Faramir Fiction Archive

Perfect Peach (NC-17)

Written by Kissa

22 December 2007 | 5364 words

Title: Perfect Peach
Author: Kissa
Beta by Pati cuddles
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Imrahil/Faramir
Warnings: AU elements, incest, first time
A/N: Both Faramir and Imrahil share the looks Tolkien assigned in his book to the men of Dol Amroth, tall, fair-skinned, with raven black hair and clear grey eyes.
Summary: Faramir decides to stop tormenting himself and finds strength and a small measure of comfort.

Written for the 2007 Midwinter Swap

Request by Kimber Leigh: Imrahil/Faramir — Faramir had been sent to Dol Amroth to foster with his Uncle. How do he and Imrahil celebrate the eve of Faramir’s 18th birthday and his last night in Dol Amroth. Drunkenness and debauchery and good. Hot raunchy sex is better. Faramir’s first time fic would probably make my panties melt ;)

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Chapter 1

Faramir writes, remembering…

It came to me as the best birthday present ever. And although I felt sorry for leaving the bliss of childhood, this —he— came to me as the one compensation I wanted, but never dared to ask for.

Father had always treated me with scorn. On bad days, it would burst into disgust and he would scream to me I was not of his flesh. On good days, he would ignore me completely.

Boromir, my elder brother, was not just that for me. He appointed himself my mother, my confidant, my friend, my trainer.

Never, not for one second did I think he was corrupting me or that what we were doing was somehow sinful. It wasn’t like we were going to sire degenerate progeny. My cup of love was empty, although Boromir had done his best to share some of his.

Boromir: Acquainted to longing

It happened one cold February morning, in the snow-cloaked garden. We had wrestled in the snow, Boromir shirtless and clad only in breeches and boots, and I in my nightshirt, as he had ambushed me from sleep and carried me outside, flopping me into the snow.

We did not mind the cold, the fact that we were wet or that we could catch a serious cold. We were giggling , so unfit of warriors to be, and we were tickling each other.

Boromir’s eyes were sparkling, his face was slightly flushed and warm although he was feeling the cold just like I did. I saw all this lying in the snow, straddled by him as he tickled me, and my breath caught in my throat. He was beautiful in that perfect moment. Not handsome, not attractive, but beautiful and my whole body was asserting this truth to me via all my senses. Wave after wave of melting heat washed over me as I looked up at him. And then he looked at me. His gaze held mine longer than was safe, his smile faded a bit and he stopped in his tickling of my ribs. He pressed his lips softly over mine and I froze. I didn’t know what his gesture meant, but my intuition told me it was a way of showing me something hidden, of sharing a part of his soul with me. I took in his breath and opened my mouth as if to receive the whole of him, but he settled for retreating and watching me in silence, a serious look on his face.

He then helped me up and we went to our room to warm up by the fire, huddled up into the same blanket like kittens, as usual.

From that day on, Boromir never ceased to be beautiful in my eyes. He was my entire world.

One day I asked him if he would do that thing with the lips again. He looked at me, amused, and asked me why. I didn’t know why, I couldn’t point at a reason. I just fidgeted and flushed.

Then he bid me to come closer to him and sit on his lap. I did, and he held me. He ran his fingers through my hair and caressed my scalp with his fingers, and then I released a sound so strange to me, one I’d never made before. His hands… his magical hands were in all the places at one time, his eyes had come to life, sparkling and translucent from the afternoon sun, as he was sitting in a chair by the window and I on his knees.

He said “I am going to kiss you now, little one.” And he did that wonderful thing again with his lips. Only this time he didn’t retreat to look at me, but instead put his thumb on my chin and tugged a bit for me to open. After that, I remember being a wee bit shocked at feeling the wetness of his tongue in my mouth, but got used to it fairly quick and after that… nothing. As if he had used some magic trick to erase my memories. I do remember feeling warm and cuddled, like in the times I was a baby and mother sat in the rocking chair holding me and singing.

