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Four Journeys (NC-17) Print

Written by Fawsley

01 September 2005 | 34096 words

[ all pages ]

Title: Four journeys
Author: Fawsley
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Boromir/Faramir; Faramir/unknown elf; Faramir/Aragorn
Summary: Three men, four journeys of the heart. Difficult roads to self-knowledge and not all of the travellers is able to stay the course without some serious doubt and major angst.
Warning: possible non-con/rape; implied child abuse/incest; graphic violent sex.
Feedback: Delighted to hear from you at fairestkortirion@yahoo.co.uk Especially interested to hear ideas on the identity of the unknown elf. He turned up and insisted on being included but failed to tell me who he was.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters and I think they wrote much of this themselves.

Eternal thanks: to LadyoftheMarshes for amazing beta work and for red wine down at the Chained Tree and to HalfElfLost for soul-enhancement at all times and for stopping me from hitting the delete button.


Part 1: Boromir's journey

Third Age, Summer 3000

The messenger had met with the returning Host of Gondor in the early morning as he rode headlong towards Dol Amroth. Ever glad for news after so many months away from Minas Tirith, Boromir had greeted the man eagerly, plying him with ale and food and much needed rest before allowing him to continue on his journey westward to the sea.

'I carry council reports for your father the Lord Steward' the rider had explained. 'He is with Prince Imrahil to discuss the protection of shipping routes from attack by corsairs, a growing menace. He will be gratified indeed by the news of your defeat of the Southron force, Lord Boromir.' He paused to drink deeply before continuing, wiping froth from his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Should I carry the news to Minas Tirith on my return, or does my lord intend to march there sooner? Captain Faramir is there now and will be keen to hear....'

Boromir interrupted the messenger.

'*Captain* Faramir? Since when has my brother been a captain? Captain of what?'

The messenger drank deeply again before continuing with one of the most exciting stories to have come to the White City in many months, proud to be the one to first relate it to the army's general and the hero's brother.

'Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, my Lord Boromir. Since last autumn. The Rangers were then of course under Lord Madrim's command, scouting up on the borders of Mordor and Lord Faramir was serving amongst them. A surprise attack by orcs, Madrim was sorely injured, his deputies slaughtered, the patrol broke up in disorder, the orcs ran havoc, all seemed lost. But Lord Faramir assumed command. Though then of junior rank he drew the men back to him, rallied their strength and courage, they were outnumbered two to one but they surrounded the orcs and destroyed them all.

'Madrim was saved but his injuries later proved too severe for him to resume command. He has retired from the Rangers and is now master of the archery school. As ever the Rangers themselves elected a new leader to replace Madrim. They chose Lord Faramir, there was not one voice of opposition. He is their captain now, much loved by the men, they speak of him as amongst their greatest leaders. And Madrim swears only an elf could be more proficient with the bow.'

Pleased with himself, the messenger returned to the comforts of his ale mug.

Boromir was stunned. He had not seen his younger brother for nearly a year and a half. Skirmishes with the Southron menace had kept him busy, and during the one brief visit he had made to Minas Tirith Faramir had been absent. When Boromir had last seen him, his brother had been on the cusp between two stages of his life, full of potential, growing into his body, yet still a breathlessly beautiful boy. Now he must be, what? Seventeen. Certainly a man.

Would he have followed Boromir and gained the muscled physique of warrior, or their uncle Imrahil into an over-tall, gangling figure? And, wondered the deepest most secret part of Boromir's mind, would his brother still awaken in him that desperate need, that thirst that could not be quenched, that terrifying urge which rode roughshod laughing over what should be a chaste brotherly love? The mores of Gondor allowed much that other lands viewed with distaste, yet sexual love between siblings was ever a horror that could only result in banishment or death. Would it still be best if they did in fact rarely meet?

Boromir found unintended words falling from his lips.

'I shall take the news to Minas Tirith myself, will ride ahead of the men. It will be good to see my little brother again. We have long been parted'

The messenger laughed as he drained his mug and prepared to continue his journey.

'Not so little any more, my Lord Boromir!'


Within an hour Boromir had passed command of the army to his deputies, instructing the men to march towards the White City so as to arrive within two days, that he would ride on ahead to take the news of their victory himself. They could, he assured them, expect a glorious reception, he would see to that himself. Many he embraced in farewell, though he avoided the young cavalry hand, the youth whose long red-brown curls and slim build made him, from the back, appear so like another, whose body had tempted Boromir to take him as he so longed to take another.

But when the boy had turned to face him in their coupling it was not the face Boromir longed to kiss, not the eyes he yearned to drown in. That was when Boromir felt a surge of dark anger rise within him, made him crush the boy for arousing those feelings, hurt him and punish him for not being his brother.

Soon he was gone, riding fast and light towards his city. The young cavalry hand watched the departing figure with a mixture of loss and relief in his eyes.




