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Under the Influence (R) Print

Written by sian22

12 April 2015 | 14784 words

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Faramir was supremely and quite utterly bored. All it took was a moment’s inattention and he found himself fancying he heard the drone of bees about the mounds of dark pink meriloth of Ithilien’s green and lovely glades. The slopes would be ablaze with colour, the hot summer sun would dry the soil and mingle their sweet and heady scent with the dusky undertone of pine as he crept through the underbrush. Sigh. He shook himself and the lights of the council room came into focus once again. No, the drone was still the high pitched and nasal tone Lord Lamedon used when registering his annoyance. Would the man’s soliliquay never end?

He reached for the pewter cup before him and took another sip of water. A single drop fell on the polished wood to shimmer golden in the glow of the gleaming candle scones. Idly he traced a pattern in the wet, fingers playing over the inlaid design upon the table: the stars and branches of Gondor’s trees picked out in precious hírilorn. This evening’s meeting was unusual, the latest reports and his own encounter clearly showed Orcs moving in greater numbers through Anorien. Denethor shrewdly planned to move two companies from farther south but the southern lords protested. It was quite tedious, nary a one had been seen in Langstrand or Erech in decades, but round the table the drone continued. They would have their say and his father seemed prepared to wait them out.

For the umpteemth time that week Faramir wished he were back on duty, back with his men, doing something useful instead of listening to others and cooped up inside. He understood Varan’s hesitation but after two full weeks with no chills, no ill effects from the poison’s antidote and only a little lingering fatigue he was anxious to be gone.

Looking across the gleaming table, he watched the Duchess of Lossarnach strive to keep her face composed, to keep a smile of polite attention fixed. He knew Lord Lamedon bored her silly at the best of times and tonight was surely well past that. She caught his glance and inclined her head in query. Quickly he looked away. Ever since his illness they had been a little wary with each other. Was she embarrassed by what had happened? Upset? Annoyed? She had not said and Varan had repeatedly told him not to fret. That no one expected him to account for what he had. Despite the assurances, he worried that he had somehow hurt their long, enduring friendship.

A break was called and gratefully Faramir stood to stretch his legs. He had trained hard that morning and was now a little stiff. He had worked hard, hoping to be ready when the healers declared him fit for active duty once again. When he took his seat again a folded square of paper lay beside his quill. Curious, he unfolded it and felt a twinge of worry and happiness entwined. It was Amerith’s elegant script, clear and concise.

Stay after session for a moment. I wish to speak with you.

Speak with him? What else could it be but about that day? Mortified now to think of what he had said and done, Faramir caught her eye and nodded briefly, trying not to let his embarrassment show. Perhaps this was for the best. They should clear the air before he had to leave.

A single finger was raised in return, acknowledging his nod. Oh Valar, now he truly could not concentrate. He would have never propositioned her like that but for the drug. Put her on the spot. It was churlish and unfair. He knew what she had thought, that there could be nothing between the two of them, that their friendship was too important to sully with the frailer human foibles. She had her favourites and he had his work, and that should be enough. Would have to be enough, no matter that the antidote had made him say aloud the truth, that in the dark of night more often it was her image that came into his mind than any other. He told himself it was impossible, but time and again in the following days and weeks his traitorous heart reminded him she hadn’t exactly pulled away…

Once the council broke for the night, he waited patiently. The Duchess was engrossed in some point of discussion with his father, and he tried to be more patient. Amerith seemed to not be in too great a rush. He hung back, tidied his notes and wondered if he could find some supper later. He was more than a little hungry for a change. Another sign that he was recovering.

Faramir nervously ran his fingers across the smooth polished surface, waiting for the room to clear. The scent of lemon oil rose up, taunting him with its scent. As if he needed another reminder of what he had so injudiciously admitted. Finally all the councillors had bid their good nights and Amerith broke off conversation with the Steward. His father, nodding curtly his goodbye, strode purposely from the room. Heading to the tower in all likelihood, he thought. It would be hours yet before the Steward found his rest.

“Thank you for waiting darling.” He jumped. Amerith’s voice was suddenly right beside his elbow.

“It is no trouble, my Lady. I was hoping we would have a chance to meet.” That much was true. He scanned her face, looking for some clue as to her feelings. When last they spoke, the day after he was released into his father’s care, she had been warm and polite, her usual public face. Perhaps he was truly worrying for nothing.

