Faramir Fiction Archive

Lust for possession (R)

Written by Anastasiya

18 April 2010 | 3838 words

Title: Lust for possession
Pairing: Faramir/Aragorn
Rating: R
Warning: Character death
Summary: What would you do if you lost forever the most loved person whom you had caused pain but had no chance to ask for forgiveness…
What would you do if your all next life were filled with despair and guilt…
What would you do?
This story was born after reading the story Crusade of Helmboy when I was so filled with great sadness and deep feeling of loss that couldn’t help but write my own story.
A/N: Chloe, thank you very much for your help and patience with my story. You’re wonderful beta!!!
Dear Ingrid, this story was for you. Get better, you’re dear to me!

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Faramir tiredly headed for the stable. Sadness and strange remorse weighed heavily on his chest and like in the time of his father’s government he wanted to leave Minas Tirith as soon as it was possible.

He thought of how it could happen that even now when the situation in Gondor was quite another he had the same feelings of absolute emptiness and misunderstanding as it was several months earlier. His gift of comprehension of people was a gift from above but two persons were always beyond his understanding – his father and his King.

His King. Faramir could not help but smiled bitterly. Aragorn behaved strange. Like Denethor he was considerate towards his opinion about questions of Kingdom, but all that concerned their private relationships was quite a contrary. It was impressed in constant criticism and mockeries that Aragorn didn’t get tired with rebuking him, and Faramir guessed if it was his only appearance that would arouse such disgust in the King.

Faramir impatiently shook his head as he tried to put away a memory about morning remark. “Lord Faramir,” Aragorn said haughtily as the Steward unintentionally jogged his elbow, stumbling over footstep, “if you sometimes found time for putting away your hair from your face, you would not be so clumsy”. A blow. It was like a blow from behind and Faramir could not remember the last time he was so completely at loss for words, as he whispered in dismay, “Forgive me.”

“Faramir!” A sharp cry broke off his mirthless thoughts. Steward turned around and met a look of a man standing behind.

“Your Majesty.”

“Where are you going at this time of night?”

“A council that claimed my presence is finished and I decided to return at home in Ithilien.”

“I didn’t give you my permission for it,” Aragorn answered roughly and again Faramir felt like a child who has no rights at all.

“There is a ball tomorrow where you, as a Steward, should present also”.

“A ball, my Lord?” Faramir wondered. “I’ve known nothing about it. Éowyn…”

“I’ve already sent a message to the princess to go to Minas Tirith.”

“You didn’t tell me anything of it,” Faramir answered frostily, feeling as a rage grew inside.

“I’ve forgotten, perhaps…” Aragorn said. “Follow me.” And he made his way to the palace.

Faramir angrily moved behind guessing how he earned such abusive disrespect towards himself. Lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice how they ended up the private chambers of the King and Aragorn locked the door. Only as he understood where he was Faramir sharply turned around.

“Do you want to speak to me, sire?”

“Call me Aragorn,” Aragorn answered and his rough tone finally drove Steward out of his wits. Forgetting about respect Faramir angrily hissed, “What do you want, Aragorn?”

A mistake. The mistake was made in a twinge of rage. And this led to rage in return.

“You!” Aragorn hissed and at the same moment he aggressively captured the mouth of his Steward. Faramir was taken aback for a moment, lost in a deep kiss. The lips of his King were powerful and claiming and he felt as strong arms embraced him. But as his conscious returned to him he forcefully rested his hands on a King’s chest.

“Aragorn!” He cried trying to get free but that motion lead to the new wave of aggression in the King. He was roughly pushed down and losing his feet fell on a big sofa.

He had no time to understand what happened when the weight of a body covered his. Gripping Faramir’s hands above his head with one his arm, Aragorn began hurriedly to undo the laces of his Steward’s shirt. Having no strength even to move, Faramir felt a warm breath on his face and shivered as the strong hands of Aragorn touched his bare chest. Feeling as his own body began betraying him responding to coarse caresses of his King, Faramir sharply twitched, freeing his hands, but Aragorn adroitly caught him. And so, fighting with one another they smoothly slipped down on the floor with all pillows and blankets.

Faramir suddenly felt as his strength began to leave him. Why Aragorn was doing that to him and why was he resisting? He was a Steward in a realm where the King ruled, the Steward over whom the King ruled. So why was he resisting if the King wanted it? And as that thought flashed across Faramir’s mind he decided to succumb.

Having done that, he felt Aragorn’s action becoming smooth and gentle. And his every touch sent waves of hot desire through all his body. Faramir allowed himself to be entirely undressed and with closed eyes waited for Aragorn to take off his own clothes.

