Faramir Fiction Archive

Legacy (NC-17)

Written by Carla Jane

30 March 2004 | 95430 words

Leaning against the inside of the door, Boromir studied Aragorn as he divested himself of the slightly more formal clothing that the meeting with the local elders had required. Energy was thrumming under his skin. He couldn’t help but feel that they’d wasted the day, sitting listening to old men talk about local concerns for hours when they could have been riding toward Faramir and Minas Tirith. Boromir realized on one level that most of these stops were needful, but they still frustrated him. He also suspected that Aragorn was manipulating their travels so that even unnecessarily small communities appeared in their path.

Folding up his clothes and stuffing them into a saddlebag in preparation of an early morning departure, Aragorn spoke without looking in his lover’s direction. “I suspect your silence has little to do with pondering the intricacies of crop rotation and irrigation, my light.”

“This trip feels like it’s taking forever,” Boromir admitted. “Is there a reason you don’t want to return to the White Tower?”

Aragorn sat his bags back down on the floor. Dressed in just a thin under-chemise and leggings, he seemed far less daunting than normal. “Is there a reason we need to rush?” The counter-question was mildly voiced.

“Is that a yes?” Boromir persisted. “Why are we dragging our heels?” As much as he was luxuriating in this time with Aragorn, Boromir’s desire to return to Faramir’s side was becoming almost painful.

Dark brows lifted. “Vinyarion went ahead of us. He will have provided all the news Faramir needed to know about Éowyn. He would also have told the king that we were attending to settlements along the way.” Aragorn paused to consider. “And we’ve time to spare until the baby is due.”

“Why?” Boromir pushed away from the door. He crossed the floor to stand before his lover. “Why don’t you want to move more quickly?”

Aragorn’s hand lifted. The tips of fingers gently stroked Boromir’s face, tracing upward until he had threaded them into his lover’s hair. “There’s no need to rush home to the White Tower and all it means. You’re still in need of healing, my light.”

“Healing? I’m not hurt.” Boromir countered with a frown. He studied Aragorn’s face, waiting for an explanation that wasn’t forthcoming. After several long moments Boromir had to look away from the intensity of those blue eyes.

“Look at me, boy,” Aragorn demanded in a poisonous whisper. Fingers tightened in hair, purposefully hurting.

Reacting without thought, Boromir shoved at Aragorn with one hand and hit out at the painful grip with the other. “Don’t!” The word was a growl rather than a plea.

Aragon released him instantly, backing away with his palms held forward in an inoffensive posture. A smile was lifting one corner of Aragorn’s lips and his eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Perhaps I was mistaken. You might be ready to go home now.”

Boromir took a step backward. “You…” He grappled after the words to express himself. “This is about… what’s this about?” Boromir needed to hear it from Aragorn.

“It’s about the finest soldier in the realm cringing when just the right sequence of events occur, and how that is a less than desirable thing. It’s about the right hand of the King of Gondor doubting himself, which is a very bad thing.”

Arms crossing defensively, Boromir glared. “I’m fine.”

“You’re better,” Aragorn corrected. “But men who are fine do not cry in their sleep, my golden love.”

More than a few times during this journey Boromir had awoken wrapped in Aragorn’s arms, his face wet and his body trembling. “Everyone has nightmares.”

Aragorn studied the other a moment. “Denethor was particularly fond of the memory of making you crawl naked across the floor of the throne room. You licked all the way up from the toe of his boot before servicing him. Knowing that you might be discovered by some sleepless servant or courtier excited Denethor so much the mere thought of that night would arouse him for years afterward.”

Boromir’s face burnt scarlet. “Be quiet!”

“A single strike in just the right place might shatter the gem of Gondor’s empire,” Aragorn pressed. “Shall I attempt it? Shall I remind you how it felt to have the tip of a dagger cutting Denethor’s name into your lower back?” The markings had been shallow and had healed without scarring, but Boromir had been terrified that his father might repeat the act using a more permanent method of claiming. “He wanted you marked as his own. He wanted you ruined for any other lover. He desired to prevent any other eyes but his own from worshiping the curve of your sweet behind.”

“Stop it, Aragorn.”

“When he took you that evening… his fingers digging in… he used your own blood to ease his way… splattering his sheets first with your blood… then with your seed when you whimpered and shot beneath dada’s attentions like the good little whore that he’d trained you to be.” Aragorn’s gaze was unwavering. His eyes practically burned. “Sweet little Boromir… the real queen of Gondor. How much did you love it? Having the king all to yourself?”

“STOP IT!” Boromir raged, striking out with his fists and knocking Aragorn backward. “He made me! I didn’t want it! I didn’t ask for it! It wasn’t my doing!” His blows were uncontrolled and did little damage. “HE HAD NO RIGHT!”

“Exactly, my light.” Aragorn gave way before the show of fury, reaching in to wrap Boromir in his arms when only when the wild flailing eased and Boromir began to shiver. “It’s all right, my love. I know, I know.”

“He had no right,” Boromir repeated in a tiny voice. “I should have stopped him.” His body all but collapsed against Aragorn.

“You couldn’t, not without destroying Faramir, not without ruining everything that mattered to you. You’ve got to accept that, love. You have to get past this old hurt or it will break you. It will sneak up on you when you least expect… and destroy you.”

