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lotr_sesaTitle: The Pursuit of Happiness
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
baranduin
Recipient:aprilkat
Pairing: Frodo/Faramir
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and make no financial profit from this writing.
Summary: Frodo and Faramir recover from their injuries post-Quest in Minas Tirith. They both feel disconnected from the life around them and turn to each other in understanding.
A/N: Thank you toclaudia603 for beta reading! I hope you enjoy this, aprilkat! Happy Hobbit Holidays!
“I see I was right in my guess at Osgiliath,” Faramir said. He and Frodo were sitting in the sun one lazy afternoon during the miraculous summer of 3019, lounging in comfortable chairs on one of the Houses of Healing’s terraces. Though it was a warm day, both invalids’ laps were covered in fleecy blankets. The sun was bright and the sky cloudless, but the intermittent wind was keen and sharp. Its fingers sought out tender healing skin in sudden gusts.
Frodo laughed. “Yes, you were.”
“He looks very happy.”
Sam did look happy. And why would he not? His master was safe, if still too pale and thin, and he was busy with one of his dearest activities—planting seedlings in the terraces’ many flowerbeds. His fingers were dark with rich soil.
Frodo and Faramir watched Sam for a little while longer, then turned to each other in conversation. They had grown accustomed to doing so to while away the slow, gentle days between illness and full health.
“And you, Frodo? Are you happy? Are you content?”
“You have asked me that before.” Frodo pursed his lips and pretended to look irritated, though his lips curled up at the corners. It was most infuriating to have so little control over his mouth’s tendency to smile. He blamed the Man’s seemingly unending pleasant temperament (and something else that he never could quite put a name to).
“Aye, just as you have asked me.” And Faramir’s mouth curled in a most similar manner.
They did not settle the question that afternoon any more than they had done so the day before or the week before that or …
“Frodo?” Faramir spoke quietly though he need not have said the name. There were only two people who would have crept outside in the midst of the merrymaking. Faramir was one; therefore …
“I am here.” Frodo stood beneath the vigorous young tree. “It was so warm and loud. I’m all for feasts and I haven’t seen a finer one than Aragorn’s wedding banquet, though of course Bilbo’s going-away was very fine. Well, it wasn't quite as elegant, I wouldn't say that.”
“But almost, I would hazard. In a hobbity way.”
Frodo laughed and it turned into a yawn. “Silly of me, really, but for some reason these long feasts tire me out more than a brisk walk around all seven circles of the city do. Why do you suppose that is?”
"If I knew the answer to that, it would ease my own heart’s disquiet.” Faramir turned his head and listened as a particularly loud burst of laughter pierced the quiet courtyard, then faded again. “You would have thought the thickness of the walls would have muffled the sound more…” He returned his gaze to Frodo. “I think it must have always done so though there have been few merry feasts here for many years. All my life, in truth. Perhaps it is us. Maybe we are what is different, what does not fit. What say you to that, Frodo? Does all the noise press upon you after so many days of keeping quiet and still, and that after even more days of fearful toil?"
Frodo sighed. "Yes, in part. But it is something more, I think."
"I think you are tired."
"And you."
They both laughed. Then Faramir spoke again, his face earnest and grave in the moonlight. Frodo listened intently, his own face lifted to the man’s. "Perhaps our problem is impatience with our invalid state,” Faramir said. “We are not ill enough to stay abed happily and not yet recovered enough to take our place in everyday life as we think we should. It leaves us both too much time to think and fret. What do you think of that, Frodo?"
"I think you are wise, Captain Faramir. Shall we retreat from the field then? Er, just for the evening?"
It was Faramir's turn to sigh. "Would that I could. I must return at least for a few minutes."
“Surely Aragorn will excuse you.”
“I suspect he might, but it would be discourteous of me not to take my leave of him and his bride.”
“And I. Let us go together.”
They returned to the hall, the light and noise drawing them in even as they turned and looked back at the peaceful courtyard as it rested quietly in the night.
