by Sophia Moon
Email: sophia_moon AT hotmail.com
The One Who Watches
He should not be there. Faramir felt shame crawling inside of him like an animal with a thousand tentacles, but he could not turn away and stop watching. How could he stop watching, when the Elf Legolas, was kneeling at the feet of Aragorn, the future king, his head slightly bowed like he was waiting for something? The Elf was naked, the Man was not.
If he had not seen the Manís lipís move, Faramir would never have known the order, or perhaps request, Aragorn had given, if not for the deft movement of Legolasí fingers. There was something slightly unsettling to witness such graceful pale fingers wrap around the angry red of the Manís cock. Then, without any hesitation, Legolas bowed his head deeper and swallowed the impressive shaft until his nose was buried in the coarse hairs. Faramir wasnít certain if he admired this feat more, or the fact that Aragorn did neither utter a sound or wavered for even the slightest moment on his feet.
During immeasurable seconds there was nothing but the Elf offering this mouth and throat, while the Man, his hands firmly in the bright veil of hair, moved in and out with precise slowness.
Faramir wanted to be the Elf, wanted to be that Man. He wanted to be their beauty and courage, but he knew he would never be more than just enough. Legolas would never kneel at his feet and Aragorn would never order him to his bed. He was the one who watched and desired, but would never receive.
Still, fortune gave him a consolation by offering this sight during his afternoon walk. He no longer thought of walking away, of even turning his head or closing his eyes. Shame still had a tentacle firmly on his heart, but lust cooed about never getting another chance to see the king and his consort in such intimate manner, and Faramir gave in. A few swift moved were enough to free his aching hardness. He could already feel a slight trickle of pre-come leak on his fingers. Not once he looked down, afraid he would miss even a single heartbeat worth of time.
Suddenly Aragorn withdraw from Legolasí mouth and started to undress, as if clothing become unbearable. Legolas stayed as he was, and although Faramir could not see his face, it was not hard to imagine the serene smile of patience and love. Faramir was not fooled by the fragile beauty of the Elf: if Legolas did not want this, Aragorn didnít stand a chance. And even more, Aragorn would never take what was not given freely and with a joyful heart.
Man could not be more different from Elf, than Aragorn from Legolas, and still both took equally Faramirís breath away. Skin against skin, dark against light, the beauty of a life lived to the full against the beauty of timelessness. The hard flesh in his hand twisted and Faramir caressed it like a nervous horse. He had to bite his lip not to cry out while he moved his slick hand up and down his cock.
Not one moment he stopped looking. It shocked him to the core how someone as slim and frail looking in comparison to Aragorn as Legolas, could impale himself so quickly and without any preparation on the Manís swollen cock. Faramir winced at the thought how much stretching would be required to accommodate such width. Still, nothing indicated any pain or discomfort in the Elf. Instead, he established what seemed a comfortable rhythm while holding Aragornís hands.
The lovers started to talk in soft, mesmerizing words. Faramir could not understand them, but what else could they be saying than what he would say, if he had been the lover of either of them? But he was not their lover, so his hand became hard and angry and still he did not make a sound. Suddenly he realised they had been the last people to see his brother alive. Had he known and wished he could be there, with them? Had they requested his company?
He closed his eyes to see the three most beautiful men he had ever known in close embrace.
He turned to see two inviting smiles and open hands. ďJoin us, Faramir, beloved brother of Boromir.Ē
How could he walk away from them? How could he walk away from his own heart?