Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Casualties of War
By : ColdDecember
Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male
Views: 1629 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing of LOTR and make no money here.
Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter 2.
As he went up the creaky wooden stairs after his lord, the captain’s cloak swaying left-right, left-right before his face, Beregond once again felt a little surreal. These are Captain Faramir’s boots I am seeing, this is Captain Faramir before me, and he is going to a bedroom with me to make love to me – how can this be…?
He closed his eyes momentarily. In ten minutes it was all going to happen – when was he going to get used to the idea already?
They entered a small corridor with a window at the end, and a few doors on each side.
Faramir threw Beregond a questioning glance over his shoulder, and the guard managed to utter, “That one, m’lord, second to the left.”
This used to be the family house, full of people, even a few servants – until Beregond had moved out upon marrying, and the brothers’ parents had died. Most of the chambers now stood empty and untended, so they would have to make use of the master bedroom.
The men entered Iorlas’ chamber, and it felt utterly grotesque to Beregond that it was in this room which seemed so familiar to him that everything should happen. He was used to the exact places of the furniture: the single bed along the right wall, half-sunk into a shallow shady alcove, the wooden table before the narrow window, its pane set in a deep arch of dark stone, the two old chairs on either side of the table. There was also a small cupboard for personal belongings against the other wall – and hardly anything else. This was exactly the way Beregond remembered it, such a habitual everyday sight – yet what was about to happen within these walls was anything but ordinary, anything but imaginable…
The only unusual thing was the hour he had come here – dusk, after all, was a private time, and in his adult years he had never seen his brother’s room in such light. The whitewashed walls were now a soft deep grey, the beige coverlet on the bed appearing almost blue, only the basin for washing, standing in its customary place on the table, was as though glowing with whiteness in the general gloom…
Only then did the guard finally become aware of the chill, and realised Captain Faramir had been wise in keeping his cloak on. Iorlas had been away for more than five days now, and none of the hearths had been lit in all that time. It was hardly any warmer inside than out in the street…
Beregond cast a doubtful glance at the little fireplace opposite the bed – there were new logs in there all right, yet Lord Faramir had spoken of ‘an hour or two’, of which many minutes had already passed, so there was really no point in getting busy with the fire. By the time it would start yielding any real warmth, they would be done anyway…
“I apologise… for the cold, your lordship,” he said a little awkwardly, addressing Faramir’s back – the man had gone forth to look out of the window.
“’Tis all right, we’ll keep each other warm,” the Ranger replied casually. And Beregond saw he meant it not as a flirtatious or even a lewd remark, but simply as a fact: they were going to get warm, it was only logical.
The guard sighed, and came up to the Captain, a little uncertain as to how exactly he was supposed to act – but his uncertainty did not last long, for Faramir turned to him, and pulled him closer. Beregond’s eyelids lowered at once, and another kiss was bestowed upon his pliant eager mouth. Faramir’s hands came to caress his chest and sides, and Beregond strained against him, pressing himself hard to his lord’s strength and warmth.
Merely a couple minutes later, however, Faramir pulled back. “Now, I gather this is not your house, and the bedroom is not likely to have ‘supplies’,” there was a questioning note in his voice and he looked at Beregond keenly. When the guard made a vague gesture of confirmation, Faramir went on, “So, before we get going and lose all ability to think straight, I would ask this of you. Please think of where the owner would be keeping some sort of oil, and go fetch us a bottle.”
When Beregond returned a short while later, a flask of Iorlas’ finest cooking oil in hand, he was met by a most ravishing sight. His lord had wasted no time waiting for him, and had already rid himself of the better part of his attire, pulling his undershirt off just as Beregond reentered the room.
The guard’s breath caught, and he stood silently in the doorway, watching.

