Faramir Fiction Archive

After a Lifetime (NC-17)

Written by December

07 January 2012 | 46599 words | Work in Progress

---

Previously in ‘After a Lifetime’

Need and desire overrule Boromir, and without any more moral struggle he carries the all-too-eager young Faramir to bed, where the boy swiftly finds completion courtesy of his brother’s practiced hand. Unsatisfied himself, Boromir nevertheless waits for Faramir to regain his senses before climbing atop the boy to resume their lovemaking. Faramir is fully willing, but when the older brother says he wants more, Faramir does not quite understand. Yet he gives his consent without hesitation, it not occurring to him Boromir himself might not know how to go about it.

Chapter 5. Fatality

When a triumphant warrior returns home, he does not make an idiot out of himself. He rides through the cheering streets, calls a mighty note on his horn and dismounts to embrace his proud family without his cape catching on the buckle of his belt and swaddling him, without the horn slipping out of his fingers, without his foot getting stuck in the stirrup and making him jump on one leg trying to free it. Things go smoothly – because there are moments when everything should be perfect.

Boromir averted his eyes and frowned, for something felt vaguely off – and as a man of the military he had well learnt to not brush away what his animal sense might try to spell out on the outskirts of his mind. When the eye does not see, sometimes the marrow feels.

But no, this must have been a false alert: now of all times there definitely could be no plausible reason for disconcertion. He was in bed naked – with an eager lover lying willingly trapped beneath him, so full of life, and desire, and expectation, so ready to embrace Boromir’s leadership, so effortlessly evoking such staggering lust in all of Boromir’s being…

Truly, one thing only could be done in such circumstances.

Indeed, what could be more natural than to take one little step and pass into him, blend into him, slip into him and become lost in him, lost in the burning radiant bliss that he was…?

Yes, it was natural, and logical, and self-evident – wherefore it had to be easy and simple.

Only it was anything but.

Had this been a maiden before Boromir, there would have been no grounds for hesitation. But Boromir wished for no maiden – and Faramir, apparently, was not one; which was supposed to be good, only… As a pesky little side-effect, his body lacked that special place so conveniently matching manly necessities, so befitting for claiming ownership and avowing what no words can suffice to evince.

Yet the state – and position – Boromir was in did not predispose him towards prolonged musings; his need called to be fulfilled immediately and cared little for particularities. Things would work themselves out. For him, things always did.

He closed his eyes and relaxed, and let the molten fire that ran in his veins take him where it would. Once again his and Faramir’s mouths came together – and, as their tongues entwined, Boromir began to move on top of the boy. His lust rejoiced in the very fact, and fed on his motion – and on the way Faramir at once picked up his rhythm. And whereas the young man had begun by only rubbing lightly along Faramir’s front, before long Boromir grew insistent and demanding, as though trying to plough through the boy with his hips. He had no clear idea what exactly he was trying to achieve thus, yet at the moment he had little rational understanding of anything, and he liked it that way. Besides, Faramir was evidently with him, lifting his hips as he did to welcome Boromir, to adjust to him, to receive his brother deeper into the privacy between his legs. Not to mention the taut evidence of Faramir’s fully rekindled fire trapped snugly between their abdomens – what better encouragement could Boromir get?

The man shifted, changing their position some more, and was able to press into the place just below his brother’s sex, where it was cosy and so invitingly hot. Yes, this was the angle he was used to, the angle all his tissues remembered, and already he began to bask in the foreshadow of the upcoming satisfaction; his breath grew heavy and effortful, and his mind filled with a thick warm fog, giving way to sensations, to nothing but sensations…

Faramir, too, was drowning anew. And this time, inconceivably, it was even better than before… This seamless arrangement of bodies, this strangely exhilarating pressure on the secluded underside of his body not only brought him pleasure but also curiously deepened and complexified his arousal in the way he had not yet known.

