Faramir Fiction Archive

Four Journeys (NC-17)

Written by Fawsley

01 September 2005 | 34096 words

Part 2: Faramir's first journey

Third Age, 3012

Years rather than months had passed since the brothers had last been together. Their father had been frighteningly efficient in his unspoken determination to part them, ensuring that each was occupied by responsibility beyond reason and that long difficult miles stood ever between them. Each was occasionally summoned back to Minas Tirith, but never at the same time. Their separation was brilliantly engineered.

But now the growing menace from the south and east made even Denethor relent and demand the dual presence of his captains in the White City. The conference between the three of them had at first been strained almost to breaking point, the brothers unable to speak beforehand, to discover how they now felt towards each other, towards their father, to reforge any mutual alliance. No doubt Denethor had ensured that too. Boromir was a brilliant general, all his speech was of information, tactics, strategy. Faramir was his fellow-captain, the second-in-command of the Gondorian forces, leader still of the Ithilien Rangers.

No hint of warmth or brotherly friendship was offered. Faramir, ever able to read the minds of men with ease despite whatever defences they attempted to erect, felt instinctively that Boromir had dismissed the passion they had once shared and had moved on. Faramir was indeed a respected younger brother, a worthy comrade-in-arms, but was no longer the source and subject of Boromir's darkest lusts, no more the one force that Gondor's greatest warrior could never defeat, before whom he would fall on his knees, pleading for Faramir's touch.

Sorrow stabbed at Faramir's heart. Still he desired his brother above all things, had awaited his return thrilling to the thought of once again tasting his brother's hardness in his mouth, his loins and bowels aching to take and be taken.

But a conference to discuss possible war was no place for such lusts though and Faramir's rational mind finally managed to conquer the images dancing around his brain, forced him to concentrate on military matters, led him to expound in long detail on the activities and organisation of the Rangers and the extent of their knowledge of Mordor's threat. Boromir listened intently, interrupting with pertinent questions and constructive comments.

This was, Faramir supposed, how they should work together, two arms of a great fighting machine, how he must now regard his brother and his general. The public, professional Faramir was a very different figure to the sexual Faramir, the sexual Faramir whose darkest and most dangerous needs only his own brother could unleash, his own brother satisfy.

Boromir had ever been a trigger, flipping him into madness, into another being who would do and say and demand things of which the other Faramir would have been hardly capable. The captain of the Ithilien Rangers would be appalled by many of the debaucheries he had enjoyed with Boromir. He would never have indulged in an afternoon of stretching each other open with anything long and hard and thick they could find, their own fists included, as they took turns to feast their mouths on each others seed. The other Faramir could not have understood the need for repeated clandestine visits to the Chained Tree down in the squalid lower levels of the city, the need to pay for services which had left them bruised and exhausted for days.

The captain would have been outraged and sickened by that incident at the bath-house when the voyeuristic keeper had been discovered masturbating whilst the brothers sucked and pleasured each other. The keeper had been bent over one of the massage beds and subjected to a brutal thrashing by Boromir whilst Faramir stood by, hypnotised, pulling at his cock, until Boromir had thrown aside the disintegrating birch-twigs and plunged himself deep into the sobbing pleading victim. Driven wild by the sight of his brother's member causing so much damage, Faramir had pulled himself half onto the bed and looking deep and desperate into his brother's eyes, terrified by the turn of events yet unable and unwilling to resist them, had forced his tongue hard into Boromir's mouth as they climaxed together.

The bath-keeper had begged forgiveness for his indiscretion, pleaded for them to return to use his bath-house again. They had, and he had watched them again, been punished again, this time lacerated with Boromir's heavily studded belt, the belt that Boromir himself had so often begged to be used on his own soft flesh, then the man's bowels filled again with Boromir's seed whilst Faramir abused his mouth. The bath-house had become a regular destination.

Perhaps would be best if the wild Faramir was quashed. But still he ached for his brother and the evil he had made him do.

