Faramir Fiction Archive

Warriors of Gondor (NC-17)

Written by Hel

14 May 2012 | 182144 words | Work in Progress

Part 9: LOYALTY

They walked through the marketplace, Faramir at times almost dragging his brother to examine another local curiosity. He’d developed a keen interest in what could be found in the villages of Gondor. Laughing at his brother’s antics, Boromir took pleasure in just being with him. Faramir would later write a concise and elaborate report to their father justifying their day of leisure, his keen eye ever noticing the little things that showed the mood of the people. His journal entry for Boromir would be completely different with many references to how good he looked in a certain light or color, what impulsive act he longed to do in their wanderings. There were numbers accompanied by a code, which told how many times he managed to touch him in public. Often there would be just a quick cupping of a hand on ass or cock, concealed by a drape of fabric or other cover. Sometimes he would use their closeness in a crowd to rub suggestively against him and occasionally they would be observed. A few of the observers had later ended up sharing the brothers’ bed for the night, while some had turned away scandalized.

They were drawn to a cleared area where two women danced to the music of drum and lute. Their long dark hair hung to their knees as they moved sinuously to the music. Boromir recognized the women’s features as those from the north, maybe Esgaroth or the region of Eriador. Pressing tightly against his brother, Boromir rested his chin on his shoulder as he watched. Then he clearly saw their faces. Matching each other feature for feature he realized that they were identical.

“What do you think, brother?” he asked Faramir, who hadn’t moved.

“Esgaroth, and twins,” was the husky reply. “They are unmarried, and the musicians are probably brothers or uncles. I like them, brother.”

“As do I, do you think they might want to play with us a while?” Boromir asked.

Noting the condition of their clothes and equipment, Faramir thought of what he knew about such people. The wrong wording of an offer could bring mortal insult to some tribes, but he thought he could come to an agreement with them. “I think they just might, brother,” he finally answered, leaning back into the warm body behind him. He placed his hand on his belt buckle and caught the eye of each dancer briefly. They smiled at him, obviously welcoming, so he turned his attention to the three men. The lute player was the obvious leader, the two drummers caught up in their music. He acknowledged Faramir’s interest with a slight nod, not missing a note.

It was pleasant to watch the women dance and listen to the men play; the brother’s were in no hurry. They’d already conducted a preliminary investigation into the status of the town, and were waiting for the arrival of their men, who were due soon, before approaching the mayor. After all, they weren’t dressed in their usual attire being incognito for the moment. There had been too many mysterious occurrences in the area and they were going to find out what was causing them.

As the music and dancing drew to a close the brothers approached the small group, only to be interrupted by a small contingent of the local militia. There were ten of them and they began pushing the dancers and taking the basket holding the money they’d received from the crowd. “You were told to move on,” their leader said as he gave one of the women another shove. “We don’t want your kind around here causing trouble.”

“We have to regain our losses somehow,” the lute player said trying to place himself between the women and their attackers.

“It seems to me that you are the ones causing trouble,” Boromir said, his sword already in his hand.

“This is no concern of yours,” the man said looking with contempt on their rough clothing. “We don’t much care for your type either.”

“I think these men need to learn some manners, brother,” Faramir said, leaning casually against the wall by the musicians tapping a boot toe with his own sword. “I don’t think this is proper Anorien hospitality.”

“I have to agree, brother,” Boromir answered. “Maybe it is just bad breeding.”

Narrowing his eyes at the leader, Faramir nodded his head. “You could be right, he does have a rather boorish appearance.”

“Like the pig or the dolt?” the older brother asked.

The man was obviously getting angrier at each comment, but not yet incensed enough to attack two unknown warriors.

“Definitely the dolt, my brother,” Faramir said in a suddenly flat dangerous voice. “He doesn’t have the balls to be a pig.”

Thoroughly enraged, but wary of the armed men, the man turned and grabbed one of the dancers by the hair. “I’ll show you,” he screamed as he turned back toward Faramir.