How could Boromir be so many things at once…? His dark stubble raspy on Faramir’s skin – but his lips so soft, hungry and masterful, but soft… His tongue soft too, but in an entirely different way, supple but volatile and headstrong all at once. His thick unruly hair tickling Faramir’s neck so lightly, the grip of his calloused hands on the boy’s shoulders so firm, and warm, and constant. His whole body so hard, so taut, only muscle and bone – yet still in some places so much harder than in others, in one particular place especially… How could Faramir’s perception process all the sensations separately, how could it keep all the colours of the rainbow neatly laid out in a row and not blending into one blinding beam…? How could he be unraveling and still stay aware…? He wanted to let his brother know how fascinating and wondrous it all was, how blessed – and so he pressed up at Boromir, simultaneously inviting his brother deeper still into his mouth, wishing to invite him as deep into himself as only he could.

Boromir’s blood positively pounded in his ears – already, even though nothing was actually happening yet. It was madly thrilling, to feel Faramir accept him thus, beckoning Boromir further and further on. Boromir’s hips, his thighs, his buttocks and back strained to accept the invitation and exercise themselves out, to push, to shove, to rock and swing – and the constricted pressure inside his body ached to finally be relieved. The young man drove at the boy harder still, ceaselessly poking and prodding, everything short of actually stabbing him between the legs. Not that Boromir meant to be rough, which he did not: he only followed the all too familiar course of action: several searching pushes, and then inevitably he would find the right place and easily slide inside – and from that point on…

But with Faramir it was not going to work that way, although at first the discord was gentle enough to overlook. The gasps through clenched teeth, the brittle tension in Faramir’s body, the way he arched up at Boromir – it all could be, just could be excused on the account that Faramir still moved with him, together. Only when the boy actually started squirming and jerking away, in an attempt to evade his brother’s ungentle jabs, did Boromir have to recognise they were desperately falling out of tune. And all at once their whole disposition seemed to him clumsy and awkward, more akin to a silent drunken struggle than anything else. As though to top it off, Boromir hit him on a particularly unlucky spot, and Faramir could not catch back a startled yelp.

Then at last Boromir went still and raised himself up to stare hard into the boy’s face, a strict frown on the man’s brow.

Faramir gazed up at him guiltily. “I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice, lying back and visibly willing himself to relax and be still, “go ahead…”

But Boromir sighed as though poked on an old wound and, averting his gaze, shook his head. “Nay, ’tis not…” he shut his eyes, as if a sudden headache needled his temples. “This is not right. This is not what I want…”

Faramir creased his brow, puzzled as to why Boromir spoke with such pain. If this peculiar something they had just been trying to do was not right, why not simply move on to something that was…?

“Boromir…”

He touched the other on the face, and made to hug him with his legs, to pull him in again – but the man did not budge. Loath as Boromir was to have to return to consciousness and make a mental effort, he knew that otherwise they would not get anywhere. And while he was at it, he could forget the perfect picturesque triumph, that much was already clear – to get this through at all was promising to be quite a feat.

With another sigh Boromir shifted back and forced himself to sit up. At once he felt groggy, disoriented, his body screaming in protest, his skin empty, bare without Faramir’s heat. His thoughts were blunt, unable to penetrate, to make sense… He scowled irritably – and with his hands decisively spread Faramir’s thighs wider apart. The boy opened up to him at once, eager to demonstrate his trust and compliance. Yet what Boromir saw only solidified his misgivings. In that place between the legs where he was used to seeing an open door, he was now met with the sight of a blank solid wall.

What else had he expected, though?

Entrances was not what a boy’s body was about. Pressing his lips tightly together, Boromir reached to trace his fingertips up the underside of his brother’s darkened manhood. Faramir sucked his teeth and shuddered, acutely titillated by the exquisite lightness of the touch, the contrast all the more sweet after all the previous discomfort. He arched up in silent supplication, but Boromir did no more, and only gazed on grimly. Indeed, what had he expected…? This was Faramir’s sex, this and nothing else: all strength and hardness, all on the outside, all before the eyes – but not at all what Boromir needed now.

