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26 September 2008 | 3735 words
Title: The Visitor Part 2
Characters: Éomer/Faramir, Aragorn
Disclaimer: Not mine at all
Summary: Aragorn watches Faramir and Éomer in the gardens
This is a much delayed birthday present for Iris She also betaed it! She’s pretty much the best!:) *huggles lady*
Aragorn watched the king of Rohan rise from the dinner table, yawning in a manner that would seem exaggerated even to the most dull-witted observer. He saw too, the very brief glance that his Steward directed at the other man, a glance that would be visible only to the keenest of eyes.
He kept the Steward waiting after Éomer had left, querying him on insignificant matters, lingering over the papers he went through. He ignored Faramir’s sudden fidgetiness, and uncharacteristically short and brisk replies. His Steward was usually more loquacious and often prone to lingering after dinner, ready to make conversation with anyone he could find, rather than leave to his chambers. There had been times when Aragorn had literally had to order him away. That was before he’d discovered a few things about the younger man, though, or even really started to notice him.
In those early days, he had dismissed Faramir as a fairly uninteresting young man whose chief talent lay in taking on most of Aragorn’s paperwork. But their frequent interaction and Faramir’s almost pathetic reverence towards him had broken through his disinterest. He’d started noticing him. Faramir was attractive enough and young, and his attention were flattering, but what Aragorn noticed most was the constant need in the other man’s eyes and voice. He appeared to crave company and even more so, touch. He’d watched with increasing interest as the days passed and they settled into their routines, the restlessness the younger man seemed to feel and the brief looks he gave him, especially after Éowyn of Rohan, quite predictably turned down his hand.
He made no effort to indicate that he’d noticed those looks or the way Faramir stared at him out of the corner of his eyes in the practise ground, when he wore nothing but a thin pair of leggings. Or the shuttered look in his eyes when Aragorn leaned close to the Khandrim princess who had come as an envoy. Or that despite himself, he found the attention almost flattering, coming as it did from a man merely half his age.
Back then, it was apparent that the Steward had not acted upon his physical desires. He didn’t use the services of any of the brothels, not even the ones known to maintain anonymity.
As the summer returned though, and their councils with other lands began and a constant flow of visitors began streaming in, Faramir seemed to settle down a little. It soon seemed to Aragorn’s suddenly observant eyes that the younger man had no shortage of what started as acquaintances but soon turned to dear friends among their visitors, all as discreet as he was. Often, Aragorn, standing quietly at his terrace, would see Faramir creeping through the citadel grounds in the dark nights.
He felt strangely angered by the realisation that Faramir had found others, who were perhaps more receptive towards his desires. While Faramir’s eyes still appeared to be on him more than required, it was far less noticeable now. The Steward seemed to have found himself some distractions. Aragorn found he almost missed the near hungry look that was always bestowed on him; it left him feeling intensely displeased.
Days of careful observation had helped him pin down at least a few of Faramir’s more frequent lovers. He could hardly see any of them as worthy of replacing him in Faramir’s eyes. And particularly not Éomer!
He had guessed the king of Rohan must be one of Faramir’s new interests, having seen the two men talk together, and having noticed a nearness and a willingness to stand just that little bit closer. Perhaps tonight he could validate his guess.
It was much later in the evening that he finally let the younger man go. And then, quietly followed him out into the gardens. He was amused that Éomer had selected the gardens as a trysting area; perhaps it was a throwback to his days as a rider. He wondered interestedly if Faramir had heard the often lewd stories about riders and their horses. He probably had, he decided.
It was nearly dusk, and the Steward seemed to be smiling as he wound his way down the garden path towards a small bower surrounded by trees on three sides and the city wall on the fourth.
Éomer was waiting there for him, pacing impatiently up and down by the wall. Aragorn observed the younger man carefully. He moved forward quickly as Faramir entered the bower.
“What took you so long?” he asked, his tone annoyed.
“Elessar had some-”
Éomer groaned, “You and your king deserve each other!”
“Oh hush! Enough about him! One would think you hadn’t spent the entire day listening to him drone on about treaties.” Aragorn snorted silently. He had deliberately made it a point to be longwinded today, seeking to draw out their meetings as long as possible, amused by the way Éomer started fidgeting early in the evening.
Éomer pulled Faramir close now and tugged hurriedly at the sash of the long robe to undo it and let it fall open. Aragorn nearly gasped when he realised Faramir wore nothing underneath. And to think the Steward had been sitting next to him all day! Éomer made a satisfied noise.
“You’re full of surprises aren’t you?” Éomer grunted out, as he whipped the robe off the Steward’s body, “Going in to a council meeting naked!”
“I wore my robe,” Faramir stated, stepping out of the mass of cloth pooled around his naked frame.
“If I’d known,” Éomer grunted, as he undid his trousers, and dropped them to the ground, “I would have been tempted to throw you over the table and take you then and there.”
Aragorn clutched the tree next to him harder as his groin twitched. Faramir was completely naked now. He was well worth a glance, Aragorn decided, taking in the slender but firm frame, the lean muscles, and the obvious arousal.
“It would have given Aragorn something to look at,” Éomer continued, “Are you prepared?” he grunted out, grabbing Faramir’s elbow and tugging him towards the wall. He himself was completely hard, his arousal thick and leaking with need.
