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Snowfall and Moonlight (NC-17) Print

Written by Cahoskins

28 February 2005 | 2097 words

Title: Snowfall and Moonlight
Author: Cahoskins (connerhoskins@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The fall of night during a harsh winter forces Aragorn and Faramir to take shelter in the deserted base of Henneth Annûn. But cold weather makes the bonds of arcane desires brittle, and passions soon ensue.

The King and his Steward checked their steeds and dismounted, boots hitting the deep snow with dull thuds, loud next to the light bell-like tinkling of the falls. The Forbidden Pool itself was all but solid; only a small hole left where the icy water from the stream above fell to shatter the utter silence of the woods. It was a long ride back from Dol Amroth, where the cold came in bitter whips of salty wind off the Great Sea. The forest seemed equally bitter after such a hard ride, and even the horses were moving slowly by the time there masters led them into the shelter of Henneth Annûn.

Aragorn and Faramir had wanted to come to Gondor by sundown, but the day was short and the dusk came on them suddenly. The Ranger's base in Ithilien was close at hand, thankfully, and by nightfall they had lit a fire using the supply of dry wood kept there, and had set some lentils to boil. Already, their tired horses were covered and resting; as they planned to be soon. They wondered if it would be acceptable to simply eat the lentils in bed. They were alone, with all Faramir’s men at the underground winter base some miles away, so they guessed no common manners were needed. Both knew of life in the wild, and both could well accommodate.

“It may be a while, yet,” said Aragorn, stirring the beans, which were still very hard. “The water freezes over every time it starts to boil.”

Faramir smiled at his King’s complaint. He removed his wet boots and spread his cloak out on the ground, covering it with his pallet. He sat down on it and put his feet near the fire, sighing with relief as the heat returned the feeling to his stiff limbs. Aragorn removed his own boots as well, setting them beside Faramir’s to dry. Taking out his bedroll, he pushed it up against Faramir’s and laid all their blankets out on it. Faramir watched him apprehensively. “We’ll sleep together, then?”

“Aye,” Aragorn nodded. “It’s best that we do. ‘Tis too cold for aught else.” He smiled, considering if he should speak. “Why so nervous? There is a tremor in your voice. I swear, I do not pester my bedmates over much.”

“It’s the cold,” Faramir said, drawing his cloak tighter about himself. “And, as I hear it, Lady Arwen says otherwise to my Éowyn.”

“Does she?” Aragorn said, looking up from the fire, to which he was adding wood and kindling. “She never seemed to mind before; not the sort of pestering I give her, at any rate.”

Faramir might have blushed but for the chill that already showed upon his cheeks. It surprised him that the renowned King was so light in his speech. Faramir had spent very little time alone with Aragorn, the majority of their exchanges being of business, but he had learned much of him on their last few business trips to Dol Amroth. He supposed that his strange feelings for his King was but a growing friendship, and found himself dismissing them often, now. Truth told, he did not mind the thought of bedding with this man, only it made his insides churn in the oddest way, and for a moment, he lost his breath over the idea.

“Are there any clothes we might sleep in?” Aragorn asked, pulling Faramir suddenly from his thoughts.

“Only some old nightshirts I brought,” he said. “The rest of our clothes are still soaked.”

“Iced, now, likely. I should start taxing everything Dol Amroth ships through Gondor, if they think it‘s so amusing to call the first council of the in the midst of Girithron,” Aragorn chuckled, pulling two worn cotton nightshirts from Faramir’s bag.

“That sounds like something my father would have done,” Faramir grumbled, almost inaudibly. “That one should fit you, if it isn‘t a little large.” Faramir pointed to the shirt Aragorn held in his right hand. “It was Boromir’s, before he left.”

Aragorn had heard the catch in Faramir’s voice as he spoke of Boromir, but when he looked up, Faramir seemed to have drowned it. He tossed Faramir the smaller of the two shirts, and then stripped down to his breechclout.

Breath quickening, Faramir followed suit, keeping one eye secretly fixed on Aragorn. It did not take much debate to convince himself that he looked only out of admiration for his leader. Under this pretence, he allowed himself to marvel at the other man’s almost godly body. Long, well-muscled legs found their apex where Faramir could not help but note a generous bulge, which surprised him, the weather being as it was. But, quickly checking himself from such perversions, he let his gaze drift over the defined abdomen and chest, marked here and there by silver scars, some jagged, some still showing a surgeon’s work, and then the tanned arms, made strong by years of wielding a blade, like his breast and stomach, marred in places by battle.

Suddenly, Aragorn caught his gaze, and Faramir was immediately aware of the growing hardness his breechclout barely hid. It would seem that Aragorn had seen this, as well, and they both donned the long shirts hastily.

Aragorn reprimanded himself harshly. He hoped Faramir had not noticed his staring, or its results, which now had made his breechclout rather uncomfortable. Of course, a glimpse he had caught told him that either Faramir shared his dilemma, or else was very, very well off. He swiftly ended that internal debate when he found that both possibilities made his drawers tighter. He turned away rather quickly and took two bowls and two spoons out of a saddlebag, then ladled out some lentils for them both. He felt he heart flutter a little as he climbed into bed along side the younger man, who had decided was indescribably attractive. He covered them both before eating.

The two shared the small meal silently, and then set the empty bowls aside, to be left until morning. An awkward moment followed then: neither seemed to want to lie down, or else would not.

