FIC: Richest Alchemy for cbpotts (LotR, Faramir/Gimli)
Title: Richest Alchemy
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: LotR
Pairing: Faramir/Gimli (Faramir/Eowyn, Legolas/Gimli)
Rating: NC-17
Recipient: cbpotts
Archive: Lothlorien and sons_of_gondor.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns all. I claim dominion over none of it.
Summary: Eowyn and Legolas see far clearer than Faramir and Gimli.
Notes: I honestly never in my wildest dreams expected to find myself writing this pairing. Never. But a challenge is a challenge! ;-) I hope you enjoy what your request has wrought, cbpotts.
Richest Alchemy
By Galadriel
"I have seen the way you look at him." Eowyn's words were delivered carelessly over a shoulder as she slid stone across sword, even now unwilling to set aside shieldmaiden in favour of Steward's wife, even now in Peace ever-ready for War. "I am not blind."
Faramir froze, cup halfway to his lips. This was not how he'd imagined a leisurely afternoon in the midst of an otherwise busy visit to the city of his birth. This sudden turn in their gentle conversation, talk of old friends and haunts, did not bode well. Not in the way Eowyn had pitched her voice, lightly laced casual words with the finest hint of a hidden heavy weight.
His mind raced, searching for the key that would unlock Eowyn's assertions and make them more clear. Seen whom? Who was there to be seen? It was not in his nature to be secretive, not with his wife, nor with his Rangers, nor, for that matter, anyone under his care. It was something his counsellors and confidants had warned him against, time and time again, their brows pulling and puckering in disapproval. It made him a "political liability," they said, but what did he care for lying under the guise of protecting Gondor's interests?
What did he care for lying under any circumstance?
Eowyn sighted down the blade, tested the edge with her thumb. Satisfied, she set sword and stone aside and pulled off her leather gloves. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Although I fear you may be."
"Fear I am what?" Faramir wetted his lips, all too aware he was out of his depth, beyond fathoming of what his lady spoke.
"Blind, my love. Blind. Blind to the way you look at your brother's friend, the Dwarf. Do you not see it yourself?"
The heat rushed to Faramir's cheeks as he set his cup down, the faint click as it settled in the saucer sounding altogether too sharp to his ears. Had she seen what he had imagined he had kept well-hidden? What he had refused to admit to himself? The Steward of Gondor was supposed to be beyond lust, beyond desire, an example of the best of the Reunited Kingdom, not brought low by baser hungers, caught wondering whether such a creature's skin tasted of the stone he hewed, what his voice sounded like crying out in release.
Faramir cleared his throat; he was loyal to his wife, in love with her and would not give that up for the world.
As he parted his lips to assure her of that, reassure himself of the same, she spoke again, her tone brooking no argument. "You are bound to me by more than mere carnality, my love. Go to him. Satisfy your curiosity and desires. His Elf rides out with our King." She glanced at the table. "Now drink your tea before it gets cold."
***
"You know well enough that my heart belongs with you. You are as much a craftsman as any one of your kin. It is not in your nature to destroy, nor is it in mine to fear. Go to him. Satisfy your desire along with your curiosity. His lady and I have spoken, and neither of us would stand in your way." Legolas' fingers were cool and dry on Gimli's brow, a simple, ritualized gesture exchanged each time one left the other, one Gimli had come to think of as an anointing. "She will make herself busy. As will I."
Again, Gimli marvelled at the creature before him, as old as the bones of mountains, and he wondered at what he had seen in his thousands of years, what had stripped him of jealousy, made his conviction and faith as sure as his footing. He grunted his assent, not bothering to deny the desire that ran through his veins like molten rock, the way he wanted Faramir, so much alike, and yet so different from his elder brother. He had learned through these long years that there was little that could escape the keen eye of an Elf, and he would not wish it any other way.
"I keep your faith ever-close, as I do my Lady's hair," Gimli nodded and touched his tunic, palm pressed against the crystal carrying three strands of gold, tucked safely in an inner pocket above his heart. Lust for gold, gems, jewels and Men was fleeting, and easily quenched. Silently, he pledged to return with the dark, unchanged but for the cooling of his cravings.
