✧ had you said the word...

[knitsock]

In Everything But Name You've shared glances, felt the connection, figured out your feelings for each other. Both of you know that you want to be close - as close as you can be. And there's the catch, because there always is one, isn't there? As close as you can be. Because while you might consider yourselves together, that can be in everything but name. You still have to face the harsh realities you live in that may not look so kindly on your love. So you play what role you have to, regardless of what you know in your heart. Deep-vested knowledge, security, and subtle gestures will have to do for now. But one day, will that not be enough? ✿ Comment with your character, info, and prefs. ✿ Find a threadmate. ♥ ✿ You know how to play.

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Aaron Strider | LOTR (modern/STE AU) | OTA

[elfstoned]

fancy meeting u here

[nearamir]

[They've been meeting on and off for... what? Two months? Three?]

[Long enough for the situation to get even more precarious, anyway. Long enough for Faramir to have some not-quite dreams and some horrible suspicions about himself. And long enough that he's spent nights upon nights lying awake, trying to work out just what, exactly, is going on here]

[Unsuccessfully, because while Faramir has a lot of interpersonal skills, when it comes to self-reflection he has the capacity of a small teaspoon]

[He feels close to Aaron. He feels like someone else around him (and not that uncomfortable feeling of being someone else he had when he found he suddenly knew how a longsword worked) - someone quiet and reflective and unselfconscious]

[But he also hates the secrecy of it. He hates lying at the best of times, and the couple of times he's had to lie to Boromir...]

[He's good at hiding. He isn't good at secrecy]

[But he doesn't seem to have a choice. He can't bring himself to stop their meetings, and he can't afford on any level to bring it out into the light. Not even because Aaron is a guy (although he'd be lying if he said that didn't trouble him; there are certain expectations of him, after all), but because he's... well... Aaron]

[So... another week, another clandestine meeting. This time, he's bitten the bullet and invited Aaron to his apartment. He's... choosing not to examine his reasons for that too closely. Let's just say bars make him uncomfortable]

[Also, he lives in a fairly unobtrusive place, so unless someone is actually stalking him, it's about as safe as anywhere else for them to meet there]

you know what I'm here for <3

[elfstoned]

[There's no ignoring it anymore.

He's denied it to Julien every time it's come up, and Julien always drops it fast enough, but it seems to grow less and less convincing every time. No two ways about it, he and Faramir are close. They've compared notes about the memories they've gotten back -- glimpses of a world they share. He has shown Faramir some of the objects he's gotten back: a gray-green cloak, a cloak-pin shaped like a many-rayed star, a crystal ball. They've talked about places, about people, about how he had thought his name had been Thorongil but truly it was Aragorn, about a place called Minas Tirith.

And sometimes, when they are at a loss, when they have picked over the details so much that they feel as if they are thinking in circles and getting nowhere, they will talk about other things -- about history, about poetry, about brave things and beautiful things and sad things. More than once, Aaron has been moved to profound feeling, and he is more content sitting beside Faramir Steward in deep and thoughtful silence than, he thinks, he has been in years.

He has learned about Faramir, as well -- more than Faramir has told him. He's read between the lines of what Faramir has told him, has seen through the cracks, noted the omissions. Knowing Faramir as well as he does has left Aaron with a deep, fierce affection for the man. Sometimes he swears he just wants to grab the sides of Faramir's face and bring their foreheads together and grip Faramir's shoulder and breathe there until Faramir understands how good Aaron thinks he is -- but that would be weird and would probably come off as really, really gay.

Which. They're not. Except for when they're talking quietly, close together, and the idea of kissing him keeps crossing Aaron's mind. The idea has eaten at him and become all mixed up in that other thing he wants to do with the shoulder clasping and the gazing, so he's side-eyeing this weird itch to kiss Faramir's forehead about as much as he's side-eyeing the kinds of things he finds himself thinking about when they're close. Both would be weird. Both would be gay. Both run the risk of being poorly received.

....but would they be? Aaron can be a perceptive motherfucker when he wants to be, and sometimes Faramir turns away too quickly, sometimes his face goes redder than it should, sometimes he's flustered or seems uncomfortable when he has no reason to be. He....well, he's wondered. Wondered, but feared to assume, and been unwilling to jeopardize a relationship he values dearly.

And here he is, standing at your door as calm as you please, wrapped up in gloves and a hat and an old gray coat against the November cold. There's something tucked under his arm -- something bulky and oddly-shaped and wrapped in cloth.]

