Faramir Fiction Archive

A Posse Ad Esse (From Possibility to Actuality) (R)

Written by Thevina

18 March 2009 | 1908 words

Title: A Posse Ad Esse (From Possibility to Actuality)
Author: Thevina
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 1785 (short! for me, especially!)
Warnings: incest
Written for: Slashy Valentine 2009, a short submission to fill in for an unfulfilled request.
Disclaimer: Tolkein’s, not mine.
Author’s Notes: This was the complete request: “Faramir/Boromir or Faramir/Aragon. Sex (hot and graphic) Hurt/comfort; Boromir (or Aragorn if must be) very distraught and insecure because of … (your choice), Faramir offers strength and comfort even with his body (virginity would be fine); include a little angst, kink, glove fetish and I’ll thank you on my knees.”
Summary: A short time before Boromir sets off to Rivendell, he seeks comfort from Faramir, and longings long unspoken are at last enacted.

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Threads of unrest wove deft webs in Faramir’s thoughts. Every time he resolutely tried to focus — on his book, or on the maps whose terrain he already knew as well as the lines on his palm — a sense of dis-ease drift back over him. He had nothing pressing, aside from the constant drumbeat of doing the best he could despite not being the shining favoured son in his father’s eye. No, it was Boromir who was suffering, somewhere. Faramir would find no peace until he confronted his brother and found out what was causing his increasing disquiet. It wasn’t like Boromir to brood; he was, above all else, a man of action, of doing.

With a sigh, Faramir readied himself for a brisk walk in the chill of night. Chances were Boromir was in one of the ale-houses a few levels down where other soldiers under his command preferred to do their drinking. Faramir certainly wasn’t opposed to having a tankard or two of a stout brew on occasion, and Denethor had made a point to announce to both of them at supper that he would be meeting with his councillors for several hours. All in all, the forces of subterfuge in the white tower were auspicious for Faramir.

He had just pulled on his gloves when he heard a familiar knock on his door. Surprised, Faramir strode quickly to the door and opened it.
Boromir hovered in the liminal space, relief and anguish warring for supremacy in his expression.

“I —” Faramir started, and then pulled the door toward him, beckoning his brother into the room. He closed and locked it once Boromir had entered, turning around to see Boromir undo his woolen cape and toss it on a chair.

“I am sorry to trouble you,” Boromir said, his voice rough as though he’d been yelling, or under emotional distress.

“You are never a trouble,” Faramir insisted, shedding his own cape and beginning to tug on the fingers of his gloves now that he knew he wouldn’t be venturing into Minas Tirith.

“No— please leave them on,” Boromir said, looking at Faramir with the sharp eyes of a wolf. He’d not been out drinking, then. Faramir didn’t think wine would be out of order, however. He nodded to indicate he’d heard and had an inkling that he understood the profundity of his beloved brother’s request. He made his way to a side table and poured them each a glass of wine, a rich burgundy. Faramir’s heart began to beat a fierce tattoo against his ribs; there had been innuendo between them for months now, glances and unspoken, unbelievable lusts that darted with the flash and speed of a kingfisher… never spoken aloud, never truly acknowledged, a fraternal adoration that had blossomed to far more than that, but never acted on.

Until now.

As Faramir handed the glass to Boromir, he let his fingers linger on his brother’s, even though his own were still covered in their tight leather casing. They both drank in silence for a time, the companionable silence disturbed only by the occasional pop and whistle as the logs in Faramir’s fireplace shifted or were consumed by flames. Boromir paced slowly; Faramir knew he was finding his words, putting his thoughts together just as he would organize his companies before a skirmish.
Words were second nature to Faramir, friends in whose company he had long kept. This night demanded physicality, though; his pulse sped at the truth of it.

“You should be going,” Boromir said at last, turning his haunted gaze to meet Faramir’s. “I know I can do it, and must do this task, for our father demands it. I have travelled the roads and will do whatever is necessary to discover Gondor’s part in the riddle. But Faramir,” he said, his features contorting to a grimace before he shook his head and resignation settled there instead, “you are the diplomat, not I. I would have you attend this council, to speak of arcana and history with this Elven lord, and once battle lines were drawn, as surely they will be, then I would do my part.”

His voice was an entreaty. Faramir’s blood roared in his ears; he drained his cup, and walked over to his brother, holding him at his shoulders.

“And yet you will go, and you will do what must be done. I’m honoured that you have the faith and confidence in me and would have me go in your stead. I would be even more honoured if you would…” He paused, the first trill of uncertainty buzzing along his nerves.

“If you would have me,” he said at last, finishing his taboo thought. He pulled Boromir in an embrace so there could be no mistaking his intent; surely Boromir would feel the hardening length against his hip. Faramir hoped desperately that he would feel an answering hardness, and was gratified when the nestled stirrings of arousal were rocked gently against Faramir’s groin. Faramir’s fingers gripped Boromir’s back, digging into the hard, wide expanse. He wanted to devour his brother, to feast on him with tongue and teeth, this illicit meal that he should not desire in the first place, but was now willingly offered to him.