It was only when Denethor dropped his quill and was scrabbling to retrieve it, batting at his over-attentive esquire to leave him alone - he was quite capable of picking up his own pen, thank you - that Boromir subjected Faramir to an stare of nerve-shattering intensity then slowly, sensuously, ran his tongue over parted lips. The action spoke more than mere words could ever do and threw Faramir's conclusions into disarray.

The rest of the discussion was luckily once more dominated by the elder brother, Faramir was too disorientated to make any more sense. Denethor finally broke up the meeting and left, pleased with the progress they had made, satisfied that the incestuous relationship that had once disgraced his court had obviously burned out as he had intended through the enforced separation. He had two strong leaders beside him, that was enough. Now he was gone, black robes swirling, esquire trotting at his heels to no doubt be yelled at again.

The brothers still stood where they had risen at their father's departure. The air was tense and Faramir's cock was straining for release, but Boromir was intent on examining a particular part of the table.

'Strange, I thought there would surely be some mark, some burn or scar. But there is naught that I can see.'

'What mark do you seek, my brother?' Faramir's voice was shaky.

Boromir smiled at last, slowly meeting his brother's eyes with a look which ever Faramir had known to prelude danger, excitement, Boromir doing or saying something reckless, usually sexual, hopefully depraved.

'You fucked me over this table once, little brother. Whipped me then rode me bucking and screaming as if I were a wild stallion you could only tame with a cruelty unknown outside the torture-pits of Minas Morgul. Buggered me until my seed spilled over this very spot. I was so sure it would have etched deeply. But there is no mark except for the unquenchable lust I carry in my soul and the scars I bear upon my body. And *within* my body.'

'Ahh, Brom!'

Nothing had changed except that Boromir had become a consummate actor, blinding even Faramir's sharp perceptions. But he was not acting now. Denied each other for so long they must assuage their need to do what brothers should never do. It was pointless to resist.

'I think he was convinced, don't you little brother? He thinks he's broken us, broken our spirits. Fool! Ageing, impotent fool!'

Boromir climbed onto and over the table, kneeling upon it to take Faramir's face between his hands, teasing his mouth with his own as he spoke.

'He needs us now. He cannot part us again. War is coming, maybe not this year, maybe not for many years, but it is coming and we are his captains. There is nothing now he can do to stop us. If he does, he may as well open the Pelennor gates and bid our enemies to enter unhindered.'

'And no Iscalon now to whisper into his ear...'

'What?' Boromir pulled back for a moment.

'It was Iscalon who told him of us.'

'Iscalon? Bastard! I'd murder him if he weren't already dead!'

'I believe father beat you on that one. You were away with the army. I knew something serious had happened between them though quite what was unclear, then just before I was despatched back to Ithilien, Iscalon was suddenly and mysteriously very dead.'

Boromir's carefully digested his brother's news before speaking again.

'I wonder what it was that finally made him give us away, and why he waited so long. I suppose we'll never know now. At least he did wait, at least we had all that time together before he broke. I thought he would never dare... There is some satisfaction to be had, I suppose, if indeed father rewarded his treachery with death. I just hope it was particularly protracted and painful. The twisted, perverted child-fucking bastard!'

'Child-fucking?'

'Oh gods Fara! He wanted *you*! As if you were some servant's brat trained for the purpose and ripe for the plucking, not the son of the Steward! Luckily he was too ancient to do much about it, but I had to scare him off pretty forcefully when you were oh, twelve, thirteen or so. That's why I thought he'd never give us away, because I had that hold over him.'

'Scare him off so you could fuck me yourself later on? My own brother, against every law of the land?'

'Would you really have preferred to have Iscalon's scaly fingers up your arse than mine?'

'Yours was the only body I ever wanted. I knew that from the moment my loins first stirred. That day at the stables. I knew then what I wanted and that I wanted it with you.'

'You remember that? You knew then? You were so young! Blessed Valar I should have taken you then and there!'

Faramir's answer was to plunge his hot tongue deep into his brother's mouth.

Boromir slid one hand down into the neck of Faramir's shirt, seeking a tender nipple to pinch and twist.

'You still want me, don't you little brother?'

Faramir nodded, gasping for breath.

