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05 April 2004 | 32130 words
Disclaimer: LOTR and all its characters belong to Tolkien
Archiving: Drop me a line before you do
Warnings: Slash, angst, spanking
Summary: Faramir’s relationship with Aragorn is under threat as both find that there are factors involved that they never thought to consider
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“This was a good idea,” the Steward of Gondor stated as he leaned back against a tree stump, “A sunny day, fine weather, good horses - all the ingredients for a nice ride. What more could one ask for?”
Reaching out towards the basket placed near him on the grass, he helped himself to a cherry, lazily flicking it towards his mouth. He had ridden out with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli towards the homesteads around the city of Minas Tirith. A visit to the house of one of the city’s lords had taken them some distance away, and while returning they had stopped by a stream to eat some food before proceeding onwards. The horses had needed a rest so they too had sprawled by the stream awhile. Atleast Faramir and Aragorn had sprawled, while Legolas and Gimli had wandered off to explore the area.
“There is much I’d like to ask for,” came an equally indolent reply in his ear, and he suddenly found the speaker’s face in front of him, a pink tongue snaking out for the cherry before he could pop it into his mouth.
His king leaned over him, smiling almost wickedly, as he slowly chewed the fruit, allowing a little of the juice to drip out onto his lower lip.
“That was mine!” Faramir cried out indignantly as he tried to sit up and reach for more fruit.
A hand held him back in position however and he found himself staring into the face of the person he found he loved the most in all of Middle-earth.
“Are you not going to ask me what I’d like to ask for?” Aragorn asked smiling broadly, as Faramir sighed and leaned back against the stump. Aragorn sat by his side.
“Fruit, perhaps?” he said sarcastically, and then felt his mouth go dry as Aragorn flicked his tongue out to lick at the juice dripping onto his chin. One hand still lay splayed across Faramir’s chest.
“What kind of fruit would you like to offer me, then?”
Faramir snorted, as Aragorn wiped his mouth clean on his sleeve, “Well, you stole the last cherry away from me, Legolas and that horse of his ate up all the apples between them, and you wouldn’t let me carry all those oranges that Lord Ardamir offered us, and I don’t think he was happy about that, so there is nothing I have to offer you.”
Aragorn quirked an eyebrow, “You have nothing to offer me by way of fruit? Then, I suppose I must take what you can offer me!” He lifted his hand off Faramir’s chest and slipped it around his waist, letting it rest lightly over Faramir’s lower belly.
“Right now?” Faramir gasped, having discerned from Aragorn’s expression and actions that he was in a very playful mood, “Here? Out in the open? When Legolas and Gimli may return any moment? When anyone who might pass by might see us?”
Aragorn continued to look on him enigmatically. With his other hand he pulled the basket closer to them.
Faramir stared back at him, half in dismay and half in wonderment. Aragorn always had these interesting ideas to try out, and to date he had never been disappointed with the outcome. There had been one occasion when Aragorn had made love to him on horseback, another time when they had romped in the hay in the stables without anyone having even an inkling of it. Another time, Aragorn had cornered him during the spring festival and proceeded to make love to him in one of the terraces of the citadel while on the grounds directly below them, the people of Minas Tirith had performed a harvest dance. Later Aragorn had said he liked the background music provided by the minstrels. He looked up at the bright blue sky and the wisps of white clouds that trailed over it, and inhaled heavily, breathing in the smell of heather. It *was* a beautiful day. It seemed a shame to not allow himself to be even happier. And it was not like their companions couldn’t already know that the relationship between the King and the Steward had long crossed the bounds of platonic friendship.
“Very well! Let’s!” he said brightly. The more he thought about it, the more the idea of Aragorn making love to him on the fresh grass, surrounded by the music of the birds in the trees around, appealed to him.
“Very well,” Aragorn said calmly, and dug into the basket.
Faramir began to untie the bindings on his tunic.
“Yes, I’ll have this fine bread, I think,” Aragorn said, his eyes still trained on the food basket.
“All you have left in the basket is bread. I shall have that if you would be so kind as to offer me some,” Aragorn said turning around and bestowing a twinkling smile on his Steward.
Faramir stared at him, his mouth falling open. He had untied his tunic almost halfway, and it now flapped down, exposing his lean chest. Aragorn was grinning at him. He seemed to be enjoying himself greatly, as he sat back regally, calm and serene as always. Faramir on the other hand, was reminded of the fact that he now sat kneeling with his legs apart, his tunic undone, his face flushed, and the sight of Aragorn seemingly unmoved by the suggestion on how to spend their time, was simply adding to the constricting feeling arising in his leggings. He gulped, and then sighed heavily. Two could play at this game, he had decided.
“Of course, my liege,” he smirked, and reached for the basket, pulling out a loaf of sweetened bread. He ensured that he leaned over Aragorn to reach for the basket and that their bodies brushed for the barest second in the process. Sitting back, he began to slice the loaf with his hunting knife, and then pulling out a slab of cheese, cut off a hunk and presented the meal to his King in a wooden plate.
