For Empy: Farewell (Faramir/Beregond, NC17), by Talullah Red
Title: Farewell
Author: Talullah Red
Pairing: Faramir/Beregond
Rating: NC17
Beta: half_elf_lost
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Tolkien.
Summary: Faramir runs into an old flame.
Notes: Written for empy, who requested fic; Boromir/Faramir, Imrahil/Denethor, Boromir/Aragorn, Faramir/Eomer, Denethor/Thorongil, Imrahil/Legolas or Faramir/Beregond; something set in winter would be lovely, and for the Imrahil pairings, I'd love to see fic set in Dol Amroth. I also have a weakness for tattoos. :) I like a bit of snark and banter, but smut never goes amiss. (Squicks: schmoop, fluff, mpreg, kinks like rape/scat/fisting/etc, humiliation, girly men.)
Minas Tirith, Third Age 3008
Hoping off the saddle, Faramir handed the reins of his horse to the stable boy, thanking him with a nod before leaving. He had been called from Ithilien for a meeting with his father and he faced it with some apprehension: he had failed to maintain their position on the outer edges of Osgiliath but that was old news. Was he to receive new orders or more reproach?
He hurried out of the stables, casting a quick glance at the sky. Menacing clouds hung low and grey; the air was so cold that every breath formed a cloud. There would be snow before nightfall and he would not be able to return to Osgiliath after the meeting. Biting a curse, he walked on, his steps brisker.
From the corner of his eye he saw a familiar figure emerged.
"Boromir," he greeted, changing his course to meet his brother.
"Faramir!" Boromir jogged up and hugged him, landing vigorous pats on his back. "Off to see Father?"
"Yes."
Boromir chortled. "Good luck with that." Looking back at his men, he added, "I must be off. We're still training. We shall dine together."
Faramir nodded and followed his brother with his eyes. The group headed for the courtyard behind him, the echo of heavy boots on cobblestones filling the air. Pressed by the cold and the meeting weighing on his heart, he almost missed another Beregond.
"What...?" he whispered, as Beregond marched by him.
Breaking military discipline Beregond looked to the side and winked at him.
With a conscious effort, Faramir closed his mouth and watched as Beregond marched on with his company, the Third, judging by the insignias on the uniforms. Biting his lip, he hurried home.
Faramir was sitting in his room on the settee, watching the first heavy flakes fall when Boromir walked in with no ceremony.
"How did it go?" he asked, sitting next to Boromir.
"Not so bad... but I'll have to stay here for the night and frankly, I could have just written a report..."
"Faramir, Father likes to see you now and then. I know you have your differences but surely one night under his roof won't kill you."
Faramir looked away. "Yes, of course," he said with effort. "I rue the time I am away from my men..."
"Nonsense! We’re going down to the fifth level, have a nice steak, and drink ale until we burst. The new recruits of the Citadel Guard are celebrating tonight."
"Yes, I saw you leading a few new faces..." Faramir probed.
"Arvellon broke his leg and is still convalescing, and I was in the city, bored to death, so I took them on. They are a promising bunch... it's almost a pity to waste them on the Citadel."
Faramir swallowed the dry knot in his throat and got up.
"Celebrating in town, you say?" he asked, fumbling with some papers on his desk.
Boromir snorted. "You bet. We can go now... it's likely to start early on account of the weather."
Faramir took his cape from the bed and they left.
"Brother, what has gotten into you?" Boromir asked, laughing. "Are you trying to go through all the taverns in Minas Tirith? Maybe looking for someone?"
Faramir contained his cringing at how close to the truth his brother had come. "Boromir, please indulge - I spend so much time away from town that I want to have a little fun now."
"You're a library mouse, you. Sure you’re not running a fever?" Boromir said good-naturedly, punching Faramir on the arm. They went into the fifth tavern of the night, Faramir holding the door open for Boromir, and noting that by the rate of Boromir's drinking, he had better find his mark soon, lest he have to carry his brother home.
A wave of warm air, heavy with the scents of sweat, firewood, ale and roast welcomed them. Boromir immediately detached himself from Faramir, leaving him to navigate the room on his own.