'And I still want you. Gods! You're still as beautiful as ever, I can never stop wanting you. I've buggered a good few cadets since last we met but none of them were enough, none of them gave me what I need, what only you can give me. Satisfy me, Fara!'

Boromir pushed his brother back into his seat and straightened to pull down his own close-fitting leggings and release the throbbing cock within, red and hard and aching for Faramir's mouth. He did not have to ask again, he knew his brother was powerless to resist. Faramir arched forward, taking his brother deep into him, one hand cupping Boromir's balls, the other working between the buttocks, then raising that hand to find Boromir's face, his mouth, demanding that the fingers also be sucked to ease their passage as they returned to assault the puckered flesh.

Working deep, ignoring the resisting muscles, Faramir found the sweet spot where his touch, he knew, would drive his brother to his climax, stroking and coaxing then pushing without respite as Boromir cried out and flooded his throat. Sucking Boromir's length to capture every drop of his release, Faramir extracted his fingers and sat back to fondle his own groin. Boromir was sweating, his hair slicked darkly across his face and neck, breathing rapidly.

'Greetings, dearest brother' he laughed, slipping off the table to sit himself in Faramir's lap, arms around his neck, grinding into the hardness 'I appreciate your enthusiastic welcome. Perhaps now you would care to adjourn to your chamber, or to mine, it matters not, where, as your general, I will conduct an extended, intimate, very private, very personal inspection, will ensure that all your needs are met, and will abuse you to my heart's content.'

Boromir's power was irresistible. Faramir pushed his brother off before he was driven to spilling his seed in his hand, stood and regarded his insatiable, demonic lover. Bowing to his leader, he acquiesced.

'Lord Boromir, sire, you are my general and I am ever yours to command. There is nothing I would not do for you. My heart, my soul, my body are yours alone.'

'With the emphasis on the body, I hope! Captain Faramir, attend me in my chamber immediately' Boromir crushed his brother to him and whispered hoarsely in his ear. 'Where your orders are to stick your hungry wet tongue as far up my tight arse as you can, followed by that plunging stallion's prick of yours. Understood?'

'Sire' Faramir was rubbing himself against Boromir's groin 'I hear and am ever eager to obey.'

'Sauron's balls! What would your Rangers make of you now if they saw you? I'm going to get some wine. Be there. Oh, and if I uncover any evidence of insubordination, any evidence whatsoever, even the most trivial of lapses, you shall of course be punished. Harshly.'

Boromir stalked off towards the buttery, Faramir watching with keen interest the sliding muscles of the departing rump, relishing the resumption of his brother's sexual power-games. Whatever happened next would be spontaneous and extreme, both knowing that the brutality of their acts reflected the violent depths of their love for each other, was the only true expression they could find for it.

Then he slipped away, as only an experienced ranger could, into the shadows of the Citadel's dark corridors.

It had been over ten years since Faramir had first given himself to his brother, had given in to the maelstrom of lust that had overwhelmed them both, given in to his need for Boromir to take and hurt his beautiful body, discovering an unexpected yet desperate need to hurt in return. Now both were effective soldiers, great leaders of men, Faramir nearly almost out of his twenties, Boromir in his mid-thirties. Both were adults in the prime of life who should no longer be prey to debauched desires for his own brother, let alone seek to indulge and satisfy such perversions.

But the strengths and abilities that made them such capable warriors, hardened battle-captains deterred by no force or foe, would but crumble and whither against the onslaught presented by the simple physical presence of the other. Helpless to resist, Faramir knew that nothing had changed. Still they would risk losing all again, but still they would take each other with the ferocity both so desperately craved.

But there had been occasions of great tenderness also, fewer on Boromir's part and thus more precious when they came, unannounced, often opening out of or building into renewed brutality, rare and precious jewels of his love for Faramir. And now, as he waited expectantly in Boromir's chamber, Faramir's mind saw again one such tender coupling, an exquisite evening when Boromir's gentleness seemed endless and his touch was ever slow.

