Faramir Fiction Archive

Perfect Peach (NC-17)

Written by Kissa

22 December 2007 | 5364 words

Title: Perfect Peach
Author: Kissa
Beta by Pati cuddles
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Imrahil/Faramir
Warnings: AU elements, incest, first time
A/N: Both Faramir and Imrahil share the looks Tolkien assigned in his book to the men of Dol Amroth, tall, fair-skinned, with raven black hair and clear grey eyes.
Summary: Faramir decides to stop tormenting himself and finds strength and a small measure of comfort.

Written for the 2007 Midwinter Swap

Request by Kimber Leigh: Imrahil/Faramir — Faramir had been sent to Dol Amroth to foster with his Uncle. How do he and Imrahil celebrate the eve of Faramir’s 18th birthday and his last night in Dol Amroth. Drunkenness and debauchery and good. Hot raunchy sex is better. Faramir’s first time fic would probably make my panties melt ;)

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Chapter 1

Faramir writes, remembering…

It came to me as the best birthday present ever. And although I felt sorry for leaving the bliss of childhood, this —he— came to me as the one compensation I wanted, but never dared to ask for.

Father had always treated me with scorn. On bad days, it would burst into disgust and he would scream to me I was not of his flesh. On good days, he would ignore me completely.

Boromir, my elder brother, was not just that for me. He appointed himself my mother, my confidant, my friend, my trainer.

Never, not for one second did I think he was corrupting me or that what we were doing was somehow sinful. It wasn’t like we were going to sire degenerate progeny. My cup of love was empty, although Boromir had done his best to share some of his.

Boromir: Acquainted to longing

It happened one cold February morning, in the snow-cloaked garden. We had wrestled in the snow, Boromir shirtless and clad only in breeches and boots, and I in my nightshirt, as he had ambushed me from sleep and carried me outside, flopping me into the snow.

We did not mind the cold, the fact that we were wet or that we could catch a serious cold. We were giggling , so unfit of warriors to be, and we were tickling each other.

Boromir’s eyes were sparkling, his face was slightly flushed and warm although he was feeling the cold just like I did. I saw all this lying in the snow, straddled by him as he tickled me, and my breath caught in my throat. He was beautiful in that perfect moment. Not handsome, not attractive, but beautiful and my whole body was asserting this truth to me via all my senses. Wave after wave of melting heat washed over me as I looked up at him. And then he looked at me. His gaze held mine longer than was safe, his smile faded a bit and he stopped in his tickling of my ribs. He pressed his lips softly over mine and I froze. I didn’t know what his gesture meant, but my intuition told me it was a way of showing me something hidden, of sharing a part of his soul with me. I took in his breath and opened my mouth as if to receive the whole of him, but he settled for retreating and watching me in silence, a serious look on his face.

He then helped me up and we went to our room to warm up by the fire, huddled up into the same blanket like kittens, as usual.

From that day on, Boromir never ceased to be beautiful in my eyes. He was my entire world.

One day I asked him if he would do that thing with the lips again. He looked at me, amused, and asked me why. I didn’t know why, I couldn’t point at a reason. I just fidgeted and flushed.

Then he bid me to come closer to him and sit on his lap. I did, and he held me. He ran his fingers through my hair and caressed my scalp with his fingers, and then I released a sound so strange to me, one I’d never made before. His hands… his magical hands were in all the places at one time, his eyes had come to life, sparkling and translucent from the afternoon sun, as he was sitting in a chair by the window and I on his knees.

He said “I am going to kiss you now, little one.” And he did that wonderful thing again with his lips. Only this time he didn’t retreat to look at me, but instead put his thumb on my chin and tugged a bit for me to open. After that, I remember being a wee bit shocked at feeling the wetness of his tongue in my mouth, but got used to it fairly quick and after that… nothing. As if he had used some magic trick to erase my memories. I do remember feeling warm and cuddled, like in the times I was a baby and mother sat in the rocking chair holding me and singing.