“Where is Sam?” Frodo asked a few days later when he arrived at his and Faramir’s favorite lounging place. Their accustomed chairs and blankets were waiting for them, Faramir was already there, and Sam’s tools were in the flower beds. More seedlings lay in neat rows on the green grass, waiting to be transplanted.
“He just left,” Faramir said. “Off running an errand for the Healer. Come, sit down.”
But Frodo stood looking at the prepared flower bed. The soil looked so soft and inviting. “I know what’s wrong with me. It’s my lazy ways! Come, let’s help Sam with the planting. I’m not the gardener he is, but I’ve done my share of planting and weeding back home. After all, we are not bedridden. What we need is something to do other than sit and walk, something to keep our hands busy and our minds restful.”
Faramir laughed and joined Frodo at the flower bed’s edge. “Good idea. And I am not a complete laggard. I have not told you this, but I spent many an hour in these very gardens, helping the healers when I was a lad and could escape my tutors. And these were always my favorites for the fall.”
“What are they?”
“Dahlias. They will keep the flower beds bright and colorful for many weeks.”
Soon they had their heads together as they quickly marshaled the rows of strong young plants. Faramir took charge of the digging and the covering to spare Frodo’s injured hand. Frodo placed each seedling into its prepared home. They bent over their task and moved quickly along the turf's edge, all the while with the sun warming their backs and their heads until both were perspiring. It felt good.
“Mr. Frodo, Captain Faramir! What are you two doing?”
They turned around to see a Sam whose face looked like a thundercloud. Given Sam’s sunny nature, this was most alarming to them and they jumped to their feet.
Frodo groaned.
Faramir groaned.
”My back!”
“My back!”
Sam stood with his arms folded and one foot tapping on the ground. “That’s just as I was thinking.”
Frodo groaned.
Faramir groaned.
“My back!”
“My back!”
“Listen to the two of you!” Ioreth clucked. She and her helper, Elese, pummeled and pounded and stroked the two invalids until they both felt like lumps of kneaded dough. “There, that should keep you. Now keep still and let the good oil and herbs do their work on your muscles.”
She and Elese padded away, leaving the two lying on their slabs of marble (oh, softened of course with thick padding and clean sheets) in the small treatment room. The door shut quiet behind them and then the invalids were alone.
“I can’t move,” Frodo groaned.
“Neither can I,” Faramir groaned.
They lay a few more minutes, enjoying the sensations of warmth and well-massaged muscles.
Then Faramir said, “Frodo?”
“Yes?”
“Are you happy?”
“Sticklebats,” Frodo said. “That again? Just when I’d managed to rid my brain of all pesky thoughts and you bring that up again?”
Faramir laughed though it quickly changed to a drawn-out moan. “Oh, I don’t know whether it hurts or feels good to laugh. A little of both, I suspect. But I cannot help asking you about your state of mind.”
“It does seem to have become a habit with you, my friend.”
The warmth that the term “my friend” produced in Faramir made him break out in a very pleasant sweat, though certain portions of his anatomy grew a little constricted and made him wriggle his hips against the smooth sheet. The action not only did not help reduce the fullness, it produced an even stronger reaction. He repressed another groan and said, “I could pledge to you that I will not bother you with that question any more, but I do not think I could successfully carry it out.”
“Why not?” There was a sharpness to Frodo’s voice and he turned his head to look at Faramir only to find that Faramir was looking at him. For how long, Frodo wondered and felt his lower belly tighten in a quick spasm.
“I do not know. I only know that it is important to me for you to be happy, Frodo. And I must do my part to ensure it.”
Frodo’s heart sank though he did not let it show on his face or in his words. “Ah,” he said lightly and shut his eyes. Evidently he had been mistaken in his conjectures and hopes. “Then I absolve you of your need. You have more than done your duty to me, Faramir, and you need do no more.”
There was silence then. It was a very loud silence that was broken by nothing more than the quickened exhalations of their breathing. Or was it panting?