Beregond was there in the centre of a circle of recruits. They seemed to be cheering him especially and Faramir drew closer. The mentions of 'wedding' and 'tomorrow' along with raunchy jokes left little room for mistake: this was Beregond's stag party. Faramir chewed on his bottom lip and drew back, hoping that Beregond had not seen him. He found Boromir sitting in a corner table with one of the serving girls on his knee and another half-empty tankard in front of him. His company was all in a similar state and before he could reach them they started singing a rowdy song. It would be easier to fight the Shadow of Mordor single-handed than to drag Boromir out now, Faramir thought.
Looking around, he tried to find an inconspicuous place to wait it out, but Boromir spotted him.
"Brother! Faramir!" he shouted above the singing and the loud conversation. A few heads turned and Faramir, chagrined, saw that Beregond had noticed him. Faramir joined Boromir's table and took a seat.
"Boromir," he shouted, trying to make himself heard, "we should be going. I ride out early tomorrow."
"No you won't! The way the snow is falling, you’ll be staying for another day or two."
Faramir winced, then sighed. "Ale!" he shouted to a passing girl. He might as well enjoy himself, instead of wasting more time cursing himself for his worst idea of the day.
Boromir was sleeping with his face buried in the bosom of the girl who had fallen asleep on his lap. Some of his friends still sang, theirs slur making it almost impossible to recognize the songs. The other groups were in a similar state and the owner of the tavern had long closed the doors to new customers. Unfortunately, with the weather and the celebration, none of the remaining customers looked as though they were in condition to return home for the night without breaking a leg or cracking a skull.
Faramir was only slightly better off than the average drunkard. He had tried hard to concentrate on his ale, but time and again his eyes had crossed with Beregond's and it was deeply unsettling. "Not in love anymore..." he slurred, realizing he had spoken his thoughts aloud a moment too late. He shrugged. The place was still loud enough for it to go unnoticed. He really needed to let his waters go, though.
Faramir scanned the room as he gingerly rose from his chair. No restroom in sight which was probably why the urine stench coming from alley next to the tavern had brought the bile to his throat when they had come in. 'The alley it is, then,' he sighed to himself, before heading off to the door.
The snow had stopped falling but a respectable amount had gathered in the street. Judging from the lack of stars in the sky, more was to come. Gondor was temperate but now and then a harsher winter came and with it nonsensical accidents to those not accustomed to a harsher winter. Keeping that in mind, Faramir tried to walk to the alley without falling on his arse, the difficulty of the task doubled by the alcohol running in his veins. The cold had cleansed the air and the stench a bit subsided. Faramir tried to be brief, with his cape inside and the cold starting to bite, but he had drunk too much. By the time he returned to the tavern, his teeth were clattering and all he could think of was the warmth inside.
An arm stopped him. An arm with an intricate F glowing blue over milky skin. Faramir looked up from the ground to find Beregond's amused eyes staring back.
"Thought you were leaving without congratulating me..." he said.
"For the wedding? I would if I were a better man," Faramir said, all of a sudden feeling wide awake. "As for the commission with the Guard of the Citadel, you broke a promise."
"Lovers' promises are not to be held after the love is gone."
Faramir could not tell if Beregond was still amusing himself at the expense of his squirming or if he was angry. He placed a hand on Beregond's arm, caressing the tattoo with his thumb. "As far as I recall you were the one to put an end to it."
"Because you wouldn't let me-" Beregond inhaled sharply. "Sorry. Bygones and all…"
A shiver coursed through Faramir and he wrapped his arms around himself. "I need to go in."
Beregond lifted an ironic eyebrow and bowed slightly. "After you, My Lord." He laughed at Faramir's glare.
Inside, things were quieter. Faramir walked straight to the fireplace. He heard Beregond following him, and stopping right behind him, too close for a man who was on his stag party.
"I promised I wouldn't join the Rangers," Beregond said in placating tone. "Not that you should care about my safety anymore..."
"Are you in love with her? Who is she, anyway?" Faramir blurted, ignoring Beregond's words.
"Jealous?"
There it was again, that hint of amusement that always threw Faramir off his feet.
"I might be," he admitted, glancing to the side as Beregond stepped closer. "But you avoided the question."
"Then the answer is yes, as much as I can be, considering."
"Considering?"
Beregond slowly turned his eyes from the fire into Faramir's. "I think you know."
Faramir bit his lip, trying to find something to say but Beregond clasped his arm.
