This story is rated «NC-17», and carries the warnings «Double Penetration, angst, violence, character death, AU».
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22 December 2006 | 10867 words
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, Double Penetration, angst, violence, character death, (romance, erotica) AU by necessity
Word Count: 10,843
Author’s Notes: For the 2006 Midwinter swap. Not certain what counts as double penetration. Thanks to Arahiril for the beta. Written Nov-Dec. 2006.
Written for the 2006 Midwinter Swap.
Request by Sivan Shemesh: Faramir/Legolas/Boromir, Faramir/Legolas, Boromir/Legolas. Both brothers claims Legolas, who will remains with him? and of-course, one of the brothers been murdered by his own flesh. Who will kill who and stayed with his prize?
NC-17, Double Pentration, angst, violence, character death, romance and full of erotica.
It amazed him still, how easily it had happened. Faramir was not used to having many friends at all and this one was… He wasn’t sure why Legolas had started off being so friendly with him but what did that matter now that they were companions? While he was young for an Elf, Legolas had lived so long and knew so many things that Faramir was eager to learn about. He gave back all he had, though his stories were not so fascinating due to his limited experiences—Legolas didn’t seem to care, enjoyed his company. And now they were going together to Minas Tirith so that Legolas could look in the library there and speak to the steward on behalf of his own father, Thranduil of Mirkwood.
That there would be anything in Gondor’s library interesting to the Elves made Faramir painfully curious as to what it was but Legolas did not wish to speak of it so he respected his friend’s privacy. He was too excited—as long as Legolas had been alive he’d never been to the White City! Nearly three thousand and Faramir was barely thirty but he’d finally be able to show Legolas something completely new and was looking forward to it immensely.
He wasn’t exactly looking forward to the formal dinner than he knew would be held. Legolas’ rank hadn’t been important when they’d first met and most of the time Faramir forgot about it. Friends were dearer than princes, after all.
And it had happened almost by accident… Faramir had been hunting in the northern stretches of Gondor. Game grew scarcer as the forces of Mordor encroached and the Shadow lengthened. The animals had fled west and the rangers were forced to ask for more supplies from the city, being unable to provide for themselves so much as they had in past years. It burned Faramir to have to ask, shamed him when Lord Denethor reminded him time and time again that the rangers had ever been able to look out for their own—before he took command.
It was not Faramir’s fault and all knew it, but the words stung anyway. So the deer he had found and tracked for hours really had little chance against a captain of rangers with something to prove, if only to himself. He’d scarcely finished cleaning it when he heard something behind him—it almost sounded like another animal but when he’d turned he found that it was far from a dumb beast.
“What do you here?” he had asked, extremely curious, in the language of the Elves as he’d been taught by Mithrandir.
The Elf was clearly pleasantly surprised to hear his own language and responded that he’d been seeking dinner. He’d seen the trail of the deer and then soon after the trail of the man following it. He then made the most graceful shrug that Faramir had ever seen and smiled, earning him an invitation to share meat with Faramir, son of Denethor.
Legolas, as he named himself, wasn’t completely surprised upon hearing the name. He hadn’t been sure but had suspected the man’s identity—he knew who the captain of the rangers was and had heard about the promising student Faramir had been as a boy and still as an adult, when he had the time. That Legolas was a prince of Mirkwood and therefore Gondor’s ally made a journey to Minas Tirith unnecessary at that time and the two had talked longer than Faramir could even have hoped and so had even become companionable. The Elf had shared meat, stories and fire, and when he left in the morning it was with a half-promise to return. He had, several times in fact, and so Faramir became a friend to the first Elf he’d ever met.
Now the Elves had a need to visit the city and Legolas had been chosen due to his relationship with the Steward’s second son. Faramir hoped that Lord Denethor would not hold it against Prince Legolas that he was friendly with the out-of-favour son and Mithrandir besides. Legolas’ grace and poise held strong against the stony countenance of the Lord Steward, and Faramir’s name (and presence) was kept to a minimum. Things went remarkably well—Lord Denethor even let the Elf have access to the library for as long as he wished it.
Denethor was not the only one charmed. Elves were rarely seen and most of the council had not met any—so young and fair in appearance but older than all of them together. Legolas had many offers to share meals and speak on various topics: Faramir was pleased at the success of the visit. He nearly burst into laughter at the feast when Boromir learned that his little brother knew this esteemed guest; that the Elf spoke of Faramir as a friend. True, knowledge and lore held little interest for Boromir but the keen eyes of Elven archers and the near-legendary quality of their blades was something else. The elder son would have some of Legolas’ time as well, considering him a worthy sparring partner.
“Ah, my brother, he may well defeat even you,” Faramir said as they walked through the halls that evening. “You are the finest swordsman in Gondor, by far, but he is not of Gondor and surely knows many tricks you do not.”
“A great many tricks,” Boromir said with a quirk of lip. So his brother had found someone besides Boromir himself to praise: this was new. But how far did this affection go? “Have you yourself seen any?”
“We have not fought together if that is what you are saying,” Faramir returned. “Though I think that you are not.”
Boromir smiled—his brother knew him so well.
“It is not the field of battle I speak of now, no, but something more private. Do not say that you do not find Legolas beautiful. Never have I known you to lie. Never also have I seen you look at another with such glances as you did our Elven guest this night. Not only on the field of battle do they possess gifts and it was of more intimate habits I spoke.”
It took a moment for Faramir to understand the query and his cheeks turned rosy before he answered.
“I confess to know naught of Elven ability in such things. The two of us are friends only.”
They were, it was true, and Boromir accepted the answer with a nod and a smile, spoke a bit more, and retired for the evening. Now alone in his room, Faramir could not help but think about what his brother had said.
He did admire Legolas; he was wise and kind, skilled, intelligent. His beauty was not in question but likely quite usual for Elves. Not having met any others, Faramir did not have any basis for comparison. Did he desire his friend? That question turned round and again on itself in his mind for a long time before he drifted to sleep. Warm, comfortable dreams—such a change from the nightmares he often suffered—filled the night and he woke with an answer.
Legolas knew that something was not right with Faramir. He had been so confident the night before, pleased that Legolas had been welcomed—he’d been so worried—and he had smiled and laughed, enjoying the feast far more than expected. It had been wonderful to see, as Faramir was so often guarded. That caution wasn’t back, but there was something new in his friend’s demeanour; a shyness that was confusing and charming at the same time.
