This story is rated «NC-17», and carries the warnings «Slash, smut, fluff, smut, slash. Plot somewhere? Not sure… But likeable anyway, I hope. Did I mention it’s slash?».
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29 January 2009 | 5310 words
Pairing: Faramir & Legolas
Summary: Post War in Ithilien. Faramir has ridden out with his Rangers to begin the restoration process of the lands, and Legolas has come with them. Then, amongst the trees, the boys set to work doing other things!
Warnings: Slash, smut, fluff, smut, slash. Not necessarily in that order.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: I realised that there aren’t very many Faramir/Legolas angst free stories around. You know, when they want only each other and all is bliss. So I had to write one.
While The Wood Watches
.It could be that easy.
There was no wind. The sunlight slipped and slid through the leaves eagerly, so intent on spilling its radiance upon the green forest floor that it cared not if it momentarily blinded any creatures that were out enjoying the warm day and all its glory. The undergrowth was thick, but not of the type that would trap your feet and triumphantly watch while you stumbled and lost your balance. Grass grew in soft tussocks, here and there interspersed with clusters of delicate white flowers. Clear blue was the sky.
Faramir slowly made his way through the meadows, running his fingertips across the rough bark of the mighty oaks, and the smooth, almost glossy outer coats of the slender birches. He let his own feet guide him, setting no specific course this afternoon, and it was as it should be for there was once more peace in Ithilien.
The willows by the streams were once more dipping their slim leaves into the waters and the moss grew upon stones and stumps; gingerly the ivy curled around willing branches and birds once more filled the air with song.
And the summer had only begun.
He had shed his cloak and his outer tunic by his tent, leaving on a green shirt, breeches and boots. As soon as the sun was high enough in the sky the day had warmed quickly and after the noon meal, Faramir was not the only one who had suddenly found the restoration work less pressing. But whereas his men had preferred to simply lie back where they already sat, he chose to leave them for a while to stroll deeper into the woods.
There were insistent whisperings in his heart that he had stopped ignoring – simply because they would not quieten or leave. Part of him was grateful even, since their presence showed he was alive again after the many years of darkness and despair. However, it was all too evident that he was no more skilled now in such matters as these than he had been before. His heart felt wide open and yet it hid a burning wish.
A fortnight ago the company had ridden out from Minas Tirith and set up a large, well organised camp some near twenty leagues south of the City. A swift-flowing tributary to Anduin supplied them with fresh water and since no rain had fallen for at least ten days, there was plenty of dry wood for the cooking-fires. These past two weeks were the longest Faramir had ever experienced, and yet, he was sure they had only lasted for a mere second.
Allowing himself a small sigh, he avoided a low-hanging broken branch and circled a small mound of up-thrust earth upon which no grass would grow. These testimonies of the savage way of the Orcs and other foul folk were not unusual in these parts but even so, the land looked far richer and more fertile than Faramir initially had feared. Time and labour would see it healed. Time, labour and love.
And so his mind filled with images, and he felt uncomfortable where he walked: like one who knows desire and admits to it, but in secret and with no intention of speaking of it.
It was only the evening before that Faramir, too nervous to announce his presence, had stayed in the shadows, unable to turn his eyes away from the scene that played out before him. For nearly an hour he had watched, at first telling himself he was foolish to hide, but as the minutes passed, whatever courage he had felt at first dwindled and died. The night had been chilly and yet the pale form by the running water’s edge did not leave for his tent. So close to drowning Faramir had never been before: the vision flooded his senses, as Legolas was being drenched in moonlight.
Yes, he admitted.
He came to the end of a clearing and dove in underneath the sheltering branches of an old elm, only to find himself in what one could have called a small grove, had the late spring not been so encouraging. New sprouts and fresh buds sprang out before him and there was just enough space to move without crushing them.
Sinking down upon the grass, he leaned back against the trunk and closed his eyes.
Legolas was a friend and an eager companion on this journey south. The Rangers accepted him, more perhaps because of his deeds in the War than for his obvious love of the woodlands. They also loved Ithilien, more than most people, but they loved differently. And they certainly did not sing to the trees.
Instinctively Faramir’s lips formed a smile. It lightened his heart to share this work with someone who seemed to genuinely understand his love of these lands.
