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This story is rated «R», and carries the warnings «Angst, incest, more angst and some non-explicit sex. ».
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Glimpses (R) Print

Written by Randi

03 June 2010 | 6046 words

Title: Glimpses
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Pairing: Boromir/Faramir (Also some Faramir/OFC and Faramir/OMC)
Rating: Solid R
Warnings: Angst, incest, more angst and some non-explicit sex. (Author’s note at the end.)
Summary: Boromir is amazed at how Faramir has grown.

Disclaimer: All characters herein are property of J.R.R. Tolkien, his estate and heirs, as well as New Line Cinema, etc. Not mine, only borrowing.


Boromir clattered into the barracks courtyard well ahead of the rest of his troop, and met the welcoming cries of the men there with a wave and a big, easy grin. In response to the squeeze of his knees, his horse danced beneath him briefly before standing still but for the pawing of one hoof.

The remainder of his men thundered in behind him, and suddenly the courtyard was full of milling beasts and glad greetings. Boromir rose until he was standing in his stirrups, looking this way and that, and his smile faded somewhat when he did not find what he sought. It means naught, he told himself, settling into the saddle again. We are returned early.

A man took his horse’s reins and he dismounted, chain mail jingling.

“Captain, we did not expect you for some days yet.” The voice was familiar, and Boromir saw that the man who had held his horse was another captain, an older man, his face lined with care. “Is there aught amiss?”

Boromir summoned up another smile, and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Nay, not at all. We were not as long at Cair Andros as the Steward believed we would be, then made good time along the river. We were too large a force for any Orc scouts to dare attack. The men of Gondor are not to be trifled with!” he finished in a shout, and a roar of approval rose from the courtyard.

Even the old captain’s dour face cracked in a smile. “Indeed, it is so. No, go,” he went on when Boromir made as if to take the horse from him once more. “I’ll take your horse. Go make your report to the Steward, as I’m sure he’s heard the din of your return.” Clucking a little to the horse, he led it off toward the stables.

With a grimace, Boromir strode up the causeway to the Citadel. It was not to alert Father that I raised that cheer, he thought. Unreasonable as he knew it was – returning several days early and sending no word ahead – he had still thought Faramir would be there to greet him. Watching his little brother’s face light up with joy at the sight of him made him truly feel the hero that others proclaimed him to be. It warmed him inside, right to his very heart, and he did not like to think that one day he might have to give that up.

But one day I shall, he thought heavily. Faramir is no longer a boy, but nearly a man. Soon, he must take up his duty in defense of Gondor, and he will not often be here to welcome me home.

Not liking the direction his thoughts had taken, he shook his head, dismissing them as flights of ill fancy brought on by the darkness of the tunnel. Ahead he saw sunlight once more and quickened his pace.

Having reached the seventh level, rather than doing as he knew he should and make his report to his father, he headed instead for the Steward’s house, thinking that perhaps Faramir was at his lessons within. But his brother’s chamber was empty, as was his own when he bethought himself to check. Frowning, he turned his steps toward the archives. Perhaps he is assisting the archivist in preserving some of those moldering old pages…

He stepped out of an empty dining hall into the corridor that led to the archives, and stopped short.

There was Faramir, at the far end of the corridor.

Kissing a serving girl.

He knew it was his brother – the cast of his features, even in profile, the wavy hair of reddish-gold, the shape of his body, all were as familiar to Boromir as his own. Those were his brother’s slim shoulders the girl gripped as if she needed to hold herself up. His brother’s long fingers cupped her cheek, holding her still though she didn’t seem to be protesting. Even as he watched, Faramir pressed her up against the wall while he plundered her mouth.

The appreciative noise she made echoed down the corridor toward him, and broke Boromir from his seeming trance. Face heating, he moved as swiftly and silently as he could back into the dining hall, but was then powerless to move further, and he slumped against the wall, needful of its support.