Even though the captain was expecting him, to Beregond it still felt almost inappropriately private to witness the man undress – and horribly erotic for that. He actually felt sorry he had not seen all of it, the garments one by one gradually unveiling the lord’s true appearance, his masculine beauty – a beauty both primally sharp and artfully refined. The proud posture, the taut curves of powerful muscle, the exquisite contrast between the breadth of the shoulders and the compact slimness of the hips, the skin so creamy and pale next to the smooth charcoal locks… To be allowed to feast one’s eyes on all this, that alone was a priceless gift.

Faramir did not seem bothered by the cold in the slightest, moving freely and at ease. Not nervous or in a hurry at all, as though merely preparing for bed, he folded up the thin linen tunic and hung it on one of the chairs, on top of his other things.
He straightened up and lifted one hand to rub himself on the back of the neck, as though the spot between his shoulders was stiff with tension. Earlier that day the captain had fought back from his errand in Ithilien, and Beregond knew he had had a long talk with the Lord of the City afterwards. It was no secret that the Steward and his youngest did not get along all too well, especially since the tidings of Lord Boromir’s death – and Beregond wondered what kind of an unpleasant exchange could have taken place during that talk…
Then Faramir turned around, and to Beregond that simple movement seemed almost epic in its significance.

Their eyes met, and a final confirmation passed between them without a word being uttered.
Then Faramir walked to the bed. He pulled aside the coverlet and sat down, looking at Beregond with the calm unperturbed confidence of a man who knows exactly what is going to happen next, just a trace of a smile on his lips – and nodded for the guard to come over, which Beregond did at once. He put the bottle on the sheets and leant in to his lord, and – as Faramir took him on the shoulders, allowed himself to do the same, and even slid his hands up the captain’s neck.
They kissed, long and passionate, caressing one another, sighing into each other’s mouths, and it once again fascinated the younger man how quickly and easily Faramir switched between complete composure and self-indulgent ardour.
Beregond found himself liking his position, standing above his lord, for even like this he felt Faramir’s complete and utter superiority over him – and the notion gave him freedom, for he saw that no matter what he did, he would not inadvertently challenge the captain’s rightful dominance, for that was simply impossible. And he took Faramir on the face, and boldly kissed him all over: the corners of the Ranger’s mouth, his cheeks, his jaw and the underside of his chin. The captain had obviously not shaved since morning, and his skin had a faintly sand-papery feel against the guard’s lips. Beregond knew if he were to continue in this manner for much longer, on the morrow his mouth would have a suspiciously chafed appearance, yet he cared little. His lord obviously liked the touch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, and nothing else was important.

The guard then tasted the heir on the side of the neck, and behind the ear, and on the hollow of the throat, meanwhile letting his hands descend to the warrior’s bare shoulders and chest, reverently caressing the taut muscles. And all of it Faramir welcomed, although for his own part hardly doing anything at all, merely receiving Beregond’s attention, his hands resting on the younger man’s leather-clad shoulders.
Beregond was so engrossed in his service, so hypnotised by Faramir’s contented sighs and deep intakes of breath, that for the time-being he even forgot about the ache in his own loins. From the moment the Ranger had first kissed him, the younger man’s erection had not subsided a notch… It had never been like this for him, and his manhood was by then positively bewildered by the combination of such persistent arousal and utter lack of badly needed stimulation. But the way his lord inhaled sharply and arched towards him when Beregond sucked on his left nipple – it gave the guard such joy, that he felt in no hurry to relieve himself of his own need. He would go slowly, and relish every second…
Faramir moved his legs to let Beregond stand between his thighs, thus giving the guard better access to his body – and eventually Beregond knelt before him, kissing the lord’s taut stomach, reveling in the taste of his skin licking at the dent of his navel, whence a trail of dark hairs began only to disappear below the waistband of the Ranger’s trousers. Standing above Faramir had been sweet – being below him was by far sweeter… And the fragrance of his lord’s desire, which was overpoweringly strong with Beregond’s face so close to his crotch, was making the guard delirious and dizzy. Yet, despite all his previous liberties, he did not dare actually lay his palm on the prominent bulge between his lord’s legs, caress and gently massage it, or even rub his face against it…
Breathing heavily, Beregond made to take off the captain’s boots instead – but Faramir moved out of his touch, spreading his legs yet wider apart and shifting closer to the edge of the bed, his fingers slowly kneading the bend of the mattress, his whole pose eloquently expectant.
