Work Text:
Minas Tirith’s private parlour is silent except for the hiss of the wind outside through the window, the weather is not kind over Gondor today. You sit on a chair at a wooden desk, the room around you lit up by the faint hue of the sun hiding behind grey clouds and the flames of candles burning on a chandelier over your head. You look at it when a flame flickers and sigh. The wood under your fingertips is rough, its polish gone in places, you fear a splinter will get through your finger but continue tracing over it absentmindedly.
You are torn from your daydreaming when the door opens in a slight cry and a sheepish boy walks in with a small smile on his face. Yours light up as well at the sight of him, not for long though. Your brows draw together a little in confusion, you don’t understand how this could have happened. You were sure you had been clear enough in your intentions with him, otherwise why would you invite him to study with you in a private parlour a material you don’t even need to learn for another three weeks? Even beside that, it had been months now since you had grown aware of your feelings for the prince, and your attempts at courting weren’t so discreet.
Yet Faramir seemed to not see any of them, you wondered if he chose to ignore them or was simply incapable of seeing you as other than a friend. The thought pinched your heart a little, you thought you two had grown fairly close since you first met during lessons. You were trying really hard to make him see you were interested, to try and help him tear advances out of himself if he was too shy to work ones on his own; every single one of your attempts failed.
Just like Faramir thought you were failing a subject and was dead set on making you pass the year with him. He couldn’t survive Middle Earth’s realms’ genealogy class without you again.
As a scholar attending the same elite reserved classes as the prince of Gondor, you had put much more effort than him being accepted in the program, and had generally better grades than him. In reality, more often than not you were the one teaching him over schedule. Except for military strategy, that was his strong suit. So you had pretended you were failing this exact subject, along with promising you’d help him with history of Middle Earth, for good measure. Faramir had not needed any kind of reward or deal to accept your request, he was more than happy helping you. Moreover if it meant he could spend more time with you, though he would never admit it to your face. How could he ever deny you anything when you asked him with those doe eyes that would make him fold to his knees and abide every single one of your commands? When you trailed your hand along the side of his arm and batted your eyelashes in his face? When you pouted so and he had to violate himself not to stare at your lips?
No, really, you had done everything you could to hint studying was an excuse. And now, Faramir was standing at the door with that sickeningly sweet smile, a mountain of study books in his arms —much more than you would have thought you would need giving your initial intentions. Blatant flirting was going to have to wait, the prince was already sitting down by your side, manuals slamming down the desk as he let them fall.
“Would you like us to go over elvish military tactics right away?“ he asked, already opening a book to a carefully dog-eared page.
You held back a smile at the folded corner. You recognised him here, always trying to do things as best and as neatly as possible to please his father and make his brother proud. Boromir was less delicate, yet it mattered little for he excelled in everything.
The pressing look the prince sent you and the silence that lingered reminded you of the question hanging; you wanted to smash your head on the desk, that’s what you wanted to do.
“Maybe we could begin with history instead?“
“But you’re the one who needs to stud-“
“Come on! Best is last,“ you flash him a wink to which he blushes instantly.
“Alright.“
A smile creeps up your face as he switches books. You weren’t going to let your plans fail so easily, perhaps if you were the one doing the teaching you could work up a way to make him take the hints. When he pushes the book to you, your hands graze even though his rest on the higher end of the cover. You look up to fleeting eyes and a pinkish hue to the cheeks of the prince, it makes your smirk widen.
You try to keep up the appearances with the first question, average inquiries about Middle Earth’s biggest events, the name of old kings and specificities concerning certain regions. When Faramir less expects it, actively trying to recall everything he knows about his world, you lean against the desk towards him, elbows lazily supporting your weight as you rest your chin on the back of your intertwined hands.
“The name of the next queen of Gondor?“ you ask, voice underlined by a warmth that burns him right where it shouldn’t.
Faramir seems to give de question a real thought for a split second before his traits wrinkle and he shrugs. Why do you look at him like that? With eyes that draw him in instinctively like he isn’t already a puppet to your will.
“I don’t know… Boromir doesn’t have his eye on any girl that I know of,“ he replies as if you had asked a real question. “This isn’t even a true question from the books, you’re being nosy.“
The way he smirks like he has you figured doesn’t fail to make your guts twist, but he is also so clueless it despairs you. Perhaps there is really nothing that will work with this boy aside from smashing your lips to his; even that you think there is a chance he misreads. You could have fallen from your sit for all he knows. What a curse the Valars made you like sweet, clueless boys.
“Oh. Yes, Boromir… Must be very busy with the army and all.“
The boy in front of you nods, you’re getting tired of this one-way thing. You slam the book shut before throwing your head back with a long sigh. You don’t catch the way Faramir’s throat bobs when his gaze falls on your own on full display, fair and perfect for his lips to stain. It’s hard for him to stand still and keep his composure when you act like this, overly-friendly and too touchy for his own good. It has been this way for weeks now, maybe months, and it seems like you test him to stay his calm collected self, but Faramir has far too much respect for you to let himself fold to your easy temper. You probably don’t even know what you’re doing to him.