Was it not mere minutes ago that I thought my little brother was nearly a man? he asked himself, somewhat dazed. And now I find it is true indeed. He took a breath. But it should not shock me. It should be an occasion of gladness. Why does my heart twist so within me? He laid one gloved hand over his chest, letting it fist in the fabric of the surcoat covering his armor. I will not be jealous over his attention to a maid. It is not right of me to begrudge him his dalliance, when he could not have known I would return this day.

Low voices reached his ears from the corridor, though he could not make out the words. The sound spurred him to action. Faramir cannot find me here, he thought, straightening away from the wall. He cannot know I saw him. Quickly, he strode back the way he had come, intending to let Faramir find him outside his chambers, needing a short space to compose himself.

He was but a few paces from the hall when he heard his brother’s voice calling after him. “Boromir!”

He turned, smile unfeigned, and braced himself. Faramir flew into his arms, careening into him with such force as to knock him back a step, unmindful of the mail Boromir still wore.

“Did you miss me, little brother?” he asked, as he always did, though this time the undercurrent of amusement with which he usually spoke was absent.

Faramir leaned away in his arms to meet his gaze, and Boromir found that they were nearly of a height. But that same light shone from his brother’s face, his blue eyes aglow with joy and affection and other emotions that Boromir could not name, and selfishly, he felt relief, that the maid had not replaced him in his brother’s affections. “Of course I did,” Faramir replied, as he always did, in a tone that suggested the question was a foolish one.

“Aye, I know,” he said, finishing their personal ritual. “I missed you as well.” He released Faramir, only to sling an arm over his shoulders. “Come, help me make myself presentable so that I may make my report to Father.” Together they walked down the corridor toward their chambers.

With a thin smile, Faramir looked away. “I don’t believe Father would care if you made your report dripping in mud,” he said, and Boromir could not miss the wistful note in his words.

He tightened his one-armed embrace, knowing there was little he could say to ease the pain their father’s sharp tongue caused Faramir. “Perhaps next time I will,” he said. “And when Father scolds me and sets me to scrub the floor, I fully expect you to help.”

Faramir burst out laughing, and Boromir felt warmth flush through him at the sound, the very happiness of it. Perhaps I was undone by the surprise of realizing how he has grown, he thought. Or the knowledge that he will soon risk his life in defense of Gondor. But though he is now a man, he is still my little brother, and always will be.

And I will be invincible as long as I can see that look in his eyes.

“Has my brother passed this way?”

The kitchen maid of whom Boromir inquired looked up from kneading dough, her face red from exertion and streaked with flour. Even so, he recognized her and his mouth opened. The accusation filled his mind– t’was you Faramir kissed! – but he managed to hold his tongue.

“Aye, m’lord,” the maid replied, smiling. “He passed through some time since, truth be told, but I’ve not seen him return.”

He forced a smile and inclined his head. “My thanks,” he said, quickly turning away to make his escape through the door into the gardens.

He had not seen the serving girl since the day of his return. The one time he had attempted to broach the subject with Faramir, his courage had deserted him, and instead he had asked, “Where were you, that I had to search for you the day I returned from Cair Andros?”

“That you had to search for me is your fault and none of my own,” Faramir had retorted with a rare grin. “If you had but thought to send word ahead, I would have been awaiting you.” Then, before Boromir could defend himself, he answered the question asked. “I was at my lessons, learning things about which you care not.”

Indeed, Boromir recalled somewhat guiltily, brushing aside an overhanging branch, ‘tis no wonder that I have not seen her. Apart from what is allotted to his lessons, I have claimed my brother’s time as my own.

And that was what had set him out on this search for Faramir. He had thought to escort his little brother from his tutor to the practice ground, to see how he had improved in his sword-play. But the tutor had said he’d released Faramir at least a half-hour before, though he’d no notion where the boy might have gone.

It may be that I’ve been too demanding of him, Boromir thought, pausing on the garden’s path. Perhaps he needs some time with his own company, apart from me. The thought caused a heavy stone to settle on his heart. Faramir had never desired to be apart from him before, if necessity did not require it.

But he has not been as he is now, on the cusp of manhood. Though it pained him, Boromir made his decision. If Faramir wishes me to leave him time to himself, I shall do so. But first I must find him and offer my apology for my behavior. He continued along the path.

