Faramir Fiction Archive

To Learn You All Over Again (NC-17)

Written by Faramir_Boromir

16 September 2004 | 45422 words | Work in Progress

Title: To Learn You All Over Again: Limits
By: Faramir_boromir
Pairing: Faramir/Boromir
Part: 6/?? of To Learn You All Over Again
Rated: NC-17
Warnings: Brotherly incest. If this bothers you, read no further.
Archive: Tolkienfanfiction.com. Otherwise, just ask, I’ll probably say yes.
Disclaimer: None of characters belong to me originally, all are JRRT’s. All homage to JRRT, but I’m sure he’d be spinning in his grave if he read this. Sorry.
Synopsis: Two weeks into their new relationship, the brothers discover that there are some physical, mental, and emotional things that still separate them from each other.

With thanks to betas extraordinaire elandae, perseph2hades and AstrometricBinary.

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Limits

It had been a long day, one that fatigued Faramir until he thought he might not be able to stand. His work in the library that morning³ and at the training fields in the afternoon was tiring and rewarding, albeit in different ways. Reorganizing the books in the library would make it much easier to find what he wanted, and would only take a few more weeks. He had time for the task, since he needed that long to prepare the men who were joining his company. Training those new recruits was going well each afternoon; he would have no cause to complain of their skills once they went with him to Ithilien and joined the men who remained there. A brief detour through the kitchens let him collect a piece of fruit and glass of wine to stave off the worst hunger pangs and soothe the aches, at least until the evening meal.

Trudging up the stairs to the private wing of the Steward’s House, Faramir wondered if he would find Boromir waiting for him, but a quick check of his brother’s room showed it was empty. Probably for the best, Faramir thought, since Boromir might have some rather strenuous ideas about how to fill a few hours before and after their dinner together, and Faramir wondered if he would have the strength to match his brother’s ardor this day. After nearly two weeks in his brother’s arms on a nightly basis, Faramir would not mind a brief period of rest.

Rest. What he really wanted was peace and rest, just for a while. Yet if he were offered the chance to sleep all through the night, he would have declined immediately; each night brought Boromir’s departure a day closer. In just a few days, his brother must return to his duties, leading Gondor’s troops in the field…leaving Faramir alone once again. He decided that he could rest after Boromir left Minas Tirith.

A few more heavy steps before Faramir reached his own quarters, and pushed the door open. Tired as he was, it took his mind a few moments to register a new piece of furniture in one corner of the room. His room already had two chairs, a soft padded one near the fire that he sometimes used while he read, and a plain straight-backed chair that stood at his desk, but sometimes held his clothes while he slept. Yet the new chair was unlike both of them, and looked somewhat odd in its construction.

The chair was made of wood, with a seat fairly high off the ground, obviously built for a man with long legs. Painted black, it had the symbol of his family’s house, the Hurinianath, etched in silver onto the backrest’s top railing. The chair’s plainness appealed to him, for it lacked armrests; the thing was made for sitting, not useless decoration.

Faramir’s eyes were drawn to the base of the chair, which was unusual. Instead of four simple posts, the supports for the black chair were placed into curved wood that allowed the chair to tilt forward and back, in a simple rocking motion. A curiously simple design, but one he had never seen before.

He sat down in the chair, delighted to discover that it was perfect in its dimensions. The chair might have been built specifically for him, he realized; strong, made of solid timber, likely to last for many generations. Though he considered that whoever brought this piece of furniture to his room must have been very tired after doing so, for the chair was heavy: it was a sturdy piece of workmanship.

After looking at it for a time, Faramir dragged his new piece of furniture to a place in front of the fire, and picked up a book he’d been in the midst of reading. Before long, he was lost in the book, rocking gently without thinking, back and forth in his chair. The late afternoon sun streamed through windowpanes into the room, warming the air around him.

The rays of sunshine gradually slid farther up the walls of the bedroom, as late afternoon became dusk. Faramir hardly noticed the change, caught up in the book he was reading, turning every so often to throw more firewood into the flames keeping the chill from his room. The lore held him so tightly it seemed he could not put the book down. Page after page he turned quietly, as day became dark.

The door to Faramir’s room opened noiselessly, and Boromir entered without disturbing his brother’s reading. For a moment, he stood in the doorway, watching the younger man rock back and forth in the black chair, eyes scanning the pages, line after line. Faramir had missed their evening meal together, which annoyed his brother a little. He had looked forward to their meal all day, and once Boromir realized that Faramir was not going to appear for supper, he finished his own quickly and went in search of him. His search did not last long.

As usual. I might have known the reason you missed the evening meal. Yet the older man dismissed any annoyance when he saw how easily Faramir rocked the chair, how it fit him precisely and how comfortable he seemed. I have always carried an image of you asleep before the fire, head thrown back, with your face flushed and warm—sitting in the soft chair in my room. Now I have a new vision: seeing you content, here, now, in this chair.

When he closed the door, the sound roused Faramir from his reverie, his head lifting to see Boromir. “Good afternoon, brother,” Boromir said, a trifle facetiously as he walked closer to the fire. Faramir knew instantly from the twilight shadows he had missed having dinner with his brother. Too far gone in the past. I must remember to stay here in the present if I would spend all my time with Boromir.

Seeing the smile on Boromir’s face, now only a few feet from his own, Faramir asked, “Are you the one responsible for my new furnishings? For I must tell you, I approve of the design and think this may become one of my favorite places to read.” Discarding his book to one side of the chair, Faramir turned his face upward towards Boromir’s, tilting his head sideways to catch the silent kiss that his brother bestowed on him.

Breaking their kiss for a moment, Boromir looked down at his brother with love obvious in his eyes, then nodded and answered quietly, “‘Tis a gift for you, Faramir. I am glad it pleases you well.” He leaned towards Faramir again, placing a firm kiss on his brother’s cool skin, mouths meeting briefly once more in a tangle of lips and beards.

When their kiss ended, Faramir questioned, “Gift for what? My birthday is months away. What occasion does it celebrate?” He stood up, to join his brother and find their way to the bed or the floor. Wherever Boromir wanted them to go.

