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Broken Boys (NC-17) Print

Written by Quende Lasse

22 February 2009 | 702 words

Title: Boromir ♥ Faramir: Broken Boys
Author: Quende Lasse
Characters: Boromir/Faramir
Prompt: #7 non-con
Word Count: 631
Disclaimer: Tolkiens World.
Author’s Notes: Archive: My own LJ’s and 50kinkyways, Faramir Fanfiction, OEAM. This ficlet is dedicated to my friend strangekitties, Happy belated birthday sweetie. I hope it was a very good day. *Big hug and kiss*

His sobs can be heard only by those who come close to his hiding place, a little cubby hole in the forth level wall, but as luck would have it or unlucky as the case may be, his brother is prowling around this level. He has given his friends the slip. Flipping an apple into the air he catches it and takes a bite, but pauses in his chewing, listening. ‘What is that sound?’ he wonders.

Creeping around, listening, he targets the sound, sneaking up he’s shocked to see his disheveled brother hovering like a frightened child, his fine clothing torn, his buttocks exposed, bruises forming on his face and body.

“Gods! What has happened to you, my brother?” His own tears well up, dropping the apple, he moves into the small space and takes his brother into his arms holding him close, feeling his wet face on his neck. The two of them are young handsome boys, broken boys, broken toys.

His brother doesn’t speak, but buries his face in the crook of his brother’s neck, his face burning with shame, and the rear entrance to his body burning with pain. It was an exit, but now – the pain – he wants to die. His tears flow freely. His sobs are silent on his brother’s skin – the torment not ending with the day.

“Come brother,” weeps the other, “The people have gone home for their supper and the streets are deserted.”

Helping his brother to stand, he braces him close holding him up as he stumbles unable to walk properly – his boots are gone and the small pebbles from the crumbling wall cuts into his feet. He’s distressed at the plight of his brother, wanting desperately to know what has happened, but he’s unable to bring himself to ask at this time. His brother was hiding from their father – from everyone – so he knows he must stay silent for his brother’s sake.

It’s a slow painful journey to his brother’s quarters but eventually they make it. He helps his brother remove the tattered remains of his fine clothing and tosses them into the fireplace, bit by torn bit, as he takes them off his brother’s bruised and battered body. He helps his brother to sit on a chair, and his tears increase as does his brother’s when the pain once again flares.

He brings over the water urn and basin, and bathes his brother with a soft cloth kissing every bruise – even the one on his cock. They’re tender brotherly kisses meant to heal and nothing more. Slowly he helps his brother to his feet, careful not to cause him more pain, and lays him upon the bed on his belly shocked to see the blood on his brother’s bottom. He retrieves his supplies and finishes cleaning his brother as gently as he can. He’s unable to see well since his vision is obscured from the tears that won’t stop their flow.

After the pitiful heart wrenching bath he laves his brother’s manhandled body with soothing healing salves, and then he fixes a potion for his brother to aid in sleeping. He helps his brother to lean up holding the glass to his brother’s swollen lips helping him to drink all of it before laying him back on the soft bed once more.

The sleeping potion works quickly and his brother eases at last into a tear free oblivion. Not wanting to leave his brother alone even for a moment, he removes his clothing setting them aside, and he gets in bed with his brother. He brings the blankets up covering them both and takes his brother into his arms caressing his head upon his chest whispering quietly as his own tears still flow.

“I love you Boromir, I love you my dear brother.”

The End

March 2006

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1 Comment(s)

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Beautifully written snippet of the love between the brothers.

— Peersrogue    28 February 2009, 11:44    #

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