Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2197185.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      TOLKIEN_J._R._R._-_Works
  Relationship:
      Boromir/Faramir
  Character:
      Faramir, Boromir_(Son_of_Denethor_II)
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-25 Words: 6656
****** At Hand's Reach ******
by Talullah
Summary
     Faramir is 16 and aching. Boromir is older but not wiser.
Notes
     Many thanks to inwe_saralonde for the beta. All remaining mistakes
     are mine.
     Written for the 2008 Halloween Exchange at sons_of_gondor, for
     tackerama whose request was as follows:
         * Trick (darkfic)
         * Slash, het perhaps...
         * Boromir, Faramir, Imrahil, Aragorn, Eowyn or Sean Bean, Viggo
           Mortensen, Dave Wenham Mix and match. (Incest is fine.)
         * Kinks: First time, angst
         * Squicks: mpreg, necro, bestiality, scat, other heavier kinks,
           schmoop
         * Prompt: first-time fic would be lovely.
     Disclaimer/Blanket_Statement
Dol Amroth, 2999 Third Age
The tide pulled around his ankles like strong tendrils of some menacing
creature. Faramir ignored it, as well as the multiple warnings he had received
from his uncle and cousins. The wintry night, the wind whipping his hair into
his eyes, the gloom of the heavy mantle of clouds above, opening only now and
then to reveal a sea raging under cold moonlight... The call was strong,
singing in his blood a song that Boromir could not hear, or most likely did not
want to.
Faramir walked on along the pebbled beach, feeling the cold of the water
seeping into his bones, his feet so frozen he no longer felt the hard ground so
badly. He did not know what he was searching for in the night. Not the
lighthouse ahead, not a ship, not adventure, not a siren, not his mother, not
himself and most certainly, not company. Awkward and pointless as he felt,
Faramir could not imagine being inside on a night like this, looking out
through the window or playing cards and sipping sweet wine. He did those things
every night, and every night he feared that the cosy contentment that came with
them was nothing but a cleverly disguised death.
Not here, though. No one could feel numb in this weather, under this light,
breathing this air. He walked on, his soaked boots and the cavorting sea,
making each step an exercise of will. Wrapping himself tighter in his cape, he
stomped down, pressing on and on, knowing that soon he'd reach the lighthouse
promontory and that he would have to climb, a foolish venture in the daylight,
let alone on a night such as this, or return. Either prospect was as unpleasant
as the other, either smelling of defeat.
He reached the promontory. Time to make a decision, to admit that he was cold,
tired, that the beach was anything but safe at the moment, and return to his
uncle's home, wash, go to bed like a good boy. Only that he wasn't a boy, not
at sixteen, not with arms that could hold a sword and parry it for as long as
his brother, and legs that could hold on to the fiercest ride, and a heart that
could love and want as any other... only that his heart wanted things it could
not have. Why?
"Why?!! WHY?!!!" he roared over the wind. This too was a man's voice, and this
anger, and this hunger gnawed at him, threatening to leave nothing but pieces.
Thunder cracked, rolling seemingly forever over his head. Lightening followed
quickly, transforming the shadows into harsh masses of stone and the water into
something menacing. A dry sob left Faramir's chest, but he held himself and
took deep breaths, until a sort of eerie calm that came from the absence of
human voice and presence penetrated him.
He was ready to return. He had to.
The first heavy drops hit him moments later, followed by a veritable deluge
that washed the salt spray from him. Even in the rain he loved Dol Amroth. He
was glad that for a change his father had let him come with Boromir to visit
his uncle, his mother's home. He thought of the library with tiny windows
facing the bay and incomprehensible treatises on navigation and ship building.
He should have that lore. He felt more at home here than he ever did in Minas
Tirith.
He was glad for the visit, even if it meant more time with Boromir, whom he
loved so much he almost hated. Trudging on, immersed in his thoughts, he only
saw his cousin Elphir coming at his direction when they were almost upon each
other.
"Cousin!" Elphir called. "Are you well? You had us all worried; your brother is
fretting like I've never seen him!"
"I'm fine," Faramir replied, mortified. His little escapade was no longer a
secret and the indescribable amalgam of freedom, solitude and strength that he
had tasted would not keep him sheltered from the humiliation of being
reproached like a boy, a stupid one at that.