At last Legolas buckled his quiver in place, fingers caressing the knotwork clasp Gimli had spent many months crafting, working until it would shine like its owner's eyes did the sea. Attired in a strange mix of Elven and Dwarven hunting gear, he gifted Gimli with an unguarded smile. "Go. You will have many hours. Elessar's company will not return until after dark, and I with them."
***
Once in the same room, the same knowledge of purpose mirrored in each bearded face, there was little for either Man or Dwarf to say. It seemed that Elf and wife had spoken in their stead, exhausted what polite fictions would help them keep their distance, leaving behind a firm frankness that did little but sound through the silence that hung between them.
There was little to be said, and much to be done.
Gimli had refused Faramir's wish to retire to his own quarters, muttering excuses made of ladies' chambers, marriage beds and fine things, and led him instead to the rooms he shared with Legolas, full fit for the very best of Gondor's visiting diplomats.
They undressed in silence, Faramir's back to Gimli, Gimli unashamed as he shucked each rattling piece of armour, each creaking leather part, face, eyes and body forward, taking the opportunity to drink in the smooth line of Faramir's back, buttocks and legs, so much more naked than his own, yet marked by the passage of time in a way Legolas' skin was not.
As the last cloth dropped away from Faramir's body, Gimli stepped close, cupped his elbow and turned Faramir to face him. "The bed is soft, and--" he chuckled; a low, rumbling noise that put Faramir in mind of pebbles gently tumbling together, "it will rid us of our inequalities."
Faramir smiled. One would have had to be deaf to not hear Legolas forever fondly teasing his height-impaired friend, and the prospect of a yielding mattress to lie upon was not only appealing, but answered a question Faramir had not even known he wanted asked, of how Elf and Dwarf -- and now Dwarf and Man -- could navigate such disparities and drawbacks that stood in the way of coupling.
They sank to the sheets, tangled in one another. Gimli's mouth tasted of mead; honey and spice, not the dusty stone Faramir had idly imagined. The Dwarf was well-practised; his beard and hair tickled, teased the senses as it brushed against Faramir's bared body, making him gasp and shiver, all seemingly by accident until he caught the twinkle in Gimli's eye that gave away design.
For his own part, Faramir met teasing with teeth, winnowing half-words out of Gimli as he sought out and scraped over the most sensitive of spots. He wondered at that selfsame skin underneath his fingers, lightly furred by fine, soft hair, a stark contrast to Gimli's wiry beard and wirier shock curling between his legs. Coarse and smooth, hard and soft. Much like the phallus that rose from the shock, stocky in its own right, yet of generous girth. Faramir wetted his lips, swallowed at the prospect of being taken by it, tasting it, steel encased in velvet sheath.
So enmeshed in cataloguing these marvels was he that he was caught completely unawares as a callused palm closed around his erection, trapping him against Gimli's length. He sighed and arched his back, the scratch of well-used skin warring with slick-smooth slide as Gimli rocked his hips, easing them both into a slow rhythm which Faramir soon matched.
They built on the foundation quickly-laid, and soon Faramir's fingers were digging into Gimli's shoulders, grasping and regrasping with each rise and fall as if he feared Gimli would suddenly slip away. Gimli groaned, cheek pressed to Faramir's chest, hand tightening around them both as he shivered, shuddered his way to completion, an alien curse on his lips.
The sudden rush of seed and warmth made sweat-slicked skin slicker, was the final ingredient in alchemy, dissolving Faramir's lingering resistance. He came, hips bucking wildly, sated curiosity coalescing in one ragged breath.
They did not separate so much as slacken their hold on one another, both bodies alike in repose. It was many minutes before either's pulse slowed, before Dwarf turned to Man and whispered of secrets mined from the darkest of longings, tempered, hammered and twisted into delights of the flesh.
There was little to be said. Faramir nodded his consent, craving contact as much as knowledge, and held out his hands as Gimli uncoiled a small slip of Elvish rope. His eyes glittered like jewels, watching wrist bound to wrist.
Oh, yes. There was still much to be done, and many hours left until dark brought them back to themselves.