Then hot possessive lips touched his and he moaned with pleasure. His skin became aware of a fervent masculine body that covered him and Faramir suddenly realized how excitingly his body responded to that intimacy. He opened his mouth allowing Aragorn’s tongue to enter and his heart beat joyfully as a groan flied from the chest of his partner.

So, burning in fear of his lust, Aragorn kissed his Steward. Memories quickly changed one another in his head. He remembered how he anguished every time as he saw Faramir in a company of other men. Every one of them – guard or court, it seemed, adored him, searching for his company and constantly wandering around him when he arrived in Minas Tirith. Even Eowin who fell in love with Aragorn at first, look at his husband with eager affection and admiration, shooting jealous glares around. And with all of them Faramir was good. For all of them he always had a kind gentle word to say but with him, with his King he was always only courteous and polite.

All these thoughts stimulated new flow of irritation in Aragorn’s heart and gripping a box from the table by the sofa he began quickly oiling his aroused flesh. Not managing to prepare his partner to his intrusion he entered into Faramir with one fast motion. The body in his embrace arched in pain and Faramir screwed his eyes and lips to suppress a cry. But then all the pain passed and only two single tears left as a memory.

Aragorn started methodically moving, covering the face and upper body of his Steward with hot kisses. He felt as strong legs rounded him and thought with anger about the men who had the joy to take and give pleasure to this magnificent body.

Raising himself a little he touched the aroused flesh of his partner and began caressing it. Faramir let out constrained cry and Aragorn’s hand was filled with warm release. He captured full lips again and found his pleasure deep in Faramir’s beautiful body.

Powerlessly lowering himself on his lover Aragorn squeezed Faramir in his embrace.

Several minutes were needed to stop the tremble that took both of them over. Aragorn raised his head to regard his Steward who lay with closed eyes. His eyelashes cast a soft shadow on his cheeks while dark gold hair gently framed the beautiful oval of Faramir’s face. Aragorn felt as if he fell in love for the first time in his life. Slipping his arm under the Steward’s neck he carefully changed position putting the young man’s head on a pillow on the floor. His hands began tenderly sliding across the hot body perceiving his beauty.

Faramir was wordless. He tried not to think about what just happened. He thought of how rudely the King had possessed him and how loving he was now. Never opening his eyes Faramir asked, “May I be free?”

Aragorn looked at his face, surprised. Although his face was absolutely unreadable and serene, his voice seemed to be filled with despair.

Carefully moving aside Aragorn said, “You may, Faramir.”

Faramir stood up heavily and avoiding the King’s gaze, he quickly got himself dressed and left Aragorn alone. Aragorn tried not to think of how painful Faramir’s movements seemed to be and thoughtfully leaned against sofa, lowering his look. And froze. Blood! He couldn’t tear his eyes from it. Blood! He took indescribable pleasure ‘making love’ to Faramir and didn’t even think of how his partner felt.

He bitterly lowered his head. Is this a worthy treatment towards beloveds? Jealousy mastered him so much that he has forgotten all! And now when he had satisfied his lust, having taken what he considered as must-being only his, he took everything. He understood it suddenly – Faramir has never been close to men earlier, at least so much, and he, Aragorn, turned his first time in horror.

His heart prompted him to look for Faramir and beg for forgiveness quite now but his mind said that it was no business to hurry. So shaking his head Aragorn tiredly lowered himself onto the sofa whispering quietly, “Oh, Faramir, please forgive me for it.”

The next day was tense. Faramir left Minas Tirith heading for Osgiliath and Aragorn restlessly rushed about the palace burning with impatience to talk to him, to beg for forgiveness. To do anything to see his Steward looking at him with such esteem and affection he looked at him earlier with again. However Faramir was absented all day and when he appeared in a town in the evening Éowyn, his wife, was with him.

The Ball was dazing. Ladies, dressed in expensive festive attire, sparkled with smiled and jewels while their cavaliers flied about trying to oblige.

Faramir with Éowyn approached the throne of the King.

“You Majesty,” said Faramir quietly as he lowered his head. Aragorn tried to catch his gaze but the Steward carefully avoided it. And all that stayed to do for Aragorn was to bow graciously his head in a silent greeting to the piercing look of Éowyn.

Aragorn was sitting at the head of a table wordlessly observing his courts who were joyfully talking to one another. Arwen was at his left hand but he didn’t notice the troubled looks that she periodically shot towards his direction. His own gaze constantly settled on an empty place at his right – the place of Gondor’s Steward. But Faramir was not there. In the morning after the ball, he had asked to go to Ithilien and Aragorn had found no reasons to refuse him in presence of his court. “In vain,” Aragorn thought, trying not to notice a weight that suddenly squeezed his chest, “you should delay him at any price. You are King.”