“It is in thanks for something you will do tonight.” Boromir’s answer brought a puzzled frown to Faramir’s face, which Boromir could not resist chiding him for. “Do not worry, Faramir, later you will know the reason. Later.”

With those words, Boromir placed his hands upon his brother’s shoulders, and it was that gesture that suddenly gave Faramir an idea. His eyes widened a bit, as he stood there looking at his brother, and then he decided to act upon his impulse. In a hushed voice, he commanded, “Bolt the door, Boromir. Now.”

A smile lit Faramir’s face as he watched Boromir walk back to the door then throw the bolt solidly into its housing. Boromir knew now what he wanted, for Faramir’s intentions were quite obvious: the door’s lock was only invoked to shield them from outsiders, those who would not understand their passion. The very sound of the lock sliding into place made Faramir’s member begin to stiffen, as the sight of his brother so often had during the twelve days they had shared as lovers.

Faramir turned to the cupboard next to the fireplace, and pulled out the small pot of cooking grease that Boermen had given his brother a few nights earlier. Returning to the chair, he placed the pot on the floor, and then started pulling off clothing, belt and tunic first, followed by boots, breeches, leggings.

Boromir walked closer, watching as his brother shed clothes in rapid succession, dropping them to the floor as he went. The sight of Faramir’s erection, as it came free from his breeches…Boromir’s mouth went dry when he saw the firm flesh, hardened evidence of his brother’s desire. He looked back up at his brother’s eyes, and saw the same eagerness there.

Bending down to retrieve the jar, Faramir removed its mesh cover. He dipped in two fingers and drew out the slippery substance, then set the jar back on the floor. He slicked the grease on to his hard shaft, and held out his other hand, beckoning for Boromir to join him.

Then he sat back down in the chair.

At that, Boromir stopped moving, a little stunned. Faramir’s intention was clear, although Boromir had never envisioned the chair used in that fashion. It could be done. Yes. I see what you want. Clever, Faramir. Yet as he unfastened his tunic and pulled it over his head, he had misgivings, silent words he would not speak.

You mean for me to sit astride you, so that you may take me. It will be bliss, but…why that, again, Faramir? You must enjoy seeing me that way, spread wide for your pleasure like a woman. Boromir tugged at the laces tying his breeches closed, his eyes still fixed on Faramir’s, his own hunger now revealed in them, while his hands worked rapidly. Boots and breeches soon tossed aside, leggings gone, Boromir straddled his brother’s lap and lowered his body until his legs draped on each side of the chair. Tall, well-formed like Faramir, Boromir’s feet grazed the floor until he placed them on top of the curved rockers, out of harm’s way.

Still his mind would not let go of the idea. Faramir, I only do this because I love you. Only you. ‘Twere it any other man, I would not be so used. The flashes of unrest in Boromir’s mind reached his eyes, for Faramir noticed something…not right in his brother’s gaze.

“Boromir, what is it? What’s wrong?” Faramir wrapped his arms around Boromir’s waist, drawing him closer until their chests touched, holding his brother as if he meant never to let go. Concern, already in his eyes, made his brow crease.

Faramir leaned in, to kiss his brother tenderly, and after a brief hesitation, Boromir returned his kiss, although he drew back his lips only a moment or two later. Even as he did so, he could not bring his eyes back to Faramir’s. You think this a sacrifice, a gift you give Faramir each time you let him enter you, but it is not whole-hearted. Your mind does not accept it, so the gift is flawed.

A combination of reluctance and shame eddied in Boromir’s breast, his thoughts of what they were about to do and the ecstasy he would know at war with his own misgivings. Brother, you turn me mindless when we do this, yet…yet the pleasure never seems to be enough. How can I submit so cravenly to let another take me, to use me like a wench? While Boromir’s mind fought this battle alone, his unease became all the more apparent to his brother.

When Boromir would not raise his eyes, Faramir took a keener interest in his brother’s condition. Something ails him more than he will say. What new trouble is this?

Reaching up a hand to push a few stray locks of hair away from Boromir’s face, Faramir drew his hand down along his brother’s cheek, until his fingers reached Boromir’s jaw. Faramir lowered his head, bending lower so that he could see into his brother’s eyes, even as his hand raised Boromir’s head so that, eventually, both pairs of eyes met on a level. Faramir left his hand at his brother’s jaw, caressing the short beard, touching the proud jaw with light strokes.

Shooting his brother a wry look, one eyebrow raised, Faramir asked, “Do you plan to tell me, or must I ask what you are thinking?” knowing the words would bring his brother to heel. You will tell me, Boromir. I will not see you like this without knowing the cause. Have I done something wrong?

My gift to him may be flawed, but he should not know why. To hide his discomfort, Boromir tried distracting his brother, going on the offensive with his best weapons. He ran a hand down Faramir’s chest, stopping first at a nipple to tease it with a fingertip before sliding further down to the smooth flesh at Faramir’s hipbone. I have not forgotten your weakness here, Faramir, Boromir thought, as he drew a gentle finger up and down the hollow, causing Faramir to close his eyes quickly, gasping at the sensation.

But Faramir was not so easily misled. You would hide from me, using our passion to conceal yourself. Blue eyes opened and looked knowingly into green ones. “Boromir, if you resist answering, you will force me to do the same.” With those words, Faramir moved his hand around to the cleft between Boromir’s buttocks, and began to tease the older man’s tender skin, drawing his deft and slippery finger over the puckered opening, pressing a fingertip into his brother’s entrance. Boromir’s eyes narrowed, his wandering hand near Faramir’s hipbone halting abruptly, as he could no longer control his body’s responses. When he sensed Boromir beginning to squirm in anticipation, Faramir said quietly, “You may not speak freely, but you will speak nonetheless. What are you thinking, brother?”

With those words, Boromir knew he was cornered. “Faramir, stop. I will speak, but please…stop.” Faramir immediately withdrew the troublesome finger, and waited for Boromir to reveal his thoughts. His older brother hesitated a moment, then plunged forward on a torrent of emotion.

