Faramir Fiction Archive

Reunion (NC-17)

Written by Empy

24 May 2005 | 2343 words

Title: Reunion
Author: Empy [Email]
Pairing: Faramir/Boromir
Fandom: LotR FPS
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer:The characters belong to the Tolkien estate. No infringement is intended.
Warning(s): consensual sibcest
Summary: A welcome return.
Feedback: Yes, please.
A/N: Thanks to Darkie for the speedy beta, and to Faramir_Boromir for unknowingly giving me a push in the right direction.

---

The heavy door of Merethrond swung shut behind them, abruptly cutting off the sound of carousing that issued from within the great hall.

“You would think that you had come back from the dead, so loud is their merriment,” smiled Boromir.

“They are entitled to it,” said Faramir, tightening his hold on Boromir’s shoulders. “So many weeks of scouting wakes a thirst in them, and I have no doubt they will drain every vat of drink brought into the hall. They are celebrating the safe return of their fellow soldiers as much as they are celebrating my return.”

“I have wine from better stock in my rooms, if you are still thirsty.”

“So you keep the best to yourself? What would the men say if they found out you have served them inferior drink?”

Boromir found the pace of his steps quickened the closer they got to his rooms, and to his amusement he noted that Faramir matched him in pace without apparent thought.

No sooner had the latch clicked into place behind them than Faramir claimed his mouth in a greedy kiss. He himself took his time, cradling the back of Faramir’s head as he deepened the kiss. Sweet poison, this, but poison he gladly drank. The drapes were drawn shut to shield them from the chill gusts of wind that howled through the Citadel, and the room was lit only by a few lamps guttering in each of the four corners.

His hands moved without aid of his thoughts, it seemed, and though the room was chill, his skin burned as he divested both himself and Faramir of what to him were all too restrictive garments. He caught Faramir looking at him, and asked with a smile: “Is everything the same?”

“It is more handsome, if anything,” Faramir said, drawing his fingertips over a half-healed bruise on Boromir’s flank. “There is no need for improvement, not to my eyes.”

“You were never impartial,” Boromir said. “And in this moment, I think you speak far too much.” He clasped Faramir’s shoulders, stealing a kiss as he did so, and walked his brother slowly backward toward the bed. There was no need for careful questioning or courtship, not at a moment like this when need overrode courtesy. Faramir went with him willingly, and gave a content sigh as he settled to lie on the bed.

“To think something so simple can be so enjoyable,” Faramir mused quietly, drawing his hands slowly over Boromir’s bare thigh. “It is weeks since I even rested in a proper bed.” Their breaths mingled as he leaned close to Boromir, and he could see the smile on his face. It was a warm and genuine smile, and Faramir rested with such careless ease in his arms.

“You know not how overjoyed I am that you have returned once more,” Boromir said, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Perhaps not,” smiled Faramir, “but I would gladly listen to you telling me.”

“I prefer not to use words,” said Boromir, swiftly moving to pin Faramir under him. “They do not always express what I wish to say.” He leaned down, his longer hair brushing Faramir’s neck and chest. There were no words traded between them for a long moment after that, only kisses.

Boromir drew his hand down along Faramir’s side, counting off ribs as he went, briefly cupping the warm arch of a bare hip. Faramir shifted lazily, the lean curve of his body settling against Boromir’s front as though they were two parts of the same being, effortlessly melding. The heat of their bodies had warmed the sheets, and they rustled softly as he shifted, sliding his thigh between Faramir’s legs.

“I have missed this,” sighed Faramir, smiling into the kiss that followed. “The nights on the battlefield are cold and lonely.”

“Then take a soldier to warm your cot,” said Boromir, his tone soft.

“I want a commander at least, not a soldier. A Captain-General, perhaps,” Faramir grinned, spreading his legs wider. “Only the finest contents me.”

“I did not think you to be one swayed by authority. Only the finest, you say?” he asked, supporting his weight on his arms as he leaned down to kiss Faramir again. The kiss was long and deep enough to leave him winded, and he rested his forehead against Faramir’s for a moment. “Tell me, am I worthy?” he teased, dropping to lie atop Faramir.

