Faramir Fiction Archive

Crossing the Line (NC-17)

24 June 2006 | 3432 words

Title: Crossing the Line
Author: Laurëlóte
Beta: The lovely Minx (for the first half)
Characters: Denethor, Faramir
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Non-con, death related themes, incest
Feedback: Yes please! laurelote@hotmail.co.uk
Summary: In the wake of Boromir’s death, Denethor tries to explain his feelings and actions towards his youngest son.

Written for the Faramir Midsummer swap 2006.

Request by Bijou: For a change I'd love to read an incest story about Faramir & Denethor where Denethor really cares and loves his younger son :D ......I wouldn't mind if Borormir would be included as well....NC17 please....

It was a line that Denethor had used many times before, “No Faramir, I want you to stay here. You are too weak to go, you will get yourself hurt.”

It was a line he had first used when Faramir had taken to following his brother Boromir around everywhere when he was just 5 years of age. He had used it again during Faramir’s training when he had wanted to go off on missions to improve his battle skills.

Denethor had never once meant what he said. The trouble was that his younger son was so much like his mother that he was desperate to keep him from harm. He did not want to lose him the way he had her.

At first he had simply told Faramir he was weak to make him train harder, so that he could become the best soldier he could possibly be. But in the end they had just become words used to keep his son close to him.

Boromir and Faramir were all that kept him going after Finduilas’ death; he simply adored them. He had no idea how he would survive if anything happened to either of them, especially Faramir. He was the special one, so gentle and caring, a flower among a pile of rocks.

It had not taken long for Faramir long to grow bitter at his words, to feel that he would never be able to make his father proud in anything he did. The look of hurt that showed in his eyes broke Denethor’s heart. It was then that he had agreed to let Faramir join the Ithilien Rangers. His son had grown into an extremely handsome and talented man, and he had come to care about him in ways he should not. The last thing he wanted was for his son to leave the safety of Minas Tirith but deep down he knew that if he made him stay that he would hurt his son more.

Everything he had ever done had simply been to protect his youngest son.

The last time he had uttered those words was the day he had sent Boromir to Rivendell and Faramir had begged him to let him go in his brother’s stead. And now, just a few hours ago, Faramir had stood before him, telling him of his vision of Boromir’s death, lying as if asleep on a boat floating on the Anduin, a broken sword in his hand.

For once Faramir had been unable to stop himself from expressing his anger and his belief that it was he who should have journeyed to Rivendell, that it was he who should have died instead of his beloved brother, making it clear that he despised Denethor for refusing to let him go once again.

Denethor had tried to explain, but Faramir had simply refused to listen and so he had given up and allowed his younger son a chance to calm down. How could he explain that he had only sent Boromir to keep him safe from harm?

In his heart he grieved for Boromir, but he knew that he had to stay strong. Faramir would need him now; he would need comfort and reassurance. He would need him in a way that Denethor had always shied away from, not trusting himself to be able to hide his true feelings for his son.

Reluctantly, he knocked on the door of Faramir’s chambers. There was no answer, but hearing crying within he tried the door. The door opened and revealed his son curled up on his bed, sobbing into the pillow. Before he knew what he was doing, Denethor had pulled Faramir into his arms, cradling him tightly.

“Shhh, I am here little one. Let it all go,” he urged, stroking Faramir’s hair softly in a hope that it may comfort him in someway. He wanted to reassure his son, to tell him that everything would be alright and that the pain would lessen with time, but somehow he did not believe it himself, all he could do now was comfort him in anyway he could.

Tears fell down his own cheeks as he held Faramir tightly, mourning for the son he had lost, and for the pain his youngest was suffering.

Faramir buried his head against his father’s chest and sobbed uncontrollably. Boromir was not just his brother, Boromir had been everything to him; his mother, his father, his best friend and protector all rolled into one. He did not know how he would survive without him, and right now he simply did not want to survive, for what was life without Boromir by his side?

The crying eventually subsided, leaving Faramir numb and emotionally drained. Still angry at his father, part of him wanted to make him leave, never wanting to see him again. The rest of him wanted to soak up all the comfort that was being offered, desperate to feel like he was not alone. Sleep eventually took him, all such dilemmas slipping from his mind.

As Faramir drifted off to sleep, Denethor adjusted their positions so that his son lay in front of him, but he kept his arms wrapped tightly around him, knowing that this may be the only time he would get to hold him his way.

The smell of Faramir’s hair against his nose was intoxicating, and brought to the surface all those thoughts which Denethor had kept so well hidden. His tongue snaked out to moisten his lips as he imagined undressing his son slowly and making love to him all night long, making him forget about all his pain as he begged to be taken.

With a groan he tried to push the thoughts to the back of his mind, feeling ashamed that he could think such things when he was supposed to be grieving. He knew that he probably should not stay, but he found he could not bring himself to leave Faramir’s side.

Denethor was the first to wake from his slumber and found that his son had turned to face him during his sleep, and so he used his time to study the handsome features of Faramir’s face, fighting the urge to place a kiss on his delightful looking lips.