“I am uneasy whenever you enter me, Faramir. I…I am not accustomed to other men taking their pleasure in that fashion, and were it…anyone but you, I would not allow it. That is what I am thinking.” Having said this much, Boromir retreated into silence, eyes watching his brother warily to gauge the effect of his words.

Faramir drew back somewhat, letting his weight rest against the chair’s back once more, looking at his brother’s face with a hint of wonder while he pondered Boromir’s words.

Conscious that his brother expected a reply, Faramir began to say something, but Boromir cut in. “Your turn, Faramir. What are you thinking? I would know the truth.” Faramir found himself unable to shape a gentler version of what he had been thinking. Their game now forced him to speak what had just passed through his mind.

“We have done this so many times, yet now is the first you speak of discomfort when I am inside you. And it is passing strange you do, for I have watched you enjoy it almost more than any other thing we do when we are together. I must have been…wrong.” His thoughts confessed, Faramir tried to pull away from his brother though they still sat chest to chest.

Boromir realized his earlier words had wounded Faramir, undermining his confidence, yet silently, he recognized the truth of Faramir’s words. Boromir did enjoy having Faramir enter him, stretching, possessing, claiming, but his mind still rebelled: he both loved and hated it. Finding words to explain his distress would be…impossible.

Boromir leaned forward, moving his hand up behind his brother’s neck, drawing their heads close together so that he could find his brother’s lips once more, give reassurance in the manner he knew best. Boromir tugged and teased, pulling Faramir’s soft skin into his mouth, gently sucking on a tender lower lip. The feel of their arousals, rubbing against each other, only intensified the building heat.

Against Farmir’s lips, Boromir whispered, “I do like it, I want it even now,” then his tongue resumed the search for sweetness deep within Faramir’s mouth.

Then why say you do not? I do not understand. As he responded, matching kiss for kiss and touch for touch, Faramir could not comprehend what his brother meant—his thoughts seemed to contradict themselves. Finally, eyes still closed, he leaned back from Boromir, broke their kiss, and asked exactly that. “If you enjoy it, why are you uneasy? Tell me, please; I want to know.” Slowly he lifted his lids, looking into Boromir’s hazy eyes, still clouded by the passion of their kisses.

With effort, Boromir gathered himself, tried to find clarity for an answer. “Little one, I…yes…yes, you give me great pleasure when you take me. You are not wrong.” At this, some of Faramir’s smile returned. At least I was not mistaken. Boromir continued, “But…but to be so…vulnerable makes me…uncomfortable. I wonder, am I weak?”

Ah, that is what disturbs him. Lessened in some way, not a man. Faramir nodded, although understanding his brother’s concerns did not bring acceptance, only fear. Insecurities awakened, Faramir had to ask, “Am I weak, then, when you take me? Do you think I should be uneasy too?”

At this, Boromir crooked his head, a furrow appeared between his eyebrows, and his reply came out instantly. “No. Of course not.” His mind only eventually caught up with Faramir’s reasoning: if I take pleasure in this, why not you? Why should you react differently from me? And why should you object to something I enjoy?

How can I explain this to you? I am not you…though in this, perhaps it would be better if I were. Boromir opened his mouth, began to phrase his answer. But Faramir was already there.

“So, I should not mind if you take me, but you are allowed to have misgivings? What sort of reasoning is that?” A small note of irritation entered Faramir’s voice as he spoke, which Boromir caught immediately. You worry I think I am better than you. Of course I do not, but I must tell you. He tried again to frame some words. But once more, Faramir was speaking ahead of him with a new complaint.

“If you do not enjoy it, why keep allowing me to do it? Why let me take you? If you think this…cheapens you, why do it at all?” Faramir’s tone made clear the man was now annoyed. Boromir knew he had to do something, quickly.

“Faramir, stop. Stop for a moment and listen.” Boromir took a breath, then went on. “In this, my mind…my mind is troubled. Yet I do enjoy it, my body must feel you inside of me. I take pleasure in the act too much to stop, and I do it because I need you. You must take me.” The spate of words seemed to empty Boromir’s mind. A few more came unbidden, his voice becoming huskier as he spoke. “And I know how much pleasure you get from taking me, filling me. I could not deny you that.” These last words were rushed, blurted out almost as an afterthought, but Faramir seized on them.

“You do it to make me happy? You permit it…as a…a kind of gift?” There was silence. Faramir just stared at his brother, amazed. Is it possible that you have done this nearly every night, hating it, just to give me fulfillment?

Faramir’s mind stalled at this revelation, but then started to move again. That cannot be all of it. My pleasure alone, ‘tis not enough. He puzzled a little more before he realized his brother’s dilemma. You do enjoy it, just as you say; ‘tis your nature, though, that prevents you from loving it too well, for it seems submissive, though we both know it is not. Faramir had the answer now. You cannot admit that being vulnerable gives you pleasure. You must ever be Boromir the strong.

As Faramir reasoned through this, Boromir still struggled with his brother’s words: You permit it…as a…a kind of gift? Slow to frame his answer, Boromir paused before responding honestly, still uncertain whether Faramir would want to hear his reply or not. “A…gift. Yes.”

The words, softly spoken, echoed in the quiet room. And Faramir knew that, beyond every other reason, this was truth. To be taken clearly gave Boromir the greatest pleasure imaginable, but he would deny himself, if his mind demanded it. So he spoke truthfully: he overcame his discomfort, his sense of vulnerability, for Faramir alone, and the realization sent a secret thrill up the younger man’s spine. Only for me! What a treasure you give, brother, to silence your mind in this. You are Boromir the strong.

While Faramir pondered his brother’s answer, Boromir bent over, stretching out a hand to the floor, where Faramir had earlier placed the small container of grease. Retrieving it, he straightened again and took some of the contents onto his fingers. Increasingly eager, he reached behind himself, rubbing the slick substance along the narrow divide of his buttocks, slicking his entrance in preparation for his brother.