“Your humble Steward would like to offer you your meal, Sire,” he said ensuring that his eyes stayed lowered, and his voice took on a meek and submissive quality.
“Humble???” Aragorn snorted.
Faramir nodded, his eyes still lowered. Then he peeked up with a grin, to notice Aragorn staring at him amusedly.
“Well, well! If I had known my Steward would be so obedient,” Aragorn started off, as he reached for the slice of bread.
Instead of taking the plate however, his hand closed around Faramir’s in a tight grip, and pulling it up, he gently kissed the wrist, at the same time, effortlessly taking the plate from Faramir and placing it on the grass. He then wound the other arm around Faramir’s neck, and pulled him close to claim his lips in a slow and tender kiss, nibbling at the younger man’s lips gently. Faramir responded promptly, opening his mouth a little and letting in Aragorn’s tongue. They came apart just as slowly and leisurely as they had come together.
“I think my humble Steward makes a fairly tasty meal without the aid of the bread,” Aragorn breathed out, as he lowering his lover onto the grass and began attacking the still exposed portion of his chest, “’mmm… tasty indeed! So very tasty.”
Faramir moaned in response as Aragorn found an aroused nipple and began nibbling at it. He could feel the grass tickling the back of his neck, a sensation that reminded him that he still wore his clothes and that that state was acting as a great impediment to his desire to feel Aragorn’s mouth and hands all over him. Releasing his grip on Aragorn’s waist, he began attempting to shed his clothes even as Aragorn took his oral assault to the other nipple.
“Oh!” he nearly yelled out, as Aragorn deliberately bit into the small hard mound. He managed somehow to remove the rest of the bindings on the tunic, with no help from Aragorn, and then eagerly began to lower the waistband of his trousers, only to be stopped by Aragorn. The King lifted his head, up a mischievous grin on his face.
“No, keep them on.”
“No!” Faramir said horrified. He was feeling incredibly aroused, and Aragorn; he noticed was leaning possessively over his half-naked body, fully clothed, obviously aroused. He thought he had never seen Aragorn look so beautiful before, and he had no idea if he’d last were Aragorn to remove those clothes. However, he had another pressing problem right now, “No, let me take it off!”
“No! You keep them on.”
“Faramir, my love,” Aragorn said teasingly, running a hand down the front of Faramir’s leggings.
The younger man whined pleadingly. His arousal was straining against the fabric, and he felt a heat spreading through his groin. Aragorn however continued to ignore him, and bending his head down, attacked Faramir’s navel, licking it gently. He slid a hand under Faramir’s body and cupped the cloth-covered buttocks, running his fingers along the crack through the fabric.
“Aragorn! Please!” Faramir wailed as he felt a dampness set in between his thighs. Aragorn was back at work on his nipples now, biting them harder.
Faramir tried once again to get his hands to his leggings but found his wrists swiftly caught up by Aragorn’s hands. He found his body protesting the sudden lack of attention to his backside. But it was nothing compared to the feeling in his groin. Aragorn moved up and began kissing him on the mouth again; biting at is lips, letting his tongue explore the moist cavern of Faramir’s mouth.
And when Aragorn grabbing Faramir’s left wrist, pulled the hand down and made him rub his own cloth-covered crotch, Faramir could hold it no longer. The sudden friction was all it took for his straining erection to react and he felt the wetness spread across his breeches, the warm liquid spurting out onto his thighs, as he moaned loud and long. He felt his tense muscles relax, and found himself lying back languorously, breathing heavily, even as Aragorn smiled down at him. Then he felt his hands being lifted and found he was wrapping them around the hard, moist flesh of Aragorn’s erection.
The King had lowered his leggings and was now straddling Faramir’s hips. The Steward found a sudden burst of energy flow through him at the sight of the proud, straight shaft. Ignoring the moist discomfort of his clothing, he rose, and gently pushed his king onto his back, and proceeded to take him in his mouth, working his tongue up and down the expanding flesh filling up his mouth. Licking and gently scraping his teeth against the tough mass of flesh, he swallowed Aragorn whole, and when his lover came, took in his release till the last drop was wiped clean off.
Aragorn lay back in a tired yet happy state. Faramir had found a piece of cloth from somewhere and was using it to clean him up. When he had finished, the King pulled on his leggings, and then reached for Faramir to clean him up. He couldn’t help but smile as he took in the sight of the damp leggings. Faramir had buttoned up the tunic, leaving just the topmost binding open.
“I hope you have spare clothes,” Aragorn murmured, as he gently kissed him on the lips. “If you are going to do that again, I should probably not change so soon!” Faramir exclaimed.
“The energy of youth!” Aragorn murmured, smiling at his lover’s happy face, “I have a good mind to insist you stay in those clothes. I should love to see how the people in the next village react to it!”
