Faramir Fiction Archive

Oxygen (NC-17)

Written by December

19 June 2010 | 35926 words

Title: Oxygen
Author: December
With: Boromir, Aragorn
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It all starts when things begin to go wrong for Boromir on his journey with the Fellowship. Faramir comes to his weary mind, of course – but do memories of the past have power to change the present?
Warnings: AU, sibcest, mild angst, mild fluff and very explicit slash.

Note: Story is based on Book verse for character description and those parts of the text where it actually sticks to canon. So keep in mind that before the Ring is destroyed, Lórien is attacked by the forces of Mordor, and King Elessar’s coronation and his wedding are two different events.

Thanks: To iris – for beta on chapters 1, 2 and 3 and for artistic inspiration! To everyone who had helped bring my laptop back to life when it died a premature death 4(!) days before turn-in. I doubt any of you people shall ever come to read these lines, but you have my eternal gratitude, undying love, etc. and you rule!
To the one who requested the story – for getting me to write it. This is not the sort of plot I would have explored otherwise, but I had great fun working on this tale. However I got quite carried away with it, and have no idea whether the result is anything like what you had expected. But I do hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Obviously and much to my regret, none of this belongs to me. I had merely invited the characters over and let them run wild for a while – and then wrote it down to the best of my ability.

Written for the Midsummer Swap 2010.

Request by Anastasija: Faramir/Boromir love story. Boromir is on his way to Rivendell (or from Rivendell) and the way is so heavy that the only memories which make him fight and go forward are the memories of those wonderful moments that he had with his brother. And I would be very glad to see the happy end when Boromir returns to his beloved one.

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Chapter 1

Boom.

Doom.

They still heard the faint rumbling of the drums as they ran outside through the high gate. But what joy the Company had found at seeing daylight again was soon annulled by the shower of arrows sent at them from the cliffs. They had gone almost a hundred yards into the field, and did not make particularly easy targets, but then –

“Tsehhhh…!” Boromir gasped sharply and fell to his knee, toppled over by the mighty blow of a black-feathered shaft biting into his upper back.

The others halted and rushed to him, but he roared in rage and was already up, turning around and drawing his sword.

“Boromir, stop!!” Aragorn flung himself at the man, grasping him on the arm. “We can’t go back!”

Boromir growled, trying to shake him off. “I shan’t be running from Orcs while they shoot me like game.”

“But we have to go, or we shall all be shot!” As though to prove the Ranger’s point, another arrow landed into the ground right at their feet, and Aragorn sucked his teeth in impatience. “Come, you are wounded already.” And pulling Boromir along, he yelled to the others: “Run on! Don’t linger, we’re fine!”

But they had not made a dozen paces before more arrows were unleashed at them, one getting stuck in the hem of Aragorn’s cloak, a second one catching the bedroll he carried on his back, another shaft planting itself into Boromir’s waist, and yet another into his upper thigh, making him jerk and gasp again. He had made to turn around once more, but Aragorn cursed under his breath and pushed him on roughly. At the same time Legolas was by their side, narrowing his clear eyes and shooting forth some arrows of his own. There were cries from the gate as at least one of his bolts had found its mark, and for the present the attack ceased.

Thus the Company was able to go on, as fast as their battered and exhausted bodies allowed.

When they were a safe distance from the Dwarven halls’ exit, they halted by a small creek to catch a breath and attend to the wounded. Pulling Boromir’s arrows out had not been that difficult, for, thanks to his mail-shirt and leather tunic, they had not gone very deep in. But Aragorn studied the arrowheads with a frown of deep dislike, and smelled them, wrinkling his nose, and then examined the torn bleeding cavities in Boromir’s flesh with exceptional scrutiny. He did not say anything though, and merely washed and bandaged the wounds. And when he gave Boromir a cupful of some bitter infusion that made him hot and sweating at once, and then insisted the man drink as much water as he could possibly force himself to, Boromir did not say anything either, but only smirked wryly and nodded in understanding.

They went on, and soon Aragorn, and then Legolas too, came to offer him their shoulders. At first he only swatted them away and cursed at them, saying he was perfectly fine, and that it would take more than a couple of Orc bolts to fell him. Then eventually, when everything began to double before his eyes, and his weight seemed to increase by the minute, he was forced to accept their help, leaning on them more and more heavily, until they were almost hauling him.

“Aragorn,” he muttered hoarsely at last, trying to make them halt, for even the smallest movement rendered him nauseous and disoriented. “There was poison, I know – no, don’t deny it, I can feel it coursing through my veins, my own heart spreading it forth…”

Aragorn sighed sternly and pulled him on. “Don’t waste energy on talking, Boromir.”

But Boromir dismissed his advice with an ironic grin. “I’ve met Orcs before, don’t forget. I may be a big man, but three shafts will have even one like me finished long before dawn. It’s very honourable of you to keep dragging me along, but what is the point? You need to make haste and find shelter before dark, and I am only a hindrance.”

Aragorn glared at him in shock. “I don’t care how long you have to live, Boromir, I won’t have you dumped here on the road as a little present for the Orcs’ enjoyment. Now I suggest you shut up and use what strength you’ve got to walk – and should you try to resist, I shall knock you out and lug you on unconscious.”

Boromir’s knowledge of Orkish ways proved quite accurate, for by the time he was brought under the eaves of the Golden Wood late that night, he was more dead than alive.

The Lady of the Wood had tended to his wounds, and he lived; yet for three days he had lain without waking up, mumbling feverishly and growing thinner by the day, and when the heat had passed, for yet another day and a night he lay in a deepest slumber before finally coming to.

The Elves had lifted him carefully to a secluded flet high in the branches of a tall mallorn, so that he could be closer to the light and warmth of the sun, and laid him on a soft mattress. And there he spent his days, lying on his stomach quietly, while the rest of the fellowship were housed in a large tent at the foot of the tree.

Boromir did not mind the separation much, especially now that it was clear he would be unable to continue with the quest: he barely had enough strength to sit up, not to mention that despite all the Elven healers’ skill and effort, the wound in his leg had settled into a mode of continuous inflammation, mild yet annoying.

Nevertheless, Aragorn had taken to spending time with him, not so much to keep the man company, for Boromir did not seem particularly in need of such, but rather to enjoy his own solitude and bask in the warm spring-like sun.

Yet despite the lack of conversation, or maybe because of it, these hours of rest together had brought them far closer than all the previous weeks of travel had, and an unspoken accord and understanding had developed between them, resulting in an atmosphere of comfortable friendly intimacy.

The day was moving towards twilight, and a soft fresh breeze was swaying the gold-adorned branches above them, gently divesting the tree of some of its splendour, sending the narrow ash-gold leaves to glide and float in the air, to shimmer in the lowering sun like pieces of coloured foil at a festival, eventually letting them settle on the pale grey boards of the flet.

Careful not to disturb his wounds, Boromir reached out slowly to pick up one of the pointed leaves. He twirled it thoughtfully before his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. A faint fragrance, sweet and fresh, was spread in the air, and although the two men saw no one about, all around them many clear voices could be heard softly singing a fair gentle song, and the sound of it filled the heart with hope, peace and longing all at once.

“What are they singing of?” Boromir asked half-absently.

Aragorn inhaled deeply and stretched out on his back.

“The Sea,” he replied simply.

To Aragorn’s surprise, Boromir’s expression became warm and serene, an open unassuming smile appearing on his lips. “The Sea… Yes, that is the best thing.”

The older man smiled in return. “You have been there?”

Boromir nodded. “Once. The dearest memory I have ever had is of that one time.”

“Care to share?” the Ranger asked casually. He had always liked stories, especially those pertaining to things ‘best’ and ‘dearest’.

For a while Boromir was silent, then said noncommittally: “Mayhap… But first I would ask you something.”

“Of course.”

Again Boromir did not reply at once.

“I heard you grew up with the Elves,” he began from a distance.

“You have heard correct.”

Boromir nodded thoughtfully. “On my stay in Imladris,” he continued slowly, obviously careful with his choice of words, “I had once been walking through the groves, and I saw… The sons of Master Elrond, they were embracing… and kissing, like lovers would.”

Aragorn nodded. “They are lovers indeed, have been for as long as I’ve known them – and probably long before that as well.”

“What think you of it?” Boromir asked very casually.

“Nothing,” the Ranger replied just as casually.

“Nothing at all?”

A shadow of a smile appeared at the corners of Aragorn’s grey eyes. “Well, not entirely,” he admitted lightly, and when Boromir encouraged him with a curious hmmm, he went on: “As a matter of fact, although it may shock you, Man of Gondor, I shall tell you that in the days of my youth I myself had lain with them,” and, after hesitating a moment, he added with a grin: “that is, with both of them – simultaneously.”

Boromir raised his eyebrows, but rather in amused surprise than shock. “Oh, is that so?”

Aragorn chuckled. “You see, the ways of Elves are rather… different from what Men are used to. My mother was widowed before I had turned two, and Master Elrond had fostered me. So I was a little like a baby-brother to his sons, and they deemed it their responsibility to… now, how did they put it? Teach me some sense, I believe, or something along those lines.”

Boromir snorted softly. “I gather you had had an interesting upbringing.”

“So I had,” Aragorn admitted with a smile.

They were silent for a while, and then Aragorn spoke: “Well…? You wanted to tell me about something, or have you decided against it?”

Boromir shook his head, and the soft quiet smile appeared on his face again. “No, I have not, although I am afraid it won’t match up to the tale of being bedded by two Elven-princes.”

He sighed and went quiet again, but when Aragorn was already beginning to think the tale would not come after all, he began unhurriedly.

“It was also in the days of my youth…

“My little brother Faramir and I, we had been visiting our uncle down in Dol Amroth, and we were to depart for Minas Tirith the following morning. The day was as fine as you could wish for in the middle of summer, and we had decided to spend it at the sea-side, taking his two young sons along. Or rather, it was they who had taken us along, for they knew every inch of the coast, and had promised to teach us to catch crabs, and show us some amazing cave, and all that sort of thing.

“We had whiled away the whole day in this manner, getting our skin battered by the sun and the breeze, enjoying ourselves to no end. We had done some swimming as well, although the beach in that place was not of the best kind: no white sand, no gentle slopes – instead, to get to the water you had to climb at least ten feet down a wall of large dark boulders, some with sharp edges, others smooth but unsteady.

“Disaster had struck when least expected – but then again, doesn’t it always?

“Though at first we did not give it much thought.

“It was late afternoon and the tide was rising, the sea unquiet, lapping with frothy waves at the green-covered slimy rocks. Faramir had been wading in the water – looking for sea-shells, most likely, when suddenly he slipped, fell with a yelp and went all the way under. Almost at once he emerged, but I saw he was frightened, and when I rushed to him, I understood why. His leg had slid into a crack between the rocks – don’t ask me how, he always managed to get the least likely thing to happen to him; point is, his foot got caught and he could not pull it out.

“The water was only up to his chest, splashing in his face as waves rolled on, and at first we all made fun of him for being clumsy and all that while he squirmed this way and that. But then it was not funny anymore, because he was seriously stuck, and we could not help him out. He tried to explain which rock was holding him in place, but when I attempted to shift it, he screamed, for it had only tightened its grip, and now he could not move his foot at all. Pathetically powerless, I just stood there and stared at him.

“He was breathing heavily from his efforts, but not only that: I saw fear glitter in his eyes, because the tide was visibly rising, covering him up to the armpits already. And from the way the weeds grew on the rocks, I saw that when it reached its summit, the water would be above even my head, although I was hardly covered to the middle of my thighs at that time – and I knew Faramir understood that as well. The other two, they were very young, and they got positively panicky, and started crying.

“Then I bid them run to the fishers’ village like there were Dragons chasing them, and get help, as many men as they could, and bring some sort of tools.

“They were gone, and I remained with him to wait…

“We did not speak; he had twisted around to be facing away from the surf so that it would not splash in his face so, and I sat on another rock by his side. And I cursed myself for being so careless, for we had been oblivious to time and had wandered miles from the nearest hamlet…

“We waited and waited – what else was there to be done…? And it seemed like the boys had been gone forever, and I thought they should have already made it there and back at least twice… I climbed the rocks to look down the shore for any sign of them, but even far at the horizon, there was no one. I left my shirt on the sand and put a stone on it, so they would not miss the place, trying not to think that by the time they came, it might not matter at all.

“When I got down again, it was hard for me to find Faramir, for only his black-haired head remained above the water, and when the wave rolled forth, it covered him whole. Each time he surfaced, he would wheeze and sputter, and he looked a little like an otter, and it would have been very funny and cute in different circumstances.

“When I was back by his side, he looked at me very seriously and only said: “Don’t leave me again.” And I just nodded, for I could not speak. I wanted to say something, to reassure him, but what kind of reassurance could I give? And anyway, I knew he needed me to be strong and confident, but if I were to speak, my voice would tremble and crack.

“I came to stand between him and the surf, hugging him to me, pressing his head to my bare stomach. But that was not much help, and soon he had to tilt his face up to breathe. One last time, he made an effort to get out, twisting and pulling so hard he went red in the face, and I knew he was hurting himself terribly. Then he became still again, and… he stopped even trembling against me, and his eyes… they grew hazy and calm, like…

“Once, the two of us had gone hunting, and he had shot a doe; and when we came to look at her, she was still alive, though she could not get up, and the way she looked at us… You know, I saw the same acceptance in Faramir’s eyes – not a peaceful kind of acceptance, but acceptance nonetheless, like he was already letting go…

“By the Valar, Aragorn, that look in his eyes – to this day, I have not seen a thing more terrifying…

“And for a second my blood froze, and I thought my heart would split and I would die together with him. But then, suddenly, all the fear was gone, and I knew I would not let him go without a fight.

“I knelt before him, and took his hands into mine, intertwining our fingers, and I said to him: “Trust me and have no fear.”

“He held my gaze and nodded; and then the tide came, and he shut his eyes and went under – and I took as deep a breath as my lungs would hold, then gathered a mouthful of air and dove after him. And I found his mouth in the water, and sealed it with mine, and gave him the air I was holding. He understood me, and took it at once. Then quickly I came up for another gulp, gave it to him, and came for another. And so it was how we went: four or five small fractions of a breath for him, only as much as I could hold in my mouth without inhaling into my lungs – then a fast deep one for myself.

“Thus minutes passed, and despite the strain and the dread, I had grown almost euphoric, for he was alive. All the breath he could have taken with him would have long since expired – yet he lived! He lived on the air I was giving him, and so I saw it was yet possible for him to make it…

“But slowly I was growing despondent again, for he was clutching at me so desperately, and I could tell I was giving him barely enough. Of course I was, for I was hardly getting enough myself. My head was beginning to spin, and so must be his, I understood. I was getting cold, too, and the sea was leaving a bitter acrid taste on my lips and tongue, and there was water in my nose. And the tide kept rising, so the breaks between our kisses had to become longer. I knew that eventually my air would become insufficient for him, and he would faint – and that’s it, he would not be able to accept what I gave him…

“Then suddenly I wanted so badly to talk to him, to say all the simple, important things I had never said. I wanted to see his eyes, to hear him laugh, and sing, too, although before I had teased him over his singing. But you know, he has the clearest voice, he could easily sing along with these Elves… And at that moment I wanted all of it so badly… For alive as he still was, he was already out of reach, I could only hold him and kiss a breath into his mouth, naught more.

“But then… At first I was not even aware of voices. Yes, Aragorn, they had finally found us…

“It had not been easy, to move those rocks, even though there were quite a lot of people. Of course, a son of the Steward was drowning – the whole village must have come! But I did not look at what they were doing – I had my own thing to do.

“Oh, I could not believe it when I had finally pulled him out, when I saw his face again – above the water… He was half-faint, delirious and exhausted, but he was alive, Aragorn, we had made it…!”

“If ever I should live to see the fulfillment of this quest, I don’t believe I would feel such relief as I did then.”

Boromir sighed heavily and licked his lips, and it seemed that the mere recollection of their toil had worn him out.

The sky above the two men had grown a shade darker, and the gold of the mallorn a shade paler, yet the air about them bore no sign of chillness. The breeze had almost ceased, and the wood seemed to be quieting down for the approaching dusk, even the sweetly sad Elven music sounding fainter now, as though only an echo of a song long since sung.

Aragorn had taken his pipe out and was puffing on it now and again, watching the sky through the fine dark lace of leaves and branches above him. He knew the tale was not yet come to its climax, and he would have greatly liked to hear more, yet he did not prompt his companion to continue.

He understood that even if technically Boromir was relating this story to him, ultimately he was doing it for himself, for his own private purpose, and if the man did not wish to go on – oh well…

But in a while Boromir did go on.

“For a long time we just sat and breathed, and I wept, holding him to me – and he was too spent to even cry.

“And then,” he grinned, “it was a long, long way back… Faramir had to be half-carried, for his foot was, of course, in no condition for walking. By the time we reached the village, the sun was already low over the water, and we were so very tired… So it was decided we would spend the night there, and early next morning return to our uncle’s castle.

“They prepared us a small room on the second storey, overlooking the beach, while our cousins were given a place downstairs. It was the best and largest house in the hamlet, but still a cool and shabby one. Yet they did all they could for us. Gave us clean clothes, ours being all torn and stiff from the salt in the fabric; and brought us hot broth and fresh bread, and lit up the little hearth with as much wood as would fit in – and gave us all the quilts and woolen blankets to be found in the house. But still we were horribly fatigued and cold to the bone, especially Faramir; so eventually he asked me to lie by his side to warm him up: I say ‘eventually’ because, well, he was a little embarrassed of that request.

“I’ll admit I hadn’t always been the most understanding and sympathetic kind of older brother. It had irked me there was so much about him I did not understand and, frankly, I was both envious that he could enjoy things I found boring, and jealous, too, that sometimes he would choose these fancies of his over the rough loud merriment my lads and I liked to make. So I would often tease him when I thought he was not acting manly enough, nor had I ever been gentle with him, thinking it best to show my affection through playing pranks on him and tussling.

“But that evening, when he asked me for a bit of warmth and tenderness, not for a second had I been inclined to make fun of him. Instead I slid in next to him at once and pulled the covers close around us. And he snuggled up to me, wrapping his arms firmly around me, making me realise that he must have wanted to do this not only that evening, but on many other days and nights as well. I hugged him back, adjusting my body against him to make us fit together as close as possible, and he heaved such a happy, peaceful sigh – I used to think only dogs and little children could sigh like that. But he was no child, he was already a lad of fifteen, quite tall and strong for his age, if only a little too lean, and he felt pleasantly firm and substantial to
hold. And you know, somehow the strength and heat of his body made it only sweeter to feel him so relaxed and cosy against me, like with me he forgot he was already almost a man.

“We lay like that, absolutely without moving, for a very long time, and our breaths had come to the same rhythm. And then he shifted away just a little – to look at me…

“He had eyes to drown in, Aragorn – he still does. The clearest, untainted grey. Transparent, with a luminescent depth – they catch the light, and hold it, and it shimmers in them, and you just stare into them thinking, how on Arda does it work like that?

“The expression on my face must have been a little silly, for he laughed delightedly, the shimmer in his gaze turning into a merry twinkle. He leant in to rub his nose against my cheek, and then he looked at me again, this time both coy and a little abashed.

“He bit his lip, eyeing me appraisingly, and then asked if I would share my breath with him again.

“Think of it…

“Hundreds of miles away from home, in a fisherman’s bare dingy house… The bed narrow and a little sagged, the linens nothing like what we slept on in the City. But the whole place, it smelled of the Sea, not the fishy or sea-weedy smell you get at the docks, but the fresh, humid scent of life… of freedom… of possibility.

“And the little window just above our bunk filling the room with the last glow of sunset… it all felt a little surreal, just like it does here in the Elven woods – as though you are being given a glimpse of some other existence you could have led, of some other life you could have lived…

“And I leant in to him and locked my mouth to his just like I had done underwater, and breathed into him. Only this time he did not let me draw back for another mouthful of air, but instead he returned the breath to me. You may think it silly, but at that moment I saw some special meaning in this little game, and I played along. And thus we kept on passing it back and forth, not inhaling anew, letting this air wash through our lungs over and over, and become humid, stuffy and heavy. But still we kept going, until our chests were bursting and we had become so dizzy and breathless we had to break apart. Then we stared at each other and burst out laughing.

“And I felt so happy, so blessed just to be there, holding him, sensing the life heat in the body in my arms – seeing him alive: knowing he would be there that day, and tomorrow, and the day after…

“For once, for the first and only time in my life, I felt so entirely, perfectly balanced – and so aware of myself. I was me, finally, the way I had always been meant to be. Everything just made sense.

“Then, suddenly even for myself, I leant in again and kissed his laughing mouth – this time with a proper kiss. But maybe it was sudden only for me, for he yielded at once.