“Use the water if you want,” Faramir murmured, cocking his head towards an ornamental water tub, as he, placed his palms against the wall, and bent forward, giving Aragorn an excellent view of his firm buttocks.
Éomer dipped his fingers hurriedly into the water, then shoved the Steward forward onto the wall, spreading his legs wide apart by shoving his knees between them. Aragorn winced as he noted Faramir’s arousal press against the broken surface of the wall. Faramir let out a pained sound that the Rohirric king ignored.
“Missed you,” the lad muttered, his large hands parting the Steward’s buttocks and exposing his tiny entrance completely, to the watching king’s keen eyes, “Gods, how I’ve missed you.,” he continued as hastily pushed two wet fingers into the Steward.
Faramir gasped softly as Éomer’s hands worked into him for a few seconds, before pulling out again. Éomer then grabbed Faramir’s hips and positioned his erect shaft between his legs.
Aragorn watched with aching interest, his own arousal making itself felt even more painfully, as the young king entered his Steward hurriedly, his usually ruddy face reddened further by the exertion. Short, loud grunts accompanied his rapid thrusts. His large hands rested on Faramir’s waist and even from the distance Aragorn could see they were digging painfully into the soft flesh of the Steward’s belly. He wondered how the soft looking skin would feel under his own fingers, as his hand crept into his robes towards his hardened flesh.
Faramir was responding with pained grunts, and would occasionally screw his eyes shut and wriggle his body in an attempt to shift from the uncomfortable position. Aragorn could see him thrust his hips back against Éomer’s body attempting to prevent his hardening shaft from being trapped against the wall and failing.
“Gods, you’re so tight,” Éomer muttered in between his thrusts, his bare buttocks clenching and unclenching rhythmically as he moved, “I love that you keep yourself for me like this.”
Aragorn snorted at that. If Éomer only knew what he did of the number of lovers his steward had picked up of late among the various dignitaries who had been visiting Minas Tirith.
Éomer let out a larger grunt and then pulling back, thrust in more forcefully, at the same time pulling the Steward’s hips up against his body. Faramir let out an indistinct noise, and clutched at the surface of the walls with his fingers. Éomer’s grip around the slender waist loosened a little, and the two men soon began moving in unison, Faramir slight figure almost dwarfed by the Rohirric king’s bulk.
Aragorn watched as Éomer rocked into the Steward, his own hardness pumping into his hands. Faramir’s hips were pressing against the hardness of the stone.
And then Éomer tugged him against him. The rider’s strong muscles bulged, sweat laden and sinewy, as he threw his head back, golden hair flying wild and let out a loud sound, pumping faster into the slimmer body below. Aragorn watched as the rider’s body slowly began to relax as he emptied himself into the steward, his release trickling down Faramir’s thighs. The large hands moved low, awkwardly fumblingly, lifting Faramir off, reaching for his arousal and gripped hard. And then Faramir moaned, a high-pitched, sweet sound that made Aragorn come, spilling onto his hands.
The Steward looked exhausted by the time they were done, and Éomer had to actually lift him off the wall and help the slumping figure sit down.
The Steward’s exposed body allowed Aragorn to observe the bits of mud, grass and gravel stuck all over him, particularly over the wet and sticky lower body. Éomer’s huge hands were all over there, brushing it off.
“You were wonderful as ever,” he said and kissed the Steward quickly and roughly.
Éomer’s release coated the Steward’s legs, mingling with his own fluids. He looked messy and flushed, but still quite delectable.
Éomer clearly thought so as well. “You are so beautiful,” the king whispered roughly.
Faramir moved closer to the young king, resting a hand on his chest, before sliding it lower down his body. Éomer seemed to move back a little. Faramir moved forward to kiss him, and Aragorn noted interestedly that the Rohirric king very deftly moved his face away so that Faramir’s lips brushed only his jaw.
“Stay with me tonight. Make love to me again,” the Steward whispered, and Aragorn though that almost pathetically needy tone could make even the most hardened of men stay back. He himself almost felt like walking out of his hiding place, to throw Faramir over the stone wall and take him again then and there, slipping into the already wet passage and thrusting into him against the stone wall.
“No, I must return to Lothiriel,” Éomer said, “You were wonderful,” he repeated.
“I can be even more wonderful,” Faramir said huskily.
“No, you’re tired already. Perhaps tomorrow.”
Faramir made a small, impatient sound.
Éomer rose and straightened his robes, and said, “I shall meet with you on the morrow here.”
He left without waiting for Faramir to answer.
Aragorn watched as his Steward slumped back exhaustedly against the wall. He could see the loneliness radiating from his tired, sunken frame. Every bit of the unhappy posture radiated an almost pathetic need to be held in someone else’s arms. It was obvious he would be waiting for Éomer on the morrow as well. Aragorn wondered what else it was Faramir would do, if someone displayed just the slightest affection.
Straightening his own robes over his sticky body, Aragorn moved away from the trees, and walked quietly back to his own chambers. He would a few more weeks, allow for more occasions for Faramir to be left by his lovers, until he would ache for even the slightest affection. And then he would come in, ready to give Faramir just that little bit more, in return for much, much more. And there was so much more that most desireable body could offer.
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The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: Iris , Sady , dream.in.a.jar , DIDI!