Home » Fiction

Warning

This story is rated «NC-17», and carries the warnings «Incest».
Since you have switched on the adult content filter, this story is hidden. To read this story, you have to switch off the adult content filter. [what's this?]

Remember that whether you have the adult content filter switched on or off, this is always an adults only site.

Count the Candles (NC-17) Print

Written by Foofy

16 November 2004 | 5150 words

Title: Count the Candles
Author:Foofy (niceandfluffy@hotmail.com)
Pairing: Boromir/Faramir
Rating: NC17
Warning: Incest
Disclaimer: Characters belong to whoever owns the LOTR copyright, which isn’t me. No profit is made from these stories.
Description: Originally written for the OfElvesandMen Birthday challenge. Boromir attempts to make Faramir’s 20th birthday a memorable one.


The noises of the Citadel were loud and, for the most part, merry. Barrels of ale were being drawn through the gates, soldiers laughing amongst themselves safe in the knowledge that today at least they had the opportunity to do so. For Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor, was currently not in residence.

Boromir walked through the corridors towards the Great Hall, nodding cheerfully to the acknowledgements from the soldiers. His eye fell on the decorations that were littering the Hall, bright and gay, managing to find some type of breeze with which to flutter majestically. He nodded in approval, before giving a few more orders to passing guards.

Faramir’s reaction was as he had expected it to be; stunned bewilderment. His brother, back annoyingly early from Ithilien, had managed to spoil the total effect of the surprise. However, his touching gratefulness – albeit mixed with not a small part of misgiving – made up for this.

"Father would not approve," he said as they walked through the halls. Boromir rolled his eyes.

"Father is not here, little brother. It is time we celebrated your birthday the way it should be celebrated."

"With plenty of ale?" Faramir raised an eyebrow. Boromir laughed.

"Of course. Could there be a celebration without it?" He plucked one of the brightly coloured decorations from the walls and twirled it between his fingers. "Garish colours and loud noise. Everything that you and your rangers attempt to avoid!"

"They’re not my rangers," Faramir protested. Boromir made a pah noise in dismissal.

"Of course they’re your rangers. They’re certainly not mine, and you know how involved Father gets in the day to day practicalities." Boromir carefully put the slightly mangled decoration behind Faramir’s left ear, and stood back to survey this in satisfaction. Faramir gave him a long suffering look, which Boromir chose to ignore.

"How drunk are you?" asked Faramir suspiciously. Boromir gave him an innocent grin.

"Drunk?" Boromir pooh-poohed the suggestion. "I’m not drunk!"

Faramir eyed him in disbelief. Boromir rolled his eyes again, which were seeing a lot of exercise recently.

"I may," said Boromir with exaggerated patience. "have sampled the ales for tonight. But that is my solemn duty as elder brother. Can’t have you poisoned now can we. Not on your birthday! Damn rude,"

"My hero," remarked Faramir drily. Boromir looked at him in some surprise.

"You being sarcastic at me?"

"Perish the thought,"

"Well, you’d better start. Otherwise I’m going to have to assume you’re ill and that would really disappoint your surprise," Boromir had moved on to assessing the tables. Faramir watched him cautiously.

"My surprise has the ability to be disappointed?" he asked suspiciously. Boromir had been hinting all week at some surprise he had stored up in celebration of his brother’s 20th birthday, and Boromir and plots never went together well. He had the nasty tendency to either not think the entirety of it through, or, even scarier, think it through a little too much. Boromir thinking about anything other than military tactics for more than fifteen minutes at a stretch was normally a good reason to be concerned.

Boromir seemed to register the suspicion, and looked back at him.

"You going to be standing there all day or am I going to have to carry you?"

"What’s the surprise, Boromir?" Faramir stayed rooted to his spot. Boromir sighed in a dramatic fashion.

"If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise would it,"

"If you told me it would be a surprise because you never tell me anything!" countered Faramir. Boromir’s brow furrowed.

"That’s not true. I tell you lots of things," he protested.

"When you remember. And that’s normally when I’ve had to remind you," replied Faramir, his arms folded. "Go on. You’re only going to tell me anyway once you’ve had enough ale. At least now I can assume it might be accurate."