After only a few steps, he heard a laugh, quickly muffled. He recognized Faramir’s voice immediately, and smiled. “Aren’t we too old by far to play hide and go seek in the garden, little brother?” he asked, peering through the trees surrounding him.

A rustle of leaves was his only reply. “Hide and seek it is, then,” he murmured, grinning, and continued on as quietly as he could in his boots. There was a small glade but a few paces ahead in the forest the garden had become; if his brother did not ambush him there, he could circle around and come up behind Faramir for his own ambush.

He slowed as he came upon the clearing, moving warily, and darting quick glances at the trees around him, the path behind. Another sound, one he did not readily recognize, drifted from the clearing. “You are not cautious at all, are you?” he muttered, smiling. He would take Faramir unawares and then have him as a captive audience for his apology.

He stepped into the glade.

Faramir was not alone.

His first thought was that they were wrestling, and that Faramir was getting the worst of it, pinned as he was on his back beneath the other boy. A shocked moment later, he saw the rhythmic movement of their hips, and their soft gasps and grunts reached his ears.

A rage as dark as any he had ever known flooded him, and his vision turned red. I’ll kill him, he vowed, taking another step forward. I’ll rip him to pieces! How dare he do this to my brother?

Long before he could reach them, however, Faramir arched, and the noise that tore from his throat was not one of distress. The muscles in his long legs tensed, tightened around the other’s hips, pulling him deeper. “Yes, there,” he groaned, “again…”

In an instant, Boromir’s anger drained away and left him confused and trembling, still only a few steps into the clearing. He is not… he… wants…

“More?” The boy leaned down, buried his face against Faramir’s neck, which made Faramir moan appreciatively.

“Harder, yes…” He bucked up into the other’s body, and the boy leaned up on one arm, reaching between them…

I should not be watching this, came the distant thought, and Boromir backed away. But he could not tear his eyes away from Faramir, shuddering and straining, could not stop his ears to the keens of pleasure.

His back collided with one of the trees at the entry to the glade, and he ducked behind it, looking away from his brother’s passion at last. He leaned against the trunk, rough bark scratching his back through his thin tunic, and tried to remember how to breathe.

They continued behind him, not knowing he was even there. Though he could no longer see them, Faramir’s wordless cries filled his ears.

The fury that had flowed so hotly through him now left him cold, and in its absence he felt only hollow, and so bereft that he could think of no solace. Now, truly my brother has found one who will replace me, he thought, and had to bite down hard on his knuckle to fight back the pain. I will no longer see my own worth in his eyes, and he will not look at me again in that way that tells me I am his world.

Boromir had to close his eyes at that thought and the anguish it brought his heart, for he had lived for that look for as long as he could remember. Behind his eyelids, however, he saw Faramir, not as he had in times past but in the throes of his ecstasy, writhing and gasping, even as he sought completion with that boy in the clearing.

And in his secret heart, he wondered if he would see that look then.

He opened his eyes with a start, ashamed at the very thought, and discovered he had bitten his knuckle bloody, that he had wrapped his other arm around himself as if seeking comfort… that he was flushed and aroused, his manhood pressing against the confines of his breeches.

He stared up at the patches of sky he could see through the trees, panting short and fast. Please, he begged almost desperately, let this be but a dream…

In the clearing, Faramir’s voice and that of the other boy reached a crescendo, and Boromir knew his wish had not been granted. He moved away, slowly at first, then faster, faster, branches reaching out to slap his face as he passed, until he was sobbing for breath.

When at last he stopped running, it was because he had not the strength to go on, and he collapsed to his hands and knees on the grass, drawing in great lungfuls of air. “Please, let this madness pass from me,” he whispered once he had regained his breath. “Let me be strong enough to accept that Faramir’s regard is no longer mine, let me…”

Unbidden, he remembered how his brother had looked at him, from the first time he had returned after a long absence to the last, child and youth and young man. Now, though, that look of joy was changed, his brother’s gaze heavy-lidded with desire, and with the passionate sounds still lingering in his ears, how simple it was to imagine Faramir calling his name…

Boromir dug his fingers into the dirt and grass, shaking with shame and terrible longing. He had loved his brother all his life, only to see there was more to that love than he had believed.