When Frodo opened his eyes again, he found Faramir had not moved his gaze even an inch, but the quality of the look in his eyes pierced Frodo with a sweet pain for he could not mistake the naked want in their expression. “It is not mere duty you are speaking of, is it?” Frodo asked.
“No.”
Just that one word made Frodo relax all his muscles. He sighed loudly.
Faramir slid from his bed to Frodo’s in one quick movement. Not all his stealthy skills learned in Ithilien's thickets were helpful only in wartime. He perched, naked, on the side of Frodo’s bed. His body shone like ruddy gold in the candlelight; his chest gleamed with the aromatic oil kneaded so skillfully into his skin by Elese.
He bent his head and brushed his lips against Frodo’s, then pulled back. “What say you to this idea, Frodo? I will stop asking you about your happiness for an hour or two if we can find a more useful way to occupy our hands. Though I expect we shall grow even more sore than from our gardening exploits.”
Faramir shifted, propping his hands on either side of Frodo’s shoulders. Frodo shivered when Faramir’s long hair tickled his bare skin. He said, “Only our hands, Faramir? I think it will take more than hands to keep me from my useless thoughts. And after all, you have said it is your duty …”
“… and my pleasure …”
“… your pleasure to keep me occupied. What do you think?”
But Faramir did not have time to respond before Frodo pulled him close.
The couch on which they both lay now was narrow, and it took all Faramir’s skills in maneuverability to ensure that they did not end up tumbling onto the floor, which surely would have brought the two nurses back to the room. What a scandal that would have caused! But the brief thought of such a thing flashed into Faramir’s mind and drove him to even more careful application of his hands and mouth and cock and thighs and all the rest of him. For his entire being cried out (and had been crying out these past weeks) to press against Frodo’s body. Perhaps his desire had been behind his unending questioning about Frodo’s happiness. He did not know.
If Faramir’s mind still wondered and worried, his body did not, for Frodo met each kiss and caress eagerly, eventually winding his arms around Faramir’s waist and his legs around Faramir’s slim hips as they joined together and strained toward something, some sort of release not just physical but deeper than that.
They muffled their mouths against each other’s throats when they climaxed, more for the taste of their lover’s damp skin than for propriety’s sake. Afterward, they pressed close to each other, Frodo sprawled on top of Faramir, and listened to each other breathe.
Eventually, Frodo said, in between nuzzling the tender spot just below Faramir’s left ear, “Do you not have something to ask me? I believe it has been an hour, possibly two.”
Faramir said, his voice sharp with surprise, "Has it?"
Frodo started to laugh but found he could barely breathe, what with Faramir’s arms wound so tight around him, but he did manage a whispered, “The answer is yes” before everything began again and whispering was no longer an option.
The next day Ioreth, Elese and Sam stood together in the sun and watched Frodo and Faramir as they lounged on their chairs, laughing and talking.
Ioreth said, “I always did say that a good massage with oil and fresh herbs does a powerful lot of good for sore muscles. Look at the two of them!”
Sam cocked his head. “P’raps they should garden a bit every day. I think it was good for them all in all. I’ll keep an eye out for them so they don’t do too much.”
Elese smiled and said nothing but continued to watch the hobbit and the man after Sam turned to his gardening and Ioreth returned to her duties inside. Her smile broadened as she remembered passing by the treatment room late the night before, thinking she’d clear up the sheets and whatnot. When she heard the low murmuring and sighs that spoke much more loudly than any “Do not disturb” sign could have, she tiptoed away as quietly as she could.
Author:
baranduinRecipient:
aprilkatPairing: Frodo/Faramir
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and make no financial profit from this writing.
Summary: Frodo and Faramir recover from their injuries post-Quest in Minas Tirith. They both feel disconnected from the life around them and turn to each other in understanding.