Boromir studied his brother thoughtfully. "You," he said idly. "need some ale in you. Loosen up. It’s your birthday, after all!"

"I don’t do loose well,"

"Don’t I know it. So stiff you could be used as a bookshelf," Boromir grinned in amusement. "Not that being stiff is entirely a bad thing. Your surprise is counting on it,"

Faramir’s comeback comment died in his throat. He blinked at his brother, who had already managed to get a couple of guards to pass them a mug or two of one of the new ales.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked suspiciously. Boromir passed him a mug.

"Full of questions aren’t you!" Boromir sighed, and took a long swig from his own mug. There was obviously thinking going on. Finally the mug was lowered. "Look, all I can say is that it’ll be fun and something to get you properly loosened up, okay?"

"Hmmmm,"

"Trust me,"

"Hmmmmm,"

Boromir sighed. He bet this was all down to that stupid race he’d organised which had managed to get Faramir two broken ribs from being thrown from his horse after it had spooked at a badger. And possibly the time where their late night drinking session with a couple of the lads backfired and they almost managed to set the throne room alight. Or possibly the violent illness by a young Faramir after Boromir had passed him one of the more dubious Gondorian drinks one night. Oh well.

"You’ll like her, don’t worry," he said reassuringly. Faramir’s ale slopped in the mug at the jump.

"Her?!"

Cursing his lack of control over his vocal cords, Boromir attempted to soothe the troubled waters. However, the vocal cords were still being played by someone else entirely.

"Well, yeah." Boromir shrugged. "Thought you might .. like.. okay, what’s the matter?"

Faramir had been regarding him with something close to horror, his eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar. Finally, the jaw snapped shut with a click, and Boromir found himself pulled towards a side room subtly but purposefully. With the wooden door between them and the general public, Faramir leant back against it.

"Don’t worry about being nervous," Boromir began, not entirely sure what was happening. "You’ll be fine once it gets going, in a manner of speaking,"

"Exactly what," Faramir was obviously having difficulties working his words. "did you have planned for this girl?"

Boromir looked a trifle worried. "She’s agreed to everything. In fact, a lot of it she suggested, especially the costume and the nipple tassels and the .. er… you know," Boromir made an embarrassed gesture. Faramir looked at him wearily.

"You are aware… that is to say, you do know…," Faramir trailed off again uncomfortably, and leant back on his door again. "Boromir.. he said finally. "You do know I prefer … uh.. male companions, don’t you?"

Boromir stared at him. And then had to stare some more.

"You’re …,"

"I’m….," Faramir agreed.

"Oh. Bloody hell," Boromir ran a hand through his hair. Faramir shut his eyes; he had dreaded telling his brother, fearing that to do so would invite further distance between him and his family.

"Then who’s going to produce the bloody heirs then?" complained Boromir. Faramir opened his mouth to reply, ran the sentence through his mind again, then glanced at his brother in bewilderment.

"What?" Faramir stared at him. "Why can’t you?"

Boromir raised an eyebrow. "For the smart one out of us, you can be incredibly dense sometimes,"

"You mean you-"

"Got it in two."

"Oh," Faramir thought about this some more. "Then all that late night sword play was for ..,"

"I still can’t believe you fell for that," A cheshire cat had nothing on Boromir in the grin department.

Faramir sulked. "Well, you were very believable. You even bothered to keep up the supposed pulled muscles the next morning!"

"Oh, those were pulled all right. And pushed. And randomly abused." agreed Boromir.

Faramir dwelt on this image briefly. "I didn’t have you down as the abused, more the abuser," he admitted. Boromir shrugged.

"I am, "he said. "a man of many talents,"

There was a pause as both members of the family thought about talents.

"So what are you doing about this girl then?" queried Faramir. Boromir shrugged.

"I’m sure I can find some nice straight bloke for her." Boromir eyed his brother thoughtfully. "So… got anyone special?"

Faramir raised an eyebrow at him. "Can I translate that as a query about who I’m fucking at the moment?"

"You may indeed," Boromir grinned at him. "Come on, out with it!"