His actions now obvious, Faramir caught Boromir’s wrist, as his fingers returned to dip into the jar. “No, brother. I would not take you against your will. Never.”

Boromir shook his wrist free from Faramir’s hold, and at the same time shook his head. “You could not take me against my will. No man could. My mind may object, but my body rules here. This is what I want. And what you want too.” With that, he placed the jar back on the floor, and started to rub slippery fingers along Faramir’s half-hard shaft.

Faramir’s eyes slid shut, his head leaning back as Boromir’s fingers eased up and down, the feel of a lover who was slowly but surely learning what Faramir preferred when he was caressed. Boromir gripped more tightly, gliding his thumb along the underside of Faramir’s warm flesh, knowing that…yes, there…he could make his brother begin to jerk, shudder involuntarily, and stiffen once more. And now that you are ready, little brother…. Boromir reached for his brother’s hand, brought it up to replace his own, so that Faramir could continue to stroke his own erection.

With that, Boromir raised himself off of Faramir’s lap, moving forward slightly, so that he could then lower himself downwards, closer and closer to his brother’s waiting hardness. When he felt the crown of Faramir’s full shaft nudge against his opening, he paused to look into Faramir’s eyes, now wide open, and slightly wondering at the sensation.

This joining was almost as their first had been, when secrets and new passion were revealed. The intensity this time came because Faramir could see the turmoil his brother was experiencing, and understood how precious this coupling actually was. What a gift, my brother. For Boromir, it was if his soul had been laid bare, his basest, most hidden thoughts open to Faramir’s inspection. And Faramir still wanted him. Unworthy it may be, but I would give you everything, even my unwilling mind. Take me, Faramir.

Faramir reached up with his other hand, along Boromir’s muscled back, and guided the older man down gently, then not so gently, until his hardened member entered Boromir. The tightness, the sense of being trapped, held firmly within his brother, felt so perfect that he leaned forward to place a kiss on Boromir’s throat.

And the chair moved.

Boromir gasped, for the subtle change caused Faramir’s stiff flesh to slide more deeply into him. The briefest advance, yet that was all it took. His face revealed the extent of his new pleasure, mouth opening slackly as no words came, a harsh breath quickly released. Then Faramir leaned forward again, this time knowing full well what would happen.

As his tongue lapped at Boromir’s throat, the chair tilted again, once more seating Faramir’s hardness slightly deeper within his brother. At this, Boromir leaned his head back and shut his eyes in ecstasy. His weight shifting, the chair began to rock forward even more sharply. And he felt Faramir press—Gods, is that possible?—even farther inside him.

Faramir wrapped his arms fully around his brother’s waist, and he locked them together tightly so that Boromir would know he could not fall. “Safe now. I have you,” he whispered, as he continued licking and kissing his brother’s throat.

Boromir placed both hands on Faramir’s shoulders, kneading them and feeling their tension from bracing and supporting the weight of two men. The chair reached the end of its forward motion. Beneath his buttocks, he could feel Faramir’s legs planted firmly, their strength pushing against the ground to start the chair’s reverse motion.

I stood in that shop yesterday afternoon, and picked this one. Thank the Valar, I chose this for you, Faramir. As his weight shifted closer to Faramir’s, the chair tilting backwards, Boromir felt the angle of penetration change ever so slightly. The faintest withdrawal of pressure, yet it drew Faramir’s shaft downwards past Boromir’s sensitive spot, causing a tortured “Nnnnnhh” to escape his lips. Gods, you would kill me, brother. Faint moisture started to form on his chest, back, forearms, as the repeated stroking demanded a response from his body.

Faramir leaned into his brother once more, stopping the reverse and pushing the chair forward again. With his arms locked together, Faramir used his mouth to show his brother how he adored him. He knew Boromir enjoyed being teased near his shoulder by the play of beard alternated with kisses, so Faramir began to nuzzle his face against Boromir’s collarbone, then dragged the tip of his beard upwards along the softer skin of his brother’s neck. The response was immediate. “Aaaaahhh.”

As Faramir grazed beard and mouth along the side of the older man’s neck, Boromir could do little but lean back, secure that his brother would not let go. He ran a hand down Faramir’s arm, then back up to his shoulder, but sensations…that…yes, again… were coming so quickly now….please, brother, yes… that he could do little more than enjoy them. No longer coherent, his breathing quickened, each penetration, then withdrawal, seeming to press against his sweet bundle of nerves until Boromir thought he might lose consciousness from the intense feelings.

With the swaying motion of the chair, Faramir could feel his brother’s excitement growing. The tight grip Boromir maintained on Faramir’s shaft relaxed, then tightened, squeezing, then loosening, squeezing again, a steadily increasing spiral that made Faramir’s member thicken even more. The effect was almost as powerful as the press-release-press-release of the chair pushing him deeper into his brother. This may not last much longer….

Lips laid against Boromir’s skin, his nose took in the scent, senses flooded with Boromir’s musky smell overlaid by leather and heat. Once more Faramir drew his beard lightly along his brother’s shoulder, across the tender flesh that made his brother groan with desire. Another relentless pass”...Mmmmhh….” and then he buried his head into Boromir’s neck, the tension within his own erect flesh overwhelming all else.

The chair’s motion, Boromir decided, was to blame. He knew his body had never been deliciously tortured so well for so long as was happening right now. Back, forth, shift, shift again. “Aaaahh, brother….” Each advance, each new pressure from Faramir’s erection pressed to the utmost within him, brought another surge of pleasure, his nerves almost numb from stimulation.

Sweat began forming in patches, some of it running down Boromir’s spine, to rest on the fine hairs of his brother’s forearms, still holding tight around his waist. With what perception he had left, he felt the heat gathering in Faramir’s body, dampness rising along his arms and shoulders from the effort to clasp both men securely together.

