Orc in Ithilien

The Orc stomped off to bed shortly after his conversation with the Hobbit ended. He lay on the ground among the pine-needles with his cloak – Faramir’s cloak – drawn up round his ears. Sleep came to him quickly and with it inevitably, a dream of his beloved Prince. It was a fairly faithful replaying of a scene that had taken place between them the day after their arrival at Faramir’s home in Ithilien. For various reasons this had made quite an impression on Shagrat, because strictly speaking it wasn’t just sex with Faramir – enjoyable as that was for him – that was so affecting to the Uruk. Aside from one or two past lapses, that the love-struck Orc was only too willing to forget about, Faramir was the only person who had ever treated him decently, apparently to the extent of regarding him as an equal, and even Shagrat didn’t think he was deserving of that.

So, more to get Shagrat out of the house and from under the feet of the outraged household staff – many of whom were departing in droves - than anything else, Faramir had taken him on a tour of the palace grounds, citing a need to get fresh air into the lungs of the Orc as the main reason for their afternoon constitutional. Having difficulty keeping up with even the gentle pace set by Goldilocks, Shagrat searched for a convincing excuse for them to stop, but could only come up with the usual one. When they were well out of sight of the great house in a mossy hollow by the river, he’d pushed Goldilocks back against a massive, thick-boled tree -

(‘Grey poplar’ said a voice in Shagrat’s head - quite correctly – though he ignored it)

- and knelt down, greatly relieved to be getting the weight off his injured leg. Faramir asked him what he thought he was doing.

“Come off it,” said Shagrat, “if you weren’t planning to have your wicked way with me when you dragged us all the way out here, well – then I don’t know what.” Busying himself with the front of the Prince’s breeches, he growled low in his throat as he made contact with Faramir’s blood-engorged member, and gave the head of it one or two preliminary licks.

“Told you,” he said somewhat indistinctly a moment later, on account of his mouth being partially full of – well, Goldilocks. The Prince groaned as the Orc swallowed him down into his throat, and let himself enjoy Shagrat’s attentions briefly. There was no doubt about it; he was unfailingly enthusiastic when he did this.

“Wait,” Faramir said with impressive resolve after a few seconds, pushing the Orc carefully away, “wait. You’re always putting me first - serving yourself last, I mean. I won’t have you feeling you keep having to doing that.” Then he suggested that perhaps Shagrat could show him what he’d do for himself instead.

Feeling shocked, Shagrat rocked back on his haunches and stared at the Prince. “You don’t want to watch me?” he said. “Not when –“ he hesitated, scandalised, and lowered his voice. “Not while I’m playing with myself. Pulling on my – my privates?”

Faramir nodded, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. He found that he was strangely excited by the thought of the Uruk, aroused and pleasuring himself, down on his knees. “Yes,” he said quickly. “I’d very much like to see that, I think.”

Shagrat wasn’t fussy. He’d learned to take his pleasure where he could and was used to catering for his own needs. It wasn’t something he indulged in particulary often, but when he did a little judicious rubbing against whatever convenient surface presented itself was usually more than enough to bring him release. The Orc was in the habit of treating himself with quite needless austerity in this respect, as he had done for years, and he seriously doubted that the sight of his fumbling efforts would be anything close to what Faramir was expecting from him. That, combined with the fact that he would probably end up bringing himself off in about ten seconds flat meant that his coming demonstration promised to be the very definition of an anti-climax.

So, he was muttering an excuse when the look on Goldilocks’ face stopped him short. Seeing that his companion was for some reason obviously keen on this made the Orc reconsider and opening his leggings, he took his erection in his hand. Not being used to company at such times he simply was embarrassed, and if when he drew his member out he wasn’t the hardest he had ever been, at least Goldilocks didn’t seem to notice. Eyeing him apprehensively, the Orc gave his cock a few self-conscious pulls. His recent experiences had made him extremely wary of humans and his position now was so vulnerable and exposed that in spite of himself, he couldn’t help but expect some sort of trick.