There was but one detail that bothered him: this time – this one time – his heart wanted more than friendship.
It was at mealtimes, or soon thereafter, that this wish appeared not entirely unattainable. If Faramir sat surrounded by his men while they ate, Legolas would not approach him until later, when he had helped with the washing of the pots and plates. Then the Elf would smile at him and he would smile back. And so Legolas dropped to the forest floor and they would easily speak of whatever they fancied.
Now shifting against the elm, he wondered at the glimmer in Legolas’ eyes and the meaning of it. Over by his tent, Damrod had smirked and raised an eyebrow at more than one occasion but Faramir had shrugged and mentally dismissed his silent question. Yet Legolas’ eyes still glimmered and Damrod still grinned.
The sunlight continued to warm the early afternoon and Faramir felt his thoughts slipping off deeper into the woods, leaving him pleasantly empty. As he treaded on the brink of sleep, new images slipped into his mind, unbidden but not wholly unwelcome.
Legolas laughing… smiling… sitting beside him by the fire… and then… moving closer.
A small shiver was born out of this possibility and it served to keep Faramir awake. He shifted once more on the grass as a thrill raced through him and settled low in his stomach. Sighing softly he waited until the image of Legolas drew even closer, until their lips were nearly touching. A final, knowing, smile and then that tempting mouth would be upon him, urging him down into a dark pool of desire.
When another shiver rushed across his skin, Faramir started out of his imaginations and guiltily swallowed. It was not like him to behave thusly and for a split second he actually considered the idea of ‘elven magic’ that the unwise muttered about on a stormy night.
He shook his head and blinked at the sun which seemed only to brighten with every passing hour. If it was not elven magic, there was some other power about, Faramir decided.
He got to his feet, placing one hand on the elm for support as his legs were most unwilling to resume the walking. But the images would not leave him and so he stayed by the tree, with his palm against its trunk, deep in thought.
Exploring the texture, Faramir brushed his thumb against it and followed the pattern of the bark: the small creases and the shallow bays. He breathed in the scent of life hanging low in the air around him, so very concentrated to this place it seemed.
Then, out of what might be considered as nowhere, a lyrical voice spoke.
“Were it not for your ears and your beard, I would think you one of my own people.”
Somehow it was impossible to be startled; the voice blended so perfectly with nature that one might actually wonder at the previous lack of the sound instead.
Faramir smiled in the sunlight. “And had I not seen you bathe this morning, I would have thought you had grown wings and taken to the sky.”
A clear laughter rang out from somewhere close by. “Alas!” There was a soft rustling of leaves and a branch was gingerly lowered some feet ahead of him. “I am no bird, and nor do I inhabit the sky. I am but an Elf… but I have found a terrific tree to befriend.”
Amidst the leaves of another elm, a gleam of fair hair could now be sighted; and following this, Faramir caught sight of the bright smile of Legolas Thranduilion.
“Then am I pleased for you,” laughed Faramir as he took a step closer. He registered the flip his stomach made and was reminded over and over again of how he had spent the last half-hour dreaming and envisioning, indeed as he spent most of his time lately.
“But not for the tree?” asked Legolas.
He gave a mock frown. “Should I be?”
The branch was lowered some more and the Elf peered out at him with eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you insinuating that my company is not good enough?”
“Certainly not.” Faramir smiled but his eyes strayed as he helplessly fell back into that water of building lust.
Telling himself he was in no way behaving like a Captain of his rank, he raised his eyes to the tree with some effort. The now familiar something he would not name surged through him, ignorant of any logic.
Legolas was still watching him but the glower had left his features. “You speak the truth, do you not Faramir?”
“No,” Legolas said softly, his expression graver now, “not only in this moment, but always. You are not a man whose words will twist and turn with the comings and the goings of the seasons?”
Faramir shook his head slowly. “Fair words of false praise bring no joy in the end. I speak of what I know, of what I perceive and – if I must – of that which is uncertain but not unlikely.”
Legolas nodded in understanding where he sat. “And you know the valour of silence.”
Unsure if this was question or not, Faramir hesitated and he looked away. He felt Legolas’ blue eyes still upon him and the gaze lingered as if it truly wished to be nowhere else. And Faramir wondered exactly how much Legolas perceived.