END
(October 2006)
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: LotR
Pairing: Faramir/Gimli (Faramir/Eowyn, Legolas/Gimli)
Rating: NC-17
Recipient: cbpotts
Archive: Lothlorien and sons_of_gondor.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns all. I claim dominion over none of it.
Summary: Eowyn and Legolas see far clearer than Faramir and Gimli.
Notes: I honestly never in my wildest dreams expected to find myself writing this pairing. Never. But a challenge is a challenge! ;-) I hope you enjoy what your request has wrought, cbpotts.
Richest Alchemy
By Galadriel
"I have seen the way you look at him." Eowyn's words were delivered carelessly over a shoulder as she slid stone across sword, even now unwilling to set aside shieldmaiden in favour of Steward's wife, even now in Peace ever-ready for War. "I am not blind."
Faramir froze, cup halfway to his lips. This was not how he'd imagined a leisurely afternoon in the midst of an otherwise busy visit to the city of his birth. This sudden turn in their gentle conversation, talk of old friends and haunts, did not bode well. Not in the way Eowyn had pitched her voice, lightly laced casual words with the finest hint of a hidden heavy weight.
His mind raced, searching for the key that would unlock Eowyn's assertions and make them more clear. Seen whom? Who was there to be seen? It was not in his nature to be secretive, not with his wife, nor with his Rangers, nor, for that matter, anyone under his care. It was something his counsellors and confidants had warned him against, time and time again, their brows pulling and puckering in disapproval. It made him a "political liability," they said, but what did he care for lying under the guise of protecting Gondor's interests?
What did he care for lying under any circumstance?
Eowyn sighted down the blade, tested the edge with her thumb. Satisfied, she set sword and stone aside and pulled off her leather gloves. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Although I fear you may be."
"Fear I am what?" Faramir wetted his lips, all too aware he was out of his depth, beyond fathoming of what his lady spoke.
"Blind, my love. Blind. Blind to the way you look at your brother's friend, the Dwarf. Do you not see it yourself?"
The heat rushed to Faramir's cheeks as he set his cup down, the faint click as it settled in the saucer sounding altogether too sharp to his ears. Had she seen what he had imagined he had kept well-hidden? What he had refused to admit to himself? The Steward of Gondor was supposed to be beyond lust, beyond desire, an example of the best of the Reunited Kingdom, not brought low by baser hungers, caught wondering whether such a creature's skin tasted of the stone he hewed, what his voice sounded like crying out in release.
Faramir cleared his throat; he was loyal to his wife, in love with her and would not give that up for the world.
As he parted his lips to assure her of that, reassure himself of the same, she spoke again, her tone brooking no argument. "You are bound to me by more than mere carnality, my love. Go to him. Satisfy your curiosity and desires. His Elf rides out with our King." She glanced at the table. "Now drink your tea before it gets cold."
***
"You know well enough that my heart belongs with you. You are as much a craftsman as any one of your kin. It is not in your nature to destroy, nor is it in mine to fear. Go to him. Satisfy your desire along with your curiosity. His lady and I have spoken, and neither of us would stand in your way." Legolas' fingers were cool and dry on Gimli's brow, a simple, ritualized gesture exchanged each time one left the other, one Gimli had come to think of as an anointing. "She will make herself busy. As will I."
Again, Gimli marvelled at the creature before him, as old as the bones of mountains, and he wondered at what he had seen in his thousands of years, what had stripped him of jealousy, made his conviction and faith as sure as his footing. He grunted his assent, not bothering to deny the desire that ran through his veins like molten rock, the way he wanted Faramir, so much alike, and yet so different from his elder brother. He had learned through these long years that there was little that could escape the keen eye of an Elf, and he would not wish it any other way.
"I keep your faith ever-close, as I do my Lady's hair," Gimli nodded and touched his tunic, palm pressed against the crystal carrying three strands of gold, tucked safely in an inner pocket above his heart. Lust for gold, gems, jewels and Men was fleeting, and easily quenched. Silently, he pledged to return with the dark, unchanged but for the cooling of his cravings.