“You probably expect me to say it was sweet, and so it was, but not straight away – at first it was very salty and even a little bitter, for we both still had a crust of salt on our skin. But it tasted like life itself – you know, just like when you inhale a full lungful of sea air and all of a sudden know you are alive.

“His hair had gone dry and wavy from the sea water, and it carried the sea air in it – aye, he smelled of it all over, just like I did.

“And this kiss… it just happened to us, like it had a heart and mind of its own, and we simply let it do what it would. So natural it felt that it seemed to me utterly absurd that I had not kissed him before. And I licked into his mouth, and let him lick into mine… It went on and on, without breaking, so strong and deep – and yet at once delicate and sweet, with a note of subtlety to it.

“I don’t know whether he pulled me over, or I pushed him over, but somehow we had shifted and I was lying on him, and he had parted and bent his legs to receive me even closer.

“And only when I felt the heat of his hardness pressing against my abdomen, did it register somewhere at the back of my head that I was also aroused. And I moved on top of him as though I was making love to him, and he moved together with me. But it was not just the hips humping, no, nothing like that. It was profound and unhurried, thorough and at the same time almost unconscious, our whole bodies rising and falling together, as though we were in the Sea again, and the waves were rocking us in their eternal rhythm.

“His breath was deep and heavy, but not frantic, no panting, no gasping. He was as though in a trance, and whenever I stopped kissing his mouth to go for his throat instead, there would be a smile on his reddened lips.

“And we rocked like that forever, lulling each other to completion, and the joy had spread through the body so smoothly and sweetly, like the foamy surf covering the shore… and then again. It abated and then came forth again, over and over, such pure bliss…”

Boromir trailed off and smiled absently, but soon a vaguely wistful expression appeared in his eyes, and he sighed.

“It was like nothing I have ever known, before or after. I was turning twenty that year, and I had had my share of romps at the back of the stables or in the armoury. But with Faramir, there had been no sweat, no swearing, no groaning or grunting, no spreading open and shoving in, no violent carnality – nothing of the sort. The passion I felt was like life itself, so deep and warm, and there was as though a light in it, like a steady clear flame. And I did not even touch him with my hands, did not feel him up, did not grope him or try to undress him. Yes, I kissed his chin and throat, but nothing more. Can you believe it? We had not even taken our clothes off… Not then, nor when we did it twice more in the course of that long evening. Yes, of course we had done it again, for we were so young and full of life… And the only difference was that those other times he had slung one leg over my hips.

“Of course, he would have let me do anything, do everything. Especially after what we had been through, his trust in me was absolute.

“But I had not exploited that trust. Not because he was young and unaware, or because I was particularly noble and conscientious. No, simply because it had been perfect as it was. Aye, I believe the ultimate aim of that passion had been not release as such, but that particular all-encompassing sensation of togetherness – nay, not ‘togetherness’, for does not the word imply the entities to be fundamentally separate? – nay, I’d say what we had found that evening was most like unity, a complete merging of selves.

“I don’t think that he even understood, at least back then, that what we were doing was sexual. Of course not – even I for my part did not entirely understand it. It had simply made sense to be holding him thus, to be moving with him. I merely needed to be absolutely certain he was alive: to feel him with my skin, to sense his inner warmth, the rhythm of life in him… and somehow it had seemed so very logical to align our bodies, so that our legs came together, and our chests, and so our mouths and tongues, too, and the private places between our legs…

“The Sea… I shall be forever in love with it. Aye, it had nearly robbed me of him, yet I hold no grudge against it, for at the same time it had given us this bliss, this understanding… I do not know what to call it, but it was beautiful…”

At this he sighed once again and fell quiet, as though his narrative was complete. His face was turned away from Aragorn, and as minutes went by, the man wondered whether Boromir even remembered about his presence. But at last the Ranger shifted and said quietly: “Well, Boromir, you certainly are a fortunate man to have such a treasure among your memories,” he puffed on his pipe and, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, blew out a neat little ring of smoke. “I hope you forgive the curiosity this tale has aroused in me. You have not said what happened afterwards… Are you still together?”

Despite his wounds, Boromir even raised himself up a bit to stare at Aragorn incredulously. He shook his head and let out a sigh of quiet exasperation, annoyed Aragorn had entirely missed the point of his story.

“Still together? We have never been together, Aragorn. Or do you forget where I come from? It is all very well for your Fair Folk to walk through their enchanted woods holding hands, and no one raises an eyebrow, apparently. But in Gondor…” he trailed off with a soft snort.

He thought it all to be rather self-explanatory, but the look on Aragorn’s face made him reconsider.

“Do I have to break it down for you?” he sighed and grinned resolutely. “People fuck, of course; and, well, as long as it’s discreet, one can get away with it. But a relationship, Aragorn, would never be tolerated. Not to mention when the people in question actually are related.”

Aragorn shook his head, looking a little uncomfortable. “No, no, I understand all that, Boromir. I merely thought that, given the strength… the beauty of the feeling you describe, the two of you would have found a way somehow…”

Boromir snorted again, and turned away, lowering himself back onto the mattress carefully. “But what would be the point? My father, Aragorn, is a farseeing man, and he would have come to know soon enough, if not at once: I, for one, am not good at concealing my passions. And worst of all, he would have held Faramir to blame, I am sure of that.

“But all that,” he said in sudden irritation, “is long since absolutely irrelevant. There is nothing left of ‘the feeling’. Such things are like cherry blossoms: amazing in their delicate purity and sweet freshness, but how long do they last? Faramir and I, we are both grown men, and close as our bond is, our private lives are our private lives – to each his own.” Boromir frowned sternly, the muscles in his cheeks flexing. “The memory is but a memory, and I draw on it only because it makes me believe in the goodness of life, and gives me strength when what lies ahead seems too bleak.”

“I see,” Aragorn murmured carefully, lowering his gaze thoughtfully.

For a while they were silent.

“And, Aragorn…?”

“Yes?”

“All this is, of course, to stay between us two.”

“Of course.”

Chapter 2

Aragorn could only marvel at still being able to walk, for it felt as though what strength he had left after the battle he had given to the wounded. The chill of exhaustion was settling in his very bones, and he pulled his battered cloak close around himself as the small company headed out of the Houses of Healing.

The wards had been his first destination upon entering Minas Tirith, but alas not the last, for there remained some matters he had to see to before finally retiring for a few hours of sleep.

“Where is the Lord of the City?” Aragorn asked wearily.

“I believe he is already waiting for you,” Gandalf replied softly with a nod of his head.

And indeed, when he followed the wizard’s gesture with his eyes, Aragorn saw a tall noble-looking man approaching them. He was clad as a warrior, and his dented armour and blood-darkened clothes displayed signs of recent trials, although he himself seemed unharmed except for a barely noticeable limp. He was obviously weary, and his face was stern almost to the point of grimness – and no wonder, for him being introduced as the Lord of Minas Tirith could mean one thing only.

Aragorn bid farewell to Gandalf, Prince Imrahil and the new King of Rohan, arranging to meet with them first thing the following morning to hold counsel. They would all be housed in the City, while he would be retiring to his tent outside the tall walls – as soon as he settled some things with the acting Steward.

While Aragorn had been talking to his companions, the Gondorian lord had stood at a respectful distance, but now the young man came up to him as swiftly as his leg allowed. During the battle, he had seen Aragorn’s standard several times, and had even glimpsed the man’s figure, yet had been unable to make it to him. And when afterwards what remained of the Gondorian host had returned to the City, he had had many exigent matters to settle, yet had ever yearned to find this famed stranger everyone was whispering about.

Nevertheless, now that they finally met, he looked Aragorn keenly and questioningly in the face, as though searching for a sign, for some final confirmation – and the sharp, inquisitive intensity of this gaze almost made Aragorn start, as though the man had actually touched him. But in a moment the warrior’s clear eyes grew calm and certain. He gave Aragorn a deep earnest bow, and said in a voice both dignified and humble: “My lord.” Then he hesitated a little, wondering what exactly he should add to the title, but Aragorn raised his hand briefly.

“That will be enough for now, Lord… Faramir, I gather?”

“Yes, your lordship.”

Aragorn nodded and sighed. “So I take it the old Steward has fallen? I have not seen him among the wounded, so…”

“Yes, indeed,” Faramir lowered his head, and a shadow of pain passed across his pale face, but in a minute he collected himself and stood tall and proud again. “His death, bless the Valar, was quick, and we had brought him straight to the Tower Hall, where King Théoden of Rohan also lies.”

“Such tidings are indeed grievous to hear,” Aragorn said in sombre sadness, bowing his head in sympathy. At length he sighed, “Alas, with the passing of a lord what cares he was burdened with do not disappear as well, but must be dealt with by those remaining. So, as you are now in charge of the City…” he trailed off thoughtfully, thinking where to start, and Faramir took the opportunity to get a word in.

“Not any longer, lord, for rightfully this place belongs first to you, and then to my wounded brother, whose return we had been greatly hoping for. However…” he hesitated, as though about to say something inappropriately ambitious, “I would be most grateful to have some of my duties preserved, if I may, for what can better help a man forget his sorrow than hard work?”

But then he cut himself off in embarrassment. “Pray forgive me, lord, I am forgetting myself. You are weary and likely hungry as well, and I am just standing here complaining of my woes.” A faint blush had appeared on his cheeks, and Aragorn was staggered by how unconquerably sweet it looked on this stern manly face, and found it positively impossible not to be instantly won over by a man capable of such unspoilt, almost innocent naturality of bearing. Yet in his unaffectedness Faramir still knew his manners: “Let us not linger out in the cold. Come with me, lord, I shall give you a full account of the state of the arts, but what needs be discussed we may as well discuss in what comfort can be obtained at this dire hour. Alas, I cannot offer you much, not the proper reception you deserve – but a friendly hearth, some hot food and good wine, and then a soft bed I can surely promise.”

“Nay, Faramir,” Aragorn said firmly, albeit a bit regretfully. “Your invitation is a most tempting one, of course, but…” he sighed, seeing genuine puzzlement and worry appear in the man’s face. “But for the time being I do not deem it right to enter this city as my own. I do not wish to claim anything I have not proven myself worthy of. Yes, I shall ride to war as King, yet not until complete victory is achieved in this struggle should I become King. And today I had come only for the purpose of giving my aid to those who needed it,” he nodded back towards the infirmary. “By the way, I notice you are wounded as well,” he added with a nod towards Faramir’s leg, which the man was obviously trying not to put too much weight on even when standing still. “Perhaps I should –”

But Faramir shook his head hurriedly. “Nay, your lordship, do not trouble yourself over it. It is not even a wound,” he waved his hand dismissively, “just an old injury I disturbed today. I assure you, it won’t impair the quality of my service.”

Aragorn grinned softly. “I see… Well, you have your wish then: all your duties are still yours. Now, if everything is generally in order and there is nothing of utmost urgency you require my counsel on, I would depart to my camp, for,” he smiled wearily and moved his shoulders to ward off the chill, “this day has been a long one.”

Faramir nodded, yet his brows furrowed in dismay. “My lord,” he began carefully, “naturally, you shall do as you wish, but may I please beg you to reconsider? At least out of pity for me, for, being the lord of this city as you desire me to be, how could I bear it if one who had brought us deliverance should depart to sleep on bare ground out in the battlefield? If you won’t stay as our lord, then maybe you would at least stay as my guest?”

Aragorn looked at him thoughtfully, and it stirred something inside him to see that all the man’s courtesy was coming from veritable respect and that his concern was absolutely sincere, as was the hope in his clear eyes that Aragorn would accept the invitation. It felt a little personal somehow, and Aragorn liked it.

“Very well,” he said with a smile, also realising that the idea of a hot supper in such pleasant company, and then a night spent in a real bed was not such a repelling idea at all. After all, it was in everybody’s best interest to have him rested and full of strength. “But let us not turn this supper into a big gathering, I have had enough crowds for today.”

“Yes, of course,” Faramir agreed seriously, then added: “Lord Aragorn.”

Quietly Faramir led him up the streets to the Seventh Circle. At this level the City was undamaged, and as dusk had already settled, the streets were empty. Thus they saw no derelict buildings or woeful faces, and it could have seemed there had been no assault at all, were it not for the particular smell of fear, death and destruction hovering even this high in the air, and for the forlorn, tense atmosphere of apprehensive expectation. Yes, the battle was won, but the war was yet to be fought.

And Aragorn felt the stiffness in his shoulders finally relax only when they entered the young lord’s private quarters, his drawing room quite modestly furnished yet warm and welcoming, a fire in the hearth already whispering contentedly to itself, filling the high-windowed chamber with a homely glow.

He declined Faramir’s offer to use his bath quarters, for he had already refreshed himself at the wards, and instead settled into one of the deep comfortable chairs at the table and stretched out his long legs, taking the goblet of wine Faramir’s esquire had filled for him.

Faramir nodded. “Then if you would excuse me,” he spread his arms, indicating his somewhat tattered state. “I shall rejoin you in a moment, your lordship.”

And he passed to the adjacent chamber, apparently his bedroom. The door was ajar, and Aragorn heard the splash of water as Faramir washed his face and hands, and then caught a glimpse of the man as his esquire helped him out of the scratched and dimpled armour. Although the servant touched him most gingerly and cautiously, on more than one occasion Faramir had started and sucked his teeth, and a great relief was visible in his very posture when all the plates and the shirt of mail were finally off.

Aragorn was well aware of how extremely indecent and rather dishonourable it was, yet could not help shifting in his seat a little to get a better view as Faramir proceeded to pull his stained rumpled tunic off over his head, for a moment revealing a beautifully sculpted masculine back, strong but lithe and svelte, the only fault in its perfection being two large dark bruises tainting the pale skin on his shoulder and the right side of his waist. But then he said something to the esquire and moved out of the field of Aragorn’s vision, making the Ranger realise he had been holding his breath looking at the young lord. He grinned ironically to himself, only now coming to understand that the instant liking he had taken to the man was in truth based on more than merely the appreciation of Faramir’s pleasant, considerate conduct or the sympathy for his loss.

Were it for the fragrant pale-coloured wine Aragorn had drunk, or for the equally unsobering notion of being only paces away from the magnetic combination of an attractive half-undressed young man and a bed, his previous fatigue had rather dissipated, giving way to a pleasant tingling of vague excitement, of some inexplicable expectation. He well remembered this feeling from his adolescent years, when he had been but an ordinary lad, for some reason fortunate to have been sheltered in the home of an Elven-lord. He would often be overcome with this enchanting state of anticipation as he wandered alone through the dusky forest on warm summer evenings – an ungrounded yet absolute conviction that something wonderful and unimaginable would one day happen to him.

And this sensation only intensified when presently the Lord of Minas Tirith joined him at the table.

Faramir had changed into a fresh tunic of rich midnight-blue, trimmed at the collar and hem with a pattern in silver. It covered his arms only to the elbows, thus showing that underneath he wore a cream-coloured narrow-sleeved undershirt, which nicely outlined the shape of his strong forearms. Aragorn could not help noticing how flattering this outfit was to the young man’s pale complexion and ebony hair – but then again, he would probably look good in anything… or without anything. At once the Ranger found himself wondering about the scent of the man’s skin: both right now, if Aragorn were to suddenly get up and come to press his nose into the crook of his neck – and also when Faramir was aroused. Would the redolence of Faramir’s desire drive Aragorn to a loss of all civility just like he thought it would? Would Faramir actually want that? Suddenly it occurred to him that the man might actually have a lover, perhaps someone he had feelings for – not necessarily a man, by the way. But there was no telling, and of course he could not quite steer the conversation in that direction…

He studied Faramir very carefully, for as long as was possible without making the man uncomfortable. Indeed, he was every bit as lovely as Boromir had described him – even more, perhaps, for instead of a gentle open-hearted boy Aragorn saw a grown man who had somehow preserved this earnestness and sincerity. For if in a boy such qualities could be seen as more or less a tribute to his youth and the innocent optimism of the inexperienced, then in a man they hinted at some special fundamental quality of the heart.

Aragorn had always loved this combination of outward beauty and freshness with inner maturity – maturity that shone through the sadness in the eyes. But up to that point he had only encountered it in Elves, and was now staggered by how enchantingly gorgeous it looked in a Man. He was one of a kind, apparently: Aragorn had met all of the young lord’s closest male relatives, and none of them had anything remotely similar to his exceptional appeal. Admittedly, Faramir’s brother had his own rather unignorable allure, yet it was neither so enchantingly exquisite, nor so staggeringly obvious. With Boromir it had taken Aragorn quite a while to come to fully appreciate the man’s attractiveness – with Faramir, on the other hand, one evening was all it took for the Ranger to completely succumb to his charm.

Yet nothing in the expression of Faramir’s face, or the tone of his voice, or the words he spoke gave Aragorn any clues as to whether the young lord even acknowledged him as a sexual being. No, there was none of his brother’s haughtiness or aloofness in his bearing, he was perfectly amiable and approachable – yet also perfectly even and proper. Not a single lingering glance, not one suggestive gesture, not a sign of excitement or nervousness. He seemed so annoyingly calm and at ease.

Aragorn on the other hand – despite the rather unhurried pace of the supper and the perfectly general conversation – felt exceptionally excited. A sensation of heightened awareness filled him, and he noticed the smallest nuances in Faramir’s tone and facial expression. And the Ranger had a feeling that behind his host’s balanced and courtly manner there was some other universe, something quite different from what the world saw of this man, something utterly private – and he found himself yearning to be invited into that privacy.

Aragorn was very conscious of himself, too. Never had he been given to affectation, yet now he very much wished that every gesture he made appear smooth and graceful, and every pose relaxed and dignified, and most of all, that everything he said sound either wise and meaningful, or funny and witty. And when Faramir had suddenly laughed at some remark of his – a laugh startlingly clear and merry for such a seemingly serious man, Aragorn felt the mirth resonate in his own ribcage, and heat rise to his face.

The supper was eaten and the table cleaned, except for the remaining bottle of wine and the ornate silver goblets, and Faramir dismissed his esquire for the night.

All the matters of importance had been talked over, all the appropriate things had already been said. For a while the two men sat silently, now and again sipping absently on the cool fragrant drink, letting their bodies rest and their minds wander at ease. But eventually Faramir felt the evening was drawing to an end, and soon he would have to bid his new lord good night. And it made him uneasy and wistful, for he did not wish to stay alone with his thoughts – and he knew feeling thus was not entirely mature, and was ashamed of it, which only intensified his unease.

With a nod to Aragorn, he stood up as though to stretch, whereas in fact he was simply beginning to feel restless. Were he alone, he would have paced around the room, following the path he had long since treaded out on the carpet. Yet propriety allowed him no such freedom, and instead he came up to the tall narrow window to stare absently into the night.

Aragorn soon moved to his side, and at once saw how tense the younger man’s face was.

“Your heart is heavy,” he said gently, certain that Faramir, unlike Boromir, would not get defensive upon having such a thing said to him on the first evening of their acquaintance.

Indeed, Faramir merely nodded, suppressing a sigh.

For a while they stood silently, looking at the night city below, and Faramir fought to contain his weariness. Yet he well sensed Aragorn’s genuine sympathy, and the Northerner was obviously expecting him to speak – and the possibility of finally unburdening himself to someone promised such blissful relief…

“I remember,” he began softly, as though talking rather to himself, “when we were children, Father would often take Boromir to stand by his side like this, overlooking the City from his chamber. He would put his hand on my brother’s shoulder and teach him about responsibility,” Faramir smiled softly. “From a very early age, he told Boromir about being strong, and honourable, and setting examples – about how little freedom a high lord actually has, about making decisions, about always being accountable…

“Always, he would say, keep your mind sharp, your conscience clean and your heart cool – and then everything will come to the best possible end. Always strive to do what is right and proper… Father had long schooled him on being an apt leader for our people. And thus my brother has turned out: a proud and wilful lord – without fault, fear or doubt. If only a little hot of temper,” he acknowledged with lenient fondness, “but that only adds him charm, I suppose, for otherwise he would have been too perfect. Yes, and it does nothing but help him in what he is best at – warfare. I can only imagine how vexed he is over not being here, when there is finally a proper war to make. It comes naturally to him, battle is his element and he basks in it,” Faramir paused to heave a weary heart-felt sigh, and shifted uncomfortably. “Not so for me though – everything I heard Father say to my brother must have gone out of my other ear…

“I always fear. For all the people in my care, for our beautiful lands, for our very way of life. Getting slain… I fear that also: not so much the death itself – a warrior of my age is bound to be used to the idea already… but rather what it would do to the men under my command if I am stricken down in the middle of battle. This blasted tension never leaves me…” he sighed again and rubbed the back of his neck with both hands, the place where the stiffness was the strongest.

“I hope this confession of mine does not disappoint you too much, my lord. I assure you, your desire to have me ride by your side at the head of our host when we set out I see as a great honour. And I shall fight with all my strength, I am no coward in combat.”

