Faramir Fiction Archive

First Time (NC-17)

Written by Fawsley

01 September 2005 | 4425 words

Pairings: Boromir/Faramir
Summary: Faramir remembers his first time with Boromir

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How had it begun?

The most precious of memories... A summer's expedition when they were still in the golden years of their early manhood, riding out together into the grasslands. Still Faramir could recall the scented air, the warm beeze, the buzz on insects on the wing. Boromir had been away at Dol Amroth for months, sent to their uncle Prince Imrahil on some errand designed by their father to sharpen his political abilities. He had hated every moment of it. Boromir's weapon was the sword rather than the word, debates and discussions bored him beyond belief, but he had fulfilled his mission as heir to the Steward.

Despite his discomfort, Boromir knew that he was born to be Gondor's ruler and that such responsibilities had to be accepted. The missions were becoming more frequent and more lengthy, sometimes they seemed to be particularly unncessary, and the thought crossed the brothers' minds that Denethor was deliberately pulling them apart. Boromir's heart had ached for his younger brother. The sojourn in Dol Amroth had been their longest separation yet, and so on his return to Minis Tirith he had rewarded his escape from the council chamber by seeking out the exclusive company of he whom he had missed so very much.

'It is you, not I, brother, who should speak at such meetings, you who have a natural talent for such things' Boromir had sighed as they rode westwards. 'Imrahil was not pleased when he saw that I was inking horses on my parchment rather than making notes for father on my return! I know it has to be done, and I know that I have to do it, but I wish it were you who would become Steward on our father's death, you who have both the gifts of a warrior and of a politician. Let us trade places! I will gladly lead the armies of Gondor under your command, as long as I never have to spend days seated at the discussion table, fencing only with words and not with a blade.'

They had laughed, both knowing that such an exchange - however desirable - was impossible. Boromir would become Ruling Steward after Denethor, Faramir would captain the armies. They would, however, ever be together in the leadership of their country. Both were so young and strong and in love with life that the possibility of their ever being parted forever had not brushed their minds.

They came to a long even stretch of short soft grass. Boromir rose in his stirrups and gazed ahead. A distant line of trees marked the course of the river.

'Let us race for the Stewardship of the kingdom of Gondor, my brother!' he laughed. 'First to the river wins the white rod!'

Ever ready for a wreckless race, the brothers grinned at each other, restraining their restless mounts, waiting to see who would give the word of release. 'Go!' they shouted - together as always.

Many times they had raced in such a way, equal as horsemen and in their desire to win whatever was the usually fictitious prize of the day. If it had truly been a race for the Stewardship and Boromir's wishes for his future had been sincere, then surely he would not have pushed his horse as hard and fast as he did. His steel-grey steed gradually nosed in front of Faramir's chestnut stallion, both riders yelling encouragement, but whilst Boromir strove for an all-out gallop Faramir skilfully held back for a final sprint, overtaking his brother's tiring mount in the last approach to the riverside.

He reined in the chestnut at the bank and rearing up shouted 'The white rod and the Stewardship are mine!' but with a gutteral roar Boromir skidded to a halt alongside him and threw himself onto his younger brother's horse, pushing them both off and into the river beyond. 'Never!' he laughed, 'You try to usurp my place, stripling? Then let us wrestle for it!' Grappling in the water, thoroughly soaked, laughing with what little breath remained, the brothers fought on until at last exhaustion and the equality of their match called a draw which they only acknowledged by collapsing onto the bank and each insisting on their own victory. Boromir groaned. The sedentary life of a politician had eaten a little into his fitness, though few could have told it.

'Well, we'll just have to rule together' murmured Faramir. Boromir was lying with his head propped up on one arm, regarding his adversary carefully. 'Yes, perhaps we will. I would not wish to rule with any other at my side.' A look passed between them which the younger brother did not quite understand. Disturbed, Faramir sat up. 'I'm hungry. Where are those blasted horses? I need to see what's in the packets from the buttery.'

The horses had wandered off to some shaded grazing. Faramir unsaddled and brushed them down with a wisp of grass then investigated the supplies, finding soft white bread, butter and cheese wrapped in cooling leaves, dried meat and fruit, along with flasks of wine. A kingly feast! Rescuing a saddle blanket as well, he turned back to where he had left Boromir and saw that his brother had stripped off his wet clothes, laying them out to dry, was now himself stretched luxuriantly on the mossy grass, his aching muscles relaxing in the hot sunshine.