"It couldn't have been any different. It's not as if we could have been married and lived happy ever after."
Faramir nodded. As it was, they had risked plenty to be together. Every tryst, every stolen glance had brought them closer to disclosure and shame. Beregond was right.
Faramir swallowed hard all the things that he meant to say. "Well, congratulations, then," he offered, the bitter taste of the words stinging his tongue.
Beregond's hand lingered on his arm for far longer than was appropriate, but there was no one left in the tavern awake enough to notice. The hand burned Faramir's skin through the shirt and made his body tingle all over. It had been too long... In fact, since Beregond, there had been only one other, one night of revelry. He slithered away from Beregond's grasp.
"I should check on my brother."
"Your lordly brother sleeps like a baby, as do most everyone else here."
Beregond stepped closer.
Faramir looked around then back into Beregond's eyes. "Seducing old acquaintances looks ill on a man about to marry..."
"Who said I was seducing you?"
Faramir smirked. "Of course you aren't. You're just sharing body warmth," he said, eyeing Beregond's chest through the opening of his shirt.
"I am a charitable person, and you do look cold..."
"So where?" Faramir said, cutting to the chase.
Beregond chortled. "Pragmatic as ever, aren't you?"
"I don't have time to woo you with flowers, not with the wedding bells ringing in our ears..."
Beregond lowered his eyes and avoided a reply.
Assuming that Beregond had changed his mind at the mention of his wedding, Faramir drew back.
"I live almost across the street now, alone," Beregond whispered. "I think we can manage without slipping and breaking our skulls."
"If you're sure..." Faramir forced himself to say.
"Always the gentleman. I'll leave first and wait for you. I live above the shoemaker's shop."
Apart from a trunk by the foot of the bed, Beregond's room was empty. It was obvious he was moving soon, but Faramir abstained from asking any questions that might bring back the queasiness he had felt when he had first heard the word 'wedding.'
Beregond sat on his narrow bed and patted it next to him. From the nightstand, he pulled a bottle and offered Faramir a swig, but both had had enough to drink. Now as he gingerly sat by Beregond's side, Faramir thought that this was a mistake. They sat awkwardly by each other's side, their heavy consciences distilling silence, both knowing that this encounter was wrong.
As if reading Faramir's thoughts, Beregond tossed his coat away and leaned back against his pillow.
"I don't care. I just want you one last time," he said.
Faramir turned to face him, laying in open invitation. Of its own accord his hand lay on Beregond's thigh. He undid the lace in his cape, letting it fall. Beregond reached down and covered Faramir's hand with his own, sliding them both up along his thigh, stopping at his groin.
"I never stopped missing you," he said.
Faramir closed his eyes, barely containing a wince. "Don't," he asked.
He wobbled, uncertain of himself, almost ready to leave before this old love could do more damage, but somehow he found himself pulling Beregond's boots off, then his britches, then heeling his own boots off and laying over Beregond, all in less than a few heartbeats. Beregond welcomed him with open arms, then a fierce embrace. They kissed deeply, settling on the narrow bed as best as they could. Beregond worked on Faramir's shirt, then his britches, never parting his lips from Faramir. They lay on their sides, their legs and arms twining in a braid of flesh through their kisses. Faramir could feel Beregond hard and ready against his own cock.
He had missed Beregond in all ways even when he had tried to forget this. A part of him told him that someday he would meet someone, and he would feel this way, but now, the thought that this was the last time tightened the knot in his chest threatened so hard that he feared he might be smothered and so he kissed Beregond again and again, searching for air.
"Easy," Beregond said at last, pushing up on Faramir. "I need to breathe."
Faramir snorted, praying that the sting in his eyes might go away. He realized he had lain completely over Beregond and returned to his side. Beregond kissed him lightly on the lips, then on the cheek.
"I missed you too," he said.
Faramir had to bite his retort. There was no point in mentioning the wedding again.
Beregond gently pushed him to lie on his back and started kissing downwards, as he had so often before. Faramir stopped him when he reached his nipples.
"Let me," he said, rising on his elbows. "I can't just lie here while you play. Not tonight."
Beregond nodded, returning to Faramir's side. Instead of mimicking Beregond's actions as he had meant to, he simply kissed him on the mouth over again.
"Don't want to stop kissing you, not before dawn," he whispered against Beregond's lips.