But now it was too late for anything to change and he dart a blank look at a guard that appeared in the door. The guard spoke something to livery and the last one quickly made his way to the King.

“Your Majesty,” he started quietly as he bowed, “her Highness the Princess of Ithilien sent a courier with a message that their troop was assaulted by bandits. His Highness Lord Faramir was seriously wounded.”

To say that Aragorn felt terrible in this moment meant to say nothing. He felt as if his entire world had suddenly turned over. He felt like all his life rolled down. And he didn’t need anyone else word anymore. All that he knew was that ‘Faramir was wounded. Heavily wounded’ and he was guilty of it. He felt, he knew, he should have prevented it.

With one sudden motion he stood up from the table not noticing as a dead silence fell in the hall and left. Arwen stood too and saying something tender to the courts headed for her husband.

“Estel, where are you going?”

“There,” he said but then turned around darting guilty look at her, “I’m so sorry, my love, but I have to be there.”

Arwen took his hand and gently squeezed it. “Then ride. Ride and May the Valar help you, my love.”

There he was laying, unmoved and unreceptive to the outer world, when Aragorn entered into the tent. Éowyn was silently crying, holding a hand of her husband.

“Éowyn,” Aragorn froze at the entry, feeling how painfully his heart squeezed from the sight of motionless body. “Tell me that he is not dead.”

“He is not dead,” Éowyn whispered through the tears, “but he is dying.” And she sobbed then loudly and hopelessly, leaning her head over Faramir’s chest. “What will come of us?”

Aragorn walked around bed and knelt, touching a brow of the young man with his hand. He was cold. So cold, that Aragorn felt as if a chilled wave of death passing through him. Life was leaving Faramir.

Aragorn carefully leant over a cot, looking into big blue eyes. Faramir’s son was already two years old and he intently sucked his finger regarding the big kind man who had replaced his father.

“You have grown up”, Aragorn whispered as he gently ruffled dark gold hair, “come to me and I’ll give you something much more delicious than your small finger.” He raised the baby and put him on his chest. Every time he did it, warmth filled all his being. It reminded him of the Warmth of somebody so deeply loved and mourned.

“Your father would be proud of you,” he whispered again squeezing a small hand.

“Yes, he is the living image of his father.” A voice rang out and Aragorn turned round meeting the gaze of Éowyn. “I so often ask myself why you are so kind to us, Aragorn. Or could it be something else? I remember that Faramir was in a hurry to leave Minas Tirith in that terrible day and I wonder why. Might all be different?” She approached them and Aragorn saw pain frozen in her eyes. Will it die away anytime?

Much water had already flowed under the bridges but they both still thought about that day. Aragorn thought more often. After Faramir’s death everything changed in his life. It was like suddenly the sun had died and the darkness had grown. And only one small light had lit up far off when Éowyn had said that she was carrying Faramir’s child. And hope had arisen in Aragorn’s heart – the hope to expiate his guilt. It weighed heavily upon him and at the same time he needed to display the unsaid love. Love towards somebody who would never return.

Faramir had found piece in royal burial-vault of Minas Tirith, Aragorn had wanted so. And every time he went down there, sorrow and despair overcame him. He hated these feelings but still couldn’t live without them, over and over again coming to that dreadful place and leaning over the deathbed of his Steward. He remembered as Faramir took his last breath and his face in that moment had been so sad but still the most beautiful. And Aragorn understood then how much he had lost, how many words he had not said. All his time with Faramir as Gondor’s Steward had been expended in jealousy and distrust and in the only moment they were close, he couldn’t even show his real feelings.

How many times he had blamed himself for delaying, for not finding Faramir to say that he felt so guilty and to tell him about his affection. And now there was no one whom he could say that anymore. Now Faramir lay cold and soundless, separated from the world that gave him so much sorrow with cold envelope of death.

Only the love of Arwen saved him all this years. Arwen loved him, perceived his sorrow and understood when he decided that Éowyn would live in Minas Tirith. He heard no reproach from her even when she saw how lovingly he treated little Elboron. For she always knew that their own son was everything to him, but that Faramir‘s son was his comfort.

Only one thing she couldn’t know – that every time he did it he thought that Elboron would never know his father as Faramir would never see his son.

So the years passed. The years of bitterness and guilt.
Their children were close, loving one another like brothers, and the hearts of their parents calmed a little observing them. But then, Elboron went away to the beautiful Ithilien to succeed to his father’s title and Aragorn lost sight of him for months. And at that time he felt more lonely and miserable then ever.

