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Intentions (NC-17) Print

Written by RubyElf

18 March 2012 | 26062 words

Title: Intentions
Author: RubyElf
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Faramir & Legolas

Thranduil arrives unexpectedly, Arwen solves everybody’s problems before dinner, Eomer is looking for his elf, hobbits are unhappy, Boromir is annoyed, and apparently Gandalf has shown up with some plans for Legolas and Faramir that perhaps he should have asked them about first.


[ all pages ]

Intentions – Part 9

“I thought you were supposed to be learning to braid,” Legolas said, glancing over his shoulder at Faramir.

“I’m working on it,” Faramir said, smiling.

“If you’re intending to braid my hair, your hands are in entirely the wrong places,” the elf pointed out.

“True,” Faramir said, leaning forward to grasp a pointed ear with his lips.

Legolas exhaled sharply and arched against him. “We are… supposed to be getting ready, Faramir! Besides, aren’t you properly satisfied after our bath?”

“I’m never entirely satisfied when it comes to you. And we were a bit rushed in the bath, what with all the… activity in the halls. Now I can take my time.”

“I’m supposed to be meeting with my father,” Legolas said, his voice catching in his throat at the man’s hand slid down the front of his breeches.

“Let him wait,” Faramir said, his free hand making its way to the laces of the elf’s tunic, which had only recently been tied. “He doesn’t deserve to have you come running because he said so. He doesn’t command you.”

He felt Legolas shift against him. “No. He does not.”

Faramir whispered close to his ear. “I’m the only person who commands you, Legolas.”

“Is that so,” he murmured, leaning back into Faramir’s grasp and closing his eyes.

“Well, then,” Faramir said, releasing him for a moment and reaching for something. Legolas shivered as he felt a strip of cloth laid over his eyes and tied securely behind his head. He blinked against the sudden darkness and allowed Faramir’s strong hands on his shoulders to turn him around. He felt the man’s breath against his lips just before he kissed him, pulling him toward the center of the room. Legolas could feel the heat of the fire in the hearth growing warmer and could hear the wood crackling, and he realized where Faramir was taking him a moment before the man released him.

“Down on your knees.”

The command was softly spoken and almost conversational in tone, but the elf could feel the heat behind it as intensely as he could feel the flickering fire behind him. He could feel something soft under his feet and knew that when his knees hit the ground, it would not be hard stone floor but the thick bearskin rug in front of the hearth. He waited, hands resting on his thighs, tipping his head upward to try to sense what Faramir was up to, moving around somewhere in the room, opening a drawer, rustling cloth. When the man returned to him, he could tell by the soft pad of his steps that he was barefoot now, and as he stood in front of him, he could smell the man’s nakedness, the exposed skin, still clean and smelling like soap from the bath.

“What do you want?” he asked quietly.

“I’m thinking,” Faramir said.


Boromir expected to find Aragorn still talking to Éomer, and was a bit disappointed to discover him alone in the throne room, standing by one of the windows.

“Where is the Horse Lord?” he asked.

Aragorn turned and glanced at him, chuckling. “He went off somewhere. Didn’t say where.”

“I’m sure he’s not looking for a certain elf.”

“Certainly not,” Aragorn agreed.

“Well, he probably hasn’t gotten to have any fun since Berendir left…”

“Speaking of fun,” Aragorn said, his expression thoughtful. “Wasn’t ours interrupted earlier?”

“I believe it was, yes,” Boromir agreed, grinning. “And there shouldn’t be anyone in my rooms at the moment…”

“Not even hobbits?”

“No… they’re off bothering Gandalf…”

Aragorn’s eyes widened. “Gandalf? He’s here? What does he want?”

Boromir silently cursed himself for ruining his own opportunity. “Yes, Gandalf. Says he’s here to meet with you and Thranduil. In fact, he says he’s the one who summoned Thranduil to come here.”

Aragorn frowned. “That doesn’t make much sense. Gandalf would rather go to Mirkwood than come here; he likes it there. What would he want Thranduil here for?”

“I’m guessing it’s because there’s someone else involved in this business, someone here in Minas Tirith that doesn’t like it in Mirkwood,” Boromir said.

“Legolas?” Aragorn asked.

“Exactly.”

“Well,” Aragorn said, “at least if Gandalf is involved, it seems that there’s not much chance of Thranduil trying anything he shouldn’t.”

“Does Thranduil know his other son is here too?”

“Not that I know of. He’s been in talking to Arwen, though, and she might have mentioned something. But I suspect Éomer will have located Berendir soon enough, and I don’t think Thranduil wants to fight an angry Horse Lord.”

Boromir glanced around the throne room before stepping closer to Aragorn. “You know, I’m sure Arwen is managing things with Thranduil quite well.”

“No doubt,” Aragorn agreed.

“And I’m sure that Gandalf will find the two of them eventually without our help, don’t you think?”

