Faramir Fiction Archive

Moonstruck (NC-17)

Written by Jenn

09 June 2004 | 1404 words

Title: Moonstruck
Author: Jenn (jholsh1@towson.edu)
Pairing: Boromir/Faramir
Rating: NC-17

1,386 words & feedback would be splendid =)

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Under the inky canopy of sky Boromir laid motionless, completely still except for his eyes, which were now accustomed to the absence of the sun. The air in the dell was brisk but solemn, and was laced with the distinct aroma of decaying honeysuckle flavoring it to sickening sweetness. The embers left over from the tiny but hot fire he had lit as the sun set blew around in a quick updraft of wind, dancing indolent, ashen paths skyward.

Sleep had only just begun to fringe his senses. Like many nights before he was alone, a solitary man roaming the untamed and long untrodden paths left to fall into disuse by men and elves alike.

And also like many nights before, and for even more nights to follow, Boromir found his mind turning back to join the place where his heart was: in the pearly white turrets and secret terraces of Minas Tirith, the last bastion of hope and defense for men in the west. The city was now even dearer to Boromir since the ever-present shadow had begun to wax in the east, creeping and coiling across shimmering Anduin and shady, verdant Ithilien. Perhaps his attachment to his home was magnified because he had not gone on such prolonged errantry before. Perhaps it was because he was without a vanguard of men under his command. Or perhaps it was because everything that mattered to him, everything that his heart kept beating for was still tucked in those clandestine corridors, now alone and without his older brother.

Up above, dark strands of cloud splashed blueblack by the midnight sky raced across the face of the waning moon. There was something desperate and longing about the moon which wrapped its indefinite tentacles around Boromir's heart, and each night he felt gloom ripen like ivy creeping over his innards, toughening and strangling. There had been something akin to nightmarish horror about his despair, and it seemed that he was not the only one who felt something strong stirring, something powerful and poised to deliver a hammerstroke swift and fell but with unknown ramifications. He saw the same terrorized gleam in Faramir's eyes that day he left, though Faramir had driven himself to conceal his fear through many languid kisses and soft caresses behind a wall just outside the city, but whether those lingering touches were meant to soothe Boromir more than Faramir was uncertain. Despite this, however, he felt that Faramir was hiding something, something that frightened him to the point of panic, but being the stalwart soul he was, Faramir had made it seem like a minor aggravation that would surely dissipate if given time. Boromir had convinced himself that Faramir was simply grieved that he was leaving him behind, and so it was more than peculiar to Boromir that he still could not slough off the slow burning fear that loomed over him ominously like a mountain peak and chilled him through to his core. Did Faramir know something he didn't? A premonition?

Boromir sighed as a man in torn in two. Indeed he was that; to leave the place he loved most and the person he loved most was the most painful feat he had ever undertaken; to ride out to the hallowed city of Rivendell in an effort to forge alliances in the quest to push back the shadow was noble, and his father would have no one else attempt the journey for Boromir was sure to do great deeds for him and for the protection of the city. Even still, the thought that he was doing Gondor great honor was scarcely enough to keep his spirits from falling victim to vague anxieties of injury, or even death.

High up, above the mist-shrouded clearing, over the stabbing treetops, the winds raced as an invisible stampede of a thousand wild, imaginary horses. Boromir wondered idly if Faramir was yet awake, and if he too felt this unshakable despondency icing keenly into the marrow of his bones.

Faramir. He was leagues away, and Boromir's destination was still leagues upon leagues ahead. That notion alone dredged up distinct longing in Boromir's heart of hearts, a pining for Faramir's bright sapphire eyes and youthful face and sinewy muscled body sweat slicked against his own.

Pieces of Faramir remained with Boromir in memory only. He could feel the smooth, silken skin of Faramir's lips tracing every curve of his body adoringly, setting chills crackling along his backbone. He shivered, but not due to the frigid night. He nestled further into the hollow of earth he had found to sleep in, and pulled his blanket over him tighter as he closed his eyes and willed himself to recreate the last time he had spent the night with his brother.

Slowly, like water dripping off of melting icicles on the first day of spring, snatches of breathless moans and quiet sighs tinted by Faramir's mellifluous voice reverberated in Boromir's ears as the breeze rustled the tangled undergrowth hemming him in the dell. Then he could feel Faramir's oddly soft fingertips etching out a path down the middle of his abdomen, beginning at his clavicle and skittering down the center of his chest, stomach, and then stopping just above the curly, dark hairline before dipping underneath to tickle the firm swells of muscle and flesh.

As Boromir laid in the dark, he felt himself grow warm, and his pulse spiked distinctly. Resuming his recollection, Boromir could still feel Faramir's deft and quick fingers on him, wrapping around him stiffly yet lovingly as a finger from his other hand sunk itself between the twin globes of Boromir's buttocks. The sequence of mental images cut to a picture of Boromir himself, his strong body eclipsing Faramir's slighter form against the mattress and wool coverlets in his room. There were candles burning in nooks carved into the walls, and Faramir's skin tasted like salt and smelled like fresh dew on grass; Boromir could almost taste it like he was reliving that final night. He saw Faramir's hair plastered askew over his cheeks and forehead as he writhed all sinuous and serpentine under Boromir's smooth and langorous rhythm; Boromir could almost feel it all over again, as if it was really happening, as if his skin and Faramir's skin was rubbing together as they both strained towards bliss.

Boromir was burning under his blanket, his entire body on fire just below the skin's surface and a thin sweat sheen leaked from his pores. Just then, like out of a cherished dream, Faramir's airy laughter penetrated Boromir's memory and drove him to exhale raggedly, his breath materializing as diaphanous crystals that hung in the chill air.

As his breath passed his lips, Boromir's eyes lazily opened. He saw the moon roll out proudly from behind an azure cloud bank, all gleaming and opalescent like polished quartz. It was the same color as the whites of Faramir's eyes, rolled back in ecstasy.

Boromir sighed into the void of night and wrapped himself up closer in his blanket, trapping the heat generated by his body made sensitive from thoughts of Faramir flashing vividly in his mind's eye. The contentment that accompanied the warmth made Boromir forget, for at least a little while, about the sharp pangs of dread that infiltrated further into his heart with each passing league toward Rivendell. Still stranded in a thick fog of pleasure, sleep finally was able to cast its spell over Boromir as images of home -- of Faramir -- played like ghosts in a beloved dream that existed always on consciousness' razor edge.

He closed his eyes, the last thing he thought being the words Faramir murmured in his most tender voice into Boromir's ear. Boromir remembered how his hair had tickled against his ear from the breathy caress that Faramir's voice delivered as he spoke the words: "Promise me that you will think of me fondly, so that when you return I can feel at home and protected in my brother's arms again, as if he never left me."

And Boromir had said that he would think of him always, and that he promised to bring home the moon to Faramir, since he couldn't bring back all the time that they would lose while he wandered lonesome over the endless miles.

END

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