Then the voice that had haunted his dreams of late, spoke again, without irony or mockery.
“And aptly you demonstrate it.”
For no reason, no apparent reason at all, Faramir blushed. He stepped backwards and returned his hand to the elm, stroking it with his open palm but fervently wishing he could do better than that.
“What do you say, Faramir… If you let me greet your tree then I will introduce you to mine?” The mirth was back in Legolas’ voice. “If they are not acquainted already, that is. After all, they have been here for some time.”
Faramir could not help but smile. “You have not asked them?”
“Nah.” There was a sudden, louder, rustle and then Legolas had slipped down from the branches. “We had other issues to discuss.”
“Of importance, I assume?” Faramir queried, not really expecting an explanation.
“Indeed,” said Legolas mysteriously but then he grinned. “I see you have been walking for a while.”
Before he knew it, Faramir found himself standing much closer to the Elf, or maybe it was Legolas who was standing close to him.
A breath that he had been meaning to draw became heavier as the ethereal energy of his friend yet again caused a shiver to ripple across his skin. He parted his lips slightly to ease his breathing but could then do no more.
“The trees have graced you with some of their beauty,” Legolas said quietly. He raised a hand towards Faramir’s temple but it did not complete its task, falling instead back to his side. “No, I will leave them. You are properly crowned now, Prince of Ithilien.”
Faramir swallowed. His usual reaction would be to raise his own hands to remove whatever had tangled in his hair, but he stood motionless before the gaze of Legolas. Dazedly he tried to read it, but failed miserably as his heart would not succumb to the fickle ponderings in his mind.
The sunlight melted into the elven hair, tinting it with gold – just as Ithil2 coloured it silver at night.
“Never think…” The Elf spoke in a whisper. “Never think that the trees’ gifts make up your beauty.”
He did not trust himself to speak and nor could he any longer endure the burning gaze. As the green of the surrounding world grew more intense, Faramir dropped his gaze and from far away he saw that their hands were not far apart. He put his faith in any good powers that might be watching and then slowly brushed the back of his hand against Legolas’.
A soft breath escaped the Elf at the touch and pale fingers stirred and reached out for his hand to grasp it gently.
“This is your true nature,” Legolas breathed. “You were not made for the battlefield and neither for the stone walls of your childhood home… This is you. You are these lands.”
Faramir could no longer see the outlines of the leaves because they were blending their shades and built a haven for them in this moment.
“Perhaps,” he said simply, but Legolas shook his fair head:
“I know a wood-Elf when I see one.”
“I am not elven…”
“No,” said Legolas, “perhaps not. And for that I am glad. My own kin I have known for a millennium and more whereas you are new to me.”
Faramir frowned but Legolas only smiled. “You will see – you will get used to yourself too.”
As silence fell between them, Faramir grew more and more conscious of the fact that Legolas’ fingers were still wrapped around his own. It might mean nothing to the Elf as they had embraced before, as warriors to begin with and later as friends when Legolas had come again to Minas Tirith from his visit to Mirkwood and his father’s halls.
He tried to breathe evenly as the minutes passed and Legolas’ eyes remained fixed on his face. They were of similar height and build, alike in stature though they were Man and Elf; the men joked that where Legolas’ frame was naturally slim, the Captain simply ate too little.
“Faramir?” His tones were low and undemanding. “You are very present… yet I sense your thoughts straying.” Legolas gave a half-smile and tilted his head a little to the side. “Whither do they wander?”
Self-consciously, Faramir bit his lip as if preventing himself from speaking his mind. The action had no lasting effect though, for as soon as he opened his mouth, unchecked words rushed forth.
“Not far,” he heard himself saying, “always they return to you.”
Legolas’ smile deepened and he brought their entwined hands upwards and gently he pressed them against his chest. With a quickening pulse in his veins, Faramir watched him avidly.
“Speak more,” Legolas softly urged him. “Tell me of your thoughts, but speak only truthfully.”
Faramir felt his blood speeding through him and his mind grew dizzy. Distantly he knew that his body was responding to this increasing closeness but more important right now was the hammering of his heart in his breast. If Legolas had placed their hands against his chest instead, surely they would not lie there in peace as he was certain he was shaking wildly.