As he rode, Boromir's mind tumbled helplessly, arguing with himself that he travelled simply to bring the news of the victory to his people. Of course it would be good to see Faramir again, to congratulate him on his own glories, to talk together now as fellow-soldiers of Gondor. Again and again he pushed down the desire that had tormented him for so long, the lust for his own sweet brother. Faramir was a man now, 'not so little any more' the messenger had said, so no doubt something in the lanky mould of old Imrahil, the 'Uncle Bean-stick' of their childhood. No, Boromir insisted to himself, when they met he would find that passion spent, a passing phase. Faramir need never know what torture had wracked his brother.

But a malicious part of his mind drew forth images of the boy which ever aroused that most dangerous of desires. Faramir standing fearlessly on the Citadel walls nearly a thousand feet above the Pelennor, gazing out defiantly towards the darkness of Mordor.
Faramir shirtless upon an ancient and placid retired charger as it grazed hock-deep in buttercups, lying along the horse's back to gaze at the high clouds one hot afternoon, his skin bronzed, glistening with sweat, hair streaked blonde from the sun. Faramir that day at the stable yard, watching, awakening...

Boromir had long only had eyes for his brother, eyes that must be wary, eyes that could not let others see the need in them. As the ache in him had grown, Boromir had had to fight harder and harder to control himself, to stop himself from letting the madness take over, to stop himself from defiling the innocent flesh of his beloved little brother.

Faramir had ever been dearer and closer to him than any other, always they had shared thoughts, secrets, dreams, but this was something he could never share, something he could never allow Faramir to know. Too many nights he wept, calling Faramir's name again and again, his hand working to bring him release but not relief. And too many nights he saw again, felt again, the last time they had been together.

Faramir had still been almost a child, and in his childlikeness had once again shared his bed with Boromir. It had been a ritual that on the night before one of them went away, on the night after one of them returned, they slept together for comfort. Boromir had tried to avoid it this time, argued that they were adults now and had no need of it, terrified of what it might do to him, of losing control, but somehow he had stayed too long with his brother and Faramir had seemed especially to need company that winter night.

Long they had talked of what lay before Boromir, had discussed the Southron enemy. Even then Faramir had shown signs, Boromir now realised, of a gifted soldier, but then he had still only seen his little brother. They had lazed on cushions before the fire in Faramir's chamber, sipping spiced wine to keep out the cold, until the prospect of traversing icy stone corridors to his own chamber had daunted even Boromir and he had once again lain naked next to the angel of his heart.

He had hardly slept. The Southron menace was nothing to what he had to vanquish that night. Faramir had slipped quickly and easily into dreams lying safe in his brother's arms, sleep revealing in him an even greater beauty, something almost elf-like, a beauty which threatened to burn away Boromir's very soul. A night of torment, but Boromir had at last slept, only to awaken before dawn to find his brother turned away from him, his own face burrowed in Faramir's soft curls, and his hardness pressing urgently into the cleft between the boy's smooth buttocks.

The moment had been his greatest test. It would have been so easy, and so sweet, to thrust forward, to pin Faramir down and take by force what he so desperately needed, but he had somehow found the strength to hold back. Lying still he had held Faramir close, weeping silently for what could never be.

'Fara...' he had whispered, his lips brushing and nuzzling his brother's warm neck, 'Fara, I love you beyond all reason, my body burns for you. I ache to be inside you.'

Faramir had moaned softly in his sleep and pressed gently backwards against his brother's anguish. Almost undone, Boromir had rolled away and out from under the hot blankets into the morning chill, shaking with cold, with lust, with terror. Quickly and quietly he had slipped into his clothes, left the chamber and soon was nothing more than a wisp of dust on the horizon as he rode south towards a different kind of battle.




As his tired horse jogged slowly across the Pelennor, scouts from the causeway forts galloped ahead to alert Minas Tirith to Boromir's return. By the time he reached the main gates the city would be in glorious uproar, crowds filling the streets, garlands and ribbons strewn at his feet, silver trumpets calling him home. Boromir's pride craved such pomp. As he drew nearer he could see in the distance the dust cloud from another speeding horseman, this one riding away from the city towards him and his heart leapt at the thought of it being Faramir.

The lowering sun was in Boromir's eyes making him squint at the approaching figure, but as the rider grew closer he could see this was a compact warrior, not some lanky Imrahil, and Boromir's hopes faded, so certain was he now that Faramir's blood must have inherited a strong Dol Amroth quality. The oncoming horse skidded to a halt alongside him, a strong arm gripped his waist and a fierce kiss was planted full on his lips. 'Boromir, my brother! Oh Brom welcome home! I can't believe you're here! Is it truly you?' Faramir was breathless from his gallop and from his emotion.

Faramir was beautiful beyond Boromir's wildest imaginings. All traces of the child had left him. Boromir was almost in shock, hardly able to speak, knowing that all possibility of his lust being dampened was lost. He wanted Faramir more than ever, and now he wanted the man not the boy.

'I could as easily ask whether it is truly you, Fara' his voice husky, nervous.

Faramir threw back his head and laughed. 'I grew up while you were away!' He cantered around Boromir in his excitement, shirt billowing in the breeze, blowing open to reveal a strongly muscled torso. Boromir ached to touch him.