“You look well.” It was a statement not a question. Her green eyes scanned carefully his face, looking he assumed for signs of fatigue or pain.

“ I am. Much better and more than ready to take back to all my duties.”

“I expect Varan will know when is best. You must listen to his council as assiduously you would your father’s.” Her smile was teasing. Of course he would listen to his father..obey was of course another matter.

“Listen to or accept?”

“Both!” He grinned back at her knowing smile. Nienna’s mercy it felt good to be bantering once again. It was a happy sign. Perhaps she truly wasn’t too upset about that day, wanted to clear the air and put it behind them as much as he. Weak with relief, he waited for her to speak. She had asked him to wait. She should be the one to raise it first.

“Faramir, I have for some days meant to return to you your shirt. Willen had the blood sponged off and the tear mended.”

She pulled a neatly tied package from off a chair. His shirt? She wanted to return his shirt? He blinked and did not take it right away. With a puzzled frown, she set it down again.

“Oh.” Faramir flushed, embarrassed. That was all. He had no right to but felt faintly disappointed. “Right. Of course..he is a marvel.“ Valar why did he have to sound so stilted? He wanted to kick himself. She shouldn’t be surprised that he wanted to speak about the incident should she? It would be best to not let it fester if he was to be on patrol for months. Maybe he should speak?

“Amerith..I…” He stopped midsentence. He was now speaking to her back.

The lady had turned and glided smoothly away, skirts swishing along the marbled tiles as she headed toward the carven doors.

Wonderful. She wouldn’t even stay to hear him out. She was leaving before he had a chance to start. Without thinking, he rounded the end of the council table and made to follow. His long legs ate the distance, hoping to catch her before she made it to the hall.

One hand reached out to take her arm when suddenly he had to halt. To his surprise, she had hesitated at the very threshold. Her rings glinted in the light as both hands took hold of the great iron latches. Slowly the left hand door was shut and then its fellow. Then, to his utter amazement, she carefully and deliberately brought the heavy bar down across the great oak doors.

Amerith turned, raised her chin. Her smile was teasing but her eyes brimmed with something else. His heart gave a sudden lurch. “So convenient that this evening the men of Pelargir company have the watch. They are Taras’ men. I have told them we are not to be disturbed.”

Not to be disturbed? The implication sent rivulets of fire to straight his groin. Faramir found he had to wet his lips, not once but twice. Could this be real? Was that really desire he saw glittering in her beautiful green eyes…?

“You are not angry with me? I thought…I thought I might have upset you…”

She looked radiant. Her auburn hair was piled in softly springing curls, some sort of powder on her decolletage sparkled in the candle light. Lilac was her colour. Against the alabaster skin of her breasts, her dress (made of the finest Haradi silk) was like the petal of flower, enclosing the soft pale heart of promise. Was it his imagination or were her cheeks a little flushed? Not the blush of a young girl’s bashful face but a woman’s flush of anticipation, knowing, confident, sure of herself and reveling in her needs.

Faramir watched, mesmerized, as her gaze dropped briefly below his waist. His cock gave a sudden twitch. She could not have seen it, but still very softly she bit her lip, green eyes almost glowing, watching him with fascination as the knowledge of what she said dawned on all his willing body. He felt helpless as a mouse cornered by a cat.

“Why should I be angry when you let me have a glimpse of honest feelings?” Her voice was low, seductive and pitched just for the two of them to hear.

It was ironic that the first memory of his deliverance from the chilling edge of death should be of her voice, speaking in the Houses and in the same quiet tone. He remembered the feeling of her soft and silken hand upon his cheek. How much he had wanted to touch the soft expanse of skin upon her breast. Now it was no drug that drove the need.

Oh gods, he realized, she wanted him. She did and what should he do?

Almost in a daze he watched her move. Her footfalls were very quiet, almost stealthy as the slippers whispered across the floor. She walked toward him, stopping just handsbreath or more away. Stopped so close the light and shining silk of her dress was no barrier to the heat and scent of her smooth and supple skin. For a moment the thought of what lay beneath made the torchlight swim.

“Amerith, I…” The words stuck in his throat. Valar this was hard, but dammit it he had rehearsed the words and they needed to be said. “I would not hold you bound by what you said and did that day. You were coerced unfairly by my condition. We can ignore it all if you would prefer.”