“I seek you out amongst my men,” Faramir whispered, not sure from where these words came, but not able to stop them. “I search your face each morn as the Sun rises, fearing the day when you decide you have had enough of us and return to your own country. I wish to speak with you always…” He swallowed anxiously as reality nearly caught up with him. “I see Ithil play in your features at night, and I dream… about you.”
He closed his eyes, not daring to exhale. His blood was pounding loudly in his ears and perhaps he swayed a little for he felt a hand lightly settle upon his shoulder. In this fashion he was held when something brushed against his lips.
“Anor1 sets your hair afire.”
Legolas’ whisper ghosted over his lips, as tender as the kiss. The tension slowly left his body and Faramir drew a long breath, blindly seeking those lips before him.
He needed not search for long.
Still with a hand on his shoulder, Legolas guided their mouths together once more. This time the Elf increased the pressure, sliding his lips across Faramir’s and giving an almost inaudible sigh. The Man opened up slightly and an initial tingling in his breast grew in strength and caused a first wave of desire to wash over him. When Legolas’ moist tongue sneaked out and teased his bottom lip, Faramir slid an arm around his waist and pulled him closer.
He opened his mouth fully and welcomed the probing tongue that slipped inside. Legolas moaned softly into his warmth and untangled their hands trapped between their chests. He slid his hand into Faramir’s hair and urged him on, withdrawing his tongue and ending the motion by grazing his teeth carefully along the Man’s lips.
With blood pooling in his groin, Faramir followed the curve of Legolas’ upper lip with the tip of his tongue. Soon his growing arousal would be impossible to hide and he fervently wished for more friction. But he was not going to spoil this; he could not read Legolas’ mind and even if the kiss hinted at more to come, he wanted nothing less than to scare off the Elf.
Desire mounted quickly and it was only with great effort that Faramir succeeded in drawing back when the kiss ended. His chest was heaving and his hands ached to touch more of that tantalisingly attractive body before him. Even so, his eyes flew open to find out Legolas’ sentiments.
The Elf’s eyes had glazed over, they were darker and wider. His pale cheeks flushed and his lips bright red and slightly swollen. He was shimmering with an aura that was no longer only of the ethereal kind: he too knew lust and he was not unaffected.
“Tell me,” Faramir began hoarsely, “if this is not what you want.”
Legolas licked his lips and closed the distance between them once more. He ran his mouth against Faramir’s stubbly jaw, trailing a line down his throat. “I will tell you this,” he murmured, sending tremors down the Man’s spine, “I desire you.”
Faramir felt control slipping away and he ground his hips against Legolas, gasping as he met with a similar hardness. “I want you,” he said, barely aware of losing the last shreds of intelligence his mind had insisted on him keeping. “I am sorry Legolas, but I am no more than human.”
He felt the exploring lips curve into a smile and teeth gently nibbled at his skin. Hands tugged at his shirt and slipped inside, sliding over bare skin and setting his body on fire.
“Feel me touch you then,” Legolas suggested and pressed his groin against Faramir, drawing a groan from him.
“Please…” Faramir fumbled with the lacings of Legolas’ tunic. His length was throbbing inside his breeches, begging for release from its constraints. “I want you,” he repeated. “Will you let me…?”
Legolas let go of him and placed a single kiss on his lips. His seductive smile caused a new wave of need to rush through Faramir’s body. “Yes,” he said simply.
Legolas loosened his belt and quickly stripped away his garments, revealing more and more of the pale flesh that had tempted Faramir for two weeks. His lean body was bathed in sunlight and he slowly lifted his head.
“May I see you also?” he asked with a hint of shyness to his voice.
Faramir heard him, but was too mesmerised to comply at once. He had seen the Elf bathe, had seen him more or less undressed before, but so ridden by desire Legolas had never before come to the Captain of the Rangers.
Lifting a hand he traced his fingertips along the curve of the muscles, over the hairless chest, stopping to caress a peaked nipple and smiling when Legolas inhaled contentedly. He continued his quest and his fingers sought a way downward.
Gingerly he cupped a hip bone and then he could avoid temptation no longer. He knew Legolas was watching him when he dipped his fingertips into the soft, fair hair at the base of the hard member that arched out from the trembling body.