"Me out with it? You’re the one whose been active for .. what, five years?"

"Seven, but who’s counting," Boromir shrugged. "And before you start, the bloody army takes up most of my time. As you know. And I have to be extremely careful about what activities I take up and where, due to our father’s supervision."

"Yes, I can’t see him liking it," mused Faramir, who had realised this was probably one of the oddest conversations he was likely to have with his brother.

"I don’t want to see him reacting to it at all, personally," replied Boromir briskly. "Which is why he’s not going to know. ANYWAY, we were talking about you."

Faramir looked embarrassed, and the floor got a damn good looking at. Boromir waited patiently, which was another rare thing for him.

"Well," Faramir said awkwardly. "I’m not really .. well versed in the .. uh… practical side. More the theory,"

Boromir frowned in puzzlement. "Theory?"

"Thinking. Assessing. I suppose you might not have come across them much,"

"Don’t be cheeky," growled Boromir cheerfully. He rubbed his chin with a hand thoughtfully. "So, you’ve been thinking and assessing stuff rather than actually going out there and doing it?"

"What, you want me to grab someone off the streets?" Faramir sighed. "And it’s not just thinking. It’s reading too,"

"I think I might be able to arrange… reading? What d’you mean, reading?"

"It’s where you look at written symbols on parchment and see words in them," supplied Faramir helpfully. Boromir growled at him again.

"Yes, thank you very much. Exactly what have you been reading?"

Faramir shrugged. "There’s this bit in the library to the back where we have some old dusty books and scrolls, most of them elvish. The Ithilien rangers have been teaching me to read elvish, and the pictures aren’t that difficult to work out either,"

Boromir blinked. He had always assumed elves to be stuck up princesses more obsessed with walking gracefully through sun-dappled forests than the more dubious aspects of nature. After all, this sort of thing was messy.

"Elves, eh?"

"Kinky bastards apparently," agreed Faramir. "They have this one where he’s just ..," hands attempted to gesture to exactly what this chap was doing and failed miserably. ".. uh, I think you’d have to look yourself. There’s a bit I’m not sure what he’s doing, but if it’s what I think it is it certainly doesn’t look comfortable."

Boromir looked like he was in a world of his own. Faramir snapped fingers in front of his nose to bring him back to reality.

"So…," he prompted. Boromir still looked blank. "You might be able to arrange…?"

"Oh. Yes! Well, I’m sure I can arrange something little brother." Boromir paused as he noticed further embarrassed shufflings from said brother. "Something the matter or have ants taken camp in your breeches?"

Faramir looked painfully embarrassed. "I .. uh.. I’m not sure I can do it with just anyone, brother,"

"I wouldn’t put you with just anyone!" Boromir grinned, which fell slowly as Faramir didn’t return this smile. The frown returned. "Why, who did you want?"

"Uh,"

"Don’t know him." Boromir folded his arms. "Try again,"

Faramir twisted uncomfortably some more, which was making Boromir feel uneasy. There was a pause of about a minute or so. Finally Faramir, who had been taking a deep interest in his boots, took a deeper breath than usual.

"Uh. Well. It has to be someone I trust really well. Know them in and out, so to speak,"

"Well, who do you know like that?" Boromir’s mind ran through the ranger possibilities, not that he actually knew them that much. The Ithilien rangers tended to shy away from the ale parties they threw, which was a shame for learning about his brother’s work but a distinct plus when it came to how much beer was to be shared out. Faramir was looking even more uncomfortable.

"That’s just it. I can only think of .. well, one person who I’d trust that far,"

Boromir looked at him. "Who is…?" he prompted. There was another agonising silence. The boots were back to be studied. Boromir sighed.

"Look, if you want to be able to shag them you have to be able to say their name," A lop sided smile appeared. "It’s good manners,"

Faramir looked at him wretchedly. There was another long pause.

"So…?" Boromir felt the conversation needed to be poked some more. Faramir gave him what could only be classified as an incredulous look.

"You still haven’t worked it out?"