“You are no coward at all, Faramir,” Aragorn interrupted him softly. “It is normal to fear. I fear all the time also – for everything and everyone I hold dear. There are people I love whose fate depends on the outcome of our struggle – on the outcome of my particular struggle. I well know the burden you speak of. And the brother you hold in such high regard, he knows it also, I am sure, although of course you know him by far better than I do. But he fears for you, and for Gondor, if only you do not see it, for he had been taught so well to appear impeccable in everything.”

Faramir nodded a little absently, and Aragorn realised that instead of all his rationalising, a simple word of reassurance would have fared much better.

“Let your worries rest for tonight, Faramir. We shall do all we can, there is still a chance,” he said soothingly and with as much conviction as he could bring forth.

The young man nodded gravely and sighed, yet his face had softened – and, following an impulse, Aragorn laid a hand on his shoulder. Faramir almost gasped in surprise, for the gesture was far more personal than lords in Gondor typically exchanged with their subjects – and it both startled and delighted him to have Aragorn treat him like a friend. He breathed out wearily and lowered his head, accepting the comforting touch, and Aragorn saw that on top of sorrow, anxiety and the weight of responsibility, Faramir was also burdened by an immense, crushing loneliness. It made the Ranger grin ironically, for in that instant he experienced that overpowering emotion Boromir had tried to describe to him. Piercing, disarming tenderness.

And very acutely he remembered how long it was since he himself had been touched with warmth and care, how long since he had let himself relax and forget about all his worries and duties – for the simple comfort of revelling in mutual sympathy and understanding. Yes, for some reason he felt this man would understand him better than any other, as though there was some natural affinity between them.

Faramir, too, could have used some relaxation. For many months now he had carried on chiefly thanks to his willpower and sense of duty. In fact, he found himself terribly temped to finally let go and rest a little. And when he sensed this softness and kindness in his new lord, the temptation had become overpowering, and his exhaustion took over for a second, darkening out his vision and making him sway.

But he did not fall, for Aragorn supported him and pulled him into a snug yet careful embrace, cautious not to cause any discomfort to Faramir’s bruised body. “Come here,” he murmured as though to a child, “come to me… It shall pass, it shall all pass…”

Faramir leant against him without thinking, aware of nothing but the dependable safety and welcoming warmth about him. He closed his eyes and let his body bask in the cosy reassurance of feeling another body’s life and energy; and slowly strength sipped back into him, and he was no longer faint, but merely very, very relaxed and comfortable.

He inhaled deeply, and a gentle dreamy smile appeared on his lips. He tilted his face, brushing his nose along the curve of Aragorn’s neck, not noticing he skimmed the man’s skin with his lips as well. He went on slowly and languidly, seemingly unaware of his own actions, pushing away the Ranger’s dark locks with his cheek, nudging and nuzzling him softly, as though searching for something. The older man, for his part, from the very moment Faramir had leant against him had been fighting a losing battle to retain at least a small measure of self-control . And when Faramir’s hot breath tickled him behind the ear, Aragorn felt his consciousness unravel completely.

Faramir smiled dazedly as he felt the air around them become thick and molten; and it did nothing to bring him back to reality when the hold of the strong arms around him tightened, pressing him firmly against the strength and heat of Aragorn’s body. Nor did it stir him to any degree of alertness when he felt a mouth blindly seeking his: parted, disoriented lips grasping at his skin, grazing over his throat, his jaw, his cheekbone… gently prodding and coaxing him to turn his face, to help them in their quest, to meet them midway and open up…

And he complied without thinking.

The most fleeting contact, a feather-light touch and the feeling of the other’s warm breath against your lips.

But that contact, instantly –

A single spark falling on the dry foliage of a quiet forest is often enough to get the wildfire raging.

Everything changed.

At once Aragorn saw the other side of his respectful, modest host, and was irrevocably reaffirmed in his surmise that there was more to this boy than met the eye. Yes, the youth with the merry twinkle in his eyes was still somewhere around.

His kiss was confident almost to the point of playfulness. Lips hot and pliant, but also alert and evasive, luring Aragorn ever further and deeper with their maddeningly arousing volatility, stoking up his hunger, quickly turning him from a cautious explorer into a pursuer, a merciless hunter. Tongue daring yet mischievous, one second inviting Aragorn into the heat of Faramir’s mouth, the next pushing him out quite impolitely, alternating long thorough caresses with quick teasing licks and prods. Were they unclothed, he would have gladly punished this naughtiness with a sound smack on the man’s gorgeously round behind – or perhaps not, for, just like Boromir had said, this kiss was sweet – unbelievably so…

And a mere kiss from him was enough to show just what an eager, adventurous and uninhibited lover this man would make. How deliciously easy it made to imagine Faramir with a passion-contorted face, soft raven hair in a mess, damp tresses plastered to his forehead, wringing fistfuls of sheets, unabashedly moaning – and then triumphantly screaming – his pleasure as Aragorn took him forcefully from behind. Or from any other angle, no matter… Or perhaps Aragorn would choose to first find release at the man’s mouth – yes, this mouth would definitely be adept at giving pleasure, what with its daring clever tongue and full sensual lips.

He understood, too, that everything Boromir had told him about memories being but sweet souvenirs of the past, had been either a convenient self-delusion, or more likely one big load of outright bullshit. How could anyone in their right mind possibly fail to want this man in the most carnal, indecent way?

But then, although nothing had changed, Faramir drew away, and Aragorn let him, for he felt at once it was not a part of the game, not a playful sort of indecision.

“I am sorry… my lord,” Faramir murmured, and breathless and blushed as he was, he averted his face in genuine abashed embarrassment, his deferential manner returning. “I should not have…”

“It is quite all right,” Aragorn murmured just as quietly, his fingers gently moving on the man’s waist. “Do not worry, I won’t think poorly of you for offering me intimacy within hours of meeting me. Nor would I think poorly of you if you were to ask me to postpone the logical conclusion of this little… exchange,” he was unable to withhold a wistful sigh. “I understand, to you it may seem a disrespect to the fallen to be seeking pleasure and joy amid all the loss; not to mention your body is obviously quite battered…” he paused, waiting for Faramir’s reaction. But the man stood still with a lowered face, and only his difficult breathing and the tension in his back beneath Aragorn’s fingers betrayed his unease. Softly, Aragorn went on: “I only beg you not to apologise, young lord. I do not mind your advances in the least, and perhaps later…”

At last, Faramir shook his head and, taking a step back, slid out of the Ranger’s embrace. “But you would mind, Lord Aragorn, if you knew the reason behind these advances.”

Aragorn frowned, the fire in his eyes just as strong, only colder now. “Well, and what is the reason?”

Faramir smiled to himself and shook his head again. “Nay, please, let us leave the matter: my explanation would only offend you, for you would not understand.”

The older man raised his chin. “Perhaps I would, give it a try.”

Faramir shrugged leniently.

“You have come up the River, my lord, and although you have been through much gore and labour afterwards, amid the odour of battle and the scent of healing herbs, I can still smell the marine breeze on you.”

Aragorn lifted an eyebrow. “So it was the sea scent and not I that you were drawn to?”

Faramir crossed his arms in discomfort. “Well, no, not entirely – but it was certainly what made me actually… do what I did. It is… a personal thing. For me, that fragrance shall forever be associated with salvation beyond all reasonable hope – with a fresh breath of new life, and with the sweetness of a kiss,” he smiled sadly and lowered his face. “And I would not deem it fair towards you to…” he trailed off, raising his eyebrows meaningfully and making an accompanying gesture with his hand. “I am sorry things have coincided like this.”

“I see,” Aragorn nodded thoughtfully. “Well, in that case, young lord, I also have something to tell you. But we had better sit down and pour us some more wine.”

Chapter 3

“Will you keep me company for a while? I am weary of festivities, but… a quiet talk with you I would greatly enjoy, like in the old days.”

“But of course,” Faramir said delightedly. “I shall keep you company for as long as you like, be it till dawn if you wish. I have missed you so much…” he did his best not to put too much longing into the last sentence.

It was already the second week since Boromir’s long awaited return to Minas Tirith (or Minas Anor, as it was more and more often called these days). Yet the new Steward was so pointedly busy with his duties during the day, and so pointedly tired come evening, that there had been absolutely no chance for Faramir to get a minute alone with him. The young man had begun to believe Boromir was purposefully avoiding him, and this sudden change of wind both puzzled and excited him – or maybe it was not sudden, and not a change at all, maybe it was in fact the fruit of his brother’s previous evasiveness… And he could tell that the ‘quiet talk’ would not be one either of them could possibly enjoy, for Boromir was obviously in no mood for a carefree chat – yet Faramir was veritably delighted with the invitation, for anything was better than his silent withdrawal.

Turning a corner, they left behind the sounds of revelry pouring out from the Hall of Feasts. Everyone’s days were filled with tiring but utterly satisfying work of healing the country’s war wounds, and the nights with an even more tiring and satisfying work of making merry. Every evening now ended in a grand supper with music and dancing, and Faramir was pleasantly surprised by how easily this new routine had changed the atmosphere of his home. The imposing gloomy halls of black marble, when properly illuminated, decorated and filled with loud happy people, had turned majestic and glamorously impressive, breathtaking in their vastness and splendour.

Yet Boromir had looked rather lost the first time he passed through the tall double-doors into the high-vaulted room which in the days of their father had stood cold, empty and dark.

And that expression of perplexed confusion, as though he had followed directions and come to the house with the correct number, only to find that the house was nothing like the place he had been going to – that expression had never quite left his stern noble face.

This, along with some other details, had not escaped Faramir’s notice, and despite Boromir’s seeming aloofness, the young man knew his brother’s heart was seriously troubled. But he also knew better than to address this issue directly.

“You look so sullen… Are your wounds still bothering you?” walking close alongside him, he laid his palm gently on Boromir’s waist and slid his hand upwards in a soft concerned caress, as though searching for the scars through the many layers of the Steward’s official attire.

“Nay, I’m perfectly hale,” Boromir said with a sigh, and sighed again when Faramir withdrew his hand. “Ah, ‘tis nothing, just… you know I do not like feasts, too much idleness.”

Faramir nodded. Idleness… Of course, his brother was seeing all his weeks of convalescence in the Golden Wood as unforgivable idleness. And, knowing him, Faramir understood that the part Boromir had played in driving back Mordor’s three powerful assaults on Lothlorien did not seem to him even worthy of mention. In Boromir’s opinion, a battle won for something else than the immediate glory and prosperity of Gondor was no achievement at all – and definitely could not absolve him from the fault of failing to come to the defence of his country when it had needed him most. In fact, no one would have learned of his deeds in the Elven realm at all, had it not been for some rather talkative Elven messengers, who had received a few unkind looks from the hero in question, which confirmed Faramir’s surmise that Boromir was, if anything, embarrassed about the whole episode, having nothing to be praised for but this meagre accomplishment.

“Boromir,” Faramir reasoned, trying to keep his endeared amusement from his voice, “the work is far from over yet, and you know it. This ‘idleness’ is but a rest well earned. There shall be plenty of chance for all of us, you above all, to slay as many foes as you like.”

Boromir merely gave a noncommittal shrug, as though to indicate the matter did not bother him at all. Faramir sighed. This was going to be difficult.

They had come to the living quarters, and Boromir stopped before the door to his old rooms, searching for the key in the folds of his rich dark raiment. Faramir halted behind him and, clasping his hands behind his back, bit his lip to suppress an amused smile.

“I believe you are forgetting yourself, Lord Steward,” he teased fondly. “Your chambers are now further down the corridor.”

“Will you stop calling me that already?” Boromir snapped irritably. “It’s ridiculous. And I’m staying in here for now: at least at night I want to feel like everything is as it is supposed to.” He pushed the heavy door with such force as though it had done him some personal offense.

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, he shook off the Steward’s wide sleeveless mantle with a look implying the robe’s heavy expensive material was stifling him and biting at his skin through all the other garments. At least he did not let it fall to the floor, like he usually did with his clothes, but instead, after a moment’s hesitation, flung it unkindly onto the sofa – and the gesture would have made his younger brother smile in different circumstances.

But now Faramir only heaved a silent sigh, and with a lowered face and thoughtful sadness in his eyes followed the new Steward through the candle-lit antechamber.

“You blame yourself for Father’s death, don’t you?” he asked softly, going after Boromir into the bedchamber, where the hearth was glowing merrily. They always had their ‘quiet talks’ in the privacy of the bedroom, usually sitting cross-legged opposite each other on the black-furred bear skin before the fire, sipping wine and watching the flames dance.

But Faramir could tell there would hardly be any sitting down that night.

Indeed, Boromir stopped still in the middle of the room and, without turning, asked in mild disbelief: “What do you mean ‘blame’? Don’t you think I actually am accountable?”

To keep himself busy, like he always needed to when unsettled, Faramir came up to the dark-wood table opposite the bed, on which stood a hefty silver goblet and two bottles of wine, and proceeded to open one. Pouring the clear golden liquid into the cup, he asked evenly and as though in puzzled surprise: “Why ever should you be accountable?”

Boromir huffed in exasperation and swiftly came up to snatch the cup from him. He drained half in one go, then looked at his brother coldly. “Why? Are you really that thick, Faramir, or are you just pretending, trying to appease me? I’ll tell you why. Because, had I been here like I was supposed to, he would not have had to lead the men down on the Pelennor.”

Faramir raised his face and met Boromir’s gaze calmly. “It had been his own choice, brother: he could have sent me or any other Captain, had he so wished.” To indicate he considered the matter closed, he recovered the goblet from Boromir’s hands and took a draught. He did not say how hopeful the old Steward had been that Boromir would return that very day, and they would meet on the battlefield.

“I am sorry,” Boromir mumbled suddenly, turning away and sighing heavily. “I ought not to unburden my trouble on your shoulders like so. You have had enough to deal with in the time of my absence, I am sure. And you, for one, deserve to be happy and merry now that all the toils are over.”

Faramir shook his head and rolled his eyes. “And so do you,” he said patiently, stepping up to Boromir from behind and putting his hands soothingly onto his brother’s shoulders. “Do not worry for me, I had not had to deal with anything I was not prepared for. Father… yes, he had been rather difficult to get along with after Mithrandir had brought news of you getting wounded, but, well…” he shrugged. They both knew that for Faramir, it had never been easy to get along with their father. “And stop saying that nonsense about your trouble being yours alone to manage. When we were young, you didn’t use to be buttoned up like this…” his hands had begun to gently massage Boromir’s stiff muscles. “If it’s within my power to make you feel better in any way possible,” he went on in a tone noticeably softer and cosier than before, “I would not hesitate a moment.”

“Yes, you would,” Boromir muttered under his breath, but did not say anything aloud and merely moved his shoulders irritably to indicate he did not appreciate the treatment his brother’s hands were giving him, and Faramir stopped his ministrations, letting his palms remain weightily on Boromir’s shoulders.

“Let Father rest, Boromir,” he said firmly. “You know, personally I think that… in a way, fate may have been merciful to him. He was an old man after all: used to being the lord of this land, and to the way things had been under his rule. But now much is different already, although not yet a month has passed since the War’s end – and much more is going to be different in the time to come. Don’t you think he would have felt… uprooted – like he did not belong in this new life?”

“But we shall never know, shall we?” Slipping from his touch, Boromir walked to the open window overlooking an empty courtyard some yards below. It had rained earlier in the evening, and a damp freshness was coming in from the darkness. The Steward sighed and caressed the cool marble windowsill absentmindedly.

“You know,” he said with a sigh, with his back feeling Faramir silently come up to stand a pace behind him, “each time my opinion on something is required, I cannot stop wondering what Father would have said. It’s not that I don’t have a mind of my own, only…” he sighed in weariness and annoyance, quite unable to pinpoint the exact cause of his unease. “I don’t know, somehow I don’t feel at peace. You are right, too much has changed in too short a time – at least for me. And I can’t help thinking Father would not have taken well to Him.”

“Perhaps not,” Faramir agreed softly. “But then again, there are many things Father would not have taken well to.”

Boromir looked over at him in wonder for a moment, but then shook his head and returned his gaze to the blackness of the April night.

Faramir put his hand on Boromir’s shoulder again. “Brother, come, surely you do not regret Gondor has a king now?”

“No, of course not, only…” he sighed, averting his face so that Faramir could not see even his profile. How could he explain?

“Look at me,” Faramir reached to cup him tentatively on the cheek and encouraged him to turn and meet his gaze. And when he did, the young man saw that Boromir was painfully hopeful his little brother would somehow put everything into the right places. “You feel guilty for accepting Lord Elessar so easily when you think Father would have done otherwise, right? I…” Faramir licked his lips, knowing he was going to walk on eggshells now. “I know how you respected Father, Boromir, and we have never allowed ourselves to… question his views or decisions, but… but don’t you think that perhaps, just like any other man, he was not always faultless? Lord Elessar is no usurper, and in giving him your loyalty, you do Father no treason.”

Boromir sighed, and a vaguely ironic grin appeared on his lips. “I believe you would have made a better Steward than myself, brother. Not to mention that you have actually done far more than I to earn this title, what with all the battles you had fought… It is that you always somehow make sense of things, while I only ever make everything complicated.”

“Aye, sometimes you do,” Faramir agreed with a smile.

Boromir frowned. “All right, maybe I am overcomplicating this, but… Father… You say he would not have fit in. Well, you know what, I don’t feel like I fit in either. I fain hope that once Aragorn is officially King, he will abolish this stupid position of mine… Oh, maybe it would have been better had I simply –”

Faramir’s eyes flashed, and he pressed his fingers to Boromir’s lips, cutting him off. “No,” he uttered with stern assertiveness, “don’t you dare say it. It is only natural to feel strange and somewhat uncomfortable in this new world we have won for ourselves – but don’t go too far, brother. Father is one thing, and you are another, you are young and there is yet plenty of joy for you to find. Besides, to wish death upon yourself is plain selfish – have you not thought of me?” His palm slid from the man’s lips back to his shoulder, and Boromir, unconsciously clenching his hands, barely resisted the temptation to bring it back and kiss the palm.

But the tenderness he would have liked to place into that gesture, he put into his voice instead: “I have been thinking about you all the time; you are, probably, the only reason I am here after all.”

“Yes, I know,” Faramir whispered softly, surprising Boromir by suddenly pulling him into a warm and gentle embrace, resting his face on his older brother’s chest, his brow pressed to Boromir’s collar bone. “I know…”

Boromir hugged him back a bit awkwardly, unsettled by the surge of warmth rushing through his body at the touch. To cover up this unwelcome excitement, he whispered teasingly: “Oh, you know? I don’t remember you being so confident in your assumptions before.”

“Maybe I should have been,” Faramir murmured with a smile, but there was also a hint of sadness in his voice. He looked up and saw Boromir gazing at him apprehensively, the Steward’s eyes darkened by some intense emotion, and Faramir’s smile turned into a coy grin. “Or you should have been, does not matter,” his murmur was unmistakably playful this time, and the twinkle in his clear bottomless gaze…

Boromir’s lips parted, and the first light of dawning comprehension in his eyes made Faramir feel like he had drunk not a single draught, but a full bottle.

“Faramir… what…? What are you talking about?” Boromir managed to utter with a forced awkward laugh, and Faramir felt his brother’s hands on his back grow tense and almost lifeless with stiffness.

Sighing inwardly, Faramir slipped out of the embrace, his palms lingering on Boromir’s chest momentarily before dropping. Had he not known it was going to be difficult? Patience…

He shrugged dismissively and turned away, his tone perfectly casual when he spoke: “Nothing of importance, at least for now. You are in too sombre of a mood for this, Boromir – and besides, we haven’t finished with some rather weighty matters. Let us not jump subjects,” he had returned to the table and was running his fingers thoughtfully over the smooth dark wood – just like his brother had done to the windowsill. He noticed the gesture and smiled to himself: over the years he had adopted so many of Boromir’s mannerisms, all in a vain effort to give himself at least an illusion of… “We were talking about loyalty and the King, remember?”

Boromir frowned in confused vexation. Nothing had been said, yet this evasive tone, these demure smiles, the heat he had felt their bodies exchange while they stood close…

“Nay, brother,” he said decisively, once more closing the distance between them, coming to Faramir’s side and trying to look the younger man in the face. “Finish what you were about to say – and let all the matters of state go to the blazing pits together with the King.”

Faramir lowered his face as though in thought, but Boromir noticed a faint grin appear on his shapely lips.

“Don’t speak of the King thus,” Faramir said softly and a little teasingly. “He is a most worthy man, kind and understanding… even if a bit of a blabbermouth at times.”

Boromir started and took a step back. Although he knew he ought to have acted as though this remark had not unfazed him, he only further betrayed his distress by whispering hoarsely and entirely unnaturally: “Excuse me…?”