He tucked me in that evening and kissed me again right before blowing out the candle.

Then spring came and father received a new stallion from Rohan. After a few days, he got bored of examining and admiring the new addition to his stables, so the stallion was let into the enclosure where the mares were and Boromir and I went to watch him. The two of us never referred to animals as “it”, probably because we both felt more comfortable around animals and their genuine nature. Boromir was by now old enough to have experienced people’s treachery, and I’d never been a congenial boy.

The stallion suddenly climbed on top of a mare and I laughed at how awkward they looked, making all sorts of high-pitched neighing sounds that I had never heard before. Boromir did not laugh though and he gave me a stern look which reminded me of father so well that it took all my mirth away. He then continued to watch the horses in fascination and from time to time I saw him spy on me from the corner of his eye.

“Soldiers are not allowed to do this.” He said regretfully, startling me. My eyes bulged out of their sockets and I asked, confused:

“Surely you do not want to replace the stallion?!”

He looked at me outraged and then his features softened, his face relaxed into a smile and he laughed heartily, hugging me.

That left me even more puzzled. What had that been about?

That evening, Boromir came to my room and climbed into my bed, nudging me to move over and make some room. Through the layers of cotton fabric covering us, I felt his body, hot and flush against mine as he settled for sleep, holding me close. I was too warm to sleep so I lay there in his arms, not daring to move lest I wake him.

I fell asleep near the morning as the air got colder from the fire dying out… Boromir maintained his strong grip around me, as if he was afraid I’d want to leave or someone would come peel me away.

He was watching me when I awoke, propped up on an elbow and a finger tracing my profile, lingering a moment more on my lips, which I opened and swiftly bit his finger, careful though not to hurt him. I smiled up at him. Morning had not come yet and I was unwilling to chase sleep away. He was aware of this and his eyes asked for permission for him to play with me some more, which I gave, fully trusting my brother.

His fingers traced my neck, mindful not to tickle and annoy me, then lingered for long moments in my hair. He was the only one with so much power over me, able to take away even the sharpest pain with a numbing peck on my lips, by running his hands through my hair or by kissing the back of my neck unexpectedly. That always sent electricity coursing through me. And I suspect he took some gratification of his own from doing this.

I never questioned his gestures, one, because they always felt so incredibly good, and two, because I trusted him more than I trusted myself.

Although I wondered why he never ever touched me while others were present. Not even a handshake or a pat on the back.

Imrahil: Princes with deadly secrets

And then I got sent away to Prince Imrahil’s realm, “to make a man out of myself”, father had said. Dol Amroth was much to my liking and my uncle seemed to love me more than father ever did.

Uncle Imrahil was a strange and captivating man. A leader of warriors, he did not refrain from displaying his cuddlesome penchant out in public. Although his sword never left his side, and the daggers their sheaths along his flanks, he shine brightly with the will to live and enjoy life. Like my mother, from what I had seen on portraits of her, his skin was fair and his hair was thick and charcoal black, his noble features speaking of their great common descent. But the most enthralling part of uncle Imrahil were his eyes, a cold grey which lit up and warmed at my sight.

He had many ladies in his favors, and he was never discreet when it came to showering them with his attentions. He was also very fond of a few particularly fair young men, and that made me wonder. His household was a large and merry one, and I didn’t seem to fit in.

There was always a party in the evening. Dinner was a loud, gay reunion, and soon it became a very stressful moment of the day for me, as uncle Imrahil always ruffled my hair in front of everyone else, kissed my cheeks loudly and hugged the breath out of me, praising me as if I’d stolen Anor from the skies and brought her to him every time he had word of my progress from my tutors.

In truth, and without any false modesty, my sword and bow skills got better every day. I had little else on my mind. Except for the image of Boromir, who was ever on my mind, subliminally during the day and active at night, when he came to haunt my restless sleep. His hands would be on me, soothing my tension with gentle, yet firm caresses to my chest and back.