He walked ahead of Elphir to avoid his eyes.
===============================================================================
"Where were you?" Boromir boomed as soon as he saw him following Elphir into
Imrahil's study.
"At the beach," Faramir laconically replied, very aware that he was starting to
shake now that he was inside and so close to a fireplace.
"On a night like this? Are you insane? Did you not hear a single one of our
uncle's words?"
Faramir gazed at the rug in stubborn silence.
"Boromir," Imrahil called in soft voice. "We can leave this for tomorrow."
"But uncle-"
"Nephew," Imrahil said, his voice hardening with unspoken warning.
Boromir held his stare for a few moments, but then lowered his head. "Fine. As
long as it's not forgotten."
===============================================================================
The bell of midnight had just rung when Faramir had finally finished washing
and had changed into his nightgown, drinking the tea Elphir had sent to him.
The weariness of a long day and a long night were lulling him, pulling him into
his bed and he saw no reason to resist. Maybe tonight the fatigue would be
enough to keep him in a deep sleep.
He was about to snuff his candle when he heard the faint knock on the door.
"Enter," he called.
Boromir came into the room, the sombreness of his face making Faramir cringe.
"I've not come to fight," Boromir said, raising his hands in a gesture of
peace. "We need to talk, little brother. We've been drifting apart lately. I
cannot stand the thought of that, let alone the reality. I thought of leaving
it for tomorrow as our wise uncle suggested, but I think the moment would be
lost and you'd be clamming up again."
Faramir sighed. "What do you want to talk about?"
Boromir walked to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. "Of anything you
want. I just want us to talk..."
Faramir bit his lip and remained silent for a few moments. It was true;
burdened by his secret, he had started avoiding long conversations with
Boromir, changing the brotherly ease that had always lived between them into
something tight and at times ugly. So ugly right now that he could not even
think of one thing to say.
"Is it about our mother?" Boromir asked.
"Mother?" Faramir dumbly echoed. "No." He still could not lie to Boromir,
thought he could not tell the truth either. "Do you remember her? Sometimes I
can't remember her face... Did we ever come here with her?"
Boromir smiled bitterly. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Sometimes I can remember
her perfectly, mostly in dreams. Otherwise it's like she was a painting... And
yes – we've been here with her! You were two, maybe three. She brought us here
to spend the summer, taught me how to swim. Father came for a few weeks later
on and returned before us. While he was here, he was another man, and mother
was happy again, laughed, took us sailing..." Boromir's smile waned as he
looked at Faramir. "I'm sorry that you weren't here with us."
Faramir smiled. "No point in wishing for what can't be," he replied, the
parallel with his own wishes not eluding him.
Boromir chuckled. "Since when are you so wise, little brother? It must have
been something in the brandy Uncle Imrahil gave you to warm you up."
"I've grown, Boromir. I wish you could see that." Faramir knew that sulking was
not a good indicator of maturity and so he forced himself to meet Boromir's
eyes, even smiling a little.
"So you have," Boromir granted. "You scared me."
"I'm sorry. I just needed to get out, do something. I thought my leaving had
been subtle."
"It was. It was only when one of Imrahil's men warned us that a lone figure had
been sighted walking on the beach that we noticed you were not there."
"Why didn't you come for me?" Faramir asked, an instant wave of warmth crawling
up his nightshirt onto his face as soon as the words were out.
"Elphir jumped up and said he knew the terrain better than me - we both know he
was right. Besides..." Boromir's eyes drifted from Faramir's to the bedcover.
"Anyway," he continued, " was that a cry for attention? Was that it?"
Faramir turned his face away. "No. The attention was the last thing I needed.
And my question... I didn't mean it like that. I didn't want you to go after me
– I just wanted to know why you didn't go yourself if you thought I was in
danger."
"Faramir..." Placing a hand on Faramir's ankle under the covers, Boromir
sighed. "I know things aren't as they used to be between us. I know I've been
neglecting you, but you don't seem to need me anymore. I do see that you've
grown. And when I try to get closer, you seem to be... different... guarded.
Are we well?"
"Of course," Faramir replied. "Of course we are." Unwittingly, he yawned. The
night's adventure had been more taxing than he had realized and Imrahil's
strong brandy wasn't helping.
"I should let you rest," Boromir said, though he did not move.