Nothing terrible happened however so he stroked himself some more, moving his fingers over his shaft and pulling gently. This was rewarded by a low appreciative groan from Goldilocks, who dropped down to sit close beside him. Shagrat was hoping for a little assistance from the Prince, but he didn’t get it. Faramir just kept watching his manipulations so intently that the discomfited Orc, convinced he could not possibly like what he was seeing shifted uncomfortably, wondering how he could get away.

Goldilocks surprised him again though. From being beside him on his knees, Shagrat found himself deftly manoeuvred into position beside Faramir on his back.

“I’d appreciate it Shagrat,” Faramir breathed into his ear, “if you would keep on ‘playing with yourself,’ as you just - so very eloquently - put it.”

The Uruk could hear the amusement in his voice and certain he was being made a fool of was drawing breath to swear resentfully at him, but suddenly, whatever protests he had been formulating died an immediate death on his lips. The Prince had begun kissing his ear, playing his mouth over the pointed tip of it, and the effect this was having on Shagrat was startling. He did know about erogenous zones of course, but in a rather abstract sense, having never had much attention paid to any of his own. Goldilocks had found one of these long-neglected areas though, and was taking his time about exploring it thoroughly.

“Carry on,” Faramir murmured encouragingly. “As you were, Captain. Best be getting back to work on -” he broke off, definitely laughing now but trying to hide it and spluttered out – “on - your privates!” He pressed his face against the Orc’s neck and his shoulders shook with silent mirth while he tried to contain himself.

As a result of all this Shagrat was no longer fully in control of faculties, but he tried to do as he was told, and at long last Goldilocks decided to help him. He moved closer and rubbed the length of his cock against Shagrat’s, before gripping both organs tightly, over and around his companion’s hold on himself. His hands were very warm, and the increased friction that Faramir was generating as he rubbed their shared bundle of cocks and hands together quickly took effect. It was an odd and intense feeling, to be pleasuring oneself and at the same time to be attending so intimately to someone else and in very little time the stimulation proved too much for Faramir.

“Shagrat!” he gasped against the Orc’s throat, while to his amazement his companion shuddered out a silent breath onto his neck, as he too found his release.

Faramir, dazed and confused by the strength of the connection he’d felt – was still feeling, in fact - towards the Uruk, stayed where he was, lying half on top of him.

“That was different,” Shagrat said quietly after a time, speaking into Faramir’s hair. “I’ve never done anything like that before. Not coming off that way with someone. Together, I mean.”

Faramir could only agree with him, but was still too shaken to reply, and unfortunately Shagrat couldn’t see the expression on his face because he began back-pedalling at once.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said quickly. “I was just saying it was – well, it was nice, that’s all. I expect – I bet it’s like that for your lot every time, isn’t it?”

“No,” Faramir told him earnestly, picking himself up and propping his weight on his elbows, “it isn’t.” He wondered if was too soon to make his declaration to Shagrat, decided it probably was, and then went ahead and told the Uruk how he felt about him anyway.

Someone who didn’t know the Orc as well as Faramir did might well have been disappointed by Shagrat’s total apparent lack of reaction, but actually the signs were all there for anybody who knew where to look. The Uruk’s face shut down completely at first while he darted a quick, searching look at Faramir, obviously not willing to believe his ears. The Prince could see from the fresh hunch in his shoulders and the way he was blinking so rapidly as he wrenched himself away immediately after that he had been profoundly affected by the news.

Eventually he replied, but it was not to whisper sweet nothings back into his companion’s ear.

“I warned you about this,” Shagrat grumbled, clearing his throat. The Orc was snarking about the flannel shirt he was wearing, one chosen especially for him by the Prince because of the warmth and heavy softness of its material. True to form, he had channelled his strong emotions, and was expressing them in a more familiar vein - by finding a surrogate he could snipe about. Their combined orgasms had generated a copious quantity of sexual fluids, and while Faramir’s clothing had absorbed a share, Shagrat’s had undeniably borne the brunt of it.