His guilty tears watered the overturned soil like rain.

No matter how he wished otherwise, Boromir could not say that he did not lust for his brother. What he had seen that day he could not forget, and those sights and sounds invaded his every waking moment.

Nor was his sleep immune, and he woke each morning achingly aroused, dreams of passion-cries and whispered love fading beyond conscious memory’s recall. When he took his manhood in hand, the same image played in his mind, Faramir’s expression of joy transformed into one of desire for him. Then, after he’d spent, fingers and stomach sticky with his seed, he could not but loathe himself a little more for perverting his brother’s love in such a way.

He strove at once to avoid Faramir, hoping against hope that his longing was brought on only by what he had seen, and that denying himself his brother’s presence would cause it to disappear. Too, it would free Faramir to spend more time with that boy, though it pained Boromir to think it.

His resolve lasted only until Faramir found him sulking in his chamber. His heart sank on seeing Faramir’s downcast expression, knowing that he was the cause of his brother’s disquiet. He could do nothing else but let him in and retreat to his chair behind the small table that held his winecup.

“Father says that I am the cause of your foul temper,” Faramir began, standing just inside Boromir’s chamber door, staring down at his boots. “And I fear that he must be right this time, for you have not sought out my company these few days past.” He raised his head and swallowed, and Boromir could not look away from the movement of his throat. “I know not what I have done to earn your anger,” he whispered, “but I beg that you tell me, so that I may make amends, brother.”

The sight of Faramir, upset, uncertain but contrite, tore at his heart, and silently, he cursed himself as a fool, selfishly thinking only of what he himself needed. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. “No, little brother,” he said earnestly, “I am not angry with you. Rather, the fault lies with me.” His throat tightened, and he dared not take a sip of wine to ease it, for he was not sure he could swallow. “You have done nothing to earn my ill humor,” he continued, forcing the words to sound normal, “and I did not wish to subject you to my surly presence. I fear that I am no fit company for the fine young man you have become.” How true those words are, he thought, staring into the depths of his cup.

“Even if it is nothing I have done, as you say,” Faramir said, his tone still soft, “please tell me of it, for I can see that it weighs heavily upon you.” He bit his lip when Boromir looked up at him again. “It pains me to see you so troubled, and I would do all I can to help.”

Before he even knew he meant to speak, he said “Give – “ Give up that boy with whom you sported in the garden, give your love to me alone. He left the rest of his demand unspoken, and said instead, “Give me your hand.”

Without hesitation, Faramir approached him where he sat and held out his hand.

Boromir took it in his own, let his fingers trace the sword-callus across his brother’s palm, the hard ridges formed by arrow and bowstring before tugging Faramir a step closer and placing that hand on his shoulder. In mirror image, he rested his hand on Faramir’s shoulder, exerting a gentle pressure. “Please do not be wroth with me, Faramir, for keeping this from you,” he said, so quietly that he could barely hear himself over the pounding of his heart. “But do not ask me to burden you with this, for I would not take your happiness from you. I know you are grown and well able to bear the weight, but let me claim my role as your elder brother and protector once more.” From somewhere, he summoned a wan smile. “Please, tell me you understand, and give me the gift of your embrace, to chase my melancholy away.”

He was immediately caught in Faramir’s arms, and indeed, he found there some small relief from his troubled thoughts. He closed his arms around Faramir in turn, and held him tightly.

“I will not lie to you,” Faramir murmured, “so I cannot say I understand. I will ask no more about this matter that worries you so, though I would it were otherwise. As for the other… you only ever have to ask, and whatever comfort my arms may offer is yours.”

Boromir swallowed thickly, closed his eyes to stave off the threatening tears. Oh, how I am unworthy of you, little brother.