“I realize that.” They had repeated this conversation so many times during this trip that it made Boromir’s head ache at the thought of hashing it out yet again. Giving in to Aragorn’s direction, Boromir allowed himself to be drawn further into the room and over to the closest of the two beds. He dropped heavily onto the brightly-coloured quilt.

“Rest, my light,” Aragorn insisted. “We’ve time. We’ve miles to go and many a village to visit… much to the delight of the people. Everyone wants be able to say they met Prince Boromir. We will take as much time as we need.”

It had become a habit since returning from Edoras. Once a day Faramir would retreat to the hidden room within the king’s private library. The secret study hadn’t changed very much from the time that Denethor had inhabited it. Faramir had cleaned out some of the most unsavoury contents, a good lot of which had been shoved into a large chest already, but the largest share of his father’s collection was simply too valuable to toss into a fire. There were books in this room that the keepers of Minas Tirith’s archives considered long-lost legends. Faramir had discovered such odd treasures as the winged crown of the original line of Gondor’s kings, a skeletal leg of what appeared to be a dragon, and a bow and quiver that had to be of elvish-making since they were so elegantly powerful.

His favourite relic had to be the globe in the centre of the table. What Éowyn had assumed to be a magical light source was actually an invaluable tool in the governing of an empire as expansive as Gondor. The crystal globe would gift Faramir with sights from almost every corner of Middle-Earth if he concentrated hard enough on what he wanted to see. Aragorn had instructed Faramir how to use this thing, which he had called a palantir. Aragorn’s instructions had included a warning that he should avoid attempting to peer into Mordor and constrain himself within the borders of Gondor as much as possible.

Quick on the heels of understanding what the globe was capable of came the realization that Denethor had been able to spy on anyone… anywhere. That bit of news explained why Faramir had needed to dispose of so many soiled clothes from the hidden study.

Each of his daily sessions with the palantir started with practical considerations. Faramir had kept an eye on Vinyarian as he travelled to the Golden Hall. He had studied Éomer both before and after he received the news of Éowyn’s marriage. His younger brother seemed to have accepted the situation without too many reservations. There was, however, a message already on its way from Edoras to Anfalas with a soldier who was loyal to Éomer, to confirm what had been told to him.

Matters that concerned the empire took up about a half an hour before Faramir would surrender to his purely selfish desire to seek out a vision of Boromir. As the ruler of Gondor, Faramir told himself it was wonderful that Boromir was using this trip to make contact with so many of Gondor’s people. Still… even knowing that is was for the best, Boromir’s torturously slow progress toward Minas Tirith was tearing Faramir’s patience to shreds. Boromir seemed brittle and weary almost every time that Faramir sought him out in the seeing stone. The signs of strain were subtle, but all too clear to Faramir. That the palantir allowed Faramir only to see and hear, but not to interact with his beloved Boromir was a growing frustration. Faramir dearly wished he could simply ask what was wrong because all those visions of meetings, receptions, and village tours told him nothing of Boromir’s state of mind.

Thinking that a change in the time-frame might help, Faramir skipped his normal late afternoon retreat into the hidden room in exchange for a visit after most of the tower had settled down for the night. Faramir bent over the globe and put every bit of his concentration into summoning an image of his older brother.

Faramir had been well aware of the possibility that he would be intruding on Boromir’s private time with Aragorn. He had counted on the two men being alone, knowing that Boromir’s social mask would be in place if anyone else was present. Even as he was aware of all that, Faramir couldn’t contain his gasp at being granted a vision of Boromir arching up off a mussed bed and Aragorn’s face buried at the juncture of Boromir’s legs. At the best of times voices conveyed through the palantir were faint and thin. Faramir had to strain to hear anything this time, but strain he did.

“No! Damn you. Please Aragorn,” Boromir panted out the soft whispers. “So close. Please.”

With a murmur too low for Faramir to hear, Aragorn’s attentions shifted slightly. His mouth pulled off Boromir’s erection.

“PLEASE!” That word came through with strange clarity.

Faramir peered closer, seeing Boromir’s fists clenching in the sheets.

“Don’t beg,” Aragorn admonished. “If you want it, take it. Demand it.”

Even the small size of the image didn’t hide the way that Boromir’s hands shook as he reached down. Faramir hissed out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when his brother’s fingers tangled into dark, tousled hair.

The pressure had to be less than what Aragorn required. He laughed sharply. “You’ll have to try harder than that if you want my mouth back.”

“Aragorn…”

“No. Show me your power, my light,” Aragorn insisted. “Don’t plead, take what you need.”

Boromir stifled a moan. Muscles bunched and Aragorn’s head was jerked. “Suck me, damn you!” A tang of authority seasoned Boromir’s tone.

Faramir bit his own lip when his jaw tightened up in reaction to the order.

“Yes-s-s!” Boromir’s head slammed back to the mattress and he lifted his hips into the attentions he was once more receiving from his lover. “Like that. Yes. Finish me.”

Faramir’s hand crept downward. He was already cupping his aching groin before he realized exactly what he was doing. Faramir had been the one to burn the evidence that their father had used this room, and quite likely the palantir, to masturbate. Sobered by the thought that he might be re- enacting one of Denethor’s perversions, Faramir released himself and backed away from the scrying globe.