“With leather, if someone’s spunked all over you you can just swipe it off,” Shagrat continued, “or wait till it dries then flick the crust away. Look how this has all soaked in now. I’m never going to be able get all of it out.”

This graphically descriptive insight into Orcish standards of good housekeeping would have been unwelcome at the best of times, but coming as it did at such an inopportune, emotionally charged moment – well, that was just typical for Shagrat, and it stuck Faramir as being absolutely priceless. All at once the tension and anxiety he’d felt, worrying that he’d said the wrong thing drained out of him and he threw his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed.

Shagrat watched him, grinning uncertainly. He didn’t mind, because Goldilocks was happy, and that was more than enough for him. The Prince in his merriment had smiled confidingly – joyfully - into Shagrat’s face, and when he’d done that the deep-etched lines of pain and sorrow and tension that were permanently fixed around his eyes and mouth had simply fallen away. He’d seemed years younger, the golden afternoon sunlight slanting down through the green branches above them having gilded out the premature strands greying his hair, and he’d looked for a moment very much as he had done during the first of his encounters with Shagrat. And just as he had then, the Orc had loved him, plain and simple. It was never something he’d been able to cater for, or control.

*****************

A long way off in time and space from that moment, Shagrat smiled to himself in his sleep, contented for a while to be dreaming of his Goldilocks, though he would be able to remember little if any of it, the following morning.

*****************

It might have been a coincidence, but many miles away in Ithilien, at around that exact same time, Faramir was enjoying a very similar dream. He was occupying Shagrat’s quarters, a move of rank sentimentality that had earned him further glares of disgust from his wife, and he came awake with a gasp, aroused and alone in the bed. The quarter moon was shining straight into his eyes, and a sharp, fresh breeze, clean and cold and scented with frost and pine-needles draughted into the stale air of the bed-chamber.

The fresh air helped to clear his befuddled head a little, and moving unsteadily, he got out of bed and stood up. It was the first time that Faramir could remember being on his own two feet in a long while. He remembered distractedly being told that he was ill, but couldn’t recall exactly what was supposed to be wrong with him, and in his confused state, was finding timescales very difficult to judge: it seemed like forever, and yet no time at all that he had been confined to his sick-bed. Crossing over to the casement he saw that the board fixed against the pane that Shagrat had broken on his way out had fallen away, and he hung his head through the open window, breathing deeply. Perhaps the unfortunate Prince’s system was adjusting to the regular doses that were still being administered to him, or maybe those poisons were losing their potency over time. Possibly the freezing air that was working its way in and out of his lungs might even have been helping him, but for whatever reason as he leaned there breathing the night air, some of the dizziness and disorientation that had swamped him for so long slowly began to subside. The heavy, stultifying mists that were typical for this part of Ithilien in autumn had also lifted, and Faramir saw to his surprise that outside the trees in the moonlight were almost all bare of leaves, and there was a rare winter frost white and glittering over the grass. He shook his head bemusedly; when Shagrat had left him it had only just been the end of summer, surely? How much time had passed since then really?

There came to Faramir as he stood at the window an overwhelming sense of connection with the Uruk, probably a remnant from his dream; a feeling that though they were separated for the moment, he and Shagrat were in some way still very close.

“Shagrat?” he said into the darkness. The link he’d felt, or imagined between them had been so strong that he wouldn’t have been at all surprised to have heard a reply, but he waited, and none came. He just had the vaguest, fleeting impression of stars burning brightly, as they did only at altitude, and of the great distance that stood between him and his Orc. Then it was gone and there only was a smell of bare rock and scree-slopes, carried down into Ithilien by the cold breeze gusting from the mountains.

*****************

“He’s somewhere high up, I’m sure of it,” Faramir insisted. “I’d wager anything he’s in the mountains – he been heading towards high ground before, always going south. I can’t believe this is the fist time I’ve thought of it.”

Eowyn and her advisor Hrodgar exchanged significant looks behind the Prince’s back. Quite unexpectedly, Faramir had joined them at breakfast that morning, looking gaunt and thoroughly dishevelled but walking upright - much to Hrodgar’s consternation. His intention had been to put Eowyn’s husband out of action for much longer than this.