You had better let me in, unless you've changed your mind. I hope you haven't, because I've brought something I think you'll want to see.

that's what he said

[nearamir]

[Faramir raises one eyebrow, stepping aside to let Aaron in. His apartment is about what you'd expect: small and spartan, with books lining the walls. In the hallway, in plain wood frames, are photographs of his family, including an old one of his mother in a black frame. The whole place is scrupulously, militarily neat; bare wood floors swept and waxed, walls painted in the same deep green throughout, nothing frilly or fancy or unnecessary]

[His archery gear - two longbows and a bowcase for an Olympic recurve - leans up against a corner in the hallway, and next to it, the sheathed longsword that he got back a month or so ago. In the living room he leads Aaron into, there's no television, just a computer on the desk in the corner, and a radio on one of the bookshelves. The only messy thing in sight is the desk, which is half-buried under books and paperwork]

[He gestures for Aaron to sit down on the small sofa, clearing his throat] You can hang your coat up anywhere. Do you want tea, or coffee, or...?

omg not yet, if he said anything like that you'd bolt like a startled deer

[elfstoned]

[In answer, Aaron pulls a bottle of wine out from under his arm and places it in Faramir's hand.]

I'd hate to leave you with the impression that I don't have any manners at all.

[He's learned a thing or two about Faramir's taste in alcohol, thanks to dingy bars being generally the best place to meet. It's nothing he knows Faramir won't like.

Speaking of taste, the apartment falls neatly into one of Aaron's two guesses about what it would be like. The other involved art on the walls, but, Aaron supposes, that's what the books are.

He sheds coat, hat, and gloves, hanging them neatly out of the way, setting down the cloth-wrapped thing he's brought. As he does, the cloth parts a little, and metal can be seen beneath. It could be a sword, but the shape is wrong; it's not long enough to be a whole one.]

...it true

[nearamir]

[Faramir takes the wine with a smile, shaking his head as he turns to head into the little kitchenette for some glasses]

I'd never think you had no manners, Aaron. Thank you.

[He turns his back, returning a couple of minutes later and setting down a medium-sized wineglass in front of Aaron, then sits down opposite him, looking at the cloth package]

What is it?

[elfstoned]

[In answer, Aaron unwinds the cloth, and lays it across his knees. Metal shards catch the light -- a sword, broken halfway down the blade.]

I have the beginning of an answer to one of the questions raised by Bilbo Baggins's poem, I think. Here I have the blade that was broken -- a sword that was important to Aragorn, at least, important enough that he carried it around instead of an intact weapon.

...it reminds me of the Völsunga Saga.

[nearamir]

[Faramir looks up at him, then down at the sword, frowning slightly] That thought had occurred to me, just from the poem.

I thought it might be metaphorical, though. May I?

[elfstoned]

Of course.

I was wondering if you had any memories of it that might give us a clue to why it was so important. Does it look familiar?

[nearamir]

[Faramir frowns, reaching over to pick up the hilt with great care and respect]

No. No, I cannot say it does. [He turns it over in his hands, careful of the blade, thoroughly absorbed in examining it] Not in the way of something he's held, anyway. Like I dreamed of it once. But I may be making it up.

[elfstoned]

[Aaron listens, truly interested in the answer, but with less focus than he otherwise might. You see, Faramir's face, intent and focused as it is, is a little bit distracting.]

In a world of Elves and Dwarves and Wizards, psychic dreams wouldn't surprise me.

[nearamir]

[He's quiet for a long moment. A very, very long moment]

[Then he looks up, and sighs, and the moment breaks] I almost had something there. About... dreams. Dreams, and swords. [...in Imladris it dwells...] It's gone now.

[elfstoned]

[He laughs, and raises the glass of wine.]

It'll come back, I'm sure, sooner or later.

[nearamir]

I'm sure. [He passes the sword back, then raises his own glass in return] Thank you for showing me.

[elfstoned]

...it seemed as good an excuse as any to ask to meet you. Or are we past excuses, at this point?

[nearamir]

[There's a moment of uncertainty, of hesitation. He doesn't know why that should be, but it is]

[Then he clears his throat, flushing a little] I think we are. Or at least, I would like us to be.

[elfstoned]

[Is he reading this right? Or is he reading it terribly, terribly wrong?]

I would, too -- at least, between ourselves. I'm afraid you might never stop having to make excuses for me where your job and your family are concerned.

