Faramir Fiction Archive

The Secret Widower (NC-17)

Written by Nissi

06 September 2006 | 17983 words

Pairing: Boromir/Faramir
Summary: Story synopsis: My take on the both the beginning of Boromir’s & Faramir’s unusual relationship, and where that relationship ultimately went. Quite a bit of romantic ramblings, drama (mayhap even melodrama!), explicit sexual content, and angst.
Feedback: nissi@hushmail.com
Disclaimer: Any references to works of Tolkien are property of the Tolkien estate and New Line Cinema. This work is not for profit.

Author’s Note: This story is an odd amalgamation of early, unpublished writings and themes taken from my massive, published Sean Bean / David Wenham fics. In essence, I challenged myself to pull vignettes from the bulk of both and rework them within the context of Middle Earth, and the relationship I perceive between Boromir and Faramir. Inspiration was obviously drawn from the films and the books, but I have changed and added details here and there. If you are familiar with my published writings, then some parts of this story will ring a bell. If you’re not, I hope you’ll consider reading my RPS stories to discover the commonalities! Either way, I hope you enjoy. ~Nissi

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Chapter 1: The Warrior Returns

Boromir blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the library. He knew precisely where to hunt for his quarry. His brother’s whereabouts in the labyrinth of tomes and scrolls were never a mystery.

For a time he stood in the archway observing as Faramir sat reading a dusty book, looking positively enthralled. The room was lit by the flickering flames of a roaring fire, which cast a red glow upon his ginger hair. His lightly-bearded face was a portrait of concentration as his blue eyes scanned line upon line. He looked perfectly at home.

Boromir hadn’t much taste for the scholarly pursuits that so thrilled his little brother. But watching Faramir in his element, Boromir was struck just how wasted the younger man’s intellect and imagination were in the pursuit of war. At least their father had finally deemed Faramir worthy of command, and bestowed upon him title of Captain. With a company of men at his call, Faramir would have opportunity to strategize. The unfortunate flip side of that coin was that he would be scrutinized to a greater degree—and the scrutiny of Denethor never ended well for Boromir’s little brother. Many years had passed since their father’s contempt for his second son was made clear.

After a considerable time lost in his thoughts, Boromir spoke. “When was it you stopped dining in the great hall, as befits the son of the Steward?”

Faramir jumped in his chair as his attention was snapped sharply back to reality. His face shifted from surprise to excitement at the sight of his beloved brother. He leapt to his feet and threw his arms around Boromir in a mutually loving embrace. “Boromir! You’ve returned early,” he exclaimed happily. Although he was nearly thirty, the comfort he felt whenever he was near his elder brother never faded. Boromir was his solace, his rock, his protector, and his only source of love.

“We drove the orc marauders back sooner than anticipated. It is good to be home. Chiefly, it is good to see you,” Boromir smiled as they released each other.

“I scarcely need to say how pleased I am to see you, in return,” Faramir enthused.

“But…I was serious in my question, little brother. When did you stop dining with father?” Boromir pressed the issue.

Faramir shrugged. “When you left, perhaps. A month, maybe more.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Father never once questioned my absence. I doubt he even notices.”

Boromir frowned. “You are a Captain now, little one. You should be present with the Steward and the Council whenever opportunity arises.”

“I know,” Faramir sighed, his shoulders slumping. After a moment’s thought, he brightened. “Now that you have returned, I will be happy to dine in the great hall once more.”

Boromir patted Faramir’s arm. “Captain Faramir,” he said slowly. “Congratulations; it is long overdue.”

Faramir smiled shyly. “You have never lacked faith in me, my brother. Your belief in me gives me strength.”

Boromir shook his head slowly. “Strength is already in you. It is a crime that father does not acknowledge it, but I see it. I always have. I will always believe in you, Faramir.”

“And I in you, Boromir,” Faramir responded.

Boromir smiled warmly. “Now then,” he began. “Have you actually eaten tonight, or have you been too long lost in your studies? What is it…” he eyed the discarded book. “Elvish? Poetry? History?”

“In answer to your first question, I have not. In answer to your second, it is Elvish epic poetry,” Faramir replied.

“Elvish, poetry, and history at once! I’m impressed,” Boromir grinned. “But you cannot go without sustenance. Come, I will have food brought to your quarters.”

Faramir nodded, obediently following his older brother out of the library and through the darkened streets of Minas Tirith. As they traveled they spoke of Boromir’s adventures abroad, and of events that had occurred in the White City during his absence. The younger man strode proudly beside his brother, never failing to notice the attention Boromir was paid—whether outright in the form of excited greetings, or subdued in the form of admiring glances. Boromir was Gondor’s champion and Faramir’s heart swelled to see how much he was appreciated.

As they reached Faramir’s chamber Boromir steered the subject of their conversation towards the future. “I will be leaving the day after tomorrow,” he ventured.

Faramir stopped in his tracks. Boromir turned to face him, watching as Faramir’s posture crumpled. He was crestfallen. “So soon! No time for us to spend together…Boromir…I hate it when you must leave. I want nothing more than to enjoy your company in peace. Father seems bound and determined to prevent this…”

Boromir raised his hand to hush his brother. “Let me finish. I will be leaving the day after tomorrow…with you. Father has acquiesced to my request for a holiday in the wild, and to bring you with me.” He smiled broadly.

Faramir was dumbfounded. Finally he spoke, “An excursion together?” His voice bore a mixture of glee and disbelief.

“I know how much you love to wander Ithilien. For too long your visits to our eastern territories have been in a soldiering capacity, requiring vigilance and providing no time for simple enjoyment. Your thirtieth birthday approaches quickly. As celebration, we will go together into Ithilien and roam freely. The rangers assigned as part of my company on my recent errand secured most of northern Ithilien along the Anduin; we should encounter no danger there,” Boromir explained.

“Brother, I hardly know what to say. Thank you…” Faramir’s countenance radiated gratefulness.

“We’re lucky that I returned victorious,” Boromir grinned. “Father’s pleasure, plus quite a bit of wine, made him remarkably agreeable.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Faramir protested with a smile. “My dear brother, the gem of Gondor, never returns defeated.” Although clearly proud, shadows swirled within the younger man’s mind. His brother was a mighty man. Faramir’s newfound position would put him to similar tests. The threat of failure was nearly crippling.

Boromir rested his hand on Faramir’s shoulder. “You shall know victory, Faramir, and much of it. I cannot deny that these are perilous times, and I suspect your skills as a leader and a warrior will be put to strenuous tests. But you will prevail, little one. I feel it in my bones.”

Faramir’s eyes glimmered, reflecting pale moonlight. “For now, let us enjoy the respite we’ll have in Ithilien.” He moved towards his door, a definite bounce to his steps.

Boromir grinned at his enthusiasm. “Alright, little brother. I’ll have food sent…”

Faramir cut him off, looking up at his older brother from the doorway of his room. “Boromir…” He licked his lips, clearly nervous about the words he was about to say. “Will you stay tonight? Like we used to do?”

Boromir tilted his head curiously and considered. When they were younger, Boromir would come to Faramir’s chamber every night at the same time, when he was sure his younger brother would be suffering his recurring nightmares. The death of their mother Finduilas played heavily on the five-year-old Faramir’s psyche. Boromir was dearly protective and soothing. He was only a child himself, a tender ten years of age, but he dealt with his own grief by helping Faramir through his.

They had shared the same bed that way, surreptitiously, for many years. Boromir would always leave before dawn, since the discovery of Faramir’s need for his brother’s presence at night would cast a poor light on the younger son. Boromir never wanted to give their father any undue ammunition to strengthen his distaste for Faramir.

As they aged, their shared nights had become less and less frequent. Faramir’s need of his brother had never lessened, but they knew that it was inappropriate for two adult men to behave in such a way, however innocent the act. He had not asked Boromir to stay with him in a decade.

Boromir liked the idea of remaining with his brother. He would enjoy the warmth of Faramir’s bed, as the autumn night was cold. His brother’s body heat was always a welcomed addition to his rest. Furthermore, he knew he’d enjoy holding his brother as he used to do. Even as men in their thirties, they could think of no purer or effective way to share support, love, and security.

He worried momentarily that if he should stay, someone would find them in the morning—a bustling chambermaid or a dutiful guard—and that the discovery would have the long-feared effect. Faramir would bear the brunt of Denethor’s disgust, and a likely punishment would be to separate the brothers for terribly long spans of time.

Although never explicitly expressed, Boromir was Faramir’s entire world, emotionally—he had no love from his father, his mother was dead, and there were no romantic partners in his life. He had only Boromir to give him the affection and courage he needed.

For Boromir’s part, Faramir was the focus of all of his grueling hours in the field. When he killed an orc in the heat of battle he thought of Faramir, and how he was fighting to keep the land safe for his beloved brother. Faramir was also the target of his emotional needs—he went to Faramir when he sought reassurance, as his little brother was the only person in Arda he trusted enough to show vulnerability. He went to Faramir for love when their father had been cold and he desired nurturing.

Being apart was torture for both men. It was all-too-frequent an occurrence that Boromir should be out with his men defending the borders of Gondor while Faramir stayed at the White City or ventured with his rangers into Ithilien, stalking orcs who were foolish enough to loiter in the hills. The idea that Denethor might separate them even further, with the intent of severing their ties, was terrifying.

Boromir weighed the pro’s and con’s. He glanced up and caught sight of his brother’s shimmering blue eyes. They locked gazes, and Boromir knew he was lost; he could never resist Faramir’s eyes. He nodded slowly. “I will stay with you, Faramir. Just as we used to do.”

Faramir looked very much like a little boy as he bounded happily into his room. He could not remember a time when he felt so light on his feet, so filled with joyous anticipation.

His brother made good on his promise and arranged for a light meal to be delivered to them. He watched his brother eat with gusto, celebrating Boromir’s triumphant return with shared wine and boisterous conversation. The room echoed with the sounds of their laughter, quieting only when it was time for sleep.

They rested more peacefully than either had rested alone in a long time, clad in billowing tunics and loosened breeches, with Faramir’s back against Boromir’s chest. As children, the awkward difference in growth states had always made such cuddling imperfect. As grown men, the curves of their bodies fitted flawlessly. Boromir mused silently on the tight locking of their figures as his little brother’s breathing evened and his body went limp with restfulness. The slender Faramir felt familiar and comforting, and yet a curious awareness spread through the older man. There was something of a special allure to lying with his brother.

His tired mind tried to process the thought, but he was overwhelmed with exhaustion. He could think later. In that moment, he was utterly content. He was with the one person who truly loved him, unconditionally. The one person who made him purely happy. He was beside Faramir, and he was home.