Reverently he encircled the base and without pressure he fisted it once, listening to the long moan spilling from Legolas’ lips and feeling his own arousal twitch in reply.
Faramir withdrew his hand reluctantly but then cast off his own clothes rapidly, desperately wishing to join with the Elf. Soon he stood as undressed as his friend with the sun bathing him in her warm rays.
Legolas’ eyes roamed over his form and his lips parted long before he spoke.
“You are beautiful, Faramir.” He leaned in and kissed one of the pale scars crossing Faramir’s chest. His lips travelled upward, and as he stepped into the waiting embrace, he caught the human mouth and offered a deep, passion filled kiss. “Will you lie with me?”
They sank to the grass, finding comfortable positions. Legolas leaned back upon the green tussocks, only backed up a little by the roots of the elm. He brought his arms around Faramir to pull him close and his swollen erection pressed into the Man’s stomach. Drops of pearly liquid wet his skin and Faramir resisted the urge to thrust against Legolas’ body even though he had not entered him yet.
It seemed to him when he kissed Legolas that he had waited for this for an eternity. A sharp warning pierced his clouded mind and he could not altogether ignore it. The elven hiss when Faramir slipped partially to the ground to spread his lover’s legs did not wholly chase the knowledge away. Teasingly he ran a finger along the length that rested heavily on Legolas’ belly. He pressed his groin against a muscled thigh and groaned when the friction caused the first wetness to leak from his shaft.
“May I?” His voice wavered, but Legolas nodded frantically, plunging his tongue into his mouth.
Abandoning every trail of chastening thought, Faramir added his fingers to the kiss, letting Legolas lick them thoroughly. He lowered his head to rest on the Elf’s shoulder and a hand immediately tangled in his hair. Legolas’ breathing was deep but when Faramir brought his fingers down to his groin, running them over his erection, taking the time to cup the twin globes and seeking out the furled entrance to his body, he arched upwards with a throaty moan.
The Man did not let him finish the sentence but instead pushed the first finger inside the heat. When the muscles clenched around it, it was almost enough to send him over the edge then and there, and instinctively he pushed against Legolas’ thigh.
Adding a second finger to stretch and scissor, he felt Legolas push his lithe body down on the impaling fingers. Faramir wanted more, he wanted to be so much closer and he desperately sought out the lips that intuitively caught his own. Soon after inserting a third finger, Legolas grasped for his hand.
“I need no more,” he mumbled against Faramir’s lips, stilling the Man’s movements. “‘Tis enough.”
The world spun madly as Faramir withdrew his fingers and Legolas slung a leg over his hips as he shifted on the grass. He nudged the blunt head of his arousal against the now relaxed opening, and drawing a final breath, he slid inside.
Legolas curled against him at once and moulded against his shaking body as much as possible. Faramir gripped him tightly, whichever body part he could reach, as he began thrusting without knowing exactly in which position they lay or even how he managed to move.
Legolas’ lips left wet, erratic kisses on his skin and the heat around his throbbing length was so intense that it threatened to overwhelm him. He pulled back slowly and drove inside again, pushing deeper and deeper. Legolas was thrashing in his arms, his own length leaking as Faramir filled him. The Man released his grip slightly and could somehow change the angle of his thrusts, revelling in the unrestrained groan his lover gave when he brushed his sensitive spot.
A sudden desire to see the Elf climax, right there before his eyes, hit him and Faramir slowed down enough to be able to encircle the swollen elven member. His hands moved skilfully, learning as they worked what Legolas liked. He revealed all of the head and smeared the liquid over it, making it glisten in the sunlight. An incoherent string of elvish words fell from Legolas’ lips and Faramir had no other warning than this before he felt his lover convulse and come all over his hand. His inner muscles tensed and Faramir buried himself to the hilt and sent forth his own release into the shuddering darkness. He threw back his head, conscious of nothing else but the pounding of his heart and the violent shaking ruling his body. He was sure all of his senses left him as he collapsed upon the grass.
When he finally stirred again, he did so to feather light strokes on his arm. Opening his eyes, he saw Legolas running his fingers across his skin, occasionally circling a birthmark as if he were mapping them out one by one. He smiled at Faramir, a slow sated smile.
Faramir smiled back and brushed his palm over the slackened length his hand still covered. “You are alright?”