"Lets just say I’m very thick," Boromir shrugged and picked up his ale again which had been placed on a table after the whole pushing thing. Faramir gave him a look which stated that no one could be that thick. Boromir rolled his eyes.

"Go on, who. I’m unshockable."

Faramir watched his brother take a mouthful of ale. "It’s you, you stupid idiot,"

The ale went down the wrong way. Once the airways had been cleared through a remarkable amount of splutterings, Boromir stared at Faramir in stunned bewilderment. Faramir closed his eyes slowly.

"I thought you couldn’t be shocked," he said slowly.

"Shocked, no. Easily surprised, yes," Boromir ran his hand through his hair in thought. Faramir opened his eyes a crack to observe this.

"So I guess the surprise is off?" he remarked idly. Boromir glanced at him.

"Why?"

Faramir blinked at him. "Have you even been listening to the conversation?"

Boromir gave him a lazy grin. "Actually, yes. So lets go find these documents of yours and start doing some practical research, eh?"

Faramir looked stunned. In fact, Boromir mused, that was probably the expression he would expect if the Ithilien rangers were suddenly faced and overthrown by a bunch of killer badgers in tutus. Not that they were likely to. In fact, he really had to stop thinking about badgers full stop.

He put his hand on the door handle.

"So…," he prompted again. Faramir seemed to come out of his daze.

"Yes! Right!"

"Onwards! To the library!"

And with that unusual war cry issuing forth from one who had a distinct suspicion of book infested libraries, they were off.


"What the hell is that?"

There was the sound of papers rustling as the book was moved to a more suitable angle to observe the picture.

"I have no idea. I think it’s a trumpet," mused Faramir.

"Really?" There was a pause while Boromir looked slightly closer. " It doesn’t look as though it’s been well looked after,"

"I’m not surprised given where it’s been placed,"

There were further rustling as the pages were turned. A somewhat amused chuckle came from Boromir.

"That looks bloody uncomfortable. Don’t get any ideas, little brother, my legs do NOT work like that,"

"Elves are more flexible,"

"There’s flexibility and then there’s being able to kiss your own arse,"

"That’s something of an exaggeration, Boromir. And besides," there was a grin inserted here. "you manage to kiss your own arse all the time,"

There was the sound of a hand connecting lightly to the back of Faramir’s head.

"Hey! You can’t slap me, it’s my birthday," protested Faramir. Boromir shrugged happily.

"Put it down to some type of bondage fetish," he suggested. Faramir frowned.

"I suppose that’ll work in some twisted way," he said slowly. Boromir flicked through a few more pages idly.

"You have something against bondage?"

"I think I’ll be allergic. I’d come out in bruises," said Faramir drily, and leaned over to see which lithograph Boromir had paused at now. It was one of several elves, intertwined with each other, a mass of graceful erotism and an amazing lack of .. well, mess. It was possibly the neatest orgy Boromir had ever seen.

"If I’d tried that in a forest I’d get a pinecone stuck up my arse," he complained. Faramir smiled and looked at the picture a little harder.

"Boromir, you don’t have to do this," he said almost as casually as before, his hand turning the page. Boromir paused the page on another picture which showed a novel use for a waterfall.

"I know," he agreed cheerfully. "Looks cold, eh?"

But Faramir was not focusing on waterfalls. "Honestly, Boromir. If this is some noble gesture you want to do-"

"Have I ever done any noble gesture that I haven’t actually wanted to do?" Boromir released the book.

"Yes."

There was a pause. "That’s besides the point," Boromir waved a hand grumpily. "This isn’t a noble gesture for the good of mankind. This is a gesture which is for the good of me and you."

"Many would disagree with you,"

"Many think that purple trousers are the most tasteful evening wear at diplomatic meetings. What should I care for their opinions?" Boromir folded his arms stubbornly.

"Father would disagree with you," Faramir said softly. Boromir paused. Father was definitely not someone in the purple trouser category.

"Father disagrees with everything. Especially to do with you." Boromir moved forward to put his hands on his brother’s shoulders, having worked out that he was probably not going to win any long and serious debate with his little brother. Action was called for, and any mess could be sorted at a later date. Faramir relaxed against his brother’s hands, his eyes drifting shut.