“Light!” Faramir demanded of the palantir, wiping out the vision of Boromir and Aragorn’s passionate encounter. “Dim light.” Fleeing the hidden room, Faramir made for the outer walls of the White Tower. A hard practice spar with one of the night watchmen, or at least a breath of fresh air, was what he needed.

The Anduin was wide, sluggish river this close to the bay. A good many settlements had sprung up within a short distance of the water, so that was the route they had chosen. Today, however, Aragorn and Boromir had paused in their travels to enjoy the extraordinarily fine day. Their horses were picketed in a swath of lush grass. Boromir sat, barely-dressed, dipping his bare feet in the water, but Aragorn had waded in, and was swimming.

“How close do you suppose the baby is to being born?” Boromir gazed about himself, taking in the coming change of the seasons. If the sun wasn’t so amazingly bright today neither of them would have considered undressing.

“Soon, I should think.” Aragorn drifted into the shallows. He didn’t need to ask ‘which baby’. There was only one upcoming birth that Boromir cared about. “But not so soon that we’re in any danger of missing it. Harvest isn’t over yet. Lothiriel will likely be another month… if not longer before she pops.”

“Still…” Boromir mused. “I think we should speed our progress.” His head lifted, checking out each direction, before settling on Aragorn. A smile brightened Boromir’s expression.

Aragorn’s brows raised in response. “Do you see something that you like, my golden one?” He took another step closer to the shore, dropping the water’s level to mid-thigh.

“Quite.” Boromir slipped off the rock that he’d been sitting on, and into the edge of Anduin’s waters. It was up to his knees, even right by the shore. Moisture wicked up his thin leggings, cooling Boromir’s skin. “Back up.” Walking slowly forward, he pushed at Aragorn until they were both waist deep in the cold water.

Boromir’s hands, still warm from his time sunbathing on the riverside, smoothed up over Aragorn’s cool, wet chest. “You’re chilled,” Boromir observed, moving closer so they could wrap their arms about one another. Leaning in, Boromir stole a series of kisses that drifted over Aragorn’s mouth, jaw and throat. “We should get out of the water… but first…” Dragging his parted lips down Aragorn’s skin, Boromir could taste little but river water. Sucking at one hardened nipple caused a groan to break from Aragorn.

“Your mouth is hot, love.” Dripping fingers cupped Boromir’s down-covered chin.

“Then you’ll like this…” Boromir let his knees give way. A quick flash of fear had to stifled when the water reached his neck, but Aragorn’s touch was light. Boromir wasn’t being forced under the water, but was choosing to sink down. Sound vanished as Boromir ducked under. He closed his eyes against the chill. Holding on to Aragorn’s hips was enough. Boromir knew exactly where to place his mouth.

Aragorn jolted in place, his body jerking in reaction to Boromir drawing his soft shaft into his blazingly hot mouth. Having been taught the hard way to hold his breath, Boromir was able to bring Aragorn’s arousal to life, despite the cool water of the Anduin, before blowing out his last bit of air against sensitive skin and popping back up to the surface.

If curses could have warmed the air, then they would have been able to linger in the river thanks to Aragorn’s language, but Aragorn was already urging Boromir to the riverside as he caught his breath. “… how by all that’s holy you can…” The sentence was lost in another kiss. “… need… lover, please… shore.” Aragorn’s steady press had them up into the shelter of two rock formations in a matter of a few breaths.

They tumbled down, side by side, in the mud and scraggly undergrowth between the boulders. “I want you,” Boromir’s hands chafed cold skin. “I want you hard.” His fingers wrapped around Aragorn’s cock, coaxing. “I need you inside me.” Boromir rolled until he straddled the other, and then bent down and nuzzled under Aragorn’s chin. His body rocked aggressively against Aragorn’s trapped frame. The sopping wet fabric of Boromir’s leggings pleasantly abraded sensitive skin. Most of his weight was concentrated on his hands, which rested on his lover’s upper arms. “Tell me you love me.” The command was breathless and thick with excitement at the reversal of their usual postures.

“I love you,” Aragorn responded without hesitation. “I adore you. Your happiness is the most important thing in the world to me. Please, my light. I need you naked. I need you tight against me.”

A sound of shivering amusement gusted out of Boromir. “Mercy, you’re so…” He squirmed, spreading out to lie flat on top of Aragorn. More kisses were taken, with slower, searching care. Boromir’s hands slipped off skin to dig into the thin soil beneath them. “It astounds me… that you’re with me, that you want me back as much as I need you.” When Boromir began skimming down his body once more, Aragorn groaned and lifted up off the ground to arch into Boromir’s scattered kisses. As he moved, Boromir smeared soiled finger-prints across Aragorn’s wet skin. Toes dipped into the water briefly, only to drag out, trailing mud and rivulets of water.

Lifting to his hands and knees, Boromir stared down at Aragorn with a hungry expression. Purposefully, he rebalanced so he could press one cool, messy palm to Aragorn’s chest. Smiling, he dragged the point of contact down, watching the dark trail it left, until his muddy fingers wrapped around Aragorn’s erection once more. He squeezed, dragging a moan from his lover. When it appeared as if Aragorn might try to sit up, Boromir’s grip tightened again. “Stay down,” he growled. A mischievous smile pulled at his lips.

Aragorn subsided with a hiss of arousal. “Anything you want.”

