Faramir Fanfiction and Discussion

Nominations now open for the Men of Middle Earth Awards

Wed, 02 Jul 2008 09:13:40 GMT

Posted with kind permission of the mods.

The second annual Men of Middle Earth Awards is now underway. Come join us in awarding excellence and celebrating the extensive variety in the LOTR slash community.

Awards are presented to both new and classic stories based on story length and pairing for both RPS and FPS. This year sees the launch of a category designed to honor new writers (both those who have only started writing and those who have never been recognized before). Complete nomination guidelines can be found here.

Check out the mome_awards and help us recognize exceptional fiction across the fandom.

P.S. This is being posted at as many comms as I can think of so my apologies for spamming your friends lists!

FaramirFiction.com Midsummer Swap 2008 - The stories are in!

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 11:14:37 GMT

Here they are: as always, almost all the stories of our Midsummer Swap 2008! Have a super summer everyone -- or of course a wonderful winter if you’re down south!

Laurëlóte requested:
When Faramir gets word that Boromir has not returned from his latest diplomatic mission he sets out with two of his rangers towards Harad to find him. (Bonus points for one of the rangers being Malblung doing his best father figure act) Aragorn is a wandering ranger who has either: found Boromir and is taking care of him, OR offers to help find him. Boromir and/or Aragorn pairing. R rated or above please. Fluff should follow much angst on Faramir’s part.
This request resulted in: Trail of Tears (R) by Kissa

Kissa requested:
Boromir is 19, Faramir is 14 and adorable. He is the best archer around, even at his age, but he enjoys books and cuddling with his cats more than wrestling in the mud with the soldiers. Boromir comes home from a border mission and after Faramir tells him of some unsettling dreams, they spend a night of comforting closeness (insert fluffy graphic love scene here). However, Boromir has to leave again shortly after and Faramir already knows his brother’s fate. He closes himself out to the world and becomes a fierce warrior. During the war, Captain Faramir rescues an injured elf (Erestor) from a pack of Orcs and while caring for the small, dark-haired elf, he finds he can love again. Please write me a happy ending, in which Faramir can go to the Gray Havens with Erestor, I hate it when the men die!
Note: If the plot I outlined is too complicated or long, you can leave out whatever you want, except for the special love between the brothers, rescuing the elf and the happy end. Thank you so so much!
This request resulted in: The Sum of all Fears (R) by Wingy

Wingy requested:
Contented, happy Faramir. Please, no emo, or just lightly if you must. Any pairing goes, no Denethor. Bonus points if you include Midsummer activities, and mention of a cat. >.> That one’s just my personal toss in, there.
This request resulted in: What my Elf gave to me (PG-13) by Lisa14 (who apologizes for posting her story early)

Lisa14 requested:
Post-ring, either faramir/boromir or faramir/aragorn or a threesome is always good too. Boromir and/or Aragorn find out that Denethor has been physically and/or sexually abusing faramir all these years and start protecting him and get him to talk about it so he starts to heal. Double points if Denethor is still alive and still abusing faramir.
This request resulted in: Hurinionath (NC-17) by Bell Witch

Bell Witch requested:
Prefer Faramir with human partner. Maybe a Faramir/Denethor incest (incest should not be happy. Faramir of age, please.) Rarer partner—Eomer, Grima (a more innocent Faramir this time?), an OC (soldier, council member, etc.) Someone stalking Faramir? Prefer one on one, definitely adult Faramir. Any rating. Prefer darkfic but possibly a sweeter story with Faramir crushing on a tutor/older soldier. (Not his brother.) Faramir/Theoden? Don’t think I’ve ever seen that. Fallback position, nasty Aragorn/Faramir. Should not be angry with Faramir for not being Boromir, but for his own sake. Or because he took the Ring, which is never good.
This request resulted in: Deadly Attraction (R) by Laurëlóte

Sivan Shemesh requested:
Faramir/Aragorn, or Faramir/Elrond. Angst, h/c, make up sex after stern arguement.
This request resulted in: Arguments Solve Nothing (R) by Angelstar3999

Getty requested:
Boromir and Faramir switch bodies, and Boromir finds out just how bad his brother has it at the hands of his father. I’d prefer that they were about the age they are in LOTR, instead of them being younger.
This request resulted in: If You Could Feel What I Feel (PG-13) by Sivan Shemesh

Angelstar3999 requested:
I would like a story where Faramir is being fought over by two elves (Haldir/Legolas, Glorfindel/Thranduil, Erestor/Elrond, Celeborn/?-you decide what two elves you want to use) Make it a THREESOME please and have Faramir be a submissive, but not a push over in the relationship. Please have a Happy ending. (bonding, marriage-your choice)
This request was handed to and accepted by Getty, who apologizes for the delay.

You can find more swap stories at

Fic: Grief and Hope – Ch. 7 of ?

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 19:27:42 GMT

Title: Grief and Hope – Ch. 7 of ?
Author: Minx
Pairing: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: NC-17
Summary: In the months after the war, Aragorn and Faramir find themselves drawn to each other. But Faramir has issues that need to be resolved.
Warnings: Slash, AU (Denethor!lives)
Disclaimer: All recogniseable characters and places are Tolkien’s

A/N: This is AU. Denethor lives in it. Boromir is dead but leaves behind a son. Denethor is the Steward. Faramir as of now has no title per se.

I constantly have grand plans for this fic so it seems the only way to throw in some semblance of control over the storyline is to break into a series of fics. This fic is the first of that series.

This fic is my birthday present to the lovely and amazing margot_iris, who truly deserves many beautiful fics and pics featuring darling Faramir. This fic, like quite a few of my other ones, would in all likelihood have stayed in my head if she hadn’t asked for it to be actually written. Thank you dear Iris, for all your encouragement:)

And much thanks to Iris for betaing this chapter:)

Chapter 7

REMINDER - Looking for recs - Boromir/Faramir

Mon, 26 May 2008 01:49:34 GMT

Our latest challenge to find good recs is still underway -- Boromir/Faramir - FPS.

We are heading into the second week. So come on over to lotr_fic_recs and recommend a Lord of the Rings fan fiction that focuses on a (more than brotherly) relationship between Boromir and Faramir. Recommend as many as you like, as often as you like.

The challenge entry is over here and includes a lovely picture courtesy of the Theban Band.

Please advertise the challenge in your own journal if you have friends who might be interested.

Thanks!

Empathy For The Prince, PG, Faramir, Boromir, Aragorn, Legolas

Tue, 20 May 2008 02:49:44 GMT

Title: Empathy For The Prince
Author: Númenora
Rating: PG-ish
Pairing/Characters: Faramir, Boromir and allusions to Aragorn (Elessar) & Legolas
Warnings: AU, Implied M/M Slash.
Setting: A Grand Ball in Minas Tirith.
Disclaimer: All known Characters are Tolkien’s.
Beta: none
Word Count: 400
Summary: Faramir is concerned about Legolas and Elessar’s treatment and claims on him. This is a sequel to The Royal Gift and Counterpoint ; it that takes place the same day/night as Counterpoint. Cross-posted to several communities including 25fluffyfics, prompt 21: Sunset.

A/N: Aragorn is the Peredhel King of Gondor and Legolas was given to him as a “gift” to cement an alliance with Greenwood the Great. Please read The Royal Gift and Counterpoint. More will be learned in latter drabbles.

“What is that look about, Little One?” Boromir’s large hands came to rest upon Faramir’s shoulders, the younger Gondoran frowning in concern and a bit of annoyance.

“Should not someone speak to the King about…about…” Faramir struggled to find the correct phrase for what he was witnessing.

“Speak to him about what, love? And by “someone,” do you mean me?” Faramir could not see his brother’s handsome face, but he knew Boromir smiled good-naturedly.

Turning to his older Brother, Faramir smiled wryly. “I do not mean to censure, Boro. It is just, Elessar should be more...dispassionate when it comes to being in public,” the young Gondoran said, turning back to observe Gondor’s—nay all the United Kingdoms’—High King on the Great Hall’s dance floor with the beautiful Prince from Greenwood the Great.

“King or no, Little One—Aragorn is a male with a lovely elf in his arms. Could you be dispassionate, were it you? I could not.” The young Steward looked with admiration on the subject of their discussion.

Faramir had to agree with Boromir’s assessment. In fact, his concern was because he had grown quite fond of Legolas since he came to the White City a few days ago. The lovely Elda had charmed him from the very first with his quiet ways and gentle heart. Faramir was protective of him, feeling great sympathy for his plight, knowing that the elf was unhappy. The Prince’s father had gifted Legolas to Faramir’s cousin as a show of goodwill to cement their alliance; an alliance that would benefit both kingdoms in defence against their enemies.