'Come Brom! Hurry! The city is delirious with your homecoming! Father is not here and you know how everyone enjoys themselves so much more when he is away. They are already half-wild with joy! Ride home in triumph and glory! Come on!'

Faramir spurred his horse away then wheeled around to once again encourage Boromir to join him. 'Come *on*!' he shouted over his shoulder as he galloped away.

Boromir groaned as he urged his mount onwards for one last effort. He knew he would not long be able to resist the temptation that Faramir now presented, knew that he had to have him. At least he would be taking a man now, his conscience comforted him, and Faramir would no doubt fight back, perhaps even prevent him from actually succumbing to his forbidden lust.

For a moment the temptation to turn around and ride as hard and as fast as he could to anywhere that Faramir wasn't flashed through his mind, but the city was waiting for him and his fate drew him ever onwards. Faramir met him again inside the main gate and together they rode through the tumultuous throng upwards around the spiral of Minas Tirith. Their names rang in their ears, men women and children surged forwards to see them, to greet them. Babies and small children were held aloft to marvel at the magnificently handsome warrior brothers as they passed, flowers thrust at them by love-struck girls, only to be kissed and handed to others eager to take them further up the road.

At last, after leaving their mounts at the stables, they escaped the clamour for the peace and privacy of the Citadel. Faramir turned and embraced his brother tightly, one hand on Boromir's waist under his riding cloak, another snaking around his neck, held him close as he spoke soft and low.

'Sweet Valar, Boromir, I have missed you so! More than you know. There is so much I need to speak of with you.'

Boromir's whole body vibrated. This man had a power over him that could destroy reason. Was Faramir aware of Boromir's hardness as he pressed against him?

'Your rooms should be made ready by now, and supper will not be long. Tomorrow we shall truly celebrate! I had of course already planned to drink to your name at supper then, but now...'

'Tomorrow? Celebrate? Drink to me? Why?'

Faramir's throaty laugh close to his cheek elicited a muted groan from Boromir, still gripped by the lust that had overwhelmed him when Faramir rode out of the sunset.

'Have you truly forgotten? Have the Southron robbed you of your grasp of the calendar? Tomorrow is your birthday!'

Boromir groaned now in anguish. Tomorrow he would indeed be twenty-two. Only twenty-two, yet he felt like an old man wrecked by a lifetime of hunger. Unable to resist, his arms wrapped themselves around his younger brother and returned the embrace, breathing deeply, desperate to hold on to his sanity.

'Fara...'

His brother stroked his head and kissed his brow tenderly. 'Go, rest now, worry not. This evening shall be spent quietly if we can get away from those damned councillor fools. We shall talk together later, alone.' He made to leave but then turned back and locked eyes with his tormented brother. 'Boromir, I have the sweetest birthday gift for you. You could not wish for more.'

Faramir smiled, and was gone.

And as Boromir made his way to the sanctuary of his rooms the knowledge of what the night would bring made him stagger and clutch at the wall. For tonight was a night of return, when he and Faramir had ever shared a bed, as they had also ever done on the nights before their birthdays. Faramir wanted to be alone with his brother, to talk, to renew their bond, to offer his birthday gift. Boromir wanted to be alone with him for quite different reasons. He could see no escape, his doom lay before him.




They supped together quietly in Boromir's private dining room, though the noise of the continuing revelry in the city rose up to them from the lower levels. Boromir toyed with his food, too miserable to eat and drinking far too much, trying not to look at Faramir but desperate to feast his eyes on the ravishing figure seated across the table from him. His brother laughed to himself at the noise of the celebrations.

'A fine homecoming, Brom! You have been away far too long, though of course I was not here last time. When was it? Almost a year now. I was at Dol Amroth, trying to learn navigation. It took ages! I was hopeless, thought there had been a mistake and I had no Númenorian blood in me at all, but then suddenly it all made sense. Not that I get much chance to use the skill in Ithilien.'

The noise from the populace paused for a beat then an explosion of fireworks rent the air and the partying resumed.

'Ha! I wonder how many of those babes held up to see you today were little Boromirs you begot on that last visit!'

Horrified by the thought, Boromir at last met his brother's eyes. Faramir smiled and raised a quizzical eyebrow, one that Boromir would have given all to run his tongue over, tasting the creamy skin.

'*None*, I assure you. *None*.'

Boromir's words were vicious stabs as a wave of anger at Faramir for even daring to think of his brother with a woman washed over him, a rip-tide of venom dragging him down, making him want to hurt the thing he loved most.

'More likely they're all your little bastards. I expect your cock's been busy with those over-heated sluts now your balls have finally dropped and you think of yourself as something like a man. When did you get that idiot fluff on your chin? Have you seen yourself lately? Huh!'

Boromir spat then drained his goblet and reached for yet more wine.

Faramir was silent, shocked and wounded. The brothers never quarrelled. Boromir's words were the most vicious that had ever passed between them. Minutes passed and neither spoke, the watching servants shifted uneasily in the silence. As if noticing them for the first time, Boromir's anger now turned upon the staff.