The offer made Boromir smile even wider. His head dipped down and he tasted the head of Aragorn’s erection just above the dark smears of mud. His tongue pushed aside the cap of skin to tease back and forth. Before long, dribbles of saliva and pre-come were making the dirty fingerprints run even more.

“Oh please, Boromir.” Aragorn’s nails dug into the soil. His shoulders twisted and his head tossed, but he didn’t reach up to speed Boromir’s actions. When Boromir opened wide and took Aragorn’s shaft all the way in, he wailed. His hips snapped upward, beyond Aragorn’s control.

Just as suddenly as Boromir had swallowed, he pulled off, causing another outburst. Heedless of the muck on Aragorn’s body, Boromir trailed his open mouth up his lover’s stomach and chest. “I told you…” Boromir husked, “I want you inside me.” He knelt up. Boromir skinned franticly out of filthy leggings that clung and finally had to be torn off, before moving so he could straddle Aragorn’s hips.

They had to move quickly, not wanting the air to dry Aragorn off. Reaching behind himself, Boromir used one grimy hand to hold his lover’s shaft still. He pressed back at the tip steadily until his body surrendered, allowing Aragorn to penetrate him. Both men gasped in reaction.

Aragorn seized Boromir’s hips. His arms trembled but he refrained from either dragging Boromir down, or thrusting upward. “Please.” The softly-voiced word was almost lost amid the sounds of water, wind and distant birds.

“I will… when I’m ready.”

The utter confidence in that statement made Aragorn’s flesh twitch in response.

A thumb flicked Aragorn’s nipple, marking it with mud. Boromir exhaled and broadened his stance so he could sink down slightly. Aragorn’s hands eased around to cup Boromir’s backside. His thumbs settled into the spread crease. One of them slid in until it lay against the point where their bodies were joined.

“Ah! Aragorn… it terrifies me, how much I love you.”

“Beautiful… golden… love,” Aragorn breathed out reverently. “I love you, too.” His hands wandered once more, painting primitive designs with thin mud on smooth skin. “The need I feel for you invaded me within hours of laying eyes on you, Boromir… it burrowed down, it found my soul and brought me back to life. I’d felt nothing for too long. I was empty, frozen… adrift.” Aragorn gasped. “You saved me… even though neither of us knew it.” Fingers moved on skin, worshiping with every touch. “I adore you, my light.”

Tossing his head back, Boromir let out a long exhale as he lowered even further. Once their bodies were flush, he let his face fall forward. Green eyes opened slowly and Boromir stared down at his lover. Boromir’s desire was so apparent that he almost seemed to be glowing from within.

Daring greatly, Aragorn let a clear tone of command creep into his tone. His grip tightened as well, digging into Boromir’s hips. “Ride me, boy.” He stared, waiting to see how his lover would react to the fierce demand.

Boromir’s breath caught and his eyes widened. A single shudder wracked Boromir’s frame before he let out the gasp in a faint laugh. “Beg me.” The counter-demand was considerably less powerful but it was enough to break the tension surrounding them. Boromir rocked slightly, teasing with just a hint of motion.

“That’s perfect, my love. Yes.” A long, growling moan rumbled Aragorn’s throat and his lashes fluttered, closing. “Please. Mercy, Boromir. My love, my own… more please. I need you. Love you. Please, my light. You’re undoing me. I need you. Please,” Aragorn begged shamelessly as Boromir’s teasing near-movement continued. Fingers kneaded, coaxing without pulling. His tongue flicked out to wet dry lips.

Boromir cursed softly. He bent down and stole a kiss that pulled at Aragorn’s bottom lip, before straightening back up and shifting into broader movements. Bracing his hands against Aragorn’s chest, Boromir lifted and dropped. His fingers tensed, digging into muscle, whenever the stroke hit just the right spot inside him.

Steady, purposeful lifts and falls grew more frantic, more serious, with every reverse thrust. Boromir panted, and sweat began to bead up all over his skin. A faint whine rumbled in the back of his throat. One hand lifted to grab at his hair, where it was falling in front of his face. His teeth pressed into his own forearm and his legs started to shake.

“Harder,” Aragorn urged in a whisper. His own grip grew steadily more insistent but by the time the hold began to bruise, Boromir was past objecting to the fingerprint marks forming on his hips. Boromir gave himself up to the pace Aragorn was setting, letting himself be impaled again and again, a mere instant after each time that he managed to tighten his legs into rising.

When one of Aragorn’s hands released his hip to capture his erection, Boromir couldn’t contain the cry of bliss it provoked. Working past the burn in his leg muscles, Boromir threw himself into the slide of flesh on flesh. Aragorn was murmuring a soothing litany of breathless endearments to counter the near-violence of their joining. Fingers demanded a reaction from Boromir, pulling at his shaft and slipping over the tip.

Completion, when it finally came was just as ferocious as their coupling. Boromir’s spine snapped into a curve and he screamed his delight out to the sky above. Aragorn was quieter, but his body made up for the lack of volume. He grunted, thrashed and fingernails drew blood at Boromir’s hip and waist. Boromir shuddered a few more times, before sagging forward to wearily rest his weight on his hands and arms. Drops of sweat trickled down Boromir’s face and throat. His blond hair had darkened to brown and was sticking to his skin.

“It’s all right,” Aragorn said softly. Breath hissed out when he slipped free of the other’s body. “Come down.” One filthy hand lifted to wrap around Boromir’s neck and he tugged. “Lay down with me.”