Legolas confided to Faramir that his mother had not agreed with King Thranduil’s decision to do this. She had no real say in the matter from the first, but her death left Legolas with no one to plead his case. The Elvenking loved his youngest child, but he was a practical ruler, decreeing that the life of a warrior that he himself and Legolas’ brothers lived was not possible for the Prince. Were Legolas female, there would have been no question; however, being a male, it hurt not being allowed to defend his home. Although he trained and became a skilled fighter (mostly in secret, though little escaped Thranduil), Legolas’ life became one of diplomacy and courtly matters—learning about the laws and lands of Middle-earth in preparation of becoming consort or companion to a current or future ally.

If Faramir were completely honest with himself, he would admit that he had become enamored of the Greenwood Prince. However, he would not allow such a thought, being loyal to his relative and Monarch.

“Why don’t you go and find another lovely to dance with. The room is filled with lords and ladies from many nations; and there are other elves here as well. I should know, I’ve held a few. Off with you, Little One—no good can come of this.” The jesting and good humor had gone from Boromir’s tone, being replaced by a brother’s concern.

“Very well, Boro—you are correct as always.” With one last look towards Aragorn and Legolas, Faramir began asking several lords and ladies to dance. He even asked a handsome elf from Lothlórien to take a turn with him around the room. He was having a wonderful time until he noticed Aragorn leaving with Legolas. The look in the beautiful ellon’s eyes tore at his heart. Legolas was afraid. Faramir had very little doubt what would transpire this night. King Elessar would claim what was his and there was nothing anyone—nothing Faramir—could do about it.

Please review

Elda – Singular form of Eldar (another name for Elves or Firstborn).
Ellon – Male elf.

My Boromir/Faramir Table

^{My Aragorn Table}

Rec Challenge - Boromir/Faramir

Mon, 19 May 2008 02:16:01 GMT

Hi! I joined the community to keep you updated on any Faramir related challenges over at lotr_fic_recs. *waves*

Our latest challenge is exactly that, and it is one that we have never done before -- Boromir/Faramir - FPS.

The challenges last for two weeks. So come on over to lotr_fic_recs and recommend a Lord of the Rings fan fiction that focuses on a (more than brotherly) relationship between Boromir and Faramir. Recommend as many as you like, as often as you like.

The challenge entry is over here and includes a lovely picture courtesy of the Theban Band.

Please advertise the challenge in your own journal if you have friends who might be interested.

Thanks!

Fic. Lingering Shadow Ch1 of 2

Sun, 11 May 2008 01:44:26 GMT

Title; Lingering Shadow
Author; Shireling
Rating; G
Summary: A face for the past haunts Faramir and threatens his newly found happiness
Genre: mystery/ Drama
Disclaimer: Not mine, no matter how hard I wish!

http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterlistview.asp?SID=5889

Reminder: Faramir Fiction Archive midsummer swap signup

Sat, 10 May 2008 05:12:56 GMT

Signups for this year's midsummer Swap close tomorrow, 11th May.

Please do sign up by then if you would like participate.

Please review the rules at www.faramirfiction.com/news/midsummer-swap-2008 and complete the signup form.

This year's time lines:

Send us your request by Sunday 11 May
Assignments will be sent out no later than Wednesday 14 May – this will give you five weeks to complete your story.
Last date of submission: Wednesday 18 June, noon GMT
All stories will be posted at faramirfiction.com on Midsummer, Saturday 21 June

Signup open for FaramirFiction.com Midsummer Swap

Fri, 25 Apr 2008 14:28:24 GMT

Here’s your chance to read that one Faramir slash story you wished someone would write… and to return the favour by writing one in return: it’s the 5th edition of our Swap!

This year's time line:

Send us your request by Sunday 11 May
Assignments will be sent out no later than Wednesday 14 May – this will give you five weeks to complete your story.
Last date of submission: Wednesday 18 June, noon GMT
All stories will be posted at faramirfiction.com on Midsummer, Saturday 21 June.

If you feel up to the challenge, please review the rules at www.faramirfiction.com/news/midsummer-swap-2008 and complete the signup form.

You can find previous swap stories at:

2006 Midsummer Swap,
2006 Midwinter Swap,
2007 Midsummer Swap and
2007 Midwinter Swap.

( To this year's Midsummer Swap Rules & Signup page )

Faramir Gen and Het Fic Exchange

Thu, 17 Apr 2008 00:47:13 GMT

I am pleased to announce that alexajohnson and I have now opened signups for the second round of the Faramir Gen and Het Fic Exchange, located at faramirexchange. We're very excited, and look forward to making this round an even bigger success than our first!!

Rules for participating in the exchange can be found at our userinfo page, and the place to sign up is at the most recent entry in the community.

We'd love to have as many people as possible, especially newcomers!! So do consider signing up!!

Request for Fic

Sun, 06 Apr 2008 07:39:10 GMT

Hi.

I'm new to this community, so I heartily apoligize if I'm inadvertantly breaking any rules. I'm looking for a Faramir-centric fic I read once on FF.net - the author seems to have removed the story, but I'm hoping someone can direct me to an alternative source. It was a nice AU by Evendim where it turned out that Faramir was actually Aragon's son - I rather enjoyed it, and I'd love to read it again. Thank you!

Fic Out of Memory and Time. Complete

Sat, 29 Mar 2008 22:19:21 GMT

Hi

The final chapters of Out of Memory and Time have been posted at FF.Net

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3996942/1/Out_of_Memory_and_Time

Hankie warning suggested!

Hugs

Helen/shireling

Fic. Out of Memory and Time Ch 8 & 9

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 19:58:34 GMT

Hi,
The next two chapters of the story are now posted.

Fic; Out of Memory and Time

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3996942/8/Out_of_Memory_and_Time

Fic: Grief & Hope 6/? A/F

Thu, 06 Mar 2008 05:21:58 GMT

Title: Grief and Hope – Ch. 6 of ?
Author: Minx
Pairing: Aragorn/Faramir
Rating: PG15 for the whole fic, for now
Summary: In the months after the war, Aragorn and Faramir find themselves drawn to each other. But Faramir has issues that need to be resolved.
Warnings: Slash, AU (Denethor!lives)
Discliamer: All recogniseable characters and places are Tolkien’s

A/N: This is AU. Denethor lives in it. Boromir is dead but leaves behind a son. Denethor is the Steward. Faramir as of now has no title per se.

Chapter 6

Something New

Mon, 03 Mar 2008 04:16:59 GMT

Title: Something New
Author: Bell Witch
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Characters: Faramir, Rumiard (OMC)
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, shameless smut of no redeeming social value
Word Count: 2323
Disclaimer: I own nothing LotR-related (except the DVDs, which I bought) and am making no money from this.
Author’s Notes: Prompt 51: Yes in the 50_darkfics challenge. Written 26 Sept. 2006 (Yes, it’s been hanging out that long.) Thanks to el_esteleth for the beta. Faramir and Rumiard arc. Details inspired by Shiplizard. Also posted in faramir_fics Follows Prompt 55: No

XxX
Faramir had been away in Henneth Annûn for months. That was not unusual in itself: it happened all the time. Faramir and Rumiard had been together for perhaps five years but the relationship was more accurately about six months old if they’d lived in the same city. What was unusual was the message that had been sent to Rumiard’s quarters-—by Faramir. He’d expected something much longer than ‘I will be by later, stay in and wait for me –F’. Had it not so obviously been Faramir’s handwriting, Rumiard would have suspected a trick. Well, it was no real trouble to stay and wait for Faramir, so he stayed and waited.

Faramir arrived slightly past the hour for evening meal bearing a bottle, which Rumiard was at least pleased by. He was slightly less pleased by Faramir’s rather curt nod and the fact that he set the bottle down and continued into Rumiard’s bedroom forcing him to follow in his own home. Faramir was not like this, not so inconsiderate, and Rumiard wondered at first if he’d already been drinking although it didn’t seem like it.

“Have I done something?” he asked. He doubted that he had, for what could it be? He’d not seen Faramir in more than four months and really closer to five.

“Not yet you haven’t,” Faramir responded. "But you will and I think you will enjoy it quite a bit." Faramir smiled as he closed the door to the small bedroom. He pointed to the plain chair. “Sit down. Put your arms on the arms of the chair and do not move them nor shall you say anything until I give you leave.”