Pressure building, he knew the steady brush-brush of Faramir’s moist stomach muscles against his own taut erection would bring him to an end soon. He groaned again from the steady advance and retreat of Faramir’s flesh within him, delicious, forbidden. Boromir felt the fluttering and tensing of nerve endings, readying his hardened shaft for what was to come. A last ”Nnnnhh” stifled in his mouth, he now sensed the rising force, its unstoppable progress overflowing all restraints, rushing through him….

NOW.

Pleasure so forcible and intense, his body went limp with exhaustion. Falling forward, Boromir’s weight came to rest against his brother. His head ended up jammed into Faramir’s neck and shoulder, his breathing broken by gasps.

Another push, leaning forward one more time, and Faramir was…so close. The moisture on his stomach, droplets across his waist told him that Boromir won their race again, though this was not a race Faramir minded losing.

A grim smile, eyes clenched shut, and Faramir’s own breathing was labored. He strained, so near to his needs he could almost taste them. A few more moments of pleasure ”...Aaaahh…” pushing, twisting ...a little more…yes there… His arms tightened around Boromir’s waist as if he meant to crush him, mouth open as he bit his brother’s shoulder, the salt on Boromir’s skin sharp, cutting.

Then, a subtle change, something clenching, gripping his deep-buried flesh…again, just there…Faramir knew, one more thrust, at that angle would trigger his release. Like that. That. His hips jerked forward, sweat-laden, as he shouted ”Yes!” at Boromir’s ear.

Eyes shut tight in his ecstasy, feelings so extreme Faramir barely knew where he was. A few heartbeats later, when he felt Boromir pressed close to him, chest still heaving, it all returned to him. Boromir. His brother. And their latest journey to the other side of finding one another.

The chair stopped rocking, the men still tangled in each other, too drained to move at first. Behind the chair, the fire popped, hissing as a log dropped and dislodged one underneath in a flurry of sparks.

Boromir shook his head, pulling back to face his brother, so that he could find the younger man’s eyes, still closed. When Faramir finally opened them, he saw Boromir’s face, a faint smile there. Faramir started grinning back, his enthusiasm spent, near giddy.

A few moments passed, then he could not restrain himself from saying, “Thank you for the chair, Boromir. It is the perfect gift, though you still have not said what occasion it marks.”

Boromir smiled, wrapped his large hands around Faramir’s face and pulled him close for another kiss, this one teasing. “I will tell you eventually, brother mine.” Then he rose from his brother’s lap, looking down at Faramir’s bemused grin, and walked over to the washbasin to get a cloth to clean himself. Running the wet rag over his skin, Boromir thought, He did it again. Made me forget who I am. Faramir, love, I will never tire of you.

Behind him, Faramir began chuckling under his breath. Boromir turned, and tossed the damp cloth to his brother. “What do you find humorous, Faramir? Tell me.”

The younger man nimbly caught the wet rag, and began wiping away the sweat and dampness that crisscrossed his torso. “Something I did not think I could do. Apparently I can.” He threw the washcloth back to Boromir and stood up, stretching his arms above his head to relieve some of the cramp. Boromir dropped the rag into the water and watched the beauty of his brother, now pulled taut as Faramir rolled his shoulders.

“What? What can you do that you did not know before?” Boromir came over to the chair and wrapped a strong arm around his brother’s waist, now that Faramir had finished stretching and stood quietly.

“I never touched you, Boromir. I held you, yes, but I used neither fingers nor tongue, brother. You finished before me, and neither of us used our hands.” There was a touch of pride in Faramir’s voice, something so rare that Boromir immediately noticed it.

What? You took me and…that was enough. No hands, no mouths. Just…you. Boromir silently groaned, and pulled out of the embrace, walking towards the bed. I want you, but not to be taken by you. Weak, again.

The look on Boromir’s face was one Faramir recognized instantly. Trouble. This does not please you as it does me. Faramir joined his brother, sitting down on the bed’s edge, although Boromir seemed not to notice at first. When Faramir put an arm around his brother’s shoulders, though, Boromir briefly flinched at the touch. Why, Boromir? This is…not right.

“Look at me, Boromir.” Slowly, Boromir turned his face towards his brother, though his eyes still found the floor. Faramir continued, “Something is wrong. Can you tell me what?” Faramir had a suspicion about what creased his brother’s brow, but he wanted to be sure before he spoke.

Shaking his head side to side, Boromir shrugged out of the embrace, pulling away so that he could recline onto the bed. Faramir stood so that his brother could swing his legs up on to the bed, then he sat down again. This time, Faramir also lay down, so that he was face to face with Boromir. He wrapped an arm about Boromir’s waist, and said quietly, “I think I know.”

Do you? Green eyes, a little bleak, lifted to find blue ones waiting, filled with compassion. Do you?

“It is as you said before. You are uneasy about having another man, any man, enter and control you.” Thinking back to what Boromir had told him earlier, Faramir remembered the two words that seemed to contain his brother’s fears. “Your body wants mine in that fashion, but it also makes you…uncomfortable. You feel…vulnerable.” Faramir gazed intently at his brother, trying to discover if his suspicion was correct.

Nodding gradually, Boromir indicated his agreement. “Just so.” And his eyes closed as he said, “Forgive me, Faramir, but I am not…comfortable…with you that way, not yet.”

Faramir paused, then offered, “This is like our night on the rooftop. The first time we went there, when you had to sit and watch me.” When Boromir looked at him, puzzled, Faramir responded, “You did not want to do that either. Just watching made you uncomfortable too, yes?”

Boromir considered for a moment, then said, “True. I did not want to sit there, forbidden to touch you, forbidden to do anything. You may chide me, brother, for I enjoy watching you and having you watch me in that way now, though the first time was very difficult.” Boromir shook his head again. “But this? This is different. You have taken me many times, and I still feel vulnerable. However—you wish it, so I do it …for you.”

Silence wrapped around the two, as Faramir digested what his brother had said. He could sense his own irritation growing, and finally he responded honestly, with what he felt. “Boromir, do you expect me to let you use me, take me every time? Just so you do not have to feel…uncomfortable?”

