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This story is rated «NC-17», and carries the warnings «Implied incest, rimming, group sex, OTT silliness».
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By the flipping of a coin (NC-17) Print

Written by Fawsley

11 September 2007 | 2259 words

title: By the flipping of a coin
author: fawsley
characters: Aragorn, miraculouslyundead!Boromir, Faramir
rating: NC-17 and then some
warnings: Gratuitous explicit slash filth ahoy! Tongue very firmly in cheek and other places. Gorgeous men – all of whom have obviously made detailed study of Lord Elrond’s Big Book of Bendy Elves (bumper edition) – doing Very Rude things to each other. Implied incest, rimming, group sex, bedding abuse, surfeit of stuffed onions. If you don’t like OTT silliness, look away now.
archive: rugbytackle
disclaimer: Not my hot Gondorians though I doubt JRRT would lay claim to them in this state either
note: For justqueenie for her birthday with oodles of love, in lieu of kidnapping or provision of reality!Bean Or anything else at all until your parcel shows up! It might just, if you squint a bit, also fit in with the current sons_of_gondor Make love not hate theme…

By the flipping of a coin

Supper was, as always these days, a horribly strained occasion. The King’s discomfort when alone with his Steward and Captain-General increased with each meal they shared. By day the demands of statecraft and security sheltered him from interaction at a more personal level, but come evening Aragorn’s anxieties would resurface, tumbling and multiplying until he found himself reading resentment into every word and action.

What did they truly think of him? Beneath the cloak of governance did they in fact detest the disruption to lives and city that his arrival had caused? He would not blame them if they did.

They’d surely despise him if they ever learned his own thoughts, the dark ones he could not control, the ones that tormented his body as much as his mind.

The room hummed with mutual unease.

Faramir removed the lid from a serving dish and peered accusingly inside.

‘Aragorn, you’ve eaten almost all the stuffed onions. Boromir hasn’t had any and they’re his favourite.’

He replaced the lid and with a deft flick of the wrist sent the dish skidding across the table towards his brother. But Boromir was of a different opinion as to the onions’ appeal.

‘Thanks, little brother, but my favourites they no longer are. It is a strange thing, but the journey through death seems to have changed a number of my tastes, stuffed onions amongst them.’

‘Interesting. Well I’ll have the last one if nobody wants it. So what else do you find yourself hating these days then?’

Aragorn poked nervously at the remains of his meal.

‘Hmmm, let me see… The scent of lilies makes me nauseous, I can no longer abide red cabbage stewed with verjuice, or those little sweetmeats I loved as a child, the ones that taste of violets – just the thought of them is too much! Salted nuts, hot milk, sheep’s cheese from Lossarnach…

‘But there are plenty of things I still love well enough. Chocolatl from Harad, a pipe full of finest westmansweed, a bottle or three of smooth red Dorwinion. Best of all finding a tight arse or a hard cock in my bed of an evening. Preferably both.’

‘That’s a taste of yours that certainly hasn’t changed, for which I thank the Valar! Though my own bed has certainly suffered from the force of your visits before now. As has my arse!’

The brothers leered filthily at each other, for a moment too consumed by their lusts to notice Aragorn’s increasingly distressed choking. But a struggle with the water-jug followed by a series of spluttering gulps gained their attention.

‘Aragorn! Are you well? Do you need help?’

The King waved away their concerns, staggered to his feet and headed for the doorway.

‘No, no, I’m quite well. Some bread went down the wrong way, nothing more. A breath of air is all I need, a breath of air…’

The brothers remained silent after their lord’s undignified departure. Faramir finished off the last stuffed onion, Boromir sipped thoughtfully at his wine.

‘Well,’ he announced at last. ‘That seemed to go pretty much as planned, apart from the coughing fit. Now what?’

Faramir carefully wiped his mouth with a napkin.

‘One of us goes to get him, the other makes sure everything is ready.’

‘And which of us does what?’

The Steward rooted in his pocket to produce a shiny silver tharni.

‘Flip you for it.’

Aragorn stumbled as far as the archway leading into the courtyard of the fountain, but the intention of dousing his throbbing head remained unmet as his legs threatened to give way beneath him. He clung desperately to the archway’s intricate carving, resting his damp forehead against cool stonework.

Surely it could not be true? Surely he had misheard, misunderstood?