Boromir had come to Faramir's chamber to find his brother bathing. Wordlessly and slowly, he had stripped sensuously, watching his brother harden and begin to fondle his cock in the warm water. Then Boromir had knelt, removed Faramir's hand from his groin and carefully washed every nook of his brother's body, crooning softly, hypnotising and relaxing, his song punctuated by some of the longest, slowest kisses they ever exchanged. Faramir had been lifted from the water and carried unprotesting to his bed where he had been arranged face down, limbs gently drawn away from his torso, for Boromir to take sweetly scented oil and massage him slowly and thoroughly from his toes to his neck.

It seemed to last for hours. Still Boromir had sung to him, whispering words he could not catch. Only one spot had Boromir neglected. Seductively had his slippery fingers moved between parted Faramir's buttocks and circled his opening teasingly. But the satisfaction Faramir arched for was denied, his body firmly pushed back down onto the bed, Boromir only offering a lingering kiss on that sweetest of sites, before renewing his ministrations elsewhere.

Faramir's skin was alive with fire when Boromir rolled him over and repeated the treatment on his front. He reached to take his aching cock but again his brother prevented his release, this time using soft silk scarves stolen from Faramir's own closet to tie wrists and ankles to the four bedposts, loosely but firmly so that he was not strained or discomforted, but nor could he escape. Then a scarf was wrapped around Faramir's eyes and thin laces of leather bound tightly about his balls and the very root of his erection. He lay in complete submission to his brother's will. Oiled and massaged again from head to foot, Faramir could only moan softly, repetitively, desperate for Boromir to take him, he did not care how.

Finally, after how long he could not tell, Faramir felt his brother climb onto the bed and crouch astride him. He was kissed deeply, then Boromir held the agonisingly bound cock upright and gradually eased himself down onto its engorged and thickened length, gasping and shuddering. Faramir had sobbed at this most tortuous of seductions.

Boromir had remained motionless, silent from the pain of the fearful stretching, then began to move almost imperceptibly, his tightness gripping at Faramir's girth, impaling himself again and again, faster, harder, deeper, the cords cutting into them both, somehow holding himself back, then raising himself so that only the crown of Faramir's cock was still held inside him, scrabbling to release his brother from the wet bonds, cutting and burning him in the process.

Finally he had plunging back to bring Faramir to a body-shattering climax before lurching forward to spurt his own seed over his brother's quivering lips, letting the hot liquid pool over face and neck before licking him clean, taking his own salty cream into his mouth only to kiss it back into Faramir's, fascinated as his brother swallowed and gasped and moaned for more.

'Suckle, little brother' he had whispered.

By the time Boromir arrived with a basket of food and wine seemingly large enough to last them for some days, Faramir was flushed and excited by his memories. Reliving that tender evening was good, was arousing, but Faramir's long-denied dark side had risen and was demanding satisfaction, the violent side over which he had total control in every other situation was now unleashed, and he relished it.

'What've you been rubbing yourself over?' enquired his brother 'The thought of me and my cock doing you some damage, I hope.'

Faramir grasped his brother by the scruff of the neck and threatened to hoist him off the ground with one hand. Grabbing the bread-knife protruding from the food basket he pressed it close to Boromir's throat.

'I thought it was *you* who wanted some damage from *my* prick' he whispered 'So I'm going to thrust into you dry and unprepared, take my pleasure from your pain.'

Boromir dropped the basked and grasped Faramir's cock through his leggings, kneading it hard.

'Rape me...' he begged.

The thought of Boromir brutally buggering his junior staff rushed back into Faramir's fervid imagination and from that he took his cue. Dropping the knife he wrestled his brother around to face away from him, bent an arm upwards, pinned it to Boromir's back and threw him hard against the stone wall, hearing and feeling the breath forced out of the body as he crushed it.

Ripping open the thongs of his leggings he spat on his palm and massaged his already wet and weeping cock then pulled at Boromir's clothing. Spitting on his fingers again he thrust them hard into the resisting opening, scissored and thrust again, working his hand ruthlessly against the muscles. Boromir moaned and protested, but Faramir silenced him by grasping his hair, pulling his head back then crashing it onto the stonework.

'This is what you do to those boys, isn't it? This is how you take them, how you punish them?'