They kissed. Soon hands roamed below, exploring, demanding, caressing every inch of skin. Faramir took Beregond's hardness in his hand, gripping hard and moving slow, as Beregond loved best and Beregond reciprocated. Their hands moved faster until they were not kissing anymore, just staring into each other's eyes as they panted and worked towards their end.
Beregond came first, with a curse. Faramir almost laughed. "Hope... you... don't use that language... with your bride," he panted, replacing Beregond's hand with his own on his cock.
Beregond slide his hand between Faramir's thighs and pushed a semen-slicked finger inside him, finding his sweet spot as easily as if they had last been together the day before. Faramir came instantly, pushing himself down on the finger.
He lay back and stared at the ceiling for a while, until his breathing returned to normal. "You always liked to give as good as you got, didn't you?"
Beregond snickered. "You deserved that. Did I hurt you?"
"No." Faramir turned his head to look at Beregond. "Do you want me to go?"
"Yes. Before sunrise."
Faramir elbowed Beregond. "Lovely hospitality you have."
Beregond draped an arm around Faramir's waist. "And you have a drunk brother to carry home."
"True." Faramir covered Beregond's arm with his hand. "Will you be happy?"
"Yes. And so will you."
"Is that an order?"
Beregond snorted. "You're the Captain here. I'm just a lowly foot soldier."
Faramir squeezed Beregond's arm. "Promise you'll be safe."
"As much as duty and honour allow."
Beregond nuzzled Faramir's neck. "You promise you'll be safe."
"Can't."
"I know."
Beregond pulled his arm back and lay still. Old wounds had been reopened. Faramir sighed, then sat up, searching for his clothes.
"Leaving so soon?"
"Sunrise won't be long," Faramir answered with his back turned to Beregond, as he pulled a boot on. In truth, he wanted to stay, but leaving now before they ended up fighting again seemed a better idea. Besides, he had to make sure that Boromir was well. He finished dressing in silence, then turned to Beregond.
"Be happy," he said leaning to kiss Beregond one last time.
"Stay alive," Beregond replied, his voice low and raspy.
"I will try." Faramir walked to the door, and left. It took all his strength not to look back.
Finis
December 2008
Author: Talullah Red
Pairing: Faramir/Beregond
Rating: NC17
Beta: half_elf_lost
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Tolkien.
Summary: Faramir runs into an old flame.
Notes: Written for empy, who requested fic; Boromir/Faramir, Imrahil/Denethor, Boromir/Aragorn, Faramir/Eomer, Denethor/Thorongil, Imrahil/Legolas or Faramir/Beregond; something set in winter would be lovely, and for the Imrahil pairings, I'd love to see fic set in Dol Amroth. I also have a weakness for tattoos. :) I like a bit of snark and banter, but smut never goes amiss. (Squicks: schmoop, fluff, mpreg, kinks like rape/scat/fisting/etc, humiliation, girly men.)
Minas Tirith, Third Age 3008
Hoping off the saddle, Faramir handed the reins of his horse to the stable boy, thanking him with a nod before leaving. He had been called from Ithilien for a meeting with his father and he faced it with some apprehension: he had failed to maintain their position on the outer edges of Osgiliath but that was old news. Was he to receive new orders or more reproach?
He hurried out of the stables, casting a quick glance at the sky. Menacing clouds hung low and grey; the air was so cold that every breath formed a cloud. There would be snow before nightfall and he would not be able to return to Osgiliath after the meeting. Biting a curse, he walked on, his steps brisker.
From the corner of his eye he saw a familiar figure emerged.
"Boromir," he greeted, changing his course to meet his brother.
"Faramir!" Boromir jogged up and hugged him, landing vigorous pats on his back. "Off to see Father?"
"Yes."
Boromir chortled. "Good luck with that." Looking back at his men, he added, "I must be off. We're still training. We shall dine together."
Faramir nodded and followed his brother with his eyes. The group headed for the courtyard behind him, the echo of heavy boots on cobblestones filling the air. Pressed by the cold and the meeting weighing on his heart, he almost missed another Beregond.
"What...?" he whispered, as Beregond marched by him.
Breaking military discipline Beregond looked to the side and winked at him.
With a conscious effort, Faramir closed his mouth and watched as Beregond marched on with his company, the Third, judging by the insignias on the uniforms. Biting his lip, he hurried home.