“It is good to see you, my friend,” Legolas welcomed Faramir into his rooms with a warm greeting in hopes of discovering what had changed. “You seem none the worse for your drinking last night and yet not the man I know. Is something troubling you?”
“Not troubling exactly; though I admit that I’m not quite sure how to begin.” Faramir’s nervousness was clearly evident in his voice and actions—Legolas had never before seen him so flustered. “I…”
“You what?” Legolas asked, coming closer. “You can tell me anything, I would have you know that, but nothing that you do not wish to share.”
“I wish to share, I just don’t know how.” Faramir looked almost embarrassed, meeting Legolas’ eyes with difficulty. “I’m not saying this well.”
Legolas smiled. “Right now, you’re not saying much of anything, which is unlike you.” The soft teasing made Faramir smile, though it quickly faded to a look of uncertainty that Legolas thought… He thought he understood. One graceful hand came up to brush gently against Faramir’s stubbled jaw, causing a most pleasing shade of pink to rise. Faramir looked away and just as quickly looked back, no longer so unsure.
“It is unlike me, it’s true. But sometimes I speak too much when I should act.” So saying, Faramir mimicked the caress and leaned forward slightly, not surprised to find Legolas leaning in as well.
It was only the softest brushing of lips at first, hesitant, before Faramir pulled away. After a moment’s study of Legolas’ blue eyes, the tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth, Faramir again moved to kiss supple flesh, only with more confidence. That Legolas returned the kiss caused it to deepen and soon two kisses had become many, increasing in passion until both were breathless.
“I like your actions, my friend,” Legolas admitted with a smile. “Whatever brought about this change, I approve most wholeheartedly.”
“I am pleased you approve,” Faramir said, his colour rising. “I just wish my timing were better. You are busy today with appointments that should not be missed.”
“It is only one day. I am patient—I waited this long so I can easily wait until tonight.”
“You were waiting for me?” Faramir asked, surprised. He hadn’t even considered that possibility. And something else occurred to him. “I’ve… I have never been with a man before.”
Legolas smiled gently. “I am not a Man, though I know that is not what you meant. Do not worry. We can return here after tonight’s meal and I will help you.” The Elf moved forward for a quick kiss. “Don’t worry.”
But Faramir did worry; he could not help himself. He worried that Legolas was humouring him and then dismissed that as foolish—he knew better. Legolas had always spoken true and his interest was returned. That was so astonishing in itself that Faramir couldn’t comprehend. He didn’t know what to do, what was expected of him. Would it hurt? He had enough of an idea of what would happen to be apprehensive. And then the differences in their appearance began to plague him. He never put much thought into it before. Faramir considered himself adequate, as his name would indicate, but Legolas was so beautiful that no mortal could measure up. He simply had to trust in his friend. He would not flatter idly and somehow it would all work itself out. That was enough to calm him (after several hours of near panic) and he managed to busy himself the rest of the day and stay calm enough not to attract any unwanted criticism at the evening meal.
Legolas kept him centred as they walked out of the feasting hall, speaking of his meetings that day with various advisors and inquiring about sections of the library. Not until they were inside Legolas’ chambers again did Faramir’s nerves reassert themselves.
“Keep calm, my friend, there is nothing to worry about. I have everything we’ll need for the evening. Trust me, you will enjoy yourself.” The gentle tone and words eased Faramir’s spirits and he laughed in sheer relief.
“Pardon my foolishness. I’m as tense as a soldier facing battle for the first time.”
“This morning you were uncomfortable also, until after that first kiss. Then all was better,” Legolas reminded him. “Once we begin you will be yourself again, although perhaps I could rub your muscles a bit. Not only will that ease your nerves but also accustom you to my touch, if only a little. Come, remove your tunic and shirt. I think your boots as well, then lie down. It will feel good, I assure you.”
It did, Faramir had to admit. In little time he was facedown on Legolas’ bed almost purring with contentment. This was vastly better than the muscle rubs he knew of that soldiers did after sword practice. That was to ease pain. This… perhaps there was tension in him somewhere but he was too relaxed to look for it. After a time, he turned his head and grinned.
“If I get any less tense I’ll be asleep, and your evening will be very dull indeed,” Faramir said, earning himself a warm laugh.
“Now that is the Faramir I know, calm and with a sharp wit.”
“Rather a dull wit at this point.”
“Perhaps, but enough of yourself to argue with me as you usually do.” Legolas smiled as he knelt next to the bed, smiling. Faramir very nearly found himself rebutting that statement as well and then… Why argue, even playfully, when that tempting mouth was so close?
It did not take long before they were both clad only in leggings, lying next to each other on the bed. Hands tangled in hair as warm kisses melded into other kisses, touches, and a slow exploration of each other’s bodies.
“You are so very beautiful,” Faramir marvelled over and over. “So elegant and graceful that I feel clumsy.”
“You are strong and warm, and your hands were sure enough a moment ago when they…” he broke off as Faramir again ran those sure hands down Legolas’ hips and up over his backside. “Did that.”
When Legolas returned the caress, Faramir gasped so loudly that the elf was forced to hide his smile lest his friend think he was making fun. He was not at all mocking but slow and almost reverent when he began to unlace the front of Faramir’s leggings, encouraging with his eyes that Faramir should return the favour.
“It is a gift that you give me, a treasure. I am honoured to be your first male.” The complement had the dual effect of making Faramir blush in a most attractive manner and making him forget all his nerves until the leggings were gone and they stood completely unclothed in each other’s presence.
“You are so beautiful,” Faramir said quietly.
“So you keep saying. I find you beautiful also—I do, so don’t even try to deny it as I know you’re about to do. You are beautiful and gentle and good. I am much older than you and I know these things.” Legolas nodded with mock solemnity and Faramir was grateful. This was his trusted friend: it would be all right.
He kept that thought in his mind as Legolas encouraged him to lie down again, this time on his back, with his legs over the edge of the bed.
“What are you—oh!” Words and soon thought fled as warm lips descended on him. They set him to smouldering but did not give him what he needed, not quite. “Legolas, you must stop. Please, I’m going to…”
The mouth moved away and Faramir could breathe again. He felt Legolas’ hand move up from his inner thigh and come to rest on his flushed face.