Collapsing half on top, half beside Aragorn, Boromir tried to bring his breathing under control. The first words he actually managed were, “… love you.”

“I love you too.” Aragorn turned his face to kiss skin that was quickly growing chilled. “That was wonderful.” He nuzzled. “I wish I could just lie here with you forever.” The pads of his fingers swirled through the pool of smeared mud, sweat, blood and semen on his stomach. His fingers played slowly in the puddle, as if in a dream. Aragorn then shifted slightly to the side. His hand reached and his fingers drew a set of wet lines down Boromir’s face, marking his lover. The darkest line followed the bridge of Boromir’s nose to his lips.

Boromir blinked but he didn’t flinch away or protest the odd action. In fact, when Aragorn painted his lips, Boromir went so far as to taste the strange mixture. It was bitter and gritty, but not too repulsive.

Aragorn smiled sweetly at his lover, before his gaze shifted. He looked at his fingers a moment, and then licked them. “We should clean up.” Aragorn observed. “The water is cold…” A sigh escaped. The feel of the sun baking bare skin was a hard thing to surrender. “But we should clean up before this all dries and starts to itch.”

“Not yet,” Boromir pressed his cheek to Aragorn’s shoulder. “Soon.” He couldn’t help but thrill at the way Aragorn’s tensing body subsided at his request. “We might still get dirtier… no hurry.”

Faramir had been in a meeting with some representatives of the shipping guild when the sound of distant trumpets blowing a two-note announcement began. Faramir had put the whole of the city’s guard on look-out for Boromir’s return yesterday afternoon. Word must have finally come up from the outer gate of Minas Tirith that Boromir was on his way up to the Tower. Faramir had given his promise to Lothiriel that he would try to act the part of a king, that he wouldn’t go running down to the courtyard like an over- eager child, but the idea of staying in a meeting while Boromir approached was intolerable.

Making hurried excuses, Faramir escaped from the council room and retreated upstairs to the royal suite where he would be free to pace and fidget away the time it took for his brother to arrive, safely hidden from disapproving eyes.

Lothiriel was still in their suite, attempting to assemble an outfit that was both properly regal and yet still comfortable. She’d taken to sleeping quite late as the baby’s birthing time approached. “I heard the trumpets.” The queen gestured for her maid to hurry. “Your brother has chosen a lovely day to return to the city.” Lothiriel extended a hand, indicating a cloak that lay on the bed. “I was just planning to take some air. Do you suppose that Boromir would forgive me for not welcoming him the moment he arrives? Do you mind seeing him alone for the first few hours after his homecoming, my lord?”

Faramir’s head shook just a little too hard. “It’s not a problem.” He tried to keep his expression neutral for the sake of Lothiriel’s maid, but Faramir couldn’t keep himself from bouncing slightly on his toes. “I’ve so much… to talk about with Boromir… and Aragorn. I’m certain we’d bore you silly.”

Her smile was only a little strained. “It’s the best for us all then, since I now have a hundred things to do in order to arrange a proper homecoming for Captain Boromir.” Lothiriel turned away from the mirror. “Everyone will be expecting dinner this evening to be the start of a celebration.” A scarf was settled over her hair. “I’ll stop by the kitchens and let them know to begin preparations.”

“Yes, of course,” Faramir acknowledged that the three of them would be required to appear in the great hall. “I’ll see you at dinner then?” In return, he covertly asked that she should leave him alone to revel in his brother’s return until suppertime.

“Yes, at dinner I think, if you’ve no need of me any sooner. I’ve little desire to drag myself back up these stairs any sooner than bedtime.” Lothiriel smiled. “This child of ours is getting heavier every day, likely because he demands I eat six times a day. If he doesn’t decide to put in an appearance soon I’ll be tempted to have a cot put up in a room off the kitchens and spend the next month down there.” Padding towards the door, Lothiriel waved her maid to go ahead of her. “Have a nice time catching up with your brother, my lord. I’ll tell the servants to leave the three of you alone unless they’re called for.”

Faramir returned her smile. “Thank you, my lady.”

He waited only long enough to be certain that Lothiriel was at the stairway landing before prowling through the rest of the suite. A bottle of that odd red wine from Harad that Boromir and Aragorn preferred and three heavy glasses were extracted from a cupboard in his office. Faramir sat them down in the sitting room, and then paced into the bedroom. Shutters were thrown wide open to allow any lingering odours of feminine perfume to escape. He sat down on the edge of the bed, only to jump up a moment later and return to the less suggestive setting of the sitting room. Boromir and Aragorn had been together without any outside affections since the court had left the Tower of Ecthelion to travel to Meduseld. Faramir realized he shouldn’t presume anything.

The distant sound of trumpets grew louder as Boromir passed through each gate and more heralds took up the announcement of the Captain’s return. It drifted in the windows and set Faramir’s heart racing. Even more exciting was when the sound began to fade away. Once Boromir was safely in the courtyard the trumpets gradually stopped, nearest to furthest out, as each level of the city heard the one above it fall silent.

Faramir fidgeted, unable to settle as the wait stretched. The entirety of the household would know that the king was up in his rooms. Any one of them could tell Boromir where to find Faramir. Could it be that Boromir had detoured to his own suite to clean up rather than coming straight to his brother’s side? That seemed unlikely. Was he upset that Faramir hadn’t been waiting on the steps? The change in their boyhood circumstances had never been so keenly felt by Faramir as it seemed at this moment.