Then his hand lay gently on the back of Beregond’s neck, stroking slowly and gently, as though not even intending to urge him forth – but Beregond felt the unmistakable need behind that touch.
The guard’s breath caught and heat rushed to his face when he perceived what exactly was wanted of him.

Beregond looked up at his lord, just to make absolutely sure. Faramir was gazing down at him darkly and hazily, lips bright with colour and parted a little… There could be no ambiguity, and Beregond nodded his understanding, unable to draw his eyes away from Faramir’s.
“You have beautiful lips,” Faramir whispered huskily, his thumb slowly caressing the younger man’s chin just below the lower lip.
Beregond swallowed.
No one had ever told him he had beautiful anything.
He would do it. Of course he would. Had it not been, after all, one of his fantasies, albeit one of the most shameful and disreputable ones, when he allowed himself to dream about the captain? A proper man of Gondor did not go putting his face between another person’s legs – especially if said person was equipped with a cock and a pair of balls. But being a proper man of Gondor was the last thing he worried about at that point.
And his fingers came to tug hurriedly at the lacing of the Ranger’s breeches, and the captain shifted even closer, tilting his hips up – and suddenly it was free, Faramir’s power reaching towards the younger man in all its splendour, in all its demanding, glorious might, in all its raw beauty.
Beregond gasped raggedly, staring, his lips parted in awe.
It was an honour, such an honour… How could he dare accept it…?
And Faramir encouraged him, with one hand cupping him firmly on the jaw, and with the other grasping his own erection and tilting it to rub the silky tip against Beregond’s cheek, then across the guard’s mouth and just below the lower lip. Grinning sternly, the heir then used his hardness to lightly slap the younger man on the face – then once again, a little harder. Beregond gasped in delighted trepidation, strangely entranced by this treatment. And before he knew it, Faramir’s manhood was right under his nose, and he was licking all over the head, poking his tongue into the slit – then sucking the shaft into the warmth of his mouth, so eager to protect it from the chill.
After this he needed no more prompting, everything happening as though off its own accord, and his lord sighed deeply, and rested his palms on the guard’s shoulders, letting Beregond pleasure him as he would.
Beregond had of course heard all the nasty words used to describe this service and the people who performed it – especially men who performed it… If anything, it was considered even more self-disgracing than actually parting one’s legs for another man. Yet he did not feel that it humiliated him in the slightest – on the contrary, it was a privilege, and he found himself savouring every little detail.
He even caught himself humming and moaning enthusiastically as he slurped fervently on the hot responsive hardness, going quickly up and down, up and down, adding a twist each time, his hand gripping the long shaft at the base and following suit. It had turned out so easy to lose himself in this...
Faramir’s hands were languid and as though dreamy on him, slowly caressing his shoulders, the nape of his neck, burying in his hair, massaging the back of his head and behind the ears... They were not forcing him to take in deeper, yet their touch was so arousing that he hardly needed any actual prodding. Planting both hands on the captain’s spread thighs, Beregond swallowed all of him up, barely able to inhale for the strain in his throat – but so elated…
He would burn to death with shame if his family were to know of this experience, of the way he was indulging both the lord and himself – not because he himself was ashamed, which he was not, but rather because he knew they would never understand, never see it for what it truly was. It was beautiful, this whole arrangement, so much so that it felt almost chaste in its beauty. The powerful living heat in his mouth, the divine taste on his tongue, the sweet pleasure his lord was apparently experiencing, the soft deep moans escaping the captain’s flushed parted lips, the way his hips subtly strained into Beregond’s kiss – there was nothing profane, nothing dirty about this. There was warmth, and great trust, and care, comfort and intimacy, solidarity and understanding, and the ultimate joy of giving pleasure to another. Desire, too, of course – but what was wrong with desire? What idiot had ever thought up to despise this form of love?