"This is not assisting your argument," he said softly.

"As far as I’m concerned, these many people can go and .. copulate with themselves."

"Have you been extending your vocabulary again? Dangerous business," Faramir sighed as Boromir began to massage the shoulder area. Boromir leant over and kissed his brother’s neck gently and cautiously. There was no murmur of discontent from Faramir. Encouraged, Boromir ran his tongue along the soft skin, occasionally nibbling when the mood took him.

Faramir shifted uncomfortably, his breeches becoming an issue.

"So you want to take or be taken?" murmured Boromir in his ear. Faramir paused, not realising he would have a choice in the matter.

"Uh,"

"Speaking of vocabularies, yours really needs to be extended." Boromir grinned, his hands slipping over the shoulders and across his brother’s chest. "Choices need to be made."

"I suppose I don’t need to ask whether you’d be gentle," Faramir’s words were just above a whisper.

"That’s right. I’m never gentle." Boromir laughed as Faramir immediately tried to sit up straighter. "Kidding, kidding! Gentle as a lamb, me. Well, if lambs got into this situation and then you’d probably have to fish out all the wool-"

"Boromir, please stop talking,"

"Okay." Boromir’s lips were back on the neck, his hands having travelled down Faramir’s chest to tug on the hem of the tunic. Boromir pulled back a few centimetres. "This," Tug tug. "Off. Now."

Faramir hesitated for a few seconds, before doing as his brother requested. Said brother had wandered back to the door and ensured that it was fully locked, although the question why this section of the library needed a lockable door was obviously one that needed to be breached at a later date. This part was his father’s own reading material, which suggested some .. well, interesting answers.

Having satisfied himself that they would indeed be left alone, Boromir turned and stripped off his own clothing with practised ease, throwing the clothes aside and draping the fur-lined cloak on the floor which he had specially retrieved from his room. Faramir’s eyes grew bigger as Boromir completely unself-conciously rid himself of his breeches, the fire in the corner of the room – another mystery in a book favoured area – solving any problems with cold air reaching parts that cold air was banned from.

"Come here," Boromir’s voice was soft. Faramir dragged himself off the chair and walked unsteadily to his brother, who was assessing him thoughtfully.

"You’ve filled out," he said approvingly. "although I note the leggings are still on."

"You ordering me about on my birthday?" Faramir nevertheless started fumbling with the drawstring on the breeches. Boromir considered this.

"Apparently so. However, I swear I’ll make it up to you," Boromir grinned lazily as he watched. Before the breeches had even finished hitting the ground Boromir had stepped forward and captured Faramir in a long kiss. Faramir resisted at first, then moved into it, his hands beginning to explore the powerful muscles of his brother’s back with curiosity mixed with a good dose of desire.

Boromir finally broke off the kiss, running his hand between them. Faramir shut his eyes slowly, his head lolling back slightly as Boromir gently touched him, each time sending what seemed like electric shots through his body. He groaned in approval. Boromir grinned again with a lop sided smile, and pulled away briefly to pick up a bottle which he had left on the table.

Faramir opened his eyes slightly to view what was going on.

"What’s that?"

"Some type of oil. I can never remember,"

"What’s it for?" Faramir frowned at him. Boromir looked at him blankly, then gave a quick glance to the books.

"Don’t tell me your elves do it without do they? Definitely kinky buggers," Boromir shook his head in what appeared to be admiration, then looked back at his brother. "It’s for.. well, making it easier. Don’t worry, I can show you,"

"Sounds messy," It also sounded culinary, but Faramir didn’t want to say that in case spices turned up as well.

"Sex is messy. Or at least the good stuff anyway," replied Boromir cheerfully, pouring a little over his fingers and rubbing them together. Faramir eyed him cautiously. "Don’t worry. Or at least worry knowing there’s nothing to fear from it anyway."

"Your cloak is likely to get messed up,"

"You stalling?"

"Well… uh…,"

"Thought so," Boromir stepped forward and re-captured Faramir in a long and lingering kiss, his non-oiled hand pressing Faramir’s body to him. His brother almost melted against him, a whimper issuing from his throat. Boromir’s other hand carefully drifted lower. He caught Faramir as the younger man jumped against him at the feel of Boromir’s touch.

