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The Unknown Room (NC-17) Print

Written by Faramir_Boromir

29 October 2004 | 4552 words

The Unknown Room (Part I, BDSM!brothers Mir)

The first installment, which continues with What Next?


The Unknown Room

After the Council voted on the security issue, it was only a matter of who would undertake the task. It was agreed to search the lowest reaches of Minas Tirith, beneath the passageways typically used by servants, to discover whether there might be any structural weaknesses the Enemy could exploit, or tunneling that might be used for fell purposes. It would mean weeks of crawling through dusty, dark, and unused corridors—but all agreed that it must be done. Faramir volunteered, as he was well-acquainted with the oldest maps showing the subterranean levels of the city. Hearing his brother’s offer, Boromir then claimed the privilege of accompanying him. One councilor objected, saying that both Steward’s sons should not take the task on alone: an armed escort should go with the men, to assure their safety, in case tunnels were discovered and minions of the Enemy were at work beneath the White City. At this, Boromir began to laugh, and treated the suggestion as a poor joke, saying that he could protect two men by himself, and that Faramir could certainly defend the two of them as well—no armed escort would be needed. With that, it was settled: the two men would manage the underground survey alone. Once the arrangements had been made, Denethor could hardly object, since several of the councilors thought the matter of vital importance to the city, though he hardly favored any plan that would put the two men into each other’s company: such were his misgivings about how Faramir weakened his older brother. Yet tunneling by the Enemy was not to be ruled out, and if the experience of past wars was anything to go by, the Enemy knew no restraint on deception or deceit.

The brothers started the next morning at daybreak, carrying torches and a midday meal with them, and a grimy set of maps (one each) that described, roughly, the locations of long-forgotten rooms. They hoped—or at least Faramir hoped—to correct and improve the maps, to provide greater accuracy to those who might come after them.

After two hours, Boromir’s feet were a little sore. They had been walking steadily, farther and farther down, beneath the catacombs, beneath the storage rooms, peering into each room, duly noting its location and use on the revised maps, but he’d seen nothing that struck him as a security threat. Faramir was slightly ahead of him in this passage, and he appeared to have paused in front of a door while he looked through the gloom at his map.

“What’s the problem, Faramir? Discover a secret route to Mordor?”

“No, brother, but this room isn’t on the map. In fact, the rest of this passage doesn’t even seem to exist on the map, once you reach this point.”

“Look here.” Boromir pointed to the masonry of the corridor’s wall, next to the unknown room’s doorway. The chisel marks and stone used did not seem to match the stones of only a few feet before. It meant that this corridor was of much older construction. Much, much older, perhaps twelve or fifteen hundred years in the past. Faramir nodded. “I see. At a guess, I’d say this was probably built in the reign of Castamir the usurper. The stonework doesn’t seem to be like that made elsewhere in this hallway. He had a taste for dungeons and cruelty, didn’t he?”

Boromir nodded his head in agreement. “You could be right. Let’s find out what’s in these rooms, then.” Boromir pushed the door of the first room open and thrust his torch inside.

The room was fairly small, the size of a modest bedroom, perhaps twenty paces along each side. On the walls hung several sets of chains. Buried in the center of the floor, a thick metal rod projected upwards, with bars protruding from its sides, one a few inches from the floor and another crossed the top of the rod, even with the height of a man’s waist. The lowest bar was several feet across, wider than a man’s shoulders, and attached to the end of the bar, a few inches off the floor, cuffs with padlocks. At the base of the metal rod, lying on the floor, a metal ring held another pair of cuffs attached to the floor by a short chain. A keyring hung on the wall next to the door. Boromir looked over the device, and then back at his brother. “What do you think it is for?”

Faramir remained silent a few moments, then said, “I know what it is for. Or at least, I think I do. I’ve never seen one, but this fits a description I’ve read.” He reached for the keyring, and went to test the locks on the padlocks and the cuffs on the floor. The keys fit, and the locks snick-snicked as he checked that they could be opened and closed. “They work. The rooms may be old, but the fittings have been used more recently, brother. Someone kept them in good repair.” He turned to the side of the room, and slotted his torch into the holder nearest him, then took the other torch out of Boromir’s hand. Boromir looked at him with a questioning gaze.

“Do you plan to tell me how they are used, or should I guess?”

Faramir pulled his brother close, and began kissing him. Not with tenderness, but fiercely, the way he knew Boromir liked to be kissed best. He almost never touched his brother outside of their rooms—had done so rarely for the five years they had been lovers, to conceal their passion from others—so Boromir was at first surprised, then began to respond with a fervor that soon had both men gasping and aroused.