Faramir turned to gaze at him, and even though the younger man’s expression was overall rapt and serious, his eyes were positively shining with mirth. “Let us not pretend you do not know what I am talking about, all right?”

Boromir suppressed a growl. Heat instantly flushed to his cheeks, and his sudden shame was so fierce he turned away, unable to stand facing Faramir anymore. “And after this you say there is no reason for me to doubt him?” he muttered, breathless with outrage. “What is wrong with that man?! I had taken him into my confidence – and very clearly asked him to keep it shut, but he –”

“Boromir, please, don’t be angry with him,” Boromir felt Faramir’s hands once again come to rest on his shoulders, and even though he wanted to shake them off, for some reason he could not. “I assure you, Lord Elessar had our best interest at heart when breaking his promise to you…”

“Then he is not a scoundrel, but simply a nosy fool,” Boromir whispered stubbornly. Now that he knew Faramir knew, the touch of his brother’s hands had taken on a completely different significance, and this significance was making his heart thrash in his chest.

“Nay, he is neither, but merely a man who is wiser than both you and I put together,” Faramir slid his hands down Boromir’s back to snake them under his arms and hug him around the chest, pressing himself against his brother’s tense body. “Why are you so alarmed, so skittish? Or were you not truthful when you spoke to him of the things you carry in your heart?”

“I spoke nothing of what I carry,” Boromir replied quietly, at a loss what to do about this firm warm embrace, and thus merely allowing it, his own arms hanging limply at his sides. “I have only told him of a little episode that had taken place more than twenty years ago; all else he may have related to you would have been his own conclusions.”

“Well…?” Faramir murmured gently and thoughtfully, resting his cheek on Boromir’s shoulder so peacefully and cosily as though he was not about to ask perhaps the only important question in his life. “Are his conclusions correct?”

Boromir took a strained breath, his eyelids lowering. “Do you wish them to be…?”

Faramir allowed himself to strengthen his hug, pulling his brother just a little closer. “Isn’t it rather obvious what I wish?”

“With you, it is ever difficult to believe that the obvious is indeed the case.”

Suddenly Faramir laughed. “And with you it is exactly the other way around. I would have never guessed you to be capable of keeping a secret from me. Honestly, I thought you had long since completely forgotten about that time at the Sea…”

But Boromir did not answer.

He could not answer.

He could not even think. And of course, all the matters pertaining to his official life, to his position and duty, all the respective worries and doubts, including those about the King – all of it had been swept clean out of his mind. For a short while it had seemed to him the very floor was slipping from under his feet, the only thing to remain in this world being his brother’s hold on him, Faramir’s warmth against him…

“Brother, won’t you turn to me?”

Boromir complied blindly, half-consciously, aware only of one thing: that whatever Faramir were to ask of him, he would do without stopping to think for a heartbeat. And when he turned within the ring of Faramir’s arms, still unable to reciprocate the embrace, Faramir saw how undone the new Steward already was. The young man was awfully tempted to instantly set to undoing him even further – this, as opposed to the talking part of the evening, would not be difficult at all.

But no, first there was something else.

“Boromir…” He paused, hearing the raspy note of desire in his own voice. Apparently, Boromir was not the only one to be coming undone…

“Boromir… please, take a moment to consider, maybe…” he paused again, working hard to phrase his concerns. “I am no longer fifteen, and all the sweetness, modesty and purity you had been so enchanted by are long since gone – alas, through none of your doing. If… if it is that feeling you wish to have again, I am afraid my love would only disappoint you. If the memory in itself is precious to you, if you wish to preserve it – indeed it would be better not to… We would only ruin…” he trailed off, for once getting lost in his own words. But he knew he had said enough.

And indeed, Boromir lowered his eyes and sighed heavily.

He did not like to be reminded.

Foolish and embarrassing it seemed to him now – almost sacrilegious. That unique precious sensation… yes, he had endeavoured to recapture it, to repeat it somehow…

He had had quite a few of them. Fresh young lads, untouched and timid, bright eyes cast down, all atremble with fear and novel desire – desire they could hardly understand or even fully recognise. He would bewilder them even further by actually being gentle with them – at least until coming to realise that with this particular boy the magic would not work.

Nothing. Not once. Not even an inkling.

Then he had even tried his luck with delicate pliant maidens, thinking, what else could evoke this sweetness in him if not their fair soft hands?

Nothing. Nothing at all in his heart, although plenty of fire and other things in his loins…

Thus eventually, when he had grown quite distasted with these useless attempts and frustrating encounters, he had been forced to acknowledge the failure of his search, and forever commit that memory, that soothing radiant treasure to the safekeeping of the past. Many years had passed since that time, and it seemed to him he had long since relinquished all hope of ever finding such otherworldly bliss.

And now that his brother had touched the still sensitive subject, Boromir looked at him gravely. “I wish no fifteen-year-old in your place, Faramir. And the memory is precious only because it is a memory of you. We are different people now, and the feeling is different, but still I would –”

He was unable to finish, for Faramir had already understood what he was saying, and thus swiftly leant in, tilting his face, and kissed him – not like a boy would, but only like a man could. And, returning the kiss in kind, Boromir finally wrapped his arms around Faramir’s waist – not like a brother would, but only like a lover could. He pulled Faramir to him, at the same time pushing his own body against his brother’s, leaving not a hairbreadth of distance between them. At once the fire he had been trying to keep at bay flared up in him, and his hands roved searchingly, longingly all over Faramir’s back, sides and shoulders, hungry to feel the shape of his body underneath the clothes – just like Boromir’s tongue explored the mouth that had for so long been forbidden to him.

It felt both strange and entirely natural to be doing this to his younger brother, and to be receiving the same treatment from him. For years he had striven to avoid exchanging with Faramir even perfectly acceptable gestures of brotherly warmth – no kisses on the brow, no hugs, hardly even a pat on the shoulder: all for fear of something awakening in him at the touch – a fear he refused to acknowledge even to himself. And even when these gestures were unavoidable – Faramir had always been a rather tactile person, and for his part never missed a chance to get cosy – when it actually happened, Boromir would unconsciously forestall any unwanted reaction of his body (or worse, his heart) by bracing his will and mind, benumbing every stirring of emotion and suppressing every dangerous thought.

But now, at long last, he allowed himself to surrender to the force, letting the sensation wash over him in all its multitude of shades, drown him in its depth, swipe him down and rob him of breath.

This passion was deep and seasoned, but amid it all – there it was, evoked by a mere kiss and touch of hand. The elation he had long since not even dreamt of capturing. The incomprehensible mixture of fervour and tenderness, of heat and sweetness. The belonging, the rightness, the oneness.

Incomprehensible, yes. Too magnificent to be real. Too intense to last. No, it could not possibly last. No one could possibly be this lucky.

Cupping Faramir’s face with both hands, he forced himself to draw away to stare with desperate hope into the younger man’s hazy darkened eyes.

“But Faramir…” he muttered urgently, “are you sure this is not just some wine-induced silliness? Perhaps all the festivities have simply got you in the mood, or… or you are just too relieved to finally see me alive after all this? Or maybe you are doing it out of pity, because you can never bear it when someone is miserable? Is it that –”

He had spent too many years telling himself this love could never be – would never be…

Listening to him, Faramir fought hard to keep his mouth from betraying his mirth. Boromir could be so foolish sometimes… How endearing it was to see his warrior brother – this powerful full-hearted man – so anxious, so unprotected, almost insecure in his longing. Where had all the irony, all the derisiveness, all the indifference gone? Where were his smirks, his cool glances, his ‘couldn’t care less’ attitude?

And in response to Boromir’s unending monologue Faramir merely rolled his eyes, and then silenced him with another kiss.

How could it be that this second kiss was even better than the first? At once, Boromir bore down on him with such violent ardour that Faramir was forced to bend backwards a little, although kissing him back just as vehemently.

The desire, finally fully accepted, had not waited long to come into its own, and was quickly taking on quite a tangible form. They both felt it all too acutely in themselves as well as in each other, as their hips began to press rhythmically together, needily but vainly. It took their hazy minds some moments to realise that first some undressing was in order – but as soon as the idea was registered, impatient fingers at once set to fumbling with buckles and lacings, to tugging patientlessly at uncooperative cords and clasps, to simply sliding in between layers of clothing, searching for the quickest way to feel hot bare skin under the palm.

Boromir grinned inwardly as Faramir finally rid him of the outer tunic and slid his hands beneath the undershirt, making the muscles of Boromir’s abdomen contract sharply. Was it possible to believe that some half-hour ago he had earnestly considered himself the wretchedest man alive?

“Do you realise…” he panted against Faramir’s throat, his own hands working to liberate his brother of some unnecessary garments, “that if we are to continue like this, in five minutes we shall end up…”

“In bed? Yes, I realise that, and there’s nothing I’d want more…”

Chapter 4

Yet it was not exactly the mattress they ended up on. The bed, although undoubtedly alluring in its size and softness of sheets, was however a few yards’ distance from them – why did people make these chambers so spacious? – whereas the smoothly furred bear skin lay only a pace away. And in such a state as theirs, every step to take is not only an unbearable delay, but also a veritable challenge, for walking when utterly glued to another man is no easy feat.

Therefore, quite naturally, neither of the brothers had made any attempt to move towards the bed – instead, by unspoken agreement and without loosening the embrace for a second, they sunk down upon the rug.

Leaning back, Boromir pulled his brother on top of himself, thus getting perfect access to Faramir’s body from all angles. And indeed, no sooner than the younger man’s trousers were slid to his thighs, Boromir grabbed him decisively around the cock with one hand, while his other palm lustfully followed the curve of Faramir’s behind and pried into the intimate warmth between his legs, fingers avidly searching for the one soft place in the warrior’s toned svelte body.

Faramir jerked against his brother’s demanding touch, and moaned into their kiss, yet somehow found it in himself to draw away a little.

“Please,” he breathed out heavily, “let us not rush… We have waited… far too many years for this.”

For a long moment Boromir gazed at him disorientedly, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself – and, with a visible effort, slid his hands back to Faramir’s shoulders.

“Yes…” he murmured hoarsely, “yes, of course, you are right.”

Faramir rested his forehead against Boromir’s and grinned feebly: it was almost painful for him to comply with his own request. The heat in his loins could easily rival that in the fireplace. Oh, he could hardly remember getting so hard so fast… And his body, just like Boromir’s, called urgently for all preambles to be omitted and for the deed to be done at once.

But he knew that later, when a measure of sensibility was restored to his molten mind, he would regret it bitterly if they were to race through it now. So he finally disengaged himself from his brother’s embrace: to allow himself to properly take off his trousers, which at the moment were not even down to his knees, and also to allow Boromir to see him – and to allow himself to see Boromir, all of Boromir.

And when they did see each other, not like they had done countless times before, but as though for the first time ever: naked and fully aroused, firelight glimmering on pale skin and obsidian hair, reflecting mesmerisingly in dilated grey eyes, all this strength and beauty being offered so willfully and eagerly – for a second it seemed to them their resolve would crumble.

“Easy there,” Faramir murmured, “easy, brother…” And Boromir nodded, with a crooked grin acknowledging how close he indeed was to throwing himself at Faramir.

Easy, yes… He bid himself imagine how he would have done it, had Faramir come to him like this as a boy of fifteen or sixteen. How he would have done it had his little brother been able to see through his cover of proper brotherly affection, through his mask of utter physical indifference towards Faramir’s shapely young body. How he would have done it had Faramir been bold and daring enough to demand his love, or at least desperate enough to beseech it. He knew how: slowly and carefully – yes, with passion and heat, too – but patiently and consciously, making sure Faramir never forgot a moment of it, making sure he himself never forgot. And now, although Faramir was no boy, and he himself no young man, Boromir realised that, high and urgent as his desire was, he wanted their first night to be just like it would have been some twenty years ago.

Rising from his sitting position to stand on his knees, he pulled Faramir gently to himself; and when Faramir kissed him, he returned the kiss as mildly as he could, wishing to fully appreciate the warm softness of his brother’s lips, to bask in their playful sensuality, to tease them mischievously with a quick swipe of his tongue. Even when Faramir, now on his knees also, leant his body against Boromir’s, making their erections meet and exchange heat, Boromir only moaned into his mouth softly and gave a subtle push with his hips. And as he kissed Faramir’s lips he felt them spread into an amused grin: of course, Faramir had never quite believed Boromir would be capable of patience. Well, Boromir would show him…

And he set his hands to exploring Faramir’s body anew, from the very beginning, slowly and thoroughly, starting with a light caress on the cheek, following unhurriedly to the jaw, to the throat, to the back of the neck… He could not help shivering when Faramir returned the attention in kind, brushing Boromir’s skin with his fingertips only, the touch so light and yet so much more intense than a wholesome caress of the palm.

Thus they held each other, taking time to learn about one another all the things that made each of them himself, and which the other one had not known before. The smoothness of Faramir’s cleanly shaven cheek under Boromir’s mouth, and the tickly prickliness of Boromir’s beard against Faramir’s lips. The silkiness of long dark locks twisted and combed through by nimble attentive fingers. The feeling of the breast muscle’s full powerful curve under the palm. The shiver that runs through the body when a nipple is twirled playfully. The gasp that escapes the lips when a hot rigid manhood is pressed against the taut abdomen… The thick, heady scent of a grown man’s desire…

But when hands were finally about to get below the waist, Boromir breathed out heavily, and the weary sadness of his sigh did not escape his brother’s notice.

“What is it?” Faramir asked gently, putting a finger under Boromir’s chin to make the man look up and meet his keen gaze.

A shadow of bitter irony appeared at the corner of Boromir’s mouth. “I simply cannot bring myself to believe that you are all mine to look at, to touch – to love… You know, I have never allowed myself to even fantasise about this.”

“I see…” Faramir sighed, but then smiled. “Well, I have – many a time,” he murmured demurely, his palm slowly going up and down Boromir’s belly in maddening proximity of the man’s straining erection.

“Oh, is that so?” Boromir smiled indulgently, his present fortune once again quickly clouding out the sourness over the past with all its missed chances.

“Uh-huh,” Faramir’s other hand came down to thoughtfully massage Boromir on hip, playfully including part of the taut buttock into the caress.

“Tell me.” Boromir kissed him briefly on the corner of the mouth and whispered: “Tell me what you had dreamt of.”

“Wouldn’t you rather I just showed you instead?”

“I’d rather you show and tell me.”

“All right,” Faramir nodded leniently. He lowered his gaze to appreciate the masculine beauty of his brother’s unclothed body, and bit his lip thoughtfully. “Where should I start…? I have dreamt of so many things.”

“How about you just pick up from where we are?” Boromir suggested casually, lazily stroking Faramir’s neck and chest with both palms. “I’d be so loath for you to abandon the position you’ve already gained…”

“Yes, indeed,” Faramir laughed softly. “Do you know, I had come up with so many strategies for seducing you – but I doubt they are any longer needed…”

“Oh, they may come in handy yet, when I get so used to your charm, and so bored of sleeping with you, that you would have to seduce me anew.”

Faramir stared at him, and they laughed out, for both knew with absolute certainty that neither could possibly get used to the other’s charm – ever.

“But let’s get to the point,” Boromir whispered, his fingertips trailing down Faramir’s chest not so lazily anymore. “You had dreamt…?”

“Yes,” Faramir smiled, his palm still only a couple of inches from Boromir’s cock. “I dreamt of coming this close to holding you, and then I would tease you by not holding you, by doing anything but taking you in my hand.”

“Oh, but you already are treating me thus – and have been for far too long,” there was a note of playful disapproval in Boromir’s husky voice; and his fingers came to twist Faramir’s nipples a little ungently – just so that Faramir could find out for himself how unbearable this sort of teasing could get.

Faramir hissed quietly and squirmed against his brother’s touch. “Boromir, you are getting me distracted.”

“Deal with it,” Boromir lowered his face to bite the younger man on the neck just above the collarbone, his hands sliding down to feel the subtle curve of Faramir’s waist.

Faramir gasped, then chuckled softly, arching into Boromir’s rough kiss. “Yes, I had imagined you would be naughty and impatient.”

“Impatient? I am being horribly patient with you, brother. You have no idea what I am usually like,” Boromir whispered hotly against his throat, then grazed his tongue over the enchantingly soft skin, feeling for the pounding pulse underneath.

“Oh, in that case, why don’t we put your patience to a test – to see just how horrible it can get?” Faramir countered playfully. He withdrew his hand from Boromir’s stomach to thread his fingers through his brother’s glossy black tresses and massage him on the nape of the neck.

“Very horrible, I assure you.” To prove his word, Boromir swiftly slid his palm between their bodies to give his brother’s manhood a firm but maddeningly brief squeeze. Faramir let out a choked moan and shoved his hips at Boromir, so that their erections bumped, sending sparks through their bodies, and Boromir moaned also.

“Do that again,” Faramir breathed out hoarsely, leaning forth to have his cock taken back into his brother’s firm hold.

“Naaay,” Boromir grinned smugly and licked his brother lightly on the neck, drawing his lower body away from the contact. “I am being patient, remember?”

“Do that – again,” the younger man muttered sternly. And when Boromir ignored the request, suddenly Faramir’s hand, which had been caressing Boromir’s neck so gently, came to seize the older brother on the chin, jerking his face upwards. And Faramir assaulted his mouth with a raw wild kiss, grinding their lips painfully together and shoving his tongue deep into Boromir’s mouth, just as he shoved his hips forth to make their cocks meet once more – and Boromir realised with a measure of surprise that his brother was, in fact, a very strong man. But then Faramir broke it off just as suddenly and exhaled heavily.

Although the Steward’s own breathing was none too even, he lifted his eyebrows in amusement. “My, where did that come from, little one?”

“Oh, there’s more where it came from,” Faramir murmured darkly, holding his brother’s gaze and trailing his tongue over the underside of his lip. “I had warned you, Boromir, I am no longer fifteen.”

“Now, is that a threat…?”

“Could be, depending on what it is you fear,” the younger man returned quickly, “and we shall have time to find about that, won’t we?” But before Boromir could come up with a good retort to this impudent remark, Faramir’s expression changed back to one of playful demureness, and he tilted his head to the side, eyeing Boromir appraisingly. “Not now, though. Since it is patience you want, I shall give you some.”

He moved in as though to kiss Boromir again, but when Boromir leant to him to meet his lips, he gave a soft chuckle and swiftly evaded the touch.

“Don’t forget, brother, I need to keep my mouth free – to tell you of my fantasies.”

“Then don’t go wasting time, and tell me already.” Boromir chided with a stern frown – but when he held Faramir on the hips and pulled him in, his touch was quite gentle, as was the kiss he planted on his younger brother’s jaw. For he wanted to remind them both that passion did not necessarily have to express itself through naughtiness and cheeky cockiness. Fifteen or not, Faramir felt so sweet to hold…

Perceiving the change in his brother’s mood and adjusting to it at once, Faramir laid his hand on Boromir’s shoulder to draw little circles on it with his thumb. Tilting his face up, he nudged the older man on the cheek with his nose. “Mm… Where were we?” he whispered almost languidly. “Ah yes, I dreamt of… you know, of simply caressing you with my palm, of feeling the shape of your body – the way I had felt it with my eyes so many times… Have you really never caught me looking…?” he grinned and softly kissed the corner or Boromir’s mouth. “I dreamt of brushing my fingertips over your nipple, very lightly – like this… Of counting the squares of your abdomen with my index finger. Of feeling the softness of these curls down here…” he paused, as though in thought.

“Do go on, brother…”

“And I dreamt of holding your balls in my hand,” Faramir murmured, showing exactly how he had wanted to hold them, “of feeling their weight, the full firmness through the delicate skin…”

“Tell me more…”

Faramir’s lips spread into a smile none too decent. “And of doing this with my thumb,” he accompanied his words by pressing his finger into the dented line between his brother’s balls and proceeding to rub up and down the cleft, insistently but slowly.

Boromir sucked his teeth delightedly. “And then?”

“And then, you would tell me how good it feels.”

“Oh, yes… very good, very…” His words encouraged Faramir to apply yet more pressure, and Boromir closed his eyes. But then it did not seem good enough anymore, and he looked at Faramir again. “Well,” he raised an eyebrow meaningfully, “have you dreamt of actually taking me in your hand?”

Faramir considered the question, considered the situation. He was glad they had managed to take it slow, after all: for whereas at the beginning they had grabbed each other swiftly and without thinking, their urgency too strong for the reliasation of what was actually happening to sink in – now it was different. Now he found himself staring at the impressive proclamation of his brother’s desire in awe and wonder, and was breathless and almost dizzy – not so much from the passion itself, but rather from the glory of this moment, the moment when a dream comes to life.

“Indeed,” he whispered with a smile, “I have.” And he brought his other hand, the one that had lain on Boromir’s hip, to wrap his fingers confidently around the long-ignored length, doing it in such a certain, habitual manner, as though he had been thus treating this particular cock for the past decade. “And then I would rub you till you grew as hard as it gets.”