“I know. And I’ve no intention of finishing you so quickly.” Blue eyes flashed with wicked humour as Legolas continued. “I had my heart set on your peaking inside of me, and not my mouth either.”
Faramir was too surprised at that to even blush.
“But I thought you wanted to…” Had he misunderstood?
“I’m not against it, if that is your wish,” Legolas said. “I simply thought you might be nervous and I could show you what it feels like to take another male. Some other time, if you like, I can return the pleasure for you. I enjoy it but not all do.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Faramir said. It was not so difficult to admit since Legolas already knew.
“I know you don’t. I’ll help you. It’s not so different with a few exceptions.” The Elf stopped and thought a moment. “I’ll show you how to prepare me—that’s the biggest difference.”
He grinned abruptly and, before Faramir knew it, Legolas had moved down again, taking him fully in his mouth.
“But… thought… didn’t want…” It was more than he could stand. Words dried up under the onslaught of silken lips and searing mouth. There would not have been time for many anyway, as it was barely a minute before Legolas was pulling away, swallowing and smirking. He allowed Faramir to recover himself a moment before speaking.
“Perhaps I should have warned you. But another difference is that males are tighter than females and sometimes it’s difficult to control yourself, especially if you’ve never done this before. Now you will not be so overly excited and the experience will last longer and be better for it—trust me.”
“I do.” That was all Faramir could manage at this point, those two very small words. He watched Legolas bring out a jar of ointment, the sort that people used on small aches. Legolas smiled at the curiosity.
“Take a bit of this and warm it—you’ll need to start with one finger only. Go as slowly as you like, or quickly if you’d rather. You’ll not hurt me, I would simply like you to explore as you would and not rush. One finger and soon two, and then I’ll teach you about something else.”
Faramir found it difficult to believe that he was not causing hurt but realised after a very little while that the noises Legolas was making were not those of pain. It was tighter, and strange, but by the time he had two fingers inside he was much less nervous.
“Out for a moment,” Legolas said, breathing heavily. After Faramir complied, the elf pressed his fingers underneath his own sac. “There is a gland under here. You can feel it from the outside.”
He nodded, allowing Faramir to touch.
“You can feel it from the inside, too,” Legolas said wickedly, nodding to indicate that Faramir should try. If he’d thought Legolas responsive before… No, it was much better to touch him this way. He let his fingers explore and play until Legolas was panting and pushing back on his hand.
“I think you have it fairly well. And I think I shall jump atop you if you do not take me soon. Just use some ointment on yourself—or I can help you—and push in slowly.” Legolas lay on his back with his legs bent up and held apart. “From the front—we can see each other this way.”
Faramir had not expected that, nor had he anticipated just how much tighter a male would be. He went slowly, going in only a bit before pulling back, then a bit more. At first he thought Legolas was biting his lip in pain but after a moment he found that wasn’t the case at all. His friend was holding himself in check, trying to keep from simply pulling Faramir forward—let the man go as slowly as he would this first time, even if his partner was about ready to scream at the delay. Finally he was fully inside and Legolas stopped biting and groaned softly.
“Just wait a moment—I’m more than ready but usually it’s good to wait, let your partner adjust. When you start to move it will be so wonderful.”
He was slow and careful, then solid and strong, and finally powerful, pounding and fierce, with Legolas pushing back with every thrust and moaning, until the rhythm was lost and Faramir was lost and Legolas touched himself and they were lost together.
They’d stayed together that first night, and once again in the next week though they were intimate more often than that. They were together every night but one, because Faramir had been sent off on an errand and not yet returned.
How could Legolas not think of the one brother as he now sparred with the other? Gondor’s heir finally had his chance and was doing remarkably well, the Elf had to admit. Faramir’s remarks that his brother was the finest swordsman in the land were not ill boasts, but Legolas had known they wouldn’t be. For all that Faramir adored his brother he was honest and would not have told such a lie even for Boromir’s sake.
“I’m not beaten yet,” Boromir said, smiling and circling again. He was beaten but not ready to yield. The man was far younger and, though strong and fast, was still a Man and not an Elf.
With a few more flurries of blows, Legolas knew it was over even if Boromir did not. He pulled back.
“Your brother’s praise is not idle talk. I’ve not seen a swordsman like you in a very long time.” He was ending the match but knew enough to ease that slightly hurt pride—and it was true.
“I was not yet finished,” Boromir complained, though he nodded at the compliment.
“Close to, and that’s enough. I think we’ll both be a bit sore from this,” Legolas said, smiling. “But now I need to get clean.”
“A bath will ease the aches and solve that. I’ll have water brought in.”
Boromir allowed Legolas his bath first, partly because he took more time to be removed of his armour than the other. He came in, stretching, as Legolas was nearly finished.
“You look clean,” he said, “not that you looked particularly dirty to begin with.”
No, Legolas has looked as pristine as ever and seeing him this way… There was no reason not to speak his mind.
“A fine match you gave me this day, on the field of battle. The stories are true about Elven prowess. It makes me curious about other things I have heard as well.”
Legolas raised an eyebrow, emerging from the water. “I did not know that you studied the ways of my people. Faramir did not ever say that you even spoke our language.”
“Not so much as he does, it is true; a word here or there. But I think you know what people say.” Boromir’s glance was openly appreciative and could not be misinterpreted. “Though I do not have poetic words like Elves, I can honestly admit that I desire you. I do not wish to hide it from you. Would you share another warrior’s tradition with me?”
“I thought that particular tradition was practiced the night before great battles,” Legolas returned. He studied Boromir’s face and body, and decided that he was guileless, knew nothing of himself and Faramir, and merely had his blood running hot after a good training exercise.
“It usually is,” Boromir admitted. “I’m not against enjoying myself now—if you wish it, too.”
The man took his bath while Legolas allowed himself to dry. He did not dress, but leant against the bench idly, considering. A warrior’s liaison would be simple enough to grant, something both were obviously familiar with. They were interludes to be enjoyed, physical things, and Legolas waited until Boromir was finished before walking over with a towel.
“I’m not against enjoying myself either,” he said, smiling. He guided the man over to the bench where he spread another towel and indicated that Boromir should lie down. When Boromir seemed disinclined, he smiled and said. “On your back.”
Now the man understood, and lay down, closing his eyes in bliss as Legolas’ hands and lips moved up his body. This was not what he’d been thinking of, but it was certainly good enough to start with.