He tucked me in that evening and kissed me again right before blowing out the candle.

Then spring came and father received a new stallion from Rohan. After a few days, he got bored of examining and admiring the new addition to his stables, so the stallion was let into the enclosure where the mares were and Boromir and I went to watch him. The two of us never referred to animals as “it”, probably because we both felt more comfortable around animals and their genuine nature. Boromir was by now old enough to have experienced people’s treachery, and I’d never been a congenial boy.

The stallion suddenly climbed on top of a mare and I laughed at how awkward they looked, making all sorts of high-pitched neighing sounds that I had never heard before. Boromir did not laugh though and he gave me a stern look which reminded me of father so well that it took all my mirth away. He then continued to watch the horses in fascination and from time to time I saw him spy on me from the corner of his eye.

“Soldiers are not allowed to do this.” He said regretfully, startling me. My eyes bulged out of their sockets and I asked, confused:

“Surely you do not want to replace the stallion?!”

He looked at me outraged and then his features softened, his face relaxed into a smile and he laughed heartily, hugging me.

That left me even more puzzled. What had that been about?

That evening, Boromir came to my room and climbed into my bed, nudging me to move over and make some room. Through the layers of cotton fabric covering us, I felt his body, hot and flush against mine as he settled for sleep, holding me close. I was too warm to sleep so I lay there in his arms, not daring to move lest I wake him.

I fell asleep near the morning as the air got colder from the fire dying out… Boromir maintained his strong grip around me, as if he was afraid I’d want to leave or someone would come peel me away.

He was watching me when I awoke, propped up on an elbow and a finger tracing my profile, lingering a moment more on my lips, which I opened and swiftly bit his finger, careful though not to hurt him. I smiled up at him. Morning had not come yet and I was unwilling to chase sleep away. He was aware of this and his eyes asked for permission for him to play with me some more, which I gave, fully trusting my brother.

His fingers traced my neck, mindful not to tickle and annoy me, then lingered for long moments in my hair. He was the only one with so much power over me, able to take away even the sharpest pain with a numbing peck on my lips, by running his hands through my hair or by kissing the back of my neck unexpectedly. That always sent electricity coursing through me. And I suspect he took some gratification of his own from doing this.

I never questioned his gestures, one, because they always felt so incredibly good, and two, because I trusted him more than I trusted myself.

Although I wondered why he never ever touched me while others were present. Not even a handshake or a pat on the back.

Imrahil: Princes with deadly secrets

And then I got sent away to Prince Imrahil’s realm, “to make a man out of myself”, father had said. Dol Amroth was much to my liking and my uncle seemed to love me more than father ever did.

Uncle Imrahil was a strange and captivating man. A leader of warriors, he did not refrain from displaying his cuddlesome penchant out in public. Although his sword never left his side, and the daggers their sheaths along his flanks, he shine brightly with the will to live and enjoy life. Like my mother, from what I had seen on portraits of her, his skin was fair and his hair was thick and charcoal black, his noble features speaking of their great common descent. But the most enthralling part of uncle Imrahil were his eyes, a cold grey which lit up and warmed at my sight.

He had many ladies in his favors, and he was never discreet when it came to showering them with his attentions. He was also very fond of a few particularly fair young men, and that made me wonder. His household was a large and merry one, and I didn’t seem to fit in.

There was always a party in the evening. Dinner was a loud, gay reunion, and soon it became a very stressful moment of the day for me, as uncle Imrahil always ruffled my hair in front of everyone else, kissed my cheeks loudly and hugged the breath out of me, praising me as if I’d stolen Anor from the skies and brought her to him every time he had word of my progress from my tutors.

In truth, and without any false modesty, my sword and bow skills got better every day. I had little else on my mind. Except for the image of Boromir, who was ever on my mind, subliminally during the day and active at night, when he came to haunt my restless sleep. His hands would be on me, soothing my tension with gentle, yet firm caresses to my chest and back.