When he finally heard the heavy tread of boots on the stairs, Faramir threw regal propriety and romantic uncertainty to the four winds. He ran to the door, practically tore it off its hinges in his hurry to open it, and threw himself at Boromir as soon as his brother reached the top step. They likely would have tumbled down the stairway if Aragorn hadn’t been bracing Boromir’s back.

“BOROMIR!” Reverting to childhood, Faramir shrieked out the exact phrase he’d used years ago, in exactly the same over- excited manner, “Missed you, missed you, MISSED YOU!” One hand clutched at the front of Boromir’s tunic while the fingers of the other tangled into windblown gold hair. Before the sound of his joy had completely died away, Faramir had captured Boromir’s mouth with his own.

The body in Faramir’s excited embrace stiffened for only a half a breath before Boromir let out a groan and wrapped his own arms around his brother, holding on for dear life.

“I suggest you take this behind closed doors, boys,” Aragorn prompted, pushing the pair until they were safely inside the royal suite.

Distantly, Faramir heard the door close and the bolt being thrown, but couldn’t care less where they stood or who was watching. At this moment, the entire scope of Faramir’s reality contained only himself and Boromir. All five of his senses were trapped by Boromir’s long anticipated presence. Sight gifted Faramir with flushed skin and blond hair. He could hear nothing beyond their harsh breathing and Boromir’s faint, all too enticing moans. Touch told him of yielding flesh and fabric that needed to be pulled and torn. Masculine sweat and astoundingly sharp arousal filled his nose and made Faramir’s head spin. His mouth devoured greedily, tasting lips, cheeks, jaw and the arch of Boromir’s throat. Fabric ripped, but not nearly fast enough to bare enough flesh to satisfy either of them. Boromir panted and swore. Faramir’s fingers dug in, desperate to feel skin rather than leather and silk.

Faramir wasn’t certain exactly how it happened, but the pair of them must have managed to cross the sitting room and fall through the bedroom door. A tiny corner of Faramir’s mind registered the change of carpet under their feet and the sound of yet another bolt being pushed into place. Aragorn had to be there, easing their way, but he seemed to have chosen to keep himself apart from the hungry grapple that Faramir and Boromir were indulging in.

The back of Faramir’s legs impacted with the bed, stopping any further movement. “Want you… need you… missed you. Please Boromir.” His voice was low and pleading. Fingers yanked at the fabric that separated them.

“Yes.” Boromir sighed out his agreement, pulling reluctantly back just far enough to begin working at skinning Faramir out of his clothes.

Not content to simply be undressed, Faramir’s fingers joined in the hurry to remove clothing. Laces, buckles, ties, and snaps needed to be released. Shirts had to be pulled over heads, tousling hair. It wasn’t nearly fast enough, but eventually all their clothing was stripped away.

Boromir’s breath caught, and for a moment, time held still while they stared at one another’s nude bodies for the first time in what felt like forever. “You are so beautiful.” Hands shaking, Boromir pressed his brother backward until they tipped onto the elaborate bedspread. Boromir’s touch traced Faramir’s chest as he climbed onto the bed to crawl up the form sprawled below him. His fingers skimmed, exploring and renewing tactile memories of Faramir’s body. Lips followed along and Boromir’s tongue flicked out, tasting.

“Please…” Faramir couldn’t resist the urge to arch up into the contact.

“Lovely Faramir…” The two men pressed tight on the bed, Boromir was slightly over Faramir, his hands running the length of Faramir’s body, shoulder to thigh. Boromir’s kisses grew more insistent by the moment.

Faramir’s lips parted at only the slightly pressure from Boromir’s tongue, inviting invasion. Eager hands kneaded Boromir’s back and upper buttocks. Giving into a desire that he didn’t completely understand, Faramir pulled at his brother, needing to feel Boromir’s body holding him down.

Leaking cocks were trapped between two taut, sweating stomachs. Hips moved without any further provocation, grinding together. Faint sounds of desperate arousal escaped without disturbing the intensity of their kiss. It was almost as if they were trying to blend their bodies into one, but hard erections dug in, reminding them of separated flesh.

Boromir was the one to break the kiss. His open mouth slipped, working back down once more. Fingers plucked gently, bringing nipples to hard tips and then a warm, forceful suction increased the tickling sensation to a near ache.

Groaning, Faramir caught at his brother’s untidy hair, unable to resist pulling that teasing mouth even harder against himself. Hips rocked and Faramir’s erection started to throb as the slide of skin against skin continued. Teeth scraped gently, never breaking skin, just making it burn. Boromir’s tongue flicked out, as if to soothe each point of contact, but that only made Faramir more frantic. “PLEASE!” He wasn’t certain what he was begging for, only that he needed more of everything.

It felt like years before Boromir’s mouth moved past lavishing attention on Faramir’s belly button, but finally Boromir’s hands were pushing Faramir’s thighs apart. A gust of breath is the last warning, and then Boromir’s mouth opened and he began to suckle at the head Faramir’s erection. A wrenching groan and an uncontrolled jerk of his hips were Faramir’s response to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Mmm,” Boromir hummed, lavishing attention on the hard shaft. His actions were slow, designed to entice rather than to gratify. Fingers stroked just out of time with his mouth. Boromir’s thumb followed the course of dripping fluid, stroking a path around Faramir’s balls, and then further back.