The tension in his voice caught at Boromir’s very core. Angry. My words made you angry. Wrong again. Boromir’s response came tumbling out, with no time to reflect. “No, that is not what I expect. Just because I’m uncomfortable…within myself, I do not want you to change.”

Then Boromir’s quick concession was countered by another emotion, just as powerful and demanding to him. “Wait. Why should I always agree to everything you want? Am I not allowed to feel as I do, what I do? Must I overlook my own misgivings, act as if they do not exist?”

Faramir tensed at these words, and Boromir could sense Faramir now withdrawing from him mentally, emotionally, unable to understand how Boromir could take pleasure from and still be uncomfortable from the very same thing.

Seeking to restore some of their earlier closeness, Boromir placed a hand on Faramir’s hip, drew the younger man to him so that they could at least rest their foreheads against each other. As they lay together, Boromir continued to cast around, to find something that might make his simultaneous desire and disquiet plainer to the younger man. Finally, he hit upon a possibility, something he had suspected for a few nights.

“Faramir, is there something we could do together that you prefer we never try? Something that would make you feel…vulnerable in the same way I do?” Boromir looked earnestly at his brother, waiting to hear the answer he expected. Then he remembered how to get the truth. “Tell me what you are thinking, brother.”

Faramir did not have to consider his answer very long. “Yes, Boromir, there is something I have always avoided. I would not be…vulnerable…in that way, so I have shied away.” Faramir raised his eyes to meet his brother’s across the pillow, waiting for the reproach he knew would follow.

Boromir caught the omission, and did not relent. “Come, brother, you know the rules: a full and truthful answer, when asked what you are thinking.” Boromir waited, anticipating Faramir’s reply.

The younger man let out a long breath, then said, “I do not want you to put your tongue…inside me.” Then Faramir went silent, worried. Please do not be angry, Boromir. This is the truth.

Boromir tried not to let any smugness show on his face after hearing Faramir’s answer. I was right all along. You have avoided this long enough, Faramir. Boromir brushed away a few stray strands of hair from his brother’s face, then decided to pretend deliberate ignorance of his brother’s intent. “You don’t want me to kiss you any more, Farya?” And Boromir reached for his brother’s lips, grazing them with his own for a moment before he deepened the kiss with his tongue.

Faramir responded to the hungry intrusion, placing a hand on his brother’s chest, then reluctantly leaned back, withdrawing from the soft mouth he loved so well. Struggling to find his wits once more, he answered before he had a chance to realize Boromir was teasing him. “No, Borya, I meant…you putting your tongue inside me…down…there.”

Then Faramir caught the hint of a grin in his brother’s eyes, and knew that he’d been mocked. A deep sigh, and a shake of the head in exasperation were his counterattack, hoping that his brother would continue to tease, rather than return to the subject at hand.

Boromir was having none of it. All mockery aside, he now asked in seriousness, “You always pull away, Faramir; you roll away from me when I bring my mouth anywhere near your lower back, or your rear. Why?”

Faramir’s blue eyes swept downwards, away from Boromir’s steady gaze. How does one find words to describe such a feeling? He fidgeted with his hand, tracing designs on Boromir’s chest, until Boromir brought his own hand up to capture his brother’s and hold it still. Aloud, Faramir said, “I think…I resist your kisses and…tongue there…because I would not want to do the same to you. I am not sure I could bring myself to…taste you the same way.” Fearing he had failed his brother with this answer, he needed to hear an honest reply. “Tell me what you are thinking, Boromir.” And he raised his eyes to Boromir’s green ones, expecting to see disappointment.

No disappointment, but surprise. “Is that what worries you? That if I did this for you, I would expect it in return?” When Faramir gave a tentative half-nod, Boromir continued, “I do not. Truly, brother, I do not.” Boromir’s face reddened a little as he spoke, but he pressed forward. “Faramir, I want to give you pleasure, and I think this would give you more than you realize. I have enjoyed it in the past, and I believe you would also.”

On a tiny flare of jealousy, Faramir could not stop himself from thinking, You did this with others, had them put their tongue into you and yours into them. Will you always compare me to them and find me wanting?

Not waiting for his brother to respond, Boromir sat up in bed and leaned over, looking down into Faramir’s face as he said, “You will take pleasure from this, Faramir. Let us put it to the test, find out. Now.” He put a hand on Faramir’s shoulder, and rolled the younger man face-down on the bed, then bent to begin kissing and licking his way down Faramir’s back.

Gods, Boromir, when you touch me like that, I would do anything for you. Brother, I need you. Though Faramir’s mind and body responded positively when Boromir touched his neck, his shoulders, his ribs, they began to struggle as his brother moved lower, mouth spreading sweet kisses farther down his back. Squirming against the older man’s fingertips, Faramir could feel his brother pausing to stroke and slide his tongue along Faramir’s waist.

The younger man knew that his brother would not be deterred, but he tried to grab Boromir’s hand, to signal his distress. Boromir, stop. I know you will expect it of me in return and I cannot. Stop. But Faramir could not seem to make himself say the words in his mind, for he reveled in his brother’s touches and tongue too much to speak. Faramir could do nothing but lie there, twisted by the need for his brother, yet fearing what was to come.

He finally forced out the words, pushed them past the haze enveloping his mind. “Boromir, please, stop. Please.” His hands grasped the bed’s covering, pulling it in bunches while his distress and desire mingled. Faramir’s actions suddenly were cast into darkness, as the last light from the fireplace sputtered and died, leaving the two men in near-total darkness.

Boromir paused, but only briefly to raise his lips from his brother’s waist. “I want to touch you, to kiss you in this fashion. Faramir, for me?” And he returned to licking and kissing Faramir’s back, working his way farther down to the cleft of his brother’s buttocks, sliding his tongue between them just a bit, reaching down with the roughened tip to tease his brother’s smooth skin.

He felt Faramir trying to roll his hips away, trying to shift sideways, away from the older man’s tongue, and Boromir raised his mouth again, to whisper, “Try this only once, brother. If I cannot make you moan my name when I do this, I will never ask you again, I promise.” Boromir closed his eyes and returned to his devotions, thinking He will be calling my name the moment I begin in earnest.