As brothers they were familiar and at ease with each others bodies, since childhood they had wrestled and swam together, fought and bathed together, often slept in the same chamber and even the same bed. But as his eyes met the beauty of the naked warrior, vulnerable in his nudity yet glorious in his muscled strength, something new and disconcerting flashed through Faramir's brain, coursed through his body too, a force which shook every nerve, every fibre, quickened his heart and shortened his breath. For the first time in his life he felt something like shame in the presence of his naked brother, yet not shame, a yearning, a need he'd not know before. He wanted more than anything to be near him, to rejoice in him, to touch him and to be touched by him...

Shaking with emotion and confusion at what he was feeling, Faramir stumbled, grasping the bridle of his horse to steady himself. His mount shook its head at its master's unusual awkwardness, and the ordinariness of the action shook Faramir also, bringing him back to something like his senses, though his mind still reeled from whatever it was that had assailed him.

He was no inexperienced fool when it came to matters of sex. Neither of them were, they had both bedded their share of willing serving wenches, often together, afterwards sharing tales of their feats - and defeats - with equal candor. Faramir still bore the scars of one particularly irate lass from the kitchens whose anger at the realisation that she was not about to be swept off to become a princess was only matched by her skill at wielding a paring knife. Bathing the stinging cuts for him, Boromir had teased his brother that she was the only Gondorian who had ever trounced his brother with a short sword.

But not even the most compliant and comely of his conquests had had this effect upon Farmir's emotions. What was it that he was now feeling for his own elder brother? Surely it must be simply a result of their long separation, the joy of their reunion and of a glorious day spent in each others company, a product of their deep filial love, nothing more. He knew of course what men did to each other. Living amongst soldiers it was impossible to remain ignorant of such matters. Tensions ran high after a tough training session as much as they did after battle, and he had witnessed how men sometimes found release. It was a part of military life and had neither attracted nor repulsed him, though it had to be said that many Gondorian soldiers were not exactly beautiful specimens of humanity.

Slowly he made his way back to Boromir, wild thoughts and emotions still buzzing through his mind. Throwing down the blanket he knelt and began to share out the food and wine, knowing that his brother's grey eyes were upon him, watching his every movement. Passing his brother the wine he battled not to let his confusion show, but when Boromir's hand closed over his own it was a second too long before he raised his face to meet the gaze. Boromir was drowsy in the heat, his voice was gentle, slow and soft.

'Faramir, you know what is going to happen, don't you?'

He could not speak, nor could he tear his eyes away, his mind and body wild with...with what? Madness? Desire? What devilry had taken him? Whatever it was, it was happening too fast and too furiously for Faramir to comprehend or to control. His lips parted but still no words came. Boromir rolled lazily onto his back and stared up at the azure sky through the branches above.

'You know that if you don't take off all that wet gear now, firstly you will get a chill however hot the day, and secondly you will stink like a rotting fish by the time we get home. Let it dry out here. Nothing like the sun on you after competing for control of a kingdom. I won by the way.'

Gulping back a mixture of relief, shock, shame, Faramir gasped and laughed, a little too nervously perhaps, though surely Boromir was too sleepy to notice. What on earth had he been thinking? This was Boromir, his elder brother. Perhaps it had been too long since he had rolled with a pretty girl from the lower circles of the city, or maybe the midday heat was befuddling his mind. Maybe...

Boromir's grey eyes were closed now and he was breathing deeply, drifting into sleep. He was right about the wet gear. Faramir kicked off his soggy boots, loosened clasps and thongs, and slipped out of his clothes, moving them to where Boromir's clothes lay out of the shade. Back under the tree he rescued the flask from his brother's loosening grasp, took a long pull at the wine and bit thoughtfully into a russet apple.

With Boromir safely asleep he gazed across river and, calmer now, tried to make a little more sense of the emotional maelstrom that had hit him. Still he felt almost physically winded, as though he had fallen heavily from a fast horse. Some control seemed to have returned to him, but at the edges of his mind he could feel the madness threaten to return if only it was given the chance, if only he gave it the chance...