“Faramir,” Boromir grinned condescendingly, his hips rocking subtly into Faramir’s touch, “you have dreamt incorrectly: I already am as hard as it gets.”

“Aye, I can see that. It is merely that I had not dared imagine you would be so easy to arouse – or, for that matter, that the arousal would be so long… and thick.”

Boromir crooked his brow accusingly. “Now, that’s just plain flattery, little one. Why would you think something like that? I see you are hung no poorer than myself.”

“Yes, I know,” Faramir admitted brightly. “In fact, our pricks look almost identical, don’t you reckon? But I merely thought nature could not be so generous to both men in the family.”

Boromir gasped in outrage. “Oh, you conceited little…!” He leant in swiftly and, although Faramir laughed and averted his face, managed to momentarily catch his younger brother’s lower lip between his teeth. Faramir bit him back, just as gently, his hand still sliding lazily up and down Boromir’s cock, while the other one fondled with the flesh below.

The kiss grew stronger: no more teeth, but plenty of tongue – and likewise the grip of Boromir’s hands on Faramir’s hips tightened, and the ministrations of Faramir’s hand on his hardness grew much more purposeful. While the downward caress was still relaxed and almost loose – the upward motion was something else entirely: firm and urgent, strong deft fingers squeezing the throbbing flesh mercilessly, pulling as though aiming to stretch and lengthen it, wrist working a maddening twist into the stroke, thumb grazing over the delicate head in a way that simply did not allow Boromir to exhale.

And the Steward knew that if this were to continue, he would not come to know of any other of his brother’s fantasies.

“Faramir,” he panted, sliding his mouth from Faramir’s lips to the side of his neck, “if there is any more to tell, then tell me now, or else I… I…”

“Oh, but if I am to keep on showing, I won’t be able to keep on talking, my dear,” Faramir countered in an irritatingly collected voice, yet his strokes slowed down lest he accidentally go a little too far.

“And why is that?” Boromir murmured intrigued, eyes half-closed.

“Because,” Faramir flicked his tongue lightly over Boromir’s earlobe, “I had dreamt of taking you into my mouth – of taking this into my mouth,” he specified with a frisky tug at Boromir’s manhood, as though there could be any ambiguity.

Boromir took a strained ragged breath as his hips thrust forcefully into his brother’s hand.

“It’s all right,” he assured Faramir hurriedly. “You may… have a… a break – from talking, I… I won’t mind.”

“You’re sure?”

“Oh… Absolutely.”

Faramir looked at him darkly, then nodded and released the hold of his hands on Boromir’s desire, moving them to rest on the man’s hips, and shifted back a little.

Boromir sat back on his heels and, planting his hands behind himself to lean on them for support, spread his knees invitingly. “Go ahead, little brother,” he whispered hoarsely, “make your dream come true.”

He merely shivered when Faramir kissed his throat and collarbones, but when the younger man’s mouth slid down to take in a pert brown nipple, Boromir gasped and arched his back – and gasped yet again when Faramir sucked on the other one.

Continuing on his course, Faramir bowed lower, bringing his face deliciously close to Boromir’s groin. He had come to stand on all fours, resting his forearms on his brother’s thighs, so that only his knees and feet were on the fur-covered floor. Searching for a comfortable position, he firmly gripped the older man on the hips and leant forward, putting more weight on his arms and arching his back slightly. His pose made Boromir smile, visualising just how his brother looked from behind at that moment – a moment so perfect in all senses, so elatingly ringing with tense anticipation.

Yet Faramir was as though not tempted by the sight of Boromir’s manhood straining towards him and obviously yearning for attention. He only brushed his lips across his brother’s navel, tickling it first with his breath, then with the tip of his tongue – then trailed his mouth down the narrow path of dark hairs to the base of the arching cock. Then back up, and down again – slowly… And only when Boromir shuddered and gasped – was that a note of a whimper Faramir heard at the end of the gasp? – did the younger brother seem to finally take pity on him.

Ever so slowly, Faramir lifted his face, bringing his lips so close to Boromir’s throbbing flesh, that the Steward felt his brother’s every exhalation on the tip of his cock. Faramir raised his eyes and gave him a shameless, knowing smile, and the helpless look that came over his older brother’s face made the smile widen. Then, directing all his attention to the wonderful power before him, Faramir trailed his tongue lightly over the taut glistening head – and could not help grinning softly when Boromir hissed and rocked his hips forward, yearning for more contact. Faramir complied, kissing the tip sensually, sliding his lips over the head to take it into the heat of his mouth. But just as Boromir sighed and pushed for deeper penetration, he withdrew and merely breathed a whiff of humid warmth over the moist sensitised flesh.

“Faramir…” Boromir groaned reproachfully.

Biting his lip, Faramir smiled coyly. “Whatever happened to your patience?” he tickled the jerking manhood with the very tip of his tongue.

Boromir sucked his teeth. “Fuck the patience! Take me in!”

Faramir looked up again, the fire’s lurid light making his eyes smoulder with blackness, and only a shadow of his former grin was curving his mouth. But instead of following Boromir’s demand, the younger man slid lower along the rigid length without even touching it with his lips, only caressing it with his smooth cheek. He liked the feeling of the hard heat against his skin, and paused for a moment, purposefully ignoring Boromir’s only increasing restlessness, letting his brother’s cock twitch vainly against his face. Then he moved a little further down and grazed his tongue slowly over Boromir’s balls, making him gasp in startled delight.

“Didn’t expect that?” Faramir murmured smugly.

“Keep going…” Boromir muttered breathlessly, resting his weight on one hand and bringing the other to the back of his brother’s head, for the time being only gently threading his fingers through Faramir’s hair. “Keep going, little one.”

And Faramir did, first generously licking where his fingers had previously kneaded, then carefully pulling one taut globe into his mouth, sucking on it gently, prodding and caressing it with is tongue – and then releasing it to take in the other one. He felt his brother’s fingers clench faintly at his locks in time with each of Boromir’s soft moans.

At last he replaced his mouth with his hand, still resting the forearm on Boromir’s thigh, only twisting the wrist to bring the palm between the man’s legs and cradle the full moistened sack in his fingers. He grazed his tongue up the highly sensitive underside of the cock, and, upon reaching the tip, without pausing for a second took it in and went down again – only now with the shaft in his mouth.

This time Boromir moaned for real – a deep self-indulgent groan of profound pleasure, and Faramir felt the sensation echo through his own body. They were made alike – he knew exactly how it felt to be treated thus.

Boromir had closed his eyes and tilted his head back, but soon looked down again, for when he did not hear Faramir’s voice and did not even see him, it once again became impossible to believe that it was indeed Faramir who was actually doing all this to him. Besides, he really did want to see: to see the young man’s shapely mouth wrapped in a tight ‘O’ around his manhood, to see his face elongated and his cheeks hollowed out from housing the shaft, to see Faramir work it…

And work it he did: with obvious eagerness, yet without haste, taking time to actually enjoy his service. What Faramir loved the most was that the cock which had already been admittedly hard, under his loving care had grown positively steel-like in its stiffness. Like a freshly forged blade, still red-hot – and the moistness of Faramir’s mouth was doing nothing to cool it off.

He did not go very deep though, sliding about halfway down before going back up – for Boromir was indeed a gifted man… At first Faramir had been rather surprised his brother’s hand did not push him further upon the length. But he soon saw that Boromir actually liked it this way, for Faramir’s amplitude left him just enough space to plant a firm grasp around the base of his own erection. And thus they went on in unison, the twists and strokes of the hand perfectly aligned with the caresses of the lips and swipes of the tongue.

No wonder that before long Boromir was able to breathe through clenched teeth only, every inhalation a faltering hiss. And the hand on his cock was moving in desperate hurry, while the one on the back of Faramir’s head finally began to push the younger man for a little more depth, making Faramir repeatedly pound at his brother’s laboring fist with his nose and lips.

Finding this a little too rough for his liking, Faramir resisted Boromir’s palm urging him down and slid back on the length, keeping only the satin-skinned tip in his mouth – and to compensate for the lack of amplitude, he set to suckling insistently on the head, with great care but with pitiless vigour as well.

At once, Boromir grunted hoarsely.

“Faramir…!” he jerked uncontrollably, frantically gulping for breath. “Faramir, wait! I can’t…!” but he could not finish his statement, his plea, for a numbing contraction had seized his jaws, shutting his mouth. Involuntarily, unconsciously, he gripped Faramir mercilessly by the hair with both hands and humped into him forcefully, burying himself to the hilt in the blissful heat.

His whole body arched forward after the thrust, and he threw his head back and let out a cry like Faramir had never heard him utter before: a strained high-pitched exclamation of both rapture and suffering, as though it actually felt too good to endure. And the younger man’s own body was shaken by an ecstatic shudder when, just as he drew back a little, Boromir’s hot semen shot abundantly into his mouth and onto his tongue.

But Faramir’s dramatic exultation was instantly curbed by the stark reality. Not to mention that his throat was sore from the brutal punch, and sudden tears were clouding out his vision – his tongue twitched, his whole mouth going momentarily into a spasm, and he could not help wincing.

Collecting himself with some effort, he inhaled slowly – and rolled his brother’s essence in his mouth, spreading it across the member he still held with his lips – getting used to the intensity of the taste and scent, observing his own reaction to it. At last he let go of the softening shaft, then slowly swallowed all that was in his mouth and licked his lips, breathing out wearily.

Then he looked up and found Boromir watching him keenly, with such lucidity as though he had not been to the heavens a couple of minutes ago. The new lord of Minas Tirith knew he did not taste exactly like honey and cream – and this knowledge had made it all the more unbearable to imagine that Faramir might spit him out. And only when he saw that his concerns were preposterously unfounded, did his body finally relax, and he heaved a sigh of deep satisfaction, his lips spreading into a grin.

“Now, come here, little one,” he murmured leniently, “let me make you happy in return.”

Suddenly Faramir lowered his eyes abashedly, and a somewhat sheepish grin curved his lips, dimpling his cheek. “There’s no need for that,” he murmured.

“Hey, what’s with the modesty? Don’t you want to…?”

“Oh, it’s not that.”

“Wait…” Boromir narrowed his eyes in suspicion, grinning incredulously. “Did you come, too?”

Faramir nodded and looked up. “Aye, I came when you came.”

Boromir shook his head in amusement, the habitual derisive expression appearing momentarily in his eyes, although of course it delighted him to no end that pleasuring him had been such a joy to his brother – and he reached out to quickly draw a tender caress down Faramir’s cheek.

“My, this evening is veritably full of surprises,” Boromir said with a contented sigh, assuming a more comfortable position and stretching out his somewhat stiff legs. “Now then, since we are in no hurry at the moment, why don’t we finally make it to the bed, hm? This rug by the hearth is very sexy and all, but the floor is hard – far too uncomfortable for the other things I’d like to do to you…”

At this he got up and, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of his brother-newly-turned-lover sitting naked by the fire, reached down to help Faramir to his feet as well. And he did not let go of his hand as he led the younger man to the bed.

Chapter 5

Boromir pulled the richly embroidered coverlet off, casting it carelessly on the floor by his bed, and then lifted the blanket for them to climb under. The night was not a cold one, and their pleasure had made them warm inside out, yet is it not so much more private and cosy to lie under the covers?

They settled into a relaxed but close embrace, slowly shifting against each other to find the most comfortable position, intertwining legs, bringing together abdomens and chests, slinging arms over waist and shoulder. And although neither said it, both were sweetly surprised by how habitually their bodies fitted together, while in truth the last time they had lain in each other’s arms had been decades ago and hundreds of miles away, on a windless night in a fisherman’s house…

For a long time they did not speak, lying still with their eyes closed, simply basking in each other’s warmth, letting their breaths align just as their bodies had.

“I don’t know how it works, but when I hold you, it feels like my body is singing,” Boromir murmured dreamily at last.

Faramir nodded, smiling against his neck. “I feel the same thing, and I don’t know how it works either – but does it matter…?”

He lifted his face, and Boromir leant in to kiss him, and Faramir kissed him back with unabating eagerness. It went on and on, without breaking, so strong and deep – and yet at once delicate and sweet, slow and meaningful.

“You know,” Faramir murmured lazily, sliding out of the kiss after some minutes, “I had always wanted to do it over there on the bear-skin, and that you would make me come right onto the fur.”

Boromir chuckled. “Well, I didn’t exactly make you come. You had managed well enough without my help.”

“That’s not true,” Faramir objected seriously. “You made it happen to me – with your pleasure.”

“Why, Faramir, I would have never guessed you to be the kind of man to like sucking cock so much,” Boromir teased lewdly, reaching to brush his fingertips over Faramir’s cheek, and then down across his shoulder. The younger man shivered with delight and shifted into his touch. “Do you come every time you do it?” Boromir pressed on, his hand on Faramir’s chest now, feeling the taut full muscle appreciatively – and his voice sounded so casual as though the answer did not matter to him in the least.

“Oh, I have no idea,” Faramir replied with a grin, eyes twinkling.

Boromir frowned. “How is that?”

“Rest assured, brother, you are the first to have received this favour from me,” Faramir murmured, leaning in to seal said brother’s lips with his own yet again, but Boromir evaded the kiss.

“Oh?” he raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “You were a little too good for someone who had never done it before.”

Faramir shrugged. “I am a man – I know what makes a man feel good.” At this he snaked his hand down between their bodies to wrap his fingers around Boromir’s once again hardening member, as though to clarify through what part of the body a man was supposed to be made to feel good.

Still, Boromir made a vaguely doubtful sound, and Faramir sighed wearily. “But think, brother: being a Steward’s son – whose cock could have I possibly sucked?”

“The Steward’s heir’s, perhaps?”

This time Faramir gave Boromir’s manhood a gentle but firm squeeze, and smiled when Boromir groaned softly. “I would have gladly, had he ever thought to ask.”

“Don’t rub it in, all right?” the older man sighed – but then, given what Faramir’s hand was doing to him, his high spirits returned. “Well, tell me now, was it anything like you had imagined? How do I taste, huh, little one?”

“Well…” Faramir replied vaguely and lowered his eyes.

“What? That bad?”

“Nay, not bad at all – but… unusual, and quite strong. Bitter and salty, almost a shock to my senses – like a gulp of marine water. Only, of course, very hot – you know, at first I thought you had scalded my tongue with your seed.”

“But I hadn’t, had I?”

“No.”

“So you would do it again?”

“I would.”

Boromir gave a satisfied nod. “Not straight away, though – all right? I… I had something else in mind. Although… following the same logic, would it be correct to assume you have not spread your legs for anyone, either?” at this Boromir’s hand had slid from Faramir’s lower back to the roundness of his buttocks, cupping the firm flesh from underneath and playfully probing in between. And when Faramir shivered and gasped almost inaudibly, his large eyes momentarily widening in alarm, Boromir knew the answer without a word being spoken.

“Faramir…”

Faramir looked at him very seriously and heaved a sigh, and suddenly Boromir saw that his little brother was… embarrassed. But then the younger man forced a grin and whispered softly: “Well? Will you be my first?”

Although blood instantly rushed to his face – and to his nether regions as well, Boromir kept a cool demeanour and crooked an eyebrow. “First? I would rather prefer the term ‘one and only’.”

“Of course you would.”

Boromir’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever is that supposed to mean?”

Faramir shrugged dismissively and tried to pull him in closer, but Boromir pushed him away and quickly rolled on top of him, pinning him down with his weight. He liked Faramir tender and sweet, and liked him demure and playful, and liked it still when his little brother got impudent and bossy – he could not decide, in fact, which he liked best. And the moods changed so quickly, one flowing into another and back… How to pick the right tone with someone you had known your whole life – yet had not known at all in the one sense that truly matters? They were just getting adjusted to each other, and it was all perfectly understandable – but at this particular moment, Boromir wanted none of his brother’s elvish volatility.

“Faramir,” he said with great gravity, and Faramir gazed up at him solemnly. “This is very serious for me. You are my dearest person, my brother, my best friend, everything to me. This is not just another… I don’t… Damn it, Faramir, you must understand…”

“I do understand,” Faramir said tenderly, and raised his hands to gently tuck Boromir’s loose raven locks behind his ears. “I understand everything, don’t you worry. Now come here.”

So they kissed again, and this time there was no more subtlety to the kiss, only heat and deep, thorough passion. Boromir nudged Faramir’s thighs apart with his knee, urging his brother to receive him closer – and Faramir did, arching up against Boromir as the older man lowered himself fully on top of him.

They caressed each other lustfully, grinding their increasingly hot arousals together and softly moaning into each other’s mouths. Then Boromir’s hand slid over Faramir’s upper thigh to underneath him, and gave his buttock a firm confident squeeze. Again, Faramir gasped at the touch, breaking the kiss, and even gave a little jolt – and Boromir grinned broadly.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because, little brother, you are a liar.”

Faramir raised an eyebrow coldly, and Boromir’s grin widened. “Haven’t you told me,” he murmured in a deep warm voice, giving another hungry push with his hips, “that you had no more modesty or purity, not to mention sweetness? Well, that was… a shameless lie, my dear.”

Faramir thought that the other people he had slept with would probably laugh themselves silly over the notion of him having even a grain of modesty, yet knew better than to voice such ideas.

Instead he asked: “Do you have any oil or salve in your chambers?”

“Oh,” Boromir wondered how he had failed to think of this before. “I… am not sure. I haven’t really had reason to check since my return, but… There may be something in the bath quarters, let me check.”

He disengaged himself from the embrace with a mixture of great urgency and still greater reluctance. Faramir also was apparently loath to let him go, even for a moment, and stole yet another kiss on the lips before finally releasing him. “Go check,” he murmured happily, caressing the older man briefly on the chest before giving him a light playful push, “go, hurry up!”

When Boromir had already laid his hand on the door handle, he paused to throw a glance over the shoulder, unable to deny himself the pleasure of one more time seeing Faramir in his bed, naked and waiting for him impatiently, dying to have him back under the covers.

Or not under the covers, for he saw Faramir had cast the blanket aside, and was all ready for his lover’s return, lying prone on his back with legs bent and spread. And the look on his face was not a bit playful anymore, but one of anticipation and desire, with just a little delicious trepidation mixed in. His eyes were dark, his cheeks flushed – and Boromir found himself unable to tear his gaze away.

But when Faramir saw him looking, the younger man smiled again, mirth easily returning to his face. “Boromir, go already!” he chided with a laugh, then added meaningfully: “and you’d better find something.”

Boromir grinned weakly and nodded, then finally set on his search.

??What the fuck am I going to do if there isn’t anything? Run around the palace in a state like this…? ?? he thought desperately, rummaging in a cabinet. Why was this place so cluttered anyway?! He never used half of this stuff, absolutely impossible to find anything…

But then –

Oh, blessed Valar…! Boromir thought he would actually cry in relief when he finally extricated a sizeable bottle of clear glass, filled with a thick liquid, pale gold in colour. The vessel was a little dusty, but when he uncorked it to check the contents, he found it to be filled with prime-quality almond oil – and heaved a deep sigh, trying to get a hold of himself. Yes, everything was all right – everything was great, and going to get even greater, he only needed to find a little patience.

Oh, how he wanted to fuck the man to tears…

Boromir rubbed himself on the forehead and sighed again. His little brother, Faramir… so impish and so sweet, just like he had been as a boy – and apparently just as innocent, at least in some areas. Yes, he had to take it slow – slow, damn it. Had to find it in himself not to rush, had to last until Faramir felt good…

But when Boromir came out of the bath quarters, he bore a confident knowing expression, betraying none of his concerns – and grinned smugly, lifting his treasure for Faramir to see.

“There we are,” he murmured, climbing back onto the bed. “This should last us a good two-three times at the least.”

Exchanging with Faramir one more quick but deep kiss, Boromir moved down along his brother’s body, kissing him briefly on the chest, trailing his mouth down the younger man’s taut abdomen, at which Faramir gasped faintly and shuddered. Hardly pausing for a second, Boromir leant in and sucked strongly on the head of his brother’s thick manhood, then swiftly enveloped it with his lips and slid all the way down, sheathing the hot length completely.

Faramir let out a strained loud moan and arched into Boromir’s mouth with his whole body, but Boromir had already released his cock. “We’ll do this later,” he promised with a grin, “but now, little one, I want to have you.”

He sat up, nudging Faramir thighs further apart in quite a business-like manner, and reached for the oil.

Complying a little reluctantly, the younger man chewed on his lip. “Boromir?”

“Mm…?”

“Let us do it how I want – please.”

Boromir smiled condescendingly. “Don’t fret, I won’t be rough with you.”

Faramir shook his head resolutely. “It’s not only that. Please, brother, ‘tis important to me. You may fuck me however you like after this – but let’s have the first time my way.”