During those nights, when I would lie in my bed, between the soft silk sheets uncle Imrahil liked having in all his rooms, my whole body would tingle in real excitement at the feel of Boromir’s dreamy touches and lying on my belly would become real torture. I struggled to keep this a secret, sleeping naked and with towels under me, washing the towels first thing after I woke.

I did not know why this was happening to me, I did not want it and I certainly did not enjoy it. It was like a sickness… which at times never ceased. My member would throb and harden even while I was training, clad only in breeches and with no shirt or tunic to hide my embarrassment.

Uncle Imrahil discreetly saw my struggle and I think he wanted to help and thought the solution was to send girls and boys to me… but I was in no mood for toying around… anyway, one time I was with this boy the same age as me, who worked as a companion at one of the fun houses, and he stuck his hand down my breeches, touched me and I nearly bolted into the ceiling. I didn’t harden though. He tried other things too but after a while just laughed at me and left. I shrugged. All I wanted was to be left alone, finish my training and return home to prove to father I was a man after all, or in any case, on my way to become one.

Of course that boy had a big mouth too, and so, after the rather embarrassing encounter, even the maidens would turn away from my path, chuckling and giving me unconcealed thousand meter stares. At least they left me alone.

Even uncle Imrahil tried some veiled approaches on me… no, nothing to make me feel threatened or uncomfortable, he was just trying to find out why I was shying away from young people my age.

He gave up quickly, seeing my discomfort. “I am sorry for testing your patience with the … companions I sent to bother you. I could not have been more off-base.”

All I wanted was to be left alone. My misery was too shameful to share and to hard to live with.

Ithilien: Simple Things

Time went by and here I was, at seventeen, the best archer in the entire land, able to compete even with the elves, which uncle Imrahil made me do anyway, every time an elven warrior came to his court.

I was aware of the many eyes that were following me around, but I did not care about them. My greatest desire was to be allowed to return to Minas Tirith and prove my worth in Father’s and Boromir’s eyes.

One day a courier arrived, bringing uncle Imrahil a scroll bearing the seal of the Steward. Imrahil called me to his council chambers and read the scroll aloud. It said I was to leave for a secret outpost in Ithilien, to finish my training and to be tested by the Rangers.

One morning, I was woken up very early and a beautiful brown mare was given to me, all saddled up and ready. Uncle Imrahil came and hugged me, then left without looking back, as if he was afraid he would break down if he carried on looking at me.

Apparently the mare knew where she had to take me, and I shriveled down in my cloak, sensing a chill.

We covered many miles in silence, except for the times when the mare would turn to look at me as if to make sure I was alright, and I would soothe her concerns by speaking to her in a low, even voice. I loved the bond that seemed to be forming between us, the animal was almost treating me as her colt, not as its rider. Manlier men would have minded, but I didn’t. Few had been the times when I had felt the warmth of motherly care.

In the company of Rangers, I found life very easy and to my liking. Ithilien was a wondrous wood realm, and I learned all her secrets fast. Accompanied by Lisse’Roch, my patient and wise mare, I went on scouting and stalking missions all over Ithilien and sometimes beyond. Days would pass without me seeing anyone or using speech. Lisse’Roch and I had developed our own language and we would understand each other without the need for words.

The captain who supervised my training was a stern, pensive man who did not make it easy for me because I was the son of the Steward. On the contrary, he gave me the most difficult and most perilous missions. And I was most grateful for this.

Night would often find me up a tree, lounging on a branch which had been chosen as my makeshift bed, away from dangers and orc attacks.

It was not surprising that I had become somewhat feral, the same way one would say about an animal. The one thing I missed from the city was the well-lit, warm library, where I used to curl up with books when I was a boy… that seemed such a long time ago! Soon I would be eighteen and my passage into manhood did not make me look forward to it. There would be no more lenience towards my many flaws, be they imagined or not; the expectations would be ever-increasing and although I did my best to meet them, I always seemed to fail.

