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Slow (PG-13) Print

Written by Kissa

07 August 2006 | 2957 words

Author: Kissa (kissaperkele@gmail.com)
Pairing: Faramir/Éomer

Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, JRR Tolkien created them, I just borrow them, make them play a bit then put them back. This is for fun and enjoyment, no profits are made so please don’t prosecute.

Note: My second fic, a fluffy one. And yes, Éomer does have it in him to be romantic!

The orgy was due for that night. Every grown man and woman in Rohan looked forward to it. They hadn’t had an orgy in years, but now they really had something to celebrate. King Théoden, Théodred and Éomer had led the Rohirrim warriors to victory and they had chased away the evil creatures beyond the Black Gate. Those foul creations would surely return and strike again, but for the moment they were safe, for their alliance with Gondor had been enforced recently. Boromir, as Denethor’s emissary, was in Rohan and he had led a vast company of his men to fight along the Rohirrim warriors.

In all the preparations and the stirrings at Edoras, two creatures were too miserable for the occasion. One of them was Éomer, who had suddenly found himself the focus of every female’s attention and wished he had known evasive tactics that could provide some peace and quiet. Women –even the young maidens- scared and annoyed him.

The other miserable character was the young Lord Faramir from Gondor, who was present there as an accessory to his older brother’s prestigious persona. In truth, Boromir had told him he didn’t want to leave him at home with their mad father and the wiser captain had a point… but still the young man was bored to death, feeling neglected and ridiculed, every time someone addressed him as “little one”.

And on top of it all, Éomer and Faramir were the only two creatures in Edoras who weren’t allowed at the orgy, because they were not yet of the appropriate age.

Éomer did have to show up at the celebration, in the beginning, to receive the praise and the thanks of the other lords, for having secured another victory for Rohan. If he was such a revered hero, why wasn’t he allowed to take even a small sip from Rohan ale?

An idea in mind, he pouted as his uncle, the King, told him to leave the party of the adults, but as soon as he was out of everyone’s sight, he giggled impishly and headed directly for the cellars, thinking of all that exquisite and unguarded wine.

On the way there, on one of the halls he heard the sound of someone crying. It was coming from the reading room next to the library.

Padding into that direction as stealthily as he could, he listened to the voice and concluded that it had to belong to a young male, one whose voice hadn’t finished breaking yet.

Standing at the door, he looked inside and he saw the Lord Faramir curled up on the window sill, holding a book in his lap and crying.

“Lord Faramir…” He spoke softly, not wanting to startle the Gondorian.

A pair of huge blue eyes rose and the auburn curls trembled as Faramir looked at him.

“Lord Éomer… I’m sorry… Have I upset you with my noise? I’ll go to my room and keep the silence…I’m sorry for disturbing the peace.”

They’d met before, they’d even fought side by side, but it had been in moments when they had to fill their appointed roles and there had been no time for getting to know each other.
Éomer felt a rush of sudden, unexplainable ache in his groin at seeing how frightened the other one was. And beautiful. Gods, he was exquisite! Just the way Éomer had ever pictured beauty: androgynous, lean, graceful, yet subtly manly.

He’d never enjoyed the company of maidens. His rank demanded that he be courteous with them, but sometimes his patience was challenged. And no, he’d never found round shapes and soft bosoms appealing. Now, as every cell in his body began drooling for the lithe Gondorian, he knew what he had been waiting for and what had kept him from mounting every willing mare in Rohan.

But he needed new tactics and a lot of balls if he was to seduce one that fascinated him so.

He was torn from his musings by the movement of a long, lean leg which Faramir placed on the ground to hop off the window sill and to leave.

Panicked that the lovely vision would disappear from his view, Éomer clutched at the other one’s lean arm.

“Nay, do not leave… Faramir. I’m here as a friend, if you’ll have me as one. I’d hate to watch you leave for I would again be left alone. I’d rather hear why you were crying and offer to alleviate whatever ails you.”

Faramir looked at him wide eyed and then released an undignified giggle, quickly covering his mouth in an attempt to stifle it.

“I’m… honored you would have me as a friend, Lord Éomer…”

“Call me Éomer, I hate it when they get formal. And besides, you’re coming to drink with me and I don’t think we’ll feel much like lords once we’re lying in a heap under the table.”

Surprised by his boldness, Éomer didn’t wait for it to wear out before he took the young one’s hand and dragged him towards the cellar. Just holding his hand was such a sweet sensation, Éomer noted. He was already drunk, but not from wine. The skin under his palm was warm, smooth and slightly moist, giving him a sensation he never wished to stop.

“So, fair Faramir, why were you crying? What brings the mighty warrior to tears?” He asked, only half-serious though.

“I… You’ll find it stupid, but my brother told me I couldn’t go to the orgy with him and so I went to the library to pass the time, and I found this book in Elvish… A romance, but it ended so badly…both lovers died in the end and were separated for ever.”