“Yes,” said Legolas lazily and lifted his head to glance downward. “But if you keep that up, I shall not answer for my actions.”
“Careful… I am still inside you.”
Legolas chuckled and reached out for him. “Kiss me please,” he said.
It was a slow kiss that carried none of the previous passion they had shared. During it, Faramir carefully slipped out of his lover and wrapped his arms around him, drawing him close and spooning up around him. Legolas willingly tangled their limbs and kissed him back leisurely. When Faramir released his lips, he gave a long sigh of pleasure.
Faramir pressed a new kiss onto his forehead. “What did you speak of with the trees?”
A smile gently spread across Legolas’ lips. “I spoke of the song in my heart. Of how I had met with the one who may claim me if he will… And of how I wished that you had come to me last night by the water, and not remained hidden in the darkness.”
“Oh,” said Faramir with the hint of a warmer shade stealing across his cheeks. “And what did they tell you in turn?”
The smile grew into a grin. “That it was foolish of you to stay away.”
“I did not know how to approach you,” Faramir admitted. “Perhaps I also wished for an image to treasure, should you turn me away if I ever dared to tell you of my wishes.”
“I will not chide you,” said Legolas slowly. “I will not chide you because my thoughts have been of a similar kind.” Into his eyes crept unease and Faramir felt his stomach turn over unpleasantly.
Legolas hesitated visibly and his eyes lost their focus. Again Faramir was aware of the worries he only momentarily had quenched before. His lips went dry as he waited for Legolas to continue.
“I am no Ranger, Faramir. I have not served you for years as your men have – indeed I have known of your existence for but a few months. And only this afternoon were you open enough for me to read. Still…” His voice faltered and would not strengthen immediately.
“Still, I would be by your side,” the Elf finished quietly.
Faramir let out a long breath as the weight that had settled on his heart lifted. He raised a hand and watched it hover by Legolas’ cheek. Then he smiled.
“I have no need of more Rangers,” he said softly and brushed his fingertips against the flawless skin. “No longer will I hide in Henneth Annûn, behind a veil of water, fearful of both day and night, dependant on those who serve me.” He both felt and saw Legolas lean into the touch and so he cupped the cheek and stroked his thumb once more across the skin. “I seek neither Ranger nor servant, Legolas.”
“And what do you seek?” The question was barely audible.
“A lover…” The word was foreign on his tongue as if it belonged to a different language. “And an equal.”
The Elf was staring at him so intently he almost wanted to shut his eyes.
“May I offer you both?” Legolas asked at length with a faint rising of colour in his cheeks.
But he did not wait for a reply. He nestled closer and hid his face against Faramir’s chest, saying nothing more. Faramir smiled into the blond hair and ran his palm over the pale shoulder and back, knowing suddenly very well what Legolas had meant by his heart singing.
“You may,” he whispered. “And I offer you the same.”
He felt a kiss being placed upon his chest and then Legolas dove out of the close embrace. He wore a serious expression. “I know the ways of the woodlands,” he said quietly. “These lands are your home and this is where your spirit dwells, I am sure. I would wish for them to accept me.”
Faramir consciously softened his smile. “I am sure they will,” he said. He paused as a stray ray of sunlight made his lover’s hair glimmer. He summoned some more courage and met the blue gaze. “Here I know only love.”
A hint of a smile captured Legolas’ lips. “So do I.”
Faramir was aware of the grass beneath their entwined bodies and the scent of summer enfolding them, but in this rare moment he had no further thought to spare Ithilien. At seeing the light return to his lover’s face, his thoughts were on Legolas and on him only.
“To think it could be that easy,” he said and kissed that smile.
And in its own way, the elm that towered above them winked to its kin a few feet away.
1 Anor – the Sun, referred to as ‘she’
2 Ithil – the Moon, referred to as ‘he’
3 seas – please
4 le aníron – I desire you
5 melethron – male lover
Note: Some inspiration (not the slash, though) taken from the Richard Shindell song On a sea of fleur-de-Lis which includes the lines “It could be that easy” and “let me live in the arms of a sorry old elm”. Master Shindell, should you ever read this: I love you! I’m sure you’d love slash too.
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The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: KisaMura , ophelia , erin , wolfy , , Mel