It was on cold lonely patrol nights that I wished I would remain a Ranger forever.

Chapter 2

Faramir: Confusion

I had not seen Boromir in years… in fact it seemed an eternity since we had last held each other. Something within me always grew alarmed when I thought of my brother; I knew what it was, but I did not wish to give it a name or voice it, for it was my greatest fear. But even this fear seemed only the fruit of my imagination.

Sometimes I would wake up with the sensation I had dreamt it all, being the Steward’s second son, having a brother, living in a city… I would look down and see that I had been sleeping on a bed of leaves and branches, that I was wearing the shabby Ranger garb and my memories would seem more and more like wishful dreams.

One day though, after reporting to my captain, he laid his hand on my shoulder and sent me to sleep early, saying I had to return to Dol Amroth and carry a scroll to Prince Imrahil.

I took care of Lisse’Roch, making sure she had enough food, water and I slipped her some apple slices from my apple as well before going up to where I had unpacked my bedroll for the night.

The next morning, I was riding back to Dol Amroth, happy to be away from the captain’s scrutiny; he had insisted that I scrub in his presence, and that I do it thoroughly. The man’s request seemed weird to me, but he was my commanding officer, so I submitted without question.

Dressed in a new set of clothes, he sent me away, back to the city my uncle ruled. I was to hurry and arrive in Dol Amroth at dusk.

I entered the city exactly at sun-down and one of uncle’s maids was waiting for me, with the instructions to oversee my… pampering. It all seemed so peculiar to me, since I had been spending so much time in the wild.

It took 3 maids to undress me, bathe me (again!), wash my hair, oil it and comb it, dry me and dress me up in a court outfit.

“What is this for?” I asked in confusion, and they just giggled.

I insisted for an answer, but one of them only said:

“Orders of your uncle, Prince Imrahil of this realm.”

When all three of them were done, they stepped back and looked at me appraisingly.

Someone else came in as if on cue; it was a small cute boy carrying a plate with a folded paper bearing my uncle’s seal.

Lord Faramir,

You are hereby invited to attend tonight’s ball. You shall come alone wearing the mask delivered to you with this message and your partner for the evening shall be chosen for you on site.

We look forward to your delightful company,

Prince Imrahil

I could not believe it. Why was my uncle being so formal? This was not like I remembered him! But well, things had changed and I had spent a long time in the wild; I was oblivious even to the passing of time, let alone court etiquette and politics.

I told the boy I would honor the invitation and ritually folded the paper, placing it in my heart pocket.

Later during the evening, dressed up, mask in place and smelling like the death of thousand roses, I made my tentative way towards the ballroom. It was the old stone hall, used for councils and special occasions, now lit up with sumptuous candles and decorated with flowers and silks.

Everyone there wore masks, and underneath all that lace and velvet, it was quite hard to guess which were the lords and which were the ladies.

The master of ceremonies proceeded to form the pairs and soon I had my partner for the evening, taller and with broader shoulders than mine… a man. I at that point did not stop and worry about the detail, as everything else was stressful and new enough. I had never been to such a glamorous, loud party. Frankly, I had never been to a party before.

Night of the senses

We danced and drank, my partner offering me the sweetest, most exotic drinks and holding my hand at all time, even when we were not dancing. He was acting very protective of me, probably because he assumed I was a maiden in a lord’s velvet outfit. We had not spoken yet, and in the howling and laughing going on around us, it was impossible to distinguish voices.

As the pendulum marked the middle of the night, my partner offered me a single, sparkling white rose, so pure and perfect I first thought it was crafted from sugar. Still holding it, he gently touched my lips with the flower, and then brought it to his own lips. From behind the intricate mask, I caught a first glimpse of beautiful grey eyes, wolf-like but wise and gentle and for a moment I forgot about my resignation and my grief for having been deprived of life’s joys.