“What do you have in mind?” Aragorn asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, there’s that small meeting room back there… with a door that locks. And there’s a nice, wide, sturdy table…”

“You’re encouraging me to neglect my responsibilities,” Aragorn observed.

“Possibly,” Boromir agreed, but he was already walking toward the meeting room, and he noticed with amusement that Aragorn was following him.


Faramir had turned his chair so that he could sit comfortably and watch the flickering orange light from the hearth reflect off the elf’s pale skin, leaving it almost glowing. Legolas shifted impatiently.

“Do you want something?” the man asked.

The elf nodded.

“I’m going to guess what it is,” Faramir said, settling himself on the rug behind the elf. Listening intently, Legolas heard the sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle, and immediately caught the familiar fragrance of almond with hints of lavender and sage. There was a soft clink as the man set the bottle on the stone floor, and then he was reaching forward and wrapping his arms around the elf’s chest, pulling him backwards until he found himself between Faramir’s knees, feeling the man’s heartbeat against his back and his breath on his neck.

“I’d play with you a while, but we probably don’t have all day, unfortunately,” Faramir said, as one hand slid down and, now slick with oil, began to stroke between the elf’s buttocks. “And if I wait too long, we’re likely to be interrupted again. Besides, there’s always tonight.”

“I had thought men had limits on the number of times in day they could do such things,” Legolas murmured.

Faramir chuckled. “Yes, but I’m still a fairly young man. And I think being bound to an immortal creature has had an effect on my stamina.”

“I see.”

“Besides,” the man said. “I have the benefit of a most inspiring partner.”

Legolas opened his mouth to answer, but only managed a gasp as two of the man’s broad fingers pressed insistently as his opening before pushing in. Faramir chuckled softly in the elf’s ear as he worked his fingers deeper, feeling Legolas twist and squirm against him. After a moment, he drew his hand back, and Legolas made a small sound of disappointment; he was not in the mood to be teased, especially when his cock was already hard as mithril and his heart pounding against his ribs.

“On your hands and knees,” Faramir said quietly.

Legolas slid forward and rested his elbows on the rug, the heat of the fire raising sweat on his pale skin. Faramir was close behind him, and then the man’s hands were on his hips, arranging him like a piece of furniture, lifting his ass, tipping him forward till his forehead rested on his arms, while he hummed to himself as if this were the most ordinary task in the world. After a minute, he sat back to examine his work.

“There we are. Just right.”

Legolas bit back a comment; he knew Faramir well enough to know that if he kept silent now, he would be rewarded for it, but his usual sarcasm would end up making him wait longer. He felt one of Faramir’s hands resting on his lower back, and the man shifted closer, his other hand guiding his cock as he pushed in.

Legolas thrust back against him, and it was Faramir’s turn to gasp as he had to grab the elf’s hips with both hands to steady himself.

“Behave yourself,” he said breathlessly.

“Make me.”

He heard the man’s sharp intake of breath. One hand released his hip and, even as Legolas shifted to feel the man’s cock move inside him, the hand came down with a resounding slap that echoed in the quiet room. Legolas jerked, more in surprise than pain, but this motion only drove Faramir deeper, drawing ragged groans from both of them.

“Mind your manners,” the man murmured.

Legolas didn’t respond.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Very good.”

The slight sting of Faramir’s handprint on his ass only seemed to serve, like the blindfold, as a constant reminder of the man’s quiet dominance, and the elf lowered his head and let the tension in his body melt away. Faramir felt the subtle shift, understood what it meant, and smiled as he stroked a hand up the long line of the elf’s spine.

“Very good.”

He knew what Legolas wanted and rewarded him for his surrender, fucking him with slow, steady, relentless thrusts that rocked the slender body beneath his hands, aiming each thrust as deep as he could manage. The pleasant interlude in the bath had taken some of the edge off his need, and he was surprised how long he managed to prolong this, until they were both slick with sweat, both breathing in unsteady gasps, before he felt his release creeping slowly up on him.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

Legolas moaned and shifted to free one hand, reaching down to grasp his cock. A few quick jerks of his hand and he was shaking, crying out as he came. Faramir could never manage to feel the elf’s body tighten and shudder around him without being drawn inevitably into his own release, hands maintaining a tight grip to steady both of them as he pulled the elf tightly against his body.

They stayed like this for a minute, Faramir gently running a hand up and down the elf’s back. Legolas sighed and pressed back against him, feeling the man’s still half-hard cock twitch inside him as he moved. Faramir laughed breathlessly.

“No more for now; sorry.”

“I know. I just like feeling you there.”

Faramir smiled and reached around to pull Legolas up against his chest again, kissing sweat-damp shoulders and neck. “Mmm-hmm. You know… when we get dressed and go to meet your father, he’s going to smell me all over you. And he’s going to know exactly who you belong to.”

“He doesn’t like other people touching his things.”

“Yes, but you’re not his. You’re mine. Mine to touch, mine to do anything I want with.”