[A beat, then quietly:]

That's not how I'd want it to be. There's a lot I would give for respectability.

[Wryly]

The trouble is what I wouldn't give up, I think.

[nearamir]

[Quietly] Isn't that always the trouble?

I wouldn't ask you to make that kind of sacrifice for our friendship. I hope you know that.

[elfstoned]

Of course I do. I know you better than that by now.

[A flash of humor.]

Do you know, I have had to make excuses for you?

[nearamir]

[Faramir shakes his head] Not surprising. I would be stupid to think your friends would think any higher of me than mine of you.

[elfstoned]

Isabela, in particular, is very suspicious of your intentions. She threw her hands up, the last time we spoke about it, and said that if I wanted to throw myself at the police, it was my 'own damn business.'

[nearamir]

[He smiles a little at that] You could tell Isabela that I give my word not to use this friendship against you. But I imagine she wouldn't trust my word far.

[elfstoned]

No, most likely not.

[Looking up, meeting Faramir's eyes]

But I do.

[nearamir]

[All of a sudden, his mouth is dry. He clears his throat, and smiles]

Thank you.

[elfstoned]

[...he is moved by so much profound feeling right now, okay

Aaron has felt, deeply, that Faramir could be trusted, for a very long time. Expressing it like this is the kind of intense feeling that growing up in 20th-century America has taught him to shy away from. He could deflect by clearing his throat, or looking away, or making a joke, or changing the subject -- there are a thousand little ways he could fix this sense of trust and vulnerability, but Aaron finds he doesn't want to.

Instead, he reaches out and grips Faramir's hand.]

[nearamir]

[Faramir takes it. Clasps it, instinctively, between his own, meeting Aaron's eyes]

[He's always felt things deeply, intensely. It's been a cause of much mockery from both Boromir and his father (although only one of those has meant it as a serious disappointment). But even so, the depth of this takes him by surprise; he's staring into Aaron's eyes, feeling things he doesn't quite have words for (gratitude, and mutual trust, and kinship... those words cover some of what he's feeling, but fall far short of its complexity, its infinity) and leaning in a little, unconsciously, caught up in the moment]

[He's not moving in for a kiss, but it could very easily be taken that way]

[elfstoned]

[Maybe in another time, with someone else, Aaron would tease about deep feelings, a little. Even if he did, though, it would have no teeth, and on its heels would come acknowledgment.

Not now, though. Not with Faramir. Not with his hand in Faramir's, not with his own feelings what they are, not with Faramir leaning in. Maybe the best thing to do would be to break the moment, to let what's happening dissipate with a joke, but Aaron finds that that's not what he wants.

He pulls Faramir in by their clasped hands, not quick or hasty but firm, and though he won't be able to explain why later, or why he didn't realize it would very likely turn awkward and strange, Aaron finds himself brushing lips over Faramir's forehead in an unmistakable kiss.]

[nearamir]

[Faramir feels his face go hot, but he doesn't move away - at least, not more than he has to in order to look up at Aaron, meeting his eyes and holding them]

[He's quiet a moment longer, unsure how to feel or what to say. That kiss has resonance somewhere, the way certain words have resonance, the way the sword has resonance. But more than that, he finds himself caught up in something more immediate than the echoes of another life; in the warmth of Aaron's breath, and the closeness of him, and the way that kiss seems almost to burn on his skin]

[He bites his lip]

...You...? [He can't find words. Wants to, but can't]

[elfstoned]

[...he's not pulling away. Faramir is not pulling away. That, to Aaron, is the most overwhelmingly important fact about this situation. Faramir is not pulling away. Instead, he's flushing and biting his lip. Those are both extraordinarily positive signs.

I'm not wrong, Aaron thinks, I'm nearly sure of it. It's that that gives him the courage to stay in close, to tilt his head, to let himself say--]

It's a hard question you're trying to ask me, isn't it?

[nearamir]

[He laughs a little, nervously] I don't even know if it is a question.

Much less how to put words to it.

I feel... [God, how does he feel? He honestly has no idea] ...Strange.

[elfstoned]

[He leans in a little closer, their foreheads nearly touching now.]

I could give it words, I think, if I had to.

[nearamir]

...And what would they be? If you had to?

[He's biting his lip. He hasn't realised he is, but he is]

Sans | Undertale | OTA

[puneleton]

sam winchester ♦ supernatural

[hollowly]