Instinct drove Faramir to his knees, opting for a direct road to completion. The time for sweet pleasantries and languor would come — hopefully — at a near time. In this moment he decided to slake his hunger on the most masculine part of Boromir, to be the one to open the gate of passion between them. As Faramir fumbled with the lacings on the woolen breeches, he felt more than saw Boromir undo his belt and remove his weaponry, and then his hands were gently threading through Faramir’s hair.

“Dear brother,” he husked as Faramir at last freed the straining flesh, inhaling deeply of damp sweat and musk concentrated in the curls at its base. A note of pine was there, too, a scent of the soap they both used. It caused Faramir’s excitement to spiral more tightly in his groin, heat lodging in the root of his own trapped erection. He spread his knees for balance, smoothing his hands behind Boromir’s strong thighs. His hands moved on to cup his brother’s muscled backside as he nosed along the tangy length. This act, at least, Faramir had engaged in with a few men he had discovered shared his predilection for the male body. When he sent out his tongue to lick the salty skin and swirl around the exposed head, Boromir let out a ragged groan, setting fire to Faramir’s longings.

“You don’t have to do this,” Boromir said hoarsely, though his body betrayed his true wishes, which were obviously for Faramir to continue on.

Faramir attended eagerly to his task, bobbing his head up and down as he sucked and slurped, relishing the feel of Boromir’s hard length in his mouth. Grunts and raw cries rained down on him, the wordless sounds of his pleasure spurring Faramir to take him deeper. He was purposefully erratic in his pacing, wanting to draw out his brother’s release as long as he could.

He thought suddenly of the gloves still on his hands, a smile gracing his lips still enclosing the crown of the glistening shaft. Faramir brought one hand to the base of Boromir’s erection, circling it and rolling one of his pendulous sacs with his fingers.

With the hand at Boromir’s backside, he reached up to the waist of the breeches and tugged on them. He let Boromir’s cock slip from his mouth as he pulled more urgently on his breeches which, thankfully, weren’t his tightest ones. Boromir leaned against the table on which Faramir’s maps were strewn, his arms spread, holding the edge for purchase. Faramir pulled his brother’s hips closer, tending to his needs once more. With one hand he kneaded first one muscular buttock and then the other. His other hand kept busy as he rolled his brother’s musky bollocks, letting one finger slide down against the sensitive skin behind.

“By the tree, Faramir!” Boromir moaned, his voice gravelly and rough with his impending release.

After a few enthusiastic, deep bobs of his head, Faramir again licked at the tangy fluid at the slit and then wiped his wet lips against the shoulder of his jerkin. Boromir’s face was flushed, the worry and cares chased from his expression by desire and intense arousal.

“You like the feel of leather on your skin,” Faramir stated, a mischievous smile settling on his lips.

Boromir only nodded, allowing his eyes to drift closed as Faramir grasped his steely flesh, moving his enclosed hand up and down with increasing speed.

“Will you come for me, brother?”

Faramir’s voice was like smoke, light and heated to drift up to Boromir’s ears. The younger brother sped up his hand, his other hand gripping Boromir’s hip. He placed his mouth around the domed top of his shaft again and sucked hard.

“Ah! Yes! Fuck, oh Faramir,” Boromir gasped, bucking into Faramir’s mouth as he was overtaken by his powerful release. Lemonbitter seed filled Faramir’s mouth and slid down his throat; he almost coughed, but managed to swallow around the hard flesh, holding on to his brother’s hips for dear life. His heart raced as the enormity of what he’d done — what they had done — caught up to him. He was still unsatisfied, his arousal chafing against his own breeches. Fear crept along his veins as he slowly released Boromir’s heavy cock, giving it a last lick before he rose shakily to his feet.

Boromir’s grey eyes were filled with gratitude, his expression warm and welcoming. Wordlessly he enfolded Faramir in an embrace, and Faramir clung to him. He clutched at his brother’s tunic, turning his head so he could smell the piquant, earthy smell on his skin: solider, brother, lover.

“Thank you,” Boromir murmured into his ear, one strong hand cupping the back of Faramir’s neck, the other wrapped across his back. “You have given me respite from my worries, and the gift of your affection.”

Faramir closed his eyes, nosed against the soft bristles of beard that graced his brother’s jaw, and spoke softly against his neck, “My affection is yours. Wear it as a shield when you go, as a leader and representative of our people.”

Boromir nodded and released a long breath. “That I will do, when the time comes.” Slowly he rocked his unclothed groin against the evidence of Faramir’s neglected erection. In a low voice, heavy with promise, he said, “But today, just now, you have led, and it is I who will follow.”

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