Slowly Faramir turned to look at his brother, almost afraid that the very action would awaken him. Boromir was incredibly beautiful, of that there was no doubt, a wild, dangerous beauty, built to fight. No wonder at their father's pride in his heir. Who could fail to love such a man? Shadows of leaves played across Boromir's strong stomach and loins, glinting upon the thickening line of hair as it darkened towards his groin. Faramir ached to touch where the light's patterns danced. Groaning to himself he drained the wine, lay back and closed his eyes, trying to block out the uninvited visions that invaded his imagination. Gradually the day's heat and the wine's strength overcame him and he too slipped into unconsciousness.

The jumbled dream that came to him gave no respite. There was nothing that he could clearly define, nothing that would stay long in his memory when he awoke. Something about the grey eyes of the farrier's daughter whom he had once taken behind the smithy in the time it took for his horse to be shod, something to do with Boromir and wild racing stallions that rose from the pages of a book to gallop into infinity, something about being naked yet covered in leaves, piles of leaves which became heavier upon him, pressing down until they became Boromir himself. But all just somethings, all merged into a confusion that dissolved as sleep left him. As always he was hard when he awoke and for a moment he could not recall where he was or why. Trying to get his bearings, he heard his brother's soft voice close by.

'Faramir my brother, you are beautiful to gaze upon. A sleeping god. No man could be ashamed to desire you. I most surely am not.' Boromir had moved much closer, his breath was on Faramir's cheek, a gentle hand stroked his stomach, moved down, just as before he had so wanted to touch Boromir. Had the shadows been dancing on his body as well? Boromir's voice was litle more than a whisper. 'Little brother? Are you offended that I want you?'

The hardness had not diminished. At the edges of his mind Faramir could feel the madness threatening to return. But was it madness? If it was, then it seemed to have taken Boromir as well. Faramir looked at his brother. The afternoon sun threw the toned muscles into relief, Boromir appeared a reclining statue but one whose engorged manhood would never be carved by any court sculptor.

'My brother? Do I shock you?' Boromir laughed gently, his gaze wandering languidly down Faramir's torso. 'I think I can see that you are perhaps not totally averse to the idea...' His fingers followed his eyes, but stopped before they reached Farmir's erection. Boromir's gaze returned to his brother's face : a questioning look.

'Faramir?'

By now Faramir was shaking, but whether from lust or terror he could not tell. It would be so easy to let the madness take him. What did he want? He loved Boromir more than life itself...Was this why no wench had ever truly satisfied him, had never touched the core of his soul? Was this why he did not find disgust in the rough couplings of the soldiery? Was this in truth the love he had been waiting for? The love of his own brother? Slowly he reached out to Boromir, touching his flank, watching his own hand as it tentatively stroked the firm warm skin. Boromir mirrored the action, gentling his brother as he would a nervous horse.

'My little brother' he whispered, a tremor in his voice now, 'I would never do anything to hurt you, to hurt your heart, or your mind...or your body. You know that I love you. I have always loved you and I always shall. You are so precious to me. You are truly beautiful and I desire you, need you. But if this is not what you want then I understand and we shall say no more. We shall ride home together and remember only a golden day when we raced each other for the kingdom...'

Faramir gazed into his brother's eyes, searching them and finding there only love and honesty. He stumbled over his reply. 'How...when...Did something happen when you were away? Did you...? I...I don't know...' his breath caught as Boromir took his hand, raised it to his mouth and gently kissed it, nuzzling each finger in turn.

'Something did happen in Dol Amroth. I missed you. I missed you so much that my mind and body were wretched with longing. I cried myself to sleep night after night wanting to be with you, to feel you near me, to hold you and love you. No wonder I couldn't concentrate on Imrahil's plans and policies! But no, I lay with no man if that is what you mean. I never have. Nor have I lain with a wench for a many months, not since I realised that it was only you that I wished to take, little brother. Oh you tremble so!'

Boromir was upset by Faramir's obvious distress. He breathed deeply, looked into the younger man's eyes and sighed gently.

'Would it be best if we just went home now? All is well little brother. I am a warrior after all and maybe this is just another battle that I have to fight and win!' He laughed, but there was sadness in his laughter. Slowly he moved as if to rise, but Faramir caught him and pressed him back to the ground.