"No, no," Faramir pleaded, despite the weight of his eyelids. Boromir was
right: they had been drifting apart, his treacherous heart's fault, and moments
like this had been rare between them for a while. "Let's talk for a while
longer."
Boromir nodded. "But you'll have to make room for me under those blankets. I'm
freezing in this robe."
Faramir lifted the bedding in invitation, chastising himself for his lack of
forethought. This was what Mithrandir kept drilling into him – be prepared, pay
attention to the needs and wants of others and never get caught by the moment.
Boromir settled next to him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, seemingly
unselfconscious.
"We haven't shared a bed since you started having wet dreams," Boromir said
with a mischievous grin.
Faramir felt his face boiling. "Yes. Well..."
"Don't fret. You always fret so much about things that are natural and
necessary."
Faramir stared at his hands in guilty silence.
"Faramir?"
"Nothing."
"Faramir, just tell me what's wrong. What guilt is eating you this time?"
"Nothing."
Boromir sighed and turned to him. "You’re clamming up again. I had sworn to
myself that I wasn't going to say a word without you starting on the subject,
but you're not giving me much of a choice."
Faramir gulped, his heart suddenly racing at the thought of what Boromir would
say. "Don't."
"Someone has to say it to you. I thought Mithrandir would have broached the
subject. Father would never, that's for sure." Boromir took a deep breath. "I
know you like boys."
Faramir hid his face in his hands, curling into his hands. Boromir placed a
warm hand on his back.
"Don’t do that. It's not a crime, you know."
"Actually, according to the law, it is – ten lashes for the first offense;
twenty for each subsequent." Faramir replied.
"Faramir, when was the last time you saw that law being enforced? Half the army
would come from the commissions with their backs raw if that were so."
Faramir shook his head but refused to look at Boromir, drawing a sigh from him.
"Faramir, listen to me. You know you'll have to marry and produce children,
even being second-born. Apart from that, you can do whatever you want. Of
course a little discretion goes a long way." Confronted with Faramir's lack of
reply, Boromir continued. "Is this about Elphir? Because that would be fine
too. He's a little old for you, but he's our cousin. He would treat you fine,
by the stars that he knows better than to raise my wrath."
"Elphir? Have you lost your wits?" Faramir looked at his brother for the first
time, only to avert his eyes as fast as he could. "And marrying won't be a
problem, trust me."
"Yes, I noticed that your eyes drift from the stable hand to the kitchen maids
with some ease," Boromir added with a hint of sarcasm. "Only that you won't
touch the kitchen maids either..." Faramir didn't reply to the taunt, so
Boromir pressed on. "Well, if it isn't Elphir who is it? You've been spending a
lot of time together and he insisted on 'saving' you today... besides, our
cousin, unlike you, has never had any qualms in satisfying his hungers. A man
after my own heart, I should say," Boromir added with a chuckle, in what
Faramir recognized as a classical manoeuvre.
"Boromir, your appetites are wide and well known and no one would dare
challenge or scorn you for them – well, perhaps the grandfather of one of your
bastards. Me, I'm unproven, the younger son, and it's no secret that our father
disfavours me. I'd be fodder for gossip and much worse even if I started
lusting after girls – I'd always be the good-for-nothing younger son..."
Faramir shook his head. "I don't want to talk about this."
"So you're going to stay a virgin to the end of your life, or until father
thinks of finding you a bride, is that it?"
"Boromir... I am pleading – let this die. Besides..."
"Besides what?" Boromir asked when it was clear Faramir wouldn't continue.
"We'll be leaving within a week and you won't be seeing Elphir for a while?
Maybe that's a good thing – if things don't work well for you, you don't have
to be in his constant presence."
"For once and for all, it's not Elphir that I want!" Faramir shouted. "It's–"
"It's who? Faramir, stop this," Boromir said, his voice raised, his hand all
but shaking Faramir's shoulder. "Stop hiding things from me," he added in a
softer tone.
"I can't."
"Just tell me. I'll understand, I swear."
"I can't, I really can't. Don't ask this of me."
"No, you're going to tell me and you're going to tell me tonight. I'm sick of
seeing you like this and besides it's time and-"
"It's you!" Faramir shouted, despairing at Boromir's insistence. He had never
been able to hide anything from his brother, not since he was a toddler and now
it was out and the silence was so heavy it could suffocate him if it weren’t
for the mad rush of relief. It was out.