Faramir was driven half mad by the feel of Aragorn’s heat so near to him, and again could feel his erection straining against the cloth containing it. Some rare insanity took him in an instant, and afterwards, he knew not what had made him so bold. At times, Aragorn would suggest with a smile that the beans may have gone to his head, but Faramir knew how attracted he had become to his lord since their meeting in the Houses.

Barely thinking, he leant over slowly and pressed his lips into Aragorn’s. He felt Aragorn gasp against him. It took no more than a second before he realised just what he was doing and made to pull away. Aragorn caught him as shame threatened to sweep his honour away, and pulled him closer, nearly into his lap. Faramir had broken the brief kiss, but Aragorn stilled the pending apology on his lips with his finger.

“Don’t stop,” he instructed firmly, holding the younger man close. “You’ve lit a fire in me now that cannot be quenched. If I ignore it, I may burn alive.”

Then, Faramir lost himself entirely to the passion in Aragorn’s eyes, and brought his palms up to rest on his companion’s heaving chest as they kissed heatedly. Aragorn groaned deeply as he was pushed backward onto the blankets. He could now feel Faramir’s burgeoning erection pressed into his hip, Faramir’s heart thrumming against his own.

Then, Faramir stalled again, but this time, he rolled off entirely. “Faramir?” Aragorn prompted gently, catching his breath. “What is it?”

Brow creased, Faramir shook his head. “We cannot do this, Aragorn we’re married men.”

“And only one of us is goodly enough to abstain from eavesdropping,” Aragorn added with a slight smile. Faramir looked up, as if suddenly intrigued. Aragorn continued. “Our wives have fantasies of their own, concerning us. If we return to them with a tale for the darker hours, they will be not only unconcerned by our promiscuity, but indebted to us.” He finished with a very mischievous grin, that Faramir recognised as one Boromir used to sport when talking of something he knew he was not meant to know. In a moment though, he gave in, and raised his arm to let Aragorn remove his nightshirt. He did the same to his lover, running his fingertip over every inch of skin he exposed. Aragorn lay back and stretched himself out on top of the coverlet, and Faramir reached for the ties to his breechclout. Faramir cast it aside leaving Aragorn completely disrobed, and he could not keep back a gasp.

The moonlight came through the falls in shuddering beams of silver, which played across Aragorn’s golden skin. These contrasted against the steadier glow of the fire. He could see the man’s measured breaths coming in clouds of vapour from the cold, but he had lost nothing to the temperature otherwise. He placed a hand on Aragorn’s stomach, and then let it slid downward, until his fingertips rested a hairbreadth away from the weeping tip of his lover’s cock. Then, teasingly he withdrew.

Aragorn opened his eyes and sat up, and soon had removed Faramir’s breechclout, as well. Faramir felt a rush of excitement as he watched Aragorn’s eyes upon him, simply staring at his most intimate places, and completely unashamed of his lust.

Faramir picked up the covers and wrapped them tightly about them both, then lay down with his King, pinning him underneath his own body. There cocks met with an electrifying shock, and they clasped hands and were content for a while to simply create that friction, nut soon, Faramir reached between them, with other motives in mind. He drew a deep moan from Aragorn as he swiped his thumb over the head of his cock, wiping away some of the pearly fluid gathered there. Then, pushing the other man’s legs apart and instructing him to draw them up to his chest, he slicked Aragorn tight entrance until, with great care, he could slid a finger in. Aragorn arched his hips as Faramir’s slender digit breached him, and had to hold onto his control to stay his release.

Faramir, having nothing to ease the way, stretched Aragorn well. Withdrawing his three fingers, he positioned himself to enter his lover. Aragorn cried out in sheer pleasure as Faramir pushed into him for the first time, and thrust upward, taking the other man deeper into himself. Faramir pulled himself out almost completely, before thrusting back in until his swollen, heated sac was pressed firmly into Aragorn. Aragorn nails dug into Faramir’s arms as the head of his cock found its mark inside him. Stars exploded behind him eyelids like the end of a galaxy, and he relinquished all control over his body to Faramir.

Faramir grasped Aragorn steel-hard cock, and fisted it almost roughly, drawing guttural cries from Aragorn. Aragorn raised his head and kissed Faramir, their tongues moving in time with Faramir’s thrust, increasing in intensity as they did.

Their cries crescendoed under a building wave of pleasure, until Aragorn spilled himself over Faramir’s hand. Driven over the edge as Aragorn’s already tight muscles seized up around his cock and bucked wildly into him, Faramir emptied himself deep within his lover, crying out Aragorn’s name as he spent his passion.

They collapsed breathlessly alongside one another, holding each other until they had each rested themselves. Sleepily, Aragorn turned in Faramir’s embrace, now feeling much warmer and quite content.

“Perhaps,” Faramir yawned, nestling his face into Aragorn’s hair. “We might do this again.”

Aragorn smiled, shutting his eyes. “Aye,” he whispered gently. “We might.”

Outside, the waterfall had become a smaller flow now, as the stream above froze over, and a dense snowfall had begun against the black night sky. They watched it until sleep took them, and, come morning, each thought it might have been no more than a dream

Arcane, though, the knowledge lingered in both men, the King and his Steward, that the feeling evoked by the memory of that cold night they spent had together, painted by snowfall and moonlight, was far too perfect to have been imagined.


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