Chapter 2: From a Feast into the Wild

Reluctantly, Faramir joined his brother and father for the feast in Boromir’s honor. He’d spent much of the day eagerly preparing for their trip. He packed foodstuffs, cookware, bedding, and a book. To be ready for any eventuality he sharpened his sword and restrung his bow. He’d seen little of his brother since Boromir snuck away from his bed just before dawn. Boromir was occupied with debriefings but Faramir did not mind being parted, for soon they would have a stretch of time together, far from their father’s troublesome presence and the unending business of the city.

He sat at his father’s table, nursing another cup of ale. He’d had several since dinner, and a couple glasses of spiced wine with the meal. He was feeling the effects. Everything had a pleasant, fuzzy glow and his mind felt remarkably numb. Faramir had fulfilled his duty to be talkative during the feast; now his father was content to leave him alone, and Faramir was happy for the opportunity to sit quietly and observe his brother basking in the attention of countless admirers.

Faramir couldn’t help but think how beautiful his brother had become. Boromir had always possessed a different physical presence. He was slim but well-muscled. Faramir was a touch taller and thinner; Boromir called him “lithe” and “willowy.” Faramir called his older brother “powerful” and “commanding.”

Faramir loved Boromir’s golden hair, which shone like a sunlit crown as it captured the light of the hall’s myriad candelabras and sconces. His own hair was quite different. At times it appeared of a similar hue, but in truth it was threaded of darker strands, more rust than gold. His hair fell in chaotic waves, whereas Boromir’s was blade-straight. Although Denethor’s hair was grayed with age, Faramir bore his father’s tresses. It was the only thing that made him feel physically tied with the cold-hearted Steward.

Boromir’s and Faramir’s eyes sometimes looked strikingly similar, but as in most ways, Boromir took after his father. His eyes were mossy green and rarely abandoned sharp-edged intensity. Faramir had his mother’s eyes, down to the last detail: stunning blue that shifted shades with mood and light, deeply expressive, and softly shaped.

Faramir’s beard was spread about his face and neck, close-clipped to little more than a healthy growth of stubble, save for around the mouth and chin. The thicker gathering of ruddy hair there accentuated his graceful, full lips. Boromir’s beard was restricted to his chin and lip, framing a rosy but thin-lined mouth.

Often the younger man had pondered the ways in which he and his brother were physically different, and physically similar. His thoughts also strayed to the differences and similarities in their personalities. Faramir had few solid memories of his mother, but from what he was told throughout his life, he knew that he favored her strongly. Sometimes Faramir wondered if Boromir’s deep love for him was not in part due to the fact that he looked at him and saw Finduilas. There were unpleasant times when Faramir had evoked Boromir’s ire, and he saw the worst traits of his father in his beloved brother’s countenance. Thankfully, those times had been few and far between.

Now Faramir drew his eyes slowly up and down his brother’s figure. Boromir was dressed in the finest velvet and leather, embroidered richly with gold threads. He looked awe-inspiring, like a Vala among lowly men. Women crowded ‘round him, tittering unabashedly. Men clapped his back. Snippets of exclamations reached Faramir’s ears. “Well done, our hero!” and “Leaving so soon? Our city is poorer without you!” struck him, and he smiled. He felt neither jealousy nor resentment towards his brother’s treatment by both their father and by their people. He was as worshipful as any—perhaps moreso, for his brother belonged to him.

Belonged to him…the thought whirled through Faramir’s drink-addled brain. He felt unusually possessive of Boromir in that moment. He wanted to consume him, to wrap his arms around his broad chest and hold him desperately close. If there was a way to pull Boromir into his very being, he would. He would devour Boromir and keep him forever, forever his solace, never to leave him again.

Faramir blinked slowly and swayed in his seat. He had no idea what prompted his intense thoughts and feelings, and though he always wanted to have Boromir near, he had never been filled with such a strange and powerful desire. The pangs of it seemed to gnaw at his stomach, and he began to feel unwell. Without excusing himself, he stood and walked unsteadily to the door. Boromir was so engrossed in the task of occupying the limelight that he didn’t notice when his little brother slipped from the hall and retreated to his room.

But it was not long before Boromir tired of the attention. Though he enjoyed the admiration of his people, he could only smile so long or laugh so much before he felt worn. He scanned the crowd for his brother, intending to join him for another drink. When he failed to find him, he worried. Boromir knew Faramir had no love of their father’s feasts. The older man began to politely extricate himself from the throng and explained to Denethor that he had grown weary. The hour was late, and the Steward gave Boromir permission to retire for the night.

Slyly Boromir turned for Faramir’s chamber, which resided in the opposite wing from his own. His eyes darted to and fro to detect the presence of observers, but thankfully, upper level guards were given leave to join in the festivities. Only the sentinels of the White Tree remained on guard, and while their eyes were sharp, Boromir would not have to pass their way to reach his target.

In his room, Faramir lie curled on his side upon his bed, feeling terribly poor. He chastised himself for drinking so much, but also knew that it sometimes required too much ale and wine to make his father’s feasts bearable. This was not the first time he’d felt ill after such an event. But now he also fought to make sense of the way he’d wanted his brother. The simultaneous physical and emotional unease brought him to the edge of his tolerance. He clawed for the chamber pot and leaned over the edge of the bed.

As Boromir reached the door he heard the unmistakable sound of his brother being sick. He hastily entered the room and climbed onto the bed, pulling his little brother’s hair from his face. His other hand reached around to gently stroke Faramir’s belly. “It’s alright, little one,” he cooed, watching his brother’s pained face in the candlelight.

Faramir felt relief wash over him and lowered the chamber pot, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. A sheen of perspiration blossomed upon his brow, which Boromir lovingly swiped with his palm. Faramir sighed. “I’m sorry, Boromir…drank too much…”

“Shh. It’s okay. No apology necessary. Come,” he guided his brother with his strong hands, “lie on your back, and I’ll pour you water.” Boromir positioned Faramir thusly, elevating his head with pillows and procuring a goblet of water. He brought the receptacle to the younger man’s lips, encouraging him to sip slowly. “Drink up, or you’ll suffer too much in the morning. I want us to make an early start.”

Faramir nodded weakly and drank until the glass was dry, careful to go slowly, lest he upset his stomach again. “Thank you,” he murmured. The corner of his lips twisted upward into a small smile. Boromir had always loved that expression. It was so gentle, so unassuming. Little did he know that he possessed a similar smile that only appeared in troubled times. It was his half-smile that, when seen, broke Faramir’s heart.

“You’re welcome, little one,” Boromir responded, reaching down to undo the clasps that held Faramir’s own velvet vest in place. “Let’s get you undressed. You won’t sleep well in this lot.”

Faramir summoned the strength to sit up, shrugging off his vest and raising his arms as Boromir pulled off his tunic. He was very happy to be cared for. In Boromir’s absence, there was no-one to look after him in such a way. As a grown man he didn’t require such care, but when he received it he realized how dearly he missed being loved.

Boromir hadn’t seen his brother bare-chested in some time. He noted that Faramir sported more hair than he, and he felt overcome with the strongest desire to reach out and touch it. To feel such a clear manifestation of his brother’s masculinity. Boromir swallowed hard, fighting the thought. Perhaps he had consumed too much drink himself. He couldn’t imagine any other reason why he’d let himself feel something so sexual towards his little brother, when he had succeeded in squelching such thoughts and feelings in the past. And yet, there was an innocent impetus, nothing lewd in it. He knew the difference. As a soldier away from home for long stretches of time, he’d experienced purely lustful desires towards other men. This want was born of love.

Faramir’s head began to spin and his stomach lurched. He groaned and grimaced, and Boromir quickly brought his focus back to caring for his ailing brother. He turned him on his side and procured the chamber pot, once again holding back Faramir’s hair as the younger man was ill. After it ended, Boromir repeated the process with water, before settling into the task of removing Faramir’s breeches. Boromir felt sure that, given his reaction to Faramir only half nude, touching his little brother in such an intimate place would be his undoing. Still he persevered, as Faramir’s comfort was more important than his own concerns.

He began by removing Faramir’s boots. The younger man had begun to shiver in the cold night air, and Boromir responded by making shorter work of the job. He took a deep breath and brought his hands to the laces at the front of Faramir’s breeches. He felt his own begin to constrict as he reacted with his predicted arousal to the heat of Faramir’s member warming the leather against it.

Faramir’s eyes were closed and he alternated between fuzzy consciousness and fitful sleep. He moaned softly as Boromir’s fingers deftly loosened his breeches, tugging them down his hips. Boromir was unsure whether it was an utterance of illness or an utterance of desire. In truth, Faramir himself did not know. He was passing aware of Boromir’s hands so close to his cock—which had not been touched by another in a shockingly long time. He had little desire for sexual contact, but something in Boromir’s touch stirred a need.

Faramir flitted in and out of thoughts and physical sensations. He felt his body stir, but was not able to stay awake long enough for arousal to take hold. His last coherent thought was gratefulness that his drunken state would serve as an excuse for the undeniable, if weakened bodily response. He would not be able to face Boromir if his brother thought that he somehow desired him. It made clear to the younger man, however, that the intense want he had experienced in the great hall had in fact been sensual in nature. The realization was hardly a comfort.

Boromir shuddered as he freed Faramir’s half-erect cock. It was quite similar to his own—perhaps a touch more slender, with a less pronounced head. But he could tell, even in its state, that it was of good length, and he grinned to think how the Steward’s boys both possessed cocks that many men would envy. He pulled Faramir’s breeches off entirely and took a moment to absorb the sight of his brother’s naked body. The entire package was beautiful—finely sculpted and elegant. Only the worsening of Faramir’s shivers prompted Boromir to cut short his evaluation. He tugged the blankets around his brother, wrapping him as in a cocoon.

He wanted to stay, to hold Faramir close and take advantage of his unconsciousness to whisper to his little brother all the feelings he had inspired; to divest himself of the burden of bearing such thoughts. He even had a fleeting idea to relieve his physical desire there at his brother’s side, feeling the younger man’s warmth and drowning in the subtle scent that Faramir possessed. With that idea Boromir realized his desires were crossing over to abject lust, and he couldn’t allow himself to take advantage of Faramir in such a way. He didn’t want to frighten or disgust his brother, even though he suspected the lissome ranger had likely already experienced a soldier’s want in the wilderness. It was one thing to find release in a detached manner with random men in the wake of battle. It was quite another to seek such release in the quiet of home, with one’s own brother.

Boromir silently rose and cast one last lingering glance at his brother’s angelic face before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind him. In the privacy of his own chamber he writhed against his bed, stroking his cock slowly at first, then feverishly as he poured every ounce of his desire into his gratification. He wanted to free it from his system before he left Minas Tirith with his brother in the morning. Boromir was determined: nothing would get in the way of the enjoyment of their time together. If he had to summon every ounce of strength to avoid those needs, he would gladly tire himself with the effort.