The days resumed their former courses, and Boromir discovered that his brother’s company was as much a balm to his spirit as it was a torment. For a time, he could forget his yearning, and simply be content in Faramir’s presence.

And when he could not forget, he let not a hint of his feeling show, for he could not bear to hurt his brother, no matter what pain he endured.

The only times they were not together was when Faramir was at his lessons. One day it seemed to Boromir that the lessons ran long, that Faramir was late to return to him, and it was all he could do to contain his wrath and jealousy. He prowled around his chambers like a caged animal rather than seek him out, unwilling to find his brother in the arms of another once more. He waited until Faramir sought him instead, and forced himself not to study his brother for evidence he had lain with that boy.

I fear that I would not be able to control myself, he thought, tension slowly dissipating as he accompanied Faramir to the practice ground. And truly, little brother, I would not be the source of your unhappiness.

While Faramir was with his tutor, Boromir was with his father, debating the Enemy’s future movements and their own responses. He tried to keep those planning sessions in time with Faramir’s lessons, so that he would not have too long to wait for his brother.

But Denethor had an extended meeting with his council that day, one that promised to run until long after his usual time for meeting his brother, and Boromir begged off. Denethor eyed him with some disappointment, but dismissed him nevertheless.

So it was that he was returning to the Steward’s House from the White Tower when he saw Faramir slip into the garden, glancing furtively over his shoulder before disappearing from view.

Only when the cool green leaves brushed against his face did Boromir realize that he was following him.

He slowed, pushing the branches from his path, but did not stop. This is folly, he berated himself. You have no right to follow him to his… assignation. Turn aside from this madness, or you will lose what you still have of your brother’s love. That gave him pause, for while he felt the sting of his own dishonorable feelings for his brother and wished them gone, he could not conceive of Faramir absent from his life. I am only alive when he is near, he thought, and I shall do nothing to drive him further away. I will keep what I can claim of his love. Harming his… his lover will surely rob me of even that. These heavy thoughts urged him to turn away.

“If you continue to linger, I shall begin to think you no longer care for me.”

Once more, Boromir froze. That was Faramir’s voice, clear and carrying through the garden. Surely he calls to… to him, he thought, not to me.

But wait… if they have agreed upon this assignation, why is he not already with Faramir? Do you hear how Faramir doubts his affection? Anger on his brother’s behalf, thoroughly spiced with his own resentment against that boy he’d seen, surged in his breast, and he turned his steps once more toward the small clearing. If he is there and all is well, I will simply turn and leave, he told himself, though he knew it was but an excuse.

He slowed as he approached the glade, taking care where he set his boots that no stray twig would betray him. He reached the tree behind which he had concealed himself the last time, and took a deep breath to steel himself against what he would see.

“I know you are there, Boromir.”

Faramir’s soft call made his heart stutter to a stop in his chest. How could he know?

In the silence that followed, he heard his brother sigh. “Have you forgotten that Father has assigned me to join the company in Ithilien next year? I have learned more from them than just the bow.” The laugher in his voice had fled entirely when next he spoke. “Please, Boromir, come out and speak with me. I apologize for tricking you into thinking I was to meet with Beren, but it seemed necessary.”

Foreboding filled him, but he did as his brother requested, a flush reddening his cheeks. “Faramir…”

His brother had spread his cloak upon the grass, and sat upon it with his knees drawn up, arms circling them loosely. He watched Boromir, his blue eyes somber.

That look, without accusation though it was, made Boromir’s guilt weigh greater upon him. He strode forward, only to fall to his knees at the edge of the cloak. “Faramir, I must beg your forgiveness,” he whispered, staring down at the weave of the fabric.

“For what?” The surprise in Faramir’s tone brought his gaze up. Faramir stared at him, brow quirked in confusion.

Quickly, he looked away again, not quite able to face his brother. “Some days past,” he said lowly, “I sought you at your tutor’s, but you had already gone. I much desired your company, so I tried to discover where you had gone. I found you… here, with another boy.” He swallowed, felt his face heat further. “You… were coupling.”