“However I like?” Boromir crooked an eyebrow. “It’s very bold of you, to make such promises. But all right – how do you want it?”

Faramir nodded toward the mattress. “Lie down, I want to sit astride you.”

Boromir licked his lips thoughtfully, then grinned. Not exactly the way he had imagined it, but… “All right, that works,” he said and leant onto the soft sheets, resting his head on the pillow.

“I am glad you approve,” Faramir replied with a soft snort, climbing on top of him.

For a moment they held still, considering this new arrangement. Then Boromir smiled and placed his hands on Faramir’s hips. He liked the sensation of Faramir’s weight on him, the way his brother’s body was holding him in place. Inhaling deeply, he reached up to caress Faramir’s shoulders and chest, and Faramir eagerly leant down to him. The young man was already rather hard, but Boromir, thinking there could never be too much hardness in one cock, swiftly went to stroke him to full erectness.

“Let me do yours in return,” Faramir murmured, opening the bottle with the fragrant liquid.

“Please, help yourself.”

Faramir poured some oil onto his palm, and yet more directly onto Boromir’s hardness. Boromir smiled contentedly, watching his brother’s experienced hand move up and down his slickened shaft, and before long was pushing into the confident strokes. His lover’s length was just as throbbing in his hand as was his own in Faramir’s grasp, and soon both men were breathing equally hard.

“Faramir…” Boromir shifted beneath him, trying to press himself firmer against his brother’s behind. “Faramir, I want you so bad…”

Faramir nodded, his eyes dilated and hazy. “And I want you as much, brother… want you inside of me…”

Boromir suppressed a moan of impatience. “Come kiss me one more time, little one – and then…”

As Faramir leant in, planting his hands on Boromir’s shoulders, Boromir raised himself up to grasp Faramir’s mouth with an avid ravenous kiss. Then he lay back down and let go of his brother’s hardness, pulled at his own cock once to slicken his fingers, and reached underneath Faramir to caress the young man’s behind searchingly. But Faramir, sitting up, moved his brother’s hand aside, gently but decisively, and instead reached for Boromir’s cock underneath himself with unmistakable purposefulness.

“Bur Faramir,” Boromir gasped in protest, “you can’t…! Wait, first we have to stretch you at least a little.”

“I’ll stretch myself with your cock,” Faramir replied flatly. “I want it to be the first thing to ever enter me in there.”

“But –”

Faramir raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you so cautious?”

“With you, I’ve always been cautious.”

“Well, let’s make an exception – isn’t this an exceptional night, anyway?”

Boromir tsked at him exasperatedly, but then gave a weary sigh of acceptance and moved his hands to hold Faramir gently on the hips again. He knew his little brother well enough to understand that sometimes there was just no point in arguing with him.

Faramir shifted forward a little to bring Boromir’s cock between his legs. He robbed himself against the hard blunt end, going all the way from behind his balls to the tender spot between his buttocks, and even a little beyond. This area of his body had hardly ever been touched for sexual purposes, and all the sensations were new to him – and only the more intense for it.

He knew he would like it – eventually – for he recognized in himself the same kind of eagerness, the same burning need to submit and yield that he had learned to detect in other men. In his lovers this desire would often be mixed with fear, and wonder, and audacity – and yet more wonder at one’s own audacity. Yes, all of that he felt in himself also. And above all he felt the thing that had always saddened him and made his conscience twinge him whenever he saw it in the person he shared his bed with. The thing so common and simple, yet practically impossible to define. The desire to have not just one’s body claimed and possessed, but all of oneself, one’s heart, one’s thoughts, one’s very being – to completely give oneself over to another, and thus to merge with another, to inseverably seal together two halves of one whole and finally become one.

But becoming one was still a long way away, and not all of the way would be equally pleasant.

At first his body did not even understand it was supposed to yield, for the thing pushing at the opening was simply too big in girth. But eventually Faramir managed to find an angle where his brother’s manhood was pressing against him with the least blunt part of the head, and the younger man felt… He had nothing to compare it to, this sensation. He paused and licked his lips, understanding that for the time being it was not physical discomfort, but merely his own fear that was making him tense.

It’s all right. I am not the first man to do this, I shall manage. And he dared push down for actual penetration.

The incomprehensible thickness of it, the frightening, unimaginable intrusion. His eyes shot wide open, and instinctively he drew back, panting.

“Faramir,” Boromir called to him insistently, trying to steady his own heavy breathing. “You are being stupid. Come, let’s do this properly.”

But Faramir only pursed his lips and shook his head – and the fiery glimmer in his eyes told Boromir his little brother would not reconsider.

Indeed, clenching his teeth and bowing his head, Faramir tried again.

I shall stretch myself with your cock. It was easier said than done. Each time he bore down on it, the pain would be so sharp and hot that his muscles would clench reflexively. He had smeared the oil from the cock’s head all over his private regions, and had to reply the lubricant two more times, until both the shaft and his own body were dripping slippery.

After a while he began to recognize different shades of pain. There was just plain discomfort, then there was a strong, but quite bearable soreness – and then there was the frightening sensation that if he did not draw back instantly, his tissues would literally split. He learned to ignore the first kind, slowly work with the second, and immediately heed the third.

And at last, at the very last, his body opened up enough to receive the full girth of the tip of Boromir’s cock. It’s going to be easier after this, Faramir comforted himself, and breathed out slowly, only now realising his chest was constrained with tension. He stole a look at his brother and saw Boromir’s face was pale, the man lying very still with his eyes closed, only his chest heaving effortfully. Faramir could not known how torn inside Boromir was: on the one hand, he hated to feel Faramir struggle so hard over this, and wanted to spare him the suffering even if it meant robbing himself of pleasure – yet at the same time he had to fight with himself to refrain from thrusting up with his hips to bury himself further in the firm tight heat of his brother’s depth. And thus, suspended between these two opposite desires, he lay motionless, only holding Faramir’s hips with faintly trembling fingers.

But Faramir had been right, it did get better after the head was in. He slid off, eliciting an involuntary moan of disapproval from Boromir – then slowly pushed down to take the tip in again, and this time the entrance was much smoother. He continued like this for a while, each time daring to lower himself a little further down upon the shaft. After a while he would not let the cock withdraw completely anymore, and noticed his movements gradually acquire a steady rhythm. It was not very deep, but he was making love to Boromir nevertheless – and apparently Boromir felt as much, for the stern expression had left his face, and he was smiling vaguely, his hips almost imperceptibly beginning to rock into Faramir.

And Faramir found himself smiling also, for at last the whole process was beginning to feel good – still painful, he knew it would be painful the whole time – yet unquestionably good as well. So, feeling relaxed enough to experiment a little, he began to carefully tilt his lower body this way and that as he moved up and down – and eventually a sensation of acute pleasure shot through him, leaving a residue of deep warmth in his loins. He had gasped in delighted surprise, arching his back – and Boromir stared up at him in blissful disbelief.

“Does it feel good, little one?” he muttered breathlessly, running his palms tenderly up Faramir’s abdomen and chest.

Faramir only nodded in reply.

He had still been holding Boromir’s manhood beneath himself, but now decided there was no longer need for that, and planted his hands on his brother’s stomach instead.

“Faramir,” Boromir frowned warily, “I don’t… I don’t like that look… in your eyes. Wait, all… all right? I’m not even… umnhhh… not even half-way in yet.”

Faramir grinned, his gaze shining almost feverishly. “Nay, brother – I… I want all… of you.”

He slid up, until almost only the head was left within him – then decisively bore down, dropping his weight on his brother so that his buttocks slumped forcefully against Boromir’s hips.

He had thought he had already stretched himself enough, and was entirely unprepared for the searing, torturous heat that shot up his insides at once. He screamed sharply, his whole body both going stiff and arching up in a vain attempt to escape the pain somehow.

And Boromir had bucked underneath him, too, for the rough violence of Faramir’s assault had caused him quite some distress as well. His cock may have been hard as hard gets, yet it was still sensitive, and the sharpness of the blow had even made it lose some of its rigidity.

“Faramir…! You damned fool!” he half cried, half growled, digging his fingers into the flesh of Faramir’s hips. And Faramir only bowed his head, doing his best not to whimper.

For some moments they held absolutely still, too afraid to move, trying to get their breath back, Faramir’s thighs quavering perceptibly, a sheen of moisture on his brow.

This sensation of having another person inside his body was so acute and overwhelming that he simply could not get used to it, could not comprehend it nor for a second think about anything else. It had felt the same way when Boromir’s manhood had been in his mouth, yet back then he had attributed this feeling to the degree of concentration required for the service he was doing, not to mention the strong and exotic sensual experience of the taste, scent and texture. But it had not hurt him, had not threatened to rob him of his very self, to cloud out his reason with pain… And yet at the same time he knew this pain was love, that Boromir loved him and was doing this to him only because of this love…

At last, Faramir found it in himself to speak. “I think I’ve fucking torn myself,” he admitted with a feeble grin.

“I won’t be much surprised if you have, you little idiot,” Boromir agreed in a grumble, sighing heavily. “Well… what now?” He was ashamed to admit that, much as he hated to see Faramir suffer, he still wanted to fuck him – more than ever, now that he knew what it felt like to be fully inside him. And sweet as it was to have his cock sheathed in that unyielding, impossible tightness, he yearned not to be merely held thus, but to have this tightness rub against him, caress and squeeze him rhythmically.

And Faramir understood all of that – and knew that he himself wanted it also. Lips pressed into a tight line and brows furrowed in a self-concentrated expression, he ventured to shift a little, sliding up the length a mere inch – barely to find out how it would feel to move upon it.

“Easy there,” Boromir muttered apprehensively, his hold on Faramir’s hips tightening once again, and Faramir nodded – he could not have done it any other way but easy, anyway.

He realised that the chief source of his pain was the girth: whether he just sat on it or moved along it did not make much difference as long as he was sensible about it. Thus he carried on, painstakingly slowly at first, but gradually picking up speed and daring increase the amplitude. He had found the right position again, and each time Boromir’s cock went completely into him, it grazed him deliciously on the pleasure spot, making him gasp and momentarily forget about the discomfort – and, thanks to this sweetest of sensations, Faramir kept overcoming the pain to push down on his brother’s cock with ever-increasing vigour. As he moved, he felt the shaft reach deeper into him, once again growing to full length and stiffness – and Boromir was breathing so heavily, his cheeks flushed, eyes half-closed.

Yet the older man restrained himself from humping his hips to meet Faramir’s buttocks, nor did he reach out to pump the younger man’s cock with his hand. He wanted it to last, for much as he craved the climax their coupling was bound to bring, the very process of making love to Faramir, the realisation that he was taking him right this very second was something he wished would never end. And he loved how Faramir’s brows twitched just a little every time he sheathed Boromir in his tightness, and those soft moans he was making, and the way his fingers dug into Boromir’s abdomen…

But Boromir knew he would love some other things as well.

He beckoned Faramir to lean in to him and, after kissing him deeply, whispered into his hair: “I want you from behind.”

Faramir slowed his pace and looked down at him. He would be loath to lose the eye contact, but he certainly understood Boromir’s desire. When playing the top, he liked to do it from behind as well, not least because thus it was possible to see the penetration.

He licked his lips and nodded, but did not get off straight away. “Mm… how do you want it?” he murmured casually, sliding off almost completely and reaching underneath himself to steady Boromir’s shaft with his hand. “Should I be on my knees?” He bore down suddenly, forcefully, lingered at the bottom for just a fraction of a second and then was almost off again. “Or on my belly?” He did the same thing again. “Or perhaps, bent over the bed?” And again. “Or the table?”

Faramir was sure Boromir’s fingers would leave purple marks on his hips, but only enjoyed it. Panting heavily, he beamed at his brother mischievously.

Boromir glared at him. “If you… keep on li… like this, we shan’t… shan’t do it… at all…!”

“Oh?” Faramir raised his brows in genuine puzzlement, bearing down hard on his lover yet again. “And why… is that?”

Boromir growled under his breath and, unable to withhold himself any longer, stabbed several sharp powerful thrusts deep into Faramir, making the younger man throw his head back and gasp for breath. But then he stopped just as suddenly, and grinned when Faramir moaned in protest.

“Boromir, please… keep going.”

“No. Get off.”

And Faramir complied, very carefully sliding off the hot slippery length. His breath caught and he shut his eyes for a second when it left his body completely, for suddenly he realised he did not feel right without it in him. The sensation of presence, of his body being opened up did not leave him immediately, but lingered in a faint teasing shadow, making him desperately crave to immediately return it in full force.

But nevertheless he climbed off his lover – and was surprised that even lifting a leg had made him experience a strongly unpleasant sensation in his bum. Oh, tomorrow would be a day to remember, he could tell, his muscles would be killing him – but tomorrow would come only tomorrow, and for the meantime…

Faramir turned around, coming to face the hearth, and stayed on his knees, waiting for Boromir to guide him into the position the older man desired. And Boromir was behind him in no time, hugging him tightly and pressing his length hungrily against Faramir’s buttocks. He chuckled smugly as Faramir pushed back at him, then reached down to feel between Faramir’s legs with his hand. And although Faramir had already taken his cock in, he nonetheless gasped sharply and bucked when Boromir pushed two fingers fully into him.

“Oh, this is going to be so sweet,” Boromir muttered lustfully, then withdrew his hand and sat back on his heels, pulling Faramir back with him and nudging his brother’s legs further apart with his knees.

“Come here… Like this,” he whispered gently. “This way, you can still sit on top of me like you like. All right, lean on me.” And as Faramir shifted backwards onto his lap, he held the young man on the hip with one hand while with the other smoothly led himself back in. Boromir’s cock did not meet any resistance this time, and Faramir groaned deeply, closing his eyes and arching against his brother’s front. Oh, simply having a cock sheathed in his body was pleasure already.

“Faramir, I am so deep… inside you,” Boromir murmured happily, dazedly into his ear, placing his palms on Faramir’s chest and encouraging the younger man to fully rest his weight against him. “Relax, little one… just relax and let me take you.”

Technically, Faramir was still on top, but now it was the older brother who was moving, and it made all the difference, especially to Boromir. Only now was he not merely having his cock enveloped by Faramir’s body, but actually taking the man, claiming him for his own.

“Ohh, yes…” he breathed against the curve of Faramir’s neck, driving into him slowly and powerfully, reveling in how open and accessible Faramir’s body was from this angle. “Yhees, Faramir… You are mine. Yeas…!”

Boromir loved it how Faramir responded to every inch of his lover’s length entering him, how he arched his body – smoothly, without jerking, as though riding on the crest of a wave. And he loved it how Faramir’s gasps soon turned into loud sighs, and then into full-fledged moans, and found himself gasping and grunting with effort and pleasure as well.

Faramir closed his eyes tightly, Boromir’s hot heavy breath on his cheek making his head swim. How comfortable it felt to have his buttocks cradled in the curve of his brother’s upper thighs and lower abdomen… He had covered Boromir’s hands with his own, intertwining their fingers, almost hurting Boromir with the strength of his grip. And the faster Boromir moved, the harder Faramir grasped him, and the more Boromir enjoyed it…

And as he looked over Faramir’s shoulder into the blazing hearth, it seemed to him that the flames were dancing in rhythm with the rocking of their bodies, and he wondered whether, if their passion were to increase, the fire would also flare up.

“Faramir…?”

“Uh?”

“I want to… fuck you really… really hard. Can you… take it?”

Faramir hissed as a particularly thorough thrust sent through him a surge of hot pleasure mixed with hot pain.

“I… I need more oil,” he muttered with strain, the prospect of getting yet more pain rendering him a little more alert.

Boromir looked back over his shoulder, searching for the bottle. There it was on the sheets – but neither of them could reach it from their current position.

“You’re sure?” Boromir asked reluctantly.

“Uh-huh.”

“All right, wait.”

He disengaged himself from his lover’s body as quickly as was possible without hurting Faramir, and swiftly turned around to snatch the vessel. Yet even this short a break was a challenge for Faramir, for, having grown used to the support of Boromir’s strong thighs and front, he suddenly found himself trembling, his body too excited and confused to hold itself up – and he leant forward to rest on his elbows, bowing his head tiredly. Only now did he completely realise how far gone he was, his forehead feverish and sweaty, a strand of black hair plastered to it, his throbbing manhood almost dripping with seed. And Boromir’s cock had opened him up so thoroughly that even now when it had left him, Faramir still felt such a convincing residue of its presence that he almost wanted to hump his hips at it.

Then he wondered dazedly why the cock was not coming back.

“B… Buh… brother?” he called wearily, finding it difficult to even speak coherently.

But Boromir could not answer, for when he had turned with the oil in his hand, he was met by the sight of the full beauty of Faramir’s spread behind.

His breath catching in his throat, the older man had cocked his head to the side, his lips parting in awe.

The powerful but lean thighs, the full, firm buttocks arched up invitingly – and between them…

Flushed dark pink, swollen and full. Already debauched and robbed of all innocence… How horribly, delectably lascivious, how irresistible…

And yes, Boromir’s cock had indeed torn his lover’s sweetness, for there was blood – not too much, but there was some: smears and streaks of brutal scarlet on creamy skin. Boromir knew he ought to feel shame, guilt, remorse… And afterwards he probably would. But at the moment there was only mad, ecstatic lust, and he felt himself literally shake with desire. Then he looked down and saw that he too was marked by their lovemaking – there was Faramir’s blood on his erection…

And for a second Boromir was afraid that for the first time in his life his eyes would actually make him come…

He swallowed with difficulty and trailed his fingers over his mouth.

“You know what… stay like that,” he said very quietly at last. “Just like that… don’t move.”

Then Boromir finally moved up to his brother and, having generously oiled himself, let some liquid pour over the base of Faramir’s spine, and watched it trickle down the cleft of the man’s arse. And Faramir, breathing so hard as though Boromir was already back inside him, moved his legs even wider apart and arched towards his lover’s hardness.

Taking himself in hand, Boromir aligned the shaft with the passage ready to receive it, but at the last moment paused, mesmerized by the picture before his eyes. His engorged pitiless cock reaching for the puckered defenseless tightness – so close… Greedy to bathe itself in Faramir’s blood again. Yes, just one thrust of the hips away, he could actually feel the heat emanating from Faramir’s body wash over the sensitized glistening head of his manhood…

“Boromir, pleeease… your cock…!” Oh, apparently he was not the only one shaking with lust.

And Boromir grinned, the desperate alacrity in his brother’s voice making his loins twitch.

“Mmm, what about it?”

“Put it in me!”

“Where?”

“Right here!” with a sudden and precise thrust of the hips, Faramir impaled himself on the length, enveloping the cock’s head completely in his heat. No, it was not an invitation to be denied, and, the oil giving a lecherous slurp, Boromir shoved all the way into him. Faramir cried out – a sharp strangled yelp – but shoved back at him at once, and Boromir grabbed him authoritatively on the hips and immediately went pounding into him.

How cosy, how blissfully soft and tender was the hold of Faramir’s depth on his arousal… Yet the opening of his body still gripped Boromir tightly, like a ring of fire sliding forcefully up and down, up and down his quavering cock – hypnotizing…

He wanted this sensation all along his length, not just the bottom half of it, and so went pulling almost all the way out before ploughing back in, riding all the way through the taut entrance to finally slam his hips against Faramir’s buttocks.

Oh, and how that made Faramir moan… For to him it seemed, of course, that it was Boromir’s body that was made out of fire, and that with every thrust his brother set his flesh ablaze. And he loved it…

Then, yearning for more contact, Boromir bent over him, covering Faramir whole with his body, planting his hands on the mattress next to Faramir’s elbows. This change somewhat restrained the freedom of movement for Boromir’s hips, yet now he could feel Faramir’s strained sweat-moistened back pressing against his chest, and could nibble on his lover’s shoulder and neck. And as soon as he grasped the smooth skin with his teeth, Faramir turned over his shoulder, needily searching for Boromir’s mouth with his own. Boromir met him eagerly, their lips and tongues coming to slide and twist together in a frantic sloppy kiss.

And Faramir was driven insane by the contrast between the hot wet softness of Boromir’s mouth and the unimaginable rigidity of his brother’s cock plunging into him again and again. He loved this position, too, for it made him feel submissive to such an utterly animal degree… so defenseless before Boromir’s merciless lust… And it seemed to him that even had he wanted to, he would not be able to get away, and would have to be fucked to the end.

But just as he felt that specific sensation of deep slow warmth beginning to spread through his feet, the muscles of his thighs starting to tingle, Boromir slowed down and muttered into his mouth: “Fa…ramir, let’s… turn over.”

Despite the circumstances, Faramir snorted. “Valar…! We have… enough time. Do you really… aaah… want to go through all the… the… the positions in the first… oannhhh… half-hour?”