“Prefer? “ One auburn eyebrow raised quizzically. “Why should I prefer to ignore what I cannot forget myself? You did say the council table was an intoxicating sight did you not? “ One beringed and elegant finger ran questioningly up his sleeve and across his shoulder to the hollow of his throat. It ran underneath his collar and twirled slow, lanquid circles in his dark chest hair.

His pulse beat wildly. Surely she could feel it? Could tell how her actions had set fire to his skin. Faramir was panting, lips parted, striving to not simply grab her hand and rain hot kisses down her creamy neck. Valar, he wanted this. Wanted to give in and take her right there, right now, hot and fast and hard. But how could he be sure that what they did was right? That his illness wasn’t a coercion, hadn’t put an idea in her mind she would have never acted on otherwise?

Gods…the pad of her finger now stroked lazily at the nipple under his shirt. He could not remember when last he had found it so very hard to keep still in the face of certain danger. Surely she knew what she wanted and it seemed she wanted him?!

“I…I did..” He swallowed hard and licked at lips gone suddenly far too dry. Would it be so terrible to give in?

“And that lemon oil is an intoxicating scent?” Her own lips were parted, glistening red and plump and just waiting to be kissed. He could see the tip of her pink tongue as she stepped yet closer to him again.

He nodded dumbly, not trusting himself to speak. She was tall but he was taller, her hip pressed against his hardening length. She had to know what she was doing to him now.

”I thought we should celebrate that you are at last recovered enough to attend the council meetings.” The thin elegant fingers trailed up along his throat. Where were they going? He closed his eyes and dared not watch, dizzy with the memory of their feel within his mouth. They had been soft and warm and he had wanted them wet and urgent upon his length. A helpless groan escaped his lips as one finger brushed against his lower lip.

He forced himself to open his eyes again, to take a breath. “I take it this is to be a private party?” There. He had admitted it. He wanted this. More than anything.

A tinkling laugh rose up, it gusted warm against his neck as the candlelight gleamed with the mischief in her eyes. “Oh yes…We have no wine or cakes..but I am not sure that they are needed. Surely I can find some other way to convince you to relax? Skillful fingers stroked the straining bulge behind the leather of his breeches.

He tilted his head back in rapture, let his hands finally raise to brush her waist. “Yes, please!.” From beneath his fine dark lashes he watched her face. There was nothing tentative in her gaze or her strokes.

Valar..this was no dream. Calloused hands reached to hold her cheeks, to pull her lips closer, to devour her sweet mouth in one swift press. Gentle thumbs caressed her cheeks, the soft hollows below her cheekbones, the soft space behind her ears. He wanted to touch every part of her, to feel the heat and silk of her skin, feel the flutter of her pulse as desire rose in her blood.

Amerith’s arms had wound their way around his back, clutched at his shoulders and pulled them closer still. Now their kiss was wilder, fueled by need and haste and an abandon found as they both threw caution to the night’s dark velvet wind. Fanned by soft lips that yielded to a harder press, by tongues that touched and twined and stroked, now pressing forward to claim one mouth, now the other, the flames of their long reined desire grew.

How long had they both dreamed of this and never spoken? How long had soft sighs of need been heard only by the moon? It seemed that in that moment the world fell away and it had been only a heartbeat between them, not years of toil and care, not leagues of duty and decorum.

His hand moved up to cradle her soft hair, to pull her closer until soft breasts were pressed against the hard planes of his chest. A sudden jolt of greater need coursed through him. Two peaked nipples brushed against his shirt through the light silk of her dress. She groaned and pulled just slightly back, eyes dark, chest heaving. He followed. Urgent lips found urgent lips again and two thumbs teased harder across her bodice.

Faramir was so engrossed he did not realize at first that her hands had moved and were hastily pulling his breeches down….they were halfway to his knees before he thought to wonder when they had been unlaced? He didn’t know and suddenly didn’t care, hissing as Amerith’s soft and supple fingers stroked his straining cock. He was already hard and oh so very full, the leaking tip peeked over the waistband of his smallclothes, exposed and gleaming dark with need. Oh Gods, touch it. Touch me please. His hips ground madly against her waist, seeking blessed friction…there was no room for hands. She smiled and pulled her hands upward to run them under his loosened shirt, to brush her fingers over his own taut and tingling nipples.