“Would you not see?” the teasing voice asked, before taking Boromir deeply.
“Aaahh!” His eyes flew open and remained so, though Legolas did not spend so much time as Boromir wished. Indeed, he moved away, which was confusing. “What are you doing?”
“Should we not both enjoy ourselves?” Legolas asked, moving to the far end of the bench and straddling it, leaning over. “This way we can.”
It took a moment for Boromir to understand what it was the elf was doing but the position their bodies were in made it obvious. As long as Legolas could hold himself up, then Boromir was fine. More than fine—the skin under his hands was soft as a woman’s though the muscle underneath solid, and the hardness in his mouth was pleasant, too. He enjoyed the sweet flesh, moaning around it as his own body was pleasured in return. Whatever Legolas was doing, it felt incredible and Boromir teased and played, pulling down and pushing away until both were panting.
Legolas seemed to take this as an invitation to do… What was that? It did not matter. Boromir gave in to the warmth and wetness, then renewed his own assault when the sensual distraction was over. It pleased him to hear Legolas’ cries of pleasure now that they were unmuffled and soon he drank the immortal’s seed, very satisfied to hear his name called with such obvious satisfaction.
“Now that is something I have never done before,” he admitted when both were recovered and getting dressed.
“Did you enjoy it?” Legolas asked with a smirk.
“What, could you not tell?” Boromir returned. They both laughed. “I must say it is true about Elves. Their eyes and blades are keen, and their bodies are sweet.”
“I suppose I should say the same about Men of Gondor,” Legolas returned. “For you’ve a certain skill with a blade yourself.”
Companionably, they finished dressing and went about the rest of their daily tasks.
Faramir returned the day after, pleased to hear Legolas’ praise for his brother’s sword skills.
“Did I not tell you?” he asked.
“You did and I believed you, for you’re not a man to tell falsehoods. I did not finish the match, though I’m sure Boromir did not understand why. He was beaten, I simply did not wish for those looking on to witness it. He’s the Captain-General and his men should not see him so.”
Faramir agreed that this had been wise and considerate, though he could also understand why Boromir himself could take it as an insult. He’d have to explain later.
There was not time at dinner, and afterward he had a few things to see to now that he was back in the city, and he went about the tasks with a smile, knowing that he would soon be back with Legolas. It had only been three nights away, but…He smiled at his own foolishness. It was all so new and wonderful and he thought that tonight, perhaps, he was ready to find out what it was like to be taken.
This thought did not worry him as it had that day a week and a half ago. He’d seen now how much Legolas enjoyed it and was beyond curious for the experience himself. Yes, tonight. His good mood showed in his walk and unusually wide smile as he greeted the citadel guards upon his return. He made his way to Legolas’ rooms and knocked. The door opened, he entered, and it was closed again—barely closed before he began to kiss his beautiful Elven lover and begin the evening’s activity.
Boromir had spoken with great enthusiasm of the previous day’s match with Legolas. All through dinner Boromir thought of the match and after. He went for some ale and thought some more, drinking a bit more quickly than usual. Eru, but thinking about that beauty made his mouth run dry.
He’d wanted to taste him, yes, but he’d imagined something quite different. Not, Boromir told himself, that what had happened wasn’t immensely pleasurable—and Boromir had learnt something new out of it. But he wanted… He wanted to bury himself in the soft, hot body and make it his own. That had been his wish. The more he thought of it, the more he wanted. The mouth was skilled—more so than anyone Boromir had previously lain with. But he wanted everything.
The halls were quiet as he made his way to the wing where the most honoured guests stayed. If he’d had a little much to drink, well, that was to be understood. Legolas was an incredible being, so strong of limb and soft of skin. So he’d taken Boromir on the practice field. This would be remedied as Boromir took Legolas in the bedroom.
He put his hand to the door handle and raised the other to knock. What was that noise? He shook his head—no one else was in this wing currently except Legolas and… the handle turned. Well, Elves didn’t usually lock their doors. Boromir smiled and pushed the door open, entering. He froze.
Legolas was with someone! That noise had been… But he’d said…
Oh, he could not believe this. The Elf—his Elf—had his back to the door. Boromir did not need to see to know what he was doing—pushing slowly into the man bent over the bed. And there was only one person that man could be.
He turned and closed the door, locking it behind him. He was no elf to trust so. He’d thought his presence unnoticed, that the keen hearing was focused elsewhere, but the golden head turned as he approached.
“Why are you here?” Legolas asked quietly. He was paused deep inside Faramir’s body, waiting for it to relax enough to allow him to move. At his words, Faramir turned also.
“What?” And the eyes widened, the body tensed so badly that Legolas could not pull away without hurting him. “Boromir?”
Faramir was mortified for his brother to see him this way. Not that it was wrong, but… this was private. How had he got in and why had he come in the first place? It was late at night.
“So you recognise me, little brother. I knew you almost immediately.” Boromir was slightly overloud, though his words were unslurred. “Not that I expected you to be here, of course. You told me that Legolas was your friend only.”
Then Legolas understood what had happened—the brother had spoken and Faramir had seen Legolas as something more than a mere companion. He could thank Boromir for that later. Right now things were looking complicated.
“I was. Perhaps you could leave and we could speak of this later?” Legolas felt he was being remarkably calm, considering. Faramir was not so, and would shortly be in a state of panic. His body was tense and Legolas could not move off of him and Boromir’s hand was running up his backside, exploring the elf at his whim. “You’re drunk.”
“I was drinking,” Boromir corrected with a smile. He saw the ointment on the table close by, the lid so conveniently askew. “I see you were in a bit of a hurry. That’s understandable—so am I.”
Faramir was scrabbling to get away, unable to see what was going on. What had started so well was turning into a nightmare. It had been difficult but not painful for Legolas to push inside of him. He’d been nearly ready. Now… it hurt. He could not move and it hurt and his brother was not supposed to see him like this. Brothers did not… No! They did not share lovers. But that’s what Boromir was preparing to do.
“Legolas, you have to move.”
“I can’t—I’ll hurt you,” Legolas responded, as gently as he could manage. “If you don’t relax, I’ll hurt you badly.”
“I can’t,” Faramir said, voice filled with misery. He was trying, but how could he calm down when Boromir was speaking so oddly? He said he wasn’t drunk but his voice was wrong, too low. It was almost frightening to hear Boromir speaking this way, saying with cool words how they would share the beautiful Elf this night. Would that not be so fine? The brothers were always so close and now they’d share this also.