“Don’t you worry, I know enough positions to last us a month, even at this rate,” Boromir assured him firmly, having decreased his pace to an unbearably mild degree. “Now turn over.”

Then as Boromir pulled out of him, Faramir cried out in shock, for now it seemed to him that he would simply die without a cock in his body. But, miraculously, he did not, and instead just slumped heavily onto his side – and Boromir helped him roll onto his back.

At once they fitted back together, easily and perfectly, Faramir slinging one leg over Boromir’s hips, another over his waist, tilting himself up to receive his brother’s love – and their bodies fastened to each other naturally and smoothly, without even the help of a hand. And they both sighed deeply in relief, and for a second reveled in the reestablished togetherness. Then Faramir embraced Boromir strongly, and the older man, bowing his head in concentration, set to finally bring them both to completion.

Faramir shut his eyes tightly, and moaned with a heart-felt ‘ohhhhhh’ every time Boromir rocked forward on top of him. This position, the young man knew now, was of course the best one for tonight: the simplest and yet the most intimate, the most personal, oh, how much love and trust there was in it… And he gripped at Boromir’s back even harder, longing to crush all of himself against his brother’s body, just as his throbbing cock was being crushed against Boromir’s taut abdomen.

Then Boromir’s thrusts suddenly became shallow and frantic, and he panted hoarsely, waves of strain and pleasure so obviously rolling through him.

“Oh, come on, little one! Come on… Oh, how I love you…!”

Then suddenly, amid all the passion, Faramir looked up at him with a startling clarity of gaze – so startling that Boromir nearly lost his rhythm. Staring back at him, the older man appeared almost bewildered, as though only now coming to realise what he and his little brother were doing, what they had become to each other.

He saw it all in Faramir’s eyes… He had eyes to drown in, Faramir did. Pure and clear. Transparent, with a luminescent depth – they caught the light, and held it, and it shimmered in them… For a second Boromir was suspended in weightlessness, simply staring into those eyes, seeing all the meaning of his life in them…

And then, without any conscious thought, he leant in to Faramir and locked his mouth to his brother’s just like he had done so many years ago, and breathed into him. Faramir understood him at once, and took Boromir’s breath deep into his lungs, and then returned it. And thus they kept on passing it back and forth, not inhaling anew, letting this air wash through their lungs over and over, just as their bodies rose and fell together over and over. The air had become humid, heavy and hot, just as their thrusts had become frantic, desperate and almost hysterical. But still they kept going, for they could not break – not even when their chests were bursting, their vision clouded by blackness and their loins veritably burning with pleasure and need.

And only when all his muscles suddenly contracted, sending him to slump powerlessly onto Faramir, did Boromir break away to heave a hoarse ragged breath – and at once cried out loudly and desperately, pleasure stabbing at him like a sword. Then as soon as the first spasm released him, he jerked back hastily and thrust once more into his incoherently moaning and whimpering brother, who this time cried out also, arching against Boromir as though in agony.

For indeed the first moment of it was like agony, searing through their flesh and veins with mind-numbing intensity, seizing every muscle, twisting every ligament, yanking harshly at the vocal cords, making teeth grit and fingers dig pitilessly into sweat-covered skin. And it was impossible to tell whether they had died in that moment or, on the contrary, only now were finally made alive.

But through it all, Boromir kept going with what strength was left in him, simply unable to stop… And then there was no more suffering in their release, there was only joy – and the joy kept spreading through the body so smoothly and sweetly, like the foamy surf covering the shore… and then again. It abated and then came forth again, over and over, such pure bliss…

Even the pain between Faramir’s legs was gone at last, fully drowned by the pleasure rolling over him. The young man moaned deliriously and helplessly, for it seemed to him that together with the pain his whole body was gone, dissolving into his brother’s embrace. Yes, although he could still feel Boromir all over himself, above himself, inside himself and around himself, he knew with absolute certainty that neither of them existed anymore, for of course their bodies had melted away, melted into one another… The sensation of touch lingered only because touching they were, only not skin to skin, flesh to flesh, but holding each other and rocking together on some other level of being…

And in that moment Faramir needed no magic ring to show him what was hidden, to reveal to him the true nature of things, to unveil for him the complete entity, the inner essence of another person. The part of his one beloved man that was unseen to all other eyes – he saw it now with his inner sight, saw it in perfect clarity and full glory, and was blinded by the splendour of its radiance.

Boromir, too, had seen a radiance of searing white, but whether it was brought about by love, by bliss, by the crushing grip of Faramir’s muscles on his erupting manhood, or simply by blood pounding into his brain, he did not know and did not care. For in that moment he too felt their bodies disintegrating – and the only way to save each other from permanently slipping into nonbeing was to keep going, to hold on to reality through the unceasing rhythm of their hips, to keep burying one burning pleasure into another…

Make it through. Carry on… Do not stop…

Even when the threat of falling apart was long since gone, when their chests were once again rising and falling almost evenly, Boromir kept on moving slowly within his brother – just for the pleasure of it, until his cock grew too soft and slipped out. And then they lay still for many minutes, simply holding each other.

And then, when it seemed to Boromir that the perfect ending to the evening would be to fall asleep just as they were, Faramir shuddered beneath him, made a faint strangled gasp – and then began to shake in earnest.

“Little one…! What is it?” Boromir whispered in bewilderment, trying to get a look into Faramir’s eyes. “Are you… did I hurt you that bad?” But Faramir only shook his head mutely, hiding his face in the crook of his brother’s neck, clutching at him as though in desperation, his breath ragged and strained against Boromir’s skin.

“It’s all right,” Boromir murmured to him soothingly, at a loss for what else to say, “it’s all right… I’m with you.”

But his tender tone had an opposite effect on Faramir, who moaned as though in pain and began to sob for real. The young man did not even try to explain himself, but only kept pressing all of his body against Boromir’s with such vehemence as though his very life depended upon it. His embrace grew so tight it became difficult for Boromir to inhale, but he returned it with equal strength, his brother’s distress frightening him so much that he could no longer come up with any verbal consolation, and simply held Faramir, waiting for the storm to pass.

Indeed, eventually it began to subside.

“I had thought… I’d never get to hold you like this again,” Faramir managed to mumble amid his gasps. “I love you too, Boromir. I’ve never loved anyone but you!”

Chapter 6

Faramir’s distress had long since passed, his cheeks dried of tears by his lover’s warm kisses. And once again the brothers lay quietly on their sides, wrapped in a peaceful embrace, not talking, not even thinking, oblivious to the passage of time around them – until Boromir shifted with a contented smile and tightened his hold on Faramir’s waist.

“I want to do you again,” he whispered huskily, pulling the younger man closer.

“Mm, I would sure like that,” Faramir replied with an indulgent smile, pressing his body against Boromir’s in return, subtly but sensually. “But not tonight, all right? I need some time to… well, adjust.”

Boromir heaved a sigh of frustration. “You fool, hadn’t I told you to be more careful with yourself?”

“But it was so worth it,” Faramir beamed, despite the throbbing soreness between his legs, between his buttocks and well inside his body.

“Worth it…? Perhaps… But what shall we do then?”

“Hmm… How about we switch?” Faramir accompanied the suggestion by pushing his leg deeper between Boromir’s knees, so that the front of his upper thigh came to rest against his brother’s balls, and their reawakening members pressed together.

Although Boromir shifted into the arousing touch, his eyes grew cold and he frowned suspiciously. “Now, is that another one of your shameless dreams?”

“Uh-huh,” the younger brother admitted casually. “I have thought of it – you know, sometimes,” his hand slid down Boromir’s side to rest on the man’s buttock with quite unambiguous intentions.

“Sometimes?” Boromir repeated skeptically, unsure what to do about the hand.

Faramir laughed, acknowledging an understatement. “Actually, practically every time I saw you bend over. Oh, brother, you have such a beautiful, powerful rump… You know, I would be simply unable to keep myself from thinking what it would be like to swiftly come up to you from behind, yank your trousers down and shove my –”

“Enough!” Boromir interrupted him with an alarmed laugh. “Honestly! I thought you had at least a little decency.”

“Look, it’s not like I’ve ever actually done it,” Faramir pointed out, laughing merrily, his fingers now beginning to knead the muscular roundness.

“Luckily for you, you haven’t,” Boromir retorted in a grumble. “I would’ve probably punched you in the face, had you tried to.”

“I know,” Faramir replied, taking no offense. “That’s why I’m doing it a little differently.”

“Brother, look…” Boromir sighed, caressing Faramir’s shoulder thoughtfully. “All jokes aside, I… I am not sure about this. Really not sure… I, um… I’ve…”

“Never been fucked?” Faramir offered brightly. “Yes, I have suspected as much – but that’s an outage easy to fix,” he leant in, aiming to seal Boromir’s mouth with his.

But Boromir averted his face a little and sighed yet again, very heavily this time. “Faramir…” he began seriously, “let’s get this straight. It may have been propriety or whatever social norms that had kept you from yielding to another man, but in my case… I have never even wanted to.”

Faramir did not seem much disappointed, and only smiled encouragingly. “Well, do you now?”

“Do I now?” Boromir reiterated with a faintly ironic chuckle. “Do I want to rape myself with your prick, like you did with mine?”

Faramir sighed. “No. It doesn’t have to be like we did it to me, if you don’t want to…”

Boromir looked at him doubtfully, and the way Faramir’s fingers were treating the flesh of his arse only intensified the doubts.

Faramir smiled softly, then kissed Boromir on the corner of the mouth and rubbed his smooth cheek against his brother’s bearded one. “Don’t fret, I know how to handle someone who hasn’t been breached before,” he whispered reassuringly.

But to Boromir this information proved of little comfort, and he shifted uneasily against the younger man.

“Look, Faramir, I know you are thirty-six, and of course you haven’t been idle; and especially given how attractive you are, you must have been surrounded by all sorts of eager people, but… Keep it to yourself, all right? I don’t want to know anything. Who, how many, what you did, what you know… I want none of it.”

“All right,” Faramir agreed easily, his hand still doing what it was.

They were quiet for a while, and the older man had an especially thoughtful expression on his face, listening intently to his inner responses to his lover’s touch.

“Look,” he said resolutely at last, “only because you are my brother.”

Faramir’s fingers stopped their ministrations. “Boromir,” he said very gently, “if you really don’t want to –”

Frowning sternly, Boromir cut him off. “Nay, I… I don’t know. I might. I mean… what you were doing to me just now, I did like it, although… although it did feel er… unusual.”

“All right,” Faramir nodded quietly, and once again began caressing his brother’s behind, both the more exposed top buttock, and the one Boromir was partially lying on. “It’s not like you have to make a commitment, anyway – if you decide you don’t like it after all, we can always drop the idea.”

Boromir grinned and, although he tried not to show it and did not like to acknowledge it even to himself, Faramir’s assurance had made him feel a whole lot better. “You won’t be disappointed?” he asked casually.

“Frankly – yes, a little bit. But more for you than for myself, because more than anything I want to make you feel good – and this thing does feel good, take my word for it.”

“Yeah, but first it apparently feels horrible,” Boromir countered mischievously, but more out of the desire to pester Faramir than out of any serious wariness. And seeing as much, Faramir only smiled leniently in reply. Then he sneaked his bottom arm under Boromir’s shoulder and over his upper back, pulling the older man into a long slow kiss.

As the kiss grew in tightness and heat, so the caresses of Faramir’s palm grew in sensuality and hunger – as well as in amplitude. He was roaming his hand all over his brother’s outer thigh, then grabbed it confidently from underneath and hoisted it over his hip, thus providing himself better access to the sweetness between Boromir’s legs. Boromir gave a startled jolt, yet did not resist this development, and when Faramir’s hand returned to his buttocks, the older man found himself instinctively arching into the touch.

And when Faramir suddenly withdrew his hand, Boromir involuntarily made a small sound of disapproval.

“No worries… I’m just looking for that oil,” Faramir murmured against the man’s lips.

He felt behind himself on the sheets, and soon produced the bottle with at least a third of the liquid remaining. He grinned at Boromir and, uncorking the vessel with his teeth, tipped it against his brother’s buttock, letting the slick liquid pour generously over the pale skin. Boromir shivered a little as he felt the oil trickle into the cleft of his arse.

Resealing the bottle for the time being, Faramir proceeded to spread the lubricant all over his brother’s private area, but touching him very lightly and carefully, not applying any pressure yet. Once that was done, he withdrew completely – to continue his exploration from another angle, sliding his slippery hand in between their tightly pressed bodies and closing his fingers around Boromir’s newly restored hardness, the hardness that still bore the crimson evidence of Faramir’s recent surrender. He felt Boromir’s relief at this turn of events, and so for a while directed his attention at his lover’s cock, kissing the man playfully on the mouth. But as he was rubbing Boromir’s manhood, Faramir’s fist was tantalizingly sliding up and down against the underside of his own cock – and that, coupled with the knowledge that his brother’s untouched and well-oiled arse was only inches away, made sure Faramir would not forget his ultimate destination.

And thus, when after some time Boromir began rocking into his touch, he released the hot shaft and moved his hand lower to caress his brother’s balls – then a little lower still to cup them from underneath and gently roll them between his fingers. The men were pushing with their hips against each other now, and it was not easy for Faramir to find enough space between their bodies to continue on his course. Very slowly, he eased his palm a little further between Boromir’s thighs to stroke the soft sensitive area of his brother’s perineum. But although the touch was very gentle and non-intrusive, and brought quite a bit of pleasure, a hand this deep between his legs already felt like a threat to Boromir, and Faramir felt the man grow tense. Boromir’s kisses grew rather absentminded also, for all his attention was obviously directed at what Faramir’s hand was doing to him. His breathing was nervously uneven, and even though he did not try to change his exposed position, he shivered every time Faramir’s fingers made an advancement towards his most private place, and gripped the younger man on the shoulder quite ungently.

Finally, Faramir leant out of their kiss to try and reassure his lover with an understanding gaze. “I am being very careful, brother. Trust me and have no fear,” he murmured with a gentle smile.

Boromir narrowed his eyes, his hips almost stopping in their rhythm against Faramir’s.

“Do you think I am afraid?”

“I was,” the younger man admitted with a shrug. “Not so much of the pain, though, but rather of how it would feel to be hurt by the one I love.”

“You hurt yourself more than the one you love did,” Boromir pointed out, curving his brow.

“Valar, brother! Are you going to keep nagging me about that for the rest of the night?” With that Faramir again reached behind Boromir to give his firm bum a fond little slap.

Boromir chuckled. “More likely for the rest of your life – that’s not an episode to be easily forgotten.”

“Just like all the episodes involving you and I in bed, mm?” Faramir murmured playfully, stealing a quick kiss on the lips. “But please, I want you to understand. Your cock, brother, is so meaty… I reckoned it would be mighty painful to take it in anyway, but… I thought it would be easier to bear if I were to hurt myself rather than let you do it…”

Boromir stared at him mutely, then swallowed, his throat having suddenly gone dry. “Faramir… you do realise that your words are not helping me relax, don’t you?”

“Hmm, who knows… maybe I don’t want you relaxed – you would be so much tighter that way…” And Faramir pinched the taut flesh of the older man’s slippery cheek.

Boromir’s breath caught. “Get your hand off my arse, you heartless wicked –”

Faramir gazed at him lovingly and laughed out, and Boromir was unable to keep a serious face either. “Your humour is not funny,” he grumbled anyway.

“But it’s only humour. In truth, I would never wish to hurt you.”

“But you did wish to hurt yourself.”

“Come, does it really bother you that much?” Faramir asked sadly, slowly caressing his brother’s behind. “I am sorry, I did not mean to distress you so. And yes, it did hurt…” Faramir chewed on his lip thoughtfully, picking words. “But it was not an unpleasant kind of hurt, not a vicious one – but a loving hurt, if you see what I mean.”

“Mm… not exactly. Although it does sound intriguing…”

“Well then, perhaps I should show?” Faramir whispered softly, and once again slid his hand between their groins and reached forth to bring their lips together.

This time he went to caress Boromir between the legs all the way from the man’s balls to as far as his hand could reach. His fingers would brush fleetingly over the tightly closed entrance to his lover’s body, but Faramir made a point of not giving it any special attention just yet, not even pausing over it as his hand slid slowly back and forth. And only when, after some time, he felt the apprehension seep away from Boromir’s body, his buttocks relaxing beneath Faramir’s palm and even beginning to arch into his touch, did the young man finally dare to purposefully feel for the place his cock so craved to plunge into.

Boromir started at the searching touch, yet after a moment’s hesitation took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to shift into it, resting himself trustingly against Faramir’s slippery fingers. And Faramir probed at him ever so carefully, pressing at the contracted circle of muscle with his fingertip very lightly, not even aiming to test its resistance, but merely wishing to explore the texture and warmth of his brother’s most private spot. Boromir had to admit it felt nice to be touched like this, pleasantly ticklish and also subtly arousing in some strange and unfamiliar way.

And Faramir smiled in wonder and whispered against Boromir’s lips with great tenderness: “My, how tiny it is.”

“Yours used to be, as well,” Boromir murmured teasingly, briefly licking at Faramir’s lower lip.

“And it shall be so again, soon. It always will be, unless you fuck me overmuch, dear,” Faramir assured him with a smile, licking back in much the same fashion.

“I won’t – if you can promise the same.”

Faramir chuckled, his fingers between Boromir’s legs working somewhat more boldly now, his index one toying with the opening while the others slowly massaged the sensitive adjacent area. “I haven’t even really breached you yet, and already you think I might be too greedy.”

“No, you haven’t… But… you are going to, right…?”

“Now, is that impatience I hear in your voice again?”

“I… don’t know, it… could be.” Boromir grinned dazedly, wondering at his own boldness. But he did like the sensation of rounded firmness pushing at him, and for some reason also liked how defenseless it made him feel to understand that technically there was strength enough in Faramir’s hand to make his flesh yield even against his wish.

And then Faramir showed him what it was like to have his body entered.

Boromir had thought he would gasp, or at least suck his teeth, but in fact he only inhaled deeply and stared at Faramir in confusion. He had never felt anything like this…

The younger man let the importance of the moment sink in, studying his lover thoughtfully, then grinned vaguely and shook his head in appreciation. “By the heavens above, brother, you are tight like an innocent boy of fourteen.”

Boromir nearly coughed in surprise. “What…?! You have actually fucked an innocent boy of fourteen?” Instantly to his mind came an image of the same fingertip that was now firmly held by his private muscles – that same fingertip prying in between a pair of pert and hairless boyish buttocks.

Faramir pursed his lips, hiding a grin of amusement. “Come, brother, can’t you simply take a compliment?”

“A compliment like this is rather unsettling. Faramir… you –?”

“I thought you had said you did not want to know,” the younger man pointed out, gently probing a little deeper into his lover.

Boromir hesitated, then sighed wearily. “Indeed, I don’t,” he said dismissively, relaxing back into his brother’s embrace. What did he care about anything… What did anything matter in comparison to this new feeling?

And Faramir went on lightly massaging him on the inside, twisting a little this way and that as he withdrew a bit and then went back in. Boromir did not try to halt him in any way, but from the older man’s expression it was unclear whether that was out of resolution to get through what his little brother had managed, or out of actual enjoyment.

“Well, brother,” Faramir murmured against the corner of his mouth, “tell me how it feels.”

Boromir thought for a moment. “Intense,” he licked his lips, considering his body’s reaction. “A little disturbing, but… sweet.” And his words were confirmed by the fact that the erection pressing against Faramir’s abdomen was just as firm and enthusiastic as ever.

Faramir smiled contentedly. “Then I believe you would enjoy this.” He pushed on carefully, letting Boromir’s tightness wrap itself around the second joint of his finger.

This time Boromir actually did gasp, for although it was not in any way unpleasant, the sensation was different. Now not only the strict tightness of his entrance was breached, but the smooth softness of his inner privacy was entered, and it made him feel much more unprotected than the initial penetration had. But as soon as Faramir drew back a little, Boromir knew he wanted his brother’s finger back, and pushed at him instinctively. He felt Faramir’s lips spread into a grin against his cheek, yet the younger man said nothing and only gave his lover what he had asked for.

Thus they went on, slowly working to warm up the older man’s body, to inure it to being continuously open, to housing at least a little bit of another person’s love and desire. And Boromir’s cooperativeness was noticeably increasing, growing together with the pleasure he was now quite distinctly experiencing at every movement of Faramir’s hand inside himself. He began to sigh quietly, his hips pressing forth lightly yet persistently, his arousal quickly rubbing against the body that had recently given it so much pleasure.

And Boromir began to toy with the idea that maybe it would be nice to give the same pleasure in return… It still rather unsettled him to remember the look of his engorged glistening manhood disappearing again and again into Faramir’s stretched and reddened entrance as Boromir took him from behind – to remember it imagining himself in his brother’s place… But well, at least it was perfectly sweet to feel Faramir’s index finger within his flesh – deep within his flesh. Indeed, although Boromir could already feel the knuckles of Faramir’s other fingers press against his buttock, he pushed back yet again, yearning for yet a little more.