Faramir was sitting in his room on the settee, watching the first heavy flakes fall when Boromir walked in with no ceremony.
"How did it go?" he asked, sitting next to Boromir.
"Not so bad... but I'll have to stay here for the night and frankly, I could have just written a report..."
"Faramir, Father likes to see you now and then. I know you have your differences but surely one night under his roof won't kill you."
Faramir looked away. "Yes, of course," he said with effort. "I rue the time I am away from my men..."
"Nonsense! We’re going down to the fifth level, have a nice steak, and drink ale until we burst. The new recruits of the Citadel Guard are celebrating tonight."
"Yes, I saw you leading a few new faces..." Faramir probed.
"Arvellon broke his leg and is still convalescing, and I was in the city, bored to death, so I took them on. They are a promising bunch... it's almost a pity to waste them on the Citadel."
Faramir swallowed the dry knot in his throat and got up.
"Celebrating in town, you say?" he asked, fumbling with some papers on his desk.
Boromir snorted. "You bet. We can go now... it's likely to start early on account of the weather."
Faramir took his cape from the bed and they left.
"Brother, what has gotten into you?" Boromir asked, laughing. "Are you trying to go through all the taverns in Minas Tirith? Maybe looking for someone?"
Faramir contained his cringing at how close to the truth his brother had come. "Boromir, please indulge - I spend so much time away from town that I want to have a little fun now."
"You're a library mouse, you. Sure you’re not running a fever?" Boromir said good-naturedly, punching Faramir on the arm. They went into the fifth tavern of the night, Faramir holding the door open for Boromir, and noting that by the rate of Boromir's drinking, he had better find his mark soon, lest he have to carry his brother home.
A wave of warm air, heavy with the scents of sweat, firewood, ale and roast welcomed them. Boromir immediately detached himself from Faramir, leaving him to navigate the room on his own.
Beregond was there in the centre of a circle of recruits. They seemed to be cheering him especially and Faramir drew closer. The mentions of 'wedding' and 'tomorrow' along with raunchy jokes left little room for mistake: this was Beregond's stag party. Faramir chewed on his bottom lip and drew back, hoping that Beregond had not seen him. He found Boromir sitting in a corner table with one of the serving girls on his knee and another half-empty tankard in front of him. His company was all in a similar state and before he could reach them they started singing a rowdy song. It would be easier to fight the Shadow of Mordor single-handed than to drag Boromir out now, Faramir thought.
Looking around, he tried to find an inconspicuous place to wait it out, but Boromir spotted him.
"Brother! Faramir!" he shouted above the singing and the loud conversation. A few heads turned and Faramir, chagrined, saw that Beregond had noticed him. Faramir joined Boromir's table and took a seat.
"Boromir," he shouted, trying to make himself heard, "we should be going. I ride out early tomorrow."
"No you won't! The way the snow is falling, you’ll be staying for another day or two."
Faramir winced, then sighed. "Ale!" he shouted to a passing girl. He might as well enjoy himself, instead of wasting more time cursing himself for his worst idea of the day.
Boromir was sleeping with his face buried in the bosom of the girl who had fallen asleep on his lap. Some of his friends still sang, theirs slur making it almost impossible to recognize the songs. The other groups were in a similar state and the owner of the tavern had long closed the doors to new customers. Unfortunately, with the weather and the celebration, none of the remaining customers looked as though they were in condition to return home for the night without breaking a leg or cracking a skull.
Faramir was only slightly better off than the average drunkard. He had tried hard to concentrate on his ale, but time and again his eyes had crossed with Beregond's and it was deeply unsettling. "Not in love anymore..." he slurred, realizing he had spoken his thoughts aloud a moment too late. He shrugged. The place was still loud enough for it to go unnoticed. He really needed to let his waters go, though.
Faramir scanned the room as he gingerly rose from his chair. No restroom in sight which was probably why the urine stench coming from alley next to the tavern had brought the bile to his throat when they had come in. 'The alley it is, then,' he sighed to himself, before heading off to the door.