Before he could say more a knife in each eye stopped his words forever. Boromir recognized Faramir’s knife and had caught a glimpse of the lute players throw. “We have evened up the odds for you, brother,” Faramir continued, as the two women dashed behind their men. “Unless these men want to recant their previous leaders mistakes and behave like civilized gentlemen.”

The men were not warriors, just bullies recruited to terrorize the weak. They made to surrender their weapons and the dancers money until they noticed the troop of cavalry making its way down the street. Then a new leader stepped forth and spoke to the brothers. “We have our orders,” he said boldly. “The mayor will have our hides if we don’t obey. We’re honest Gondorian citizens trying to uphold the law.” His voice faded to nothing as he noticed that the lead horse stopped next to Boromir and the rest were circling the small group.

Dismounting, Draymor went to one knee before Boromir. “We have much to report, Captain General,” he said. “I have the rest of the men setting up camp on the edge of town.”

“Good work, Captain,” the older brother said as Faramir retrieved both knives from the dead man, wiping them clean on the corpse. “I would like for the mayor and the village elders to join us as soon as possible. There seems to be much to discuss with them. These ‘honest Gondorian citizens’ need to await our pleasure also.” He added in a voice like ice.

“As you will, my lord,” Draymor said rising to his feet and saluting Boromir, before giving terse orders to his men.

Boromir stepped to his brother’s side as he returned the lute player’s knife. “I must apologize for the earlier rude interruption,” he said as the man took back his weapon with a look of disbelief. “I hope I can make it up to you. I am Boromir, Captain General of the armies of Gondor, and this is my brother Faramir.”

“I am Marco and these are my brothers, Merek and Mishka, and these lovely ladies are our companions Felida and Feleda,” The leader told him. “We are very happy that you came to our rescue, my lords.”

“It is our duty to make sure guests of Gondor are not molested, but from your earlier remarks it seems we were too late to protect you.”

“We were set upon by men in disguise on the Great Western Road, miles west of here. Our wagon and almost all of our belongings were either stolen or destroyed. We only escaped with our lives by hiding in the woods,” Marco told them. “When we reached here the mayor would hear nothing of our plight and ordered us to leave town immediately. We were but trying to get enough money for supplies.”

“I will have my men look into the matter, we have had many similar stories coming out of this area of late. Do you have a place to stay for the night?” Boromir asked.

“We have nothing,” Marco answered, then revised his answer as Faramir handed him the basket holding the money. “Well, a bit more than nothing now.”

“You can stay at any inn that you wish or we can provide you with a tent in our encampment.” Boromir offered. “I will need to question all of you about your mishap.”

“I think we would prefer the tent, we are not too comfortable in this town,” he replied.

Boromir read all the written reports while listening to the oral ones, a young scribe writing quickly beside him. Faramir organized a search of the entire village, looking for more evidence. The entire upper echelon of villagers were gathered together to wait questioning, their families sequestered in a large tent and watched by grim faced guards. They already knew enough to hang most of the elders, and it was beginning to look worse by the hour.

Finally Faramir arrived carrying a stack of ledgers. Placing the books on the table, he began going through piles of reports, quickly reading their contents. Thankfully most of the villagers were innocent of the crimes of their elders, who had been working with an outlaw gang that headquartered in the nearby hills. Before sunset another group of Gondorian cavalry along with some Ithilien Rangers came down out of the hills with the surviving members of the gang.

The families of the elders were returned to their homes, which had been stripped of all wealth, only necessities left behind. The elders themselves were kept in the tent their families had previously occupied and had to sleep on the ground with only a blanket for comfort. Their judgment would wait for the arrival of the governor of the area, who was also the cousin of the mayor.

They worked late into the night; deciphering the many reports to one cohesive missive they could give their father. The ledgers were sent to a smaller tent to be examined by several accountants they’d brought with them. Well past midnight Faramir sent the scribes and secretaries to their rest, all of the reports neatly filed as he finished the paper for the Steward. Boromir made a last round, making sure that all of the detainees were secure and the town itself was under close observation.