That left only one other way, really…

Boromir kneaded the boy’s thigh thoughtfully. If he were to tilt Faramir’s hips up a little more, he knew he would see it. But surely that was not… He had, of course, many a time heard his men cautiously refer to this matter in their crude jokes – but then again, soldiers used many an anatomically unrealistic word construction in their speech, and Boromir had never taken this particular phrase seriously. At the time the notion had seemed nothing but unnatural and bizarre. Hence Boromir had taken his men’s interest in it to be of the same sort that young boys display towards garishly-coloured hairy caterpillars and fat slimy toads, whose fascination derives from their sheer hideousness – and whom, therefore, it can be so amusing to inspect while holding up by a leg, and then even more amusing to poke with a sharpened stick or squish with a boot.

Besides, Boromir knew better than to apply the warriors’ tales as direct instructions, for the barracks talk of sex had, of course, nothing in common with what actually happened in bed. And for once Boromir regretted having never sought beyond the simple fail-proof path to pleasure provided by every woman, regretted having never learnt how to do what he was now going to have to do if he wanted to have anything done at all.

Indeed, how could it possibly fit…?

But now that he had thought of this, had imagined it, he knew he wanted it –to the point of dying, of literally having his arteries burst if he could not have it. He recalled the look of Faramir’s naked buttocks, and now knew what the shadow between them promised… A promise that was in truth more like a cruel taunt. Was nature only toying with them, implanting this yearning in them and yet denying the means to consummate it? Things could be like that, he knew, for was it not so that there was on Arda a realm of unending glory and bliss, yet not everyone was made such as to be granted admission, and even to aspire transgression had been proven a severely punishable vice…?

But at the same time he knew he could never fool himself into believing it could not be done – because it could, and because he had wanted it from the very start, had meant to do it from the very start, whatever he had tried to tell himself.

Boromir knew better than to look, knew he would not be answerable for his actions if he did. He would do it without looking.

Except that he could not.

It had seemed he had already stepped well over all conceivable boundaries, had come so far, had relinquished all rights to be called a decent man – and yet…

Boromir shut his eyes, trembling, bending over himself, sick and aguish, both feverish and freezing. His erection was overcooked, brittle, threatening to snap off at an unhandy touch. His face hurt. This was taking too long, far too long. But he needed it again – Faramir’s guidance. He could not simply go ahead and indulge himself at the expense of his unsuspecting brother, could not even ask for permission: permission given upon request was not good enough – Faramir had to offer it unprompted, freely.

Faramir, however… All the boy could tell was that he had in some way proven severely inadequate for the function his brother expected – and needed – him to perform. As if that was not bad enough, Boromir’s mood had quite swiftly communicated to him like it usually did, and now he too felt utterly miserable and uprooted.

He did not know what was his expected role, whether he was supposed to ask some question, or wait tactfully, or what – yet at the same time he knew exactly what he was going to do. This undoubting knowledge within the lack of thereof did not even surprise him, for such it was between them that Boromir always gave him certitude, somehow – and, strangely, all the more so when Boromir himself stumbled.

Faramir pulled himself up and moved to sit as close before him as the man’s pose allowed. A shiver ran through Boromir when Faramir’s knee prodded his thigh, when the boy’s warmth washed over him, yet he did not even raise his face.

“Boromir…” Faramir leant in – but judged it best not to embrace him just yet, and only caressed Boromir on the shoulder with an open palm, an affectionate and comforting touch. “Boromir,” he repeated in his most soothing, reassuring, loving voice. “Please, it’s all right. I’m sorry, I’ll do anything. Boromir, here, it’s all right…”

The hard, burning, strangely desperate look Boromir shot him in reply, the way the young man did not respond to his touch, sitting still and as though suddenly enervate, all the more sharpened Faramir’s need to solace him somehow, to bring him comfort – to make it up to him. The boy moved closer still, straddling his unresisting brother’s hips and lowering himself unto Boromir’s lap. He stroked Boromir on the face, then cupped him on the back of the head and kissed him on the hair.