In reply, Faramir laced his fingers into Boromir’s hair to pull him close, nose to nose, and then softly said: “Convince me you are.” The words were accompanied with a wide smile that seemed to promise Boromir everything.

“Ah, so that is what you have taken to calling it,” asked Boromir, stealing another deep kiss. “Convincing. Does it take much or little convincing to satisfy you, Faramir?” he asked, sliding his hand down between Faramir’s legs.

Faramir closed his eyes, giving a soft and satisfied sigh. “It depends on how skilled you are,” he said.

“How you enjoy playing with words, brother dear,” laughed Boromir. “I wish to pleasure you in a manner fit for a King, and you only jest.”

Faramir gave a short little gasp in reply as Boromir’s questing hands found what they sought. Boromir smiled, stroking the heated flesh to full hardness, delighted by the ease with which he could get his brother to respond to his touches. He tugged the sheets further down with his free hand, exasperated when they snarled around his wrist.

“I wish to look at you,” he said, narrowing his eyes appreciatively. “It is all too rare that I get to feast my eyes on a sight like this.”

Faramir twisted a little where he rested, finally settling the palms of his hands on Boromir’s thighs. “Do you forget my features so quickly?” he asked. “Should you need to be reminded, please tell me. It would not do to have you fail to recognize your own brother.” He walked his fingers slowly up the thin-skinned inside of Boromir’s thighs, and Boromir leaned his head back, giving a content mumble. A sweet heat in the touches, a pleasure he could lose himself in easily.

“Oh, I would recognize you,” he laughed. “Though perhaps I would have to remove your clothes to be absolutely certain.”

“Fool,” said Faramir, but tempered the statement with a wide smile. “You are addled, that is quite clear.”

“And you are not?” Boromir asked in return. “Then we should make use of the wine.” Grasping the flagon of wine placed on the bedstand, Boromir took a long pull from the bottle. The wine was sweet, laced with honey to make it thicker. Tilting the flagon, Boromir let a dash of the crimson drink spatter over Faramir’s chest and stomach, then bent down, licking the liquid off. The salt of Faramir’s skin melded with the sweet wine, reminding Boromir of the taste of the younger man’s seed.

“A wise man¹ once said wine is favourable to lovers,” said Faramir, closing his eyes. “He said it inspires them at once with boldness and vigour.”

Boromir scarce had time to consider the statement before he was toppled backward. Faramir seemed unusually bold, Boromir noted, taking control as though it belonged to him by rote, but Boromir was more than happy to relinquish it. He gave a short laugh as he felt Faramir nip at his neck, and took a hold of Faramir’s hair. “Not the neck,” he said. “I must be presentable to my troops.”

“Not the neck, then,” grinned Faramir. “But elsewhere?”

“Feel free,” challenged Boromir, then trapped a curse in his teeth as Faramir set his skilled fingers to work.

The first burn of lust was pleasant, reminding him of how much he had missed this. Kisses were plentiful, seen as needed not just because of their sweetness but also to mask any incriminating sounds. His chest hurt from keeping down every sound louder than a whisper, and he dug his fingers into Faramir’s back. He enjoyed ceding control, enjoyed seeing how Faramir’s eyes darkened with lust.

“Stay down, if you please,” murmured Faramir as he pinned Boromir’s wrists to the bed. “I think it is time someone commanded you for a change.” Moving to straddle Boromir, he bent his head to kiss his brother’s neck, trailing his tongue up to the delicate shell of Boromir’s ear.

“Do you want this?” Boromir asked, knowing full well the answer. “Is this what you desire?”

“Yes,” said Faramir, lacing his fingers into Boromir’s hair.

“Then take me,” challenged Boromir. He settled on his back, watching with half-closed eyes how Faramir reached for a small jar of salve that had sat waiting on the bedstand. All seemed to have been planned on his part, a seduction laid out in no less detail than a battle. Yet, no guesswork on his part could have prepared Boromir for the sheer eroticism of watching Faramir ready himself, his eyes closing as he stroked the thick ointment onto his erect cock.