Cursing, Faramir squirmed. One leg lifted, hooking almost unconsciously over Boromir’s broad shoulder. He panted and twisted under his brother’s attentions. When a delicate touch brushed into the cleft of his arse, Faramir jolted and let out a scream of delight. “YES! Do that! I want it. Do it, Boromir.” His heel dug into Boromir’s upper back. “Push in. Do it. Want your fingers… want you… I want YOU inside ME this time. Please Boromir. Please, oh please.”

Extra weight caused the mattress to dip beside the brothers. It was a struggle, but Faramir managed to open his eyes enough to look down. Aragorn’s dark head eased into view.

Placing his lips a bare half-inch away from Boromir’s ear, Aragorn hissed out a whisper that reeked of sin. “You know you want to lover.” Lips brushed the shell of Boromir’s ear. “Sweet, innocent Faramir. You’ll be his first. Likely his only,” Aragorn cooed. “Can you taste the complete purity of him, Boromir? He’s saved it just for you. He trusts you, lover. Give him what he needs.”

“Mercy,” Boromir breathed out, turning his dripping face to nuzzle at the inside of Faramir’s thigh.

Faramir heard a faint pop and clink of heavy glass. The scent of primroses and sweet oil spread about them like a fog. Distantly, Faramir considered warning Aragorn that he had purloined Lothiriel’s favourite lotion, but it didn’t seem nearly as important as the need for Boromir to actually use the slick oil.

“Boromir! Yes… please!” A quaver shook Faramir’s tone. “I ache for you. Take me. Please.” Cool oil drizzled down over scorching hot skin, making Faramir yelp.

“He’ll be tight, lover,” Aragorn husked. “Use lots.” The thin stream stopped and the balance of the bed shifted again.

Boromir whimpered faintly, but his fingers gradually came to life. One hand skimmed through the puddle before wrapping around Faramir’s erection. The other dipped low. A solitary finger circled, rubbed and then finally penetrated Faramir’s entrance.

“AH!” Faramir’s entire body jolted in reaction. The leg he had hooked over Boromir’s shoulder tightened, keeping him close. Nothing Faramir had done before had ever felt quite like this. Nothing that occurred between himself and Lothiriel had caused him to ache with need quite so severely as this.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Boromir murmured while his finger sent the most amazing vibrations shocking through Faramir’s body. “I love you so much. It would kill me if I knew I was hurting you.”

“It doesn’t,” Faramir gasped. “Want this.” There was a faint twinge as Boromir did something more, but it was lost amid the excitement over what was going to happen. Barely heard endearments and kisses were falling from Boromir’s lips to Faramir’s skin, sending Faramir deep into a blissful daze. The stretch increased to a slight burn, but it was easy to ignore. Eyes were sightless in amazement and Faramir reached blindly, wanting to gather Boromir’s body against him.

“Are you ready? Are you certain?” Boromir moved, bending Faramir’s leg even further back as he moved into position.

Swallowing down any hint of uncertainty for fear it would stop Boromir cold, Faramir pleaded. “Yes, please. Do it. I want you to. I need you to.” Trying to focus his eyes was the hardest. It was all to tempting to stay in light-filled blindness and just feel, but Faramir wanted to experience every aspect of what was about to happen. Trying hard, he registered Boromir kneeling up and greasing his erection through a haze.

Clarity came with first the press of Boromir’s cock. Boromir fell forward, sheltering Faramir with the curve of his own body. All of Faramir’s breath rushed out as he felt himself being breached. It was shocking, despite ample preparation by fingers and oil. Boromir had to freeze in what must have been a painfully awkward pose.

“I can still stop.” The words, and the tone that Boromir used, were in sharp contrast. There was clear strain in his voice. “We can stop. You don’t have to do this.” He bent forward above his brother. The arm braced beside Faramir’s head trembled badly.

“NO! I WANT…” Faramir shuddered. “Don’t you dare… don’t you dare stop.” Fingers reached, trying to dig into Boromir’s ribs. “It doesn’t hurt. It just surprised me. Please, Boromir.” Keeping his eyes open failed. Faramir had to let his lashes fall shut. Concentrating, Faramir wrapped the leg that had fallen to one side over his brother’s hip and tugged. His reward was a long, slow thrust that tingled and stretched, as well as a devastating moan from Boromir. His leg locked their bodies together for a moment so he could revel in the sensations coursing through him. “Yes-s-s. This is it, this is what I want.” Faramir whispered, tossing his head.

Boromir’s breath was even slower evening out and it was punctuated by faint whimpers. “Faramir, sweet Faramir. My little one, my own.”

“Do it.” Faramir’s leg shivered and eased it’s hold.

Swallowing loudly, Boromir huffed out a noise that sounded very nearly like agreement. His hips moved slowly, a careful pull back and glide forward. Within just a few pushes their bodies were meeting completely flush. Throwing his arms wide on the heavy fabric beneath him, Faramir gave himself up to the rhythm once Boromir found it. Pleasure crawled through Faramir’s entire frame. The repetition of tingling anticipation and utter fullness was astonishingly good.

“My Faramir. My love.” Boromir whispered the three words over and over. His frame pressed down, covering the other. Fingers played reverently over skin, worshipping. It seemed to take forever for Boromir’s pace to quicken, but finally it happened.