Returning to their tent, he saw Faramir sigh and put his face in his hands as he set his work aside. Going to his knees beside his brother where he sat on the campstool, Boromir wrapped his arms around him.

“It is late, brother,” he said into his ear as he gently kissed him. “You should get some rest while you can.”

“I do not think I could find rest this night, beloved brother,” he answered, turning and burying his face in Boromir’s neck. “This is so horrible to me, these men have betrayed their offices, betrayed Gondor and murdered their own people all for a few bits of silver and gold. While good men die to keep them safe in their plush houses, they rape their women and enslave their children, and it has been going on for several years. It brings back too much of the bad dreams of the fall of Númenor, and so many betrayals of kin. Lord Delomar of Erelas is the governor of this region. He was fostered to Minas Tirith for a while, but he was removed home when I put a stop to his bullying. Maybe if I had treated him different this would never have happened.”

“You cannot take the weight of another’s conscience on your shoulders, my beloved one.” Boromir told him, pressing more kisses to his face. “You already have enough of your own, put all thought of blame from your mind. We would be as the dark lord himself, if we were to place ourselves in such a position to control other men.”

Boromir wrapped his hand in his brother’s hair and kissed him deeply. They rubbed their tongues together, and explored each other’s mouths. Then the older brother opened Faramir pants and pulled his hardening cock out.

“There is not time,” Faramir gasped as the hot mouth of his brother engulfed him.

Ignoring his words, Boromir swallowed his brother’s cock in a continuous gulping action that had him reaching orgasm in minutes.

There is always time for you, brother,” he said as he kissed the tip of his now flaccid penis. “Especially when you lose control so easily.” He added teasingly.

The sound of approaching horses and men’s voices stopped Faramir’s reply. Quickly refastening his pants he indicated the finished final report to Boromir. “This still needs your approval, brother,” he told him.

Boromir had just seated himself and picked up the papers when the tent flap was opened unannounced. Sweeping his cloak off in a tired gesture, Denethor, Steward of Gondor entered. Stepping forward quickly, Faramir took the cloak and asked if his father cared for any refreshment.

“Your Captain of the watch is having food brought, but something to drink might wash the road dust from my throat,” he answered. “Do you have a report ready for me?”

“I’m just reading it now,” Boromir answered, reading as quickly as he could, but still trying to be thorough.

Denethor seated himself in a chair and leaned back rubbing his brow, trying to ignore the smell of fresh semen that permeated the room. “Do you have any recommendations ready for me, Faramir?” he asked knowing that his youngest son almost always wrote the reports.

“No, father,” he answered. “I haven’t even thought that far. I’m having a hard time trying to understand what could have brought these men to this.”

The Steward gave him a searching look, and realizing that he was serious, sighed into the wine he now held. “You are probably the only person in all of Middle Earth that doesn’t understand, my son. I’m afraid that our proceedings tomorrow will show you much that you have no desire to see.” He was disarmed and charmed by the innocence of the twenty-six-year-old warrior before him. “Of all the evils of this world, I wish I could keep this from you. Come.” He said pulling him into his lap. “Let me offer what comfort I can.”

Faramir held tightly to his father, his feelings beyond words. Boromir tried to ignore the exchange and concentrate on the report, but a single tear escaped and made its way down his cheek as Denethor cradled his brother in his arms. When the duty captain brought the food, he was startled to see the Steward still reassuring his youngest son.

It had been a long day of testimony and the brothers were tired and in no mood to listen to any more. Lord Delomar, governor of Erelas and the surrounding territories followed Faramir to where Denethor was presiding over the hearings. “You have no jurisdiction here. We have governed ourselves for generations; I don’t understand why you think you can suddenly descend on my people and do what you will.”

“You are subject to the sovereign state of Gondor,” Faramir told him. “The elders and mayor of this village have grievously broken the laws of our kingdom, they and you, as their leader, are responsible for the illegal activities in this area.”

“How can we be subject of the sovereign state, if there is no sovereign of the state?” Delomar asked with contempt. “I do not remember swearing fealty to the Steward. It is time for the king to either step forward or the Steward to recognize that Gondor is a kingdom no more.”