“Forgive the lack of ceremony,” said Faramir, a laugh turning up the corners of his mouth. “Need has no law.” In response, Boromir spread his legs wider, digging his heels into the mattress.

“I do not intend to protest,” he answered, his voice catching mid-statement.

Bending his knees, Boromir braced the heels of his feet against the edge of the bed. Faramir gave a smile that was wholly demonic in its satisfaction, and he redoubled his efforts, stretching and stroking against the hidden spot inside Boromir that had him think he would surely die if it went on much longer.

Faramir paused, looking down at Boromir, his gaze deep with heat. Sliding his hand up the planes of Boromir’s chest, he worried the hardened nipple with long, skilled fingers. He no longer seemed apprehensive or even shy; indeed, he seemed almost lascivious. The wine had tinted his lips a deeper red, his hair was tousled, and his breathing rapid.

“Yes,” Boromir said, voice already hoarse.

The single word was enough to encourage Faramir, who leaned forward, positioning himself. Taking a deep breath, he pushed forward, stopping halfway, a sharp breath hissing from between his clenched teeth. Boromir had fisted his hands into the bed-covers, breathing in gasps. He knew this sensation, but it seemed new and fiery each time. He pushed back, meeting Faramir’s thrust halfway. Slowly, the pace increased, and Boromir found the pelt he rested on slid against his back in a caress of its own, heightening the already heady sensation.

The pace was brutal, but his nerves were fairly crackling with life. After days and weeks of solitude, this revived him far better than any amount of rest. Faramir’s skin was slick with sweat, and as Boromir pressed his palms against Faramir’s back, he could feel their heartbeats double in a crazed rhythm. He met each thrust, his breath catching and hitching as desperately as though he were drowning. The walls of the chamber had melted back into the darkness, their surroundings becoming meaningless.

He could feel Faramir dig his nails into his sides, but the smarting pain only addled him further. Faramir swore softly under his breath once, then fell silent. Boromir could feel Faramir’s long hair brush his chest, and he closed his eyes as he felt Faramir press a hard kiss to his temple. They were both blind now, seeking out each other as though the two of them were the only fixed points in a storm. He gave a harsh groan, and immediately Faramir pressed his fingers to his mouth. He knew what it implied; that he would have to stifle any and all sounds lest they attract undue attention.

His breaths were hisses now, short and sharp, as irregular as his heartbeat. Each of Faramir’s thrusts seemed deeper than the one preceding it. This was something he had rarely allowed his other lovers, but was there anything at all he could deny Faramir? He thought not.

The sight of Faramir’s face at the peak of his passion, the blushed cheeks and the knitted brows, was enough to have his heart beat unevenly. His nails were cut short, but he could still feel them bite into his palms as he clenched his fists tightly. The climax wrung the air from his lungs, a sweet and swift undoing.

Faramir settled to lie on his stomach, nuzzling his blushed face against the cool bedsheets. He was still breathing heavily, his eyes closed.

This was a wild weakness of his, Boromir reflected, the long curve of Faramir’s naked back as he stretched out in the wide bed. He traced his tongue lightly up the deep furrow along the spine, tasting the salt. “Are you sated yet?” he teased, planting his hands on both sides of Faramir’s hips.

“You are utterly hopeless,” murmured Faramir, his voice muffled by the pillows. “We have wasted the entire night in bed and you ask for more. I have no strength left.”

“Care to make a wager? You cannot have spent all your energy already,” cajoled Boromir, placing tiny kisses along Faramir’s paler shoulder. “It is not yet morning,” he went on. “Daybreak, perhaps, but certainly not morning.”

“I will not be able to walk if you go on,” said Faramir, his voice now distinctly tinged with laughter. “And what will people say then?”

“That their Captain merely overindulged. You know the saying, surely, how drunken nights make cloudy mornings?”

“As well as the one about how wit goes out where wine goes in,” laughed Faramir, silencing him with a kiss.

[END]

¹ The “wise man” that Faramir quotes is actually John Dryden, and the comment is a footnote in his translation of Ars Amatoria.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/reunion. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!