Warning
This story is rated «NC-17», and carries the warnings «Slash, sexual scenes and my attempts at humour».
Since you have switched on the adult content filter, this story is hidden. To read this story, you have to switch off the adult content filter. [what's this?]
Remember that whether you have the adult content filter switched on or off, this is always an adults only site.
The Strangest of Dances (NC-17) 
Written by Eora17 March 2013 | 19768 words
Author’s Note: This chapter is a bit short, but we are nearing the end, and you won’t have to wait too long for the remaining parts. I hope you enjoy!
Chapter 6.
It was one of those slow awakenings, those lovely, sleepy moments when you half-open your eyes and the bed feels especially comfortable, and there’s someone you are very fond of lying beside you keeping you warm. Unfortunately no sooner was I aware of all of this than the vision was shattered with a literal bang; I raised my head, startled, just in time to see two servants manoeuvre heavy pails of hot water through the door (a small puddle on the floor the result of the clatter of bucket versus door) and in doing so, incriminated myself rather splendidly. There was no way I wasn’t seen, despite the servants’ insensible expressions as they disappeared into the bath chamber. Faramir’s hand snaked from the covers and pulled my head back down, though I had to shift from my original position (I’d originally opened my eyes in fright to behold a coppery armpit a scant inch from my nose) and pull the blanket over myself again.
Faramir’s voice was far-off, heavy with sleep. “The worst they can think is that we succumbed to a moment of madness on your visit here, that we drank too much wine, or our passions were running high. Our friendship is close enough, and we haven’t seen one another for a long time.” He was speaking quietly, and it sounded as if he was about to lose consciousness again at any moment. I envied his lack of concern; I was ready to bolt out of the door, heart hammering. “I wouldn’t worry, Aragorn.”
And then I really began to worry. What if that’s all it really was to Faramir? A bit of heated blood, passions that took us over only to fade with the dawn’s light. I wanted to ask if he still wanted this, now that the cold light of day clarified matters.
“Faramir?” I whispered, and when I got no response I looked out from beneath the sheets. He was lying on his back, eyes closed, sound asleep. I suppose I’d just have to wait. I turned over onto my own back and watched the servants leave the room, closing the door behind them with what I thought was a rather particular care not to look in the direction of the bed.
Faramir roused himself about ten minutes later; I’d gotten bored with lying there, despite the warmth and softness of the bedclothes and besides I needed to piss terribly, so with a quick prayer to the gods that no more of Faramir’s household would needs traipse through the room I rose and padded to the bathroom, intent on relieving myself of at least one concern, if not them all. I was washing myself when he came up behind me, hands sliding about my waist, burying his nose into the hair at the base of my neck and pulling me back against his chest gently. I was fairly sure that constituted an end to my worries.
“How did you sleep?”
“Well enough,” I said, smiling and then I remembered with horror my performance the night before. My burning face looked back at me from the mirror, and from over my shoulder I could see Faramir’s too, peering through pillow-ruffled hair; he hooked his chin over my shoulder and kissed my flushed cheek.
“Love you.” He paused. “Love love.”
It occurred to me that this was the first time Faramir had said it, and even though it was the most momentous thing that had happened all morning all I could do was grin idiotically at his reflection until he disengaged himself with a snort of laughter and stole first dip in the bath.
There was nothing I could think of to say (for once), so I knelt behind the bathtub and began washing his back. The water was hot, and I envied him, but there wasn’t enough space for two so I was content in massaging his shoulders and singing to myself. After a while, he lay back against the bath, the back of his head on my shoulder, and though my knees were starting to pain me I lifted the cloth and let the water run down over his chest. He turned his head and smiled, and we shared an upside-down kiss that ended when I had to stand lest my legs seize up.
“I’ll be finished soon,” he said, lifting the cloth, presumably to wash more intimate areas. “I’ll send for more water.”
“It’s alright,” I said, stretching, and trying not to stare at him too much. This was the first time I’d seen him unclothed in good light, and, I realised, the first time he’d have seen me, though he was keeping better control over his wanton gazes. I was hairier, or perhaps the hair on my chest and belly was just darker. He had freckles, pale ones, all across his shoulders and upper arms and I did not, save for one or two here and there, but I think we were more alike than not and really, none of it mattered at all.
“I thought frequent baths were a thing you were doing now?”
I felt cheerful enough to cuff him across the back of the head, nothing more than a brush of my fingers through damp hair. “What I meant was that I’ll just go in after you, but you are so very droll, my good friend.”
A look of faux-worry passed over his face as he wrung out the washcloth. “Your good friend? I thought I was more than that, surely?”