But then –
Faramir’s hand tugged gently but insistently at the back of Beregond’s collar.
“’Tis enough,” the captain said quietly, but very clearly and firmly.
Startled, Beregond drew back at once, letting the hot moist length slip out of his mouth – and looked up in bewilderment. It had seemed to him Lord Faramir had been enjoying his ministrations…
Faramir was smiling down at him, and the older man’s hands slid from the back of Beregond’s head to the guard’s face, cupping it on each side, Faramir’s thumbs caressing the corners of his mouth.
“Your treatment is most delightful,” the lord murmured thoughtfully, looking at Beregond’s lips with faintly narrowed eyes. “You are so eager… And you have a very clever tongue, too. It is merely that I do not wish to spend just yet.”
He let go, and planted his hands on the bed behind himself, leaning back and sighing deeply.
“Why don’t you go undress and come back here, mm, Beregond? I wager ’tmust have been quite a trial, carrying that erection trapped in your breeches all this time.”
“Yes, m’lord… of course…” Beregond murmured disorientedly, rising heavily to his feet. He realised then his knees were aching from standing on the hard floor, and indeed he was painfully stiff and swollen between the legs. He ran his tongue over his lips, and grinned to himself.
Happy, oh, how happy he was…
He was tempted to just tear his things off where he was and jump right into bed – but he remembered how carefully Lord Faramir had laid down his own garments, and knew he ought to do likewise.
He divested himself of everything, hanging his clothes over the empty chair and laying his weapons on the table alongside the captain’s sword and daggers, paying careful attention to doing everything neatly, thus trying to keep his mind busy, to divert it from his progressing nakedness. He had seen Lord Faramir’s body – and its faultless masculine grace had made him doubt his own comeliness for the first time. He had never considered himself particularly handsome – or otherwise, for that matter – he had never given the subject much thought at all. Beauty had never seemed like a proper thing to occupy a top line among a man’s merits, yet now he was beginning to reconsider…
The captain had followed the guard to put his own trousers over his other things and leave his boots by the table – and now that they stood completely unclothed and so near, albeit not yet looking at each other, Beregond felt an acute need to cover himself up. He was painfully aware of his swollen reddened sex jutting forth uncouthly, the curly darkness around its base insufferably vulgar in its abundance, and it struck him as unforgivable that he should present his lord with such a sight. The vespers had deepened, and everything in the room had acquired a dreamy ethereal shade of soft dark blue, the light in the chamber so gentle and ambient – yet to him even that little seemed too much, and he reached for the curtain to draw it over the narrow window.
“Nay, don’t close it – I like to see everything,” Faramir said quietly, coming to stand right behind Beregond, and Beregond’s hand dropped.
“Would your lordship wish for more light, then?” he asked bravely, indicating the single candle in a brass holder which stood next to the washing basin.
“Nay, ’tis perfect as is. Let the dusk enfold us: it does a good job of taking shame away, for nothing seems truly real in the twilight, now does it?” Then Faramir’s fingers came to lightly trace the lines of Beregond’s back. “You have a good body,” Faramir murmured thoughtfully, lustfully, yet there was also a note of unbiased professional approval in his voice. He was, after all, a warrior, and he could appreciate another soldier’s properly developed physique. “Strong and healthy,” he noted as though to himself, his hands moving from Beregond’s shoulders down along the line of his spine to his waist and the small of his back. “But not too heavy. You’ve got agility and grace, too,” the Ranger spread his fingers in a light grip over the guard’s hips. “And this, of course, is quite a sweet gift,” Faramir whispered with a chuckle, giving Beregond’s pert backside a probing squeeze. Beregond gasped, his muscles flexing involuntarily under the older man’s palms, and Faramir chuckled again. “I have chosen well, you are indeed very attractive all over, not just in the face.”