Green eyes glittered playfully. “Are you ready for me yet or do you need more time? I wouldn’t want to rush a man who is still recovering?”

Valar, the minx! As if the question needed to be asked.

“I’ll show you ready.” She was fire and sweetness and the thought of her hot, wet cleft raced through his veins. He needed this now, a growl of purest need escaped his lips. Her squeal of surprise as strong hands pulled her bodice roughly down only inflamed him all the more. The rosy skin of two perfect breasts gleamed in the torchlight, ready for him to taste. Gods..oh gods. Faramir dipped his mouth and suckled hard.

Amerith gave a keening cry and arched her back, pressing him back against the table edge. The table! All at once he grabbed her buttocks, pulled them both backward onto its shining surface.

Two mouths crashed together once again. Amerith above was all hot sweetness and whispering silk, the wood below was solid and cool against his bare buttocks and his thighs. The contrast was exciting. They were still but partly clothed, his breeches were still below his knees, his dress boots were surely leaving messy scuffs in table’s mirrored polish. Faramir laughed a little wildly at the thought. The use they were making of the council’s precious space! It made the blood gallop in his veins anew, even as the table lay hard beneath his shoulder blades. He welcomed its solidity, its steadiness as the axis of their world tilted crazily.

He reached to hike Amerith’s billowing, mounded skirts. They slid like eels on the slippery surface, she could not get a purchase to shift up or down and he could not find their end. It was maddening. He needed to touch skin and her core was encased in silk so smooth it was nigh as reflective as the table top.

“Amerith how much do you love this dress?” he asked, eyes glittering with need. Below her waist his hands were grabbing at the fabric, trying to ruch it up to reach the soft folds he simply bursting to explore.

Her lips paused on his as laughter bubbled up. “Not at all, it is last season’s. Faramir when did you ever care about such things?”

“I don’t. I just wanted to be sure.” His hot hard mouth found hers again, tongue teasing, thrusting repeatedly, as urgently as his frustrated cock.

Amerith had to break away and raise her head, she could no longer breathe. “Of what?” His warm breath gusted across her nipples. Sweet Yavanna this was torture. His hands were on her waist, two warm brands just inches from her cleft. She was wet and dripping, desperate to feel him there.

“Your reaction!”

Suddenly his strong hands gripped her skirt below her navel and she heard the sound of fabric rip. The delicate silk surrendered easily to his force. He tore it right round the back and threw the offending piece off to his left. Now the questing fingers could delve in earnest. They grabbed at her silken drawers and quickly they were shredded too.

“Oh Valar.” She was slick and warm and already his cock was wet, just brushed by her swollen folds.

“Are you ready, my beautiful one?” His panting question made her nearly dizzy with desire.

“Oh yes!”

Bodily she was lifted, up above his hips. Startled, she glanced down and there along his torso was the straining tip, dark and leaking drops of pearly essence.

“Come to me!” The words were nearly lost in a growl of lust so feral it echoed in her chest. She gasped. A white hot pleasure shot through her, pure and liquid, as he pulled her down to sink upon his cock. She sank, let his blessed hot and pulsing girth fill her, until her buttocks rested on his thighs.

“Oh, you are so tight…” he breathed, and the straining lust in his voice was intoxicating too.

She smiled a secret smile. No, there had been no favourites for long and long. She had tired of their inconsequence, of their neediness and need for more attention. But this, this was something altogether different. Born of fire and longing and deepest care. She could not remember being so consumed, so filled, so connected in far too long.

Faramir’s eyes glittered brightly as his smile. “Are you all right?” His hands ran longingly up her arms, leaving shivers in their wake.

“Mmmm.” She was concentrating, eyes closed, moving forward and back a little to see where they fit together best. At last she slumped a little farther forward. There. His eyes widened as he too felt the pleasure of the shift. Slim hips could no longer wait, they began to thrust and she rocked down, enveloped by soft cries.

Amerith opened her eyes and gazed down at her young lover. He was so beautiful, head thrown back, chest heaving with maddened need. Slowly she bent down to kiss the hollow of his throat, to draw her tongue down lower, to taste his salt and muskiness, to swirl her tongue through the dark hair clustered round a pink and rosy nipple.

“Amerith” His word was a breathy plea.