“Are you sure you are prepared to stand by that declaration lord Delomar?” Faramir asked.

“You don’t possibly think that you or your pederastic brother could change my mind?” The brash lord said with a sneer.

“I do not know what promises the dark lord has made you, or if this is just some twisted machination of your own weak mind, but you are about to find out about the sovereignty of Gondor” Faramir said.

At his words they entered the town square where the Steward and his eldest son waited on the raised dais. From the shocked looks of the onlookers it was obvious that much of their conversation had been overheard.

“For hundreds of years the Stewards have held the kingdom of Gondor in trust for the return of the king. You, Delomar of Erelas have broken the trust of the Steward in your guardianship of this region,” Denethor said, his voice echoing through the square; clear to all who had gathered to hear the judgment of the Governor. “You not only turned a blind eye to the crimes of your agents but accepted part of their misgotten bounty. For this betrayal you will pay with your life, your properties, and your progeny. At sunset of this day, you will be drawn and quartered, all that you own will be returned to the kingdom to be disbursed as seen fit by the Steward and his sons, any child of your name, whether legitimate or not shall be removed from its home and placed in alternate homes as far away from Anorien as possible. Their names shall be changed and every effort will be made to remove all remembrance of you and your ways from their minds. Your name shall be stricken from the rolls of Gondor and all shall be made as if you never existed, for you are anathema to all that honest men hold dear.”

“My father will avenge my murder at you hands,” the enraged Governor screamed.

“Your father is dead,” the Steward told him. “He sent me a letter apologizing for raising such a monster as you before ending his own life. Because of his sacrifice, I have decided to spare the lives of your brothers and sisters, although what their status will be depends on them.”

Delomar paled and fell to his knees begging forgiveness, but he was ignored by all except the guards who dragged him away.

It took three more days to finish all the hearings. The mayor and other village elders that were involved were hung. The Surviving outlaws were impaled along the main road. New officials were appointed, and a new Governor was sent to Erelas. All of the victims that were still alive, including the villagers and the five from Esgaroth received reparations.

Denethor would meet with Delomar’s siblings at Minas Tirith and would meet with all the close kin of those involved in the criminal activities of the village elders. Some would be required to leave children or heirs in Denethor’s custody as hostages; others would pay heavy fines or commit themselves to tasks assigned by the Steward. Very few would still hang, some would flee Gondor.

The two brothers had barely time to get a few hours sleep, let alone anything else. Still they took advantage of every opportunity, such as a few stolen moments in a hidden alcove guarded by a trusted aide. Bath time was the best time, they spent as much time fucking as washing, and since it was so hot, they could take at least two a day. Denethor was a stickler for cleanliness.

After the evening meal with their father, they returned to their tent and Denethor slept in the house that had belonged to the now dead mayor. They sealed themselves into their tent with a bit of wine and proceeded to strip each other wildly. They had eight hours before they had to see their father off, and four days of repressed sexual tension to work off.

Boromir had removed all of his brother’s clothes and was swallowing his cock when a couple of stifled giggles caught their attention. His eyes glazed with lust, Faramir saw the twins on their bed, but his brother didn’t stop. Instead he began working his fingers into Faramir’s tight ass, unwilling to change his goal.

Throwing his head back and burying his fingers in his brother’s hair, Faramir moaned in pleasure. Unlike their encounters of the last few days, Boromir was going to draw this out as long as he could. As he felt Faramir’s knees start to give, he backed him to the bed and lowered him onto it with his ass hanging over the edge so that his fingers could keep their steady pumping.

The twins sat to one side waiting, not sure what they should do. When Boromir released his brother’s cock from his mouth and grabbed his hips with both hands impaling him with his own hard cock in one swift motion, they realized this rough joining was not for them. They’d learned much about the brothers in the last few days, and their fierce love and lust for each other had been obvious, at least to the sisters, from the first moment they saw them in the crowd. They sat with their arms around each other, silently watching the two men, with understanding.