Faramir regretted the previous night’s binge as he strode with Boromir towards the north. Horses were impractical where they were going, and Faramir was glad not to have the fuss of caring for them. But every step of his boots on the ground was thunder, and each bounce of his body as he walked was a jolt that sent shockwaves through his pounding head. He had told Boromir he was fine when his brother roused him for departure, but the truth was that he felt very ragged, and looked forward to setting up camp somewhere peaceful. Still, he maintained occasional conversation as they traveled, his enthusiasm for the trip never once ebbing.

Boromir knew well that his brother was suffering, but since Faramir insisted he was well enough, they left as scheduled. He guided his brother in the direction of the hilled forest, finding a suitable place for rest before the sun fell. After arranging their bedrolls and assembling the needs for a fire, the two brothers walked to the edge of the woods, finding patches of moss to cushion them as they sat and watched the sunset in silence.

As twilight descended the cold set in. Boromir was dressed more warmly than Faramir, as his customary attire was heavy with leathers, quilting, chainmail, and fur. Faramir wore his usual linen, quilted cloth, and leathers, embossed with the Tree of the King. His cloak was thin, and he shivered slightly.

“I suppose I ought to have taken into account the cold of night and brought my warmer cloak,” Faramir confessed.

“It never even crossed my mind to suggest it. Are you very cold?” Boromir inquired.

“No, not very. Just a little chilled. This amour is warmer than it appears, though not so warm as yours, I’d wager,” Faramir responded.

“It suits you. Though I’m glad the days are still mild enough that we can remove a few layers in the heat of the sun…seems less formal,” Boromir said with a smile.

“A fire would help. Shall we return to camp?” Faramir suggested.

“Yes, let’s. I’m hungry anyway. Aren’t you?” Boromir marveled at how little his brother could eat and still maintain energy.

“A bit. I’ll sort the food if you sort the fire,” Faramir offered cooperatively as they walked back to their temporary encampment.

“Deal,” Boromir responded. The brothers set about their tasks. Soon they sat in the glow of a healthy fire, consuming a plate of dried sausage, hard cheese, and apples. Above, the stars glittered like jewels through the spindly web of tree branches.

Boromir eyed their bedrolls, which were separated on either side of the fire. He glanced at his brother, who was gazing skyward. He cleared his throat and asked, “Would you like me to move my bedding…closer to yours? You know,” he added quickly, “Just how we used to do.”

Faramir shifted his gaze to Boromir’s face. He smiled lovingly. “I’d like that, yes,” he answered softly.

Boromir beamed brightly and rearranged his bedroll, lining it up perfectly with Faramir’s. “This way we can keep each other warm, too,” Boromir explained.

“Precisely. And…” Faramir glanced down and blushed softly. “I always sleep better with you near. I’ve never grown out of that…”

Faramir lifted his eyes, looking at his brother through his tangle of long lashes. Boromir’s heart melted, and warmth spread through him. Inspired and seizing the whim of the moment, he reached out for Faramir’s hand. Capturing it, he clasped it between his own and tugged his brother sharply towards him.

Faramir bore an expression of total surprise as he tumbled with Boromir to the ground. Soon both men were laughing merrily as they rolled and tussled, roughhousing as they did when they were young. When they tired, Boromir stilled, Faramir resting fully atop him as he caught his breath. His little brother’s smile soon faded as his face rested teasingly close. Boromir felt Faramir’s breaths play upon his lips.

Desire hit the older man like a bolt of lightning. His arms tightened around Faramir’s chest. He wasn’t sure what to do. Did he dare risk revealing his feelings? Was this merely a lull in the brotherly play, or was it something more? He tried desperately to will himself to relax as Faramir shifted, and he felt his cock stir slightly against the younger man’s thigh. He hoped that he wore enough layers of clothing to hide his body’s betrayal.

Faramir held himself steadily, not moving a muscle as he fixed his eyes on Boromir’s, mingling stares. He felt Boromir’s breaths too, and the sensation made his lips tingle softly with need. He opened his mouth to speak, but could not find the words to fit the moment. He was very afraid of saying too much, going too far, and revolting his brother. As he altered his position he thought he felt a stirring in Boromir’s groin. He held his breath, tensed to detect more, but failed to feel further movement. It was so small a flutter that Faramir reasoned it was all in his mind. Before he could cross a line he’d regret he pushed himself off of his brother, falling gently onto his back beside the older man.

For some time neither spoke. They were both lost in their own thoughts, doubts, and unfulfilled desires. At length Faramir said softly, “We should get some sleep.”

Boromir nodded, sitting up and fixing his bedding, which had been mussed in the play. “Good idea,” he responded simply.

Faramir curled on his side and pulled his cloak tightly around himself. He fumbled for the wool blanket that had been cast aside. Boromir reached over his brother and handed it to Faramir before he settled onto his side facing the younger man. He spread his thick cloak out to cover as much of the younger man as he could, bringing them together beneath the warmth of the material. Faramir cast his blanket across them and sighed sleepily. He snuck his arm under Boromir’s cloak and draped it over his brother’s side. Faramir’s eyes fluttered closed as Boromir angled his head to rest his brow against his brother’s.

“Goodnight, little brother,” Boromir whispered.

“Sleep well,” Faramir replied.

“With you by my side, how could I not?” came Boromir’s response, so quietly it was nearly impossible to hear.

But Faramir, with his keen ranger senses trained to remain sharp even in sleep, had heard it. His heart turned a somersault. He recognized that his feelings for his brother had truly moved beyond brotherly, and beyond lustful. Faramir knew without any question: he was in love with his brother.

Chapter 3: The Captain’s Birthday, the Captains’ Love

In the crisp, fresh air, snuggled with Boromir, Faramir had slept deeply and long. He woke to find himself bundled in blanket and his brother’s cloak, but Boromir was no longer beside him. Faramir sat up swiftly.

“Easy, little one,” Boromir’s sonorous voice rang out from nearby. “I’m right here.”

Faramir turned his head and smiled softly. “Good morning, brother.”

Boromir sidled up and knelt, placing his hand on his little brother’s shoulder. “Good morning, Faramir,” he cooed as he bent forward and graced the crown of the younger man’s head with a tender kiss. “Happy birthday.”

Faramir beamed. “Thank you,” he responded politely. His eyes met Boromir’s as the older man righted himself.

“Thirty years of age,” Boromir spoke gently. “It hardly seems possible that I’ve had you in my life for thirty years. Time passes quickly.”

“Thirty years. Do you tire of me?” Faramir asked jokingly, a glint in his eye.

“I tired of you after twenty,” Boromir replied, teasing.

Faramir hit his brother’s arm in protest, but laughed all the same. Beneath his laughter, his stomach rumbled angrily. “Hungry,” he grunted.

“I’d hoped you would be. I worry sometimes you don’t eat enough. But never fear. Breakfast is ready,” Boromir smiled, rising and carrying over a plate filled with foods.

Faramir eyed the offerings. He beamed from ear to ear as he lifted a small green pearl from the plate. “Olives!”

“Your favorite,” Boromir smiled in return. “Gathered them this morning.”

“You’ll spoil me,” Faramir replied happily, popping the olive into his mouth and chewing the pit clean.

“With any luck. It’s your birthday. You’re meant to be spoiled!” Boromir proclaimed.

Boromir had always been careful to make a fuss on Faramir’s birthday. Even when he knew they’d be apart, he planned surprises to make the day special. The previous year duties kept him away from home, so he planted small gifts in well-hidden locations and bid a trusted servant to give Faramir the initial clue as to where to hunt for them. The activity had taken Faramir the entire day, which was no bad thing. Faramir never received the sort of celebration that Denethor gave Boromir. Their father afforded the younger man one gift and the freedom to spend the day however he wished, excusing him from his duties. In contrast, Boromir was showered with presents and an enormous feast, replete with fireworks over the courtyard of the tree.

The older man watched his brother’s face as Faramir sucked thoughtfully on the olive pit. “You don’t have to nurse that one, you know,” Boromir grinned. “Plenty more to go.”

Faramir cheekily pursed his lips and spit the pit an impressive distance. He lifted another olive from the plate and silently repeated the process. His brother accepted the challenge, and soon they were rocketing pits through the clearing as fast as their teeth could clean them. The sound of their laughter filled the air as the competition reached a fevered pitch.

In the light of day, playing like children, neither man had time or opportunity to focus on their unresolved desires.

When the olives were gone, Boromir ventured, “Did father tell you of your gift before we left?”

Faramir nodded. “During your feast. He bartered a number of horses from Rohan and has given me choice of them when we return. My steed grows old,” he explained.

“A new horse is a fine gift!” Boromir said excitedly.

“Aye,” Faramir could not disagree. “My mount is bay, as have been all my horses since my very first, and I would like something different. I hope to find a red chestnut. Or perhaps even a red dun!”

“Their color reminds me of your hair, at times,” Boromir mused quietly, with a smile.

Faramir studied his brother’s face, his piercing blue eyes raking over him until Boromir could no longer stand the force of them. He stood and rummaged through his pack. He returned to Faramir bearing an object wrapped in cloth, bound with a suede strip.

“What’s this?” Faramir queried, taking the item from his brother.

“A gift. Open it and you will see!” Boromir replied enthusiastically.

His little brother eagerly unwrapped the present. His eyes widened as he revealed a beautiful dagger, sheathed in an intricately carved wooden scabbard. He withdrew the blade and marveled at its graceful shape. “It’s beautiful, Boromir. Wherever did you find it?”

“I had it forged. Commissioned specially for you, down to the last detail. Took two smiths and a woodworker, but I think it came out well,” Boromir responded with pride.

“Better than well. It’s spectacular,” Faramir enthused. He unbuckled his belt and slid the scabbard into place. “It will be very useful in the wild. I’ve needed a new one. I wore my old dagger down beyond reasonable sharpening. A knife’s a ranger’s tool, through and through. But no ranger in Gondor has such a blade as this at his side!”

“I’m glad you like it. It’s befitting of a Captain. I hope it brings you good fortune in the field,” Boromir said softly, his eyes glimmering. After a short period of silence he asked, “Shall we pack up and carry on? I thought we’d stay the course and find shelter along a stream. Plenty around here, for sure.”

Faramir nodded. “I know just the place. If you’ll suffer my leadership, I’ll get us there.”

Boromir grinned. “I think I can tolerate your guidance for a day. But only because it’s your birthday.”

“Of course,” Faramir winked, securing his belt as he stood and began to gather his things.