"Shhhh," soothed Boromir. "S’okay."

Faramir tried to relax against him again, but the feel of Boromir’s finger gently circling him was disconcerting to say the least. He looked at the soft grey-green eyes of his brother, who was watching him carefully, and smiled. His eyes shut briefly again at the feel of another finger carefully inserting itself in him, his breathing tight and controlled.

"You okay?"

Faramir nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Boromir chuckled to himself, carefully increasing his movements. This position was not the greatest for such actions however. He withdrew his fingers carefully, and was further encouraged by a sulky protest.

"Lie on the cloak," he instructed. "On your back,"

"I don’t get a please?" Faramir did what he was told however. Boromir shrugged.

"Sometimes," he said gravely. "pleases are just not available,"

Faramir paused. "That made no sense whatsoever,"

"Hey, I’m a fighter not a philosopher," Boromir shrugged, and knelt down between his brother’s legs, moving them apart gently.

"I feel like I’m about to give birth," complained Faramir. Boromir leant across him, his fingers back to their original target.

"Allow me to change that," he said solemnly, and smiled as Faramir arched against him. Ah, that was better; he actually had room to move, and chances to go to even further depths. Faramir seemed to be getting far too involved, moving his hips to try to get Boromir’s fingers even further in. A natural, it seemed. Boromir risked another finger. Faramir dropped his head back and groaned, although his hips never stopped moving against his brother.

Boromir finally re-rescued the oil bottle and spread some more on his hands, sliding his hands over his burning arousal to fully coat it. Faramir watched with sleepy looking eyes as his brother touched himself, a slow and hungry smile on his face. The bottle was once again abandoned, Boromir finally moving back between Faramir’s legs, bracing his brother’s legs against his arms to position himself properly.

"You ready?" Boromir held back from pressing into his brother, his eyes scanning Faramir for any signs of distress.

"I’m ready! Hurry up!"

Boromir rolled his eyes, then gently started to push into Faramir. His brother went silent as Boromir slowly and gradually entered his body.

"You still okay?" Boromir was a little concerned at the lack of .. well, anything. Faramir gave a half laugh, his eyes not opening.

"Please tell me you’re not going to ask that at every thrust are you?" he grinned. Boromir sighed in a melodramatic fashion, and began to increase his movements, not least because his body desperately demanded it. Faramir groaned, as Boromir rested, buried up to the hilt in his younger brother.

"You out of energy already?" teased Faramir when it became obvious that Boromir was being overly cautious. "Get on with it, soldier!"

"Sir!" Boromir grinned, and began to thrust into Faramir, the speed and care of the thrusts losing cohesion every so often. Faramir squirmed against him, trying to get him deeper inside him, when suddenly he cried out loudly as Boromir slammed into what appeared to be the centre of every nerve in his body, his back arching against the floor.

"Hey, quieten down!" Boromir glanced at the door, only half joking. "We are in a library you know!"

"Fuck that," gasped Faramir. "What the hell did you just do?"

Boromir shrugged, and thrust in again. Faramir let out a strangled moan.

"That."

"Well, don’t start talking, just get on with it!" Faramir was becoming extremely demanding. Boromir was more than happy to oblige. His own self control was becoming more than a little frayed around the edges, his climax approaching in a very determined manner. Boromir groaned, tried to resist, but failed miserably, exploding into his brother with a muffled cry.

"By the Valar…," he gasped, his breathing all over the place. Faramir laughed.

"Nice endurance you have there!"

"Huh!" Boromir withdrew from him, a sulky but amused expression on his face. "Okay, lets see how well you do, shall we?"

Faramir lifted himself slightly off the floor, his face frowning slightly. " What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, brother dearest," Boromir’s grin was still wide and lazy. " that it’s your turn,"

Faramir still looked at him in incomprehension. "Are you saying..?" the look of shock was evident on his brother’s face. "I can’t!"

It was Boromir’s turn to look in incomprehension. "What do you mean, you can’t? You mean you don’t want to?"

