Stay

Title: Stay 1/1
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Faramir
Rating: NC17
Summary: Frodo offers more than friendship to Faramir one night in Minas Tirith.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.

For Lora, who needed a dose of hobbit/man lovin’. Please forgive any errors. This isn’t perfect, hasn’t gone through much revision…but this is rather informal.


A quiet knock startled Faramir, and he looked at his chamber door, his mouth turning down in annoyance. Who could be disturbing him so late? He had already shed himself of most of his clothing, and at the moment, wore only leggings and a linen shirt half unbuttoned. He had been lounging on his bed in rare relaxation, reading a book, almost ready to blow out the candle and go to sleep.

“Yes?” he called sharply. “Who knocks?”

“It’s Frodo,” the soft tenor voice said, and Faramir immediately lost all annoyance as a joyful grin broke over his face.

“Come in!” Faramir straightened his bed, smoothing the covers. Not that he held hope that Frodo would see his bed this night.

Frodo slipped in, closing the door behind him. Faramir was always amazed how such big, seemingly cumbersome feet could be so silent and graceful. Always Frodo carried the scent of sweet pipeweed and lavender.

“I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” Frodo said. His eyes matched the intricate swirls of sapphire blue in his formal vest. He had probably come straight from one of the many celebration gatherings. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, no…of course not,” Faramir said, blushing and gesturing to his settee in front of the fireplace. “Come, sit down. Would lik like some tea?”

“Please. That would be lovely.” Faramir could barely tear his gaze from Frodo’s expressive eyes, thinking that if Frodo were a siren on a perilous rock, sailors wouldn’t have a chance, though they’d have a moment of breathless joy before dashing themselves against his rock. Faramir’s groin tightened and warmed, and he looked down, dismayed that he was wearing such tight leggings.

While the beautiful hobbit had captured Faramir’s heart on a platonic level in Ithilien -- admiration for his bravery, pity for all he had gone through and what he would surely yet endure, and a strong intellectual connection with him – he had felt none of the tingling stirrings that he felt now. He took a breath as he put the kettle on the fire, trying to calm his feelings before Frodo saw his enlarged groin.

He remembered the exact moment he had heard that Frodo had survived the quest but was gravely injured. He himself had been still recovering in the House of Healing when the battered, burned, unconscious linglings were brought in for care. Faramir had been moved to a paralyzing grief, spending long hours sitting beside Frodo, weeping that such a gentle creature had suffered so. His heart had nearly broken at the sight of the damage -- the whip scars, the ugly knot on the back of his neck, the bloody bandage that covered his missing finger, the burn scars on his otherwise lessless skin. Not only was Frodo brave and enduring beyond even Faramir’s initial judgment, but he was deceptively hardy to have survived what he did.

Faramir had then realized that his love for the hobbit ran far deeper than friendship.

Now Frodo sat on the settee, his furry feet curled under his legs, his cheeks rosy with health. Faramir brought him a mug of tea.

“To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?” Faramir asked, sitting beside him, resting his arm strategically over his groin.

“I…” Frodo looked down at his steaming mug, flushing. Faramir yearned to reach over and move a wayward dark curl from Frodo’s eye. He restrained his hand. If he touched Frodo, he would become undone. He swallowed, trying to evoke the fair face of Eowyn with whom he was betrothed. She seemed distant and unimportant right now.

“Yes?”

“I grew weary of the celebration. I missed you there.”

“Oh,” Faramir said with a smile. “Is that all?”

“Yes.” Frodo scooted closer to Faramir, looking up at the man, and Faramir’s breath caught in his throat. Frodo’s eyes could not be of this world; they were a gift from the Valar, a reward for his long labor during the war. “I wanted to see you.”

“Oh,” Faramir breathed. His body buzzed, and the warmth in his groin grew. He shifted his legs, hoping Frodo would not --

The hobbit dropped his eyes and gasped when he saw the bulge. Faramir cringed, his cheeks turning hot. He could not bring himself to meet those jeweled eyes which he now knew would be dark with disgust and judgment.

A small hand grasped his chin, sending a pleasant jolt through his body, forcing him to look. Frodo’s eyes were wide and full of ardor. “You feel for me, too,” he said.

“Feel…you feel…what do you feel?” Faramir’s tongue felt clumsy, barely able to form words.

Frodo pulled his hand from Faramir’s chin and scooted on his knees so close to Faramir that the man could easily have trapped with a single strong arm around the small waist. He restrained himself, breathing in Frodo’s sweet scent, waiting to see what would happen.

Frodo began to unbutton Faramir’s shirt with nimble hobbit fingers.