As Faramir stirred, it took him a moment to realise that his father had stayed the whole night. He was confused, why was his father here now? He had never shown any affection to him before. He still could not understand why it was Boromir who had been sent on the journey when he would have been much more use in Gondor in these troubled times.

Slowly he opened his eyes but tried to avoid his father’s gaze. “Why did you send Boromir? We needed him here. I could have been spared.”

Denethor cupped his younger son’s face in his hands, tilting it upwards in an attempt to make eye contact, desperate to make Faramir understand his actions.

“It was dangerous. I sent Boromir to keep you safe,” he explained gently.

Faramir could not help but notice the look in his father’s eyes, a silent plea for understanding and forgiveness.

“I did not wish to send either of you, but you are the most precious thing in my life,” continued Denethor. “You are so kind and gentle, so much like your mother. I could not risk losing you.”

Before he could stop himself, he had closed the gap between them, pressing his lips gently against Faramir’s own.

When Faramir did not pull away, he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entrance into the younger man’s mouth.

Faramir responded to the kiss automatically, allowing the invading tongue to explore his mouth before his mind allowed him to fully comprehend what was happening. The realisation hit him at full force a few moments later and in horror he tried to pull away, only to find his father’s arms holding him tightly in place.

Denethor felt Faramir panic and try to get away but he was unwilling to relinquish his hold just yet. He had dreamed of this for so long and his son tasted so much sweeter than he had ever imagined. He wanted more; he needed more, his arousal painfully obvious in his not tight leggings.

“Let me love you little one,” he said softly, knowing that now he had sampled the forbidden temptation before him he would not be able to stop even if his son begged him to.

He pushed Faramir onto his back and quickly straddled him holding his wrists tightly above his head, preventing him from getting away despite his son’s best efforts to throw him off.

“Please,” begged Faramir, desperately fighting to get out of his father’s grip. “I do not want this, let me go!”

He was scared, the realisation of the kiss had made him want to be physically sick and he did not want to think about how far his father was prepared to go. He just knew that he did not want to find out.

“Calm now my precious one, I will not hurt you. Just stop struggling and relax, be a good boy.”

With skilled fingers, Denethor untied the bindings of his son’s tunic with one hand, holding Faramir’s wrists in the other until the struggling ceased.

Faramir knew that his father was too strong for him and so he reluctantly ceased his struggle. He knew that the only way he would be able to overpower his father would be when he let him guard down.

His tunic was quickly pulled over his head and he shut his eyes, taking deep breaths, willing himself not to react as he felt his father’s hand running all over his body.

Denethor bent down to claim Faramir’s mouth once again, only for his son to turn his head away in defiance.

“I understand,” said Denethor with a smile as he pinched a nipple roughly with his fingers, before attacking it with his mouth, causing Faramir to groan loudly. “This has been a shock to you, but I can see that you are coming round to the idea.”

As he spoke those words, his hand moved down onto the rapidly hardening bulge in his son’s leggings, and he started to untie them in order to expose the column of flesh that was hidden there.

Faramir hated himself for responding to his father’s touch; the attention to his sensitive nipples had caused him to become aroused almost instantly, and feeling Denethor undoing his leggings caused him to panic once more.

Managing to free his hands from his father’s grasp he put them on Denethor’s chest and pushed him as hard as he could, causing his father to fall backwards. As Denethor lost his balance, Faramir made a bolt for the door. To his horror he found that it had been locked and the key removed; there was no way out. He slid to the floor in despair as his father advanced towards him.

“Let me go,” he pleaded. “This is wrong. Boromir’s death has left us both confused and distressed. You do not want this, you will regret this tomorrow.”

Denethor crouched down next to his son as he begged, and placed one hand on Faramir’s cheek, wiping away the tears which had started to fall once more.

“Hush little one,” he said reassuringly. “It is alright to be scared. This is not wrong if we both want it and you want to be loved do you not? I can take away all your hurt and all your pain if you just let me.”

Denethor leant forward slowly to claim another kiss from his son, and Faramir found himself reluctantly responding. He could not get away, and no matter how much he begged and struggled he knew that his father would take what he wanted anyway for these were not the actions of a sane man and therefore could not be reasoned with. Deep down he knew that the best course of action would simply be to go along with Denethor’s wishes, and that way he might be treated gently and it could be over with as quickly as possible.

“I do not wish this,” he said again. “However I will not fight you. Just know that if you choose to go through with this, you relinquish any right to call yourself my father.”

With that, Faramir stood up and walked back over to the bed with as much dignity as he could muster. He slid his leggings to the floor and lay on the bed waiting, wanting to get the act over and done with as quickly as possible.

A thousand different emotions were going through his head. He was disgusted that his father wanted him this way, frightened and angry, but also he could not help but feel a tinge of anticipation and a hint of excitement about doing something which was so completely wrong.

Denethor took his time in returning to the bed, savouring the naked form positioned in front of him. Faramir looked perfect laying there, his body well toned from his duties in Ithilien, and he was waiting there for him. His erection twitched in expectation as he licked his lips and took off his robe.