'Out! Get out! Out! Now!'

He sounded just like their father. Unhappy and distressed by the turn of events, Faramir watched the nervous servants leave then rose and bowed to his brother.

'My apologies, Boromir. You are tired and I was thoughtless. Let me leave you for now.'

He began to walk unsteadily away from the table, then turned and half ran back to Boromir's chair, stumbling to kneel beside him, grasping his brother's arm urgently.

'Brom, we've been apart for so long, I don't want to fight. Not with you of all people.'

Boromir looked down with tears in his eyes, grieved at the barb he had thrown at his brother, shamed by the patient forgiveness Faramir offered him, wretched in his suffering.

'Oh Fara, you cannot understand how I love you!'

Faramir reached to stroke the tumbling blonde hair from Boromir's face, trace the line of his neat beard, then arched upwards to kiss his lips.

'I'll come to you later.' he whispered.

Boromir clutched at his brother, held him for what seemed an eternity, gasped hoarsely as his drowning will power struggled to the surface

'No, Fara! No, you must not. I beg of you, don't come to my chamber tonight, not any night. Faramir you must never again...'

But Faramir just smiled and kissed his brother's tears away.

'Oh but Brom, I have the sweetest gift for you!' and finally left Boromir to his grief.




He should of course have locked the door, but sense had deserted him in his torment. Boromir stood before the fireplace of his chamber, leaning against the surrounding stonework for support, head on his arms, heart racing, almost out of his mind. Having been unable to eat he now took solace in a fast-emptying bottle of some strong sour spirit he had claimed as booty from the defeated Southron.

'Boromir.'

He did not turn.

'Faramir, go! Leave me! You have no idea... Leave me or I cannot answer for what I do.'

'I've brought your birthday gift. You will adore it, I assure you.'

'Just go! Leave now! I *order* you!'

Faramir's bare feet were silent across the stone floor, but Boromir heard the sound of the door close and the key turn.

'Gods, Fara!' he groaned to himself, to his departing brother 'This lust for you consumes my very soul!'

A gentle rustling, the creek of supple leather, and the realisation hit that he was not alone. The key had turned, but of course could only be turned from within. Faramir was still there, in the chamber, had locked them in. Had he heard Boromir's words? Shaking, panicking, knowing that the moment he desired more than any other, dreaded more than any other, had finally come, Boromir turned to face his little brother.

Faramir was standing close to him, had shed his shirt and stood now in only tight leather breeches that barely skimmed his slim hips. Boromir gasped with longing. His brother was perfect, matching him in height, auburn hair glinting in the candle-light, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, soft dark nipples he ached to lick and pinch into hardness, a scattering of golden hairs upon his chest thickening to a darker band leading down, down... Boromir swayed and clung to the fireplace, terrified of what he was about to do.

'Fara...'

'I promised I would bring you your birthday gift, Brom. Here, take this.'

Faramir offered something like fire, like ice, something golden and silver. Even his lust could not overpower the shimmering magnetism of the flask Faramir held and Boromir reached out to take it.

'What is it?' he murmured, mesmerised. 'It seems elvish.' he held the flask to the light, turning to swirl the thick golden liquid within.

'Yes, it is. Mithril and crystal.'

'How in the world did you come by it?'

Faramir smiled enigmatically.

'A ranger makes interesting contacts in the course of his work.'

Boromir gazed at the beautiful flask, at his beautiful brother, struggling.

'Thank you Fara. It is truly a princely gift.'

Now Faramir laughed, head thrown back. Again Boromir jerked forward, desperate in his need to taste that tender throat, his resistance all but gone.

'But that is not your birthday gift!'

'Then what...? What is my gift? What is the flask then?'

'The flask contains a little something to help the gift along.'

'What do you mean Fara? Stop talking in riddles! What's in the flask?'

'Only oil. Ordinary oil from the kitchens.' The look on his face was maddening.

'What do you mean?' Boromir hissed, his mind refusing to comprehend.

'The flask is not your birthday gift, Brom. Nor is the oil.'

Faramir paused a moment, taking the flask and placing it on the small table beside the bed, stepping forward and locking eyes with his beloved elder brother.

'I am.'


Boromir collapsed into Faramir's arms, weeping, clutching, covering him with fierce kisses, fighting to meet the mouth he so desired as Faramir returned his passion in equal measure.

'Fara, Fara...' almost incoherent.

So long he had believed that when this moment came it would be one of appalling violence where he would have to force Faramir against his will, but he had been wrong. Faramir had chosen to give himself to his brother, and Boromir had all the time he needed to fulfil his desires with this exquisitely compliant virgin.

'Fara you are beautiful. So long I have loved you, so long, needed you, wanted to...'

'Sshhh, Brom. And I have known for a long time. Understood what ate at you when it began also to eat at me. Waited until I was no longer a child. Always wanting you. I have ached with yearning for you to take me, but you were far away. Now you are here.'