A/N: Thank you to
claudia603 for beta reading! I hope you enjoy this, aprilkat! Happy Hobbit Holidays!“I see I was right in my guess at Osgiliath,” Faramir said. He and Frodo were sitting in the sun one lazy afternoon during the miraculous summer of 3019, lounging in comfortable chairs on one of the Houses of Healing’s terraces. Though it was a warm day, both invalids’ laps were covered in fleecy blankets. The sun was bright and the sky cloudless, but the intermittent wind was keen and sharp. Its fingers sought out tender healing skin in sudden gusts.
Frodo laughed. “Yes, you were.”
“He looks very happy.”
Sam did look happy. And why would he not? His master was safe, if still too pale and thin, and he was busy with one of his dearest activities—planting seedlings in the terraces’ many flowerbeds. His fingers were dark with rich soil.
Frodo and Faramir watched Sam for a little while longer, then turned to each other in conversation. They had grown accustomed to doing so to while away the slow, gentle days between illness and full health.
“And you, Frodo? Are you happy? Are you content?”
“You have asked me that before.” Frodo pursed his lips and pretended to look irritated, though his lips curled up at the corners. It was most infuriating to have so little control over his mouth’s tendency to smile. He blamed the Man’s seemingly unending pleasant temperament (and something else that he never could quite put a name to).
“Aye, just as you have asked me.” And Faramir’s mouth curled in a most similar manner.
They did not settle the question that afternoon any more than they had done so the day before or the week before that or …
“Frodo?” Faramir spoke quietly though he need not have said the name. There were only two people who would have crept outside in the midst of the merrymaking. Faramir was one; therefore …
“I am here.” Frodo stood beneath the vigorous young tree. “It was so warm and loud. I’m all for feasts and I haven’t seen a finer one than Aragorn’s wedding banquet, though of course Bilbo’s going-away was very fine. Well, it wasn't quite as elegant, I wouldn't say that.”
“But almost, I would hazard. In a hobbity way.”
Frodo laughed and it turned into a yawn. “Silly of me, really, but for some reason these long feasts tire me out more than a brisk walk around all seven circles of the city do. Why do you suppose that is?”
"If I knew the answer to that, it would ease my own heart’s disquiet.” Faramir turned his head and listened as a particularly loud burst of laughter pierced the quiet courtyard, then faded again. “You would have thought the thickness of the walls would have muffled the sound more…” He returned his gaze to Frodo. “I think it must have always done so though there have been few merry feasts here for many years. All my life, in truth. Perhaps it is us. Maybe we are what is different, what does not fit. What say you to that, Frodo? Does all the noise press upon you after so many days of keeping quiet and still, and that after even more days of fearful toil?"
Frodo sighed. "Yes, in part. But it is something more, I think."
"I think you are tired."
"And you."
They both laughed. Then Faramir spoke again, his face earnest and grave in the moonlight. Frodo listened intently, his own face lifted to the man’s. "Perhaps our problem is impatience with our invalid state,” Faramir said. “We are not ill enough to stay abed happily and not yet recovered enough to take our place in everyday life as we think we should. It leaves us both too much time to think and fret. What do you think of that, Frodo?"
"I think you are wise, Captain Faramir. Shall we retreat from the field then? Er, just for the evening?"
It was Faramir's turn to sigh. "Would that I could. I must return at least for a few minutes."
“Surely Aragorn will excuse you.”
“I suspect he might, but it would be discourteous of me not to take my leave of him and his bride.”
“And I. Let us go together.”
They returned to the hall, the light and noise drawing them in even as they turned and looked back at the peaceful courtyard as it rested quietly in the night.
“Where is Sam?” Frodo asked a few days later when he arrived at his and Faramir’s favorite lounging place. Their accustomed chairs and blankets were waiting for them, Faramir was already there, and Sam’s tools were in the flower beds. More seedlings lay in neat rows on the green grass, waiting to be transplanted.
“He just left,” Faramir said. “Off running an errand for the Healer. Come, sit down.”