“Do you want to take a break? We could go for a walk,“ the prince invites, seeing your unfocused state.
It makes you feel bad telling him you’re bored, you know he will take it the wrong way and think you mean he bores you, which is utterly false; you settle for the textbooks at last. You know he is happy to help, you can at least give him that.
You lower your head back and shake it slightly at his concerned look. “No, let’s keep going, I am sure we’ll finish in no time.“
Faramir isn’t so sure of that but he doesn’t say anything, just lays out the military book in front of you and begins to try and explain notions you may have missed. You think you know the material by heart but quickly finds that little of what he says makes any sense to you. Perhaps you did need to review this topic with him, in fact. With time, you find yourself bracing further against the desk and leaning in closer to the sketches on the pages, as if closing the distance with them could make you decrypt their meaning easier. The corner of a page flies slightly when your breath hits it, beside you, Faramir too has leaned in unconsciously while explaining the reading of the pages.
You don’t register you are awfully close to each other until he asks you to point at something you have no idea where to place on the drawing and your guess reveals itself to be wrong. Like second nature, his fingers delicately wrap around your wrist to make you point at the right answer. Your eyes dart up to his at the motion and it seems he only realises what he just did when he meets your gaze and you turn a pretty shade of pink in front of him. Under the pad of his fingers, the prince can feel your pulse quickening, he loosens his grip enough for you to escape but you don’t. You are too busy staring at the golden shimmer of his eyes under the flames around you, casting required light upon your work and reflecting on his face. Your breath slows by instinct; lost in the blue of his eyes, you lose the dear pressure of his hand when he coughs from the back of his throat to break the tension, eyes averting everywhere but back to yours.
You shift back in your sit a little, a normal amount of distance between you. Faramir resumes his teaching, though there is a slight strain to his voice he needs to clear his throat a couple of times to make disappear. You rest your head upon your crossed arms on the surface of the desk, eyes following lazily the quill he uses to point at things on a map. Unfortunately, your eyelids grow heavy and your mind groggy, the more you try to fight the sleep creeping in, the more the lights seem to dim and Faramir’s voice softens until it is but a background noise in your head. The last thing you hear before dozing off is the typical buzz of reluctant sleeps lulling you in its safe comfort.
It takes a minute for Faramir to see you’ve fallen asleep next to him. When he notices, he can’t help but observe you fully now that he has the possibility. Your body heavies up and down with the easy pace of your breath, peaceful, and your face holds no frown. The prince smiles to himself, as always, his favourite topic completely bored you. He liked to think you completed each other, where you had your flaws he had his strengths and the other way around.
Unconsciously, the prince of Gondor reached for a lock of hair which had slipped from its place and fell in front of your face. He brushed it back, and the motion flowed on its own so that soon he was brushing the top of your head tenderly. The petting didn’t stir you awake right away, and for a long while he stayed here in silence, watching you beauty sleep the lesson away. It was a wonder how you could look this pretty still while asleep, he couldn’t be the only one thinking you were a sight to behold.
His heart squeezed in his chest at the thought of other men wanting to make you theirs, jealousy was not something Faramir hid very well, it showed in clipped tongue and longer silences, which seemed without ending since the boy wasn’t usually a talkative persona. But then he remembered he was the one watching you sleep on your lesson, lesson which he was the one you invited to. The prince of Gondor was the one gravitating around you, whether the pull was equally felt or not.
The hand in your hair didn’t stop roaming gently, untangling wild locks in the process, nor did it when you eventually blinked awake under his touch. Eyes opened to slits to better hide yourself from the lighting of the room and because they were still heavy from sleep, the first thing you saw was Faramir beside you, addressing one of his soft smiles you melted for. The movement in your hair continued, soothing you. You didn’t jump at it, only acknowledged its gentle presence, still too clouded by Morpheus to dig deeper in the intimacy of the situation. Faramir seemed to have relaxed, the book beside him was still opened but left untouched like you remembered it was before you gave in to tiredness. An orange haze softened his features, tangled in his hair.
“What time is it?,“ you asked, voice strained.
“Late, I’ll walk you to your room.“
“No, I want to stay here with you,“ the prince’s lips twitch. “If I go back to my room you’ll leave,“ you explain like it is the most obvious thing.
“What if i stayed?“
“You would?“
“Do you want me to?“
Your eyes twinkle at the question, you nod and without further ceremony he gets up, motioning for you to do so too. You leave the warmth of the parlour in a beat for the sudden coldness of the fortress’ corridors, your books and quills still lying about the desk messily. You hang at the prince’s arm as he guides you through the maze back to your room. When you finally reach it, he does as he said he will: he lets you in first but follows after.