Rumiard’s eyebrows went up sharply but he did sit down. He had a suspicion about what his lover was up to and a glance at the man’s leggings set into his mind that he was right. Well, after five months a man could build up a significant amount of want and Rumiard knew it. But why was Faramir acting like this? Could it be...? Rumiard’s mouth went dry as Faramir began to remove his own clothes, folding them and setting them neatly on the other chair.

“Being fully dressed does not make you in control here, Rumiard,” Faramir said conversationally. Was this payback for what Rumiard had done on his birthday? This was new, confusing, and so very unlike Faramir, always a considerate lover. Rumiard was brought back to the present when Faramir spoke again. “This is just to show you how things are with me right now.”

Rumiard could see exactly how things were with Faramir—-the man was in a severe state of arousal. Likely he’d had no time alone at all while he was away, no relief in any form. There was simply no privacy at Henneth Annûn and Rumiard did not envy that. But something exciting was going to happen here as a result and his curiosity was piqued and his own leggings were more than a little bit uncomfortable already. He could see Faramir completely as he lay down on Rumiard’s own bed.

“I dream of you,” Faramir began. After this, Rumiard was likely going to have a dream or two of his own. What was Faramir doing? Besides... taking himself into his own hand. It was all Rumiard could do to remain sitting as he’d been ordered. It had been an order, right? Yes, it seemed that way. He watched in fascination as Faramir’s hand began to move and then the man started to talk.

“I dream—-I’m sitting on the edge of my bed and you come to me, standing between my legs as I reach around to hold you, pull you to me. I urge you to stand just so and put my hands on your hips and my mouth on your stomach.” Faramir’s hand was not on his stomach but lower and it may as well have been on Rumiard himself. Faramir didn’t talk like this-—Faramir did not do this. This was something new and Rumiard couldn’t look away.

“I order you to clasp your hands behind your back—-even as you are to keep your hands on the arms of the chair right now-—and then I move down. I lick you as you do to me. I’ve done this to you a very few times now. My hands knead at your buttocks as I lick harder.” Faramir’s head turned to look at Rumiard, sitting as ordered. Faramir’s mouth was open slightly and his breathing was harsh. Rumiard’s was not so steady either. “I do this until you finally say ‘please’. By that time, I have a hand between your legs as well, petting. It takes a long time because you are stubborn. But ‘please’ you eventually say and I draw you in and put my mouth over you fully as you wish, sucking... sss... as... you... oh!”

Rumiard grit his teeth and swallowed heavily. It had taken a few minutes only and Faramir had... He had brought himself relief and left Rumiard sitting in a state of arousal and incredulity.

“Do you see, Rumiard? Five months, though it was not so bad at first.” He rose to clean his hand and fixed Rumiard with a look. “Do not answer, for I’ve not given you leave to speak yet.”

Rumiard nodded mutely, wondering what would happen next. This was fascinating. His gentle, quiet lover was acting... forceful: it was going straight to Rumiard’s groin.

“I have been wanting you so badly and soon I’ll have you. But I could not wait, else later I’d barely touch you and it would be over. That would be disappointing for you and so I hope that you don’t mind that I took matters into my own hands for the time being.”

Rumiard shook his head, eyes gleaming in the dim light. He didn’t mind at all. In fact, this was something he had longed for but not received. A rather unusual trait for a soldier—-Rumiard had a bit of difficulty with people telling him what to do. He wanted to fight, had that instinct, and so had suppressed that part of him that resented taking orders. He’d never really had anyone give them—-his mother hadn’t. But somewhere in him there was this wish. He wanted to be told what to do but by a very select group of people. And Faramir... Faramir could order him to do anything. He’d mentioned it before but Faramir had turned pink at the idea that he would tell a lover what to do like that. Something had changed and Rumiard could only thank the Valar for whatever it was that had brought Faramir to this point. He’d never spoken to Rumiard like this, never come so close, leaning in and smiling…

“Get up now, Rumiard. Take your clothes off. I will have you as soon as I am again ready but you must be ready also—-I do not wish to wait.”

Rumiard was out of the chair as soon as Faramir gave him enough room to stand. He listened enraptured, hands shaking as he tried to undress himself. Faramir was talking, telling him what he would do to Rumiard in that so-calm voice. But... Faramir was usually so quiet. He did not say these things, did not say that he would... Had Rumiard ever before heard Faramir use the word ‘fuck’? No... Faramir made love, he did not fuck, nor did he take or use or do any of the things he’d just said that he was going to do to Rumiard tonight. And the next statement made Rumiard stop completely.

“I have another order for you. Until I am finished with you there is only one word I wish to hear from you. That is yes. Do you understand?”

Rumiard nodded and realised that he could finally say something. “Yes.”

Faramir smiled. “Good. I love it when you say yes to me.”

What was he supposed to do now? He hadn’t been ordered to get on the bed so Rumiard waited as patiently as he could, biting his lip from sheer nerves.

“I know what it is that you desire and I am going to give it to you. I want you—-you can see it.” Faramir took a step closer and paused, his hand on Rumiard’s arm. He had to be able to see that Rumiard wanted him just as badly. The larger man watched as Faramir pulled out the jar of ointment and set it nearby. Soon... He was pulled close and could not help but gasp—Faramir had just grabbed his arse.

“You are mine. I am going to prepare you now and take you—-hard. I am going to take you harder than ever before and you’ll need both of your arms to hold yourself up. You won’t be able to touch yourself and I’ll not touch you either. If you don’t find your release from my riding you, you’ll not have one at all.”

Faramir was watching and had to be able to see how red he was. It wasn’t embarrassment but pure lust. Yes, he could see, because Faramir was now touching Rumiard’s burning face.

“Do you want me to do this to you?” It was lightly said but serious at the same time.

“Yes.”

The brilliant smile was more like Faramir. It flashed briefly and then was replaced by a rather naughty look that was somehow pristine around the edges because Faramir hadn’t quite mastered it yet. It was beyond endearing—-this was all for Rumiard’s sake and that knowledge nearly made him sag to the floor. Faramir did this for him alone. Rumiard’s heart felt far more predatory than Faramir’s expression, though the man’s words were more effective.

“I am going to take you hard with no thought but to my own pleasure. I can tell how much you want that-—you’ve told me so. You want to please me, to have my weight on you and control you completely.”

“Yes,” Rumiard said, strained. It was true: he wanted that and never thought he’d get it from Faramir, even in play. But here was Faramir, taking him by the arm and pushing him forward, facedown on his bed and telling him to brace himself, slicking his fingers and sliding one then two... No teasing but steady, sure movements that were meant to prepare Rumiard yet also were driving him to distraction.

“Feels good and you’re nearly ready for me. Going to take you as I will. Do you want that-—to hear me tell you first that I’ll fuck you and then do it without mercy? You want that word and that action—-fucking.”

“Yes.” He was sweating beneath Faramir’s hands, moving on Faramir’s fingers and trying to push back until a hand on his waist stopped him.

“Don’t.” Faramir pulled his fingers out and cleaned them, pushed Rumiard’s legs further apart, bent over his back, aligned himself with the opening to his lover’s body. “If I go slowly it is not for your sake but because I want to enjoy the feeling of moving inside of you.”

Faramir pushed and groaned: Rumiard grit his teeth. As much as he wanted to ask for more, faster, it wasn’t allowed at this time and he wasn’t going to interrupt for anything.

“Been so long, Rumiard. You’re so tight around me.” Faramir moved slowly, barely entering and pulling back before moving in again. It was agonisingly slow, making both men tense with the need to go faster. Somehow Faramir knew when Rumiard was about to reach downward and finally began to go faster, so much faster that it was almost violent.

It was all Rumiard could do to hold himself steady while Faramir rutted him like a stag. That was the image he had—-a powerful animal taking a weaker one even though Rumiard himself was actually the stronger of the two. He didn’t feel it, not now. He felt full and possessed completely, grunting out at each powerful thrust. Sharp teeth dug into the muscle that joined shoulder to neck... Yes, yes, yes!

He was lost in a burning sea of want, returning to himself only when Faramir pulled gently away, a calm hand on Rumiard’s shoulder. One last question from Faramir—-‘did you come, Rumiard?’

“Yes.” And Rumiard gave a half-snort at that. Another crude word that Faramir didn’t use but it was so appropriate for this. It was not a gentle peak from lovemaking. He’d been fucked and he came.

Faramir chuckled too. “You can say anything you like now. The game is finished.” Faramir touched him gently, turning Rumiard to face him and threading the fingers of their hands together.