But Frodo stood looking at the prepared flower bed. The soil looked so soft and inviting. “I know what’s wrong with me. It’s my lazy ways! Come, let’s help Sam with the planting. I’m not the gardener he is, but I’ve done my share of planting and weeding back home. After all, we are not bedridden. What we need is something to do other than sit and walk, something to keep our hands busy and our minds restful.”
Faramir laughed and joined Frodo at the flower bed’s edge. “Good idea. And I am not a complete laggard. I have not told you this, but I spent many an hour in these very gardens, helping the healers when I was a lad and could escape my tutors. And these were always my favorites for the fall.”
“What are they?”
“Dahlias. They will keep the flower beds bright and colorful for many weeks.”
Soon they had their heads together as they quickly marshaled the rows of strong young plants. Faramir took charge of the digging and the covering to spare Frodo’s injured hand. Frodo placed each seedling into its prepared home. They bent over their task and moved quickly along the turf's edge, all the while with the sun warming their backs and their heads until both were perspiring. It felt good.
“Mr. Frodo, Captain Faramir! What are you two doing?”
They turned around to see a Sam whose face looked like a thundercloud. Given Sam’s sunny nature, this was most alarming to them and they jumped to their feet.
Frodo groaned.
Faramir groaned.
”My back!”
“My back!”
Sam stood with his arms folded and one foot tapping on the ground. “That’s just as I was thinking.”
Frodo groaned.
Faramir groaned.
“My back!”
“My back!”
“Listen to the two of you!” Ioreth clucked. She and her helper, Elese, pummeled and pounded and stroked the two invalids until they both felt like lumps of kneaded dough. “There, that should keep you. Now keep still and let the good oil and herbs do their work on your muscles.”
She and Elese padded away, leaving the two lying on their slabs of marble (oh, softened of course with thick padding and clean sheets) in the small treatment room. The door shut quiet behind them and then the invalids were alone.
“I can’t move,” Frodo groaned.
“Neither can I,” Faramir groaned.
They lay a few more minutes, enjoying the sensations of warmth and well-massaged muscles.
Then Faramir said, “Frodo?”
“Yes?”
“Are you happy?”
“Sticklebats,” Frodo said. “That again? Just when I’d managed to rid my brain of all pesky thoughts and you bring that up again?”
Faramir laughed though it quickly changed to a drawn-out moan. “Oh, I don’t know whether it hurts or feels good to laugh. A little of both, I suspect. But I cannot help asking you about your state of mind.”
“It does seem to have become a habit with you, my friend.”
The warmth that the term “my friend” produced in Faramir made him break out in a very pleasant sweat, though certain portions of his anatomy grew a little constricted and made him wriggle his hips against the smooth sheet. The action not only did not help reduce the fullness, it produced an even stronger reaction. He repressed another groan and said, “I could pledge to you that I will not bother you with that question any more, but I do not think I could successfully carry it out.”
“Why not?” There was a sharpness to Frodo’s voice and he turned his head to look at Faramir only to find that Faramir was looking at him. For how long, Frodo wondered and felt his lower belly tighten in a quick spasm.
“I do not know. I only know that it is important to me for you to be happy, Frodo. And I must do my part to ensure it.”
Frodo’s heart sank though he did not let it show on his face or in his words. “Ah,” he said lightly and shut his eyes. Evidently he had been mistaken in his conjectures and hopes. “Then I absolve you of your need. You have more than done your duty to me, Faramir, and you need do no more.”
There was silence then. It was a very loud silence that was broken by nothing more than the quickened exhalations of their breathing. Or was it panting?
When Frodo opened his eyes again, he found Faramir had not moved his gaze even an inch, but the quality of the look in his eyes pierced Frodo with a sweet pain for he could not mistake the naked want in their expression. “It is not mere duty you are speaking of, is it?” Frodo asked.
“No.”
Just that one word made Frodo relax all his muscles. He sighed loudly.