Straddling his son’s thighs, Denethor returned his attentions to his son’s nipples, licking and nibbling them until Faramir trembled beneath him. Then he planted soft kisses over his chest, slowly moving downwards.

Faramir had become aroused once more, and as his father slowly teased him, it was all he could do not to beg for more. “Gods!” he exclaimed as Denethor took his erection into his mouth and started running his tongue up and down his length.

“Oil?” asked Denethor breathlessly as he momentarily ceased his ministrations.

Faramir did not answer at first as he was battling with his conscience, his head still telling him this was wrong, but the rest of his body wanting more.

“Do you have any oil?” asked his father once more. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

“Bedside table.”

Denethor retrieved the oil, spreading some over his fingers before turning his attention back to his son’s hard length, wanting Faramir to be as relaxed as possible before he took the next step.

The warm, moist feeling of his father’s mouth around his erection was incredible, and Faramir found himself forgetting all his worries; all he wanted in that moment was his father inside of him. As he felt a finger circling his entrance he could not help but whimper, “Please hurry. I need you.”

Hearing his son beg, Denethor slipped his finger past the tight ring of muscle and carefully started to prepare him. One finger quickly became two, causing Faramir to moan and beg for more, but Denethor would not be rushed; there was no way he was about to risk hurting his beloved.

He brushed the tips of his fingers across the top of Faramir’s prostate, causing his son to groan wantonly; a sound which he could quickly become addicted to. He added a third finger, stretching the ring of muscle more, brushing the bundle of nerves several more times before removing his fingers.

Faramir could not help but let out a distressed whimper as his father removed his fingers leaving him from feeling empty, but the feel quickly turned to one of anticipation as he watched his father spread some more oil on his hard erection.

Denethor wrapped Faramir’s legs around his waist and positioned himself at his son’s puckered entrance, penetrating him slowly; savouring every moment, having dreamt of this moment for as long as he could remember.

Faramir willed himself to relax as he felt his father’s erection breaching his body. There was a little pain but it quickly subsided as Denethor started to move within him.

Denethor waited a moment before moving wanting his son to fully adjust to the intrusion, the feel of the tightness which engulfed his erection was exquisite and he briefly wondered how it was that he did not lose control in that single moment. As he felt Faramir start to relax, he started to thrust in and out if him slowly, and then angling himself to hit his son’s sweet spot.

He wanted Faramir to enjoy this as much as he was. This was his one and only chance to show him just how much he wanted him; and just maybe, Faramir might come to want more.

Faramir moaned as his father hit his prostate; the feeling was incredible as white spots danced before his eyes. “Ah, Gods!” he exclaimed as Denethor increased his pace, and hit the same spot over and over again. It felt good, far too good and he tried to remind himself over and over again that this was wrong and he should not take pleasure from it, but he simply could not stop himself from crying out over and over again, desperate for more.

Without a doubt, hearing his son moan was the sweetest sound that Denethor had ever heard, and seeing the pleasure on Faramir’s face was rapidly pushing his over the edge. As he felt himself getting close, he wrapped one hand around Faramir’s erection and moved in time with each thrust.

“I am close, come with me,” Denethor said breathlessly as he once again upped the pace, desperate to cause his son to climax, wanting him to remember this moment with as much pleasure as Denethor would himself.

Faramir could not hold on any longer as his father sped up, and cried out one last time as he came hard and fast, feeling his juices spill over Denethor’s hand.

Feeling his son’s passage tighten around him as he continued to thrust pushed Denethor over the edge. “Faramir!” he cried out, throwing his head back as his seed spilled into his son’s body.

He gathered Faramir up in his arms, holding him tightly as he recovered from his climax, talking softly as he did so. “Sweet Faramir, I love you so much. Long have I wanted this, and now you are mine.”

Hearing his father claim him in such a way sent a shiver down Faramir’s spine. Coming over nauseous he pushed Denethor away and stumbled into the bathroom where he found himself being violently ill, sickened by what he had allowed to happen and from the pleasure he found in it.

He shrugged off his father’s concerned hand and glared at him, never wanting to see his father again. A prayer that was answered when he returned to his main quarters to discover he was alone.

The way that Faramir had looked at him broke Denethor’s heart. He had not wanted to leave while his son was in such a state but he knew it would be the best, believing they would be alright once Faramir had time to think events through. With a final glance at his son he reluctantly dressed and quietly left his quarters.

Denethor felt nothing but regret for the way he had lost control. He had gone to help his son through a difficult time and had only succeeded in making things a thousand times worse. Faramir would not look at him willingly, and when he did so, only disgust showed in his eyes. To make matters worse he refused to listen to even one word of an apology.

When Faramir announced that he was going to lead his men to retake Osgiliath, Denethor fell to his knees, begging him to reconsider. They both knew that such a mission was suicidal.

Faramir refused to be swayed by his father’s words. Death was all he wanted now. He wanted to be free from all the pain he had suffered. In death, he would once again be safe by his brother’s side.

Tears fell as Denethor watched his beloved Faramir ride across the Pelennor Fields. His actions had sent both his son’s to their deaths, and everything that was good had now gone leaving Gondor to fall into the shadow that spread across Middle Earth.

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