'No...do not go...I wish to stay, to...to talk a while. Forgive me, this...this is sudden...frightening...It was only...earlier, earlier when I went to the horses...no, before...oh, but it doesn't matter when...I...I didn't know, I thought I was going mad, or had heatstroke...But when I saw you naked in the sun...oh you are so beautiful and I love you so much..I wanted, I want...to touch...to be touched...' Faramir's anxious voice trailed into silence but as he gazed at his brother he began to smile. 'My brother, my beautiful brother...touch me...'

Boromir smiled gently down on him and shook his head slowly.
'I am fair, my brother, and strongly built as a warrior and a ruler must be, but besides you any beauty I have pales into nothingness, for you are wonderous to behold. Know you not that you are beautiful? Truly the blood of the Eldar runs in your veins, and I love you my brother. Have you never leaned above the dark mirror of a still pool and gazed in awe at your image?

Now it was Faramir's turn to shake his head, fascinated to hear of how another saw him, aroused by what he was being told.

'Let me tell you of your beauty, my beloved.'

Boromir's mouth closed over each part of Faramir's body as he named it, his kisses barely breaths, his tongue but a whisper, his voice low and seductive, as his fingers trailed fire over Faramir's skin.

'The lips I long to kiss are dewy petals of the softest damask rose....in your ever-changing eyes are the very depths of the ocean set with mithril stars...blue-black as the fairest night in Valinor is your hair and its scent is of meadow grass...'

Faramir's eyes were closed, his breathing shallow and ragged.

'Your skin is of rare ivory and pearl and in its sheen is the light of Telperion itself...sweet coral buds are the nipples my tongue yearns to trace, my lips to suckle...'

Then Boromir's mouth met the musky heat of his brother's aching groin. Faramir's twisted hands tore clumps of grass in the agonised pleasure to which Borormir was subjecting him.

'And this...' Boromir's lips were almost upon him. Faramir arced upwards, desperate for his touch, wanting the touch of his lips, his tongue 'This...this is a fierce tower more dread than Minas Morgul...harder than the black stone of Orthanc...terrible in its cruelty, yet of silk is it made....a sacred treasure above all price, before it I can but bow down in terror and adoration...Faramir, oh my brother, let my mouth sings its praise, I beg of you...'

Faramir bucked and was enveloped in the hot wetness of the mouth that so desired to taste him. Slowly Boromir took the full length of his beloved, opening his throat, his lips tight around the shuddering girth, his tongue stroking, caressing, urging Faramir towards his climax. Firmly he pulled back so that only the very tip of the head was between his lips, then licked down to the root and the velvet balls before once more swallowing all he could take, fingers cupping Faramir's heavy scrotum, bouncing and pulling it gently, one finger reaching back to circle and press at the hidden opening he so longed to take. Boromir's lust grew hungrier with each of Faramir's moans, each sound pulsing into his cock, hardening it, feeding its need. Again he pulled back, teasing the throbbing swollen head with the softest touches of his lips, then murmuring 'Quench my thirst, little brother...' opened his mouth to drink the hot spurting seed as he forced a finger into the resisting ring of Faramir's virgin hole.

Giving no respite to his exhausted, sobbing brother, Boromir pushed Faramir's knees up and apart, gazing in longing.
'Let me take you, little one. Let me give you pain that is the sweetest pleasure...'
Faramir could not open his eyes, could hardly move, yet he could murmur
'Yes, oh yes Boromir!'

The oozing remains of the melted butter, kicked aside in their athletics with the rest of the forgotten meal, Boromir now spread gently onto Faramir's tightly puckered hole, touching a secret place, an unknown part of he whom he knew so well. Faramir was convulsing as Boromir's fingers began to explore the untrodden mysteries of his brother's body, stretching and opening, working deeper and deeper into this forbidden pleasure, his eager burrowing fingers forcing Faramir into a whimpering, pleading submission.

'Do you really want me, little brother?'

'Please...please...'

Pulling his legs up ever higher, slinging them around his neck, Boromir lifted his brother by the hips and thrust without mercy, forcing his way ever harder into Faramir's writhing body. Alone here in the wilderness Boromir answered to the animal within, pounding uncontrolably as he gratified his darkest desires, hardly aware of his own strength, watching with detached fascination as Faramir screamed, his body arching against the cruelty it was subject to, before his crashing climax shot burning waves deep into Faramir's aching bowels .