Boromir stared at him, mouth agape. He shook his head, bit his lip, moved his
hand in a vague, pointless gesture. "Faramir..." he said at last, his voice
laden with things Faramir did not want to identify.
"You wanted to know," Faramir challenged.
"I..." Boromir still seemed to be overwhelmed by shock. He pushed back the bed
covers, moving away as if acid burned him. Faramir's relief turned to fear.
"Boromir, don't go," he said, trying to hold his brother by the wrist.
"I have to." Boromir moved so fast to the door that the candle was snuffed by
his passage, leaving Faramir gasping in the dark.
===============================================================================
Boromir was not at the breakfast table. Faramir sat down and played with his
food while Imrahil calmly told him of the dangers of the winter sea, even at
shore. Faramir had heard this before, and though he resented being treated like
a child, he listened in silence, his eyes glued to the untouched food on his
plate. His foolishness of the previous night had cost him that price. He
wondered what price his gauche behaviour towards Boromir would entail.
Imrahil waited for his sons to leave the table, sitting in for much longer than
was his habit until they were alone.
"You seemed troubled, my nephew... and your constant look of misery these last
two weeks was the only thing that stopped me from giving you more than a
sermon. I cannot replace your father, but you can talk to me..."
Faramir nodded, his eyes darting to Imrahil. He appreciated the offer but he
had said more than enough already.
"Thank you, Uncle," he said. "May I be excused?"
Imrahil sighed and sat back in his chair. "You may. But trust me when I tell
you that secrets will kill you. They rot the soul."
Faramir nodded. He knew that already.
===============================================================================
He saw Boromir walking toward the harbour, and later he saw him sitting on a
wall, watching the waves. He was too much of a coward to reach out to his
brother. Or maybe he was being generous and giving him time. No, a coward.
Faramir bit his lip both times and found an alternative occupation. Each found
lunch for themselves, as it was custom in Imrahil's house, but at dinner, for
the first time in a fortnight, Boromir was not at the table.
This is what Faramir had done - he had inspired such repulsion in Boromir that
his brother had been forced to avoid him. There was nothing he could do now but
beg for forgiveness. He should have never burdened Boromir with the knowledge
of his unholy desires.
But it was early, he reasoned, calling himself a coward again. Before dessert
was served, he excused himself under the pretext of feeling feverish, and went
to his room. With nothing better to do, and feeling the weight of a sleepless
night settling in, he changed and went to bed. He snuffed the candle, and
stared at the canopy in the dimmed moonlight. Despite his fatigue, his thoughts
still kept him awake.
He tossed and turned until he gave up on sleep and lit the candle again. He
couldn't concentrate on reading, and his thoughts were definitely treading the
same paths over and over again. It was too late to search for company, even if
he could withstand it. A walk outside was out of question, given the disastrous
consequences of his last. There was nothing Faramir could do. Except... No. But
his mind kept pressing the idea. Talk to Boromir, beg his forgiveness and
forgetfulness.
He threw back the beddings and reached for his robe. He did have some guts
left, apparently.
===============================================================================
"Come in." Boromir's voice sounded lifeless, but Faramir attributed that to the
thick wood separating them. He pushed the door open and entered the room, too
shy to walk all the way to Boromir, too stubborn to just leave.
"Close the door," Boromir said from his seat by the fireplace. "Take a seat."
Faramir obeyed. Boromir poured him a glass of brandy, an unexpected treat -
somehow he was old enough to kill orcs but not to drink.
"How was your day," Boromir asked, staring at the fire.
Faramir opened his mouth to reply but his instinct stopped him. "I didn't come
here to talk about my day."
Boromir licked his lips and nodded. "I would have guessed not."
Faramir left his seat, falling to his knees in front of Boromir, taking his
hand in his. "I'm sorry. I came here to ask you to forget what was said and the
first thing I did was to destroy what you were offering, the very thing I
should be–" He choked on his words and lowered his head, hiding his glistening
eyes behind his hair.
Boromir extracted his hand from under Faramir's but didn't break the contact.
Instead he covered his brother's hands with his, his fingertips running light
circles over Faramir's knuckles.