"No! I just .. can’t!"

Boromir looked baffled. "Why not?"

Faramir waved a hand in the door’s direction. "Father would go ballistic if he knew!"

"He goes ballistic anyway!" protested Boromir. "Where your cock is at the time is unlikely to make much difference!"

"You’re the heir. You go on top," Faramir folded his arms stubbornly. Boromir gave him a Look.

"That is possibly the most stupid thing I’ve heard all day,"

"But it’s true. It’s not my place."

Boromir made an "arrrgggh!" noise and ran his hand through his hair, forgetting that the fingers were slightly oily still and causing some interesting hair sculptures.

"I’ve told you. Your place is with me. What I do, so can you,"

"You might be talented, brother, but even you cannot fuck yourself." Faramir was still being stubborn. Boromir eyed him in impatience, then turned and dropped to his knees, his back facing Faramir. Faramir shifted himself into a sitting position, his frustrations becoming even louder at the sight of his brother waiting for him.

"Come on, Faramir. You can do it." Boromir had relocated the oil bottle once more, and slicked up his fingers. Making sure everything he did was designed to torment, he carefully and slowly started to open himself up, his fingers sliding deliberately slowly to show Faramir exactly what was going on. Faramir swallowed, the burning in his groin reaching fever pitch.

"I cannot," he said softly and hesitantly. His body begged to differ.

"Come on Fara." Boromir shook his hips in what he hoped was an inviting way and not looking as though he had cramp. Faramir moved to his knees, shifting forward, his hands finally lying on Boromir’s hips.

"I don’t know what to do," he said helplessly. Boromir glanced over his shoulder.

"Really? I would ask those elves for your money back then," Boromir grinned. "Come on, there’s not many choices. Unless you want to try to unblock my ear wax,"

"Romantic thought there," Faramir complained cheerfully as he lined himself up as best he could. "Do I need to .. well, oil up or anything?"

"Nah, I’ll be fine. Just thrust and go, Faramir," Boromir shut his eyes as he felt Faramir nudge against him experimentally, then timed his push back just at the right time. Faramir almost yelped as he pushed into the tight warm of his brother swiftly, Boromir dropping his head slightly as he adjusted to the sudden invasion.

"You okay, Boromir?" Faramir asked anxiously. Boromir took a few moments to recover.

"Me? I’m good. Go on!"

Faramir did not need much encouragement. After the initial caution, he was thrusting heavily inside him, Boromir attempting to keep in a steady position against the enthusiasm. His knees, which were just past the fur cloak, were going to kill in the morning. Thankfully, Faramir had needed little in the way of additional stimulus. After a minute or so, Faramir tensed and thudded back into Boromir one last time, a loud cry accompanying his climax. Anyone passing would no doubt think there was a war in here, thought Boromir drily.

Faramir flopped to the floor as he pulled out, energy completely drained from his body. He looked at his brother, panting softly, and smiled.

"So do I get this for all my birthdays?" he asked softly. Boromir rolled over, and grinned at him.

"And other such celebrations,"

"Such as?"

Boromir looked thoughtful. "I’ve always found nights to be extremely beautiful. Worthy of .. well, celebration, wouldn’t you say?"

"Every night? You’ll be dead within a week,"

Boromir leaned forward, grinning. "Now that’s," he said. "a challenge,"

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 http://www.faramirfiction.com/Fiction/count-the-candles. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!



Thank the author

The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author:

  [ what's this? ]

View all recent Thanks


1 Comment(s)


NB: Comments may contain spoilers!

“Onwards! To the library!”

Somehow this made me laugh. :‘D They are so playful.

“I feel like I’m about to give birth,”

Hahaha, I just love this. :‘D The joking makes their sibling relationship so believable!
Not to mention that this was really hot. :-D

— Geysir    24 November 2013, 00:26    #

Subscribe to comments | Get comments by email | View all recent comments


Comment

  Rules & Help

All fields except 'Web' are required.
Your email address will NOT be displayed publicly. It will only be sent to the author so she (he) can reply to your comment in private. If you want to keep track of comments on this article, you can subscribe to its comments feed.