“I hope you enjoyed that. After your birthday I think I understand better about why you’d wish something like that. I thank you for showing me so that I can better give you what you want.” He looked up at Rumiard, smiling. “No matter what you call it, I still think of it as making love for I do love you.”

“I know.” It was so like Faramir and he did love the man, loved him so much sometimes it hurt. But this was... It was something else and it didn’t need to be filled with words. Let the actions speak for themselves.

Faramir was kissing him, something he usually enjoyed but now it just wasn’t right, wasn’t what was needed in this situation.

Rumiard knew that Faramir was making the attempt and that’s what was important. Perhaps he’d try again soon. Or... Faramir had tried this because of what he’d done to Faramir on his birthday so perhaps he could show Faramir something else and make him understand. Take and dominate without asking before or any of this afterwards. The two things did not belong together—-Faramir didn’t understand it yet but he would. He’d learn.

End

One Word Only

Mon, 03 Mar 2008 04:10:39 GMT

Title: One Word Only
Author: Bell Witch
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Characters: Faramir, Rumiard (OMC)
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, shameless smut, bondage play.
Word Count: 6278
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no money is being made from this. As if.
Author’s Notes: Prompt 55: No in the 50_darkfics challenge. Written 10 Sept. 2006. Faramir and Rumiard arc. Details inspired by Shiplizard, and thank you for the beta ;) Also posted at faramir_fics

XxX

“No,” Faramir gasped. “No…”

Rumiard was behind him, holding him steady with an arm around his waist and the other below it, exploring with a thoroughness that was getting more difficult to bear by the moment. They were both on their knees on Rumiard’s bed, Faramir quickly losing the ability to support himself. He slumped back onto the powerful chest only to buck forward again when Rumiard started stroking.

“No!”

A low chuckle answered him.

“You keep saying that but you keep not meaning it.”

Faramir shook his head. “No.” He closed his eyes, shuddering against the intensity of what was being done to him. His hands were bound fast behind him and he was not allowed to speak but for the one word. Rumiard had him hard and wanting and he didn’t know how much longer he’d have to wait: he had no one to blame but himself.

XxX

“Come, Rumiard, you must let me do something for your birthday,” Faramir insisted.

The larger man snorted. “I must, must I? Very well, let us go out and have supper and a pint or two.”

“That’s all? I would give you anything you wanted.” Faramir caught the brown eyes with his own. “Anything I could give you.”

“I know.”

It was frustrating for Faramir. He’d been trying for a long time to find an appropriate gift for his friend. He had looked everywhere he could think of but the truth of it was that Rumiard had little need for things in much the same way as Faramir himself did. And since Rumiard did not share his intense love of books, that avenue was closed to him. At least they could go for evening meal, which was something.

That Rumiard chose a simple inn was not surprising--he was a simple man, he said. They ate good, plain food and had a bit of ale. It was still early, but Faramir could see the signs that Rumiard was uncomfortable in the public setting. The truth was that he was uncomfortable being there with Faramir, which Faramir knew but never really understood.

“You’re the Steward’s son and I’m just a soldier. I always wonder what people are saying,” he’d mentioned on several occasions.

“Am I not allowed to have friends?” Faramir asked. “You’re a perfectly respectable person.”

But he wasn’t, or at least Rumiard did not consider himself to be so. His father had been a man of Harad, though he never knew him because he died before Rumiard was born. Was killed, in truth—for raping his mother. Rumiard said often that nothing good could come out of that but Faramir was sure that Rumiard’s mother did not agree. He never met her, as she died before he knew Rumiard. It was the way he spoke of her that told Faramir that his mother had loved him and that she had taken the child created so violently and cared for him enough for two parents.

He’d gone for a soldier and been very successful at it. He was tall and strong, more powerful even than Boromir (though Faramir would never have told his brother this) if not quite so skilled in swordsmanship. He had dark hair that curled slightly, deep brown eyes and dark skin. His appearance was intimidating but people in his unit knew that he was mostly quiet and a good man for listening. Rumiard was a man who could be relied upon.

It was these things that Faramir listed as reasons for respectability whenever Rumiard was feeling outclassed in Faramir’s company. Rumiard just shook his head and smiled.

Even on the occasion of his birthday he did not feel that he had the right to demand much of Faramir’s time, was surprised when Faramir mentioned that they might do something to mark the day. Pleasantly surprised, but… well, it was not harmful to go have an evening meal with his friend. Then Faramir could go and do more important things during his short stay in Minas Tirith.

“Would you like to walk a bit?” Faramir asked. “It’s a bit cool but it feels good after being inside.”

“Do you not have things to do?” Rumiard asked.

“Yes, I do,” Faramir replied with a smile. “I’m doing them. I have no other place that I need to be until mid-day tomorrow. I thought that we might be out somewhat later drinking. I’d planned on it, even the possibility of staying somewhere if we were too drunk to leave. But you’re not making it very easy for me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.” The expression was between smile and frown and it made Faramir laugh.

“I do love you, my friend. Why don’t I buy a bottle and we can go back to your rooms and drink in private? Then you need not worry about what people will say.”

“If you don’t mind.”

Faramir sighed.

They drank wine and talked about everything. Faramir was explaining the story of the book he was reading when he noticed an odd look on his friend’s face.

“Am I boring you?” he asked, only slightly joking. Rumiard shook his head--that look again.

“No, not at all.”

The look, it was the one Rumiard got sometimes when… That was when he got the idea. If he could not find an appropriate gift for his friend, then why not offer a rather more inappropriate gift to his lover?

“Rumiard, are you tired at all?”

“Not terribly.”

“I was wondering if you wanted to go to bed.”

The large man looked mildly perplexed. Faramir had said that he wasn’t busy and now he wanted to leave? Perhaps he’d had more to drink than he thought because that didn’t seem quite right.

“If you wanted to go I could sleep,” he said. He’d not argue with anything Faramir wanted—he never would.

“I did not mean sleep.” Faramir sat and waited a moment, watching as his words permeated Rumiard’s slightly fogged mind. The brick-coloured blush told him exactly when it registered.

“I could not sleep easily enough as well,” the rich voice replied. Rumiard took a quick drink, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Tonight is for you, Rumiard. Anything you want. I need not qualify that, for I trust you completely.”

Rumiard smiled then. “I already have everything I want.”

“I meant tonight, now.” It would only be fair. Rumiard was always deferential in everything, even in private. Even in bed. “I am not Lord Faramir here, not a leader of men. I am only your lover and I offer myself to you. Whatever you wish to take for yourself I will gladly give.”

He would give it anyway, at other times, but he knew Rumiard wouldn’t ask. He’d never ask for anything and content himself with whatever Faramir gave. It was extremely frustrating because he never knew what Rumiard wanted. He could find out now

“What do you want me to say?”

“It’s not about what I want,” Faramir told the older man quietly. “I want to give you something, anything you wish for.”

“You’ve already given me anything I’d wish for.” He smiled—Faramir had. Even the dark, shameful thing that he wanted, Faramir had given him that even though he’d not understood and was concerned because he knew of Rumiard’s mother. It had taken time but eventually he was able to do it.

“What about tonight? Right now?” This was getting nowhere. Did Rumiard truly want nothing for himself? That wasn’t anything Faramir understood.

Rumiard wished he could understand his lover right now. He was sure Faramir wanted something from him--wanted him to demand it so that Faramir wouldn't have to ask. He didn’t know what it could be but felt that there was something. He was trying to find it.

"Faramir, you madden me at times."

“You’re maddening me right now,” Faramir returned.

Rumiard smiled slightly, rose and moved to stand so that he could look Faramir in the eyes.

"You want something from me... I know you do. Something I haven't asked for, haven't done. Tell me."

"This was supposed to be for you!"

Faramir did not know how it had happened. He was ever asking Rumiard for things, telling him what to do. It wasn't supposed to go this way.

"I just... please, whatever you wish, even if it's nothing at all!" He looked up at his friend, eyes wide.

It was a risk, a great risk. Rumiard rose up again, taking Faramir by the wrist and pulling him from his chair.

“Come with me,” he ordered, hoping that this would work. Faramir was the leader; he was in charge and Rumiard followed, gladly. This might annoy Faramir, his taking over. Or it could be… right.

Faramir followed quietly, worried that he’d made his best friend and lover angry somehow. He only wished to give Rumiard the chance to have things his way for once. It never was so and the inequality made Faramir vastly uncomfortable: he felt he was taking advantage, taking and never giving.

“Bed.” Rumiard pushed him down, gentle but inexorable. When Faramir was flat on his back, Rumiard knelt astride him, hands on his shoulders.