Boromir began nuzzling and licking in alternation, moving from one fleshy mound to the other, until he brought his hands down Faramir’s back to spread the two cheeks slowly apart. That done, he could finally touch his tongue to his brother’s puckered entrance, rubbing the moist pink flesh up and down, waiting to see what reaction Faramir would have.

“Please, Boromir…please….” But it was no longer certain whether Faramir wanted his brother to continue, or to stop. His hips were twisting, but no longer to get away from Boromir’s mouth; instead, they writhed against the bedding, seeming to jump and squirm in time to his brother’s tongue. From the beginning, Boromir chose his tactics with care, knowing how much Faramir loved feeling hands holding or caressing his rear; he teased Faramir’s opening with a finger and tongue in alternation, until he himself could no longer stand the suspense.

With each tongue-swipe, Faramir felt his very grasp on reality slipping away. Wetness, pressure, and then the very insistence of his brother’s mouth made him begin to moan softly, cries muffled by sheets and shame. With each trail of dampness up and down, his resistance was weakening. When Boromir finally pressed a wet tongue into him, his defenses crumbled; he pressed backwards, pushed off the bed with hands and thighs to draw his brother more deeply within. The strangled half-cry in his throat gave way to sounds Boromir now knew well, his brother’s passion: “Mmmmmhhhh…yes, Boromir…please, please….” With each utterance, Faramir’s voice grew louder, stronger, more desperate. “There…yes, there…Borya….”

A victory, little brother. I was right. Boromir drew each stroke out, to make the licking, the tonguing as sweet as possible, to rouse Faramir to even greater pleasure. Thrusting more deeply, forward with eyes closed, he was lost in his own ecstatic feelings when he heard “Aaahh, aahh, nnnhhh” break from Faramir’s lips. Hold fast, brother. Soon. He pressed upwards to repeat the stroke, his outstretched tongue drawing another tortured “...Borya…uuunnhh, please….” from his brother’s lips.

Mercy is a virtue, Faramir, and I know its meaning. Pulling his tongue and lips back for a moment, Boromir rolled over onto his side so that there was now room between the two men. The sudden withdrawal brought a quick gasp of disappointment from Faramir, but the older man moved swiftly, a hand on his brother’s hip to roll him towards Boromir. With Faramir now on his side, facing away from him, Boromir resumed licking and nibbling near his brother’s entrance, while his hand reached forward to grasp the younger man’s stiffened member and tease it skillfully.

Confident now that Faramir would not stop him, Boromir used his other hand to press the cheeks apart again, until his tongue could find the ring of muscle, damp and sweaty. Once there, he did not pause, pushing his tongue inside once more, moving his tongue and hand in time to each other. Faramir’s hips flexed and rose off the bed, but Boromir used his arm to keep his brother’s weight pinned as he drew the torment out to its bittersweet extreme. The slickness on his hand told him Faramir was near, ready to give his all, with only a little more provocation.

Faramir thought the bones in his body had melted. Boromir’s tongue made him feel weak, needing that tongue to never stop, to never quit touching and sliding within him. “Boromir…” Faramir panted. A little more loudly, “Borya…please…now….” Boromir flicked his tongue forward, just when his hand was slipping downwards and past the point to pressure his brother over the edge. In full voice, “Yes, yes, now…,” Faramir’s words rang loudly off the walls of the room. A firmer squeeze of Boromir’s fingers, the tip of his tongue brushed sideways and Faramir’s hips spasmed away, his hard shaft jerking in Boromir’s palm, its fullness spurting as he shouted “Boromir!”

Boromir pulled his tongue out, and began drawing looping circles in the hollow of his brother’s back, his eyes still closed as he tasted the sweat spread across Faramir’s skin. Shifting his weight, Boromir rubbed his face upwards, nuzzling the light ridge of his brother’s backbone, until at last he lay his head on the pillow once more, hand still wrapped around his brother’s waist, both men silent in their exhaustion.

Faramir’s breathing was broken, but gradually steadied, became the even rhythm that Boromir knew from their childhood, the pattern that indicated his brother was thinking, not sleeping. Eventually, Faramir twisted, turned his body so that he could lie flat on his back, moist droplets still on his chest, though he seemed not to notice. Boromir rearranged himself so that he lay in the crook of his brother’s arm, Faramir’s steady hand gliding up his back. With his own moist fingers, Boromir swirled the damp patches on the younger man’s chest into lines, segments, maps of Faramir’s hidden territory.

In darkness, Boromir softly asked, “Was it what you expected?” Once more, Faramir’s hand swept up Boromir’s back, gripped then tightened its hold on his shoulder.

“No. And yes.” Exhaling, Faramir turned his head so that he could look at his brother, barely visible in the room’s dim light, faint moonlight their only illumination. “You were right, brother. I…I want you to do that again. And I do not.” His voice cracking on the last words, Faramir turned his face away from Boromir’s. “‘Tis a good thing the window was closed, or the guards would have heard me roaring your name.”

Always the quiet lover, my strong Faramir. Until now. Boromir was pleased he could push his brother to some new sensation, though he knew the younger man’s mind still harbored misgivings. Faramir’s body spoke of pleasure sated and something else, something that should not be there, just as his words contradicted themselves.

Echoing Faramir’s earlier words, Boromir whispered, “Something troubles you. Do you plan to tell me, or must I ask what you are thinking?” The words brought Faramir back from his musing, to look once more at his brother in the faint light of the room.

“I…my body wants yours, even in ways my mind does not.” In broken half phrases, Faramir struggled on. “What you just did…I cannot. My mind will…I am uncomfortable just thinking about it.” His hand found Boromir’s hand, resting in the sticky dampness on his chest, and he heaved a deep breath before saying, “Boromir, I want always to be able to kiss you, and I do not think I could bring myself to do that, now. And that makes me feel vulnerable, without your mouth to cover mine.”