The unbelievable feelings coursing through Faramir hit another peak as a confident hand wrapped around his cock and squeezed. The stimulation was almost overwhelming. Boromir’s movements speeded up yet again, suggesting he was getting close. The endearments trailed off into breathless panting. A shift in position altered the angle of their hips and Boromir’s next thrust shot a blast of white fire through Faramir’s veins, making him scream out his pleasure. Boromir response was to growl and throw himself into causing that same effect over and over.

A broken gasp escaped Boromir. At the apex of a harsh thrust, he stiffened for just a moment as if he were shattering.

“BOROMIR!” Faramir’s fingernails dug in, demanding. He felt as if he was hanging off the edge of a precipice. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop now. Please Boromir!”

The desperate plea had its effect and Boromir launched into movement once more, pulling hard at Faramir’s throbbing erection. It only took a moment more before Faramir thrashed beneath him, his head slamming back. Faramir’s every muscle tensed up and he clamped down on Boromir’s cock. Each convulsion caused another spurt of heat to splash between them.

Gasping, Boromir eased out and allowed himself slump down, half on top of and half beside Faramir. Even as they caught their breath, Boromir’s fingers continued to pet over damp skin. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.” He kissed Faramir’s shoulder.

Turning into the show of affection, Faramir smiled. “I love you too.”

The glow lasted several long moments until Aragorn knelt down on the bed beside them and began stroking a damp cloth over Faramir’s stomach. “Don’t fall asleep, my darlings. Boromir can’t stay here.” The words were a colder awakening than the washcloth. Both brothers stilled. “I’m not taking him away from you, your majesty, so much as protecting you both.”

Boromir clutched, and then released Faramir as Aragorn’s hands reached in to urge him up and off the bed. The brothers drew apart with equally reluctant expressions on their faces. As soon as he was standing, Boromir sucked in a steadying breath.

“Shall I send for or servant… or for Queen Lothiriel?” Aragorn questioned as he settled a cloak about Boromir’s shoulders. It would be cover enough to take them down one flight of stairs to the heir’s suite.

Faramir turned weary blue eyes toward his brother and his brother’s lover. “Yes… Lothiriel, Please.” They might never have spoken of it aloud, but Faramir was certain she would understand and not take too much offense at being called in to ease his emotional state.

“I’ll see to everything, my king.” Aragorn whispered before tugging Boromir into movement. “Will we see you at dinner?” he asked, “… and perhaps afterward for drinks… and some further bit of entertainment… in Boromir’s suite this time?”

Blinking, Faramir tried to grasp what was happening.

“Providing the queen can spare you, of course.” Aragorn qualified. “Nothing too serious… we’ll leave all the reports that need to be made for the council rooms tomorrow, if that’s all right with you, of course.”

“Yes.” Faramir sat up wearily. Aragorn was offering to share, Faramir realized. The relief that flooded through him was almost as potent as the exhaustion he felt right at that moment. “Yes, please. There’s wine in the sitting room. I’ll bring it.”

Smiling, Aragorn bowed his head. “Tonight, then.”

Aragorn kept to the shadows at the edge of the throne room and admired his handiwork with a faint smile. Full court didn’t sit very often, especially this late in the evening, so it was quite the impressive display when it did happen.

Faramir was seated in a pool of light on a raised platform. Lothiriel was on a less ornate chair to his left. Both of them were a vision of royal elegance in rich green and gold. Blond hair shone just as brightly as the circlets they wore. The queen’s expression was regal, yet welcoming. Faramir seemed intent, listening to every word that the Lord of Linhir spoke, despite the fact that he’d begun repeating himself over the last few minutes.

A nurse stood off to the queen’s left, at the foot of the dais, but still within the ring of light that illuminated the royal couple. Prince Lorindol dozed in the woman’s arms, comfortably warm in a thick gown of forest green and wrapped inside an embroidered blanket.

Boromir, standing to the right and slightly behind Faramir’s throne was at once separate, but within, the family circle. He was clothed in crimson rather than green, but the decorations on his uniform were vivid gold, just like Faramir’s. Boromir’s hand rested on one of the ornamental spires that rose from the back of the throne.

Anyone looking at them could see the close kinship. The royal family presented a completely united front, one that was very difficult for anyone to resist. Their beauty, thoughtful attention and the obvious intelligence they invariably displayed had captured the loyalty of every subject who came before them.

Aragorn felt a swell of pride as he studied each of them in turn. He might not be the ‘demon of Gondor’ any longer, but Aragorn was certain even magic could not have designed a better royal family than this one.

His delight flared even brighter as Boromir’s eyes briefly flicked away from the Lord of Linhir, pierced the crowd and the shadows and locked with Aragorn’s in a mere instant. There was a moment’s worth of fire, devotion and love in his gaze before Boromir fell back into his role as the captain of the armies and returned his attention to business.

Faramir was speaking, expressing his concern and inviting the lord to come upstairs for brandy so they could give the situation the attention and debate that it deserved.

Recognizing the keywords in the king’s invitation, Aragorn nodded and slipped out of the throne-room to go search their guest’s things. He was confident that at least one of the royals would have caught the movement. He might not be figure of wide recognition to the common people, but Aragorn knew his importance to all the rulers of Gondor.

That’s it. Milk and cookies time.

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