The snow had stopped falling but a respectable amount had gathered in the street. Judging from the lack of stars in the sky, more was to come. Gondor was temperate but now and then a harsher winter came and with it nonsensical accidents to those not accustomed to a harsher winter. Keeping that in mind, Faramir tried to walk to the alley without falling on his arse, the difficulty of the task doubled by the alcohol running in his veins. The cold had cleansed the air and the stench a bit subsided. Faramir tried to be brief, with his cape inside and the cold starting to bite, but he had drunk too much. By the time he returned to the tavern, his teeth were clattering and all he could think of was the warmth inside.
An arm stopped him. An arm with an intricate F glowing blue over milky skin. Faramir looked up from the ground to find Beregond's amused eyes staring back.
"Thought you were leaving without congratulating me..." he said.
"For the wedding? I would if I were a better man," Faramir said, all of a sudden feeling wide awake. "As for the commission with the Guard of the Citadel, you broke a promise."
"Lovers' promises are not to be held after the love is gone."
Faramir could not tell if Beregond was still amusing himself at the expense of his squirming or if he was angry. He placed a hand on Beregond's arm, caressing the tattoo with his thumb. "As far as I recall you were the one to put an end to it."
"Because you wouldn't let me-" Beregond inhaled sharply. "Sorry. Bygones and all…"
A shiver coursed through Faramir and he wrapped his arms around himself. "I need to go in."
Beregond lifted an ironic eyebrow and bowed slightly. "After you, My Lord." He laughed at Faramir's glare.
Inside, things were quieter. Faramir walked straight to the fireplace. He heard Beregond following him, and stopping right behind him, too close for a man who was on his stag party.
"I promised I wouldn't join the Rangers," Beregond said in placating tone. "Not that you should care about my safety anymore..."
"Are you in love with her? Who is she, anyway?" Faramir blurted, ignoring Beregond's words.
"Jealous?"
There it was again, that hint of amusement that always threw Faramir off his feet.
"I might be," he admitted, glancing to the side as Beregond stepped closer. "But you avoided the question."
"Then the answer is yes, as much as I can be, considering."
"Considering?"
Beregond slowly turned his eyes from the fire into Faramir's. "I think you know."
Faramir bit his lip, trying to find something to say but Beregond clasped his arm.
"It couldn't have been any different. It's not as if we could have been married and lived happy ever after."
Faramir nodded. As it was, they had risked plenty to be together. Every tryst, every stolen glance had brought them closer to disclosure and shame. Beregond was right.
Faramir swallowed hard all the things that he meant to say. "Well, congratulations, then," he offered, the bitter taste of the words stinging his tongue.
Beregond's hand lingered on his arm for far longer than was appropriate, but there was no one left in the tavern awake enough to notice. The hand burned Faramir's skin through the shirt and made his body tingle all over. It had been too long... In fact, since Beregond, there had been only one other, one night of revelry. He slithered away from Beregond's grasp.
"I should check on my brother."
"Your lordly brother sleeps like a baby, as do most everyone else here."
Beregond stepped closer.
Faramir looked around then back into Beregond's eyes. "Seducing old acquaintances looks ill on a man about to marry..."
"Who said I was seducing you?"
Faramir smirked. "Of course you aren't. You're just sharing body warmth," he said, eyeing Beregond's chest through the opening of his shirt.
"I am a charitable person, and you do look cold..."
"So where?" Faramir said, cutting to the chase.
Beregond chortled. "Pragmatic as ever, aren't you?"
"I don't have time to woo you with flowers, not with the wedding bells ringing in our ears..."
Beregond lowered his eyes and avoided a reply.
Assuming that Beregond had changed his mind at the mention of his wedding, Faramir drew back.
"I live almost across the street now, alone," Beregond whispered. "I think we can manage without slipping and breaking our skulls."
"If you're sure..." Faramir forced himself to say.
"Always the gentleman. I'll leave first and wait for you. I live above the shoemaker's shop."
Apart from a trunk by the foot of the bed, Beregond's room was empty. It was obvious he was moving soon, but Faramir abstained from asking any questions that might bring back the queasiness he had felt when he had first heard the word 'wedding.'
Beregond sat on his narrow bed and patted it next to him. From the nightstand, he pulled a bottle and offered Faramir a swig, but both had had enough to drink. Now as he gingerly sat by Beregond's side, Faramir thought that this was a mistake. They sat awkwardly by each other's side, their heavy consciences distilling silence, both knowing that this encounter was wrong.