Faramir bit his lip before whispering playfully: “It’s all in already… You are doing really well, I must say.” He kissed Boromir’s mouth sweetly, and just as his tongue unexpectedly did a hungry twist between his brother’s lips, so did his finger between Boromir’s buttocks. It was just a little ungentle, and Faramir had wondered whether it was still too early for this – but Boromir moaned into his mouth encouragingly, and Faramir felt a shiver run through his brother’s body, and thus eagerly repeated the gesture.

Then he was not twisting randomly anymore, but seeking for one particular place. He knew he had found it not so much from the difference in the sensation under his finger-pad, but rather from the startled gasp that parted his brother’s lips, and from the uncontrollable jolt of Boromir’s hips.

“There it is,” Faramir commented quietly, and as though fearing Boromir had not fully noticed the first time, went on to once again demonstrate the whereabouts of that special spot. And then again. And again. Until Boromir was veritably panting for breath, his gaze molten and disoriented, lips dry and bright with colour.

“Per… perhaps… I’m going insane, but… this feels so good,” he admitted in a mumble, a vague dreamy smile on his lips. And he shifted his leg on Faramir’s hip higher towards the man’s waist, thus giving his brother even more control over the situation.

“Would you like me to add another one?” Faramir asked casually, although the way he was pressing his throbbing cock against Boromir’s was quite betraying how he craved to speed up their progress.

After a moment, Boromir nodded, and closed his eyes completely.

He gasped in alarm, for at once he knew this would be a true challenge for his body. The girth of Faramir’s touch was putting a strain on his flesh that no amount of oil would curb, and his body tangibly filled with consternation, for although he trusted his brother like no other, nevertheless the burning inescapable pressure made him feel threatened on some deep animal level.

Faramir sighed, for he sensed Boromir’s anxiety in the very way the man’s muscles had gripped at his fingers. Without a word, he slid the tip of his middle finger out and proceeded to once again push forth with just the index one.

But Boromir frowned. “No, put it back,” he muttered quietly without opening his eye.

Faramir grinned admiringly. “Brother, when you had asked me to keep you company tonight… would you have believed that you would end up telling me to put my hand up your arse?”

“Not the whole hand, don’t go getting your hopes up,” Boromir murmured teasingly. “And no, I would not have believed it – I can hardly believe it even now. But do put it back, Faramir…”

His private muscles responded with a fiery sensation as Faramir returned to ease two fingertips into him. But it also intensified Boromir’s awareness of this part of his body, and it thrilled him to wonder how it would feel if his brother were to massage him on that hidden magical spot not with one finger, but with two. And thus, he gritted his teeth and, against the rather strong discomfort, strove to welcome Faramir deeper into his body, to let his brother do to him that thing which made droplets of seed leak from his cock.

“Boromir,” the young man whispered caringly, “it will be much easier for you if you put that free hand of yours to work.”

“Huh?” Boromir knew he was not being very sharp at the moment.

Faramir smiled patiently. “Touch yourself – while I touch you.”

And Boromir did. But it was not only his own manhood that he treated: he shifted a little to fully align their ripe reddened shafts, making the sensitive undersides press together, and laid a broad grasp of his strong hand on both of them. His strokes swept the first juice of pleasure from the head of his length and spread some of it over Faramir’s erection, or at least so he imagined it.

Faramir moaned hoarsely and pushed with hip hips a little, making the manhoods slide against one another, which in turn made him moan even more desperately. For a second he even entertained a selfish notion that of the two of them it was perhaps he and not his lover who was having the harder time.

“Oh, how I want you,” he groaned. “How I want to fuck you, brother… You have no idea. To shoot my seed deep into your sweet arse…” At this he finally buried his fingers up to the knuckles, and Boromir bucked against him needily, confirming that he, too, shared Faramir’s desire.

“Good boy, Boromir,” Faramir grinned breathlessly. “Such a good boy you are,” and he bowed to bite at his brother’s throat with an avid bruising kiss. In any other situation, anyone who dared say such a thing to the new Steward would have at once had his nose introduced to Boromir’s fist – but not now. Now he only tilted his head back and sighed with both strain and delight.

Yes, it was finally feeling fully good again, what with Faramir rubbing him generously on the inner source of a man’s pleasure – but Boromir was well aware that his brother’s fingers still fitted into his body frighteningly tightly, and was absolutely, adamantly convinced there was no space for more. He knew, of course, that more could be made to fit in anyway, and knew also that he would survive it. After all, he himself had bent quite a few men, and many of them rather ungently at that – and all of them had lived through it, and most had actually liked it. Yet…

Much as his body blindly craved more, his mind knew that more would hurt – truly hurt. And now he fully understood what Faramir had meant saying that the scariest part was that the pain would be inflicted by the one you love so much… How much submission it actually required, what a complete capitulation it would have to be… And the male in him, the one who had ever only taken and tamed others – that male could not help but be bewildered by the prospect…

“Faramir…” Boromir whispered a little hoarsely, “you know, I believe that’s… that’s as far as I’d like to go.”

Faramir smiled at him gently, although their faces were so close Boromir could not see it, and murmured warmly, his voice fully showing he understood it was final: “Of course.” It had taken him all the reserves of his will to speak so lightly and evenly, and not groan in frustration. But, well, they had admittedly had quite a lot of novelty in the course of that night, and perhaps it would be nice to leave some for later. This prudent notion could not, of course, compete with the strength of his lust, but he knew he would warm up to it once his desire was slaked.

He kissed Boromir once again, repeatedly thrusting into his lover’s mouth with his tongue so violently as though thus trying to compensate for another kind of thrusting he had had to forgo. But with his hand he stopped moving back and forth, letting the weary entrance to his brother’s inner tenderness have a rest, burying his fingers deep one last time and keeping them there – and went on to press them insistently against that blindingly sensitive spot inside his lover’s body. He massaged it ceaselessly, mercilessly, stimulating the already ringing nerves to a point beyond belief – just as his brother’s frantic strokes were driving his cock to sheer madness.

It was then that it hit Boromir.

Letting Faramir into the hidden private tenderness of his body, letting him open it up and alter its shape… and suddenly he desperately needed to see that Faramir understood the full meaning of this, how important it was, the whole immensity of what Boromir was letting him do…

And he hurriedly withdrew from the unending kiss to look his brother in the eyes, to see whether there was this understanding he felt he could not survive without. And he saw it – alongside with lust, and pleasure, and need: there it was – a clarity, an almost grave lucidity in those bottomless grey eyes, just like when he had taken Faramir. It pierced him, for in that moment he realised with absolute certainty, felt it with his whole entity that he was loved and that life was beautiful.

And then it was so beautiful he thought he must be dreaming.

The pleasure he had found inside Faramir’s body had been like nothing anyone had ever given him – but the pleasure Faramir gave him by going into his body…

And as all his muscles flexed sharply – then slackened – and trembled with blissful exhaustion, he sighed with a long shuddering sigh of deepest, most genuine happiness, and spilt profusely over his brother’s and his own abdomens. It seemed to him only natural that Faramir, feeling his pleasure, followed suit at once, so that the essences of their release mixed and blended, and it was absolutely impossible to tell where was Boromir’s, and where Faramir’s. And they made it even more impossible by rubbing gently against each other, spreading all the steaming seed across their bellies and chests, irreversibly merging it – just as their tongues were unhurriedly merging the moisture of their mouths.

At last, when even the faintest tremors of pleasure had died away, Faramir gently slid out of his lover’s relaxed heat, at which Boromir grinned lazily and heaved a sigh of blissful fatigue.

He knew he would be coming back for that sensation – maybe even later that very night.

Some minutes later, when they were still soft and perfectly sated, Faramir leant in to kiss Boromir on the neck to keep him from dozing off.

“You know how I’d like to do this next time?” the younger man murmured with a thoughtful smile.

“Already making plans for the next time, are we?” Boromir asked half-sleepily, and pulled his lover closer, tightening their embrace.

“That’s what I had been doing for the better part of my adult life, brother – imagining how I would pleasure you. ‘Tis not a habit easy to let go of.”

“Nor one necessary to let go off. Go on, tell me how you want it.”

“Well…” Faramir grinned, starting to languidly caress Boromir on the shoulder and side. “I’ve noticed it works better for you, when you have… some sort of a distraction, something to occupy yourself with.”

“Oh? Such as?”

“Such as, maybe… giving me a little pleasure in return, right?” Faramir began unhurriedly. “So I was thinking, we could do it like this. I would lie on my back, propped up on a couple of pillows – and you would straddle me on the chest, only the other way around, facing away from me. That would make it very convenient for you to pump my cock, and then you would bend over to… you know, lick on it, or suck it, or do something along those lines…”

“Aye, but that would bring my arse right into your face,” Boromir pointed out warily.

“But exactly!” Faramir grinned brightly. “That is the whole point, brother dear. I had always wanted to… mm, get a closer look at it. I would start by caressing you wonderful buttocks, maybe reach underneath you to fondle with your balls a little – you do like that, don’t you? And I would reach around you to stroke your cock, for I love the feeling of your hardness in my hand. Then I would raise myself up a bit to bring my mouth to that sweet warmth between your legs. And while my hand works at your prick, I would lick you everywhere, Boromir. Lap at you, and lave you, and tickle you with the tip of my tongue. Maybe even suck on your balls from behind – that would feel nice, don’t you think?”

“I suppose it could, perhaps,” the older brother replied in playful uncertainty. He brought his hand up to twist Faramir’s hair between his fingers. “Well, and then?”

“Then I would go dragging my tongue all the way up that sensitive strip of skin between your cheeks, my dear – yes, all the way to the base of your spine. And then back down – and back up again. You would shiver, and sigh, and grow impatient, and start sucking on my cock quite hard – but I would be very slow.”

“You think you’re going to be so in control of yourself when I suck you hard, like you say?” Boromir asked with a skeptical grin, moving a stray lock aside to plant a soft kiss on his brother’s neck, then nibbled on the smooth skin just a little.

Faramir inhaled deeply and pressed himself yet closer against his lover’s body. “Well… I reckon it would be in your best interest not to be too enthusiastic with your service, or else I would come, and then you would have nothing else to do.”

“Oh, I would think of something, I am sure,” Boromir murmured meaningfully.

“I don’t know how well you would be able to think by then. Because, I believe, it would be time for the next thing I have in mind…”

“Which is?”

“Which is, of course, licking at your hole, brother beloved.”

Boromir narrowed his eyes admiringly. “Faramir, you are wicked.”

“Mmm, and you like that, don’t you…? And you would like it even more when my tongue starts caressing you on that tender place, very lightly and carefully, drawing little circles around and going right across. I suppose that at first your muscles would involuntarily contract at my touch – but soon you would be enjoying it so much, and yearning for more so much, that you would relax, and then,” Faramir smiled dreamily, “and then I would be able to ease my tongue into that sugar arse of yours.”

Boromir crooked his brow doubtfully. “You would do that?”

“To you – yes. I have tasted your cock, and I would like to taste you from the other side as well. Besides, your arse felt so divine around my fingers, I reckon it would be even more so around my tongue.”

Boromir sucked his teeth. “Damn it, Faramir, you should have tried seducing me years ago – I swear, it would have worked.”

“Hmm, well… We shall just have to make up for it now, won’t we?”

“Oh, absolutely. So then, what would you do?” Boromi murmured huskily, bringing his face so close to Faramir’s that when the younger man spoke, his lips brushed against Boromir’s.

“Then I would lick into you, as far as my tongue would go. You would be tight, of course, and my tongue would be soft, so I would have to push really hard,” he smiled at Boromir’s rather sharp intake of breath. “Then I would withdraw to just lick around your hole, very gently and playfully,” he showed how by swiping his tongue along the outline of Boromir’s mouth, lightly and teasingly. “And then I would thrust all the way into you again. Oh, you would love it, Boromir, I can tell… I would make you so wet, you would hardly need any oil at all.”

“And then…?” Boromir whispered breathlessly into the warmth of Faramir’s mouth.

“And then, I would pull out of you to drag my tongue along the cleft of your bum, my dear – but to your arse I would take my hand. You would be really hungry for my touch by then, and you would accept my finger easily. Slowly, I would insert it all the way into you,” Faramir paused to lick Boromir’s lower lip, “and then I would push back and forth, twisting to press on that sweet place inside your body…”

He paused, making Boromir shift against him impatiently.

“Yes, and…? Go on…”

“Oh, I was just imagining what you would be doing to my cock with your mouth in the meantime.”

“My mouth would probably be too busy moaning.”

“Perhaps… But then, you always have your hands, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Boromir moved one of said hands to rest on Faramir’s hip casually.

“Good, because, possibly, you would need both of them. You see, after I’ve worked two fingers into you, I would maybe like to add a third. Nay, don’t fret, I would lave at it generously, and anyway, it would not be the ring finger of the hand that’s already in you, because that would make it too wide for your comfort. Nay, it would be the index one of my other hand – I would ease it in on top of the other two, so I could give you more thickness without making it too broad.”

“Oh, that sounds very good – but for that you would have to take your hand away from my cock.”

“Unfortunately, yes. But I am sure you would think what to do about that. Oh, and I would lean back on the pillow, watching my fingers disappear into your tightness: disappear again and again. And it would feel so mighty good for you, you would hump back at me with your hips.”

“I would?”

“Oh yes, take my word for it. Maybe, who knows, I wouldn’t even have to move my hands at all, maybe you would do all the work and just fuck yourself on my fingers. Ah, pity I wouldn’t be able to see your face…”

“Nor I yours… But come, tell me how it’s going to end.”

“How? But don’t you know? To the shared enjoyment of both parties, of course.”

“Oh, I am aware of that. I mean, how exactly? You seem to have thought it through to the smallest detail…”

“Up to that point, yes. But after… I don’t know, my love. Maybe you would like us to keep going like that, so eventually I would pour my pleasure into the sweetness of your mouth, and you would come onto my belly. Or maybe you would find yourself yearning for yet more girth, and then…”

“What, you would put another finger into me?” Boromir asked teasingly, surprising himself by speaking so lightly of four fingers up his arse.

Faramir grinned. “I think you know perfectly well what I would do then. But first, let us get there, and then we shall see.”

“Indeed,” Boromir agreed leniently, and sealed Faramir’s mouth with a long profound kiss. “Mmm… I love it when you talk like that,” he murmured after a while, and trailed his mouth lazily along Faramir’s jaw. “You know, from now on, I want you to talk to me only of sex – and nothing else.”

“Nothing else at all?” Faramir raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that look supposed to imply?”

“I was merely thinking… I suppose you have changed your opinion about Lord Aragorn, huh?”

“Concerning?” Boromir was a little more alert now.

“Concerning your doubts.”

“Well,” Boromir grinned uncertainly, “in a way, I am even more suspicious of him now. You see, I… it may seem very silly to you, but I am under the impression that… he has a soft spot for you.”

Faramir let out a soft snort. “Oh, I believe he does.”

Frowning sternly, Boromir propped himself up on his elbow. “What, has something happened between the two of you? And this time I do want to know.”

“No, nothing has happened, not really.”

“How do you mean ‘not really’?”

Faramir’s grinned in amusement. “Valar, Boromir, we have been lovers for – what, about three hours? – and you are jealous already.”

“Are you positive there is absolutely nothing for me to be jealous about?”

“Well, there’s merely been a… um, a mutual acknowledgement of… a certain kind of interest.”

“Mutual acknowledgement?”

“Come, Boromir,” Faramir laughed fondly, “don’t you find him attractive?”

“I… what?!”

Faramir raised his eyebrows skeptically.

Boromir felt his cheeks flush with colour. “Faramir! What on Middle-earth got you thinking I would…?!”

Faramir rolled his eyes. “Brother, you may succeed when it comes to feigning indifference – but outraged indignation… sorry, that’s not something you are good at.”

“Oh, well,” Boromir chuckled awkwardly, then, encouraged by his brother’s look, went on: “admittedly, he’s… he’s all right.”

“Care to be a little more specific?”

“No. I don’t see why we are even talking about this.”

“Because,” Faramir replied patiently, “I have told you that I like him, and you find that unsettling. So either you can lose your sleep worrying something would eventually come to pass between him and myself, which, well, who knows… Given there are going to be more military campaigns, and I would be going along with him as the general he has made me… Besides, I’m not exactly accustomed to monogamy just yet, so –”

Boromir’s whole body went so tense as though Faramir had unexpectedly smacked him, and the Steward stared at him in such utter shock, that the younger man’s playful smile evaporated, and he sighed heavily. “Ah, you really can’t tell when I’m being serious and when I’m only joking, can you? Look, all I’m trying to say is that this is not something we can pretend just doesn’t exist, and it would actually be better for both of us, if we address the matter together.”

“This is not a matter I want to address at all,” Boromir grumbled stubbornly.

“But you did say you liked him.”

“I have said no such thing, I only acknowledged that he was all right,” Boromir argued back, although a little less obstinately this time.

Faramir sighed. “Is that truly, absolutely truly all you can say in the man’s favour?”

Boromir averted his eyes and exhaled wearily. “You know well enough I’m just being a little spiteful, Faramir. Don’t take me wrong, I don’t want to be possessive or anything, but how can I possibly share you?”

Faramir chuckled gently. “No one’s talking of sharing, my love. It’s not like he would fuck me, and you would just stand there and watch. If there are things you are not comfortable with – well, then we just won’t do them. There is more than one way to pleasure a man, as I suppose you know by now. I am sure we can think of something that would suit everyone.”

“Everyone? Mind you, if anything were to happen, ever – which I doubt, Aragorn wouldn’t be getting any say in it: he would just have to be bloody grateful for getting anything at all.”

Faramir laughed delightedly. “Oh, I can already see what turn the things would take… But for now, pray go ahead and tell me what you like about him. Get used to it, brother, I like talking of these things.”

“Aye, so I’ve noticed. Well, Aragorn…” Boromir paused thoughtfully, “He is special in a way. He has sort of a… like an aura around himself, that makes you aware of him… you know, physically. And his gaze, too… it can be quite unsettling sometimes, making you feel like you’ve got nothing on.”

Faramir nodded in obvious pleasure, prodding him on. “You are very accurate in your descriptions, pray go on.”

Boromir grinned, beginning to actually enjoy this talk. “His hands, did you notice his hands, Faramir? They are not as smooth and lovely-looking as yours, but… When he tended to my wounds, his touch… you know, I liked it a lot, very… clever, kind and attentive, but there was confidence, too – and strength. I mean, if that hand were to grab you around the cock, it wouldn’t be too gentle, right? Well, that is, of course, theoretically… It’s not like I actually –”

“Boromir…?”

“Yes?”

“You are growing hard.”

“Oh… so I am,” Boromir wondered how he had overlooked that. “But that’s only because of you lying here next to me, and of all those dirty things you said to me previously…” he objected feebly, not particularly convincing even himself.

Faramir rolled his eyes and, wrapping his arm over Boromir’s waist, pulled him closer. “Of course, brother, whatever… We are only toying with the idea, after all… Only don’t forget… You and I are so happy, we have each other,” at this he went to demonstrate just how happy he was by pushing his hips against Boromir’s, thus making their growing arousals meet, and inhaled deeply when Boromir immediately pushed back at him. “And we have Lord Aragorn to thank for it, don’t you agree? But Lord Aragorn himself…” Faramir went on in a murmur, his voice growing sultry as he pressed himself even tighter against Boromir’s body, “he seems to me somewhat forlorn, even a little lonely perhaps – especially as of late… And his coronation is in less than a fortnight – don’t you think it would be rather a shame to have him retire to a cold bed after all the celebrations of that day?” This last part he whispered against Boromir’s throat, and when Boromir laughed, Faramir felt it with his lips.

“Good Valar, Faramir – are you feeling sorry for him? The man has everything…”

“He doesn’t have you,” Faramir pointed out, trailing his mouth along the edge of Boromir’s ear, then biting him ever so gently on the lobe.

Although the sensation made Boromir’s breath catch and his loins fill with blood to an almost uncomfortable degree, he managed to chuckle dismissively. “But seriously, what makes you think he would want me? I’ve never noticed any…”

“Well, in my case, I hadn’t noticed any interest either, until actually… well, never mind. I’m only saying he would know how to keep these things to himself, don’t you think? Of course he would want you – unless he is utterly insane, which he does not exactly seem to be.”

“You are biased…”

“Not that biased. But, oh, let us first attend to this more urgent matter, and leave the King in peace until later – unless, of course, you think we should drop the idea altogether, lest His Majesty be offended by the idea of lying with two men at once, especially brothers…”

“Nay, I don’t think he would be offended, not at all.”

“That’s good, Boromir, very good…”

End

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