Faramir slid from his bed to Frodo’s in one quick movement. Not all his stealthy skills learned in Ithilien's thickets were helpful only in wartime. He perched, naked, on the side of Frodo’s bed. His body shone like ruddy gold in the candlelight; his chest gleamed with the aromatic oil kneaded so skillfully into his skin by Elese.
He bent his head and brushed his lips against Frodo’s, then pulled back. “What say you to this idea, Frodo? I will stop asking you about your happiness for an hour or two if we can find a more useful way to occupy our hands. Though I expect we shall grow even more sore than from our gardening exploits.”
Faramir shifted, propping his hands on either side of Frodo’s shoulders. Frodo shivered when Faramir’s long hair tickled his bare skin. He said, “Only our hands, Faramir? I think it will take more than hands to keep me from my useless thoughts. And after all, you have said it is your duty …”
“… and my pleasure …”
“… your pleasure to keep me occupied. What do you think?”
But Faramir did not have time to respond before Frodo pulled him close.
The couch on which they both lay now was narrow, and it took all Faramir’s skills in maneuverability to ensure that they did not end up tumbling onto the floor, which surely would have brought the two nurses back to the room. What a scandal that would have caused! But the brief thought of such a thing flashed into Faramir’s mind and drove him to even more careful application of his hands and mouth and cock and thighs and all the rest of him. For his entire being cried out (and had been crying out these past weeks) to press against Frodo’s body. Perhaps his desire had been behind his unending questioning about Frodo’s happiness. He did not know.
If Faramir’s mind still wondered and worried, his body did not, for Frodo met each kiss and caress eagerly, eventually winding his arms around Faramir’s waist and his legs around Faramir’s slim hips as they joined together and strained toward something, some sort of release not just physical but deeper than that.
They muffled their mouths against each other’s throats when they climaxed, more for the taste of their lover’s damp skin than for propriety’s sake. Afterward, they pressed close to each other, Frodo sprawled on top of Faramir, and listened to each other breathe.
Eventually, Frodo said, in between nuzzling the tender spot just below Faramir’s left ear, “Do you not have something to ask me? I believe it has been an hour, possibly two.”
Faramir said, his voice sharp with surprise, "Has it?"
Frodo started to laugh but found he could barely breathe, what with Faramir’s arms wound so tight around him, but he did manage a whispered, “The answer is yes” before everything began again and whispering was no longer an option.
The next day Ioreth, Elese and Sam stood together in the sun and watched Frodo and Faramir as they lounged on their chairs, laughing and talking.
Ioreth said, “I always did say that a good massage with oil and fresh herbs does a powerful lot of good for sore muscles. Look at the two of them!”
Sam cocked his head. “P’raps they should garden a bit every day. I think it was good for them all in all. I’ll keep an eye out for them so they don’t do too much.”
Elese smiled and said nothing but continued to watch the hobbit and the man after Sam turned to his gardening and Ioreth returned to her duties inside. Her smile broadened as she remembered passing by the treatment room late the night before, thinking she’d clear up the sheets and whatnot. When she heard the low murmuring and sighs that spoke much more loudly than any “Do not disturb” sign could have, she tiptoed away as quietly as she could.
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Date: 2007-12-24 01:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-24 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-24 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-24 03:16 pm (UTC)I like the way you build this, with them both laid out yet restless, not quite fitting in with anyone but themselves. Having them overexert and have to be pummeled into relaxation and honesty and then finally getting together.
Heh, you sly thing, having those particular nurses make this possible!
Thank you so much. I love it!
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Date: 2007-12-24 06:47 pm (UTC)Thanks again, it was a lot of fun to write.
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Date: 2007-12-25 02:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-24 11:29 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing!
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Date: 2007-12-24 11:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-29 07:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-31 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-31 01:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-31 09:09 pm (UTC)I love your icon.
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Date: 2008-01-25 05:33 pm (UTC)I haven't forgot about uploading my fics to the Last Ship and the painting/inking for the site...things have been..er...odd and cumbersome, let's say. So just so you know...love you.