Boromir nodded weakly, dazed and in pain. Faramir pushed his cock between the tensed buttocks and held it there, throbbing, oozing.

'You feel how hard I am? How big I am? Can you imagine the pain when I tear your arse open like you tear those boys?'

Boromir struggled, 'Please, Fara...please, you're hurting me...'

'Tell me that you want it. Tell me. Say it. You want me to fuck you. Say it!'

Boromir's skull was smashed into the wall again 'Say it!'

'Fuck me...' he whimpered

'And how do you want me to fuck you? Tell me!'

'Please...fuck me hard. I need it hard...hurt me...'

Roaring, Faramir rammed into Boromir, out of control at the thought of the agony to which he was subjecting his brother. Boromir's legs buckled under the onslaught but Faramir had the strength to support him, jamming his angry cock against Boromir's weakening resistance until he was engulfed in an unbearable tightness, his cock exploding when he saw blood seeping from the place where they were joined. He withdrew sharply, knowing that action would only double Boromir's suffering, let his brother thud to the floor, them kicked him hard in the stomach.

'You wanted damage, you got damage' he hissed, before adjusting his clothes and attacking instead the first of the wine flagons, sitting to watch Boromir as he lay panting and sobbing. Eventually the elder brother managed to clamber unsteadily to his hands and knees, pulled up his leggings and crawled slowly over to where Faramir sat. A bruise was forming above one eye.

'Fara, oh gods Fara, I'm bleeding badly. What have you done to me?' he groaned

'Remember that, next time you feel like brutalising a stable boy.'

Boromir nodded silently, then curled up weeping at his brother's feet.

'Fara' he whispered 'I adore you.'

'Why am I like this with you, Brom?'

Recovered, naked in each other's arms, Faramir was disturbed by the intense brutality to which he had subjected his brother.

'It's as if I become possessed, evil. I know I am regarded as an ideal captain, a model of noble and courteous manner, and it comes simply and easily to me to be so. I have had many lovers since we were parted, with some of them I have been rough and have been roughly treated in return. But when I'm with you, it is truly dangerous. And I love it. And now we are back together again, what happens if I lose control, what happens if the violence comes to dominate me? What if I become nothing more than a sexual monster? It scares me Brom, I scare myself.'

Boromir, usually dismissive of such introspection, raised himself onto one elbow and regarded his little brother. The bruise on his forehead was now a large dark lump.

'I believe you have nothing to fear, little brother. It is a part of your nature, but not the whole part. You say that a noble manner comes naturally to you. Well, that is good, essential for a captain of the elite Ithilien Rangers. Not so good, however, for the leader of the rabble that is the Host of Gondor, which is why you are one and I am the other. I am not good and kind and respectful to my men in the same way that you are to yours, but it is what is necessary for the situation in which I am placed, and therefore it is right. Courteous behaviour comes to me with difficulty, though I know that it is necessary and will act accordingly when it is demanded of me.'

'Not, though, when you're standing before the Council and wearing my breeches...'

Faramir received a thump for his comment.

'Gods Fara, they were tight! They felt so good on my skin! I could come just walking around in them. No, let me finish. I do not consider myself or my actions very often but this is important. I have a streak of goodness and nobility in me which is often subdued by my anger, by my need for violence. Somewhat like father, I suppose. You, I think, are the opposite, my mirror-image. You are full of respect and pity for your fellow men, you understand people well and they love you for it. But deep down you too have a streak that craves violence, just as I also crave the pain it brings me, something we cannot find elsewhere. I give you that release, need what you give me and adore you for it. Somehow I cannot see that for the ranger captain to regularly indulge in the whipping and buggering of his unwilling men would help much with morale or spirit.'

Now Boromir got a thump.

'The army, however, sees my power through my actions, fears it, respects it. It is how things are, for good or bad. Do not worry, little brother. I do take it, though, that in the years we have been apart you have *not* been inflicting yourself upon your men without their consent. What have you been up to? Who have you subjecting to your brutality? Have you got yourself a body-servant to take it all out on?'