Faramir snorted, but then looked up worriedly, hoping Aragorn hadn’t meant it. Sometimes he just couldn’t trust Aragorn to not indulge in these sorts of pranks.
He found he had adjusted to it very quickly. Unused to being allowed to play pranks or have much fun in his childhood under the strict watchfulness of his father, Faramir had been in for a shock when he had observed Aragorn and his two elven half-brothers in action together. But even that hadn’t prepared him for Aragorn’s innuendo loaded pranks when they had acknowledged their feelings for each other.
He had once opened a package delivered to him during a council meeting in Ithilien only to find it full of stained sheets, the evidence of a bout of lovemaking. He had hastily hidden them from the view of his councilors and returned to the meeting in so flustered a state that some of them had actually inquired after his well-being. Then there had been the time when Aragorn had taken him under the council table, after tying him to the legs. He had then left him there and walked off with barely fifteen minutes to go for the morning council to begin. The next ten minutes had been the longest of Faramir’s life, as he had strained against the restraints. He had trusted Aragorn however, and Aragorn had kept that trust by coming back and releasing him leaving him just enough time to straighten himself up for the meeting.
For now, he just hoped Aragorn would let him change. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“Oh alright, go and change but I’m going to kiss you once again before that.” Faramir submitted happily. Aragorn’s kisses could make him forget which world he was in. It must have worked that way for both of them, for, lost in the deep embrace, they did not hear their friends return. It was only when Legolas coughed that the two of them pulled apart, Faramir blushing furiously, Aragorn calm as ever. “You’re back,” Aragorn said pleasantly. “Yes,” came the curt reply. Faramir had no doubt Legolas didn’t entirely approve of this relationship. Elves tended to mate for life, and Legolas seemed uncomfortable with the idea that Aragorn might even in the past have shared a bed with others other than Arwen, be they male or female. He seemed to hold the same views on Faramir consorting with Aragorn despite being married to Éowyn. It was strange, Faramir had thought, for their wives seemed aware of their closeness, although they never spoke of it, but neither seemed to mind. They knew they were loved by their husbands, and seemed secure in that knowledge. And both men liked their closeness to manifest itself in a very physical relationship with each other. It had not taken long for Legolas and Gimli to know of their relationship. Now, Gimli stood uncomfortably watching his friends while Legolas glanced at Faramir’s disheveled appearance, and his lips curled in obvious disdain at the sight of the large stain adorning the his crotch. Aragorn made himself busy picking up their things, and Faramir stood glumly in his soiled clothes watching the glint of annoyance flash in Legolas’ eye, as he moved to help Aragorn clear up.
“We should be leaving soon,” the Elf said in clipped tones, “You should get ready,” he told Faramir pointedly.
Aragorn glanced up thoughtfully at the hard tone his friend had adopted, and Faramir who had already reddened considerably, felt his colour deepen as Aragorn’s eyes turned to him.
“Yes,” he mumbled, and fled towards his horse and rummaging in his saddlebags, pulled out a spare pair of pants. He moved towards the riverbank to clean himself and change.
When he returned, all the preparations for their departure had been completed. The horses stood saddled and loaded and ready to leave, the riders standing by. When Faramir reached his horse, he felt a hand on his arm. Turning slightly, he found himself in Aragorn’s arms.
The King embraced him gently, and brushing back a lock of hair off his face, kissed him on his forehead, then on his nose, and finally brushed his lips fleetingly.
“I liked that dear heart,” he murmured, “We must try it outside more often.”
Faramir had returned the embrace all too willingly. When Aragorn drew back reluctantly, he looked up to notice that their friends had heard the words and did not seem particularly happy with them.
The ride back to Minas Tirith was quiet, neither of the four speaking to each other, until they were riding across the Pelennor.
“Is aught the matter Legolas?” Aragorn asked as they trotted at a leisurely pace towards the city.
Legolas and Gimli stared at each other first before the Elf turned towards the King and the Steward and gazed at them appraisingly.
“You should be careful, Aragorn. Someone might have seen you,” Legolas replied after a long pause.
“And what of it if they did? We are neither of us all that bad to look at, are we, Faramir dearest?” Aragorn asked in amusement.
Legolas whipped around in annoyance at that, stopping his horse, and forcing the others to follow suit. He glared at the two men, particularly at Faramir.
“You do not know what people say, do you? Surely you realise the lack of a heir is beginning to prey on people’s minds. The news has reached as far as my settlement in Ithilien. When the king returns after decades and one no longer in the prime of his youth either, people want to know an heir will be there.”
“Do you know what talk is beginning to circulate? That Faramir maintains a closeness to you to ensure that should you remain childless he will be declared your heir formally. He is after all to all purposes ruler of Gondor in your absence.”
“And those who talk of your relationship, albeit behind doors, all say that Faramir instigates everything because he wishes you and Arwen to not have an heir,” Gimli added heavily.
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