“Anything?” Legolas asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Part of the responsibility of possessing you, as I see it, is knowing what I should and shouldn’t ask of you,” he said quietly. “I want only what pleases you too.”

Legolas smiled. “I have no complaints thus far.”

“No complaints? All you do is complain!”

“True. But not about the sex.”

“No. You generally don’t complain about that. Just everything else.”

“Mmm-hmm. Sort of like your brother, right?”


“Hold still!” Boromir growled.

Aragorn, stretched out on the broad meeting table and wearing very little besides an unbuttoned tunic and a pair of boots (and how Boromir had got his breeches off over his boots he still wasn’t sure), chuckled and smiled up at him.

“I am holding still.”

Boromir rummaged in his shirt pockets for a moment before grinning triumphantly. “Found it!”

“About time,” Aragorn said. “I was starting to think about trade agreements.”

Boromir glared at him as he pulled the cap off the little vial of oil and poured its contents into his hand. “It’s not my fault you’re impatient.”

“Well, get on with it.”

Boromir rewarded him for this remark by grabbing him and flipping him over so that his chest thudded on the table. A moment later he felt slick fingers sliding busily, taking only the briefest of moments to prepare him before being replaced by something much larger and harder. Boromir pressed in relentlessly, and Aragorn groaned but pushed back to meet him; he had intentionally taunted Boromir into taking him this way, wanting to feel the aching pull of his body stretching to accommodate him. Despite his usual impatience Boromir almost always prepared him with care, sometimes more than Aragorn preferred, and he liked the days he could piss Boromir off and irk him into taking him this way.

Boromir stopped, his hands on either side of Aragorn’s chest, breathing hard. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m all right.”

Boromir began to move, hips drawing back and thrusting forward again, his breath hot between Aragorn’s shoulders, his cock finding just the right spot with each thrust to make Aragorn shudder underneath him. Pressed against the table with Boromir’s weight on him, his cock was pressed painfully between his body and the wooden surface, but he was willing to tolerate it to enjoy the feel of Boromir roughly, demandingly fucking him. He could feel Boromir’s arms starting to tremble, hear the man’s impending release in his ragged groans, and deliberately tightened himself around Boromir’s cock. The other man’s hands scrabbled for a grip on the table as he thrust once more into the waiting body beneath him, finding his frantic release.

For a moment Aragorn was content to lay with Boromir’s sweaty weight collapsed over him, feeling his racing heartbeat. Boromir, though, almost immediately drew back, grasped Aragorn with strong hands, and flipped him over onto his back again, freeing his still-eager cock and sliding down to wrap his hands and lips around it. Aragorn shouted, half surprised and half overwhelmed by the pleasure of it, and his hands tangled desperately in Boromir’s hair as the other man ruthlessly worked at him until he arched up, with a wail he didn’t care who could hear, and surrendered to Boromir’s astonishingly warm and talented mouth.

They lay draped across the table, Aragorn glancing over at the papers scattered on the floor.

“We should pick those up.”

“Later,” Boromir muttered.

“Aren’t we supposed to be somewhere?”

“No. Be quiet.”

“Well, can we at least go somewhere with a bed? This table’s not exactly comfortable.”

“Mph,” Boromir muttered, his head pillowed on Aragorn’s abdomen as he started to doze off.

“Now, wait a minute!”

Boromir ignored him. Aragorn shrugged, thinking that the table wasn’t really so bad after all, and closed his eyes.

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4 Comment(s)

Well, that was just great! I really enjoyed this.

— Ria    Monday 19 March 2012, 2:25    #

Heehee, Hobbits! XD I can almost hear their incessant chatter about each and everything. Of course they would pretend to be all timid and shy – and then make whispered remarks about the other party guests, loud enough everyone can hear.

The whole scenery seems like something that happened during lunch break on the Ring set. Like: somebody (most likely one of the hobbit actors) snatched a camera and then they were going to do their own version of The Secret life in Middle Earth. Thinking about it I´m absolutely positive there is a secret extra somewhere in a sinister corner of the DVD…

And I must say I find the idea of Arwen having fun with itching powder very pleasing – and perhaps she would as well. It must be so annoying to spend all your time being wise and serene, especially with all these lively halflings around. The longer I think about it the more I like the idea of stripping all these over-glamorous characters of their flawlessness – at least a tiny bit… >:)

A refreshing look at a lighter and funnier Middle Earth – I bet there are even such things as fart cushions (in Arwen´s drawer)! XDDD

— raven22372    Wednesday 21 March 2012, 16:23    #

hahaha, I have laughed nonstop at this end! hahah!

— Laivindur    Thursday 22 March 2012, 18:38    #

Oh, I just love Pippin!!! “Makes it up as he goes along!” hahaha

— Laivindur    Thursday 22 March 2012, 19:10    #

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RubyElf

For more of RubyElf’s work, visit her LiveJournal.