'No, no body-servant. It has never been practical to do so, always moving around and on duty in the wilds with the Rangers. The same with you and the army I suppose. Perhaps now that it seems likely I am to be here more often I shall do so, if one I like is offered to me. I have however taken many lovers over the years though how many I no longer know, too many to count or recall, some amongst the Rangers although discretely, even lain with a woman at times...'

Boromir snorted in disgust.

'An elf, once...'

'An *elf*? Do they *have* cocks?

Faramir laughed. 'Oh yes, amazing cocks, and they know what to do with them. Well, this elf certainly did!'

'Tell me Fara! Tell me in detail!'

'It goes a long way back. You remember the flask I gave you, the one I gave you when I gave you myself?'

Boromir hugged his brother to him, kissed him gently.

'How could I ever forget? The sweetest gift, my greatest treasure.'

'I rescued an elf. From orcs. I had been tracking them for some days up in north Ithilien. When I finally found them they had surrounded an elf. I cannot imagine what he was doing there, but he was outnumbered. Even with his bow he could not defeat them all, but the two of us were enough and together we slaughtered them. After the last orc fell the elf came to me. He looked deep into my eyes and said "My thanks, Faramir of the White City, Faramir son of Denethor, brother of Boromir. The blood of Númenor and of the Eldar runs true in your veins. You have my my thanks and my love. I offer you a gift in gratitude, a gift to light your way and to guide your path. Until we meet again."
Then he was gone, a shadow through the trees, and in my hand was the flask.'

'But I thought you said you had him. Or that he had you. Though his gift certainly eased your passage!'

Boromir sniggered and was thumped.

'I've not finished yet. Many years later I was again in the north with a small patrol. We had made camp for the night but I could not rest. I never kenw whether sleep did come to me eventually or whether I lay in a stupor, but gradually I realised that the stars had moved, were changed. They seemed wrong, I could recognise none of the constellations. Then I knew that he was near.'

'The elf?'

'The elf. I rose and left my sleeping companions. I knew which way to go through the trees, a silvery path led me onwards. And out of the trees he came and embraced me once more. He spoke my name, called me beloved, held me close and kissed my face, my neck, my throat so gently, his lips hardly brushing my skin, and I returned his kisses likewise. White fire was running through my veins, my every nerve was burning, there was no time, no space, just ourselves exploring each other's bodies.

We pulled off our shirts and I gazed at his body in the fay light around us, supple and slim yet strongly muscled, his hair was golden and he was smooth and white like a young birch tree. Then we were running our hands and mouths over every inch of skin we could find. Still we did not speak, we needed no words and I felt no hesitancy about what I was doing, about what was being done to me. Finally he held me at arm's length, regarding me, and whispered "Faramir, my beloved, you are most perfect, most beautiful. Give yourself to me."'

'Which of course you did.'

Faramir nodded.

'Tell me Fara, I want to hear it.' Boromir was slowly rubbing at his cock.

'We lost the last of our clothes, desperate to be naked. Neither of us had any boots on. And then again we gazed at each other, admiring our bodies. He was stunning, Brom. His cock was - you are not going to believe this - his cock was bejewelled!'

'What?!'

'Jewels! They glinted in the starlight, stars themselves. Little bars of mithril pierced through the skin of his cock, and on each end were tiny jewels. Just the thought of them dragging inside me was almost more than I could stand. I knelt to take it into my mouth - you know how I always need to first taste the cock that fucks me - his taste, his scent was like nothing I have known before, intoxicating.

‘Licking those jewelled bars was terrifying, knowing what they were going to do to me. As I sucked him they cut into the flesh of my mouth. I was desperate to feel them gouging at my tightness, ripping my arse. I was pulling at his balls, they were so full and heavy I was wild at the thought of all that hot seed pulsing into me. I feared that he would be undone in my mouth so gradually I released him and raised my eyes to his. They were truly stars and there was a star also upon his brow.

‘He knelt down with me, kissed me slowly and deeply, then laid me on my back and raised my knees, pushed my legs right back against my chest, bent me so my arse was in the air, stroked and licked my cock, pushed his tongue up inside me. His tongue was amazing, so strong and agile, licking so hard. When he withdrew he lay me back down and rose over me, kissed me so that I could taste myself on his mouth. I know that by then I was wild and writhing, parting my thighs wide, begging for him to take me. When he entered me it was as if a fiery sword pierced me. He had no oil or salve yet he slid into me easily, deeper and deeper.