Boromir thought he understood the depths of his brother’s discomfort, but realized in an instant there was another element he had overlooked. The faintly bitter taste in his mouth accused him as well. I…I cannot kiss him like this.

Considering his options quickly, he rose up enough to reach onto the stand beside the bed, where Faramir’s half-empty cup of wine stood. Boromir drank what remained in a gulp and put the cup back on the stand, then leaned over his brother. In the dim light, bending his head, he sought Faramir’s lips, but Faramir turned his head to one side, avoiding Boromir’s mouth. At this, Boromir’s eyes widened in surprise: his brother had never refused his kiss. Never.

Boromir peered down at him through the darkness, trying to see Faramir more carefully, gauge his response. “The truth. You would not kiss me now, would you?”

Rolling his head back to stare up at Boromir, Faramir admitted, “I cannot live without you. I will overcome this…thought that controls me. But…I can not do it now.” Guilt washed over him, as Faramir realized he was denying his brother the smallest favor after having been given tremendous joy. He faltered as he said, “Do you…want me to…do the same to you?”

No pause for reflection, Boromir answered honestly. “Yes. Uh, no.” Shaking his head, he tried again. “Yes, I want it, but I do not want it if it does not come from your own desire. If you do not wish it, then no.”

But Boromir recognized that his brother would overcome his reluctance—if it would provide Boromir with pleasure, just as he himself had done earlier, in the chair. “You would do that, for me, wouldn’t you? Even though you cannot stand to think about it, you would do it no matter how much you disliked it? Just as I gave myself to you, before.”

Faramir nodded, his movement barely visible to Boromir’s eyes. “Yes. I would. Because now I understand how much you do not want to be taken and yet you do it. You have done so repeatedly. The rapture in your face is why I want it, more than my own pleasure.”

Taking a deep breath, he continued, “And now that I know how…incredible it feels to have your tongue within me, I know I cannot deny that to you either. I will overcome this, Boromir, I will find the will to do it because I know it gives you fulfillment.”

In the darkness, Boromir shook his head back and forth. “Not tonight, brother. I would not have you do this tonight. Another time. Another time when you are ready, and not before. When you do not feel…uncomfortable.” Boromir leaned forward, and brushed his lips against his brother’s cheek, a kiss filled with understanding, and a promise for the future.

The soft swish of Boromir’s beard against his face caused Faramir to close his eyes for a moment, lost in the closeness he felt for his brother, but then a thought made him open his eyes again. “Boromir, you never told me why you bought the chair for me. Why did you?”

In the darkness, Boromir smiled, but said only, “Light a candle, brother.” He leaned back so that Faramir could get out of the bed unhindered.

Faramir was already halfway to the bedroom cabinet to get a candle before he realized that Boromir had not answered him. “Why do you want a candle, Boromir?” He retrieved one from the cupboard, pausing to light it from some embers in the fireplace, before he returned to the bedside, carrying the newly lit taper.

“I need a candle because I have to see your face when I tell you why.” Boromir’s answer seemed more and more cryptic, but Faramir simply put the candle in a holder on the bedside stand, then crawled back into bed next to his brother. He turned onto his side, facing Boromir, and said, “You have your light. Can you tell me now?”

Boromir nodded. “I bought the chair because I wanted to give you a gift, a gift in exchange for one of yours.” As Faramir wrinkled his brow in confusion, Boromir tried to explain. “‘Tis not for the gift you have already given me, though you have given me quite a gift tonight.” Boromir ran his hand along Faramir’s waist as he said this, and reached behind his brother to stroke his rear when he said the words quite a gift.

Faramir felt the caress of his brother’s hand and thought, Aye, brother. I shall not think of the word ‘gift’ in quite the same way ever again. You let me take you each night as a gift between lovers. Faramir brought a hand up to touch his brother’s chest as Boromir continued speaking.

“The gift is not for the past, but for what you will do in a moment or two.”

Faramir still looked puzzled, but replied, “Whatever your reason, brother, I agree that I love the gift you have given me, many times over.” And he repeated Boromir’s gesture, running a hand along Boromir’s waist, then reaching around to stroke his brother’s buttocks. “Now explain, Boromir.”

The older man took a moment, then started speaking. “You remember the new reports that arrived two days ago, from our spies in Umbar. They were confirmed later that night by a second set of dispatches that arrived very late. I discussed them with Father yesterday morning but no one else has learned of the second, confirming reports yet. The corsairs appear to have agreed to ferry Haradrim troops from Umbar, though their destination is still uncertain.” Faramir’s eyes widened a fraction: reports of this kind could only mean renewed threats to Gondor.

Boromir went on. “I cannot depart while the targets of these troop movements in the South are still uncertain. So I must stay here. I will be in Minas Tirith for at least another month.”

Faramir looked at Boromir incredulously, his eyes going soft and wide all at once, too happy, too full of love to take it all in at once. The news was almost too much to absorb: another month with his brother, Boromir. His lover.

Faramir’s reaction was all that Boromir expected, and more. Boromir watched the play of emotions over Faramir’s face, the love and relief lit by the candle’s flame. “And that is why I needed to find you a special gift yesterday. One that would remind you of this evening. Because whenever I think of this evening, I will remember the look in your eyes when I told you I could stay another month. What a gift you give me with that look: it tells me how much you love me, Faramir.”

For once in his life, Faramir was wordless. His emotions were too extreme for mere words. In an instant, his hands flew up to grab his brother’s face, pressing their faces close together so he could kiss Boromir with all of his being, all of his body. Faramir’s passion engulfed the two men; the younger man went on kissing Boromir, hard, and even tasting new flavors in his brother’s mouth, he did not stop. Faramir could not stop, he could not think of anything except having his tongue thrust as far into Boromir’s mouth as it could possibly go, something Boromir welcomed, eagerly.

The tangling of tongues and arms, chest pushed against chest went on for a long while. Finally, winded, breathless from their kiss, Faramir pulled back slightly, and said, “Thank you for the gift, Boromir. It is one I will treasure forever.”

³ Faramir’s mornings in the library are described in “Who Will Care?”, found here.

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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