I knelt (again) and kissed him (again). “Surely,” I said, and I couldn’t stop the lovesick grin that spread across my face. It soon turned out that there was room for two in the bath after all.
I wanted snow, I wanted storms, I wanted fallen trees and floods and hail and earthquakes, anything that would keep me holed up in this place with Faramir for as long as possible. I’d already stretched my visit out to almost a week, and though I didn’t feel unwelcome (oh, far from that) I knew I was pushing my luck in regards to my absence from the city. My heart grew heavy; I knew it was unlikely that I could persuade Faramir to come back with me but it wasn’t going to stop me from trying.
I sulked a little over breakfast on my fifth morning in Emyn Arnen. The previous night we had touched one another again, and I had shared his bed, but it had been a long night of wakefulness for me, lying blinking in the darkness while Faramir slumbered on like a slow-burning furnace alongside me. I was worried; yes, his admission of affection was one I believed, but the stakes were so high I feared losing him once we parted and the spell broke.
I was sullen. My porridge was cold, and drawing in it with my spoon was irritating Faramir (he kept glancing at my efforts with a certain look on his face) but I felt suddenly listless, as if I had no purpose in life but to be in the company of this man and even now our separate lives, however entangled, must divert our paths in disparate directions. How I detested my destiny in that instant! Of course, I didn’t really; I was being petty, selfish, childish to a high degree. But, still.
“One more night,” I said.
“You said that yesterday,” Faramir countered, and I felt it unfair that he wasn’t taking my side on the matter; I must’ve glared at him, for he quickly added: “You know I don’t want you to leave, but the longer you stay away, the more work you’re creating for yourself when you get back.”
“Come with me, then. You’re supposed to help me with all of that sort of thing.”
He pushed aside his bowl, and reached over to lift mine out of reach too (I was being very irritating). “I am helping you, love. That’s why I’m here, so you don’t have to deal with all of the ‘Ithilien doings’ as you so adroitly phrased it.” I cringed, though felt a tingle of delight at the endearment that slipped so naturally into his speech. I was also annoyed; he was right, as usual. “Also,” he went on, ignoring my internal battles, “it would benefit us not to parade our relationship in front of absolutely everyone at court. Here it’s fine; I’m reasonably assured that my household staff aren’t too well connected with the higher levels of the council–but it would be a problem if it came out that you and I were, ah, biased toward one another, and I think discovery would be inevitable were we both residing in the citadel. I don‘t like sneaking around, and I can tell you for a fact that you won‘t either, and I‘m honestly not prepared to put up with your complaining about it. We need to be discreet. Distance will ensure that.”
“I thought you didn’t care about publicity?”
“I don’t,” he replied with a light frown. “But others do.”
“Hmmh,” I said, unable to think of anything else. Again, he was right, but again that didn’t mean I had to like it. “So, what then? Do I visit you every other week? Or shall I only come on festival days? Midsummer? Our birthdays?” I hadn’t meant to let my testiness flare in my words but it did and Faramir’s frown deepened.
“If you’d rather not deal with it at all there is a simple solution.”
That shut me up. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Me too.”
A few moments of silence passed. “Shall we work something out, then?”
“I’d like to, but you’re being especially difficult this morning.”
“I said I was sorry, Faramir.”
He reached over and covered my hand with his. “If you think I’m going to let a little thing like eight and a half leagues get between us then you have less faith than I thought.”
“I just don’t really want to–” I’d realised the root of my odd temper. I felt foolish, but Faramir’s thumb was stroking the back of my hand and I was bolstered by his complicity in all of this. “I’m going to miss you when I return to the city.”
“And I won’t miss you?” He gripped my hand firmly. “Be assured of my love in all things, Aragorn. And if you’d ever learn to read your diary, you’ll know that I shall be by your side in less than two weeks for Midwinter.”
Oh. Oh! “See? I really do need you with me; surely telling me whatever it is I’m meant to be doing on any given day supersedes any of this woodland malarkey?”
Faramir let out a bark of laughter. “Neaten your handwriting and you wouldn’t have this problem in the first place.”
I looked straight at him. “One more night.”
“One more night,” he echoed, and I smiled.
NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]
Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/the-strangest-of-dances. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!
Filter
Adult content is shown. [what's this?]
Adult content is hidden.
NB: This site is still for adults only, even with the adult content filter on! [what's this?]
Oooh! Very good! Magical: so many words and you caught me in a wave of excitement. I like this Aragorn, and the explanation of Faramir. Ahh, sunshine and fun!
— Laivindur Thursday 15 November 2012, 16:52 #