“You must stop, Boromir. You’ll hurt him!” Elves could not be forced, they’d fade and die. “Boromir, stop.”
“Do not worry, little brother. You’ll have him back soon enough. He’s almost ready now and it will feel so good.” Boromir smiled. “How good you must feel. You’ll have to tell me what it’s like. I’ve never been taken as you have. That is not my way.”
Legolas did not bother to explain that this was Faramir’s first time, that Faramir was shaking with panic, and that Faramir was right—Elves could not be forced. But he would not hurt the man below him—pull away, make him bleed, just to fight the drunken person behind him.
“I know your way, warrior,” Legolas said, knowing that Boromir was too far gone to hear the contempt in his words. “Have me as you wish, but if you could but wait a moment because…”
He needed Boromir to wait, to move off so he could calm Faramir and pull out of his body. Then he’d be ready.
But Boromir heard only ‘have me’ and moved, covering Legolas’ back, opening his hastily-prepared body, and shoving. The force made Legolas gasp and Faramir shout. Elves were more resilient—he’d not be damaged, or would heal quickly. But the heavy pounding pushed Legolas into Faramir and he was crushed. Worse, Legolas was forced deeper inside, over and over, while Boromir did not pay attention, or misunderstood Legolas’ pushing back for desire and Faramir’s cries for pleasure.
Legolas pushed back to try and spare the man below. Already in so much pain, if only he would not have to deal with more. The Elf locked his legs, bruising his knees terribly, but he was not pushed so much into Faramir, who gasped sharply at each thrust but was otherwise quiet.
Boromir grew louder, pounding inside with a force that Legolas was not accustomed to, or not recently. That kind of force had its place, and that place was not here. But the heavy body was moving erratically now, and it was nearly over. Finally, Boromir shouted and thrust so deeply that Legolas’ knees could not hold. The three of them tumbled forward, landing hard on the bed.
“That was wonderful, I must admit,” Boromir said, more slurred now than he had been before. “But I’ll leave you two to your own devices.”
With a pat to Legolas’ back, Boromir moved off awkwardly, re-fastening his clothes. He left, but Legolas did not pay any attention. He was moving now, pulling away while Faramir was unconscious, having passed out under the weight of two bodies above him and the pain inside.
He checked quickly to make sure that Faramir was not bleeding—he wasn’t—and moved his limp form up onto the bed. Keeping an eye out in case the man stirred, Legolas checked himself. No blood either, just tenderness that would heal quickly enough. He made himself clean and dressed, then sat by Faramir, concerned because he’d not yet woken. Wait…
“Faramir, it is only me. You can open your eyes. I need to know if you are well or if you wish to go to a healer. You are not bleeding but I am worried.”
Faramir swallowed heavily. “I am fine. Or… or I will be soon enough. I cannot stay here.” Before the words were fully spoken, he turned and tried to rise; eyes widening when Legolas moved to keep him lying still.
For his part, Legolas was worried but realised that keeping Faramir in place would be worse than letting him move.
“I think you can stay here a bit longer.”
“I am going back to my rooms, right now,” Faramir said, determined. But he could barely stand. “I’m going.”
“I will help you, then.” He helped Faramir dress, and wrapped an arm about his waist to help him walk the halls. In Faramir’s room, he helped his friend undress again and lay him down. “I do not wish to leave you.”
“I am fine. I want to be alone just now.” Faramir’s eyes were closed and his voice was quiet and strained.
“I will come to see you in the morning, then,” Legolas said softly. “I am worried for your sake.”
“Do not be, but I will see you in the morning.” There was no point in arguing about that—Legolas could be stubborn, too; stubborn with the tenacity only an immortal being could have. And perhaps by morning Faramir would have figured out what went wrong.
He hadn’t needed to wait: what went wrong was a drunken Boromir. The why behind that was a mystery still. It did tell Faramir one thing, though—he knew now that what he felt for Legolas was real. He’d suspected, though he tried to tell himself that it wasn’t so, that he hadn’t even thought of Legolas as anything but a friend until Boromir suggested… But Faramir knew that it was not only embarrassment that made him upset at his brother. It was more than that, more than moral outrage at treating anyone so horribly.
He was jealous.
Faramir did not want to share Legolas’ body or affections because he… He would have to say so, tell Legolas when he came. That would likely be soon so he needed to get up.
It hurt to sit, it hurt worse to stand and get dressed. He did not try to hide it when Legolas asked, but said that it did not matter, it hadn’t been Legolas’ fault and it would heal.
“When I asked how you were, I meant more than physically.” The Elf frowned: something was wrong.
Faramir stammered, quieted, looked for a moment like he was going to speak and then did not. This continued for several minutes until the tension in the room was almost palpable and they both were agitated. Finally…
“I did not want him to touch you because I was jealous, because I…” he stopped. He should not say it this way. Faramir calmed. “I was jealous. I’ve never before been jealous of Boromir, despite everything. But I did not want him to touch you that way.”
That was a vast admission.
“I did not think you were capable of jealousy, my friend,” Legolas said gently. “I do not care for your brother as I care for you, but physical relationships are common. They have little meaning beyond an experience of pleasure. You’ve heard of warrior’s liaisons?”
“What I have with you is more than that, Faramir, so much more. But with your brother, I had a liaison that was physical only. Perhaps he misinterpreted or simply was dissatisfied.”
“You… and my brother?” Faramir asked, surprised. But why should he be surprised? Boromir admitted his attraction that night when they’d spoken, when Faramir had finally dared to think of Legolas as something beyond a friend. “It was while I was away.”
“Yes. He asked me and I saw no harm there—because I have had such things before. They are quick and enjoyable but only things of the body.” Legolas smiled softly at Faramir. “That is different from what you and I share.”
Faramir was not feeling so certain. They’d been intimate a little more than a handful of times—he did not want to say that they’d made love because he wasn’t certain that that’s what it was. It had been to him, he knew now. But Legolas was with Boromir and then Boromir had come in and ruined everything.
“I care for you very much, Legolas,” Faramir said carefully. “I would not share you with my brother. And…”
There was more. He couldn’t say everything, not now.