The deep, wide patches of spring sky looked up at Éomer and although the Rohan lord was larger in build, he found himself trapped like a deer by that alluring gaze, so innocent, yet so knowing. He wanted desperately to learn every secret behind those twin blue orbs. Only then did the other information sink in.

“You can read Elvish?” He asked, and Faramir nodded with a slight blush.

Pretty, bright… and modest, too! Oh Valar, you spoil me! the young horselord thought.

They were still holding hands, and Éomer looked down at where his hand cradled Faramir’s and then he looked up the thin arm, his own free arm reaching around Faramir and drawing him near for a hug.

His arms wrapped tightly around Faramir, Éomer nestled his nose in the other one’s auburn curls and breathed in his scent. The moment was thick with an unspoken promise of tenderness, the very air around them had become thick.

“Hush, dear, do not fret…It was but a tale… elves are immortal, the heroes in your story probably still live happily together.” Éomer heard himself speaking, softly and soothingly as if he were trying to reassure a restless colt. “Now come, my uncle’s most precious wines await us, unguarded. And look –“ Éomer said, producing a key from his pocket “guess who has a key to the cellar door?”

Seeing Faramir’s beaming smile was worth every treason, lie or dishonor, or so it seemed to the Rohan lord. His eyes lingered on the beautiful young face a bit too much and he was caught staring.

“Éomer? Is there something wrong? Do I have an insect in my hair?” Faramir chirped.

Without removing his gaze from the delightful sight, Éomer replied slowly, as if he were already dead-drunk:

“Nay, all is fine, all is perfect in fact… you are lovely, did you know that?”

Faramir blushed a deep shade of red and looked away embarrassed. In the end, he dared a hesitant reply which he thought would cost him dearly:

“Nay, you would be the first to dare make such a risqué statement… father says I am a sorry excuse for a steward’s son. Boromir is lovely, he’s the one with the looks and the combat skills, not I.”

“Does His Lordship the Steward of Gondor think himself as the icon of beauty on earth?” Éomer huffed, almost laughing. “I am sorry to say this, Faramir, but a father who disses his own progeny is an asshole. You can hold that against me all you want, I know what I see cannot be mistaken for ugly unless the beholder is a putrid, envious one.”

“Such words you speak, Éomer… One would say you’ve already feasted on the ancient wines, or that you’re out to seduce me…”

“Hush, dear friend, do not accuse me so soon… Let us enter the realm of delights and feast together – here is the door, just let me unlock it… there! And I promise not to make any more remarks about your sire, if you promise to smile for me more. You ARE delightful when you smile.”

With those words, Éomer let Faramir into the cellar and locked the door behind them, putting the key back into the pocket where it had come from. Taking his hand again, he drew him along the long rows of barrels and they almost ran down the hall, their footsteps resounding in the vast damp room.

It turned out Théoden’s wines were kept under lock for a reason.

The red, blood-like thick liquid tasted divine. Faramir had never sampled it before, so he took a first experimental sip, rolled it across the entire length of his tongue, then pressed it to his palate, allowing a small fraction of it to slide down his throat. He sat down on a small chair near a window. The sensation was frighteningly intense. He shut his eyes, trying to associate images, words, textures to the mouthful of happiness he held. His head fell back and his whole body went boneless as he swallowed and, without even being aware of it, he moaned. Opening his eyes lazily, he searched for the glass and found it on the table. He sat up to reach for it, but his wrist was caught by Éomer’s hand.

Éomer was still staring agape at the Gondorian. One of his eyebrows arched up and remained there, almost hidden by the hairline. His jaw dangled. He’d never seen such a wanton display of sheer pleasure at such a common treat.

His body was ablaze and his mind quickly followed. If he can take so much pleasure from one small sip of wine… What can he make of a kiss? Or more?

He realized he was clutching at the other’s wrist. Releasing it, he said:

“Let me… I like seeing your enthusiasm.” He handed Faramir the glass, letting their fingers touch.

He was almost tempted to stay away from the stuff himself, just to relish the sight of his new friend. But then Faramir took another sip, swallowed more determinedly and then emptied the glass in one gulp. His eyes scintillated with pleasure now, and they read “more” loud and out.

Éomer refilled his glass and took a serious dose of the drink himself.

It seemed that hours and days passed by, but in fact they were long blissful minutes. Éomer was bathing in Faramir’s mere presence in the same room with him.

The silence was broken by the younger man’s lazy voice.

“Éomer, what do you think they’re doing upstairs…at the orgy?”

Éomer snapped out of his reverie and a wide grin spread over his face.

“Want me to make an educated guess?”

Faramir nodded and the glint of a promise shone in his eyes. “If you wish…” He said and slumped back into the chair.

“I wouldn’t be too wrong to assume the mighty men of Rohan and the worthy emissaries from Gondor are riding the women. And some outstandingly appealing boys too.” He said, his eyes only half open, but following Faramir closely, like a cat deceiving its prey.

“Boys? Can they do that?” Faramir asked after a few seconds in which he appeared to be weighing the information.

Éomer snorted.

“A man of Rohan can ride anything he pleases, from cats to Uruk-Hai. And get a kick out of doing it.”