During those nights, when I would lie in my bed, between the soft silk sheets uncle Imrahil liked having in all his rooms, my whole body would tingle in real excitement at the feel of Boromir’s dreamy touches and lying on my belly would become real torture. I struggled to keep this a secret, sleeping naked and with towels under me, washing the towels first thing after I woke.

I did not know why this was happening to me, I did not want it and I certainly did not enjoy it. It was like a sickness… which at times never ceased. My member would throb and harden even while I was training, clad only in breeches and with no shirt or tunic to hide my embarrassment.

Uncle Imrahil discreetly saw my struggle and I think he wanted to help and thought the solution was to send girls and boys to me… but I was in no mood for toying around… anyway, one time I was with this boy the same age as me, who worked as a companion at one of the fun houses, and he stuck his hand down my breeches, touched me and I nearly bolted into the ceiling. I didn’t harden though. He tried other things too but after a while just laughed at me and left. I shrugged. All I wanted was to be left alone, finish my training and return home to prove to father I was a man after all, or in any case, on my way to become one.

Of course that boy had a big mouth too, and so, after the rather embarrassing encounter, even the maidens would turn away from my path, chuckling and giving me unconcealed thousand meter stares. At least they left me alone.

Even uncle Imrahil tried some veiled approaches on me… no, nothing to make me feel threatened or uncomfortable, he was just trying to find out why I was shying away from young people my age.

He gave up quickly, seeing my discomfort. “I am sorry for testing your patience with the … companions I sent to bother you. I could not have been more off-base.”

All I wanted was to be left alone. My misery was too shameful to share and to hard to live with.

Ithilien: Simple Things

Time went by and here I was, at seventeen, the best archer in the entire land, able to compete even with the elves, which uncle Imrahil made me do anyway, every time an elven warrior came to his court.

I was aware of the many eyes that were following me around, but I did not care about them. My greatest desire was to be allowed to return to Minas Tirith and prove my worth in Father’s and Boromir’s eyes.

One day a courier arrived, bringing uncle Imrahil a scroll bearing the seal of the Steward. Imrahil called me to his council chambers and read the scroll aloud. It said I was to leave for a secret outpost in Ithilien, to finish my training and to be tested by the Rangers.

One morning, I was woken up very early and a beautiful brown mare was given to me, all saddled up and ready. Uncle Imrahil came and hugged me, then left without looking back, as if he was afraid he would break down if he carried on looking at me.

Apparently the mare knew where she had to take me, and I shriveled down in my cloak, sensing a chill.

We covered many miles in silence, except for the times when the mare would turn to look at me as if to make sure I was alright, and I would soothe her concerns by speaking to her in a low, even voice. I loved the bond that seemed to be forming between us, the animal was almost treating me as her colt, not as its rider. Manlier men would have minded, but I didn’t. Few had been the times when I had felt the warmth of motherly care.

In the company of Rangers, I found life very easy and to my liking. Ithilien was a wondrous wood realm, and I learned all her secrets fast. Accompanied by Lisse’Roch, my patient and wise mare, I went on scouting and stalking missions all over Ithilien and sometimes beyond. Days would pass without me seeing anyone or using speech. Lisse’Roch and I had developed our own language and we would understand each other without the need for words.

The captain who supervised my training was a stern, pensive man who did not make it easy for me because I was the son of the Steward. On the contrary, he gave me the most difficult and most perilous missions. And I was most grateful for this.

Night would often find me up a tree, lounging on a branch which had been chosen as my makeshift bed, away from dangers and orc attacks.

It was not surprising that I had become somewhat feral, the same way one would say about an animal. The one thing I missed from the city was the well-lit, warm library, where I used to curl up with books when I was a boy… that seemed such a long time ago! Soon I would be eighteen and my passage into manhood did not make me look forward to it. There would be no more lenience towards my many flaws, be they imagined or not; the expectations would be ever-increasing and although I did my best to meet them, I always seemed to fail.

It was on cold lonely patrol nights that I wished I would remain a Ranger forever.

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