At last Boromir met his gaze square on, and it seemed the man would say something. He did not, however – but he did slowly embrace Faramir on the waist and pull him closer, so that they pressed hotly together, front to front. Faramir sighed and smiled, then leant in to kiss him again – this time on the mouth, an earnest supplication to forget all doubts. The ardour of Boromir’s instant response caught him a little off guard, but only for a moment, and were Faramir’s mouth not busy, the boy might have laughed for the joy of it.

Boromir wanted him so urgently, so ravenously – and Faramir would not stand to make him wait. He would reassure Boromir, oh yes, he would. Leaning lower still, he kissed the young man hard on the throat, making him gasp and arch his back – or maybe Boromir arched rather for Faramir’s hands decisively sliding all the way down his front.

But as in a feat of boldness Faramir took a decisive hold of his brother’s manhood, the boy gasped in awed shock and drew his hand away, as though he had touched candent metal and not living flesh.

To the fingers it felt so different… When prodding Faramir in his intimate regions, when touching against his belly it had felt hot, and hard, and powerful – but to the fingers… The sensation was so much less obvious than that. With his fingers Faramir felt how truly special, personal this moment was, felt the breathtaking delicacy of his brother’s strength, the intricacy of its shape, the taut veins protruding from the velvet of his skin, felt exactly how –

“How big you are, Boromir! Oh, Valar…” he whispered in wonder as he traced along the full length of it and tentatively curled his hand around. And finally he looked at it. Faramir had seen the manhood in question countless times in its peaceful mode, and had observed even then that it was… well, quite an outstanding one. When away on his first foray, lying in the shame-obliviating darkness amid sleeping warriors, he had also dared imagine what it would have looked like when… when they were naked, touching each other. Faramir had thought himself bold in his fantasies, but the truth was they came nowhere near the glory and ferocity of the reality.

It made him blush with pride and pleasure to know it burned like so for him, because of him. And he knew he wanted to yield to it, to offer himself to it – even if he did not dare as much as properly hold it just yet. He knew, only half-consciously and without knowing how he knew, that eventually he would be taken something from by this power, that he would give, and lose something, and likely it would harm him – but he wished to be harmed, to revel in it, to prove thus how much he wanted to please Boromir, that to him, Boromir was more important than his own self.

The sight made his own erection hurt for attention, but he did not wish that Boromir touch him in turn – no, he wanted nothing to distract him now.

Faramir met his brother’s eyes as he made a careful probing stroke, and Boromir held his gaze unfaltering, the man’s eyes dark, smouldering and unreadable. The boy bit himself on the lip as a larger hand covered his own and made him grip firmer than he would have dared – made him clench. He felt faint from the comprehension of the full magnitude of Boromir’s desire for him – desire that was not just an emotion, a thought – but solid flesh, something he could literally take in hand and cherish with his passion.

When Boromir went on to set a pace for him – thorough and measured, all masterful milking strokes and no rush – Faramir could endure it no longer and shut his eyes. This was better than anything they had done so far, he could easily spend the whole night doing nothing but this…

Boromir’s hands moved to hold him on the hips, letting him carry on as he would. Faramir smiled to himself, wondering whether Boromir would like the things he himself enjoyed, like that one with the thumb going over –

Boromir thrust into his hand with a startled cry – but before Faramir could repeat the maneuver, the man cried out again.

“Stop!”

Faramir let go at once. Heat rushed to his face, and he blinked, dumbstruck. Had he done something wrong again…?

He made to apologise, but Boromir held him even tighter than before, and kissed his neck slowly, breath ragged against Faramir’s skin.

Tentatively, Faramir reached down again.