'You know this is wrong? That we risk everything?'

'I know that it is right and that I would risk all for you.'

Their mouths found each other once again and at last Boromir's lips and tongue traced the curve of his brother's face, the long neck, his fingers at last pinched at a hardened nipple, worked downwards, slowly downwards, to unlace the thongs of those tight breeches.

His hand pushed inside and found Faramir's incredible hardness, felt his brother shudder and arch against him, felt him clutch and tear at his own clothing. Boromir eased the breeches down over Faramir's hips, ran his hand over the taught muscle of a buttock, his mouth eating hungrily at his brother, devouring him, biting that sweet throat. Faramir wriggled sinuously, grinding into Boromir's erection, and the breeches fell to the floor. Still locked against his brother he stepped out of them and was naked in Boromir's arms.

'Brom' he whispered against his brother’s ear, his voice hungry as Boromir had never heard it before 'I can wait no longer.'

Boromir gathered Faramir up into his arms and stumbled to the great bed, throwing him down then stepping back to strip. As he ripped the clothes from himself he watched Faramir lying with one leg off the bed, one knee raised, displaying all, languidly stroking his engorged cock, gazing up at his brother, eyes filled with adoration and desperate need. Boromir's own eyes widened and he drew breath sharply as he gazed in wonder at his brother's nakedness.

'Brom, take me in your mouth, please...'

Boromir's mouth watered at what was offered to him, and with the last of his clothing he too fell to the floor, kneeling to taste the heady musk of Faramir's arousal. Grasping the thick shaft he kissed the weeping head, nuzzling it with his lips, his tongue teasing the slit and snaking over the throbbing vein, finally enfolding the long, quivering hardness. Faramir responded to every lick, every suck, writhing and moaning in abandon, urging Boromir to swallow him deeper, to fill his mouth, to take him far into his throat.

Boromir kneaded urgently at his brother's heavy balls, and as the saliva ran from his hard-working mouth he let it pour over his fingers, wetting them in readiness to explore Faramir ever further. Slowly he slipped a hand between his brother's open thighs, between the strong buttocks, traced their cleft until they found the tiny pucker that had so long been the subject of all his wildest fantasies. Boromir massaged the opening, glorying in its untried tightness, probing eagerly, the goal of all his lust.

Faramir's moans were wild now, his cock convulsing in Boromir's throat, hands knotted in his brother's hair. As Boromir's finger finally breached the tightness Faramir exploded, screaming his brother's name and filling Boromir's mouth with pulse after pulse of hot salty juice. Boromir drank what seemed to him the sweetest nectar, the elixir of life, the seed of his brother. Still his greedy mouth pulled at Faramir's cock for more until his head was pushed away with the last of the boy's strength.

Aroused as never before, Boromir knelt before his exhausted brother then pulled himself up onto the bed to kneel over the defenceless body.

'Fara, you are shameless, utter temptation and I cannot resist. You taste so sweet, my little brother!'

Faramir could not speak, lay gasping for breath, chest flushed and heaving. Boromir pulled him fully onto the bed, swinging him around to lie straight, the arched to kiss him tenderly on the eyes, deeply on the mouth.

'Fara! Tell me you want me. Tell me you want me to do this. Tell me that you need this. You know it is not in my nature but I will do my best to be gentle.'

Faramir opened his eyes and looked up at the man towering above him. A wildness in them made Boromir's cock jump.

'Brom, my brother' Faramir could only whisper. 'I do not wish you to be gentle. Take me as you have ever dreamed of doing. Take me and hold nothing back. Hurt me...'

Boromir groaned in glorious anticipation of the act to come, the consummation of all his desires. The violence he had so dreaded, that was so hard to restrain, was what Faramir was aching for. The elven flask glittered on the side-table. Kneeling astride Faramir's torso, Boromir reached for the crystal jewel, warmed it between his hands, kissed the precious container. Looking down again at his wanton brother, Boromir took his cock and pushed it towards Faramir's parted lips, teasing them. An agile tongue snaked out and licked at the offering.

'Taste it, Fara, taste the source of your pain.'

Faramir moaned softly and lapped more urgently, but Boromir could not last long if he gave in to such treatment.

'Later, my greedy little brother. Later I shall bruise your mouth. Later...'

Edging backwards, Boromir pushed Faramir's legs apart. The oil was soft and warm as Boromir spread it across his fingers. Again he touched Faramir's secret opening, pressing and massaging, gazing at his handiwork. Easily he inserted one finger, met sweet resistance at the entrance of a second. Faramir's breathing was becoming ragged again. Boromir scissored his fingers hard against the tightness, stretching Faramir open, urging the muscles towards defeat. A third cruel finger and Faramir began to buck.

'This is nothing, Fara, nothing to what I'm going to give you.'

The fingers pushed and crooked, exploring, demanding. Faramir bore down on them, whimpering, wanting more. The fingers withdrew and Faramir mewled his distress at their loss.