Leaning forward and claiming his brother’s lips, Boromir continued his rough pace. He rested his elbows on the bed and wrapped his hands around Faramir’s shoulders to keep him from sliding away from the force of his thrusts. His hands restlessly roaming Boromir’s body, Faramir returned his kisses wholeheartedly. The feeling of his brother’s cock so hard within him, and his own rubbing between their tight pressed stomachs was something he had missed terribly. Their closeness was a balm to their souls after the heart breaking trials.

“Harder, beloved,” Faramir urged, his fingernails digging into his brothers back. The bed shook with the force of Boromir’s thrusts and Faramir grabbed his own legs and pulled them back so that he would be able to go deeper. It was long minutes before they finally reached their climax, both of them crying out incoherently.

Felida and Feleda couldn’t resist running soft fingers over the sweating skin of the two brothers. In all of their travels they’d never met any so scarred and beautiful as they, though the few elves they’d come across were more beautiful. Boromir rolled to his side so that he could look at the sisters, resting his head on his brother’s shoulder.

“We thought you were twins too, when we first saw you,” Felida said.

They laughed at the comment. “Are you identical everywhere?” Faramir asked.

“Yes, everywhere,” Feleda answered, kissing his nose.

“I bet I can tell you apart with one kiss each,” Faramir told them.

“What about you?” Felida asked Boromir.

“I need more than just a kiss,” the older brother said. “I’m not nearly so observant as my brother. I’m also much more greedy.”

There was much giggling as they tested Faramir’s claim and true to his word he had no difficulty telling them apart after one kiss each. It took a lot longer to verify Boromir’s claim, but no one complained, as it was very enjoyable. Still the twins were amazed at the brothers’ ability to tell them apart. They could even do it by a simple touch with their eyes closed.

“We can easily recognize all of our lovers,” Faramir told them. “We can also recognize our own children, as well as the other’s children. Of course we don’t always share that knowledge.” He added conspiratorially.

“We can tell many things by our touch,” Boromir added, running his hand across a drowsy and sated Felida. “Such as you both are getting a little sore and have had enough of us for tonight.”

Feleda started to protest, but Faramir put a silencing finger against her lips. “It is all right,” he told her. “There are very few who can take us, especially both of us for a full night, even among our long time lovers. Besides, I still want more of my brother.” So saying, he moved until he was between Boromir’s legs and began sliding his rehardened cock into him with only a little spit for lubrication.

Boromir’s head was thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy as he was fully impaled by his brother’s cock. There were few things he enjoyed as much, and nothing he enjoyed more. Having gone without a long hard fuck from him for several days only increased his bliss.

Again it was as if there were just the two of them, though the twins watched from the end of the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. Faramir pushed his brother’s legs up until Boromir grabbed them. Then, supporting his upper body with one hand, he began kissing and biting his face and neck while his other hand stroked Boromir’s cock.

Each time they made love to each other seemed better than the last time. Their movements were sure from long familiarity, knowing what pleased, but were also heated by their burning passion and desire for each other. Boromir released his legs to wrap them around his brother and pull him closer. With both hands, he grabbed his head to pull him into a deep kiss. Faramir released his grip on Boromir’s cock to grab his brother’s hair and exert his own control over the kiss. Soon they were almost wrestling each other, the steady drive of their hips a counterpoint to their conflict. Sometimes their bites drew blood, though they tried to keep from marking each other too obviously.

Faramir increased the pace steadily until all they could do was hold onto each other. Eyes locked together they held out as long as they could their jaws clenched in determination. As their climax became imminent, Faramir reached down and bit his brother one last time on his collarbone, closing his and riding the waves of pleasure. Boromir threw his head back and cried out feeling the hot spill of semen in him and on his stomach. He arched up into his brother, delighting in their mutual release, and grasping his ass to pull him even deeper for those final few seconds.

They lay panting together, satisfied smiles on their faces, Faramir kissing and licking the blood from his brother’s chest.

“I could lay like this forever,” Boromir said, running a hand through his brother’s hair.