Faramir pushed his brother’s clothing off, dragging away his tunic, then his belt, pulling at his brother’s rear through the tight breeches with a firm grasp or two. He pressed hard against Boromir’s erect flesh, rubbing his own stiff arousal against his brother’s groin, leaving him in no doubt precisely what he wanted, and when. Boromir broke their kiss, sucked in some air, and then said, “I like this, I really do, but what brought this on, brother? There’s no bed here, only chains. Are we to use the wall for our pleasure this time, or a pile of our own clothing? I’ve no objection, mind, I’d just like to know before you start again.”

Faramir smiled into his brother’s face, pulled his brother close, and whispered in Boromir’s ear, “No wall, brother mine. No pile of clothing. But you will enjoy what this room can provide you. Take off your breeches and boots. No questions, just do it.”
Faramir used the quick commands he knew Boromir secretly loved; for such a strong leader, his brother privately liked to be told what to do—but only by Faramir. It had taken Faramir nearly a year to learn how much Boromir wanted to be controlled and overpowered during their bouts in bed. Though Boromir never submitted tamely—which pleased Faramir very much as well. He preferred the struggle before the submission as well.

While thinking this, Faramir watched his brother strip until he was completely naked. Faramir had removed only his tunic and belt, such that he was undressed to the waist, although he had unlaced his breeches, revealing to Boromir’s appreciative gaze his hard, eager flesh. The sight of it made Boromir quiver, and his shaft began to twitch and jump slightly in anticipation. What does this room have to do with you and me, brother?

Faramir took his brother’s hands, and drew him closer to the metal bar in the room’s center. Placing Boromir’s hands on top of the device, he knelt down, and nudged Boromir’s right ankle along the length of the bar, making his brother rebalance his weight as his feet moved apart. When Boromir’s ankle was at the bar’s end, Faramir took his hand and placed it firmly within the cuff—then he closed the cuff and turned the lock along the side, immobilizing Boromir’s right leg. Shifting his weight so that he could see Boromir’s left leg, he swiftly pushed his brother’s foot and leg out until it reached the left end of the bar. He moved the ankle into the left cuff, keyed the lock shut, and rose to see his handiwork. Boromir stood naked, with his legs spread far apart, and each ankle locked so as to immobilize him. He could stand upright, but he could not move from the position he had been locked to.

Boromir had followed all this with his eyes, watched Faramir move his feet and ankles to each end of the bar, but when he heard the firm snick of each lock, he understood instantly that he would only leave the room after Faramir had completely exhausted him. He will keep me here the rest of the afternoon. He means to use me again and again, tied in this fashion so that I cannot resist him. And Boromir felt a subtle chill across his shoulders, the sensation of pleasure anticipated. I hope he is rough. I hope he can restrain himself and not have it end too soon.

Boromir missed the import of the cuffs still lying at the base of the bar, but his brother did not. Walking around to face his brother, Faramir wrapped Boromir in a warm embrace, while he sought his mouth. Two tongues traveled well-known routes between each mouth, seeking the fire each man had only for his mate, his lover. Faramir took Boromir’s hands off the waist-high top bar that stood between them, and brought one of the hands to rest on his own full, straining hardness, Faramir’s hand resting on top of his brother’s. He whispered into Boromir’s mouth, “I want you, now. Do you want me?” Within his grasp, he felt Boromir’s hand tighten, sending his reply. Boromir flicked a thumb over the top of his brother’s hard shaft, bringing a groan to Faramir’s lips, then grasped the flesh firmly before he started making long strokes up and down his brother’s erection.

“Show me your desire, brother. Use your mouth to satisfy me that you are ready.” The look in Faramir’s eyes was all Boromir needed to see—he only needs my mouth, this moment—as he began to bend at the waist, straining to reach down to his brother’s erect firmness. The bar at his waist now provided some support, taking his weight easily, and Boromir leaned farther forward, as his brother stepped backwards. Faramir’s withdrawal opened the gap that Boromir needed. He strained forward, leaning even farther over the bar, seeking Faramir’s waist with his mouth. When he reached out his hands to steady himself by grabbing Faramir’s hips, his brother stepped forward again, bringing mouth and erection together.