Boromir sat observing his brother as long as he dared. He watched the length and lines of Faramir’s movements. He admired the shape of Faramir’s body clad in his ranger kit. All of his wants came rushing back to him, and he forced himself to busy with the task of breaking camp to avoid staring obviously. Journeying again would be good. It would clear his mind to fall into the rhythm of step and enjoy their lush surroundings. Ithilien was breathtaking—it was easy to see why Faramir loved the countryside. In Boromir’s esteem Ithilien was to nature what Faramir was to men—a treasure in his midst.

The day was unseasonably warm, and both men shed pieces of clothing as they traveled. They had reached their place of camp with ample daylight for exploration. There was a small meadow abutted by forest, and amongst the trees rested pieces of the sort of ruin that dotted Gondor hither and yon. Faramir had delivered more than a mere stream; water cascaded down a hill in a picturesque fall. At the base a large pool had collected. Faramir explained that the water was warmed by the presence of a hot spring. The spot was a favorite of all rangers, as it offered a chance to bathe and unwind.

Boromir returned from gathering firewood to find his brother sprawled out in the meadow, wearing nothing but his tunic and breeches, enjoying the sun while reading a book.

“You brought a book?” Boromir laughed. “Did you expect my company to be so dull?”

Faramir put the book down and grinned. “You know it pains me to be relinquish my reading, even for a short time.”

“What do you do when you’re with your rangers, patrolling our borders? Surely you cannot carry tomes with you in the wild,” Boromir asked seriously.

“No, I must do without. At times I cannot even afford to carry papers and a quill. When my mind is not focused on survival, I…think about you,” Faramir admitted, his cheeks coloring red.

“Think about me?” Boromir echoed, smiling. He hung on Faramir’s words, hooked entirely by the lilt of his little brother’s voice.

“I conjure happy memories of our times together. I think about how you make me feel. I try to imagine you’re with me,” Faramir explained. Once he began talking, the confession became comfortable.

“How do I make you feel?” Boromir asked huskily as he strode to his brother, kneeling down beside him.

“You make me feel warm and safe,” Faramir began, looking into his brother’s eyes. His heart began to beat in quicker pace. “You make me feel strong and brave. You make me feel loved. You make me feel hopeful. You make me feel whole…”

Boromir lifted his hand and softly stroked the side of Faramir’s face. “I am happy that I inspire so many feelings in you, little one. I like knowing that you keep me with you when we’re apart.”

“Always,” Faramir nodded emphatically. “Do you think of me?” He asked in a small voice.

“Of course! All the time. You are my singular focus…when I defeat my foes, I think of you. I do it for you, so that you may be safe. When there is a lull in battle I wonder what you are doing—try to imagine your life at home, or in the wild,” Boromir explained.

Faramir smiled broadly. “Then we are with each other at all times. That is a comforting thought.”

“We will be with each other, one way or another, forever. We are both of the Dúnedain, though admittedly with lesser pedigree than some. Still, we will live long lives, and live them together. I fully expect to have you by my side when I become Steward, and I will never send you from my sight. You will be my most trusted advisor,” Boromir fantasized. “And we’ll spend as much time together as we desire. We’ll walk in your gardens, and you can teach me about your plants. You can read your books to me—I’ll even acquiesce to learning some elvish. The Sons of Gondor shall never be parted, if it is within my power to prevent it,” Boromir concluded.

Faramir listened to the fantasy with a loving smile, even though a voice at the back of his mind warned him that Boromir was tempting fate. No man could tell his future with absolute certainty. While it was a likely outcome that Boromir should become the 27th Steward of Gondor when Denethor died, to speak of it prematurely seemed to invite disaster.

“That is a wonderful fantasy—being ever by your side is the stuff of dreams. But…” Faramir shifted the topic away from Stewardship, “…when you have a wife and children, you will not want my presence as much as you feel you do, now.”

Boromir waved his hand dismissively. “You do not know that.”

“I can guess it,” Faramir said softly. He sensed he was treading very close to a subject of annoyance for his brother, so he stepped softly.

“You do not know how I feel,” Boromir protested.

“How do you feel?” Faramir asked gently, placing his hand on Boromir’s arm.

Boromir sighed. He shed his shell and allowed his little brother in, allowed Faramir to see his insecurities plainly. “I feel as if no woman in Gondor will ever satisfy me.”

Faramir quirked an eyebrow. “Who will?”

Boromir shook his head. “A wife and children are not what I desire. No…there is one who will satisfy me; it is but a dream.” He remained deliberately vague.

“Who is she, this mysterious source of satisfaction? Why can you not have her? Boromir, son of Denethor, can have any woman he wants…” Faramir pressed the issue.

Boromir stared at the ground as if he was trying to bore a hole with his eyes. “Not a woman,” he muttered.

Faramir’s jaw dropped. “A man?” He knew the passions shared between soldiers, but he’d never thought it would result in true love or lasting contentment for his brother.

Boromir nodded slowly. “But not just any man, you see? A man I can never have.”

Faramir tilted his head. “He’s a fool if he will not give himself to you, even taboo as it is in the city.”

Boromir bit his lip. “He has no idea of my feelings for him. He’s never refused me…I simply have not told him. I am not sure…not sure how I could,” he stammered, realizing the conversation had reached a tricky point.

“Maybe you…just tell him. The worst that could occur is that he rejects you. It is better to be rejected than to spend your life pining and regretting inaction.” Faramir felt somewhat hypocritical, as he held his secret love for Boromir without any intent of revelation. Boromir was everything to him. If he lost him, there would be nothing in his life worth the effort of living.

Boromir fell back onto his heels, his shoulders slumped. Faramir draped his arm across his brother’s shoulders. “I hate to see you so disturbed, my brother. You’re hurting and conflicted; I can see it in your eyes. I wish I could take it all away.”

“Oh…Eru…Faramir, what’s happening to me?” Boromir buried his face in his hands. “Forgive me, little brother. Please forgive me,” he begged as his voice broke with emotion.

Faramir was utterly confused. “Forgive you? For what? You know you need give no apology for speaking freely with me. We are each other’s safe haven.”

Boromir shook his head. “That is not my offense,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Then what is? Please, Boromir, tell me,” Faramir requested, smiling encouragingly. “Let me in just a little further…”

Boromir closed his eyes. Faramir moved closer, pressing to him. He brushed his lips against Boromir’s temple. “Have no fear,” Faramir whispered.

“Faramir…” Boromir blinked hard to hold back the tears that were pricking at his eyes. “It’s you, it’s you. It has always been you.” He broke down and wept, a rare occurrence for the gem of Gondor.

Faramir instantly enfolded his brother in a warm embrace, catching Boromir’s cheek against his shoulder and supporting every part of him. Boromir’s tears wetted his tunic. His words rung in Faramir’s ears…”always been you”…and Faramir came to an earth-shattering realization. It was him. Boromir was in love with him!

He felt nearly paralyzed with the weight of it. He had carried his own love quietly, never expecting that Boromir would feel the same. Now his big brother was crying in his arms, wracked with everything Faramir was feeling, too. Faramir tightened his grip and reached up, tangling his fingers in Boromir’s hair. “It’s alright, brother,” he crooned soothingly.

Boromir sighed. “No…it’s not alright…I shouldn’t have said that, Faramir. I should not have placed that upon you. It is my burden, it needn’t also be yours. And on this, of all days, your birthday…”

Faramir listened to his brother drone apologetically and, impetuously, tugged Boromir’s head back. He looked down at his brother’s tear-reddened face. Faramir twisted his head to an opposite angle and pressed his lips to Boromir’s. Softly and stilly he held them there, until his brother’s sob breaths subsided and he nuzzled into the kiss. Faramir lifted his head and pulled his face away a distance enough to clearly see Boromir—to read his expression and search his eyes.

Boromir looked incredulous. He seemed to be struggling to speak. Finally he asked, “Why?”

Faramir traced the line of the older man’s jaw with his fingertips. “Because I wanted to,” he whispered in reply.

“Because you feel sorry for me?” Boromir queried, shuddering.

“Because I love you, Boromir. Beyond brotherhood…” Faramir explained, smiling softly.

When Faramir’s words had registered, Boromir grasped his little brother’s head and sank into a passionate kiss. Faramir moaned softly, the sound igniting white-hot arousal in his older brother. The younger man parted his lips to accept the probing of Boromir’s tongue, happily snaking his own against the invading muscle.

When both men were breathless they pulled apart. “Faramir…” Boromir whispered. “I love you too…”

Faramir slowly stretched out on the ground and held out his arms to his brother. Boromir eagerly cast off his vest and crawled atop the younger man. They showered each other with tiny kisses and laughed softly as they cuddled.

As the sun began to set Faramir quieted, watching his brother wreathed in the fiery orange glow. “I love you…I want this…but Boromir,” Faramir swallowed. “I am frightened.”

“Frightened?” Boromir asked curiously. “Of what…being with a man?”

Faramir bit his lip. “Well, there is that…”

Boromir looked surprised. “You haven’t ever…when abroad?”

Faramir shook his head. “No, brother mine. I knew men did it. I even stumbled on two men coupling, once, in Henneth Annûn. But I have never done it myself.”

“Why, Faramir? Haven’t you desires?” Boromir questioned without judgment.

“I have experienced little sexual desire in my life. I think, perhaps…on reflection…the whole of my interests have been in you, though I did not realize it until recently. But as you said, there was no satisfaction to be found elsewhere,” Faramir explained.

“I cannot withhold the truth from you, Faramir…I have been with men when away from home. But in a way…my experience will help us. I know how to make you ready,” Boromir stated, his arousal mounting once more. He kissed Faramir’s brow. “I know how to be gentle,” he continued, lowering his kiss to Faramir’s lips. “I know how to pleasure you,” he finished, drawing his lips down Faramir’s neck.

Faramir arched against the ground. “But Boromir, those are not the fears of which I speak.”

Boromir lifted his head and gazed into his little brother’s eyes. “Then what is your fear?”

“Only that this is forbidden. I fear what will happen if we are discovered,” Faramir sighed.

“Ah, little brother. It eats at me, as well. But…do we let it prevent us from finding bliss in each other? Do we—as you phrased it—spend our lives pining and regretting inaction?” Boromir smiled tenderly, smoothing back the younger man’s hair. “We can be careful. We know the ways of the White City. We are cunning.”

Faramir nodded. “I don’t want to live without knowing your touch.”

“Then you shall know it, little one, my love,” Boromir cooed. “And I will take care of you. You will want for nothing.”

“I have much to learn,” Faramir admitted, blushing. “I barely even know of my own pleasure, so infrequent have been my experiences with women.”

“We will discover together,” Boromir said confidently.

Faramir felt the pull of his older brother’s charms. Somehow everything seemed simple when Boromir addressed his concerns. He melted into a forthcoming embrace, sighing as Boromir’s lips kissed and suckled his face, neck, and ears. Boromir rearranged his body so that his hardness pressed into Faramir’s groin, both separated by the leather of their breeches. Even with the layers between, Faramir felt the heat of his brother’s cock as his own stiffened in response.