“What do you want?” His voice was firm. “Tell me.”

Faramir shook his head. It was not supposed to be what he wanted, but what Rumiard wanted.

“I’ve done something wrong, haven’t I?” Faramir asked and was answered with an exasperated, fond sigh.

Rumiard moved slightly so he could pull Faramir’s shirt off, stripping him to the waist.

“You’ll tell me,” he said, leaning back down and moving to kiss the sensitive places on Faramir’s neck. “There is something, for you’ve given me everything I want and then offer me more—offer it with this fear and want in your eyes, this trust. Why? What is it you think I’d ask for that would take so much trust? You offer me more when I’m satisfied ten times over.”

His hands slid down Faramir’s chest.

“For me, there is one thing that pleases me above all else. It is my favourite thing, the darkest that I want--to be pinned down and controlled, to put myself entirely in your hands. And I have that. There is nothing else that I desire for my own sake."

One hand rested on Faramir's stomach, the other moved slowly, palm rubbing over exposed nipples.

"But there is more that I like--because it brings you pleasure. The slow lovemaking, and everything I do with my mouth for you--that makes me burn just as brightly, but only because you want it."

Faramir lay silently, looking almost stunned--Rumiard did not speak like this.

"I want no more,” the dark man insisted. “But ... you want me to take more. Tell me, so I can have that, too."

Faramir did not know what to say. He wanted to give his lover everything and he’d take almost nothing and be content. It was true—he would never resent not getting more. It was confusing because it was completely foreign. He tried his hardest, gave everything he had to his father and it was never right, never enough. To suddenly be told that you could do no wrong was bewildering in the extreme. He blinked rapidly at the beloved face above him.

"I... want you to have everything. Touch me everywhere and do everything you've ever enjoyed doing or wanted to do. Make me cry out for you to touch me, kiss me, because all you do--I've never wanted anyone like I want you and it frightens me." All out at once, a rush. "Make it overwhelming in the way that only you can because even though I'm afraid I know you won't hurt me because I trust you--you know it's true."

The phrase that caught Rumiard’s attention the most was ‘even though I’m afraid’. That was something he thought he understood. He nodded and sat up, full height.

“I’m going to strip you. Lie still.”

The dream Faramir had told him about, so long ago when Rumiard had explained his dark desire, embarrassed and so worried but Faramir had not been disgusted. He’d blushed and spoke of a dream he had, where ‘no’ meant ‘yes’ and he was frightened but he wanted… Faramir had given him his wish more than once. They’d never again spoken of Faramir’s dream.

“I should explain something,” Rumiard said, once Faramir was stripped naked. He knelt between Faramir’s spread thighs, still clothed, and looked down. He smiled.

“I have not always been clear in the past, always have been vague when I spoke of your beauty. I will explain now and you will not blush or turn your head away when I say this—you are beautiful. This I say as your friend, your servant. But as a man, when I first saw you I thought something else. Listen carefully, because it is different."

His lips twisted into something between a leer and a playful grin.

“I wanted you. I saw you across the inn the moment you walked in the door. I had no idea who you were but there was this fine thing that had come into the room and I was warmed instantly. Then I heard your name and gave up on any thoughts that I’d ever have you.”

Rumiard closed his eyes, remembering.

“I was nobody and you… I never told you but if you’d been someone else, just another soldier, I would have come to you. I would have wanted to touch you.”

His large hands skimmed over the flat stomach.

“I’d have wanted to kiss you here. There is something about a man’s stomach—the soft underbelly, perhaps—that I love.”

Both hands moved to play over Faramir’s chest.

“I’d have wanted my mouth all over this, of course.” He grinned. “I didn’t know about your neck yet, though I’d have found out quickly enough.”

The hands went down boldly, cupping Faramir’s buttocks, actually lifting and making the smaller man arch out of bed.

“And I’d have wanted a handful of this. Oh yes.” He lowered Faramir carefully, crouched on his hands and knees, large body looming over the man on his bed. “Do you understand so far?”

“Yes.” He made Faramir feel so wanted. Not because of who he was—the son of the Steward—but just because he existed. It was more intoxicating than wine.

“I never thought I’d have any of that. I never thought I’d see you again, to be honest. But I did, and not long after. I turned around and there you were. And you actually stopped to speak with me. I was almost ready to leave but I stayed and drank with you. By the end of the night I was so drunk that I almost kissed you. Never sure if you noticed or not.”

Faramir nodded.

“I wondered why you stopped though I should not have—it would have been because of who I am. It always is.” Usually it went the other way; people wanted him only because of who he was. They didn’t really want him, just wanted something from him.

“Yes, it was, though not why you think. You’re so much better than I am and I knew it.”

Faramir shook his head. “You never would have kissed me.”

“Good thing that you did it yourself, then.”

“Eventually.” Faramir smiled. “I am so pleased that I saw you again, that we had the time to get to know one another else it never would have happened.”

“No. Then I’d never be here telling you how beautiful you are—your eyes and the way your hair looks in the light. No blushing, now.” Rumiard nodded in satisfaction. “You smile at me sometimes and my heart skips, Faramir. But somehow that’s not enough.”

His face softened and he lowered himself, first kissing Faramir’s forehead before resting his weight on the body below him, mindful that his clothes might feel a bit uncomfortable against the bare skin.

“Now, you keep asking ‘what I want’ and I keep telling you that I already have it. Whatever you want is what I want. It’s not so much who you are as what you are—not my commanding officer, but you are my true leader. You always will be.” He put a finger on Faramir’s lips to keep him silent. “You are a leader.”

Faramir did not see it but he would one day.

“But if you weren’t who and what you are… If I hadn’t had to stop that first night, here’s what I’d have wanted from a man who looked and sounded like you—another soldier, not the Steward’s son.”

He kissed Faramir’s throat, long and lingering, before continuing.

“I’d have wanted something loud and fun, the two of us wrestling, kissing and fighting at the same time. A battle of wills that only makes it more fun when one person ‘loses’. I need not wrestle you down now but I am going to make this a contest of wills.”

This was the risk, the big, bad thing, but it felt right.

“So this is what will happen. You are going to lie there and I am going to do whatever I want to you. Until you can’t take it anymore, until you’re so wanting that you can’t stand it, I only want to hear one word from you. No matter what I say or what you want, one word only. You know what that is.”

“Please,” Faramir said. That had to be it. It couldn’t be… a long time since they’d spoken of the dream. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe for what Rumiard had just said. “And I’d never lose to you. You’re larger and stronger but I would not lose unless I wished to. You wouldn’t allow it.”

Rumiard shook his head. “Wrong word. That comes later, when you can’t take it anymore. Let’s try again.”

He bent low, purring the words right into Faramir’s ear. “Do you want me to do this to you?”

As though he could not see already what his words had done! The talking, so unlike Rumiard, had made him long for so many things but he wanted more to allow the other man to do as he wished so he would try not to interfere.

“Yes.”

Rumiard sighed and frowned, then pulled back, removing his weight from Faramir.

“I thought perhaps… but it seems not. Can you not say no? Would it frighten you too much? It is meant only to be play.” A little fear, enough to make Faramir’s heart pound, to make the feelings stronger, enough to give him his dream but not enough to leave him with nightmares.

Faramir stared up in surprise. It had been so long ago. His dream had worried him but Rumiard was not angry or upset, was understanding even as Faramir had tried to understand the other man’s desire. It had taken time and effort in order to want it also, to give it properly. Now his lover was asking if he wished to try his dream and he was not so sure.

Could he say no when he didn’t mean it? It was a lie—he wanted Rumiard to do these things, to do whatever he desired. And Rumiard wanted only to give to him, though this would be in his hands and not Faramir’s. Giving to Faramir still, but on his own whim and not when Faramir said.

If I truly meant ‘no’ he would stop.

“Rumiard—no. Please.” He’d see it in Faramir’s eyes and understand, and never hurt him. “No.”

Rumiard smiled again, moving to put some of his weight on Faramir’s upper arms.

“Get used to saying that, beautiful.” He bent closer. “I knew you could do this.”

He pressed a soft kiss to Faramir’s neck, and then moved back, lifting Faramir’s legs a bit so he could kneel between them. He started to kiss Faramir’s thighs, wondering how long it would be before Faramir started to tremble.

Faramir gasped to hear the soft words spoken like that. He didn’t want the kiss to the neck to end but he could say nothing. Perhaps his lover would spend more time there later. Rumiard moved slightly higher and Faramir inhaled sharply. He hadn’t noticed before—how had he missed it? He was entirely without clothing and Rumiard completely dressed but for his boots. Lying there spread open with his lover between his legs he felt suddenly self-conscious.