But the brothers’ words still rang in his ears.

‘Tight arse… Hard cock… Suffered… Force…’

Could it really be that their tastes echoed his own so closely?

And every one of the secret lurid fantasies he woven around the beautiful brothers rose up and roared.

The King closed his eyes and moaned.

‘Boromir!’ he whispered. ‘Oh, Faramir!’

A hand sneaked beneath his waistband almost without his realising. Slowly he began to squeeze and stroke at his engorged cock.

‘Faramir… Boromir…’

‘You call, my king?’

The voice was low, slippery with insinuation, and far too close for comfort. Aragorn’s eyes snapped open and he struggled to regain his composure. Raven-dark hair, slate-grey eyes, tender lips he dreamed of ravaging with kisses…

‘I… I…. No need, no need! I am… am… am not…’

‘But you are in need, my liege. I can see that quite clearly.’

‘No, no! I…’

‘Shhh…. You say you have no need, yet you call out my name and that of my brother, and your body betrays what you truly desire…’

Strong fingers explored the cloth that strained across the King’s crotch, eliciting a long, explicit groan.

‘Come with me, my lord. I know what you need. Come with me and let me make your every dream come true…’

The soft voice was irresistible. As if in a trance, Aragorn allowed himself to be gently supported and led away to his doom. Quite how his companion managed both to guide and gradually divest him of his garments he never quite knew, but at last they found themselves at the doorway to a room the King had dreamed of but never entered.

‘Why?’ he managed to murmur. ‘Why are you doing this?’

His captor smiled.

‘Because, my liege, you need it, because you desire it. And because we share that desire. We want to make love with you.

‘Now, leave your cares and your reticence at the threshold and come with me to a place I can promise will be beyond your wildest imaginings! So hot, so tight, and more than eager to be used for your every royal pleasure…’

And as the door swung open Aragorn was dazzled not only by the flicker of candlelight upon mirror, but as much by the glorious vision of his Captain-General, naked and grinning, beckoning the King to join him upon the Steward’s great feather bed.

Sitting undressed on the edge of the bed, Aragorn suddenly felt horribly exposed, dismayed and confused in equal measure. Events were moving far to swiftly for him to keep hold of what was happening or his understanding of these beautiful, arousing men. He clenched his thighs together and tried to hide a burgeoning erection beneath his hands. The fact that Faramir was now stripping off didn’t help matters at all.

‘But… But I thought you both hated me!’

Not such a good thing to blurt out right at that moment, though the brothers’ gentle laughter and tender touches helped calm his fears if not his thudding heart.

‘Faramir, our King confuses me,’ Boromir grumbled. ‘When sure that we detest him, he secretly lusts after us. Now he has us naked and willing, he can only think that we hate him! What are we to do with the man?’

‘I believe, brother, that a practical demonstration of our readiness to serve – and service – him is the only way to resolve the dilemma.’

Strong, enfolding arms and burning kisses finally banished any lingering doubts as to the brothers’ sincerity.

‘Here there are no boundaries…’

A whisper caressed one ear whilst sharp teeth teased the lobe of the other.

‘…Only pleasures shared, desires fulfilled, demands met. Indulge, sweet King, for we will deny you nothing…’

Any fantasy he had previously entertained as to the musky taste of Boromir’s arse was completely surpassed by the exquisite reality. Never before had Aragorn’s tongue worked so hard as it licked long and hard from turgid balls to quivering hole and back again. He couldn’t get enough. Again and again he lapped and laved, his own moans of pleasure complementing those wrung from the man beneath him.

‘Yes,’ Faramir urged. ‘That’s right. Open him up, make him wet. He’s so tight… A hot, velvet glove to grip your swollen cock. Lick him, deeper, go on!’

More than happy to oblige, Aragorn’s tongue circled Boromir’s most secret place, encouraging and enticing, then finally pushed its way into the musty depths. Boromir yelped and jolted, arching upwards to take more of this most welcome intrusion.

And as Aragorn explored one gorgeous brother, so the slippery fingers of the other breached his own defences. Faramir was merciless and the King was forced to break off from his ministrations, so intense were the waves of pleasure rippling from his sweet-spot, so urgent the need to beg his Steward never to stop.