“Don’t…” Boromir half pleaded, half ordered against the side of his face.

“Have I hurt you?” Faramir asked gently. “I’ll be more careful, I…”

Boromir heaved a sigh. “You… you don’t understand,” he muttered despondently. “Just… Hold still, all right?”

“Of course,” Faramir nodded, trying to quieten his nervous heartbeat. He could not make sense of things, could not comprehend why what had started as such a natural, self-evident pursuit had lost its flow, why they had strayed off what had seemed a simple and straightforward path into some hybrid of a labyrinth and an obstacle course.

He did as was asked of him, resting against his older brother’s body, his arms around Boromir’s back, his face in the crook of the man’s neck. Faramir thought Boromir would calm down now that he had stopped touching him – but it was not so. Boromir’s hands trembled with impatience as they moved across his back, and the man’s chest worked so as if unable to accommodate all the air he needed to inhale.

Faramir gasped softly when Boromir’s palms firmly cupped the roundness of his spread backside. The gesture, its eroticism notwithstanding, felt to him pleasantly playful, and he hummed under his breath, arching into Boromir’s touch. Then the boy’s eyes widened and his breath caught, for the hands quite without halting moved to explore between his cheeks. It felt very arousing, though – and although he wondered if he ought to be embarrassed to be touched in such a place, he most certainly was not. Suddenly it became hot and very difficult to think, and Faramir closed his eyes, sighing as Boromir’s fingers stroked and rubbed him in there.

At first he did not notice the searching insistence of Boromir’s ministrations. And then –

Faramir bucked against the man’s front – away from his hand, and a strained alarmed sound escaped the boy’s lips. He held still, however, pressed against his brother’s body so tight as though searching for shelter, yet not trying to interfere with what Boromir was doing to his behind. That is, until Boromir endeavoured to breach him once more, at which point Faramir jolted again. Panting shallowly, he hid his face against his brother’s neck, and much as he willed himself to keep in place and yield, the part of him which was not subject to the authority of his mind stubbornly resisted.

“Faramir,” Boromir muttered into his hair, “relax.”

“Uh-huh,” Faramir responded in barely more than a whisper. It was stuffy inside his head, and he could not quite understand what was happening… It filled his lower body with stiff, leaden dread, rendering him at once stupefied and jumpy. This sensation had no place in the list of impressions he had expected from intimacy. He was prepared for it being toilsome, possibly unclean, awkward, even uncomfortable or clumsy – but certainly not painful or… invasive.

Faramir shut his eyes tight and clenched his jaws to keep from making a sound when at last Boromir pinned him in place and overcame the defiance of his body. The boy did his best do fight down the little noise rising in the back of his throat, but Boromir must have heard it regardless. Or else his strain was telling enough.

Boromir grasped him firmly on the shoulders and pulled him away – to stare seriously into his face.

“Faramir,” he said with emphasis, and curved his brow a little.

For a moment Faramir gazed at him blankly, then the boy’s eyes, as though drawn by a force, moved to his brother’s arousal – and in a flash he understood everything.

He could actually feel himself go pale.

Again, he wondered whether he should be embarrassed by the notion – or frightened, for that matter. But aside from being utterly overwhelmed, his instinctive reaction was only desire – and, curiously, relief. Now, he knew, there would be no more purposeless wandering in the dark.

And he pursed his lips and nodded, and even tried to utter something coherent, although this last bit did not quite work out.

“It’d be better if you lie down,” Boromir told him, obviously trying not to sound awkward.

Again Faramir nodded, and shifted to move off Boromir. But the man shook his head, holding the boy in place by the backside, and so Faramir lay back between Boromir’s thighs, his hips resting on Boromir’s. Once more he felt the fingers in there, probing carefully but assertively – perhaps rather assertively than carefully; and as soon as Boromir established contact he pushed as far as it would go, for the heat of that place was a wonder and he could not help reaching for the source of it.