“I would not share you even physically, though I’ve no right to ask it. And certainly not together as we were last night. My brother and I should not…” That was never right, for brothers to share such intimacy.
“You have the right to ask it because it is the truth of how you feel. I do not intend to lie again with Boromir, nor did I intend to be with him more than once, ever. I think that I did not give him what he wanted that day and so he came to take it. It was a simple enough thing to give, only you were hurt.” Legolas had thought, had hoped, that Boromir would move away and wait but he had not. He’d been concerned for Faramir’s sake physically but had not remembered the cultural difference—Boromir hadn’t minded. “And I am not sure if you know, but it is not unknown among Elves for siblings to lie together. So long as no children result, we see no wrong in it.”
This was not something Faramir wished to hear, though he knew that Legolas meant to comfort him and nothing else. So he nodded only and made no comment of his own.
“I should speak with him, as soon as possible.”
“Are you well enough?”
“I am. It is not so bad. I will ease the ache in a bath and seek out Boromir afterwards. We’ve never held a quarrel for long.” This was something larger than their normal disagreements, and Faramir was uncertain. But the sooner he and Boromir talked, the sooner it would be resolved. There was no putting off unpleasant tasks—at least not beyond the time it took to have a hot bath.
“Seek me out after, else I shall see you this evening and we can talk.”
Faramir nodded: he could tell his true feelings to Legolas tonight.
He’d expected Boromir to be easier to find but it was mid-afternoon before Faramir finally tracked his brother to his rooms. He knocked and waited, noting the varied expressions that crossed Boromir’s face after the door opened. Then Boromir stepped back, waving him into the room.
Faramir was silent, not certain what to say. He’d come, he should speak first, but he did not know where to begin. Boromir relieved him of the responsibility, and certainly he thought he was making a joke but Faramir was not amused.
“No, we should not do that again,” he hissed. Before he could think about it, he’d stepped forward and…
They stared at each other. On the practice field only, though perhaps there had been scuffles as boys, but never as grown men had one struck the other. Boromir rubbed his jaw and took a step away.
“I’m sorry,” Faramir began, but Boromir shook his head.
“No, you need not be. It was a poor jest and I should have kept silent. You came here to speak to me and I certainly know what about.” Boromir looked uncomfortable from more than the blow.
“Yes. But I should not have hit you—you are my brother and we have ever been close. Still, there are some things that we should not share, for all that the Elves might not ban it.”
“There is but one Elf, Faramir, you are confusing me.”
Faramir blushed to the roots of his hair.
“The Elves do not ban siblings from lying together. They do not but I would not have you with my lover. Not with me there or otherwise.” He’d said it. “What I feel for Legolas is different than the desire you have for him. We were friends but now we are more and this is not something I wish to share with anyone. I love him.”
It was almost comical, the look on Boromir’s face, but Faramir was hurting and he couldn’t laugh now.
“I’ve not told Legolas yet—he knows I care and returns that affection. Tonight I’ll let him know the depth of my feelings and see if he does not perhaps feel the same.” Faramir bit his lip. “I have never been in love before, Boromir, please do not take this from me.”
He could, Faramir thought, and easily enough, even though Legolas had said that he would never again be with Boromir. After all, he’d had the one liaison and did not intend any more but Boromir had changed that. Boromir could come again and Faramir believed that Legolas would refuse—he had said he would. But Boromir could be persistent… So he needed to be sure that his brother would not ask.
“In love? But that is…” Faramir was certain that he would say ‘sudden’, would argue that it could not be so, that Faramir was mistaken. “That is a good thing.”
Faramir’s shock was evident on his face.
“You usually hide your surprise better than that. What did you expect me to say? You have long been fascinated with the ways of the Elves and so your falling in love with one is not so unusual to imagine. You have found love and I will not interfere.” Boromir nodded, clasping Faramir’s shoulder quickly. “I understand now why you reacted so strongly earlier—and forgive you for striking me. It is understandable considering what you have just said. I love you, my brother, and would not stand in the way of your happiness.”
Almost too good to be true, but Boromir had promised not to bother Legolas again. Faramir did not mention that he’d hit his brother, only that they’d spoken and that Boromir now understood.
“He understands because I told him my true feelings about you.” Faramir took a deep breath and continued: he would say this now. “Perhaps it seems sudden to you and perhaps it is, but you have been my friend for nearly a year and I’ve already said that I care for you as more than that. It is much more—I love you.”
Legolas smiled and touched Faramir’s face gently.
“Was that so very hard to admit?” he asked.
“I suspected. You are not a man to give only a part of himself. Some will couple for pleasure only, or due to need. Some will share a brief affection. You… your love shines from you. It is not the same as when you spoke to me of your brother but the tone is similar. I did suspect and I am flattered. I was your first male—that is something I’ve been before. But never anyone’s first love.”
Faramir smiled almost shyly.
“You don’t mind?” He didn’t dare ask if Legolas felt the same.
“Mind? Love is so rare, Faramir. Flattered, and honoured. Come here.” He held his arms open to embrace his friend, this wonderful man who had given him so much of himself. He did love Faramir, not quite the same as Faramir loved him, and now was not the time to say so. Now was the time to embrace and then perhaps kiss gently and see where their feelings took them.
To bed, with many shared kisses and caresses and slow stroking of hands. Faramir fell asleep there, a soft smile on his face, and Legolas watched over him through the night.
Legolas’ visit continued, with him seeking out the information he needed in the library and meeting with various council members to speak about things. Sometimes Faramir was invited, usually when the topic was Elven culture or language. The two spent almost every evening together, though they stayed in the same room but rarely over the course of weeks. Sometimes Faramir would catch his brother’s eye and Boromir would smile at him, or nod in encouragement, though for the most part Boromir left them alone, which Faramir appreciated very much.
Thusly, he was inclined to be charitable and spend the evening drinking with Boromir when Legolas was busy. Except for a brief ‘how do things go?’ question at the beginning of the evening, they’d avoided Faramir’s new romance as a topic of conversation and things were as they had always been. It was not until they were walking through the hallways together at the end of the night that the situation turned.
“Ah, it is a shame that your Elf is busy or I could show you how to take him truly,” Boromir said, his words slurred and wistful. He was too drunk to notice the look of anger flash in Faramir’s eyes.
“He is busy and he does not want to be with you, my brother,” Faramir said, trying to keep his voice calm. “You have promised not to pursue him any more.”