“Come to the pool with me, my beloved,” Faramir whispered.

“Anything you wish, Faramir,” Boromir replied with a wide smile.

The two men rose, gathered the discarded clothing, and walked leisurely into the forest. They knew they had ample privacy and all the time they’d need to explore what was unfolding. With the nearly palpable chemistry between them, neither held any doubts that in the pool waited their first experience as brothers and lovers together.

Chapter 4: Into the Water

Boromir watched his little brother dunk playfully beneath the water’s surface, emerging with face and hair shining wetly in the evening light. “The water is perfect, really. It’s beloved for its warmth. Countless rangers have been in here over time,” Faramir assured him.

The elder brother edged towards the pool, clad in only his breeches. The air was cooling rapidly and it seemed somehow impossible that the water would keep them warm. “I am glad the water flows freely, as the muck of countless rangers is not something I’d sit in, even for you,” Boromir grinned.

Faramir splashed at his older brother and grinned devilishly. His naked body made a seductive, graceful arc as his arms and legs cut through the pool. Boromir was pleasantly surprised by his brother’s boldness. Faramir had disrobed with no trace of the shyness the older man had expected to encounter, given Faramir’s oft-reserved nature.

“Are you going to leave me languishing?” Faramir asked with a pout.

“No, little brother. You are ripe for the picking, and too flavorful a fruit for me to resist,” Boromir growled, growing serious. His hands fell to swiftly untie and push down his breeches.

Faramir had not seen his brother completely naked since they were much younger. His breath caught in his throat as Boromir’s rapidly erecting cock was revealed. As Boromir had done he calculated the similarities to his own, and noted the features that were different. As Boromir lowered himself into the water Faramir swam to the edge of the pool and perched on the rocky underwater ledge.

Boromir settled beside him, shivering despite the warmth of the water. Faramir reached out and rested his hand on his older brother’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I have not seen you without attire in many a year, dear brother. It is a most pleasing sight.”

“As is the sight of your body, Faramir. You have blossomed into perfection. They should carve statues in your form,” Boromir beamed.

Faramir blushed, but grinned. “You flatter me, brother. Have no concern; I was yours even without romantic talk.”

Boromir laughed lightly, reaching out and stroking Faramir’s cheek. “You bring it out of me. I cannot help it.”

Faramir leaned in and nuzzled his nose against his brother’s, rubbing the tips together. “Then spoil me with sweet utterances,” he whispered.

Boromir’s hands lowered to slide down Faramir’s sides, taking hold of his slender hips. “We may soon find ourselves beyond the point of talking,” Boromir responded sexily. Hungrily, his lips found his little brother’s and staked their claim.

Faramir emerged from the kiss utterly breathless. His brother’s arms rose to encircle him, holding him tightly. Boromir’s mouth moved to whisper in his ear. “Tell me you are mine,” the older man commanded.

It was Faramir’s turn to shiver. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes tightly. “I am yours,” he replied obediently.

Boromir watched his brother’s face. “Open your eyes, little one, and look into mine,” he directed. Faramir obeyed, his blue eyes shaded with the rapidly-descending darkness, and his mounting passion. “Now,” Boromir repeated, “Tell me you are mine.”

Faramir’s eyes shone as he stared into the hypnotic orbs of his brother’s. “I am yours, Boromir.”

“Tell me you love me,” Boromir continued.

“I love you, always,” Faramir replied.

“Tell me you love me only,” the older man directed.

Faramir tilted his head. It was a curious directive, but he was able to respond honestly. “I love you, only you. I have neither love for nor want of any other.”

“Tell me you will be mine and mine alone, forever.” The force of Boromir’s voice resonated like rumbling thunder in his chest.

“I will belong to you and only you for the rest of my life, and beyond,” Faramir swore.

Boromir smiled softly. He seemed appeased by Faramir’s words. “I love you, Faramir. I have never loved anyone else, man or woman. I do not want anyone else. I will never belong to anyone else. I am yours in kind, little brother.”

Faramir found the string of commands and Boromir’s reactions bewildering, but powerful. His eyes glistened with growing moisture. Boromir loosened his grip upon his little brother and the two sat side-by-side in the warm pool for a long time, watching the night sky.

“Will you stay with me forever? Even when we must be parted, will you remember your love for me, and your desire?” Boromir inquired.

Faramir nodded dumbly, still feeling the pull of the questions, but wallowing in confusion as to their genesis and purpose.

“Will you be there for me, waiting when I come back from errands…and stay true to your promise that you belong to me and want no other?” Boromir asked in a slighter voice that made him sound vulnerable.

“Whenever I am in Minas Tirith and you are afield I will wait for you and want no other. Will you afford the same to me?” Faramir cocked his head to the side. His turn to ask a question.

Boromir sighed and began to ramble, a spectrum of emotions passing through his voice. “You know my past. You know my temptations. But you also know…I love you with all my heart and soul…and if I succumb when I am in the field, it will only make me want you more…it’s just…it’s part of a soldier’s life…I will resist, as you have resisted. I will be strong. But if my strength fails…perhaps I am weaker than you, but I will try…”

Faramir pressed his fingertips to Boromir’s lips to hush him. “So long as you always come back to me, my love. Live always to be my brother and my lover again.”

“With whatever strength I possess I will fight to come home to you. To throw my arms around you and drown you in my adoration. My brother. My lover,” Boromir promised. Faramir reached out and caressed his older brother’s thigh in response.

Boromir looked up at the moon as it started to rise. “Elves have odd marriages,” he said out of nowhere.

Faramir tilted his head curiously. “Well, yes. They tend to pick a partner, bed them and declare themselves wedded whilst producing children.”

“So theoretically, minus the last detail, two male elves could couple in marriage,” Boromir mused.

“It is possible, yes,” Faramir replied.

“I wonder if it has been done, if it has happened somewhere, sometime in their great history…” Boromir said thoughtfully.

“Boromir, how much of the wine flasks have you consumed? You’re awfully garrulous tonight,” Faramir marveled. He was a little disappointed. He’d expected less talk, more action. Their time together in the wild was limited, and precious. Yet the sexy talk that Boromir initiated when demanding Faramir dedicate himself to him had fizzled in the discussion of serious commitments and, now, elvish marriages.

Boromir laughed. “Sorry little one. I don’t know why I’m so talkative. My mind’s going a league a minute, I think…perhaps…I am a little bit nervous,” Boromir admitted.

“Well,” Faramir smiled lovingly. “Let me allay your worries,” he said softly, passing the pad of his thumb across his brother’s lips. He trapped the older man’s earlobe between his teeth, biting playfully.

Boromir angled his head back and placed his palm flatly against Faramir’s chest. With his eyes closed, he let his hand guide the imagery within his mind as he slid over the tufts of hair, swiped across his brother’s navel, and snaked down his belly.

Faramir’s breathing quickened with each inch his brother’s hand strayed downward along his front. He shifted to face Boromir, kneeling beside him. He was filled with lust as he looked down at the golden jewel of Gondor. “Boromir,” he whispered breathlessly.

Boromir opened his eyes and lifted his gaze to fix upon his brother’s painfully handsome face. “Yes, little brother?” Spurred on, his hand moved beyond Faramir’s belly to his pubic bone, making its way to the tangled patch of sparse hair that framed his brother’s cock.

Faramir shuddered. “I love you,” was his simple reply.

Boromir felt control return to him. Careful to keep his hand in place, he rose to kneel in front of the younger man. The warm water swirled around them as their comfort with the newfound intimacy grew. The older man nibbled at the base of Faramir’s neck as his hand found and, for the first time in their lives, touched his brother’s hardening organ.

Boromir’s own breathing became ragged as he felt his brother’s arousal. His brother. His beloved Faramir. What would be considered by most an unnatural connection now felt wholly natural and satisfying. It was as though this was their destiny. “I love you,” Boromir countered. “Let me show you how dearly I love you,” the older man said as his hand grasped the base of Faramir’s cock and began to stroke the length purposefully.

Faramir squirmed as he knelt and bore the pleasure of Boromir’s ministrations. One hand grasped the edge of the pool while the other hand grasped Boromir’s shoulder. The realization of his desire was better than he could have ever hoped. It was more than just the touch of a hand upon his long-neglected cock. It was Boromir, his Boromir, whom he loved more than life itself. He exhaled in a drawn out “yesssss” as his hips began to pump slowly back and forth in time with Boromir’s hand.

The hand on Boromir’s shoulder slowly shifted to slide down his smooth chest. Faramir marveled at the feeling of his brother’s skin. It was soft and supple, no fat preventing him from feeling the rippling of Boromir’s muscles as he undulated, one arm extended beneath the water, the other lifting to allow his hand to caress the side of Faramir’s face. Faramir’s hand fell further, just as his brother’s had done to him. With incredible excitement Faramir’s fingers played upon the shaft of his brother’s fully erect cock. Boromir moaned at the contact. It felt far more pleasurable than the touch of any nearly faceless man or woman in his sexual past.

Dutifully Faramir grasped his brother’s organ and wasted little time in assuming a stroking motion that perfectly matched Boromir’s. The two men lazily pleasured each other that way, the line between brother and lover resolutely crossed. Kneeling before each other, eyes locked, hands pumping, hips moving…they made a beautiful portrait. Gorgeous men, good men, bound by love and blood, engaging in a subtle ballet of bliss.

As Boromir’s control began to wane his hand worked faster. Faramir’s responded in kind. The tranquil night air was pierced by the sounds of their panting and moaning, with a chorus of grunts added to the symphony as they drew closer to orgasm.

Faramir had not climaxed in a long time. He wished he could last longer, to enjoy the sensation all night long, but it was a tremendous struggle and he was defeated. He began to unravel, his blue eyes wide and wild as they held Boromir’s gaze. Little “oh” sounds chased each of his heaving breaths as he bucked his hips and clawed at Boromir with his free hand. “Boromir…” he gasped. “Can’t stop…”

Boromir nodded, increasing his efforts. Faramir summoned every last ounce of focus to stroke his brother’s cock faster and harder, wanting to finish him, too. Boromir leaned forward and whispered, “Then don’t hold back, little one.” He pressed his lips to Faramir’s and held them there as the two men thrashed against one another.

Boromir felt Faramir’s cock begin to twitch in his hand and he pulled away to watch his little brother’s face as he lost himself in orgasm. Faramir’s eyes closed and his face tilted towards the heavens. His jaw slackened, mouth falling open and uttering repeated moans and whimpers. The occasional wince bespoke of the sheer intensity of his climax. Faramir could not remember ever cumming with such force. Cloud after cloud of his seed blossomed in the water between their bodies as he emptied himself.