Her hands now rested on either side his head, they touched the inlaid wood, her fingers splayed as if entwined in Nimroth’s fair white branches. Faramir’s raven locks were tumbled across the crown. It was such an arresting sight she sat back, nestled deeper on his cock again, admiring the view.

He must have missed her touch for suddenly he raised up, the muscles of his stomach rippling as he placed strong hands upon her hip once more. He claimed her mouth, hungry lips devoured all her breath as his surging cock devoured the aching void.

Underneath it all came new sighs and moans, the ancient wood sang merrily, tested as it had never been. She dropped her head back to his chest and laughed a little giddily. She shook her head and auburn tangles fell about them both.

“What?” Faramir gasped, anxiously shifting the curtain of her hair so he could see her face.

“The tree. The tree approves.” Suddenly he was laughing too, holding her as they rocked and swayed, blessed by sweet fire and the place.

Now their rhythm rose in earnest, its tempo began to change with the tenor of their rising cries, at first urgent and insistent, now wild and inchoate, driven by a latent power building.

This was delirium. His hands were hard and heavy at her waist, pulling her downward to meet each towering thrust, pressing down her core with sweet fire rhythmically against his lower belly.

Maddened by the widening, raging heat, she ground downward against his smooth slim hips ever harder, gasping and crying each time the void was filled, each time her swollen nub was brushed by his soft but unyielding skin. His own cries matched hers, a frantic mix of exhultation and purest lust that sent a shiver up her spine.

Oh gods, he thought, they should be quiet, but both were so far gone, so ravaged by the fire in their blood, he did not think it possible. He had closed his eyes, had sought to feel what motion excited her the most, but now opened them again, searching her face intently and finding only raw and yawning need. The edge of the abyss was near.

Her keening cry rose higher and he answered it, began to thrust faster and yet harder, her core just barely leaving him before it was pummelled by the fire yet again. It seemed to him the glow around them was not purely the torch lit pools of gold about the room.

He could not hold on, a final gush of wet and heat, a ripple deep inside her set every muscle cording. With a strangled roar and cascade of stars behind his sight he came, emptied his seed up into her. Oh this was pure bliss. And then after bliss was another gift.

He held her, thrusting with his slowly softening cock, as she trembled yet again, teeth clenched and lost, the waves of another release rolling on and on.


For many minutes afterward he did not know if she lay on him or him on her, both floated endlessly on the drunken tide of release. A drop of sweat rolled off her nose to splash upon his chest. It too reflected the shining light about the room, the peace in her eyes and white gleam of the tree below them.

“Amerith?” He shifted a little, sought to cover he cooling skin with his warmer arms and her thick cascade of hair.

“Hmmmm.” Drowsily she answered. The small part of her mind still capable of turning wondered briefly when the guards would change. Midnight. They could laze awhile before the need to move.

“I never did get a real chance to try the sandalwood soap, you know.”

She opened one eye at that. Ran her fingers up over his neck and chin to feel the smile upon his lips.

“I have some more. Willen replaced the bottle just yesterday. The brazier below the tub will still be hot. He always readies it if council meets late in the evening.”

The smile widened into a grain

“Never will I complain about being shot again.”

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The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: Maricela , Franchesca

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3 Comment(s)

NB: Comments span all chapters and may contain spoilers!

Oh I’m so excited to see you’re posting this. It is way, way too good to remain hidden in a set of e-mails.

Anyone new to this who has reservations about an OC/Faramir pairing: give it a go – this is one of the hottest pieces of het you’ll get the chance to read. And if you need help to picture it, just imagine that lush, incredibly erotic opening scene of Strauss’ s Rosenkavalier, only with Faramir in place of Oktavian.

— Annafan    28 March 2015, 08:36    #

Woohoo… The hurt, comfort and more comfort bit. And Varan letting Amerith know his inibitions will be lowered: “is that all?” But my goodness – uninhibited Faramir! What a treat. I have melted into a post-coital puddle and we haven’t even got to the coitus yet.

— Annafan    12 April 2015, 20:16    #

What wonderful, wonderful smut. Can I just say that the whole “consensual bodice ripping” (well, strictly skirt-ripping bit) is my new absolute favourite trope in romantic fiction. Everything about this is great – the table, the towering thrusts, the whole lot. And I hope they are going to make good use of the replacement sandalwood oil when they get back to her townhouse.

— Annafan    12 April 2015, 20:18    #

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