Gritting his teeth, Faramir tried to exhale. Lying like this was in itself enough to make him reel: such a submissive, defenseless position, his body bent and curled up, hips raised up and fully open, blood pounding in his temples, his erection lying on his belly, reaching past his solar plexus, closer to his own face than he had ever seen it. And now this sensation… Somehow, it changed the very angle of his world. He stared up at Boromir with confusion and pain in his hazy eyes – and Boromir held him and soothed him with a gentle word. The man would not suffer his little brother to see that he was, in fact, despaired, for the very make of those tissues, delicate as they were, arrested any attempts at progress, making him force his way through. If just one finger was this taxing to fit in, how would they be able to…?

But Boromir could not give up on the tempting surmise that maybe the problem lay in Faramir’s tenseness, that if only he could ease him up, could inure him to it…

At first the boy winced and cambered at every movement inside him, his muscles protesting indignantly, making a searing appeal that he interfere and stop this assault. But he endured it patiently, entranced by the expression of hopeful concentration on his brother’s beloved face – and gradually Faramir’s body resigned itself to the unfamiliar presence. The spasm of caution within him abated somewhat, and he was able to breathe again. It still felt peculiar, and disturbing, and alarmingly intense – but he could definitely bear it.

And then he grew aware of another discomfort. Something hard and smooth was pressing hard against his shoulder. So Faramir reached under himself and produced the long-forgotten oil bottle. As he studied the small phial in bemusement, wondering how it had managed to roll under him, Boromir snatched it out of his hand.

“Oh, brother! Why haven’t you told me?! This would just…” The man did not even heed Faramir’s startled cry at how abruptly Boromir withdrew from him. In an urgent haste, Boromir undid the cork with his teeth and poured the liquid generously onto his hand. The cool crispy scent filled the room at once, the bitterness gently prickling their noses – but neither minded or even truly noticed.

With the oil, it was an altogether different story for both of them. Boromir nearly laughed in relief. At once he saw his actions caused no more pain, for Faramir’s body did not try to fight him out like the previous time. What more, before long the boy began to gently rock his hips in rhythm with the motion of Boromir’s hand.

“Do you like it?” Boromir whispered incredulously. He had not even hoped… – but Faramir gave him a vague nod and even attempted a grin, so Boromir proceeded with doubled enthusiasm. Yet one finger seemed infinitely small, laughably insignificant in comparison to what he was ultimately going to give Faramir to deal with. Thus Boromir went on to try and insert another one along with the first, at which the boy groaned and stiffened up all over again. Indeed, to Boromir himself the undertaking seemed quite ridiculous: for all it felt, he might as well try to put his hand up Faramir’s nostril.

He withdrew, frantically put more oil on and tried again. But this time it proved of little use against the unpleasant sensation, for this time it was not merely unpleasant, it was painful – and the pain came not so much from the very fact of the intrusion, of the alien presence inside. It came from the girth Faramir’s body was forced to accommodate, and there was nothing they could do to make it any less taxing. The boy could feel his own tightness, how it stretched taut over Boromir’s fingers, ringing with tension and burning sharply, threatening to rip. Panting rapidly, he raised himself up a little, as though he could actually succeed at seeing anything.

Boromir was careful now, as careful as his want only allowed him. But even though Faramir had at last stopped straining, still he was not remotely ready to take in all of Boromir – could never be ready… The efforts were pointless.

He pulled out and planted his hands on Faramir’s thighs to show he would do no more. Faramir let out a long weary exhalation and went almost boneless in Boromir’s lap. This only confirmed Boromir’s conviction. The least he could do was be man enough and acknowledge the defeat.

But before he could, Faramir murmured without opening his eyes, “Don’t stop, I am fine.”