Faramir’s strokes on Boromir’s cock had lessened as the younger man relinquished himself to his climax. Boromir reached down with his free hand and took hold of Faramir’s, gently reminding him to keep stroking, guiding his brother’s hand quicker and with more pressure. As Faramir recovered he moved his hand of his own accord, bringing Boromir to his own climax. The older man cried out, making the most of the freedom the wild afforded. His hips moved wildly as he unleashed many spurts of cum before his orgasm subsided.

Overcome by their efforts and climaxes, the men collapsed upon the ledge, each holding the other in a tight but tender embrace.

“Boromir,” Faramir panted, “I’ve never…like that, before. That was amazing.”

Boromir smiled lovingly, kissing his brother’s neck. “Amazing indeed, little one. Happy Birthday, Faramir,” Boromir cooed.

Their lips joined once more before they swam into the pool and bathed, mindful of their tiredness and careful to exit the pool before they became too exhausted to stay afloat. They made short work of dressing, lighting the fire, setting their bed rolls, and eating a simple dinner.

The rest of Faramir’s birthday was spent with the two men cuddled on their bed rolls and gazing at the stars. Faramir pointed out the names of significant ones, and their corresponding constellations. They spoke of the Gondorian history of astronomy, and Boromir listened, riveted, as Faramir imparted his wisdom on the subject. Boromir was proud of Faramir’s intellect and the huge body of knowledge his brother possessed.

When too tired to fight sleep further they turned towards each other and tangled limbs beneath blankets and cloaks.

“You are my first and only love,” Faramir whispered.

“You are my greatest joy,” Boromir countered. “I love you beyond measure.”

“As I love you,” Faramir replied. “Now go to sleep, my beautiful brother.”

Boromir nodded slowly, nuzzling his lips to the younger man’s neck. “Sleep,” he whispered. “Goodnight.”

Faramir kissed his brother’s brow. “Goodnight,” he echoed as he closed his eyes and surrendered to pleasant dreams.

Chapter 5: A Journey to Amon Hen

“I could eat a mumakil,” Boromir grinned as he dug into a hearty breakfast of cheese, smoked meats, apples, and a helping of herbed potatoes that Faramir had expertly prepared in the skittle.

Faramir chuckled, reclining against a fallen tree with his lit pipe sending wisps of smoke into the morning air. He picked at his breakfast. He often had little interest in food, but he was relaxed and felt good. He was with his love, his brother, and he was enveloped in the beauty of the wild. As Boromir encouraged him to eat he acquiesced, allowing an unusually healthy appetite to overtake him.

“I think we should head to the river. There must be a place for feasible crossing,” Boromir mused.

Faramir’s eyebrow arched. “Into Rohan?” he queried.

Boromir nodded. “But not far in, just far enough to say we’d holidayed outside of Gondor,” he grinned.

Faramir looked thoughtful. “On the fringe of Rohan, then. Amon Hen. If we can find a way to cross Nen Hithoel north of the falls, those woods are beautiful, as is the green of Parth Galen. The slopes of the hill bear remnants of Gondor and the horse lords do not patrol those shores. They are too heavily wooded for their mounts.”

Boromir smiled brightly. “Sounds perfect to me. If I recall we’re not far from the shore opposite that hill. Just west and north along the Great River. I only have some worry for Mordor orcs. My men and I did not travel that far north when on our hunt.”

Faramir waved his hand dismissively. “I have been there with the rangers, and there are few orcs in the vicinity. Sauron always marshals forces behind the Black Gate, but he would have little reason to send his rabble along the Anduin.”

Boromir looked thoughtful. “We’ll be vigilant nonetheless. I’ve no intention of losing my life on Amon Hen, not when I’ve just found you, my fated lover.”

Faramir beamed at the sentiment. “This journey…means so much to me, Boromir. I can’t recall the last time I felt so carefree. My duties and father’s presence weigh heavily on me. As much as I love the White City, as readily as I would fight and die for her, I find little peace within her walls. Only when I can sneak time in the library, my chamber, or in the gardens can I feel some semblance of serenity. There are times when I wish I could live elsewhere. Perhaps somewhere where Ecthelion may readily be seen, but here in the wild, amongst the trees and flowers and gentle creatures.”

Boromir smiled softly, reaching out to place his hand on his brother’s knee as Faramir spoke. “But when I am Steward the White City’s glory will be restored. You will feel free there. You will find happiness as easily as you did when we were children, before responsibilities kept us apart. You’ll see, little brother,” he assured Faramir.

Faramir nodded, but inwardly cursed himself for steering the conversation towards another temptation of fate. He couldn’t help but feel uneasy about Boromir’s words. What Boromir described would be bliss, but the concept seemed so foreign…so far away…and so dangerous to discuss prematurely.

“Father loves you, in his own way,” Boromir said softly.

“No, he does not, Boromir. You are away too much. You do not see…” Faramir protested.

Boromir frowned. “He must…he was not always as he is now. He has ever been hard on you, but perhaps he simply wants to challenge you to achieve your full potential.”

“Or to break me,” Faramir shrugged. “It matters not. I love him, as much as I am loath to admit it. He is my father. But he is not a source of love or comfort. No…for those I turn to you, my brother, my best friend. My lover.” Faramir accentuated the last word by drawing it out and purring on the trailing “r.”

Boromir grinned playfully. “Careful, little one, or I’ll have to ravish you here and we’ll never set off on our journey!”

“There are worse ways to spend our time,” Faramir winked. But teasingly he stood, gathering what food he’d left untouched for later grazing. “However, if we wish to make the lake by nightfall we’d best be going.” He gave a little wiggle of his slender hips as he walked away to pack up for travel.

Boromir laughed, but the display was effective. Their initial encounter had been wonderful, but he wanted more. Much more. And he knew that Faramir would give him anything he desired.

The two men traveled northwest until they encountered the majestic Anduin river. From there it was north to the Falls of Rauros, which they stopped to admire. The beauty and power of the falls struck them both. It was such a different sight than any most Gondorians saw. The river ran through Osgiliath, but was hardly appreciated amongst the ruins of stone and pollution of war. Faramir commented there was some strange pull in the falls, something magnetic that nearly dared him to swim to the waters at its base. Of course he had no intention of so doing, and Boromir had no intention of allowing him so to do, but the sentiment haunted the younger man all the same.

They made Nen Hithoel by dusk, having strode swiftly and paused infrequently along the way. Boromir gazed across the oval-shaped lake. Amon Lhaw, the Hill of Hearing, stood before them. Parth Galen, the green upon the western shore, seemed tantalizingly close and yet was so far, for the two men lacked a boat to cross.

“Welcome to Emyn Muil,” Faramir commented as he looked up and scanned the jagged peaks.

Boromir hmm’ed thoughtfully. “If we don’t find some way of crossing soon we’ll have to make camp here. Too close to the Mordor border for my comfort.”

“Chin up,” Faramir said cheerily. “We’re resourceful. We’ll find a way. Come, let’s explore while light permits. But,” he added as an afterthought, “Keep on guard, just in case. If we are separated and I whistle like this…” Faramir made a curious sound that mimicked the call of a bird, and yet sounded unique to anything Boromir had ever heard. “…it means I have encountered something and you are to stay put, firmly, until I find you.”

“Little brother,” Boromir laughed incredulously. “You treat me as if I have no experience in war.”

“You have no experience fighting in so dense a wood, amongst the shards of Emyn Muil and the maze of ruins. You are a formidable fighter, Boromir—far moreso than me in your sheer power—but I have an edge here. This is my element, as a ranger. Should we ever be together in the field, astride mounts and charging our foes, or battling in the confines of Osgiliath, you can coddle me. Deal?” Faramir grinned good-naturedly.

“Lead on, my Captain,” Boromir said with a bow. Faramir smirked and set their path along the shore, his eyes and ears ever alert for danger.

Boromir spied an unnatural shape further along the lake, resting on the ashen beach. “There,” he pointed. “What is that?”

Faramir led them closer. “It’s an orc raft,” he said quietly. Both men tensed and carefully peered around them, scrutinizing the forest for movement.

“I think it abandoned,” Boromir mused. “For all my…inexperience in this environment, I still possess a keen sense of danger. And I feel none. Do you?”

Faramir shook his head. “I do not. I think we are alone. I wonder if it holds…” Faramir said, gently kicking the raft with his foot. As with most orc craftsmanship it appeared shoddy, but sufficient. It was little more than roughly-hewn pieces of wood strung together with dirty twine.

“Here’s one way to find out,” Boromir lifted the raft and launched it into the water. He took a few steps into the cold lake water, holding the raft’s edge and eyeing it curiously. “Holds with no weight. Now let’s see…” Boromir boldly turned with his back to the raft and hopped on. The raft wobbled but held fast. “Aha!” he exclaimed.

But he had failed to realize the movement would launch the raft into motion. Slowly it drifted south, towards the falls, and Boromir had no paddle with which to bring it back.

“Boromir!” Faramir exclaimed. Wildly he looked around for the paddle that must have accompanied the raft at one time, but there was none to be found.

Boromir chuckled at the situation. He felt as if they were children again, getting themselves into trouble that was just enough to set their hearts beating quickly, but not enough to genuinely threaten them. “Relax, Faramir,” he said as he took a deep breath and slid off the raft, waist-high in the water. He cringed with the cold. “Chilled, this water,” he complained as he took hold of the craft and waded to shore.

Faramir helped him pull the raft ashore and hit Boromir’s chest playfully. “Don’t do things like that. The falls seem sinister from this perspective.”

Boromir leaned in and placed a small kiss upon the younger man’s brow. “You worry too much, my love.”

Faramir pouted. “Perhaps, but…now I’m being practical. We need a way to paddle this thing across the lake. Let’s see if we can find a suitably wide, flat piece of wood or rock.”

Boromir nodded. “Alright, little one,” he said as he began to search the area. Twilight descended before Boromir found a branch that, if split, would do the job. Together they used a sharp shard of stone to hew it in two, producing one paddle each.

“See?” Faramir said proudly. “Resourceful.”

“Indeed,” Boromir agreed. “Now let’s cross. Darkness falls.”

Faramir gathered their things and launched the raft to shallow water. He knelt upon it, holding it steadily with his paddle to the lake bottom as Boromir pulled himself up, similarly kneeling on the opposite side. With little difficulty they made it to the opposite shore.

Light rapidly faded as they secreted the raft as best they could, crossed Parth Galen, and climbed the hill. The steep portions were made easier by the presence of stone stairs, carved by the men of Gondor ages ago. After a slight descent on another side of the hill they found a pleasant place for camp. It was a rather flat piece of land, flanked on all sides by trees, dotted on the perimeter by the remnants of statues. It felt insulated and comfortable. There was no danger near.