“What…” Faramir’s voice was husky and faraway. “What are you doing?”

Frodo allowed one small hand to quickly brush over Faramir’s silky golden chest hair before continuing to unbutton. He pushed Faramir’s shirt from his shoulders. Faramir wriggled out of it and let it fall to the floor. He grasped Frodo’s cheeks and pulled the hobbit to him, gazing at Frodo’s moist, full lips, parted in desire, only a dizzy moment before plunging into them, crushing them with his own mouth. Frodo’s mouth opened to him, and he dipped his tongue into the hobbit’s sweetly hot mouth, barely aware of the small hands that stroked Faramir’s sides.

Frodo pulled back, gasping, his cheeks rosier than Faramir had ever seen them. “Do you want…do you want me?”

“Do you need to ask?” Faramir said, his voice cracking. His member was so stiff that the tight constraints of his leggings pained him.

Frodo held the man’s gaze as he unbuttoned his own shirt, and Faramir’s limbs turned limp, a hapless sailor about to crash into the hobbit’s rock.

“Shall we…shall we go to my bed?” he said in a husky whisper.

“I do not care.” Frodo peeled off his shirt and vest in one deft movement. “Let me help you out of your leggings.”

To feel Frodo’s small, capable hands peeling Faramir’s leggings over his hips and buttocks, brought a nearly unbearable agony to his groin, an animal desire to crush Frodo beneath him on the hard floor and thrust violently into him until the throbbing found relief.

His leggings were off, and he noted Frodo’s admiring gaze upon his rock hard member.

Frodo glanced away from it and pulled from his breeches pocket a vial. Glancing at Faramir with a smile, he said, “I think we’ll need this.”

Seeing the sweetly scented oil only ravaged him with more shuddering desire. With a guttural grunt, he fumbled with the button on Frodo’s breeches, moaning deliciously as his hands brushed over the hobbit’s silky skin.

Fully unclothed, Frodo stood before him, his skin the color of delicate moonlight. His shaft, amazing large, was full and upright. Faramir gathered him in his arms, shocked into breathlessness by Frodo’s bare skin against his and the hobbit’s aroused shaft digging into his thigh. He lifted Frodo and carried him to the bed, setting him on the satin covers with utmost gentleness. He bent over him, breathing heavily.

“Are you sure?” Frodo asked, still holding the vial, his lips curving in a mischievous smile.

“You cannot back out now,” Faramir said, trying to answer with his own smile, though his lips trembled. “It will be the death of me.”

“I am ready,” Frodo said, staring at Faramir with dizzying intensity as he opened the vial and dribbled oil on his fingers before handing it to Faramir.

Faramir took the vial with trembling hands, nearly overwhelmed by the oil’s lavender scent that he would always associate with Frodo. He dribbled more cold oil on his fingers and slowly slid one hand under Frodo’s buttocks. Frodo gasped as Faramir’s finger plunged into his puckered hole.

“All right?” Faramir asked, terrified to hurt Frodo.

Frodo nodded, eyes shining with need.

Faramir slid a second finger in. Oh, to sink his throbbing member into this delicious heat…

“In me now,” Frodo gasped. “I am ready!”

Faramir pulled his fingers from Frodo’s slick heat and guided his oil-slick member to the hole, which seemed impossibly small. Frodo’s small hands helped guide it in.

As Faramir slid his member in farther, Frodo’s face contorted and he bit his lip, groaning.

“I’m hurting you,” Faramir gasped, though he did not want to pull out. Could not pull out now. Frodo’s heat clenched him until he could not breathe. He gripped Frodo’s upper arms and slid as far as he could go.

“Go,” Frodo gasped, shoving his hips into Faramir with surprising strength. Faramir obeyed, barely able to control the strength of his thrusts. Frodo cried out as the man slammed into him. Frodo’s eyes were bright with agony and breathless pleasure.

As Faramir continued to thrust, he released one of Frodo’s arms and took hold of the hobbit’s stiff member. With his hand slippery with oil and sweat, he slid up and down the length, feeling the hobbit shudder with each thrust and slide of hind. nd.

Frodo cried out as pearly white spurted from his member onto Faramir’s hand. Faramir bucked into him with more force than before, clutching Frodo’s waist with both huge arms, at last coming at the sight of the hobbit writhing and crying out in pleasure.

***

Faramir held Frodo tightly against his chest, breathing in lavender, now mixed with sweat, never wanting to release him. Frodo opened his eyes, giving him a sweet, drowsy smile.

“Stay,” Faramir said in a husky voice.

“Yes,” Frodo said, burying his head against Faramir’s chest again. “I will stay the night.”

End