He did not know that this was part of the plan, even as Rumiard would not be placing any kisses above the chest just now. That made them too equal and Rumiard was meant to be in control for a while. Faramir had done something similar to him once, driven him past understanding. Now he would know how it felt to be shivering and burning in the face of control. It could be such a sweet feeling—until Faramir finally had enough, finally said ‘please’ or ‘yes’ or lost all restraint.

“You should be ashamed,” Rumiard said. He was starting cautiously, unsure of himself and what Faramir would allow though he’d said anything. Rumiard wanted him on the very edge, seeming close to danger but truly safe in his lover’s keeping. “Spread out for me. I shall have my hands all over you.”

Faramir’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He was open because Rumiard had put him that way! So breathless already and Rumiard had barely touched him, but he could not bring himself to be ashamed because he loved the other man so. He smiled.

“No.” Yes.

“This, remember?” Rumiard drew a circle on Faramir’s stomach and then bent down to kiss soft skin, to nip gently. His hands moved, cupping Faramir’s buttocks again, dragging his hips up so that they rested on Rumiard’s knees. “And this as well. I think I like you this way.”

He smoothed his hands down the strong thighs, stroking and massaging deeper but never touching the sensitive places, only the outside.

“You seem rather interested already. I bet you want my fingers up you.”

Faramir swallowed heavily. Barely touched and it was so intense already. This was unlike Rumiard and he was not used to it, though it was not too frightening to go on with because it was Rumiard—there was no danger.

“No.” He stared at Rumiard’s hands.

Rumiard laughed and shook his head. “You say that now.” He rose and went to the nearby trunk, pulling out the ointment he used to ease his aching muscles after riding.

“Look what I have.” He smeared some on two fingers, held them underneath Faramir’s nose. “Smells good, do you not think? Guess where it is going. You can deny it all you like, shake your pretty head and even try to fight me if you want to.”

It was said playfully so that Faramir knew—he could end this easily. If he truly fought or became desperate then Rumiard would stop. But perhaps Faramir, only now, might enjoy being overpowered. It was a heady thought and it warmed him as he moved back into position.

“No.” He wanted to say yes but could not.

“I don’t believe you. Try a little harder—I do not feel you mean it when you say no…”

His fingers slipped between Faramir’s legs, wetting his opening, but not applying pressure.

“No!”

It had been a long since Faramir had been touched in this manner and it felt so good. It was usually Rumiard who was taken, or at least prepared like this. Faramir was never quite sure if this was something he was supposed to want or not—he could not tell. Rumiard seemed to think that there were things that Faramir did not do, things he received only, things he took only. Faramir felt that he should be able to do as he wished, if Rumiard wished for the same thing. To be touched like this—it felt incredible. Rumiard was careful and would not hurt him ever, so why did it seem that it was something that should be forbidden to him?

And… and… of course he’d not believe the ‘no’. Faramir didn’t mean it at all. It was playing only, and this teasing was something he’d done to Rumiard but never expected it in return. He’d enjoyed doing it and Rumiard had felt so good—he knew it. He simply wondered when Rumiard would move on.

“No?”

The other man laughed despite himself. Sweet little ‘no?’ But the shout had been enough to tell him that he needed to do more. How to make Faramir fear him, just a little? A bit of fear to make the blood race…

The fingers slipped in, just less than rough, seeking and no longer teasing.

“Tight. I think I shall play in here for a while.”

“No, no.” Faramir’s voice was still fairly clear but that would all change once Rumiard started to touch that place inside.

“You love it.” The fingers curled up and the deep voice became conversational. “Do you like it? Being in my hands? I’ll not let you leave—you’re mine now.”

He did, he did love it—and he loved Rumiard also. He liked being in his hands and did not want to leave. Faramir was content to be his for a while. He wanted to say yes, it would be so much easier than this. The fingers curl.

“No!”

Rumiard had a free hand, which he put to work teasing Faramir’s shaft. Light touches—he slid his thumb across the head.

“Now this I like.”

Faramir jumped—he’d not been expecting the hand and he moved his own reflexively. Rumiard caught it before he could bring it where he needed it to be.

“I understand—I do. But this is something you’re doing because I wish it. I am in control for a while.”

Faramir nodded slightly. He knew, but he’d forgotten for a moment. It would be fine. Or better than fine, which he was afraid of. He was strong enough to take this—it was not wrong to feel good.

“No,” Faramir said, meeting his lover’s eyes and pushing slightly against his hand.

“Mine.” Rumiard removed his fingers and rose to clean them. He returned after a moment with a bit of cording worn soft with use. He pulled Faramir up and shifted him onto his knees with his back toward Rumiard. He pulled Faramir’s hands behind his back and tied them carefully. He would have liked this himself but he was unsure of Faramir’s reaction—deep breaths only, so far.

“Bend your head back, or I’ll pull it back.”

Faramir did so, figuring that if Rumiard truly wished to pull it back himself he would have already done so.

“No,” he said clearly.

Rumiard shook his head. “You are still far too composed. Not for much longer—you shall beg me.”

This position was better, the smaller man with his head on Rumiard's shoulder—he could touch more of Faramir’s body, could lean in behind him. Best of all, Faramir would not see when he started to sweat also. He began again, both hands stroking up Faramir’s thighs, nails running lightly over sensitive skin.

“Not too much longer and you’ll be wild, shoving back against me. My fingers will enter you until you can’t talk, pet you until you can’t take it anymore. My hands will drive you mad.”

Faramir shook, confused. He’d thought that Rumiard liked it when he was calm, wanted him to be calm when he took Rumiard—how could he have power over his lover if he was himself out of control? He was out of control now. No, that was not true—what Rumiard wished was that he be out of his own control and under Rumiard’s. That was a bit frightening but… So far it had all been good and there was nothing to worry about. But… How could he beg if he could not say anything but no?

“No.” Faramir was trying hard not to bite his lip. Fingers, petting… “No.”

“You are doing so well. I knew you could do this, and there will be relief when it’s too much.” The reassurance was a tiny whisper, then Rumiard leaned back.

And just explored, running his hands over Faramir’s chest, making pleased noises and saying little things. “So sweet. You look almost edible. Maybe I’ll suck you later.” Every spot on Faramir’s body that he knew, every place that would make him respond and drive him closer to begging. Every time Faramir said ‘no’, it meant that he retained mastery over himself. Rumiard needed to change that.

“No,” Faramir gasped. “No…”

Rumiard’s arm was around his waist and the other was moving downward. He leaned back a moment but thrust forward again when the stroking began.

“No!”

A low chuckle answered him.

“You keep saying that but you keep not meaning it.”

“No.” Faramir shook his head and closed his eyes. It was so intense already. Suck him later? Yes. Now? Yes! Being touched everywhere and it was so good that Faramir was nearly lost. His neck, throat, legs… “No, no, nooooo.”

Rumiard was very pleased. It took a great effort to keep his voice casual, playful. He truly wanted to stop it, untie his lover and let things be even between them but even more he wished to show Faramir how good it had felt when Faramir had dominated him those times.

“Are you ready to give up yet?”

Faramir bucked wildly into the hand stroking him—too gently. It felt good but was not enough to end it. He wanted to, he was trying but there was not enough pressure.

“No.” Please, please, I can’t say anything else… “No.”

Faramir was moving forward and back, pushing into the hands and against the body behind him, wanting. He was so close to where he needed to be that soon he’d forget that he needed to say ‘no…’

Rumiard pushed him down, spread him out with his hands tied and cleaned him quickly, teased him, using his tongue between Faramir’s thighs until he was panting and writhing. It would not be long.

Incoherent noises did not count as words, and ‘oooh’ was close to ‘no’ anyway. Said he’d have mercy when it was too much! Faramir could not get away and could not finish like this. Rumiard had to stop—he couldn’t think.

“No, no,” moaning constantly, as quietly as he could manage. “No, Rumiard please!”

Faramir froze and Rumiard’s ministrations ceased—he was not supposed to say that. What was going to happen now?

“Yes.” Rumiard turned him and took him suddenly deep, sucking hard. When it is too much there will be relief—when you ask, I give.

Faramir’s body bowed and his head went back, mouth open. Had his throat not constricted he’d have been screaming. As it was he was almost completely silent as he came hard and fast, losing breath as the hot mouth worked on him. It lasted a long time and there were tears at the corner of Faramir’s eyes when it was over.

“Rumiard…” he said, and it seemed so quiet compared with the harshness of his breathing.