He was sitting in his study, deep in his papers, when a smiling form appeared in the entry, a form that look like the first one he had of his Steward so many years ago. Aragorn held his breath as hope took possess on him. Faramir was here again, young and handsome. The same kind, generous light glimmered in his blue eyes and Aragorn felt the mad wish to kneel before him and cry out all the pain that he had all these years. But he was not quick on his toes anymore so he stayed in his armchair expecting the beloved apparition to approach.

The expression of Elboron’s face suddenly changed into trouble. He rushed to Aragorn and knelt.

“Father,” he always called him so. It comforted and wounded Aragorn at the same time. “Father, I thought you will be glad to see me. Are you alright?”

Aragorn swallowed the lump in his throat. “You are back.” He whispered squeezing the hand of young man.

“Of course!”

“Forgive me for what I’ve done.”

Elboron looked at him strangely noting that the loved gray eyes were filled with tears. “What are you talking about, father?”

“It doesn’t matter, my dear.” Aragorn whispered quietly as he embraced young man. “Simply I’m so very glad that you’ve returned.”

The youth raised his head looking into his eyes again. All the worlds’ affection and love were in these known blue eyes, but it was not those eyes, not that man, and the same weight of guilt on his heart.

“You are pregnant,” he said suddenly touching Éowyn’s hand.

“What?” She raised her tearful eyes. “How do you know?”

“You haven’t told him of it, have you?” Aragorn said again and she stared at him in full amazement. Why he spoke with such confidence? How did he know?

“I swear you, he would live! I swear you with all that is dearest in my life that your son would know his father!” Aragorn said once more pushing away the haze of the strange dream that visited him. Dreadful dream, he suddenly realized. And it was like the second chance that he was now here, in this place, again.

Faramir stood by the window contemplating the night city. He loved these night hours, filled with chirr of crickets in the garden, loved the sky gleaming with stars, and he loved life.

Gentle arms slipped round his waist and he pressed himself back into the warm embrace. Lips slide along his neck to his ear and a sensual voice whispered, “I love you.”

Faramir laughed quietly. The past had no meaning anymore but he couldn’t help from light teasing.

“You could tell it me before you had satisfied your lust.”

“If you hadn’t been so cold with me I wouldn’t have had reasons ‘to satisfy my lust’ in that way.”

Faramir laughed again as he threw his head back.

“I’ve never been cold with you and simply tried to save seniority.”
Aragorn suddenly turned him around and Faramir held his breath from the unexpectedly desperate impression of his face.

“Aragorn.” Faramir touched his cheek but Aragorn caught his arm and pressed it to his lips in desperate motion.

“You forgave me for what I’ve done, didn’t you?”

“Aragorn, I…”

“Believe me, never I would course you pain. It happened in impulse of jealousy, uncertainty… Oh Valar, Faramir, you are alive and it’s the most important.”

Faramir stared at him in mute amazement. “Of course, Aragorn, you saved my life once more.”

“Oh, Faramir, never I would be tired to repeat how much I love you.” Aragorn was deep in his thoughts, it seemed. “When Elboron looked at me with your eyes I thought that I would die with grief…”

“What are you talking about?”

Aragorn suddenly came to consciousness looking at Faramir. He was here, in his embrace, safe and sound. Moon light drew carefully contour of his beautiful face and full lips. Pushing Faramir closer Aragorn touched his warm mouth. “Just about I’ve had still no chance to say and show you so much.” He whispered tenderly as his hands slipped down pressing Faramir’s bare body to himself. “And great part of it I’m going to do now.”

Aragorn carefully leant over a cot, looking into big blue eyes. Faramir’s son was already two years old and he intently sucked his finger regarding the big kind man who stayed by his father.

“You grew up now”, Aragorn whispered as he gently ruffled dark gold hair, “come to me and I’ll give you something much more delicious than your small finger.” He raised a baby and put him on his chest. Every time he did it, warmth filled all his being.

“Your father is so proud of you,” he whispered again squeezing small a hand. “And how could anybody not be?! You are incredibly beautiful.”

“Probably, he took after his mother.” Faramir said smiling as he regarded the sweet picture.

“No, he is your copy.” Aragorn answered definitely not tearing his gaze from child.

“He is too small, however, to define exactly.” Faramir tried again and smiled when Aragorn emphatically said, “Don’t argue with me, my Steward, I know exactly.”

Always he was beyond any doubts about everything that concerned Faramir’s son, and Faramir often asked himself if Aragorn had possessed any gift of foresight. Even the name of their child appeared from the mouth of Aragorn and Faramir remembered sometimes that night when Aragorn suddenly told him about Elboron. He knew not what his King had in mind then but it directly touched all his future life. And somehow deep in his heart Faramir became aware of that that knowledge came to Aragorn not easily. So he didn’t want to stir up the past. Now they were here, together, two men who were born to be warriors, leaders, rulers and lovers.

It was the most important.

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