The touch of Boromir’s lips on the crown of Faramir’s angry red flesh caused a bead of moisture to gather there, which Boromir gratefully licked away. Mmmmh. So good. You always taste this good, brother. The rough surface of his tongue, rubbing the top and then the underside of Faramir’s tender flesh, had the younger man swaying and grabbing hold of his brother’s upper arms, and shoulders for support.

Boromir’s mouth, hot and eager, sucked and teased his brother for long moments, as Faramir lost himself, thinking incoherent snatches about Boromir. Need you. Take me. Yes, that way. Deeper. Mmmh, like that. Grabbing the back of Boromir’s head, Faramir began to work his brother’s mouth up and down, forcing the older man to take more and more of the stiff erection into his mouth, pressing his nose deeper into the brown curls at the base of Faramir’s arousal. Boromir thought he knew where all this was going—Faramir could only be a few instants away from release—and he continued to suck blindly, eyes closed, mind blank except for the bliss of feeling his brother wrapped within his mouth and tongue.

Now. I must do this now. Faramir abruptly stepped back, breaking the contact with his brother, and grabbing the right hand of his brother in a firm grip. With his other hand, he pushed down on Boromir’s shoulders, pressing the man farther over the bar so that his head was now as close to the floor as it could go. As Boromir struggled, landing blows with his free hand, Faramir pulled the older man’s right hand down to the floor, and placed the cuff around his wrist, snapping the lock shut and turning the key. With one of his brother’s hands restrained, Faramir made short work of his other arm, grabbing Boromir’s left hand and pulling it down to the floor, putting the cuff around the wrist, and securing it tightly. Bent double over the bar, ankles and wrists locked in cuffs, Boromir could only wait for Faramir to finish what he had started.

“What are you waiting for? Do it and be done.” Boromir’s aggravation at being locked to the device was now apparent. Though he preferred restraints, never had Faramir used locks and keys to secure him—nor had Boromir been trussed up with his head between his knees, spread eagled as he was now.

“I’m in no hurry. Why are you?” Faramir replied as he walked around his brother, arriving at a clear view of his brother’s upwards thrust rear, which began once more to struggle vainly. Lazily, he reached a hand between Boromir’s thighs and began to stroke the flesh hanging between them. The nearly limp skin dangling there tightened and began to gorge on blood again, straightening and stiffening with each stroke of Faramir’s hand.

“Tease. Come on, I’m ready.” Boromir’s impatience was palpable.

“No you’re not. Nowhere near ready. I’m waiting for you to tell me what I want to hear, then I’ll know you’re ready. In the meantime, I plan to amuse myself.” With those words, Faramir knelt behind his brother, and began to lick the underside of the swollen sacs that swung above his active hand. With one hand, he continued to torment Boromir’s straining erection, while with the other hand, he reached up and began to draw lazy circles around his brother’s opening, lying revealed as the cheeks of his buttocks were spread, along with his feet. And still his tongue plagued Boromir’s fleshy parts, reaching down and around each of the small twin globes hanging before him. He used his tongue to draw first one, then the other, into his mouth, sucking lightly on them, as he knew Boromir enjoyed.

I’m waiting for you to tell me what I want to hear. What did Faramir mean by that? Boromir’s eyes were swimming, as he found all nerves in his body seemed to scream with the sweet delights that Faramir was subjecting him to. And since the world was upside down from his perspective, with head pointed toward the floor, Boromir simply closed his eyes, letting the pleasures roll over him. This is wonderful. I don’t know if it will feel as good a second time, but I’m willing to find out. Yes, there, just there Faramir. “More. Please. Don’t stop, more, brother.”

“No, those aren’t the words.” And Faramir withdrew his hands, and tongue, and stood up. He walked around, to stretch his legs briefly—Boromir’s legs must be aching by now, stretched as they are—then he moved behind Boromir once more. “You’ve told me, more than once, how much you wanted me to do this. Seeing you this way, spread open and waiting for my pleasure, I want it now too.” And Faramir bent down, to lick the cleft between Boromir’s buttocks, moving his head and tongue slowly down the divide, sliding around the sensitive opening, then moving farther down to flick the underside of Boromir’s erection—Mmmmmh, he could hear—before moving back up to brush his tongue over and around the sweet dark puckers. In tiny strokes, he swept his tongue forward and back, forward and back over the opening. I should have done this before. No wonder Boromir enjoys doing this to me so much. Sliding his tongue gently to the center of the hole, he pushed his tongue against the flesh, and succeeded in getting it in partway. With the tip of his tongue, he began making circles, touching the invisible inner flesh of Boromir in the most intimate way possible. In the distance, he could hear Boromir groaning again, moaning his passion. “Thank the Valar, Faramir, you’ve done it. You’ve done it at last. I want this so much, please, don’t stop. Don’t ever stop, brother.”