“No you couldn’t,” Faramir told him. “A few more minutes of this and I will be hard and have to fuck you again.” His words made Boromir’s cock jump and start swelling again.

“Ride me, brother,” Boromir ordered him, his eyes half-lidded with reawakened lust. “I want to watch you pleasure yourself on me.”

Growing hard again at his brother’s words, Faramir pulled his cock from his ass and rose to his knees. Taking Boromir’s erection in hand, he guided it into his ass, urging him to raise his legs so that he could lean back against them. It took a few minutes before he felt they were arranged correctly. He placed a pillow beneath Boromir’s head and neck, and then rested all of his own weight on his hips, driving his brother’s cock impossibly deeper within him. He put his feet on either side of Boromir’s hips, knees spread wide to display his own engorged cock, and began pushing up with his legs. Watching his brother’s face he wrapped one hand around his weeping erection and cupped his balls with the other.

The angle of Faramir’s body on his brother’s legs allowed Boromir to see his own cock in Faramir’s ass as he slid upwards as well as watch him fondle himself. Unable to stop himself, Boromir moaned loudly at the wanton sight, arching his back and grabbing his brother’s ankles.

“Shh, brother,” Faramir told him with a lustful grin. “You’ll wake the girls.”

Biting his lips to stifle his moans and cries, he knew it was not the twins’ sleep Faramir was really concerned with.

“Breathe, beloved,” he whispered. “Relax and let me do this.”

It was almost impossible, but finally Boromir was able to even out his breathing and loosen his grip on Faramir’s ankles. When he felt his brother relax some Faramir increased the speed of his movements, his strongly muscled legs flexing. He continued for several more minutes then threw his own head back and began loosing thick ropes of semen on Boromir’s already sticky chest. The spasming in his brother’s ass and the erotic sight of him in the throws of passion above him brought Boromir to his own orgasm, though he kept quiet as Faramir had instructed him earlier.

Lying on the bed next to his brother, Faramir pressed soft kisses to his face. “We will have to get up early and wash before we see father off,” he whispered in his ear.

“Go to sleep,” Boromir told him, and kissed his brow.

Faramir sighed and fell asleep.

“I expect you to be finished here and back in Minas Tirith within the week,” Denethor told them. Boromir held the bridle of his mount, while Faramir held the stirrup. His sharp eyes examined his two sons. “I will need you there to help deal with the rest of this mess, so assign reliable agents as quickly as possible. You might considering using some of your personal guard where we can’t be completely sure of loyalty. There is bound to be some response from our enemies in the wake of all of this instability. Make haste, but with caution.”

“We will do our best, father,” Boromir replied.

With a final look, he nodded his head as if satisfied. “Within the week,” he said as he took up his reigns and rode away at the head of the column.

Four weeks later.

Faramir lay on a large over-stuffed divan reading. They had finished supper hours ago and for once he didn’t have any evening duties and could indulge himself. All of the servants had retired to their quarters or one of the side rooms of their suite. Soon Boromir would arrive and they would retire for the night. In anticipation he wore only a pair of short sleeping pants, which were too thin to really conceal anything.

Even though his reading material was a rather dry narrative of mainly historical value, he found himself semi-aroused at the thought of his brother. Giving in to his fantasies, he shut the book and let his mind wander through images of Boromir in the throws of passion. Closing his eyes he rubbed his now full erection against the divan. Just as he was about to reach for himself he heard the sound of someone approaching. He instantly lost all arousal as he recognized his father’s tread and realized there wasn’t enough time to make it to his bedroom to grab a robe.

Denethor rarely came to his sons’ room unannounced. He had become sensitized to the smell of their arousal, which brought on dark dreams. This night however, there had been no time to send warning. The impending arrival of his brother-in-law, Prince Imrahil the following morning, and the early dismissal of the servants for the evening had made it impractical.