He is just saying it to make me feel better and curb my anxiety. He cannot possibly really see me like that…
But then Faramir added, wrapping his arms firmly around Beregond’s middle and pulling him close, “What saddens me, though, is that you carry yourself as though you are entirely unaware of your own appeal. Can it truly be so?” he whispered straight into Beregond’s ear, already beginning to press his rigid erection against the guard’s buttocks in a subtle rhythm.
Pressing back, yet still keeping his face timidly low, Beregond managed to reply between his catching intakes of breath, “But I… had always thought… just the same of you… my.. nnh… my lord.”
“Oh, really?” Faramir murmured in amusement, and bit him playfully on the lobe of the ear. “But you see, my gentle Beregond, in my case it has long since been but a pretence, or rather a habit, for I well know that a certain sort of men are aroused by such unassuming modesty on their partner’s behalf.”
“Well, I take it… you are also… such a man, m’lord,” Beregond answered, tilting his head back as Faramir leant in to kiss the side of his neck, and vaguely wondering at his own boldness.
“At times I can be, yes,” Faramir allowed with a grin, and kissed him again. “Only I wager your modesty is genuine, which makes it so much more exquisite to the taste.” Then one of his hands left its place on Beregond’s waist and slid down along the younger man’s abdomen. “And I also wager it may be rather short-lived…”
The Ranger’s fingertips brushed over the underside of Beregond’s erection, veritably making him jump. Faramir hummed with amusement and stroked the throbbing length, his touch just a fraction more substantial this time.
Beregond looked down, then hurriedly shut his eyes and tilted his head back, fearing the sight would be too much, and would push him right over. His lord’s hand, the hand that was used to wielding the sword and pulling the bowstring, both of which it did without fault, could actually be <i>so</i> gentle…

“How delicately smooth,” Faramir whispered against Beregond’s arched throat, “as though you’ve got the finest silk instead of skin. More fit for a nobleman, I’d say.”
Another light caress upwards, then back down. Just a touch, really – but done by a man, it felt entirely different, like Beregond’s very heart was open to be looked into, like he could not hide anything, for of course Faramir knew <i>exactly</i> what sensations he was giving…
“But I suspect there be some steely strength beneath such tender covering,” Faramir added playfully and, wrapping his long fingers around the length, gave it a single milking stroke, squeezing carefully and pulling upwards, with just a hint of a twist.
Panicking, Beregond jerked within his lord’s embrace – but it was too late, the guard’s manhood had already overflowed, his warm seed copiously leaking over the captain’s hand.
“My, your desire is strong indeed,” Faramir observed amusedly, and gave Beregond’s prick another squeeze, making it yield some more cream.
Beregond shut his eyes again, his thighs trembling faintly with residual tension, his face burning. “I am sorry, my lord,” he murmured for the countless time that evening.
And for the countless time, Faramir smiled. “Don’t worry about this. I take it as nothing but a compliment to my allure. And in any case, by the time I put my cock up your arse, you shall have grown hard all over again. We have a little time.”
Beregond only nodded in reply. He wondered if it was possible to actually faint from the mixture of bliss, fervour and anxiety…
“Do you know…” Faramir whispered huskily, “what your pleasure tastes like?”
Beregond shook his head mutely, and the Ranger said, “Well, I would have you know it.”
Letting go of the guard’s manhood, Faramir lifted his hand to Beregond’s face. The younger man stared at it, the mere vision already stirring his arousal anew. He was not accustomed to actually seeing his seed, usually spending it deep within his wife’s body, and was now staggered by what a luxuriously salacious sight it presented when smeared all over a lover’s hand.
Then the heir’s index finger, fully covered in the milky essence, briefly slipped past Beregond’s unresisting lips to brush against his tongue.
The younger man’s eyes shot wide open.
“Sharp!” he breathed out, a shiver of pleasant shock running through him.