Rumiard undid Faramir’s hands, helping him move his arms again. It kept his own casual air from falling apart. His pulse throbbed and he was panting in clothing entirely too hot. He stripped quickly now that there was no role to play. And… now that his part was over he wanted to kiss Faramir but had to wait as they both were having trouble breathing. One closed-mouth kiss on the cheek, and he stroked Faramir’s face instead.

“You look about to come undone yourself,” Faramir said. “I’ll be able to breathe again in a moment, what should I do then?”

“Then you can do whatever you like,” Rumiard responded with another soft kiss. At this point, it would not take long.

Faramir closed his eyes and breathed deeply, wondering if he dared…

Yes.

He sat up and breathed again, centering himself. He looked down the powerful body next to him and touched gently, one finger tracing slowly downward until it reached the hard length and ran lightly up and down, avoiding the tip.

“Rumiard,” he called softly, pulling the finger back and sucking the end of it.

“Yes?” He replied as well as he could but it was strangled. It wasn’t… Faramir didn’t… But he seemed to be enjoying doing this.

“Tell me now if you truly do not like it,” Faramir said. “If that is the case, then I will not do anything you don’t like or want.”

He stopped and smiled.

“But if it’s merely something you think that I don’t do then I say now, not as lord of anything but as myself, your lover, that I do as I wish—if you wish the same thing. Do you want it?” He moved closer, allowing their breath to mix.

Rumiard shut his eyes because everything seemed suddenly overbright.

“You are Faramir and you do as you wish,” he said so quietly. Faramir never had done it, tried once and Rumiard stopped him, unable to consider taking such a thing from a man like Faramir. He never thought that Faramir would enjoy it as he did, but the man’s face—not hesitant at all, not trying to return a favour. Oh, he wanted it truly.

“Please."

“Do you not wish to see?” Faramir moved lower, breathing deliberately hard on the broad chest, stomach, lower, until he kissed the tops of Rumiard’s legs and slightly inward; simple, gentle kisses.

“I do, but it’s difficult to watch you do this.” He opened his eyes and shivered.

“You can do it.” Faramir smiled. “I don’t want to be distracted from what I’m doing worrying about you. It will be all right.”

Rumiard nodded and Faramir moved up and over, slowly following the path his finger had taken with the tip of his tongue, ending with lazy strokes up and down Rumiard’s shaft. They were light at first, then a bit harder, with a gentle scraping of teeth that made Rumiard hiss. He had to pull away a moment to find a better position—this was new. He found that Rumiard’s position of lying between the legs was truly best—he could touch freely the tops of the thighs, heavy sac and behind it. He glanced upward quickly—was Rumiard watching?

He was, watching and trying to form words and succeeding only in making a small choking noise. It wasn’t the touching or even the licking—it was the smile. And… he grit his teeth against the feeling of thumb teasing drops of seed from him. No, Faramir didn’t do this, but his mouth was there, so close, licking and kissing. And he was enjoying it!

“Faramir, you must stop. I’m going to…” He shook his head quickly, fists tangled in the sheets. He couldn’t look or it would finish him.

“Please, Rumiard. Open your eyes and see—I’m going to watch. You’ll peak and I’m here.” He took wrapped his hand around the base of the hard shaft and stroked up, then licked at the ridge, alternating. Stroke, lick, stroke, lick. “I am so close to you here.”

Faramir closed his eyes a moment, catching his breath, daring…

“I am so close that I could taste you if I wished.”

“No!” Yes.

Did not want to think about it, could not help his hips arching up into Faramir’s hand, into his (NO!) tongue. He tried to speak, tried to give a warning but could not—it was too late. And it was too late because he’d already seen it, seen Faramir flick his tongue over the head once, capturing just one taste. Rumiard shuddered and fell limp.

“You…”

“I can do as I wish, and I love you,” Faramir said. “You’ve done it for me and I’ve wondered for a long time what it would be like to give you the same pleasure. It wasn’t exactly the same but close, and it did please you, I know it.”

A large hand slowly unwound itself and moved to touch a beloved face.

“It did. I love you, too.”

Faramir smiled and sat up. He did not wish to move but he had to. He could clean up a little bit and then lie down. This wasn’t exactly drinking too much and staying at an inn, but he wasn’t expected back and he so rarely had the opportunity to stay with his lover. He so much wanted to stay. It was bliss to lie here, listening to Rumiard’s breathing as it slowed, seeing the face turn for a kiss or two before falling into slumber.

So rare, to be able to hold him like this. Faramir fell asleep next to his powerful lover, a gentle smile on his face.

Rumiard appeared to be sleeping but he was not. His mind reeled even though his body was exhausted, spent. What he’d done to Faramir, what Faramir had done to him… No, he did not want to think of it.

He wanted it for himself, to have Faramir push and order and take him, use him even. But tonight it had been the other way around and… Oh, he wanted that again. He had to fight it, not give in. Such violence was how he was created and Rumiard knew it always, fought it always. Become a soldier to fight in a useful way.

But now… Rumiard held his eyes tightly closed. Faramir’s cries… No. No.

Yes.

End

Fic. Out of Memory and Time

Sun, 02 Mar 2008 02:39:48 GMT

Title:  OUT OF MEMORY AND TIME

Author: Shireling

Feedback: (shirelinghpc@hotmail.com)

Rating: ( PG 13 for recounting of violence)

Genre: (Drama/Angst)

Disclaimer: I can only claim my original characters, the rest belong to the genius of JRRT.

Summary: Following the first winter of the new King’s reign, events unfold that will have  
devastating consequences for Gondor and for the King’s closest companions.

A/N: This story has been a long time in the making. I hope the shifts in timeline and perspective
 will become obvious as the story progresses. This story is dedicated to my writing friends, especially Cathleen,
, who have been endlessly supportive over the last year when I doubted I would ever reharness a very reluctant muse.



http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3996942/1/Out_of_Memory_and_Time

Beta needed

Thu, 28 Feb 2008 23:00:36 GMT

My timing seems to be good. I have a story for the 50_darkfics challenge. Actually, I've had this story finished but not beta read for more than a year now, don't ask me why. It has 2322 words and is actually the second in a story arc (Faramir with established lover), which does not need to be read for this story to make sense. It only helps a bit. (I'll provide the other story if beta reader wishes.) Graphic adult content (smut). Certainly no rush considering how long I've had the thing.

I think that's all. Reply here or to my e-mail (on my info page) with a beta needed in the subject line--I delete unknown e-mails unread. Takers? Bueller?

Celebrating 4 years of the Faramir Fiction Archive

Thu, 28 Feb 2008 21:13:46 GMT

Hello all,

Today, February 28, it's exactly four years ago that the Faramir Fiction Archive was born. On this day four years ago, a first version was put together; the site was unveiled to the public 5 days later, on March 4, 2004.

To celebrate these four years of Faramir goodness, we'd like to ask all authors and artists who have contributed in the past, as well as those who may have thought of entering there work, but never quite got around to it, to rummage round their harddrives and see if they can find anything –story, art or challenge, of any length– that could be in the archive, but isn't… and send it in during the next couple of days. Needn't be new, just new to the archive; but of course if you have something lying around that's almost finished, this would be a great time to finish up and send it in!
That way we could have a 5-day posting fest, much like we had four years ago, when we were setting up this archive. Let's call it an 'archive drive' ;)

If you're not an author or artist, but just visit the archive to read and look at pretty pictures, you can still contribute: your comments are an important building block of this archive! So try to think back of the stories and pictures you've enjoyed most over the years, look them up again and –if you haven't already– add your comments.
And if the story you'd most like to see is not yet in the archive, but rather in your head, do consider entering a challenge.

So if you have any previously un-archived Faramir stories and artwork (we accept all ratings, as long as Faramir plays a major part), or a new challenge, please send it to admin@faramirfiction.com – we hope you will!

Many thanks to everybody who contributed over the past year - and here's to *four more years*!

Yours as ever,

Minx & Iris

Faramir FanFiction Archive,
http://www.faramirfiction.com

Fic: A Different Need 1/1

Sat, 23 Feb 2008 06:41:19 GMT

Title: A Different Need
Pairing: Faramir/OMC, A/B, unrequited F/A
Rating: PG15
Summary: Faramir is only too glad to have a companion for the night
Warning: A/U, Boromir!lives
A/N: For the “Different” prompt on the 50_darkfics community.
This is part of a larger arc that exists only in my head as yet. Boromir is alive and he and Aragorn are very much in love. Faramir - well... as ever is unloved:))

For margot_iris, for being such a wonderful sounding board for all these years now, and always enouraging me to pull these out of my head and for starting up faramirfiction.com :) And for reading this!:)

Edit: I'm really sorry about the lock earlier. Fic posted in now!