“So I have promised,” Boromir said, nodding vigorously. That seemed like the end of it until they passed Faramir’s door and he turned to go in only to find Boromir right behind him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, confused.
“Your Elf is busy, but you are not,” Boromir returned.
“If you were not drunk I would strike you again,” Faramir said. “But you are and so I say only that you should go back to your room and sleep.”
He did not want to think about that, about drunken Boromir and what he’d done, so he went into his room. Before he could close the door behind him, Boromir had pushed it open and followed.
“Just because he’s unavailable does not mean that I cannot show you a thing or two, little brother. After all, did you not say that such things were common with Elves?”
“Not common, though not unheard of. And we are not Elves but Men.” Faramir was not happy and pushed Boromir towards the door. “I think you should leave now, since you obviously do not know what you are saying.”
“I’m not so drunk as that. What say you? Surely Legolas would appreciate it if you touched him with a bit more skill. Let me show you how.” So saying, he moved forward and slipped a hand into Faramir’s hair. “I could show you many things, little brother.”
He’d had too much to drink, that must be it. Boromir was drunk so certainly he was drunk too and his brother didn’t mean what Faramir thought he meant except that it seemed almost as though Boromir was going to kiss him and then…
“No!” He could smell the ale on Boromir’s breath, feel the first press of lips, and shoved so violently that he lost some strands of hair when Boromir fell away.
Boromir rose up, striking swiftly with a punch to Faramir’s midsection that left the smaller man doubled over and gasping.
“Hit me as many times as you wish but I still do not follow the Elven ways in this. It is not right for brothers to lie together so. It was not right when you came to Legolas’ rooms and I was there. Try and take me, if you wish, but you’ll pay a high price in the end. Is it worth it?” Faramir’s face was twisted up strangely. He had rarely won in the sparring matches on the practice field and he would lose now if it came to a real fight. But fight he would, if Boromir was too drunk to see reason.
Boromir had missed it earlier when Faramir had looked so angry. Now he could not help but see and for a moment seemed to be steadying himself to attack but stopped. He shook his head and then backed away, turning and leaving without another word.
Faramir’s being sick in the chamber pot could be explained by drinking too much, even if Faramir knew that was not the true reason he was ill. His head spun with the possibilities of what could have happened and he was awake until nearly dawn when he finally fell asleep, a tightly-curled ball of exhaustion in his bed.
When he woke late the next morning he felt hollow. Faramir washed and dressed in a daze, trying to recall what it was that he’d forgotten.
Riding! He and Legolas were going riding today and he was late. With his head hurting so badly he wasn’t sure he could still go, but he made his way to Legolas’ rooms with the intention of apologising. Why hadn’t Legolas come to him to ask why he was so late?
He knocked and waited, then knocked again. There was no answer and he listened but could hear nothing. What if… He could not hear anything. He closed his eyes a moment, hoping he would not see anything untoward and tried the door. Open, but Legolas was not there. Surely he could not have been so angry as to go do something else without telling Faramir! Or had he forgotten, too? They’d both been looking forward to the riding.
Legolas’ cloak was gone: he’d gone out and not told Faramir—why? He made his way to the kitchens, having missed morning meal and needing something to break his fast before he began to search. He took a piece of bread, trying to think of where to look first and was surprised when a servant approached him.
“Lord Faramir, what do you here? Are you better?”
“Better than what?” he asked the old servant, smiling. She had known him since birth and her concern was genuine. “I had too much ale and it has been some time but I’m capable of surviving such an experience still.”
“We were told that you were ill and not to be bothered today,” the servant returned.
“Who told you that?” Faramir was confused but had a feeling he knew.
“It was Lord Boromir of course. Your brother said that you were not well last night and wanted to be left alone to sleep today. He assured us that you did not need a healer but I did not expect to see you up so soon.” She was confused also, though pleased to see the young man was not truly sick.
“Where is my brother now?” Faramir wanted to speak with him very much.
“He went out riding with the prince of Elves, my lord. They left hours past. If you do not mind my saying so, you are not looking so well as you were a moment ago. May I help you back to your rooms?”
Faramir shook his head quickly.
“Thank you, I will be fine.” He turned quickly and went back to his room though he was there only long enough to gather a few things and make his way down to the stables. All the way he was thinking, considering. He’d ask down at the guard house, of course, and see if they’d told anyone where they were going. Likely yes, since Boromir’s whereabouts were important. If not, he’d have to track them down, try to figure where they would have gone.
He knew where he had planned to ride, the things he’d wanted Legolas to see. Possibly… Yes, Boromir went that way also. It was logical and the lieutenant said that had been the plan, or so he was told. Lord Boromir and Prince Legolas would ride out away from the river, through to the hills where the trees were not too thick and there was a stream—a good place to ride and have a mid-day meal and perhaps to swim if it was warm enough.
He rode quickly, to cover ground and not for enjoyment. He thought and thought, certain that something was wrong. Boromir would not leave him and Legolas in peace. Boromir had lied to the servants in order to leave Faramir behind, probably lied to Legolas also though that would have been more difficult because he’d have been concerned. His brother was not a good liar—he was too open, did not have the guile necessary. Had that worked in his favour now?
He slowed as he approached the clearing and was pleased to hear that he’d been correct and they had stopped there. It was Boromir’s voice he heard and was not surprised. When he entered the clearing, though, he was beyond shock and froze, unable to dismount his horse even because what he saw was so unbelievable.
Legolas lay on the grass, his hands tied to a stake that had been pounded into the ground. His clothing, including weapons, was scattered about messily. A piece of cloth had been ripped off of something and stuffed into his mouth. Boromir knelt by him, stripped to the waist: he was stroking up the inside of Legolas’ thigh and did not notice the intruder until Legolas began to struggle, trying to spit out the cloth.
“Get away from him!” Faramir shouted, finding his voice and dismounting in the same instant.
“It is not what you think, little brother,” Boromir said, smiling. “He agreed to this. I told you that there were many things I could show you.”
“You’ll kill him!” Faramir shouted, throwing himself onto Boromir, striking out wildly as soon as they hit the ground. He connected several blows before Boromir was able to recover enough to fight back.
“He agreed!” A powerful punch connected with Faramir’s abdomen, hurting badly even through the layers of clothing.