Faramir chuckled contentedly, and let the moment linger – then his unbashful hand, covered richly in the evidence of Beregond’s release, slid around the guard’s body to pry between his naked buttocks. With a strained sigh, Beregond arched up to meet the touch – indeed, he did not seem to have all that much shame in himself when it came to it…
For a long delicious moment they did not speak, Faramir massaging him curiously between the legs, exploring the privacy of his body, rubbing the man’s own seed into his skin, Beregond breathing deeply, eyes closed, nothing except Faramir’s masterful warmth real in his world.
Then Faramir murmured playfully into his ear, “Or, on second thought, I could just bend you over this very table without any further ado – what do you say to this, Guard?”
“Anything your lordship wishes,” Beregond breathed out dazedly, by then positively grinding himself back at Faramir’s palm, “anything…”
Faramir probingly pressed the pad of his thumb to the place where Beregond’s body would yield to him – and Beregond heard himself whimper softly, surrendering at once, opening up to his lord’s power and strength...
But Faramir chuckled softly, and the touch was gone. “Nay, I am too weary for something like this, and the floor is a little cold, too – the bed seems a better choice in the circumstances. Come,” he took the younger man by the wrist and pulled him towards the shady alcove.
There the captain paused, and Beregond understood he was supposed to lie down first, which he did, resting his back on the cool mattress and bending his knees. Faramir lowered himself on top of him, their unclothed bodies finally touching front to front.
“I am going to be your first, aren’t I?” the heir murmured, curving his brow, and Beregond gave a silent nod of confirmation. He did not know whether his innocence in this area would be seen as a gift or rather as a nuisance, but in any case, there was no use trying to deny it. The captain, at least, apparently knew what he was doing.
And Faramir kissed him, the lord’s hair falling to Beregond’s face and tickling it softly, and Beregond embraced him across the upper back – and for a while they lay like that, slowly moving together, testing out the rhythm their bodies would work out between each other.
It felt unexpectedly comfortable, even reassuring to be in this position. Having been so overpowered by Faramir’s decisive confidence earlier in the evening, Beregond had been quite certain that actually having the man lie atop him would daunt him, and render him jittery and clumsy. But it did not, for although it did feel strange and at that faintly unsettling to play the recipient part, it also felt safe and proper, like it had felt proper to be kneeling between the captain’s parted legs. This was a position aptly matching their standing with each other, matching the roles naturally appointed to them in this encounter, and the appropriateness of it was calming. And even if he did feel a little afraid, the fear was of a pleasant, exhilarating variety, only sharpening his desire. Besides, Beregond simply liked the new sensations. Faramir was warm and heavy on top of him, heavy not in a bulky and oppressive sense, but in a dependable and arousing kind of way.
He may have never done this before, yet Beregond discovered that there was, at least this far, nothing difficult to the matter. Faramir was moving on top of him, and the mild unhurried rhythm of this motion, the touch of his skin against Beregond’s skin, the way his arousal ground hotly against Beregond’s loins – all of it was making Beregond’s body feel both acutely alive and sweetly, druggedly relaxed at the same time – and it was so easy to move together with him, to return his caresses, to dissolve in the softness of his skillful lips…
Sliding out of the kiss, Faramir bit Beregond playfully on the neck, then sat up and reached for the bottle lying close at hand. First warming the oil in his hands, he spread it generously all over Beregond’s intimate area, including even his half-erect cock, and thoroughly slickened his own hand before lying back down atop the younger man.
The next part seemed to require a little concentration on the heir’s behalf, and he did not reseal their kiss as his slippery hand moved down between their bodies, his gaze turning inwards as all his attention was apparently focused on the sensations at his fingers.
He caressed the guard between the buttocks searchingly, then his touch grew more confident and purposeful, and then he smiled.
“There we go,” the Ranger murmured smoothly.

To be continued...
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- 2
- 3
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Casualties of War	By : ColdDecember Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1629 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing of LOTR and make no money here.

Casualties of War