Faramir Fiction Archive

Death Long Suffered (NC-17)

Written by Alcardilmë

09 December 2009 | 33441 words

Chapter Twenty – Turtle Soup

Damrod knelt at his captain’s side. “Boromir. Is there aught you need?”

“Nay. Damrod. We will stay here another day or two. It is good for Faramir.”

“He seems peaceful.”

“He is.”

“You are not.”

“No. If I could… if ever I come near to the Witch-king, I will… Damrod,” his throat clenched, “He did horrible things to Faramir.”

“I stayed with Siriondil when he was first brought into the Houses. I know what was done to him.”

“Could any be so cruel, so heartless to such a fair lad?”

Damrod’s smile was sorrow-filled. “You love him?”

“More than a brother should, but I will make no excuses for it. I would shout my love from the escarpment, if need be.”

“Your father?”

“Can fuck himself!”

Damrod chortled. “Very well. I shall send a missive stating such.”

Boromir smiled. “Thank you. The horrors Faramir has recounted this last hour are too terrible to endure.”

“Yet – he has. And triumphed.”

“He has, Damrod. He is stronger than I.”

“I think not. He is strong, but in a different way.”

“Is Mablung on watch?”

“He is. We caught no fish.” Damrod’s face blushed slightly. “Thankfully, the supplies we have are enough.”

“Good. I would take him to a more comfortable place, one of the inns here about, but I dare not. He must needs scream and that he could not do at a public place. So, we will stay here and you and Mablung best learn to catch some fish.”

“I beg your leave, Captain, but Mablung and I both know how to catch fish. It is that the stream is too shallow here. We have caught a dozen crayfish and at least that many snails. I would venture to say, if we looked further, we might find some mussels. I could make a stew?”

Boromir’s brow rose and he began to laugh. “Very well. You are both excellent fishermen and yet we have no fish. Make a trap. Even the smallest stream holds fish.”

“If we had known we were going to stay…”

“Damrod, are you trying my patience? There must be muskrat or at least turtles about? Turtle soup would sit well with me.”

“Turtle soup it is then.” Damrod’s face split in a huge smile. “We found three. They are good size. I was going to surprise you, but you have badgered me into giving our little treat away.”

“Turtle soup then. For nuncheon?”

“Yes. Boromir,” the soldier’s tone changed to one of concern, “get yourself some sleep whilst Faramir sleeps. You do look terrible.”

His Captain-General smiled. “I will do as you suggest, but no banging of pots and such.”

“None. Sleep well, Captain.”

Boromir turned on his side and nuzzled up against Faramir’s back. His little brother still slept soundly. Boromir could feel the scars on his back. He bit his lip as tears fell. Damrod clutched his shoulder, then left him.

He woke to a wondrous smell and smiled. Faramir still slept and he nudged him. “I think nuncheon is ready, little brother. Wake up.”

Faramir stretched and yawned, then pushed himself back against Boromir. “You feel nice.” His face flamed as his member grew. “I do not understand this. How can I be hard upon waking?”

Boromir laughed and hugged him tightly. He whispered back, “Wood usually hardens when one wakes. Go relieve yourself and you should feel better.”

“I do not want to feel better. My balls even ache, Boromir. My arms tingle. I want you in me. We… we never did finish, last night. I am sorry.”

“No. It was probably for the best. I was quickly losing control and would have taken you too roughly. This way, when we start afresh, I will be rested and ready.”

“Ready? Is there such a thing as being ready for what we did? What we will do? I cannot ever imagine being ready for the bliss I felt this morning.”

“You flatter me, darling Faramir.”

“Then be flattered, my love, for you helped me relive something… horrible. You can now enter me without fear.” He huffed a little. “I am a ‘good lay,’ am I not?”

“Where do you hear these terms, Faramir!” Boromir gave him a small slap on his butt and felt Faramir tense. “Forgive me,” his eyes widened in distress.

“Do it again, when we are one. It felt,” and he turned and gave Boromir a swift kiss, hoping to hide it from Damrod, “It felt wonderful.”

Boromir chuckled. “Perhaps once or twice, but that is all. I do not normally hit my bed partners.”

Faramir blushed. “How m- many have you had?”

Boromir put his tongue in Faramir’s ear, then whispered breathily, “Only two or three. I suppose I have been waiting for you.”

“Soup is ready,” Damrod called out loudly.

The brothers held each other for one more moment, then stood and walked to the fire. Damrod had two bowls and spoons laid out on the ground. He took the pot and poured some into each bowl, then handed the brothers spoons. “We will eat in turn, as we did not pack for a picnic.” He smiled. “There is still some flat bread from this morn’s meal. I see you did not eat much. However, the honey supply seems to have diminished.”

Boromir cleared his throat and looked warningly at Damrod.

“Well, never the mind. I am sure some animal got into it.”

Mablung stepped out of the brush, holding a fish up. “Finally! The trap worked, Captain. This will be the first of many.”

“Are we staying longer?” Faramir asked, surprise plain on his face.

“We are. At least one more night. Mayhap more, if the weather holds. I need to make sure the stream is healthy. Yes. That is why we are here. To see if the stream is healthy.”

Mablung snorted, earning him another glare from his captain.

“The soup is very good, Damrod,” Faramir held his bowl out. “Might there be enough for seconds?”

The soldier poured another liberal amount into Faramir’s bowl, then offered another portion of flat bread. This time, the piece was covered with honey.

Faramir looked up, Damrod winked, and Faramir smiled. “Thank you. For everything.”

“It is my pleasure, Lieutenant. You need to put a few pounds on if you intend to return to Ithilien and fight Orcs.”

“Boromir,” Faramir turned to his brother. “Do you think I can truly mend enough to lead men? Do you think I might return to my post?”

“I do, Faramir, if you continue to practice. Which I know you will. You will not let it go. I think it might be wise to practice some swordplay this forenoon. We have rested quite a bit so far, we do not want to spend the entire afternoon wrapped in our bedroll.” He leaned over and whispered into Faramir’s ear, “Though I would find that most pleasant.”

Faramir blushed. “I think my sword needs sharpening.”

“I think it is fine,”

Damrod choked. Mablung looked off into the distance.

“I am finished with my soup. I believe I will go relieve myself. Damrod, ‘tis time you and Mablung ate. I want to check on that trap you made too. Faramir, would you like to join me?”

Faramir stood with a little more alacrity than he should have and blushed again. “If you wish, Captain.”

“I do. Mablung, where is the trap laid?”

“About a rod south of here.”

“Thank you. We will return.”

“Of course you will,” Damrod muttered, hiding a smirk behind his soup bowl. “If you find any fish in it, bring it back. We will have fish for dinner.”

Boromir nodded and turned south; Faramir followed behind.

After a half hour’s walk, Boromir turned and took Faramir into his arms, thrusting his tongue into his little brother’s wet mouth. “Oh, you taste of succulent turtle soup.”

Faramir laughed. “I would be a turtle and pull myself in, waiting for you to come.”

“I will come, and soon.” He pushed Faramir to the ground, quickly unlaced his brother’s leggings, and pulled out the already hardening shaft. He moaned at the sight, then engulfed his brother’s cock, licking and sucking until Faramir shouted and came. “I hope that will hold you,” he laughed, “I think we will not be alone until evening.”

Faramir gasped, trying to still the exquisite shuddering of his body. “I believe that will hold me.”

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