At last Legolas buckled his quiver in place, fingers caressing the knotwork clasp Gimli had spent many months crafting, working until it would shine like its owner's eyes did the sea. Attired in a strange mix of Elven and Dwarven hunting gear, he gifted Gimli with an unguarded smile. "Go. You will have many hours. Elessar's company will not return until after dark, and I with them."
***
Once in the same room, the same knowledge of purpose mirrored in each bearded face, there was little for either Man or Dwarf to say. It seemed that Elf and wife had spoken in their stead, exhausted what polite fictions would help them keep their distance, leaving behind a firm frankness that did little but sound through the silence that hung between them.
There was little to be said, and much to be done.
Gimli had refused Faramir's wish to retire to his own quarters, muttering excuses made of ladies' chambers, marriage beds and fine things, and led him instead to the rooms he shared with Legolas, full fit for the very best of Gondor's visiting diplomats.
They undressed in silence, Faramir's back to Gimli, Gimli unashamed as he shucked each rattling piece of armour, each creaking leather part, face, eyes and body forward, taking the opportunity to drink in the smooth line of Faramir's back, buttocks and legs, so much more naked than his own, yet marked by the passage of time in a way Legolas' skin was not.
As the last cloth dropped away from Faramir's body, Gimli stepped close, cupped his elbow and turned Faramir to face him. "The bed is soft, and--" he chuckled; a low, rumbling noise that put Faramir in mind of pebbles gently tumbling together, "it will rid us of our inequalities."
Faramir smiled. One would have had to be deaf to not hear Legolas forever fondly teasing his height-impaired friend, and the prospect of a yielding mattress to lie upon was not only appealing, but answered a question Faramir had not even known he wanted asked, of how Elf and Dwarf -- and now Dwarf and Man -- could navigate such disparities and drawbacks that stood in the way of coupling.
They sank to the sheets, tangled in one another. Gimli's mouth tasted of mead; honey and spice, not the dusty stone Faramir had idly imagined. The Dwarf was well-practised; his beard and hair tickled, teased the senses as it brushed against Faramir's bared body, making him gasp and shiver, all seemingly by accident until he caught the twinkle in Gimli's eye that gave away design.
For his own part, Faramir met teasing with teeth, winnowing half-words out of Gimli as he sought out and scraped over the most sensitive of spots. He wondered at that selfsame skin underneath his fingers, lightly furred by fine, soft hair, a stark contrast to Gimli's wiry beard and wirier shock curling between his legs. Coarse and smooth, hard and soft. Much like the phallus that rose from the shock, stocky in its own right, yet of generous girth. Faramir wetted his lips, swallowed at the prospect of being taken by it, tasting it, steel encased in velvet sheath.
So enmeshed in cataloguing these marvels was he that he was caught completely unawares as a callused palm closed around his erection, trapping him against Gimli's length. He sighed and arched his back, the scratch of well-used skin warring with slick-smooth slide as Gimli rocked his hips, easing them both into a slow rhythm which Faramir soon matched.
They built on the foundation quickly-laid, and soon Faramir's fingers were digging into Gimli's shoulders, grasping and regrasping with each rise and fall as if he feared Gimli would suddenly slip away. Gimli groaned, cheek pressed to Faramir's chest, hand tightening around them both as he shivered, shuddered his way to completion, an alien curse on his lips.
The sudden rush of seed and warmth made sweat-slicked skin slicker, was the final ingredient in alchemy, dissolving Faramir's lingering resistance. He came, hips bucking wildly, sated curiosity coalescing in one ragged breath.
They did not separate so much as slacken their hold on one another, both bodies alike in repose. It was many minutes before either's pulse slowed, before Dwarf turned to Man and whispered of secrets mined from the darkest of longings, tempered, hammered and twisted into delights of the flesh.
There was little to be said. Faramir nodded his consent, craving contact as much as knowledge, and held out his hands as Gimli uncoiled a small slip of Elvish rope. His eyes glittered like jewels, watching wrist bound to wrist.
Oh, yes. There was still much to be done, and many hours left until dark brought them back to themselves.
END
(October 2006)