His pleas were cut short by Faramir’s brutal kiss as the younger brother sought to taste the elder upon the King’s own mouth, as his pulsing, oozing cock was captured by a hand slick with some maddeningly stimulating salve.

‘Sweet King, your royal sceptre burns with need! Take now what is offered! Use my brother’s body to find the release you crave!’

Boromir took the opportunity to roll over onto his back and curl his legs up towards his chest. His own version of the invitation was somewhat more blunt.

‘Fuck me. Fuck me, Aragorn. Do it hard and do it now.’

The King was not in any mood to protest.

Faramir had not lied. Boromir was tight beyond belief, despite all the preparation Aragorn’s invasive tongue had achieved. Seeing that long dark hair matted by sweat, hearing the profanities resulting from every thrust, feeling the great Captain-General shudder uncontrollably beneath him… What little rational thought Aragorn still possessed believed his every fantasy now fulfilled, his every need met, his pleasure utter and complete.

But sudden assault by the Steward’s most demanding cock proved him very wrong.

Firm hands gripped his hips as the thrusts drove deeper and deeper, destroying any last vestige of sense in an onslaught of depraved lust.

‘Now you know, my King… Now you truly know…’

If he had been capable of doing so, Aragorn would have agreed most heartily.

Their rhythm found, the three men ground together, glistening with salve and sweat, cries locked in a mutual bond of needs met and wants fulfilled. Deeper, harder, shaking, gasping, pounding into each other until the clenching muscles of one set off a chain reaction and orgasm ripped unearthly screams from the darkest depths of their souls.

‘I feel,’ Boromir muttered from somewhere at the bottom of the pile, ‘more stuffed than one of those damned onions.’

‘And twice as tempting. Though not quite so prone to induce indigestion, don’t you agree, Aragorn?’

‘He’s not prone at all’ the King ventured, determined not to allow rein to any embarrassment that might now threaten. Stupid, really, to feel awkward after what they’d just experienced together.

‘He’s squashed, more than anything.’

The pile resolved itself into its constituent parts, found all limbs to be present and correct, and snuggled back together in more comfortable formation.

‘There’re wash-cloths and warm water on the press if you want them. And some chocolatl, and wine.’

‘I could do with a smoke!’

‘Don’t worry, there’s pipeweed too. I got everything ready, just as you requested little brother!’

‘So, then…’ Aragorn’s brain was beginning to function again. ‘You two had this all planned out, did you?’

‘Well, we needed to do something. Had to snap you out of that absurd idea that we hated you.’

And ensure the gratification of our baser urges. Seemed sensible to achieve both things at once.’

‘You’re not complaining, are you Aragorn?’

The King smiled and helped himself to a larger portion of Faramir’s eiderdown.

‘Not at all. Though I would be interested to know…’


‘Well, whether we can… If it would be possible…’

‘Want to do it again sometime?’

‘You could say that…’

‘I think we can arrange that, don’t you brother?’

‘Quite sure we can manage it, quite sure.’

‘Good. Just one other question…’


‘Would it always be, you know, the same way round?’

‘Ha! Not at all! Lots of combinations to try out!’

‘Excellent! So how did you decide upon what was going to happen this time?’

‘Flipped for it.’

‘You what?!

‘Flipped a coin. Used Faramir’s lucky tharni.’

‘You flipped a coin? To decide who’d get to fuck me?’

‘And who you’d get to fuck as well…’

‘Honestly! That’s it! Any and all goodwill lost at a single stroke!’

Aragorn grabbed a pillow and walloped each adversary in turn.

‘Ouch! What on earth do you mean?’

‘Ooof! What’s wrong with flipping a coin?’

The brothers managed to wrestle their attacker into a double armlock to force his reasoning from him.

Nobody tosses for a King!’

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4 Comment(s)

Oh, well done! I enjoyed that immensely!

Ria    Wednesday 12 September 2007, 6:52    #

Great fun – thx

— Peersrogue    Saturday 7 March 2009, 18:00    #

Yay! Very fun and hot. Thanks for the story.

December    Wednesday 24 March 2010, 17:33    #

“Royal scepter” HA!

— Anna    Sunday 25 April 2010, 2:07    #

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About the Author


A complete list of Fawsley’s fics is available at her LiveJournal (friends only!). Failing friendship, her work can be found at sons_of_gondor, rugbytackle, tolkien_weekly and drabblechalleng.