Before Faramir could answer, he rushed on, words stumbling over each other in his haste. “I believed at first that he was… forcing his attentions upon you, and I was enraged. Before I could interfere, your reactions showed me otherwise. I left as soon as I was able, as soon as you would not see.” Conscience pricked him then, for the words were neither a lie nor wholly the truth. “I intended no wrong against you, but I still feel I must apologize.”

For a moment, Faramir was silent, then, slowly, as if considering every word, he said, “I thought you must have, for my tutor said that you had been asking after me, and that day was the first you avoided my company.” He paused, and when he continued, his tone was uncertain. “I fear, though, that it is I who must crave your pardon, for I thoughtlessly demanded you spend your time with me when clearly you found what you saw disgusting…”

“No!” The protest burst from Boromir’s lips as soon as his brother’s words registered.

“No?” Faramir straightened, frowning, his arms falling from around his knees. “What, then, was the reason for your distance?”

“I… it had occurred to me as I was looking for you that you might have wished to spend time apart from me,” Boromir admitted quietly. “Then I saw you with him and discovered I was right. I would not keep you from that which brings you joy.”

“Please forgive me for asking when I said I would not, but was that the source of your sorrow?” He shifted again until he too was kneeling, leaning forward. His expression had resumed its earlier solemnity.

Trembling, Boromir wished he could lie. “In part,” he managed, his throat closing on the words. “I am selfish beyond measure, but I find it hard to share your affection.” He stared down at his knees once more, shying away from the truth in his words, though he knew Faramir would but take it for brotherly love.

“More troubles you than simple jealousy,” Faramir said softly. “Tell me the rest.”

He shook his head without looking up. “No. Please, little brother, do not ask me to give up that part of your love I may still own.”

The hand lifting his chin startled him and his eyes flew up to meet Faramir’s. His brother’s fingers shifted to stroke his cheek, and he could not stop himself from leaning into that caress, though he knew he should not. Faramir smiled, stilled, but did not take his hand away.

“Boromir,” he whispered, “every part of my love has ever been yours.”

He leaned in and kissed him, not chastely upon the cheek or brow, but on his lips, and Boromir could not but respond. It was a kiss as he had never known, sweet and tempting and filled with love all at once, a kiss as he had dreamed of in nights filled with yearning.

When Faramir at last pulled away, it was only so far as to allow them both to breathe. Boromir opened his eyes, unsure when they had fallen closed, and stared at his brother in shock. He knows. “Faramir?” he said, and his voice quavered beyond his control.

“I have loved you since before I knew what love was,” Faramir murmured, fingers stirring against his cheek once more. “I longed for your touch before I knew what desire touch may kindle. You said you would not keep me from that which brings me joy… do not now keep me from yourself.”

Not only does he know, Boromir thought in wonder, but he feels the same? The touch against his face was too distracting; he took Faramir’s hand and held it tightly in his own shaking one. “I cannot, for I have discovered that it would only cause us both pain,” he said softly. “I tried to keep this secret from you, to keep you from knowing my shame, but you still knew.”

“Your shame is my own, though I don’t see how it can be wrong… not when we each feel the same.” Then Faramir shook his head. “But I did not know until this moment, when we kissed.”

Boromir smiled sadly. “You are braver than I, for I dared say nothing.”

“It is not a question of bravery.” His brother’s eyes were steady and serious when he met them. “I had guessed from your behavior, but I might have only seen what I wished to see. I would not have kissed you if you had not confessed your jealousy. Is it braver to act when there is little doubt, or to keep a secret that tears at your heart for fear of causing another’s hurt?” Faramir freed his hand, only to press it to Boromir’s chest, where his heart pounded. “I do not doubt that is why you said nothing,” he finished in a whisper.

“You honor me above my worth,” Boromir replied in the same tone.

His brother smiled and leaned in to rest his brow against Boromir’s, and Boromir at last let himself touch, one trembling hand curving around the nape of Faramir’s neck, to stroke his soft red-gold hair. He closed his eyes with a quiet sigh of contentment.