Faramir laughed. And laughed. He laughed so hard and for so long that Éomer forgot all about feeling insulted and worried that his friend might choke.

Then Faramir was serious again and sat up in the chair.

“How about love, Éomer? Do men of Rohan know love? Do they court and stalk their heart’s desire and make it feel loved like none other on Arda? Do they make promises and do they keep them?”

The small speech caught the young horse lord unprepared. He stammered.

His guest got up and came near his chair.

“If men of Rohan know not of love, they could still be taught.” Faramir said with a smile, touching two of his fingers to Éomer’s forehead, then leaving stealthily.

Éomer snapped once more out of the strange reverie which he now knew was caused by Faramir. He locked the room sloppily and rushed down the corridor in search of his guest. He nearly bumped into him, as the Gondorian was in no hurry to leave… merely luring him.

They walked side by side until they reached the gardens. They walked among the trees until they were fairly away from the castle and sat down on the grass.

“You speak of love, Faramir. Do you believe in it? Have you ever seen it, in these times when all one can see around is war and death?” Éomer spoke.

Faramir laid down on the grass and his eyes reflected the sky above. His lips unlocked as if to say something, but he remained quiet for a while.

“I do not see love. I feel it. It will change the future of our race someday not far from now. “ He spoke. “But for the moment, I can smell lust, pouring through your every skin cell.”

Éomer was at an impasse. He was the oldest of the two, but he felt strangely maladroit in Faramir’s company. He knelt on the grass near his friend and bent over him, chasing away an insect which had conveniently climbed on a white hand. They looked each other in the eyes, hundreds of stories and secrets being exchanged between them.

“My lust… Do you want it, Faramir?” He asked, in dire need to end this lengthy seduction.

Faramir didn’t answer, seemingly unaware of Éomer speaking near him. Instead, entranced, he licked his lips and dragged a hand lazily down the length of the other’s chest.

Éomer would have been decent about his approach, he had intended it…but the touch was so light, yet it burned and made him quiver. He found himself crashing onto his friend, his elbows propping him only millimeters away from Faramir’s face.

Right before greedy lips caught his, he had the very distinct feeling that he was feeling exactly what a moth felt when nearing the flame.

As hands tunneled through his hair and lips coaxed his quite violently to respond, it dawned on him that Faramir was desperate for this… his kiss… his touch… anything he was willing to give. But not desperate from being deprived of it too long. Desperate to be shown, to be taught and to be claimed.

Not that his was a vast experience, just that on some occasions he’d found it impossible to escape the advances of certain so called-maidens.
But he was a man from Rohan. He could do this. He could do anything… and anyone, for that matter. In his mind, he even allowed himself to laugh at Faramir’s intricate game before giving in so blatantly. It was rather endearing. But Faramir, to him, was still a being of wonder, and he could not smother his feeling of awe.

He pulled back only enough to whisper to Faramir:

“Slowly, like a wine to be savored…”

Faramir caught the drift and relinquished command of the kiss to his friend.

Kissing Faramir was definitely better than kissing women. Éomer didn’t have to think it, the heat pooling in his groin spoke enough compelling arguments.

Age-old wine, licorice and acacia was what Éomer sampled from Faramir’s relenting mouth. Like the three notes of a perfume, coming together to form an exquisite, unique aroma, that which was only essential to Faramir and to none other intoxicated Éomer beyond anything he’d ever tasted, smelled or even imagined

“I…want…you.”Éomer breathed out in the other one’s open mouth.

“I’ve felt it since you came to the library.” Faramir gasped. “Yes.”

“Nay, ‘tis not what I meant. I want ALL of you.” Éomer said and closed his lips over those of his not so struggling captive. “I want your days, your nights, your thoughts, your fears… your body…and I will take every single bit of you as you decide to give it. Like the elves say, I’ve recognized my fate in you.”

Faramir looked up at him.

“Gods, Éomer, we are not yet of age and you speak such things!”

Said horse lord looked dejected, already imagining the next line…the rejection.

“…But what you say is most enchanting and the prospect of being yours excites me.” Faramir purred.

Éomer returned to lying half on top his new… mate?

“Then does this mean you’ll have me?”

His question was met with hips rubbing on his and hands anchoring themselves in his mane.

“Aye, I will… now kiss me, for Eru’s sake!”

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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3 Comment(s)

Very nice! Will there be more with these two?:)

minx    Tuesday 8 August 2006, 1:55    #

A most beautiful story! I loved it :)

— bijou    Tuesday 8 August 2006, 4:28    #

Aye, now that I think of it, it does end at a rather unfortunate time and at least Eomer if not both young lords is stuck with a dire case of hihi “blueballs”. So as soon as I return, I will see to it that everyone is happy and…sated . Also, I’m surprised I could write a text with Eomer that didn’t turn out NC-17. :)
Thank you for reading, hugs!

Kissa    Tuesday 8 August 2006, 5:45    #

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About the Author


For more stories by Kissa, see her LiveJournal.
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