"Maybe you're braver than I am," he finally said. "For wanting to face the
truth, instead of a lie," he added, as Faramir found no reply.
"No," Faramir weakly protested, "You're the strong one – always have been."
"Strong, yes, brave... more of a physical type. You were always the one who
could speak of the difficult things. See, I would never have been able to say
what you said last night."
"You would have never felt something so shameful, either."
Boromir barked a bitter laugh. "Your mistake, then." He squeezed Faramir's
hands, lifting his chin with his other. "There are things that cannot be
started because they would never have an end."
Faramir's lips parted, searching for an answer that never came. Could it be
that Boromir was telling him his feelings were not unrequited? Could he really
have heard that? And, if so, what did that mean for them, for him?
"Faramir, it is time you returned to your room and slept," Boromir said, taking
the warmth of his hand from Faramir's and rising from his chair.
Faramir stayed where he was, sitting on his knees. His calves were starting to
prickle but this was no time to move, not now when Boromir so unceremoniously
told him to go to bed, terminating a conversation that had only begun.
"Some things are left unsaid..." he started.
"No. I know what goes in your heart and you know what goes in mine. All that
could ever be said was."
"Not all. Know this: some things have to be started." Faramir rose to his feet
and closed the distance between them. "I'd rather die than to live without
you."
To Faramir's surprise, Boromir chuckled, breaking the tension of the moment.
"So dramatic... you always were one for high gestures." Boromir brushed a bang
back from Faramir's eyes.
A sudden anger flared in Faramir, pushing him back one step to better look at
Boromir. "And still you treat me like a child, like a foolish, overly romantic
boy."
Boromir's face hardened. "You are one. And by speaking of what should be kept
quiet, you hurt the very thing you claim to love."
They locked eyes in mute battle, each standing their ground, both refusing to
raise their voices. They had held such silent clashes before and Faramir had
always lost. Not this time though. To his surprise, Boromir quickly averted his
grey eyes.
"Leave now, Faramir, before we can both regret that you did not," he pleaded,
looking at some point to the left of Faramir's shoulder. The door, Faramir
realized. Well, it would not be that easy for Boromir. Words had not served him
well, so in despair, he tried his last resort, assaulting Boromir with a sudden
embrace, his hungry mouth searching his brother's. Boromir turned his face
once, twice, thrice, but did not shake Faramir's arms from him. Faramir ended
settling for a kiss on the corner of his brother's mouth.
They stood still, Boromir's arms akimbo, Faramir holding him, their lips so
close but never touching.
"Don't," Boromir said.
Faramir heard him well, felt his warm breath on his cheek, the scent of brandy
from his mouth, the almost imperceptible heaviness to his breathing. His arms
tightened around Boromir and he pressed their foreheads together.
"Why?"
Boromir shook his head slightly, a silent gesture of reproach that Faramir had
seen before, but that this time brought their lips closer for an instant.
"It is wrong. It would be wrong even if you weren't my brother."
"Because I'm a man." Faramir drew back a few inches. "I knew the generosity of
last night did not run that deep."
"Faramir, I have had men before. I was discrete that's all. But you, you are
sixteen! You have never known another. It is wrong for those reasons alone."
Faramir let his arms fall and stepped back. "So when it comes to seducing the
kitchen maid or the stable boy I'm old enough and in your own words I am not to
die a virgin, but when it comes to giving myself to someone I love, and I do
love you, more than a brother could ever love the other, then it's wrong. Are
you a hypocrite, brother?"
Boromir lowered his head, refusing to face him. "I can't."
"You can and you want to, otherwise you would have kicked me out long ago."
Faramir grabbed Boromir's arm and yanked it, forcing their eyes to meet. "Are
you afraid?"
He saw the cold fury in Boromir's eyes at being called a coward but he saw
something more. Boromir twisted his arm out of Faramir’s grip, locking his arm
behind his back in the same fluid movement. A jolt of fear coursed through
Faramir, and he tensed, ready to defend himself with the movements his brother
had taught him.
Boromir was frozen in place, however. "Yes," he whispered. "I am."
Faramir didn't stop to think how painful that admission must have been. He
pressed forward, and his time his lips caught his brother's in a kiss that was
as clumsy as clearly unchaste. His arm twisted behind his back ached, but
Boromir was responding, his tongue pressing into his mouth, caressing,
teaching, claiming. Faramir whimpered, overwhelmed by the rightness of the
kiss, for all its awkwardness.