Boromir exhaled deeply, controlled his breath, licked his fingers salaciously before carefully oiling both himself and his brother. Grasping Faramir by the hips, positioning himself, driven by the sweet agony on the face beneath him as finally he thrust his cock into his wrenched and aching brother. Faramir's screams were silent now, his body arching and contorting as it tried to accept what was being done to it.

'Little brother, I'm not yet half way inside you. This is nothing to the pain that is to come.'

Boromir continued to thrust against the resistance he met, giving no respite, finding pleasure in his brother's heat and pain, wondering just how much the beautiful body could take before he broke it. Then Faramir's reluctant muscles relaxed, and Boromir slid his full thick length inside his brother's incredible tightness, moaning now himself, head thrown back, deepening his penetration at every thrust.

Faramir was a sobbing pleading mass, both legs wrapped around his brother's waist as Boromir powered uncontrollably into him, yelling his name, pulling at Faramir's freshly engorged cock. Only one word, one word - 'Harder...harder...' - could Boromir comprehend, and at its cry he thrust and thrust again until it seemed that Faramir must tear, pouring himself into his own flesh and blood, crashing them both into a white light of pure ecstasy.


Entwined in each other's arms, it seemed an eternity before either could move, could extricate himself from the tangle of bedclothes, work out which limb belonged to which body. Boromir stirred first, searching for cool water to slake his thirst, gazing in still-astounded adoration at the crumpled figure beside him.

'You liked that, didn't you, you little whore?' he growled 'You liked being taken hard.'

Eyes as deep as the ocean opened, captured him, held him. A slow, crooked smile of satisfaction.

'No Morgul blade could cut me deeper, stab me harder. The pain when you entered me was awful but I wanted it to burn forever. Oh Brom it was everything I'd ever dreamed of, everything I'd ever feared, everything I could ever need.' Faramir shifted and winced 'But I think I'm bleeding.'

Every nerve in Boromir's body thrilled to the dark desires he had never imagined his innocent brother could possess. He rolled his lover onto his front and gently examined the damage he had inflicted. Faramir was torn and was indeed bleeding a little, though the oil had helped and the injury was not as bad as those he knew he had given others before. He kissed his brother's buttocks tenderly then gave one a stinging slap.
'You'll live.'

'I think I said, did I not, dearest brother...' Faramir's voice was muffled by the pillows 'that you would enjoy my birthday gift to you.'

Boromir gathered Faramir to him in a crushing embrace.

'Fara I love you past sense and reason, I adore you' he whispered 'I never thought you would ever come to me like this, let me use you like this. You are my one true love and I am ever yours. Whatever happens, I shall never leave you, little brother, *never*.'

Faramir escaped and rolled onto his side, facing away, then inched backwards into his brother's embrace.

'Hold me' he asked 'Hold me close as you did the night before you went away, the morning when you awoke and wanted me so very much, yet you did not take me.'

'You were awake?'

'Awake, and hard, and aching for you.'

'Fara! Why didn't you let me take you? Why?'

'You know why, Brom. I was still half a child. I knew deep down that I still must wait. I wanted to be a man when you took me. I don't think I could have stood the pain, the brute force before now, yet I have wanted it for so long.'

'You're not a man, you're a god, so beautiful. I shall never cease wanting you, taking you.'

'Nor I you. Not that I have yet taken you, of course.'

Boromir was silent for a moment.

'No man has ever taken me, Fara. I have only ever taken. I could not bear to yield to any but you. Never have I taken a man face-to-face before, so I did not have to see that it was not you I was inside.' Something like a sob escaped from Boromir's lips.

Faramir snuggled further back into him, reached behind to stroke whatever part of his brother he could find.

'And when I do take you, dark stars will explode in your mind and you shall no longer know yourself. I've been there. Love you Brom.'

'Don't ever stop, little brother.' Then Boromir laughed as warmth and joy and sleep took him again *...not so little any more...*




Morning.

The knocking at the bedchamber door came again, this time more insistent.

'Lord Boromir, sire, the Council is met. Lord Boromir they are growing impatient to hear news of your defeat of the Southron offensive. Sire? They ask for your presence. Lord Boromir?'

'Go *away*!' Boromir yelled in reply, lobbing a riding boot, the nearest heavy object he could lay hands on, hard against the door. He rolled back onto the bed and into his brother's arms. The bedclothes were in complete disarray, a nest of debauchery.

'I suppose, actually, that you ought to go. They didn't get much out of you last night. Unlike myself.' Faramir's voiced trailed off into a satisfied sigh.

Boromir lazily stroked Faramir's flat stomach, licking and teasing a taught dark nipple.

'Fara, you are magnificent. I can never get enough of you. What you did to me this morning... Where did you learn that? You were not truthful with me, that was not the first time you have been with a man! You gave me so much, took so much, mastered me. Never did I imagine that such pleasure could be possible, to submit myself totally in such a way...'

'Oh it was indeed the first time, of course it was. Remember last night? *All* last night! You are an excellent tutor' his brother laughed softly .'For so long I have had to wait, we have both had to wait. Waiting has made the fire burn ever more fiercely. I have dreamed so many nights of what we would do to each other, what I would do to you, when the time finally came.'