As if reading Faramir's thoughts, Beregond tossed his coat away and leaned back against his pillow.
"I don't care. I just want you one last time," he said.
Faramir turned to face him, laying in open invitation. Of its own accord his hand lay on Beregond's thigh. He undid the lace in his cape, letting it fall. Beregond reached down and covered Faramir's hand with his own, sliding them both up along his thigh, stopping at his groin.
"I never stopped missing you," he said.
Faramir closed his eyes, barely containing a wince. "Don't," he asked.
He wobbled, uncertain of himself, almost ready to leave before this old love could do more damage, but somehow he found himself pulling Beregond's boots off, then his britches, then heeling his own boots off and laying over Beregond, all in less than a few heartbeats. Beregond welcomed him with open arms, then a fierce embrace. They kissed deeply, settling on the narrow bed as best as they could. Beregond worked on Faramir's shirt, then his britches, never parting his lips from Faramir. They lay on their sides, their legs and arms twining in a braid of flesh through their kisses. Faramir could feel Beregond hard and ready against his own cock.
He had missed Beregond in all ways even when he had tried to forget this. A part of him told him that someday he would meet someone, and he would feel this way, but now, the thought that this was the last time tightened the knot in his chest threatened so hard that he feared he might be smothered and so he kissed Beregond again and again, searching for air.
"Easy," Beregond said at last, pushing up on Faramir. "I need to breathe."
Faramir snorted, praying that the sting in his eyes might go away. He realized he had lain completely over Beregond and returned to his side. Beregond kissed him lightly on the lips, then on the cheek.
"I missed you too," he said.
Faramir had to bite his retort. There was no point in mentioning the wedding again.
Beregond gently pushed him to lie on his back and started kissing downwards, as he had so often before. Faramir stopped him when he reached his nipples.
"Let me," he said, rising on his elbows. "I can't just lie here while you play. Not tonight."
Beregond nodded, returning to Faramir's side. Instead of mimicking Beregond's actions as he had meant to, he simply kissed him on the mouth over again.
"Don't want to stop kissing you, not before dawn," he whispered against Beregond's lips.
They kissed. Soon hands roamed below, exploring, demanding, caressing every inch of skin. Faramir took Beregond's hardness in his hand, gripping hard and moving slow, as Beregond loved best and Beregond reciprocated. Their hands moved faster until they were not kissing anymore, just staring into each other's eyes as they panted and worked towards their end.
Beregond came first, with a curse. Faramir almost laughed. "Hope... you... don't use that language... with your bride," he panted, replacing Beregond's hand with his own on his cock.
Beregond slide his hand between Faramir's thighs and pushed a semen-slicked finger inside him, finding his sweet spot as easily as if they had last been together the day before. Faramir came instantly, pushing himself down on the finger.
He lay back and stared at the ceiling for a while, until his breathing returned to normal. "You always liked to give as good as you got, didn't you?"
Beregond snickered. "You deserved that. Did I hurt you?"
"No." Faramir turned his head to look at Beregond. "Do you want me to go?"
"Yes. Before sunrise."
Faramir elbowed Beregond. "Lovely hospitality you have."
Beregond draped an arm around Faramir's waist. "And you have a drunk brother to carry home."
"True." Faramir covered Beregond's arm with his hand. "Will you be happy?"
"Yes. And so will you."
"Is that an order?"
Beregond snorted. "You're the Captain here. I'm just a lowly foot soldier."
Faramir squeezed Beregond's arm. "Promise you'll be safe."
"As much as duty and honour allow."
Beregond nuzzled Faramir's neck. "You promise you'll be safe."
"Can't."
"I know."
Beregond pulled his arm back and lay still. Old wounds had been reopened. Faramir sighed, then sat up, searching for his clothes.
"Leaving so soon?"
"Sunrise won't be long," Faramir answered with his back turned to Beregond, as he pulled a boot on. In truth, he wanted to stay, but leaving now before they ended up fighting again seemed a better idea. Besides, he had to make sure that Boromir was well. He finished dressing in silence, then turned to Beregond.
"Be happy," he said leaning to kiss Beregond one last time.
"Stay alive," Beregond replied, his voice low and raspy.
"I will try." Faramir walked to the door, and left. It took all his strength not to look back.
Finis
December 2008