Faramir withdrew his tongue, running the length of it up and down his brother’s cleft one last time—I am shaking, that was so good. Gods, Boromir, why didn’t you make me do that sooner?—then stepped back and said, “No, those aren’t the words either.” Walking away from his brother, he bent down and reached into the folds of his discarded tunic on the floor, and pulled out a small container of healing ointment. It was intended for cuts and bruises received in combat, but Faramir and his brother had found other, more pleasurable uses for it. Faramir quickly rubbed a small amount on his erection, then moved to behind Boromir, and began to work some of the ointment into his small opening. “It always amazes me, how such a big man like you has such a ridiculously little hole here. It should be much larger, you know.” Faramir moved ointment around the outside, then using two fingers, started to massage within his brother. With a second application, he used three fingers, driving the longest finger far up into his brother’s opening until he could find the small place that always drove his brother wild. “But if it were larger, I doubt I would enjoy it so much as I do.”

Sliding one finger forwards and back, lightly over the hidden gland, Faramir smiled as he heard his brother begin to groan once more, and Boromir’s hips tried—futilely—to move the fingers within him to hit the spot again. Faramir continued his stroking and caressing, while with his other hand, he smoothed the skin of his brother’s back in soft, gentle touches. After a while, the groans from Boromir became more fervent and even more strained, as Faramir’s delicate fingers continued to tease and stroke within him. “You know I love this. Nmmh. But I want to feel you inside me. Pleeeease, Faramir.”

“No, those aren’t the words I want to hear.” And Faramir withdrew his fingers, and went back to stroking his own erection. By now, he needed only to run a single finger along the underside, and the flesh jerked in response. Close. Figure it out Boromir, I can’t wait much longer.

“Well, what do you want to hear? Whatever words they are, Faramir, I’ll say them. Dear Eru, I’ll say them. This waiting is torture…just tell me what to say.”

“I want to hear you beg, Boromir. I want you to beg me. Tell me how much you want it, and tell me you love me, and I’ll consider your request.” Faramir knew this would drive Boromir wild; though he enjoyed being restrained, he did not like to submit verbally, ever. Just say the words, Boromir, and we’ll both enjoy it, I promise.

A long slow breath escaped from Boromir, then another. He had to find the right words, and he did not particularly want to say them, but he did. Once started, he pleaded his case. “I’ll beg, brother. I’d be crazy not to. I want you to put yourself behind me, thrust yourself inside me, and then take me, hard and fast and as roughly as you can.” Faramir expected these words. Boromir usually wanted their congress to be quick and forceful. Convenient, since once Faramir was buried within Boromir’s flesh, all he ever wanted to be was punishing and brutally swift.

Boromir continued, “I’m begging you, please, be rough. Take your sweetest weapon and practice upon me—I would be the scabbard to hold you fast, if only for a time. I beg you, brother, do it as hard as you can. It lets me know you want me as well.” Faramir found himself nodding in agreement; his speed in pleasuring his brother was partly his own preference, and partly because he knew his brother wanted it so. But soft or rough, oh, how he wanted Boromir.

He almost missed the last few words Boromir said. “I live again a little every time I feel you inside me, because I love you. You’re the only one I love, and I’ll love you until I die. Take me, Faramir, and show me how much you love me.” And Boromir flexed his legs, as best he could, to shake his buttocks in the air, enticing Faramir with the motion.

“Good enough. I will practice on you because you say you love me. Your begging needs some work, though,” Faramir said with a little smile. And he moved forward, behind his brother, and placed the tip of his hard flesh at Boromir’s puckered circle, then he shoved. Fiercely. Abruptly. So that Boromir had no chance to relax, to suck in a breath and soothe his muscles, to ease his brother’s passage inside. While Boromir’s tightness still resisted him, Faramir pulled out and then jammed inside with a harsh thrust once more. The speed had Boromir moaning, and Faramir sensed that he was trying to get the muscles to relax, to calm his nerves. You want it rough, this will be as rough as I can make it.

While Boromir sucked in air, willing his body to accept the intrusion, Faramir simply started pounding away. With his stiff flesh buried far within his brother’s opening, he made certain he never fully withdrew, yet Faramir used as much of his full length as he could to drive into his brother. Grasping Boromir’s hips for leverage, Faramir worked his way deeper and deeper, until the head of his erection brushed against the nerve bundle that made Boromir weak and needy. Angling his stiff flesh, Faramir began to aim for the inner spot, hitting it time after time, each blow bringing another Nhhhn or Yeeessss from his brother.