Chapter 6: Night of Love, Night of Promise

They set up camp in near darkness, feeling around for objects not easily seen. The presence of fallen branches hither and yon allowed Boromir to quickly gather wood for a fire. Soon they were resting in the warmth and glow of firelight, basking in their pride at having cooperatively accomplished the feat of arriving at and setting camp in foreign territory within the cycle of a single day.

“You were right,” Boromir smiled tenderly. “This is a unique place, a place I’m glad to have seen. I look forward to exploring in daylight. From what I could see there is an impressive array of ruins. Did you see the size of some of those statues?” he whistled appreciatively.

Faramir grinned, prodding the fire with a stick. “Our ancestors were industrious in these parts. Everywhere, really.” He paused to ponder. “I sometimes think historical men of Gondor had absolutely nothing better to do than build statues, stairs, and walls all over the country. You can scarcely travel a day in Ithilien without encountering fallen columns, at the very least.”

“I noticed,” Boromir nodded. “I suppose that’s what happens when Sauron’s subdued and centuries of peace ensue. The kings and stewards had to keep our people busy somehow,” he grinned.

“Perhaps it was not so bad a task. Better than watching impotently as Sauron gathers strength, and barely holding our own against his slow but steady advances,” Faramir frowned.

Boromir reached out and brushed the back of his hand against Faramir’s cheek. “My lovely one. We will live to see peace. We will yet have time to take chisels to stone and carve out puzzling elements of architecture,” he said playfully in an effort to cheer his little brother.

Faramir laughed softly. “I hope that is not the extent of what we shall do with our time,” he winked in response. His hand drifted to rest upon Boromir’s thigh. He could feel the dampness of his clothing from his wade in the lake, blending with the night air in a deeply chilled combination. “Boromir, you’re freezing!” he exclaimed.

Boromir looked down at his sopping wet cloak and water-darkened leathers. “I suppose I am,” he replied. “I’m certainly very wet.”

Faramir pulled the blankets from their bed rolls. “Come on. Clothes off,” he ordered.

Boromir liked the turn of events. Any opportunity to be naked with his newfound lover was welcomed. He acquiesced, swiftly peeling his layers of clothing and armor away until he stood nude before his adoring brother. Faramir wrapped Boromir in the blankets before the older man had a chance to feel the cold. The younger man guided Boromir to sit before the fire once more, and rubbed his arms and legs briskly through the wool.

“Don’t fuss,” Boromir grinned. He loved the attention but felt obliged to protest. “Besides, you’ll chafe me raw.”

“What, a leathered old man like you? You’ll survive,” Faramir teased as he withdrew his hands. “Besides,” he grew serious. “I want to take care of you. As a leader, you’re always looking after others. As you’ve looked after me my entire life. I want to return the favor, tenfold. A hundredfold, even.”

Boromir smiled brightly. “You have always cared for me, Faramir. You are always there when I need you, when I come to you for comfort, or love…your warm arms…your warm bed…I think I wanted you even then, from first I felt sexual impulses. You were so beautiful and so giving…” Boromir confessed, sliding closer to his brother. “You still are.”

Faramir felt his cock stir at the admission. The idea that Boromir wanted him for so long gave him a sense of desirability he had never felt. He had never felt he possessed a sexual magnetism. But now his brother had confessed that his newly expressed desire was a long-lasting phenomenon, and the thought aroused him greatly. He leaned towards the older man.

“Let me see you naked once more. Please?” Boromir pleaded to his little brother.

Faramir smiled softly, pausing but not protesting. He stood and stripped himself of his clothing until he wore only his laced leather breeches. He could not understand the ease with which he presented himself bare to his brother, but he noticed the absence of hesitation or shame the night before. He only felt that it was right, somehow, to be without cover or pretense, fully vulnerable in the sight of one he trusted beyond all others.

Boromir rose up, kneeling in front of Faramir, the blankets falling haphazardly from his form. His hands moved to help Faramir in removing his pants, undoing the laces slowly, teasingly. He gazed up at his brother’s stunning face as the breeches were lowered to his ankles, allowing him to kick them off.

Boromir appraised his brother’s figure as he had the night of the feast. “You are breathtaking,” he whispered. Faramir’s cock swelled at the attention and the presence of his brother so tantalizingly close.

“You smell so sweet,” Boromir continued to praise, inhaling the natural scent of his brother. “Like wild herbs and fresh grass.”

Faramir’s cheeks colored with blush at the evaluation, but he was absolutely mesmerized by his brother’s words. His smooth voice crooned each word and held Faramir captive. Unaccustomed as he was to these sort of compliments, he found himself captive to their power.

“Your skin is so silky, so soft,” Boromir marveled as his lightly calloused fingertips slid down Faramir’s sides and over his hips. Faramir shivered.

“Are you cold, my love?” Boromir queried.

“No,” Faramir replied. “I only tremble with desire.”

“Then let me explore you further,” Boromir said sexily. “Let me discover your taste…”

Before Faramir could respond Boromir’s tongue found the sensitive tip of his cock and played small circles against the smooth pink skin. He moaned as it slid into his small slit, teasing and tasting thoroughly. His hands naturally fell on either side of Boromir’s head, fingers tangling with the golden threads of his brother’s hair.

Soon Boromir took Faramir’s cock in his mouth and moved his head upon it, reveling in the warmth and taste of his skin, mingling with the precum that periodically spilled from the tip. Faramir had not been orally pleasured in many years, as he always felt awkward in asking women to perform the act upon him. He considered it to be as intimate as intercourse. He’d nearly forgotten the bliss of it, and as he pumped his hips gently in time to Boromir’s movements, he realized that he was quickly losing control.

“Boromir…wait…I’ll unleash,” he gasped.

Boromir released Faramir’s cock and questioned, “Why should I stop? Why should you withhold your release?”

Faramir frowned, “I will lose control in your mouth,” he blushed. The few times he had been in this situation with women they had made him shy about the concept, as they pulled their mouths away at the last moment and used their hands alone.

Boromir looked incredulous. “And why shouldn’t you?”

Faramir looked stunned. “I’ve never…I mean…no-one has, I thought perhaps it was awful, somehow,” he stammered. For a man of thirty, he seemed very young in ways of pleasure.

Boromir laughed lovingly. “Just because the lower-level whores in the White City won’t permit it doesn’t mean it’s wrong. On the contrary. I would like few things more than to taste your pleasure.” Resolutely he engulfed Faramir’s cock once more and resumed the pace and intensity.

Faramir groaned as he swiftly reached the edge. He pulled Boromir’s hair tightly and his knees nearly buckled. Boromir steadied Faramir by his hips and worked tirelessly to achieve his prize: his lover’s orgasm.

The younger man whimpered as his climax washed over him, nearly drowning him in the incredible sensation. “Eru, Boromir…” he whined and bit his lip so hard he drew blood as he felt Boromir’s mouth massage his throbbing cock with each swallow. The entire idea that his brother was swallowing his seed was mind-blowing to him.

When his orgasm subsided Boromir helped Faramir down to the ground, deftly spreading one blanket upon the ground to allow him to lie without the prickle of the forest floor against his precious skin. “See?” Boromir grinned. “Not awful. Not at all, little one…you’re delicious,” he growled.

“And you are wicked to say such things, to do such things. You’ve learned these tricks with the men in the field?” Faramir queried breathlessly, smiling broadly.

“In a manner of speaking. I have never swallowed the offering of another man. But many have swallowed mine. Young soldiers, eager to please their Captain. You, my darling brother, were the first to witness my submission in such a way,” Boromir admitted. “And my only. I would never give of myself to another the way I want to give myself to you, wholly. You are the only one who can see me…soft. Fragile,” Boromir said as he stretched out beside Faramir, stroking his brother’s chest lovingly. One hand rose to wipe the trickle of blood from Faramir’s chin. His brother had given himself a hefty bite.

“I feel privileged to have experienced it, and that you continue to trust me with your full self,” Faramir beamed.

Boromir lifted his lips to meet Faramir’s and kissed him deeply, pressing his tongue into his little brother’s mouth and leaving no recess untouched or untasted.

When Boromir released him from the kiss Faramir whispered, “I can taste…”

“Yourself. I know, little one,” Boromir purred, taking him in another passionate kiss. He rolled atop Faramir and pinned his little brother to the ground. “I love you, Faramir,” he moaned as his hard cock settled against Faramir’s thigh.

“I love you, Boromir,” Faramir responded.

“Will you give of yourself freely?” Boromir questioned.

Faramir tilted his head curiously. “To you? I would give you anything,” he replied, not entirely sure what the question meant.

“Will you give me your body?” Boromir countered, eyebrow arched.

“You mean…?” Faramir licked his lips nervously.

Boromir nodded. “Let me enter you. Let me possess you, little brother.”

Faramir’s eyes widened at the thought. He’d never dreamed of Boromir taking him. But in a flash he recalled the way he felt the night of the feast, as he observed his brother amidst his admirers. “Boromir…” he began, recounting. “The night of the feast I was watching you amidst the crowd, receiving your praise…and I had a strange feeling. I watched them cling to you as their hero, their savior, and I knew that try as any of them may, they would never truly have you. That you belonged to me. I thought…you belonged to me.”

Boromir couldn’t sense where Faramir was going with his story, but nodded in assent. “I do belong to you, Faramir. You and you alone.”

Faramir continued, “And then I felt so…possessive of you. Unusually so. It wasn’t as if I wanted to swat them away and keep you to myself. It was as though I wanted to pull you to me, pull you into me. I thought if there was a way for me to swallow you up, I would.”

Boromir’s face lit with understanding. “There is a way, little one. Pull me inside you, and we will be in perfect union.”

Faramir’s mouth went terribly dry. He swallowed hard. “Is it difficult? I mean…I’m a grown man, I can manage…”

“You can manage,” Boromir agreed. “I have been told by those I’ve taken that it hurts at first but I will be gentle, Faramir. I will make it as painless as possible, and then I will be within you. I will possess you…and you will possess me.”

Faramir nodded swiftly. “I want it. Take me, Boromir,” he said hurriedly.

Boromir chuckled. “Easy, little brother. There is no rush. I want you, but not at the expense of your comfort. One moment…” Boromir excused himself to rummage through Faramir’s pack for the cooking oil the younger man had used that morning. He coated his cock and fingers thoroughly in preparation. Faramir watched with both fascination and apprehension clearly displayed upon his face.

“Relax, my love,” Boromir cooed as he nudged Faramir’s thighs apart and pressed his middle finger to his virgin hole. Faramir shuddered at the foreign touch. “Breathe.”

