Waiting for the branding, Marek remembers the past.
Chapter 13: First Encounter
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Marek could see the fear in Faramir’s eyes as Aran looked closely at the brand before deciding it needed to be heated further. The young Gondorian could not move at all now. The herbal potion they had given him would ensure that. But he would feel and Marek wanted him to feel the pain of being marked As Marek’s for the rest of his life.
“Isn’t he beautiful, Aran?” he breathed now as he ran his fingers over Faramir’s heaving chest, “And he’s even more beautiful when he’s scared. Just like he was when I first saw him.”
It had been a year ago. Faramir had been just as attractive then, with all the beauty of youth that Numenorean men seemed to posses. Marek remembered staring at Faramir, at the slender figure, the slightly saddened eyes, and that lush, beautiful mouth that pouted so well. He had even then wanted to capture those lovely lips.
He had tried too. He had cornered Faramir a few days later near one of the gardens. The younger man had greeted him cordially enough but then Marek had stepped forward and garbed him.
Marek wrapped his arms around Faramir’s waist before the young man could react and lowered his lips onto his shocked mouth at the same time grabbing Faramir'ss wrists in a bruising grip and pushing him back against the wall nearby. He forced his tongue in swiftly exploring the contours of the sweet lips.
Slipping his hands in under Faramir’s tunic he began exploring his chest, letting his hands brush the nipples. Then his hands had slipped lower even as Faramir had begun struggling against him. He'd slipped into Faramir pants smiling inwardly as the young man began to panic. He stroked the rounded buttocks and slipped his finger between them running slowly up and down the sensitive skin.
That was when Faramir decided to cry out and push him away breaking the kiss.
“Wh-what are you trying to do?” Faramir screamed.
Marek had been furious after that encounter. Faramir had refused him categorically and asked him to stay away. But he couldn’t.
And now, even as the anger over that encounter returned, Faramir lay here under him, as good completely helpless and so vulnerable, driven from his home straight into Marek's arms. He stared down at the ranger’s body, noting the same slender waist, the pale brown nipples the way still red his thighs shook as Aran moved the legs wider to allow better access.
Marek groaned. How was he to keep his hands off this boy till the wedding?
What happens next?