A finger drifted teasingly over his mouth, tracing the shape of his lips. “Say I may kiss you again,” Faramir breathed, and the warm huff of air against his throat made Boromir shiver.

“You may do as you like with me,” he replied, “for I am powerless against you.”

“I shall hold you to that.” They kissed again, and it was as natural as breathing.

When Faramir pressed on his shoulders, bearing him down to lie on the cloak, he went gladly, for he was rewarded with more heated kisses, more knowing caresses. Then his brother settled astride his thighs, and he was lost. His existence narrowed until Faramir was all he could see and hear and touch.

Some time later, sated and spent, Faramir was a pleasant warmth atop him, and he could not stop his hand from drifting lazily up and down the muscled contours of his brother’s back. Faramir’s face was buried against his neck, where Boromir could feel the soft rasp of his fledgling beard, as well as the press of his lips. The sense of wrongness had fled, and Boromir knew he had never felt such happiness as this.

But still a question plagued him, and finally he gave it voice. “Faramir?”

His only response was an inarticulate noise against his throat, followed by a gentle bite.

He shivered, but continued on. “After I saw you kissing that serving girl…”

Now his brother chuckled, and their bodies slid against each other in interesting ways. “Why did I not guess you had seen that, too?” he asked, the words muffled, and his hands slid down along Boromir’s sides and chest.

Determined not to be distracted, he finished, “Why did you say you were at lessons?”

The wandering hands paused, and Faramir rose over him once more. “Because, dear brother, it was a lesson I had set myself.” He bent to taste Boromir’s kiss-ravaged mouth, and when he pulled away, they both gasped for air. “Clea is acclaimed the best kisser in the Citadel,” he went on, his words interspersed with nips along Boromir’s throat. “I asked her to teach me and she agreed, though she after said I needed no teaching.”

“And… and that boy?” He found it difficult indeed to keep his tone free of the resentment he felt.

Faramir stilled and shifted to stare down into his eyes. “I cannot say I do not care for Beren,” he said slowly, “for I do. I would not have lain with him otherwise. But it was only affection between us, not love, for my heart belongs to you, and his is still his own. It was a dalliance for him, and another kind of lesson for me.” As if that explained all, he nibbled lightly at the lobe of Boromir’s ear.

“Another lesson?” In spite of his curiosity, Boromir tilted his head to give Faramir more of his neck to explore.

“So that if this moment were to come to pass, I would know what is necessary as both the one who is taken… and the one who takes.” Abruptly, he stopped and reared upright, bracing himself on his hands and knees. His blue eyes were troubled. “And while part of me is grateful for that knowledge, another part of me grieves that I cannot say I have only been yours alone.”

Boromir smiled up at him, reached to soothe his brow. “You are not alone in your gratitude,” he said, and felt his face redden. “Until this day, I knew little of the ways or… touches between lovers, nor did I care to. You may say that I am yours alone… and I believe you have always been mine here.” As he spoke, he trailed his hand down Faramir’s face and neck to cover his heart.

Faramir bit his lip, and dove down to hide his face against Boromir’s neck once more, his shoulders shaking.

After a moment’s comfort, Boromir left off stroking his brother’s hair, and nudged him for attention. “Faramir, look at me.”

Taking a shuddering breath, Faramir raised his body from Boromir’s again, to meet his gaze.

Boromir smiled, wiping a few stray tears from his brother’s cheek with his thumb, his heart filled with joy.

For Faramir’s eyes told him that he was his little brother’s world, and would ever be.

May 29, 2010

Notes: This is (in spirit anyway, if not in fact) an answer to a challenge by Crazy at the Library of Moria archive.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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

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3 Comment(s)

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I liked this very much. Thank you.

— Kelly    3 June 2010, 16:19    #

Wonderful story!
I like the way you have described young Faramir and Boromir.And very interesting, expressive idea. Write more about them! Thank you!

— Anastasiya    4 June 2010, 06:06    #

So nice to see something new from you! you capture the depth of feeling so beautifully. I remember reading your earlier stories on LJ. You were one of the authors that made incest move me to tears.

— trixie    6 June 2010, 06:12    #

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