He doesn’t leave.
You crawl under the covers and the mattress beneath you dips under the weight of Faramir sitting down at the edge of it. You look at him quizzically and huff a laugh.
“You are not going to sit here all nigh, are you?“ he shrugs. Sometimes, he is so respectful and well behaved it gets in the way of your intentions. You shake your head like you can’t believe it. “Lie down with me.“
“Are you sure?“
“I’m cold,“ you say as you open the covers for him to slip under.
He does so very gingerly, trying to maintain as much a respectable distance with you as he could, though the situation you were in was not fit for etiquette in the first place. Faramir felt as if his heart was now beating everywhere all at once when you sent his carefulness flying by scooting closer and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Cheeks which turned red in a matter of seconds at the warmth of your lips, but you didn’t see it, you were already lying down again. On his chest this time.
You had but little time delving in the way his heart thumped a steady rhythm under your ear, although faster than normal, before you sunk back to sleep again in his arms, Faramir’s hand stroking your arm gently. The prince tried to keep awake all night, refusing to fall asleep next to you in your own bed because it seemed like crossing a line you hadn’t invited him in. But as the night settled deeper, his head began to feel heavier than before and he felt himself nodding off multiple times before he finally succumbed to sleep against his will.
In the morning, you woke up to the sun filtering through light curtains, hitting your face in patches. Around you, something radiated of warmth, and when you looked down you saw a limb around your waist, keeping you in place soundly. That’s when you remembered you didn’t fall asleep alone, and Faramir had kept his promise: he didn’t go away.
Your rubbed the sleep away from your lids and straightened to fall face to face his the prince, already awake, a cool shade of blue and purple starting to paint his under-eye.
“I hardly slept like this in years,“ you greet with a smile.
Faramir’s lips mimic the curl of yours. “I am glad. I must apologise, I fell asleep during the night.“
The excuse makes you frown in incomprehension for a minute, you had expected for him to sleep, was inviting him in your bed not enough proof? That’s when it hit you that the prince had tried to keep awake all night because he still believed you indifferent, too friendly in character, perhaps a bit clueless regarding social cues.
The melody of your laughter hit Faramir like an axe when you burst out laughing, eyes almost watering with tears. He was the one who had to take lessons in social cues, any man would have caught on your feelings by now, but not him. Maybe he believed himself unworthy of your love, not great enough to attract any girl like his brother did, especially not you.
You understood nothing would work, you had to slap the reality to his face, otherwise you’d spend an eternity making a fool out of yourself a bit more each day.
When your laughter died down and you looked up at him, the lost look in his eyes confirmed your guess. You didn’t think much when your fingers closed around the collar of his shirt and you smashed his lips to yours, the prince oddly easy to handle. Faramir froze in the kiss, he tried to make sense out of it, to rationalise you must have fell. Nothing worked, nothing explained this other than a purposeful doing. You had chosen to kiss him, it was no mistake on your part with the grip you held on his clothes.
When the prince of Gondor came back to his senses, it took him a split second before pulling you closer with an arm around your back and a hand to your cheek. Your worry sunk down when he replied to the kiss, though your heart tripped on itself inside you. Lips parted instinctively and in seconds the man of your dreams was all over you, gentle yet urging in the way people often are when they let loose a feeling they hid for years.
He helps you crawl higher into his laps, hands more adventurous than you would have imagined, and you kiss until there is no breath left in your lungs. You don’t part because your chests melt as one and you plunge back into his mouth the second an inch separates you. Your lips bruise against his, lazy from sleep still, languid in open-mouthed kisses which make you numb to the core. Things find their meaning into him, into the softness he cradles them in, if the bed creaks and he doesn’t acknowledge it then it doesn’t exist.
Your hands slide to his neck for better leverage until, at the end of all things, you have to part when a voice rings your name outside the door.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Faramir? He is not in his room,“ Boromir’s voice asks.
“Oh, uh yes,“ you hold back a giggle when the missing prince cuts your answer with a kiss again. “Hm, I think he is at the market, you should look for him there.“
Boromir’s voice doesn’t reply right away, as if he doubts your information or is trying to listen more closely. “Alright, thank you,“ and then the heir leaves, hidden from the truth by the closed door.
You let yourself fall in a stomach-aching laughter when you cannot hear his footsteps echo in the hall, in the opposite direction from the market. It dies slowly in your throat when your lover pushes hair out of your face with a gentle hand, his cheeks are coloured by a pinkish haze.
“Please, next time do not bring your books, because I wanted to kiss you quiet every time you spoke about studying,“ you plead.
“But you wanted to study?“ the obvious look you give him looks like it solves a puzzle in his mind, adds a missing wheel to the machine.
“Oh.“
“Oh,“ you reply, relieving in the fact that, next time, you won’t have to wait for him to pick up on your innuendoes before doing something about them.