Exhausted, breathless, they collapsed into a tangled heap, Boromir gathered his violated brother into his arms, rocking and lulling him, lay entwined with him on the riverbank in the afternoon sun, pulling the blanket around them, slipping into the sleep of exhaustion. As dusk fell they awoke, lay looking at each other, gently stroking, kissing tenderly, wiping away each others soft tears.

'Oh little brother, I have used you cruelly when I said I would never hurt you...'

'No, no Boromir, it was what I wanted, what I desired, what we both desired...it was right. Is right.' Boromir kissed his brother's ocean-deep eyes, stroked his black hair. 'So long, so long I have wanted you that I could not stop, ye gods but you felt good, so hot, so tight...to have you moving under me like that, to hear your cries...oh my beloved brother you have given me so much, I have taken so much...'

Faramir's mouth closed on his brother's in a series of long, lingering kisses, arousing them both. 'Then let me now take you, my brother. You can feel how hard I am against you, how I want you, what I want. Let me take you as you have taken me.'

Boromir could only throw himself into his brother's arms, weeping with joy, with renewed desire. 'Yes little brother, use me, use me for your pleasure.'

'First suck me again as you did before! Never can I have sufficient of your mouth...'

Boromir knelt to accept his brother's hardness once more into his mouth, kneading Faramir's taught buttocks, his fingers gradually working their way into the cleft, to the wet and ravaged opening, once again probing and pleasuring the younger man, excited by the wetness of his own seed as it seeped over his hand. Faramir held Boromir close, murmuring to him.

'Take all of me, brother, take me deep into your mouth...let me fill you...' Boromir grew more greedy, sucked harder, faster, his teeth dragging on Faramir's aching shaft. 'Are you hungry for me my brother? Do you wish to taste my seed? Or shall I ride you as hard as I ride my horse? Shall I drive into your body as you have done to me?' Boromir pulled his gasping mouth free of Faramir's body, met his eyes, desperate for what his brother was offering. 'Ride me' he begged 'Ride me without mercy, punish me for what I have done to you, punish me as I deserve.' Slowly he turned over, groaned as he felt Faramir's hands parting his buttocks then yelped in shock and surpise as a wet and agile tongue explored. 'No butter left...' muttered his brother. Faramir licked long and deep, reveling in new tastes, at the resistance of Boromir's muscles. When his tongue tired, his wet fingers took over, stretching Boromir ever wider as he himself had been stretched, whilst his other hand ensured that his long, thick cock was hard for the assault to come.

'Beloved brother...'

Faramir plunged into Boromir's tightness with a ferocity which shocked and thrilled them both. Only a hardened soldier could have retained so much energy after the exersions of the day, only another could have withstood the pain of the attack. Faramir's mind reeled, his senses exploded...just hours before he had been confused, disorientated by this unexpected desire for his elder brother...now he was subjecting that brother to a brutal onslaught of which he had not known himself capable, that Boromir himself had awakened in him. It was a need which even now he knew would become an addiction he must ever feed.

Faramir, ever the gentler of the two, was now pounding his enraged cock deep into his brother, impaling his captain, the heir to his country...Where had this come from? How long had this lust been imprisoned within him, unacknowledged? He did not need to find answers, the madness had taken them both and he accepted it, wanted it more than anything he had ever known, now he lived only for the deepest, darkest touch of his brother, to take him and to be taken. Boromir's scream of climax at Faramir's cruellest thrust brought him to pure ecstacy, plunging again and again as he emptied himself, once more collapsing but now too tired to move, to do more than fling a careless arm around the ravaged body beside him. 'Beloved brother...'

It had grown too chill for them to stay long. A thin mist was gathering on the river, gently rolling over the grasslands, their patient horses were becoming restless. Silently they rose, slipped between the rushes and lowered themselves into the icy waters. Standing face to face, shaking with cold, they scooped up water to wash each other, kissing gently, tenderly, a baptism of acceptance for their love and desire. Silently they dressed, rescued the wreckage of their camp and walked to the horses. Before mounting they embraced, holding each other long and close, then took the other's head, grey eyes locked with ocean-blue in a gaze filled with a fierce love that knew no boundaries.

No words were needed.

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