I even forgot Boromir, who was by now a mere ghost to me, and Father, whose scorn no longer touched me; even my Captain in Ithilien, the weird man who had been the closest thing to a father I had known. For an instant, a heart-shredding instant, I felt forsaken by the gods and fallen from their grace, but then my chosen partner for the evening smiled and kissed me, his touch no firmer than the petals from earlier.

He was right there next to me, tall and comforting, his very scent a promise of shelter, his fingers holding another cup of some potion unknown to me.

I drank all that he gave me; according to the etiquette, I was his until dawn. According to my heart, I did not care what happened beyond the rooster’s call. Crestfallen, I knowingly gave myself into this man’s hands, letting him decide my fate that night. And although I feared for myself, or at least the small sober part of me did, the alcohol, the sweetness and the daring decision I had made were making me feel like I was floating.

The wolf-like eyes were ever fixed on me, watching me in silence, hypnotic and predatory. Amusingly enough, I was past all feeling of fear. All I wanted was for the evening to end, so I would finally know what I had refused myself for so long, in vain hopes of something that would never be mine.

He whisked me up suddenly in a daring pirouette, and I felt my feet leave the ground, but he had his firm grip on me, so I relaxed completely in his arms, only seeing him before my eyes, the ballroom around us fading into a blur of spinning colors and beautiful smiling faces.

We danced around the room, pressed close together, his breath warm on my neck, arousing shivers all over my body. At some point there was a soft surface behind me and the room tilted… he laid me down on soft, fragrant quilts and draped himself over me, kissing me more daringly, coaxing me to open up to him.

His hands caressed me everywhere as he sought to undo all of my ribbons and buttons, and in my wantonness I helped him before eagerly starting to pull at his lacings. Somehow, in the end, I was naked but for the mask, and he was still dressed, only his cloak having slid from his shoulders. His hands continued to map my body and its sensitive spots; neck, chest, ribs, nipples, sides, back of the knees, they were all brushed and ghosted over by sweet, tantalizing touches, until I was gasping, moaning for him to go on. A smile lit up his face and as he kissed me again, possessing my mouth fully and wiping away all of my sense of self, his hand found my length, which was not so modest and childish anymore as it grew under his strokes.

My eyes were wide open but I could only see dancing shadows around and above me, until he came back into view and gently but firmly caressed my inner thighs, the exquisite tickling sensation making me spread them willingly. His fingers, magically slicked with something rather cold, stroked parts where not even my own and reached very often. Soon I was sprawled onto the luxurious pallet, writhing against his fingers, wordlessly begging for more. A finger entered me slowly, stretching and stroking from within as it went deeper, and another, then a third one soon followed. It felt exquisite, his slow conquest of my body doing nothing to help me stay focused. I felt like I was going to fly apart every moment, and I whined when the fingers left me, a lecherous lewd sound which reverberated in the large hall. Looking to see where the source of my pleasure had disappeared to, I saw him deftly unlacing his velvet trousers, taking out a massive engorged length, similar to mine, but bigger and — I thought — a thousand times more desirable. My eyes nearly watered at the sight and I lifted my hips in demand, as if I did not know that glorious male member was for me and me alone in those moments.

I closed my eyes and bit my lips as he entered me, hearing crystalline laughter around us, purring and low growls, moans and gasps that were not coming from either of us; it was as if we were being watched by a ghostly glamorous crowd, women whispering and fanning themselves as they enjoyed watching us like an opera…

In fact, it was an opera and we were its stars. My partner rested inside me for a few heartbeats, lips pressed to my ear, gasping and whispering things that made me blush and burn even more with need.

“Sweet Faramir… you feel so exquisite; never in my long years have I met a more beautiful peach, maddeningly sweet and flawless, at the peak of its ripeness, right before it begins to decline and rot… There is so little time for us to enjoy this, and we can only have this once, now, here; you will be a man after this night and the light you spread shall dim under the cover of worldly duties… give yourself to me, Faramir, let me love you!”