'Now I no longer know whether I wish to take or be taken.' sighed the elder brother.

Faramir rolled towards him, nuzzling Boromir's rough cheek with his soft lips, grasping and stroking his brother's growing shaft.

'Perhaps if we tried both again it might help you decide.'

'Lord Boromir!' Again knocking at the chamber door.

'Lord Boromir the Council demands your presence. They *must* receive the news from the south. And sire, we can't find Lord Faramir anywhere. His bed has not been slept in, his breakfast tray not touched. No-one is quite sure what to do...'

Exasperated at the intrusion, the brothers rolled apart onto their backs.

'Enough!' roared Boromir. 'I'm coming, tell them I'm coming. But I'm not staying!'


Desperate to be still somehow near his brother, Boromir pulled on Faramir's tight leather breeches and strode off to the council chamber. Having not eaten for nearly a whole day he grabbed the remains of the Southron spirit as his breakfast, supplementing it with the morning ale from the tray waiting outside his chamber door, and claimed also that left untouched at Faramir's door as he passed.

The breeches were too small and wear had moulded them to fit another's body. Boromir felt as if he were inside Faramir's own skin, the constriction at his groin and the force with which he had carelessly yanked at the lacing thongs in his hasty dressing meant that by the time he marched into the chamber he was not only terrifyingly angry but also very obviously, hugely erect. The breeches hid nothing and the councillors did not know where to look.

'My lords!' Boromir announced, striding into the centre of the circle, sweeping a deep - and deeply ironic - bow. He swigged at the remains of the spirit bottle's contents. By now his liquid supper, liquid breakfast and empty stomach were combining to push Boromir rapidly towards drunken recklessness.

'My lords, in my father's absence, as Captain of the White Tower, I assume command. Today is my birthday and I intend to do what I please, with whom I please. The Southron are not yet knocking at our gates. My report can wait a day until the army arrives and will then be given in full, in detail, painted in blood and gore, in the presence of my deputies and sergeants.'

'But Lord Boromir....'

'Silence! You can wait. I however...' Boromir smirked and drained the bottle '...I cannot wait. I return to my birthday celebrations. Go! Until tomorrow.'

And so just as he had ejected the servants from his dining room the night before, now Boromir dismissed the Council also. Confused and horrified at Boromir's behaviour the councillors rose and departed, muttering groups filtering out of the chamber.

But one figure lingered.

'Lord Boromir, Lord Faramir is missing. Forgive me sire, it has been rumoured that all was not well between you at supper last night. The Council is troubled by his absence and would know...'

Boromir turned slowly to face the speaker, smiling, but the smile was that of a snake before it strikes.

'Lord Iscalon. Lord...Iscalon. Let me assure you that matters are most well between Lord Faramir and myself, most well. And should I choose to spend my birthday buggering my little brother...' the councillor gasped in horror 'Yes, my oh-so easily offended Iscalon, if I choose to spend my birthday fucking my brother's tight arse, stretching him open and forcing myself ever deeper inside until he is torn and bleeding and screaming for mercy - not that there shall be any mercy - if that is what I choose to do, then I shall do it.'

'But Lord Boromir, sire, you cannot do this, he is your brother!' hissed Lord Iscalon.

'Too late, Iscalon. I've been doing it all night.'

Boromir held the old man's arm in a grip of steel, Iscalon trying to back away from both the fury and the swathes of alcohol fumes that threatened to overpower him, but Boromir did not relent and continued to hiss venom.

'And don't pretend that you are shocked. I know you Iscalon, far too well for your own good. I know where your tastes lie. I remember and so do you. We both understand, don't we, that you would never be foolish enough to speak of this conversation. For if you did then I would find myself forced to report to my father that other little talk we had together some time ago. And you wouldn't want that, would you Iscalon?'

For a long moment the two men locked eyes in undisguised hatred, then Boromir’s voice broke the silence.

'Leave me, leave me! Tomorrow you will have my full report. You shall not be disappointed. My brother and I shall sit in serious council and you shall know us only as lords of Gondor. Go! Disturb me no more. I have family matters to attend to.'

Boromir roughly pushed Iscalon away.

Gloating as the old man stumbled, a movement in the clerestory gallery caught Boromir's eye and he glanced upwards. Another figure entered the chamber high above, trailing sleep, reeking of sex, scratched and bruised and bitten, wearing Boromir's soft leather boots against the cold of the stone floors, riding boots, one of which still had a horse whip stuck down the side of it. Faramir was wrapped only in a bed sheet which negligence caused to hide little, and was as engorged as his brother.

There was madness in Boromir's eyes as he gazed at his booted brother, the lust and tension between them thrumming the air. He wanted again to experience what Faramir had introduced him to, wanted more than anything to taste the kiss of that whip from his brother's own hand. Faramir silently descended the stone stairs, coming to a halt at their foot and leaning languidly against a screen within Boromir's line of vision but obscured from Iscalon's view, a seductive contrast to the cold stone figures of the noble kings of old lining the chamber walls.