Boromir broke the kiss and let go of his wrist, freeing his arm. "I'm sorry,"
he said, massaging the abused member.
"I don't care," Faramir said, throwing his arms around his brother's waist,
holding him close. "Don't back out of this," he pleaded.
"I can't," Boromir said, bringing his hands up to cup Faramir's cheeks,
touching his lips with tender kisses.
"Come," he said, leading Faramir to the bed.
Faramir followed, despite the apprehension coiling in his stomach. He sat on
the edge of the mattress, trying to think of something to say or do as Boromir
pulled back the bedding, making place for them.
"Come here," Boromir said, comfortably sitting in the middle of the white
sheets.
Faramir hesitated for a heartbeat, but obeyed, sitting next to Boromir as they
had been the night before. Boromir draped an arm around his shoulder, and
deposited a kiss on his temple. "I would never hurt you," he said.
Faramir believed him, believed the softness in his voice, the years of tender,
loving care Boromir had devoted to him, and relaxed, turning his face to his
brother's.
"I know."
He kissed his brother and this time it went better, less clashing and more
concurring to the same goals. Boromir sighed into his mouth, kissed him again,
both sliding down until they were lying facing each other.
"When did you know?" Faramir asked.
"Last summer," Boromir admitted without a flinch. "When you started putting
some meat on your bones."
Faramir smiled.
"I didn't want to think of you in that way," Boromir added.
"In a way it almost makes sense..." Faramir said. "It has always been you and
me, ever since mother died. There's no one I love or respect more. This is just
another form of love."
"Pretty words. Most would see only an older brother corrupting a child into an
unspeakable sin."
"But I'm not a child and I was more of a corruptor than you..."
Boromir did not reply and averted his eyes from Faramir's.
"You think too much," Faramir chided, kissing Boromir's lips.
"One of us has to," Boromir quipped and the carefree answer marked the return
of their usual banter.
Faramir laughed, kissed Boromir and pinched him on the side as a playful
punishment for the quip.
===============================================================================
They did not make love that night or on any of the following. Boromir showed
remarkable superstition and did not want to sully their uncle's home... though
Faramir suspected his brother held himself back more for his sake, to give him
the chance of discovering the pleasures of love and of the body slower rather
than faster. It was as if Boromir gave him a chance to stop himself, stop them
before things went too far, but in good truth, they had crossed that river on
the first night. Still, he enjoyed the slow discovery of love – for it was love
– that certainly grew with each day. His touching and kissing became bolder,
and his frustration escalated at the same pace. Boromir, for all his talk of
patience, also began to show signs of strain.
The trip back from Dol Amroth to Minas Tirith had been worse torture than the
pits of Mordor. They could not touch or share a bedroll in front of the
company. Faramir understood that it had to be so, but it hurt nonetheless. So
did trying to keep his affection and interest for his brother at a tone that
convincingly passed for brotherly worship. Back in their home, their father had
quickly ordered him to his room, keeping Boromir with him for a detailed report
of the trip. Faramir had almost fainted of impatience, but finally, in the dead
of the night, Boromir had showed on his doorstep, kissing him, taking him to
bed and giving him for the first time, pleasure with his mouth. Faramir wanted
to return the favour, but exhausted as he was from love and from the trip, he
had not been able to stop Boromir from returning to his own room before
satisfying him.
The scene had repeated itself a few more times on other nights, until Faramir
had managed to hold his brother down.
"Why don't you let me touch you?" he asked.
"You do, all the time," Boromir had replied, affecting innocence.
"You know what I mean. I want to... to taste you." Faramir, for all his
enjoyment of the activity in question, was still reluctant using coarser
language to name it.
"No!" Boromir pushed him off and sat up.
Faramir stared at him, lying back on his elbows. It was the first time that his
brother had been anything other than gentle with him. He still weighed less
than Boromir but his reflexes were quicker and he excelled at hand-to-hand
combat. For a second, he saw himself slithering to the side, toppling Boromir
and locking him under himself, arm twisted behind his back. He shrugged the
thought - doing that would not improve communication with Boromir.
"Will you at least tell me why?" Faramir asked.
Boromir swallowed and looked at the door. "I just don’t want you to."