So here he stood in the doorway to their suite, the smell of Faramir’s arousal strong in the air, unbelievably augmented by the sight of him barely more than naked on the divan. He’d almost started to turn away when he noticed among the many scars the large tattoo on his son’s right shoulder. A white tree, encircled by seven stars, under a gold and silver crown, on a blue circular background. It was beautifully wrought and filled him with rage.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, crossing the room and pulling him up to a sitting position by the back of his neck. His son didn’t resist the painful grip or cry out. “How could you do this?”

At that moment Boromir arrived, out of breath, his father’s angry voice having spurred him to haste. Seeing the object of Denethor’s anger, he grabbed the back of his own shirt at the collar and ripped it off as he strode across the room. “Do you mean this?” he asked, displaying his matching tattoo while pushing his father’s hand away from his brother’s neck and replacing it with his own. ‘We are loyal sons, and have ever done our duty, especially Faramir. But we are also loyal men, and would keep to the course set by our ancestors. We keep Gondor in trust for the king, and it is our pleasure to do so. You know our hearts father, you have no need to ask that question.”

“You have marked yourselves as property!” Denethor raged.

“There are worse marks father,” Boromir said in a low angry voice. Instead of displaying the scars on his brother’s back, as the Steward expected, he brought his head back and showed his father the square scars that lined his arms and chest. They were long healed, but still an angry red, despite Garus and Saphron’s best efforts. “Ask about these, father. Demand why this was done.”

He knew what they were on sight, though he never before had seen the marks of a blood ritual, he was in no doubt about the origin of these scars. Besides the vast store of knowledge he held in memory, there were the half remembered dreams. Bile rose in his stomach as he looked at the faces of his sons. “No,” he said with harsh finality.

Faramir closed his eyes in relief as Boromir gently ran his hand through his hair. Kissing his brother’s stomach just above his low cut pants, Faramir wrapped his arms around him. “There are other tattoos, father,” the older son said, pulling his pants lower and exposing Faramir’s coat of arms and beside it that of Éomer of Rohan, just below where Faramir’s lips rested against his body. “My brother bears matching marks as does Prince Éomer.”

“And what of his sister, what will she think of this?” Denethor asked.

“I don’t think that will be a problem, the customs and traditions in Rohan are different. And Éomer is very supportive of our marriage, which will be in accordance with the customs of the Riddermark, though we will keep the details private here in Gondor.” Boromir told him.

Denethor paled at his words, he knew the marriage customs of Rohan and didn’t approve, but he’d come to realize that he was powerless against Boromir. “You are going to do what you will, no matter what I wish anyway,” he said. “At least I can look forward to the possibility of some sort of marriage.”

“You always had that, father,” Boromir told him, reaching out to place a comforting hand to his father’s shoulder. “We will not let you down or embarrass you, we love you.”

He was completely disarmed by the words and manner of his oldest son, and as always, Faramir had submitted without complaint or resistance to whatever his father and brother wished of him. Hiding his discomfiture, he delivered the message that had brought him there in the first place. “Your Uncle, Prince Imrahil arrives tomorrow. He comes to ask our assistance in seeking a marriage contract for his daughter with one of the Princes of Rohan. He has brought his wife and daughter with him. I was hoping you would be there to help me greet them in the morning.”

“We will be there, father,” Boromir said, knowing of the animosity between the two men.

“They should arrive shortly before noon. I will send for you,” Denethor said as he left the room and closed the door behind him.

Boromir looked down at his little brother, who was looking up at him with wide eyes. “That wasn’t so bad, brother,” he told him running his hand through his hair. “It is a good thing he arrived first, or I would have had my cock buried in your ass when he got here.”

“I dressed for you, brother,” Faramir said as he opened his brother’s pants. Pulling his quickly hardening cock free he took it into his mouth.

Moaning at the pleasure of his brother’s hot mouth, he pumped himself into the tight throat. Faramir swallowed convulsively bringing a quick orgasm to his brother. Before Faramir could lick him clean, Boromir grabbed him up and carried him into their bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. He threw him onto the bed and stripped off his clothes before tearing Faramir’s pants off.

“I’m going to fuck you into oblivion,” he growled as he climbed onto Faramir.

“Yes, please,” Faramir responded as Boromir proceeded to carry out his threat.

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