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A is for two lovely arses, Frodo's and Faramir's, both juicy and round. The thing Faramir likes best about Frodo's bottom is how perfectly each appled cheek curves into a welcoming hand. For Frodo's part, he likes to pretend that the two dimples just above Faramir's arse were caused by none other than his own hobbity heels pressingbrandingclaiming.
B is for bed, and a fine one it is. Long and wide with the deepest, softest feather mattress ever made to special order in the City of the Corsairs. Though they've figured out how to make just about any nook inside or outside the house into a bed, the real thing is their favorite and not just because of the softness of the mattress or the little bookcase built into the headboard or the neat steps on either side for Frodo's ease. There's something about the light that filters in through two round windows of colored glass that overlook the sea … but that discovery is for another story.
C is for cock. No, C is for cocks, two of them, hard and thick and full of wanting. Though not weeping. *shudders*
D is for the desire that curls inside their bellies. Perhaps not hungry right now, but you never know when a careless touch to brush tangled hair out of a fine pair of gray eyes will wake it up. Fast.
E is for easy. How easy it sometimes is, when all it takes is a kiss or a stroke, a sigh or a murmured "I love you" to make the world right.
F is for the fun to be had in flicking drops of semen from lazy fingertips, a pleasant activity when desire has been sated for the time being and the fire is burning low and eyes are drooping but something needs to be done about the little pool glistening on Frodo's belly. They have agreed between them that Faramir can achieve greater distance with his technique, but that Frodo's aim is far more accurate.
G is for greedy hands and mouths and cocks, especially when the air is warm and heavy and thunder rumbles the terrace.
H is for hair. Faramir is particularly fond of the coarse hair that curls on the tops of Frodo's feet. The thing is, Frodo is so beautiful in body that this one part of him that is not beautiful, that is *too big* for beauty, comforts Faramir. In their bath, Faramir likes to press his more graceful appendages beneath Frodo's, and it never fails to make him laugh, though after the first dozen times Frodo finds little amusing about it and rolls his eyes.
I is for that sharp intake of breath whenever Faramir penetrates Frodo (or vice versa), whether by cock or finger or tongue (though usually not in that order).
J is for the jealousy that runs hot and true in their veins. Frodo still sees red when he thinks of that night at Hallas' home when he saw an Umbar woman with long pale hair press up against Faramir. Though Faramir swears he only took her by the shoulders to push her away, Frodo insists with equal certainty that Faramir took his sweet time between the holding and the pushing away.
K is for all sorts of kisses, whether brief and perfunctory or long and hungry. Sometimes it surprises Faramir how much he loves to kiss Frodo. Though he had no dearth of experience with the women of Gondor, it was the one thing that he always found tedious … unpleasantly close with all those tongues and saliva and hot breath, something to be hurried past. He could spend the rest of his life kissing Frodo's soft mouth.
L is for laughter, and they do laugh, more than they cry or pine for what lies out of each. For some reason, laughing leads to tickling, and tickling leads to rubbing, and we all know what rubbing … that is, see "R" for "rubbing."
M is for mushrooms of all shapes and sizes, though Frodo's favorite mushroom does not grow out of the ground but from a thicket of soft golden fur. Its scent is more intoxicating to Frodo's senses and appetite than the biggest dish of fried mushrooms and bacon.
N is for nipples rose-pink and hard though they don't start out that way. The quickest way to make Frodo's nipples hard is with a light touch, and Faramir has learned that lesson well. It's not that Frodo doesn't wriggle under a rougher caress, but it's the soft-as-a-feather technique that really gets him going.
O is for orgasms long and true. And the wonderful substance that helps the orgasms along, bergamot-scented OIL, which is kept in vast quantities in a little cupboard in the bathing room.
P is for po-ta-toes. And that's that.
Q is for queer, for Umbar is a queer place and no mistake, if you take my meaning that is (or even if you take Professor Tolkien's original meaning).
R is for rubbing rubbing rubbing. It's not all about penetration, you know, though as with penetration, oil is a fine and necessary addition. Now, Frodo thinks that he's definitely got the best end of the so-called stick when the need to rubrubrub comes over them, as it often does. (And why wouldn't it with such a fine "B" for "bed" to roll around on during the rub-a-dub-dubbing?) No matter whether Frodo sprawls on top of Faramir or lies beneath his lover with thighs spread wide, his hard little cock is well-covered by Faramir's more substantial (but certainly not more needy) member, ensuring *maximum* stimulation at all times. It is no surprise to Frodo that he usually climaxes first. But Faramir thinks he's got the better part of the bargain, for not only does he have Frodo's stiff member pressing beneath his rubbing shaft in a concentration of wetness and heat and all that is delightful about beloved hard flesh, but he has Frodo's taut belly to slide across. And how that little belly responds--with sudden jerks and quivering and shuddering that is so stimulating to a hungry cock. Faramir also likes that Frodo usually climaxes first, which is not the way of it when Faramir is sunk deep inside Frodo and he can hardly bear another stroke before it drives him mad. With a little air around his hot shaft, he can take his time, can savor the desperate look that grows on Frodo's face the longer the rubbing goes on. Sometimes, the expression on Frodo's face is pinched, and a stranger looking in and seeing only Frodo's face might think the hobbit was in pain. Which you might say he is, not that Frodo minds. Faramir loves how he makes that look rise on Frodo's face for he also knows that only he can make it all better by more judicious rubbing of oil- and sweat-slicked cocks and bellies until that most precious of substances pulses between them. See "S" for more detail.
