robe, and turned towards the raised area.

He was in the tower room… he realised slowly.

On the table lay a covered object. He shivered as he stared at it, and then sank back against the wall as broken memories of the previous night filtered through his mind.

III

He held Faramir down as he thrust into him, wondering at the tight heat he encountered. Faramir was letting out small, soft sounds, the gentle voice as always, delightful to his ears, sounded more enticing now as it was tinged with a needy hoarseness. He pushed in roughly, quickly, seeking to erase from the younger man’s mind thoughts of the lover. He wanted Faramir to be his, he had decided; he wanted that supple, pliant body for himself to use as he would. He wanted Faramir naked and spread out – for him alone and no other. He felt himself thrust harder, more forcefully at the thought; he saw Faramir’s hands scrabbling at the table for purchase, felt his legs tremble under his own, and pulled him, gripping him and pushing him up against the hard wooden surface.

He released himself into the hot, tight channel, shouting as he did and pulled out, watching his release trickle out of the pulsing, reddened entrance, streaks of white, marked with flecks of red, trickling all the way down Faramir’s legs to the pants bunched at his ankles. Faramir slumped onto the table, lying still, breathing heavily.

He leaned over the younger man’s frame, slumped over a hard, wooden table. He had torn the tunic off to reach for Faramir’s chest; he had been glad to note the skin was again smooth and unmarked. The signs from the other lover had faded away, replaced now by the marks his own fingers had left. If he pressed his hands down they fitted perfectly into the marks that now littered Faramir’s chest, back and hips.

He rested his hands on Faramir’s buttocks, moving them along the rounded shapes, squeezing gently and wonderingly. They felt firm yet soft under his hands. He pressed them, squeezing hard, and was delighted to notice the impression left by his signet ring on Faramir’s right buttock. He too had marked him… just as…

He felt the flash of memory now – tanned, weathered hands roving over Faramir’s bared skin, lean legs spread behind the young man’s legs, a dark richly embroidered silken robe, long hair loosed from his ties, Faramir bending over, his tunic loosened, pants pushed down, lips moving, pleading to be… taken…

He stared down at Faramir, lying slumped half-conscious over the table, tunic hanging undone, trousers at his ankles, marked all over, a dark bruise forming where his neck met his shoulder… and then he stared down at himself – his royal robe fallen open to reveal his well-muscled tall frame, his member still semi-erect, the gold signet ring glinting on his smallest finger…

Faramir’s lips had been moving, pleading, shocked, asking him to wait – not like this, he had begged….

Mithrandir’s words…

“It shows far more than one should see. It shows things that one may hope for yearn for, things that one seeks; some mere images, some as clear as though they happen in front of us. It makes one yearn for all manner of things.”

He moved back suddenly, shocked, letting go of the younger man. Faramir slumped down to the floor, his eyes fluttering shut.

IV

He had opened the tower door and stepped in. The tall figure sat hunched over the glowing orb. He walked up to the older man and placed a hand on his shoulder seeking to rouse him. The seated figure rose with a start, shoving Faramir away as he did so, causing the younger man to stumble and fall, his head striking the sharp edge of the mantle nearby. The stone floor was cold and hard under him. The older man exclaimed in surprise, and then stooping, reached a hand out to him.

Faramir grasped it, dazed and aching from the blow to his head, only to be shoved down onto the large table, probing hands roving his body, tearing at his clothes, gentle mocking words and laughter brushing aside his feeble protests as he was held down, touched and stroked.

He remembered looking up into shining, smiling grey eyes as the older man had leaned over him, even as he had barely held onto consciousness, and the soft, insistent words he had to struggle to hear as his legs were nudged apart. He remembered the feel of the warm body over him as he was entered swiftly and painfully; he had pleaded to be left, to wait until later…anywhere else… Rough hands had grabbed at his torso and stomach, digging into him as the thrusts became more forceful, pushing into him until he could do no more than just wait for it to be over.

And then suddenly it was over. He remembered the cold insistent hands on his skin suddenly leaving him, a strange strangled cry.

Moaning, he sank now to the floor, hugging the torn robe around his aching body, as Mithrandir’s words came back to him.

“People react to the stone differently. Your father was overwhelmed by all that he knew, and as time passed, and as Sauron manipulated the stones, he saw more that induced despair and less that evoked hope. His mind was assailed by the Palantír. He would not have been able to stop watching. Few can. It shows you far more than you should see. It makes you yearn for all manner of things.”

“Aragorn has used it before,” Mithrandir had said, “But over time, he too may be moved by what he learns. He may act in a manner that may seem unusual. And as his Steward you will need to guide him and give him all the help he needs. Indeed, he is in the tower now, perhaps you should go there.”

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