Faramir lets himself be pushed back against the pillows. They are satin and white, like the silken sheets spread over the soft bedding. He feels himself sink in, revelling in their feel against his naked skin, unused to the softness and comfort. His own bedding is hard and harsh, a relic from his days as the less-favoured son and no one has thought to change it. He closes his eyes to drive away the unbidden thoughts.

“Open you eyes,” the voice is firm and insistent.

He obeys.

His companion for the night stands in front of the mirror now, removing the rest of his clothes. The younger prince of Khand is an extremely handsome man, and well aware of it, and hence used to getting his way, he has been told. Faramir is used to giving others their way, so he was only too glad to accept the other man’s obvious overtures at dinner a fortnight ago.

They have lain together often since then, the prince telling Faramir what to do, and Faramir doing as he is asked. The prince asks less from him than others have in the past. At Faramir’s request, they keep their activities covert. He says it is because Gondorian society is too prude to accept such a relationship openly. If the prince thinks he has other reasons, he does not say so.

He stares at the other man as he reveals the rest of his body, removing the multiple layers of rich clothing. He must be used to having pages help him with this, but they have met immediately after dinner this night. The prince had pulled him away as he had been returning to his chambers, and he had been happy to comply. Dinner gatherings such as these left him strained these days, as his eyes and ears took in far more than others saw or heard. The prince was already hard and Faramir had dropped to his knees, undone the bindings of his pants and begun to pleasure him with his mouth. He has been told he does that well, and the prince clearly appreciates it for Faramir’s shoulders now ache from the bruises he has left there, digging his fingers in. Faramir’s face, neck and chest are still streaked with the prince’s fluids.

As ever, the prince sought more. It takes little time for Faramir to remove his own tunic and pants, before he is pushed towards the bed.

The prince is tall, his slender build belying the strength in his muscles. Faramir is well aware of his strength though; after their first night together he stared in fascination at the purple and blue bruises on his hands and hips and thighs, remembering another hand resting on his bare skin, softer, gentler and tender, seeking to heal him.

The prince turns now, his long hair unbound, falling to his shoulders in soft waves. Years of riding in the open plains and hills of his lands have given his skin an even golden sheen. And yet, the skin is smooth and unlined, as soft as the sheets Faramir lies on. Faramir stares at the long, sinewy limbs, and the dark hair, and the hard, deep brown eyes, and tries not to think of gentle, grey eyes on a sun bronzed face, wearied from days of travel and battle, dark hair flying in loose strands, and travel stained ranger’s clothes. He is hard now, whether from his forbidden thoughts or from the sight of his companion, naked and swollen with need, he is unable to tell.

“Look at me,” the prince sounds annoyed now, so Faramir hurriedly pulls his thoughts away. He would rather lie on his stomach but his companion prefers him this way.

The prince climbs into the bed, straddling him, his engorged length bumping against Faramir’s hips, long fingers reaching between his legs, spreading him even as he instinctively spreads his legs further. They are dry and hurtful but he likes it that way. The pain helps him forget other things he could be thinking of. The fingers push into him briefly, cursorily stretching, before pulling out. He moans at that involuntarily, seeking the touch and more.

The prince says something when he moans, but he ignores the words. Once such words would have shamed him, now he is used to them. Besides, he thinks they are true.

Strong hands hold his wrists down above his head, as the prince pushes his length into him. He bucks up, rising to meet him, ignoring the pain. The prince’s thrusts are rapid, and painful, yet Faramir begs for more, clenching himself around the thickness, pulling it into himself. The prince responds with harder, faster thrusts, his grunts loud against Faramir ears. The sweat dripping off his heaving body feels cool against Faramir’s fevered body as the other man climaxes inside him.

His own body is screaming at him now, his groin tight and aching as the warm liquid fills him inside. The prince pulls out of him and he cries out in frustration and pain. His wrists are released and he grabs himself, numb fingers fumbling until he gets his own release.

The prince has risen off the bed and is pulling on his night robe now.

Faramir lies back against the soft clothes, his body tired, sore and sated. And yet, as his mind wanders, thinking again of straggling hair, sun-bronzed skin, he finds himself wishing for more.

“Again?” he asks hoarsely, and he knows he is begging, again.

“No,” the voice is firm.

“Tomorrow in the morning, then?” Faramir suggests, thinking rapidly, “In the gardens, at dawn, there is a pool and vines and …”

“No, you may leave now,” the voice is hard and dismissive now.

He stares at the prince in confusion. The other man has in the past only been too glad to take him again, pinning him down, taking him harder and rougher, revelling in his pain, echoing his involuntary cries with gloating sounds and laughter. And then taken him again.

“I leave tomorrow,” the prince cuts in.

Faramir stares at him, unsure of what he hears.

“You -,”

“I leave,” the prince tells him, “My work here is done. I see you have not been told.”

He has not, but he rarely was consulted on matters of such import earlier, and nothing has changed for him now.

“I was not told,” He says hoarsely, “You would know that. I – I – tomorrow - ? But -,”

“You may leave now,” the prince repeats.

“I will miss you,” Faramir states woodenly as he rises, pushing away the sheets, wet and stained from their coupling. His robe lies somewhere on the floor.

The prince bursts out laughing. Faramir reddens, and instinctively pulls the sheets closer to him, suddenly aware of his own naked body, thin, weak and riddled with scars, pale from being closeted inside for long hours doing nothing but dealing with the steward’s paperwork.

“Do you really think I do not understand what goes through that filthy little head of yours?” the prince demands. He rakes his eyes over Faramir’s defeated posture dismissively, his look radiating scorn and derisiveness.

“Do you think I did not see the looks that you constantly give your king, ever lustful and pleading, or the way you scramble around to fulfil his every desire? Do you think I do not see the jealousy in your eyes when you see him talk to your brother, or the desperation when he ignores you and seeks out your brother always? Do you think I do not know that two nights ago when you threw yourself on me, needy as a whore, and begged me to take you over and over again, your king and your brother had been indulging in one of their little fantasies in the gardens below your window?”

Faramir sinks back into the bed, as though kicked in the stomach, as his deepest secrets come out through another’s lips. He is desperately in love with his king, and increasingly jealous of his brother, and now this stranger to their court has realised it.

“Don’t worry,” the prince snorts, “They do not know you know. Do you not see they are far too wrapped in each other to even notice you?”

He knows that, but it hurts to hear it nevertheless. In the days after the war, he had dreamt of being loved by the king, of having his brother’s support and helping the two men he cared the most for, rule their kingdom. Instead, he is relegated to doing the paperwork that bores Boromir, and of being the unwanted spare again. He realised that the day he came across them accidentally, months ago, in Boromir’s rooms, naked, entwined around each other, the king screaming exultantly as his brother thrust into him. Neither noticed him shrinking away behind the door, distraught.

“I fear, my dear lad, you are destined to whore yourself out to others to assuage your needs.”

The prince’s next movement is so swift, Faramir never realises it until the heavy bag hits him on his chest. It is hard and hurtful, and the coins that scatter out of it are cold against his still warm skin. He stares dumfounded at the shiny pieces of metal.

And then reddens deeper. He feels anger rise in him, and looks up at the prince, eyes flashing.

“You would insult me greatly if you were to return that,” the prince says pleasantly, “I would not like to think you, a mere servant to the Steward in this realm, were using me, a prince, to answer to your baser desires. In my eyes, you rendered me some very useful services during my stay here, and you did it quite well, I must say.”

The prince turns away from him, returning to braiding his hair in front of the mirror.

“I think the amount is adequate,” he adds, “It is what I usually give to the prostitutes who cater to my needs where I travel.”

Faramir says nothing. He rises from the bed, and pulls on his clothes, ignoring the prince’s release trickling down his legs, cold and sticky, and walks out of the room, clutching the bag.

When he reaches his room, he hears laughter outside, low-voiced, yet discernible. He walks over to the window. He stares at the bag full of coins in his hand, the weight heavy, and raising his hand, throws it out of the window. It arcs over the gardens, descending beyond the walls, somewhere into the city far below. He pulls the window close hard; releasing all the anger he could not let out earlier.

He reaches for the sleeping herbs that he constantly keeps near now, and yet when he throws himself onto his bed, hard and cold with its rough sheets, his sleep is filled with sounds of laughter and tinkling coins and visions of unkempt hair and a grey travel stained cloak, and his own naked body aching for relief.

***