"That's not enough..."
"Faramir," Boromir warned.
"Don't 'Faramir' me," Faramir quietly retorted. "Just tell me why am I always
the one to receive your attentions and the most you let me do is to complete
your pleasure with my hand, when you do."
Boromir got up from the bed and paced around, tying his robe, closing it
tighter around himself.
"All right," he abruptly conceded, sitting on the bed. "I figure that maybe
it's not so... bad, you know."
Faramir lifted his brow. "You lost me there."
"With us being brothers, and you practically still a child... I figured that if
it's all about my giving to you and not taking... that I'm not abusing you, or
that the sin is not so great for you."
Faramir huffed in exasperation. "Boromir, for the umpteenth time, I am not a
child. How many of our men enter the army at age fifteen? How many, at that
age, sire children, work from sunup to sundown, care for their families in
their father's absence? And me? I fight as well as you do, I've given proof of
responsibility and merit in the field, I'm seen and done things that no boy
would. And I was the one who came to you."
"I know all that," Boromir tried to interrupt him.
"So if you do, why set up this barrier between us?"
Boromir shook his head. "I don't know. It feels... I'm not ready, that's it,"
he confessed.
Faramir frowned, then smiled. "Wait, wait... I thought I was the virgin
here..."
Boromir looked at him and they burst out laughing, breaking the tension of the
moment. When the laughter subsided, Faramir charged again.
"I don't want to pressure you, but will you let me love you, and if so, when?"
Boromir pressed his lips, shook his head, then sighed, defeated. "All right.
But just your mouth. Nothing else happens."
"My brother, the puritan," Faramir teased.
Boromir smiled back, reclined against the pillows but did not open his robe.
Faramir, taking the hint, reached out to place a hand on Boromir's knee, peeled
the robe open, exposing thigh and calf. Boromir remained silent and watchful,
his arms crossed over his chest. Faramir kneeled by his side, gently uncrossed
those stubborn arms and undid the sash that held the robe together.
"I want to see you..." he said, but Boromir merely gazed at him in reply.
Faramir took that as permission of some sort and straddled Boromir, gazing back
into his eyes as his hands moved of their own accord to Boromir's groin, where
they played upon the lax sex until it had awakened and Boromir's cheeks were
flushed. Faramir, feeling more confident, continued his play, his eyes
descending to his brother's lips, his hands moving less gently. He licked his
lips, thinking of the task he had set himself to do. The effect on Boromir was
surprising: his brother pumped up into his hand, acting for the first time on
the desire he so obviously felt.
Faramir smiled, and as he moved to settle between Boromir's legs, he licked his
lips again, testing the fine line between sensual and coarse. Judging from
Boromir's reaction, a pained gasp, he managed to stay on the right side of the
line.
He put himself to task, knowing that he lack the expertise of his brother but
trying desperately to make it up with enthusiasm, at least. The crown of his
brother's shaft felt alien in his mouth, frighteningly fragile and yet so warm,
so spicy that the desire to taste won over the fear of causing hurt. Boromir
moaned approvingly, and gently pushed up a fraction of an inch. Faramir took
the hint and set himself to task, taking him deeper, mimicking what he remember
as the recipient of such gestures, the twists of tongue, the suction, the hand
helping below, bringing pleasure to the testes...
Faramir closed his eyes, slightly overwhelmed by the experience, by the sudden
flood of saltiness in his mouth, his brother's scent growing heavier, as did
his breathing. His jaw started aching but he steeled himself, sucking deeper,
harder until Boromir pushed him away and, using his own hand, finished his
pleasure.
Faramir stood on his knees, looking at his brother, mildly disappointed that he
had chosen to shut him off at the crucial moment, but glad that he had allowed
him so much already. His mouth still tasted like Boromir's cock, his own shaft
was hard and wanting for attention, but he could not bring himself to finish
things on his own hands. He wanted Boromir, wanted that man who lay so handsome
and spent on his bed, his brother, best friend, childhood protector, but also
his lover, an entity so foreign to himself...
Faramir felt acutely alone despite the presence of his brother, their skin
touching. This Boromir, the man, not the brother, lay there, eyes closed, chest
still heaving, was a mystery to him. The very nature of erotic love seemed to
have eluded him once more: culmination was not a joint affair, but the moment
when each could take shelter behind closed lids in their own world.