'At first I could not feel the jewels, but then he began to plunge, thrusting his full length. Brom, it was the most exquisite suffering. I knew that I was torn and bleeding yet I wanted more, demanded more, and he answered my every cry with thrusts which grew in power until only death seemed possible, and I was happy to die from the pain he gave me. It would have been the sweetest death. Just as his kisses had lasted an eternity, so his thrusts lasted an eternity more. At one point I was aware that the stars above had moved and wheeled again. Yet still I did not spill my seed, somehow I held on to my release though he was touching me again and again on that deep spot you know so well...'

Moaning softly, Boromir reached upwards to kiss his brother

'Finish it, Fara, finish me...'

'Finally he crashed into me and filled me. It seemed that his seed was light and life itself that he poured into me. Then he bent that supple body and took me in his mouth and I filled him, bucking into his mouth as he held my hips. Never before or since have I come like that. It seemed never to end. His lips milked my every drop and I was sobbing with pleasure.'

Boromir cried out as he came. Faramir sealed his mouth with the deepest of kisses before continuing, caring not whether Boromir heard or understood.

'He eased me to the ground and lay upon me, once more his lips were gentle on my skin, caressing me, ceaselessly he whispered my name and I was weeping. He turned me onto my stomach and licked deep into me, soothing and healing the very wounds that he had inflicted upon me. As he did so I came again. Then gently he held me and lulled me to sleep, crooning some elvish song. I slept, and when I awoke I was at the camp lying under my cloak.'

Boromir was silent for a while.

'Fara, that was beautiful. You are beautiful. But was he a vision or was he real? The tale reeks of magic!'

'I do not know. At first I thought it but a dream, a vision. But Brom, I was spent, was empty, yet had not spilled my seed under my cloak. The taste of him was still in my mouth, I was filled with an energy and power I had not known before, and still my body was wracked with the sweetest agony from the force of his love-making. I have no idea who he was.'

'Gods, Fara, I would like to feel his jewelled prick tear me asunder!'

Boromir snuggled against his brother and found that he was hard. He glanced up.

'Fara. Take my mouth.'

'Ah! you are insatiable!'

'And your sweet cock is irresistible. Fuck my mouth. You know you want to, and I'm not letting you near my arse for a while after what you did to it. Think of me as your elven lover, his tiny mouth straining to take you.'

Boromir slid off the bed, pulling Faramir with him into a seated position on the edge. Kneeling, Boromir spread his brother's long legs as wide as he could then dragged a long wet tongue slowly over his balls and the up long length of the shaft. Faramir watched, fascinated, tangling his fingers in Boromir's hair. Boromir's lips teased him, offering then drawing back, tempting and tantalising, murmuring seductively.

'Do you want my mouth, Fara? My soft wet mouth? Do you want to make me taste your seed? Do you want to force me to swallow all you can give? Bruise me, Fara, make me take every sweet inch of you, fill my throat...'

Boromir was silenced as Faramir grabbed his head and plunged his erection between his brother's open lips, pulling Boromir back and forth to force his contracting throat to yield, finally breaching it so that he was buried and his aching balls slammed against his brother's beard.

'Swallow me you whore! Suck me dry! Swallow me!' he moaned, bucking hard.

Faramir was now half-standing. Boromir snaked a hand between the pumping buttocks and eased a finger still slicked with his own juices into Faramir's tightness, added another, crooked them and delved for his brother's weakness.

Faramir groaned and filled Boromir's ever-hungry mouth with the juice his brother thirsted for.

'Suck me, suck me, suck me...'

Chests heaving they collapsed together onto the floor, lay unable to move, then slowly pulled each other back onto the bed, wrapping furs and blankets around themselves. Faramir kissed his brother's swollen brow.

'Sorry for the knock, Brom'

'Oh, I've had worse from the Southron. But next time you decide to play that game, maybe I'll wear my battle-helmet.'

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