Boromir grinned. “No, you are not. And I will not forgive myself if I do this to you. We cannot. I would tear you up…”

“Nay, you would not. I know you want it, Boromir – and so do I. I am sure I’ll manage,” Faramir was looking up at him with a strangely sober gaze. Boromir was holding him on the thigh and the boy covered his brother’s hand with his own, the palm cool and moist. “I am aware it will hurt, but that is not your fault. Please, Boromir.”

Faramir shifted against him a little, settling more comfortably, and closed his eyes again. His heaving chest and uneven breathing betrayed how petrified he truly was – but he had made his resolve clear, and Boromir had to respect that.

And so he hastily applied all the remaining oil to his member, his fingers unsteady as they moved up and down the heated twitching shaft. For once he wished his source of masculine pride was smaller. Or that Faramir was older. Or…

He did not know what he wished for; he did not know anything in that moment and he could not believe it was actually going to happen. He was shaking, veritably shaking with lust, with need.

Bending over his brother’s body a little, he aligned them correctly – but still hesitated, and Faramir squeezed his hand silently, this unspoken permission stronger than any words. And Boromir obliged. He shut his eyes and with one mighty thrust entered him – then, unable to stop himself, thrust again and went all the way in to the very hilt.

This moment… It was like death, like rebirth, pain and glory alloying together to create an unprecedented new colour. And Faramir screamed – a feral, raw, panicked cry. But this cry was stifled by his brother’s second thrust, and Faramir only gaped silently. His upper body curved into a perfect arch, yet not once did he try to pull his hips away.

He had thought he had learnt how to get along with pain.

But this…

The depth of his throe was rivaled in intensity only by Boromir’s ecstasy. He too had cried out, for at once he was submerged into a tempest of pleasure, a boundless ocean of rapture. Every inch of the most sensitive part of his body was subjected to such impossible, intolerable, infinitely euphoric pressure. And the heat… the heat of that place melted all his senses.

At first it seemed to Boromir his loins would burst from simply having his manhood where it was. He held still for half a heartbeat, terrified. He did not want it to end, could not bear it if it ended just now.

He had to keep on having Faramir…

He did not know how, but he would endure…

He pulled back a little and then drove in again. And again. And again…

To dominate one who was himself born for dominance, for power… Somehow, it gave him a feeling of much stronger maleness than he had ever known with the opposite gender. Compliant submissiveness in a young man, in a warrior – it dazzled him, drove him insane. He wanted to slow down and be gentler, but it was outside his power. Even if his very life were put at stake, he would not have halted, for this delight was beyond life, beyond death.

This form of lovemaking turned out to provide far more resistance than the traditional way: he could not just slide in, he had to really push – and that felt wonderful. There was no soft slippery flesh to muffle the sensations, to drown his thrusts in: he found himself right at the core of Faramir’s body, the sensations so acute and defined, the contact with Faramir’s entity so staggeringly direct, completely unmediated – no, this could not even be compared to being with a woman.

Faramir, too, was quite dazzled. Delirious with pain, he sobbed quietly, chocking on his tears as his whole body was harrowed senseless. He did not know whether it was Boromir’s manhood that was scorchingly hot – or if it was his own flesh burning. At that point he was held from trying to break it up only by the fulfillment his brother apparently found in this. Boromir was breathing hard through his mouth, with every thrust baring his teeth and gasping as though in surprise. The combination of lust and ecstasy was making him high and clouding his vision, and his gaze had become unfocused, disoriented. Now and again, when it was almost too much, a shudder ran through him, and the young man would roll his eyes and hold still for a second. Oh, Faramir wanted to make Boromir happy, he wanted it so much… how could he ever ask him to stop?

And, strangely enough, he himself did not altogether want it to stop…

The boy’s throat had gone sore, the lower part of his body nearly numb, until… Until at last Boromir’s persistent, pertinacious onslaught exhausted his inner defenses, and with a warm elevating sensation his body relaxed and finally opened, relinquishing all claim over itself. The all-obscuring tension lifted, and as Boromir once again buried himself in his depths, far within him some unseen cord was pulled, and a rain of stars fell on him. And suddenly the hardness slicing through his flesh seemed no longer brutal, but a true blessing, one filling him up to wholesomeness.