The voice sounded strangely familiar, but at the moment it had no name attached to it, the low purring tone and the lust-filled words dripping like thick honey on my mind.

Then, he began to move, in small, slow circles in the beginning, then with more amplitude, until he was pulling out completely and slamming into me forcefully, rocking my entire body so hard I could feel my brain rattling inside my skull… but I loved every second of it. Those moments felt like a time out of time, in which a Vala shaped his creation according to his wishes, destroying it over and over and rebuilding it, without erasing the memory of pain from one death to the next rebirth.

I was overcome with pleasure, my sight had disappeared and I could only see with the eyes of the soul; I saw him bent lovingly over me, cradling me in strong warrior’s arms, victimizing my body even as he pushed himself to the edge of endurance, giving me all of his life force. The electricity around us increased with every forceful thrust, but the ecstasy was all the more intense, knowing that the accumulation of pleasure could not destroy me, not as long as he held me in his arms, not while our bodies were joined.

The entire ballroom was holding its breath. The other guests, the walls which had seen the centuries dance by, the air which refused to flow around us…

The immense charge around us threatened to end the stream of my consciousness, but it was like the sea, each time it crashed against the wall of pleasure, a new wave would rise to document and enjoy the sensation.

My mysterious lover took pity on me and finally allowed me to slip over the edge, his silk-wrapped hand gliding torturously over my shaft, coaxing the very life out of me through the organ. With perfect control and in perfect timing, he let go at the very moment when my body arched with the effort of surrender, marking me as his for all time.

The next thing I knew, as I dizzily held on to him, was silk wrapped around my naked skin, and the feeling of floating. Blind, powerless and shaken to the core, I had to relearn the most essential of gestures: to breathe, to move, to cling, to see.

He laid me down again, on cold new sheets, cleaned me with fragrant water and a soft cloth, then tucked me in and slipped beside me under the covers. A new pleasure, this time at a human scale, but equally delicious, became known to me as I felt his hot naked skin against mine and strong arms held me, caressing me towards sleep. Somewhere, in a distant, deeply buried part of my memory, as the clock from the tower struck the first hour of morning, it dawned on me that I was a man now, sadness biting at the edges of my withering pleasure.

The woods of Ithilien had somehow woven a crust over the wounds inside me, and it had hurt all the more when that crust had been ripped away during the previous night. Like he had said, the perfect peach would only have time to decay from now on…

He had known my name all along, even with the mask… He had said my name, the word spilling from his lips laced with desire unlike anything I had ever felt before. My previous infatuation with my own brother and fear of my father disappeared like the ghosts of feelings, now that part of me was safely locked away within the man holding me so closely. I had not dared to even think his name, for fear the spell would break, but I had known it from the first look into the wolf-like eyes. Imrahil. The fact that we shared the blood of ancestors did not taint his desire for me or my willingness to yield to him of all men and women. We had only been granted one night of the senses and we had made the most out of it by giving everything to the other and saving nothing for ourselves.

For the first time in my life I was happy.

For the first time that morning, after sunrise, I woke up warm and centered like never before, although he had left and I was alone in my room. Had it all been a vivid dream?

I did not think so. I had the soreness to prove it real.

When I went down to break my fast, after a bath, my uncle greeted me with his usual warmth, smiling at me, his beautiful grey eyes lighting up. I had looked at myself in the mirror back in my room, thinking how similar we were, almost identical in looks, signs of age the only difference, as if we were the same person at two moments in time. I could not help thinking that my brother’s hair was sandy blond, and his eyes green like the filtered light among the tree branches in Ithilien. He resembled father more; it suddenly dawned on me why uncle Imrahil never came to Minas Tirith…

The idea filled me with a sense of balance; all made sense now, my world had rearranged itself in a logical construction that I could read and interpret. The prospect of a life of duty and allegiance no longer saddened me – I had found my roots and my design. Now I was free to blossom and reach for the skies.

End!

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