“You lie!” Faramir shouted, trying to return the blow but being unable because Boromir had rolled away, stood up. He stood also, circling with clenched fists. “You told the servants I was ill so they’d not wake me. What other falsehoods have you spoken?”
Boromir glared and picked up his shirt but did not put it on, knowing that the fight was not over.
“It is no lie. He agreed. This is but a game designed to get the blood running quickly.” He dodged, narrowly avoiding the fist to his face. “Calm down and I’ll explain.”
Faramir scowled in disbelief and moved to Legolas’ side, pulling the cloth away.
“I shall let Legolas explain, for he has not lied to me,” Faramir said, turning, seeking the knife in his boot to cut the bindings.
“It is true, Faramir,” Legolas said quietly.
“But…” Faramir blinked in disbelief.
“Do not be such a blushing maid, little brother,” Boromir said, smirking. “There are many ways to enjoy someone’s body. This one adds the spice of danger.”
“I allowed it,” Legolas said, speaking quietly still. Boromir could hear if he listened but he spoke for Faramir’s ears only. “I allowed it on condition that he would never seek me out again and that he would leave us be afterwards. It is physical only, and over quickly.”
Faramir stared in disbelief, first at Legolas and then at Boromir, who had heard the end of that and came forward with an ugly smile on his face.
“You were enjoying what I was doing, Elf, so do not try to say differently!”
Legolas did not respond to the taunt, merely tried to catch Faramir’s attention again. Faramir was rising, knife in his hand, forgetting why he’d drawn it.
“Faramir, do not listen to him. It was only a natural reaction—my body only. Enjoying something that feels good is not wrong; it is not the same as what we share.” Legolas spoke insistently but Faramir did not seem to listen or even hear. He spoke louder. “Will you cut me loose?”
That Faramir heard and he turned, noting the knife in his hand. He dropped it and rushed forward again, face twisted in rage as he attacked Boromir. There were not solid blows now but many swift ones from both sides. Boromir threw his shirt and hit Faramir in the face, blinding him. Faramir stumbled backwards, tripping over Legolas’ outstretched legs and grimacing to hear Boromir roar with laughter.
“Give up, Faramir. When a bound Elf is enough to take you down, you should not be fighting.” So saying, Boromir moved swiftly over to pin his brother in place.
“A bound Elf is enough to take you,” Legolas spat, kicking Boromir in the ribs and forcing him back, allowing Faramir to clear his vision and rise.
“That same Elf who longs to be bound and taken,” Boromir sneered. “Let my little sister fight his own battles.”
When Boromir stood he held Faramir’s knife in his hand.
“Looking for this? You dropped it.” Boromir smiled and shook his head. “Why draw if you’re not going to use a weapon? You could have cut him loose, you know. Why did you not? Would you take what I’ve prepared for you?”
“Do not say any more, Boromir. What you do here is wrong. You are not the man you used to be and I don’t understand why you’re so jealous. You could have any lover you want so why set your eyes on the only one I’ve ever had?”
“Because he’s beautiful. You’re the jealous one, the one who will not share. I give you your love—that is not what I seek. The pleasure of a body only, the finest I’ve ever seen. All you had to do was let me have that for a little while and I’d have been finished.”
“I lay with you once and I thought it would be only once,” Legolas said, frowning.
“You forced him! He agreed only to get you to leave us alone,” Faramir said.
“He was in need of a real man, that’s all,” Boromir returned.
“What about me, Boromir?” Faramir asked quietly, meeting his brother’s eyes for a moment then looking at the ground. “Is that what I need also? Is that why you nearly forced me last night?”
Legolas inhaled in surprise, eyes widening as he watched Boromir move forward, knife raised, hand grabbing at Faramir’s wrist to pull him close.
“I’ll show you ‘forced’…”
It happened so quickly. The knife was at Faramir’s throat; keen blade pushing, a small red trickle. Legolas kicked sideways, Faramir slipped, turned, struck out desperately. There was a flurry of arms and legs and a splash of hot blood staining the grass, and Boromir knelt, gasping.
“You… I…” The normally strong voice was quiet and airy and his lips flecked with spittle before a gush of red and a gurgle. Boromir fell sideways, eyes open wide and staring in death.
The end had been swift and confusing and Faramir was ready to return to Minas Tirith to confess what he’d done. Legolas calmed him, convinced him to think a moment. He knew more of what was happening about Middle Earth than Faramir did. What would happen to Gondor if both of the Steward’s sons were gone? Perhaps Faramir would be allowed to live, perhaps not, but Gondor had to be strong in the face of the oncoming Shadow.
Faramir understood this, listened when Legolas said that it should appear that Boromir had been killed by orcs. They were set upon, Legolas captured—he showed the marks on his wrists as proof. Boromir attempted to rescue him and was fatally wounded. Faramir arrived in time to see it, to see how well Boromir fought and to help him at the end, cut Legolas free. Faramir insisted that Boromir be remembered as dying in battle. The orcs did not kill him without a fight. He died to save someone else. He let Legolas tell most of the story and people understood his reticence. If he’d not been ill, then Boromir would not have died.
Denethor’s outpouring of grief was profound. He lashed out at Faramir, raged at the world, swore vengeance against the forces of Mordor for killing his son and heir. He became as cold and brittle as a spike of ice, dealing with the war and living for nothing else. When Faramir began to have visions of Imladris, he sent him away to find it. Go, and be of some use to your lands at last.
Faramir went, knowing who he would see, somehow certain that things were not supposed to be this way but unable to change them.
He saw Legolas again. They had not seen each other for years. Legolas had stayed for a while by Faramir’s side until the first pangs of grief had faded. They saw each other again after that on occasion, friendly. They would lie together but Faramir would shake after, blaming himself for everything that had happened as he’d been taught to do, even things beyond his control. When the war became worse they could not meet any more, Legolas went back to Mirkwood and time moved on.
Faramir saw Legolas again in the council chamber in Imladris. They both agreed to accompany the Ringbearer. It was not until later that Faramir came to Legolas’ room, quiet and shy and afraid but there, knocking, smiling when the door was opened.
“I have missed you, my friend,” he said. “I have missed you for a long time. I am better now and the world is changing quickly. My pain is not important. What we need to carry out this task is strength and hope and love. I love you, Legolas. I never stopped.”
Legolas held out his hand to usher him into the room and smiled gently. “You are so young but wise, Faramir. I love you also.”
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