S is for so very many things all pointing to one actual specific substance: salty, sweet, savory, sweaty, spurting, spouting, splashing, spraying, spattering, surging, streaming, squirting, slippery, sloppery, sultry, sticky, squishy, semen, sperm, seed, spectacular, scrumptious, sumptuous, silky. Er. It's speshul stuff! Now, one night Frodo and Faramir were lying in their "B" for "bed" after a session of "R" for "rubbing," and they got curious about the relative taste merits of their own come (not that they would have called it that, or at least not unless they were lying in their "B" for "bed" just about drowning in the stuff). While Frodo was intimately acquainted with the flavor of Faramir's joy juice (and vice versa for Faramir re Frodo), they both admitted with many a blush (since, after all, they are both gentlemanly and gentlehobbity sorts) that they had never tasted even the smallest drop of their own fine vintage. After much jockeying for position and bargaining—"on the count of three … cheater!"—they both went for it with a quick dab of finger on cock head. With averted eyes, both swiped a tongue across wet finger. Wet fingers became pointed fingers and averted eyes became amazed (and slightly accusing) eyes. "Tastes like you!" After some additional taste testing, they both determined that the samples had been irretrievably intermingled, thereby rendering this particular test invalid, and that they would try again some time. Some time. Maybe.
T is for the tip of Frodo's clever tongue. It's got Faramir conditioned quite nicely to go, shall we say, just a little heavy and full in the crotch whenever he comes home and Frodo greets him with a careless kiss and a tongue quickly darting out to lick Faramir's tongue or swipe the man's lower lip. Just like the very first time they kissed all those long months ago in Minas Tirith and Faramir ran away. He doesn't run away now.
U is for underclothes. They do wear them, you know. Just because they don't get mentioned in fics by me doesn't mean they're not there. Judicious authorial editing deems their mention in the normal run of things as superfluous (not to mention completely unromantic). But they are there. And given Faramir's fortunate influence on Frodo, the hobbit's underclothes are no longer woolly baggy things of many buttons reaching nigh past his knees. No, Frodo has "seen the light" so to speak in the matter of underclothes. Given his practical nature in many things, it is likely that the warmer climate of Umbar has contributed to his conversion to thigh-length one-button drawers (though still not as short as Faramir's, not that Frodo ever complains when he sees a little hint of plump cheek or ball when the man bends over).
V is for the velvet head of Faramir's very very hard cock. Frodo's clever tongue delights in many things of contrast—thick hot chocolate sauce slipping down a hard mound of cold cold vanilla iced cream, for example. But nothing gives his mouth or fingers as much pleasure as the seeming incongruity of the softness of Faramir's skin as it slips over the hardness within.
W is for wet. They are. A lot. All over.
X is for xin-xung, a mysterious spicy herb of eastern provenance (*cough* past the land of the Variag, that is), a tonic of which Faramir occasionally partakes when he feels his sexual prowess is rather less than optimum. He partakes privately though the silly man knows full well that Frodo arranges for its purchase from the Haradrim caravans. Frodo doesn't think that it does anything in particular to the quality of Faramir's erections, but Faramir does, so the hobbit gives the man what he thinks he needs.
Y is for yowling at the moon when Faramir takes Frodo hard from behind and the hobbit arches his back and moans, groans, cries out, and finally yowls like a cat in heat.
Z is for z-z-z-z, the sound Frodo and Faramir make after a long night making love under the Umbar night sky or inside their cozy bedroom. Though they might not realize it consciously, there's something they always do in the night—no matter the position in which they fall asleep or even the mood since sometimes they go to sleep angry with each other and don't even say good night (which makes them both feel terribly guilty, being the gentle sorts they both are). But some time during the night, even when their bodies are scrunched up at opposite sides of the bed, they move together. Backs arch, torsos twist and flex, legs fold together, and arms wrap tight until they lie spooned together. They look rather like two different size spoons—a teaspoon and a tablespoon to be exact—that have somehow gotten jumbled together in the kitchen drawer. Except that it's not a jumble, and Frodo's bottom fits snugly against Faramir's belly and he smiles in his sleep when he feels Faramir's dreaming arms wind snugly around him.