Boromir turned once more to the aged councillor still scrabbling to retrieve documents dropped in their tussle.

'Iscalon! Get out of here before I take a knife to your throat!'

Iscalon bowed as ironically as Boromir himself had done so earlier before turning to leave.

'And Iscalon...'

The old man halted but did not turn.

'Remember what I said.'

For a moment Iscalon did not move, but a tremor of rage ran through his body. Slowly he retreated to the chamber doorway, but his exit was not final. Looking back he saw that his departure went unwatched and that Boromir was now not alone. Where the shadows of the entrance melded with the long thick tapestries, Iscalon gained a hiding place.

Unnoticed by the brothers he watched, mesmerised and hungry, as Faramir whipped Boromir's naked buttocks and thighs, the shuddering body braced over the council table, breeches pushed down tightly around his knees. Faramir's bed sheet was discarded, revealing the physical and sexual perfection of the steward's second son. As the scarlet welts began to criss-cross Boromir's smooth pale skin, Faramir dropped the whip and plunged his slick cock deep between his brother's arched buttocks.

Iscalon found his hand stroking at the robe between his own thighs, senses overloading. Faramir pounded again and again. Boromir slumped onto the table, his thick, copious seed spilling out of his hand onto the disarrayed parchments, dripping down in long elastic threads to pool on the floor. As the brothers' cries met and mingled, Iscalon whimpered and a sad slow trickle dampened his undergarments.

Somehow - Iscalon was as yet unsure how he could safely achieve this and was content to bide his time, but somehow - their father would know of this disgrace.

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2 Comment(s)


NB: Comments span all chapters and may contain spoilers!

This is a most powerful tale, packed to the brim with raw emotion – an absolute must-read!! Beautifully written: compelling, eloquent, witty, gorgeously hot… And the plot has it all: it’s extremely intense, awfully sad, impishly funny, disturbingly deep and deeply disturbing – I had to take breaks every now and again, it was just too much, and admittedly, there was a moment I was sure I could not read on at all – but thank heavens I did in the end. Not an easy read at all – a real journey indeed, took me 4 days to make it, but totally worth it!

Now here come SPOILERS, so those who haven’t read the story, go no further.

The way Boromir’s suffering over it all in P1 just wrenched my heart, literally. Poor thing, and what a noble act to actually find it in himself to leave on that morning… That detail alone shows all the tragedy of their love, and how much he cared.

I LOVE the whole scene of Boromir at the council meeting on his B-Day. Go Boromir! ‘Paint in blood and gore’… What a lol. That was so exactly like him.

Now, admittedly, it had taken me some time and effort to get used to the boys liking it a little rough like they did, especially Faramir doing the kicking and the smashing. But somehow the way you describe it made it believable, made it look almost like it could not have been otherwise, what with their descent, and the circumstances of their life, and everything they went through, and simply the way they loved each other so hard.

Uncle Bean-Stick is absolutely adorable, what with calling everyone ‘pup’ and saying ‘always a problem, that one’, but of course a very complex and intriguing character as well – too much Elf in him, obviously.

The bejeweled elf-Lord… now that one was entirely other-worldly, and having jewels in his jewels, my, that’s something else…

That it did not work out with Faramir and Eowyn, I can totally buy into that. Never saw how it could have possibly worked, actually…

Then the concept of the ‘song’, the note on the harp – that’s so realistic, the way Faramir felt it, can totally relate to that.

Love it how it’s chronologically indirect, how it keeps going back and forth in time, opening up new insights with every loop, sort of growing on itself.

Faramir’s island is so heavenly, and the way he shouts ‘come on!’ to Aragorn before taking a plunge just like he had to Boromir years ago made my head spin for some reason…

The whole idea with the horses in P4 is… savagely intense, and it fits so well into both relationships it is a metaphor for. Only it makes me think: does that mean Faramir was more gifted than Boromir? An interesting concept…

Your version of Boromir’s fate is just brilliant! Boromir in Valinor! Honestly, made me so happy for him, I just hate it how he died like that in the middle of things; but then again to make it AU and let him survive somehow sort of robs him of the appeal of a tragic character, but to have him die and then live on is absolutely brilliant! Wonder if he’ll go buggering any of the immortal people since he’s already there, heh.

Thank you SO very much for writing this tale! I’ve been thinking about it all the past days, and likely shall be for some days to come, too. Definitely coming back for a reread some day.

December    12 April 2010, 21:50    #

This is one of the best that I have read so far! I love the style of writing and it’s just simply brilliant, I couldn’t write anything even half as good myself.
As for the elf… Celeborn is an elf lord, I’d say that since Haldir’s status isn’t high enough, or am I mistaken?

— Sherena    7 April 2013, 20:47    #

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About the Author


Fawsley

A complete list of Fawsley’s fics is available at her LiveJournal (friends only!). Failing friendship, her work can be found at sons_of_gondor, rugbytackle, tolkien_weekly and drabblechalleng.