Seeing him away from his sick-bed for the first time in weeks, Eowyn had been badly shaken by her spouse’s wasted appearance. Even so, equating Faramir’s rise from his sick bed with a recovery from the sordid brain-fever that had afflicted him, Eowyn had initially been delighted to receive him. But then he had ruined everything, by starting to harp on again about his runaway Orc. Would he never learn to leave that contentious subject well alone?

“Will you not sit with us a moment?” Eowyn asked, nervously watching Faramir pace back and forth, the length of the breakfast-table. He had been speaking over-agitatedly, and was none too steady on his feet.

“Yes, do take a seat before you fall down,” was Hrodgar’s snide aside.

“But you’re still willing to help me find Shagrat?” Faramir said anxiously, ignoring him. “You said you would, before.”

Eowyn stared helplessly at her advisor, completely at a loss. Hrodgar inclined his head slightly. “A relapse,” he mouthed very obviously, out of Faramir’s line of sight.

“Yes, I will, as we – agreed,” Eowyn said, hesitating only a very little. “But first my husband, I must remind you that of late you – why, you have not been yourself. And now certainly, you are trying to do too much. It is too soon, Faramir! You have to remember to take your rest!” She took his arm, intending to guide him back to his sick-room.

“I’ve had more than enough of that!” Faramir shook her off, saying that they had to make preparations to ride out at once. “I’ve dallied here for too long already!”

Faramir had been irredeemably contaminated by his associations with the Uruk and Eowyn loosed her hold of him immediately. The Prince left them then, saying he planned to make his preparations for departure, but he was better able to stagger than he was to walk away from the breakfast room.

After he had gone Eowyn turned to Hrodgar. “And what is your counsel now?” she asked.

The old man quickly considered the alternatives. Forcibly confining Faramir to his quarters would have been his preference, but somehow he couldn’t see Eowyn ever concurring to that. “Really, it makes little difference whether we are here or not,” he said eventually. “Let us all travel south, then. We can continue our true campaign there equally as well as here. And as regards your husband – well, perhaps the exercise will be beneficial to him.”

If Hrodgar’s plans proceeded as he meant them to, then assuredly, it would not.

TBC

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Thank you once again for everyone who's so kindly commented on the story far, more specifically:

nessSachiel – I’m really glad you're liking it...thank you for very much for reviewing. You might be interested to know that you’re partly responsible for the length of time between the current instalment and the last one, because like you I quite like F/S (and v.v.) myself. I had written most of the next chapter (soon to be posted) but after I read your review thought, well, that's an excuse for adding an extra one in between so why not...

Andrea – like any sensible person I have quite a high regard for Justin from ‘The Darkness’ (it was that Xmas song from a couple of years ago that did it for me), so while I wasn’t already familiar with the lyrics of ‘Growing on Me’ I looked ‘em up because of what you’d said and I definitely see what you mean. Thanks very much for that.

Mary – why, thank you, I’m glad the numerous flashbacks are making sense, I was quite worried about that when I wrote it. I didn’t want to do a hatchet-job on Eowyn, since she’s one of my favourite um, canon, characters, so I’m glad that might be coming across half-way all-right.

AntiDolorifico – your comments before have been so very, very, welcome and I’m aware I’ve been awfully lazy in failing to update for so long. As I mentioned in nessSachiel’s response, I hadn’t planned to write the current chapter, which is some of the mitigation for my slowness – I do know what a pain it is when fanfictions I’ve been following myself go on, and on, and on for so long with no sign of an end in sight.

Tazendra – goodness, I’m so pleased you like all this stuff, and the Muzluk stories too! (I was quite pleased myself at first with (most of) the one where Muzluk dies, but not many other people seemed to appreciate that sort of thing.) Anyway, regarding this one, I hope I haven’t messed anything up about the, um, vulgarity quotient - considering what’s here. And as for the hobbit, well, he's there for a reason because without him Shagrat in all probability would've sat around moping for the entire story...I needed something to take him out of himself.