“I intend—annh—to keep doing this—mmmh—until you show me—yeess—exactly how much—uunnh—you love me.” Faramir’s words came out in pairs and jerks, stuffed between rapid thrusts, separated by his own expressions of need.

“How—mmm—do I show you?—aahhh” Boromir gasped out.

“You know—mmmh—what I love—yeessss—to see you do.” Faramir’s gasps were coming closer and closer together. Hurry up, Boromir, I won’t be able to stand this much longer if you don’t do it soon.

Boromir closed his eyes again, and thought about his own erection. Unable to touch it, to stimulate it with his hands, how could he make it burst and flow in ecstasy? Think, Boromir. Then the answer came to him in a flash. Pulling on the chains that held his hands to the floor, Boromir bent his shoulders down even closer to his thighs. This pulled Boromir up off of his feet slightly, placing all his weight on his waist and the upper bar, rolling him slightly forward. Though his upper arms were still too far away to touch his hardened flesh, by pulling his head a little closer to his thighs, it put his mouth a few inches away from its destination. Boromir stuck out his tongue. Stretched it as far as it would go—and with every renewed blow of his brother pounding into his backside, his erection momentarily swung close enough to touch with the tip of his tongue. Boromir concentrated, making every harsh jolt his brother gave him serve the purpose, wiping his tongue across the head of his erection time and time again until he could feel the swelling begin, the tension growing at the base of his stiff member. One more swipe of the tongue, one more lick with the tip of his tongue—there—and Boromir panted, “Now, Farya, I love you. Now.” And half the sweet white liquid gushed towards him, some of it hitting his mouth; Boromir ran his tongue over lips and flesh, trying to take in as much of it as he could. But the rest hit the floor, on a patch worn and dirtier than the rest. Boromir thought, I’m not the first man who has spent his best hours bound to pleasure here.

Faramir kept concentrating as he plunged into his brother, trying desperately to wait for Boromir. When he felt the older man begin to squirm, to pull himself downwards with the chains, he could have cheered—but he just kept pushing, thrusting, grunting his desire, which was getting harder and harder to restrain. Boromir’s movements had compressed the inner space that Faramir used, tightening the hold it had on his erection, making the pressure upon his flesh that much greater. Not long now, he thought, as he shoved once more against Boromir’s inner sensitive spot, the next stroke, or perhaps this—“ then he heard Boromir’s words: “Now, Farya, I love you. Now.” And he knew that Boromir had found his own release. Finally.

With a strangled cry, he forced out, “I love you, Borya,” as he drove once again into his brother’s tight space—and felt his legs go hollow, as his erection jerked one last time, emptying itself, marking his territory, his most beloved home.

The small room echoed for a few moments with the heavy breathing of the two men, drawn out to the extreme end of their passion. Faramir’s upper body lay heavily slumped on top of his brother’s, an arm thrown forward onto Boromir’s back. Finally, he realized he must release his brother, and he began by straightening up, removing his weight from Boromir’s. As Faramir did so, he ran a slow hand upward, from Boromir’s shoulder to waist, in possessive affection. The touch drew a small breath from his brother, a near-silent response of joy to Faramir’s caress.

Steadying himself against his brother’s waist, Faramir slowly withdrew his now-limp member, then moved around to kneel in front of his brother. Taking the key from the ground, he quickly undid the locks on his brother’s wrists, and took them in his hands to chafe them and restore the circulation. Wrapping an arm around his brother’s back and waist, Faramir helped Boromir lift his head and upper body, so that his weight now rested on his feet, and his balance was restored. With Boromir upright again, Faramir looked at his face, and saw the remains of his essence dripping from his hair. He took the strands of Boromir’s hair in his mouth, and sucked away the liquid, then licked Boromir’s entire face, catching the scent and taste of his beloved brother as he went. Then he kissed Boromir, deeply, tenderly this time, lingering around his mouth, losing himself in the moment. Boromir. I love you, my brother.

Opening his eyes, Faramir saw his brother, eyes still shut, face flushed from his time spent doubled over. Then Boromir opened his eyes, looked at his younger brother, and said with a grin, “When is it your turn?”

Faramir smiled back, and said, “In the next room.”

Continued in the installment What Next?

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