He decided to break the barrier. What he wanted was Boromir, and he was there,
right within hands’ reach. Leaning down he kissed his brother on the lips,
forced his tongue into his mouth. Boromir replied to the kiss with the
languorous abandon of the truly sated and turned to lie on his side.
"I'll take care of you," he promised, caressing Faramir's cheek.
"You won't," Faramir challenged. "I'll take care of myself... with your help."
He took Boromir in hand, caressing him, ignoring his protest that it was too
soon, and felt him grow fuller and heavier in his palm. Boromir, for all his
protesting, busied himself with Faramir's own neglected shaft, his well-
practiced hand tempered by Faramir's pleas to let him take things slower.
When the heat threatened to suffuse them, Faramir straddled his brother and
reached out to the nightstand drawer to fetch the thing he had stowed there for
some time: a pot of scented ointment.
Upon the sight of the object in his brother's hand Boromir jolted and started
to protest, but Faramir silenced him with an imperious kiss. He quickly
prepared Boromir and lowered himself on his brother. Nothing happened, apart
from the delicious chill up his spine, from feeling hot hardness touching him
in such an intimate place.
He concentrated on relaxing and tried again. This time, his brother penetrated
him for a few moments, slipping right out.
"Faramir," Boromir started, "we don't have to."
"No, let me do this," Faramir cut in.
"It's going to hurt you," Boromir panted.
Faramir ignored him and tried again, this time getting him deeper. It burned,
felt too full, too hard, too deep, although Faramir realized it was only an
inch in. The thought of getting the rest in made him cringe, but he flexed his
muscles, working to get accustomed, and pushed himself down a little bit
further.
He stopped and exhaled. It was starting to feel less... bad. He moved up and
down, tentatively, ignoring the sharper pangs until they were gone and,
surprisingly, he had gotten more of Boromir's shaft in him. Boromir placed his
hands on his hips, gently squeezed his buttocks and Faramir, feeling a jolt of
arousal, took more of him in. Boromir took Faramir's neglected cock and started
working on it with a sure hand. Faramir thanked him mutely with an adoring
gaze. This was what it was supposed to be like, both working for the same
thing, even if it burned, even if he felt out of air, lightheaded, and fuller,
fuller, until Boromir was all in and Faramir searched for the right movement,
the perfect angle for – there, that place inside him that sent shocks of
pleasure from his insides to his cock, made him gasp and want to move faster
until all that was awkward about penetration became less than a memory and only
pleasure and sweat and love permeated them.
Boromir called his name, their eyes met and Faramir came, losing any control
over himself, pumping furiously in his brother's hand. Boromir drew his knees
up, providing support for Faramir who reclined back, still holding him inside.
Once the waves of pleasure washed over him, Boromir started pumping up, and now
it was almost fine, almost pleasant, now that Faramir was so relaxed. He urged
Boromir on, sweet, dirty words leaving his lips, the kind he had been too
ashamed of before, but now felt right, and Boromir must have felt it too
because he was thrusting so hard and fast and saying things about love and
tight and forever... Boromir came inside him, flooding him with his warm seed.
He pulled Faramir down for an embrace, gently slipping out of him. Faramir felt
the seed trickling between his cheeks, felt his muscle clenching, a certain
soreness announcing the worse part of love that was to come. He didn't care. He
was spent, well-loved, complete.
===============================================================================
Other nights came, some not as pleasant, others more. Boromir's guilt ate at
him. Faramir thought it was funny, in a certain way, that he had spent a year
agonizing under the weight of his sinful love for his brother, while in the
same period Boromir had felt the touch of lust without a second thought, and
now, that fulfillment had proven so blissful, the guilt had shifted.
He still could not care. This thing that had been birthed between them felt too
right to be wrong. He was careful: there was no point in gaining the scorn and
incomprehension of all by exposing what was most precious to them. He felt his
difficulties too, with the often long separations that their duties to Gondor
implied. Yet they were closer than they had ever been, and even in the lonelier
nights, Faramir could not regret it or wish for other things, things that could
not be.
One thing he knew, though, was that Boromir had been right: some things, once
begun, could not be terminated. He was glad for that, hard as the road was. He
knew eternity when he saw it.
 
Finis
September 2008
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