But the stars went out like stray sparks from a fire – and Faramir strove to strike them again. Trying as it was in his position with legs up in the air, he pushed back at Boromir, striving to angle his hips downwards. And yes! There it was again, that explosion of light behind his eyelids, that elation of blood in his veins, that realisation that he was profoundly, utterly loved.

Ere long they fell into a joint rhythm, meeting each other midway, crashing together with a moan and a growl. It escalated madly, each driving the other forth – and, much as Boromir was stunned by his own pleasure, he could not tear his eyes off Faramir’s manhood. Somehow the notion of having his own cock polished raw by the tight firm grip of a yielding body – while at once having another one, just as lustful, on full display before his eyes… Somehow this notion fused something in his brain, and such frantic desire overcame him that he moaned helplessly, as though it were his body being claimed. He knew he was enslaved by it and, once he saw it spill its pleasure, he would follow at once.

Indeed, Faramir could sense something enormous hovering over him – hovering over him but from inside him, spreading through him and gathering him up, as though preparing him for some unimaginable effort… He acutely sensed it build up inside him, imminent and splendidly all-powerful, a veritable tidal wave – and already it felt so good…

And then suddenly it was not enough.

He had to be closer to Boromir, had to hold him, pull his brother to himself, kiss his mouth, inhale his scent. Absolutely had to be absolutely certain this was real.

Grasping Boromir on the arms, he buckled, muttering, “Kiss me! Please…! Oh, oh, Boromir, kiss me…!”

But just as the young man made to fulfill his request, trying to lean in without losing the pace, Faramir frenziedly struggled up, reaching for Boromir, trying to gather him into an embrace. For several long moments they bore down on one another, Faramir trying to sit up, Boromir trying not to fall over, each desperate to get closer to the other, to find the position fully apt for properly expressing all each felt for the other – yet unable to coordinate their movements, not quite aware what exactly they were striving towards. And thus they toppled over, landing on their sides in a tangle of limbs, not interrupting their thrusts for a second, groaning and gasping in bewilderment, clinging to each other madly – and still trying to settle into some remotely comfortable arrangement.

Then suddenly – an awkward movement, and Boromir slipped out of him.

For a moment Faramir could not take in what had just happened. Then he screamed shrilly, a wordless cry of animal anguish – for the sensation of loss instantly crushing on him was so fierce and searing as though his guts had actually been torn out. Like a candle blown out, his world had just ended.

Unable to be reasonable, he fought to reestablish the contact, violently battling for his only life-line. And with a muttered curse Boromir pinned him down, sandwiching him against the mattress – and with a grunt and a merciless thrust, was all inside of him again.

Their kiss was a frenzy, a mess, smearing all over lips, chin and cheeks until at last their mouths found each other and sealed together. Faramir’s heel digging into Boromir’s buttock, Boromir’s abdomen grinding his cock, fingers leaving bruises on shoulders and arms, this rampage was the only acceptable solution.

The river of their passion, flowing ever swifter, had now brought them to the very edge, the very tip at which its bottom bent and dropped into the dizzying below, all its overflowing might crushing down in an immensity of roaring foam.

For one, perfect moment they balanced. Then Boromir threw his head back and roared, “Ooah…! Faaaaramir…!!” and the world keeled and fell away from under them as the waters bore them down, toppled over and engulfed both of them. Existence ceased as they became one for an instant: an instant that contained infinity in itself.

Peace.

Peace right amid a tempest, amid the crushing force of the tumbling waters, amid the deafening thunder of the falls.

Absolute peace and bliss. Only the whiteness, only the fair whiteness of the foam.

An eternity later the airy foam washed them ashore, gently; and in a tangled disorderly knot they lay breathless on the damp twisted linens – speechless and carefree.

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/after-a-lifetime. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!