Faramir took a deep breath, willing himself to calm. He looked up at the spindly canopy of branches and the twinkling stars overhead. Angling his head, he could just see the tip of the Hill of Sight piercing the moonlight. He engrossed himself in the natural beauty he so adored as Boromir slid his finger slowly inside of him. It was uncomfortable, and he winced at the unpleasant sensation. Faramir had a moment of panic when he reasoned through the comparison between the finger within him and the cock that was to follow.

Feeling Faramir tense, Boromir cooed soothing words. Faramir turned his attention back to the night sky, counting the constellations above. He noted the Two Brothers, ever his favorite, and smiled beautifully just as Boromir’s finger curled and found Faramir’s prostate, sending a shockwave of pleasure through the younger man.

Faramir arched his back and cried out. Boromir grinned devilishly. “I found it,” he whispered.

“What is it?” Faramir panted.

“Magic,” Boromir replied playfully, rubbing the spot again.

“You are a formidable wizard,” Faramir laughed breathlessly.

“Mithrandir wouldn’t stand a chance,” Boromir teased. He seized the lightheartedness of the moment to slide a second finger into his brother, hoping the joking would distract Faramir from any pain.

Faramir grunted and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know…” he began, forcing himself to think of something other than the invasion occurring. “…he has that staff.”

Boromir chuckled heartily. “Now who’s wicked?”

Faramir grinned and shifted his hips, feeling himself adjust to the stretch. He sighed, relaxing and giving himself over to the experience.

“Feeling better?” Boromir questioned tenderly.

Faramir nodded. “I’m growing accustomed to it…” He lifted his arms over his head and placed his hands against the ground, gathering fists full of leaves, twigs, and earth. Boromir’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of his brother stretched out in such a way, as if pinning himself to the hill. He moved more insistently to ready his brother, his cock aching as his need became nearly unbearable.

Boromir slid a third finger inside his brother, and the younger man tried to strangle a pained moan. The stretch of three fingers was acute. But Faramir was grateful for his brother’s careful preparation. He had heard rare nightmarish stories of men who were taken against their will, raped by fellow soldiers who had been driven half-mad by the desperation of war. He had been told how they were left damaged beyond usefulness, broken and bleeding and counted among the wounded. Faramir knew that Boromir would never treat him that way. He trusted Boromir would never hurt him intentionally, and would make good on his promise to go out of his way to avoid unintentional pain, as well.

When he had prepared Faramir as thoroughly as his fingers would allow Boromir withdrew them. Faramir whimpered for the sudden emptiness. It was a strange feeling, to be one moment full and the next not.

Boromir said raggedly, “It is time, little brother.”

Faramir nodded, clutching the contents of his hands with all his strength as Boromir guided his cock between his cheeks and pressed the tip to the younger man’s entrance.

“If you hurt greatly, I will stop,” Boromir assured him.

“I want to feel you,” Faramir replied. Boromir nodded and pressed forward.

His cock was very slick and he began to slip into Faramir’s heat and virgin tightness with less effort than he had calculated. Faramir squirmed as he felt Boromir’s thick cockhead start to breach him. He trained his eyes on the Two Brothers, using the stars to ground him, to remind him that despite the searing pain, he was joined to his brother. He was sharing the ultimate in intimacy with his beloved Boromir. Just as Boromir had expressed: they were engaging in the act of mutually possessing each other.

Boromir reined in his passion, pushing forward a short distance and then withdrawing, then pushing forward a distance more and repeating the process until he was planted halfway within his little brother. “Are you well, Faramir?” he asked, concerned.

Faramir smiled beautifully, lowering his eyes to meet his brother’s. “I am well, love. It is new…but it is you…you are inside of me. In this moment, that is all that matters.”

Boromir was spurred by Faramir’s sentiment. He moved himself until he was buried to the hilt, groaning as Faramir writhed subtly beneath him, growing accustomed to the stretch. Before long he was overwhelmed with the need to thrust and began to slowly, gently fuck his brother.

Faramir wrapped his legs around his brother’s hips and encouraged him to take his pleasure. For his part, Faramir felt something at which his chaste encounters with Boromir had only hinted. He felt completeness.

“Ohh…Faramir,” Boromir moaned as he quickened, making love to the younger man in earnest. “I would never have dared to dream this.”

Faramir released the contents of his fists and encircled Boromir in his arms, his soiled hands caressing earthen streaks across the older man’s perspiring back. “It is more than I could have imagined,” he replied, engaging his hips to meet Boromir’s downward strokes.

“I’ll not last long,” the older man gasped with regret.

“Have no worry,” Faramir smiled warmly. He lifted his lips to his big brother’s ear and whispered, “It is but the first of many couplings, my beloved. I will give myself to you until we are old and tired and satisfied beyond such desires.”

“I will never tire of you, Faramir. I will never have enough,” Boromir growled and captured his little brother’s mouth in a bruising kiss. As Faramir’s tongue conquered his and slid between his lips he relinquished control. His groans were muffled by the kiss while he came, filling his brother. Faramir whimpered as he felt the heat within. He thought it such a curious sensation.

When spent, Boromir collapsed atop the younger man, remaining sheathed within him. “Little brother,” he panted. “You feel…” his voice trailed off.

“Hmm?” Faramir nuzzled his brother. “How do I feel?” he asked softly, curiously.

“I am at a loss to conjure the proper words. To say you feel ‘heavenly’ does not do you justice,” Boromir smiled genuinely. He rolled onto his side, pulling Faramir up and into his embrace. He wished he could remain inside Faramir forever.

The two rested, stroking each other’s faces and sharing a meaningful gaze. At length Boromir sighed softly and whispered, “Marry me.”

Faramir arched his brow. He wasn’t sure he’d heard his brother correctly. “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘marry me’,” Boromir repeated. “Last night you told me elves proclaim themselves married, and that it is possible for two male elves to wed in such a way…”

Faramir could not wrap his mind around the statement Boromir had made. He thought his brother might have jested and quipped with a cheeky grin, “Perhaps you have been too long fighting and feasting and fornicating to have noticed that we aren’t actually elves.”

When Boromir frowned Faramir’s eyes widened. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m serious. Why shouldn’t I be? Why shouldn’t I wish to marry the man I love, and have loved for so long?” There was hurt in Boromir’s voice. It surprised even him. While he had mused on male marriage when he questioned Faramir the previous night, he had hardly thought it a genuine desire.

“Boromir, forgive me,” Faramir apologized, kissing his brother’s brow. “I misread your intent. It’s just…it’s not traditional.”

“And it will never be traditional for us. We’ll never wed in the great hall, with a thousand well-wishers toasting to our love. But I love you no less, Faramir, and if it could be…if I could arrive at Minas Tirith with you on my arm and declare you my spouse before all our people I would, without hesitation. I love you, Faramir,” Boromir’s voice broke with emotion. “I swear that right here, right now, I would marry you. I would take you as my husband and be yours, forever.”

Faramir looked stunned. Boromir was a passionate man, but the romantic side of him was still new to the younger man. As a gentle, romantic soul himself, Faramir was deeply touched. Tears pricked at his eyes. “Boromir,” he began, his voice little more than a thin croak. “I don’t know what to say.” He paused briefly. “Except that I would proudly be your spouse, and count myself blessed to have you as mine.”

“Then marry me, Faramir. Promise me as you did last night, but do so knowing it is an eternal vow that will tie us together as no two brothers have ever been bound. Promise me you will love me forever, forsaking all others, in whatever times may come, to whatever end,” Boromir searched his brother’s eyes.

Faramir’s lips curled into an angelic smile. “I promise that I will love you forever, Boromir, son of Denethor. I promise that I will bind myself to you, forsaking all others. I promise that I will do so in whatever times may come, whatever fate has planned, and to whatever end,” he said in a thoroughly heartfelt manner, a tear spilling from the corner of his eye and trickling slowly to the ground.

Boromir exhaled as if he had been holding his breath for an age. “And I, Boromir, swear to you, Faramir, son of Denethor, that I will love you forever, forsaking all others. To that I promise I will hold true,” he smiled tenderly. He did not forget that he faltered when Faramir questioned his fidelity the night before. “I will love you and stand by you in whatever times may come and to whatever end.” Tears threatened to escape from his own eyes.

“Then we are wed,” Faramir proclaimed, smiling broadly.

“We are wed. Come what may, little one. I am yours and you are mine,” Boromir cooed. “Now kiss me, my husband, and let us seal our vows.”

Faramir’s lips swiftly met his brother’s and the two kissed with passion neither knew he possessed. They kissed until they were dizzy from lack of air and the raw intensity of the act.

As the kiss broke Boromir reluctantly slipped from his brother’s body. Faramir groaned. “I miss you within me already,” he admitted with a sheepish grin.

“Tis not every couple whose vows are made in sexual union. Don’t let’s be greedy,” Boromir grinned, kissing the tip of Faramir’s nose. “We must let your body rest.”

Faramir sighed, glancing upwards. He nodded towards the sky. “See that star, the one with the distinctly red hue?”

Boromir looked up and nodded. “Aye, I see it.”

“That is the join of the Two Brothers—one star shared between the two halves. It is my favorite pattern in the sky. I have always looked at it and thought of you. When you’re away I look to the Two Brothers and take comfort in knowing that wherever you are, at any time, the same stars shine over your head. That red star…that is us. That is our promise,” Faramir stated eloquently.

“That is our promise,” Boromir echoed, whispering. He closed his eyes as his own tears began to fall.

Until wearied to sheer exhaustion the two brothers held tightly, clinging to each other and their newly-made marriage vows. They cried in unison—tears of joy, of love, of uncertainty for the future, and of sadness for the past. They wetted the earth beneath the watchful eye of the ancient Gondorian statues gathered near the base of Amon Hen.

Chapter 7: Return a Husband, Leave a Widower

The brothers spent the following day exploring Amon Hen, and the night exploring each other. The day after, they set off for home, returning the way they arrived—traversing the lake on the simple orc raft, heading south through northern Ithilien along the Great River, crossing the river at Osgiliath, and finally trekking across Pelennor to the White City. Their return trip was made lengthier by frequent stops for intimate activities. They behaved like a honeymooning couple, unable to keep their hands off each other and loving every moment of their newfound romantic and sexual bliss.

But their honeymoon did not last long. They returned to the news that Faramir was to leave on his first expedition of command to southern Ithilien. By the time Faramir made way back to Minas Tirith Boromir was gone on an errand of his own. As difficult and painful as it was to be parted and without release in the stress of long campaigns, both men remained true to their vows. Whenever temptation loomed Boromir need only look to the red star of the Two Brothers to remember what he had promised, and what that promise meant to him.

Fate did allow them all-too-brief times together in their city. When they dared spend nights in Faramir’s or Boromir’s bed, they did. Other rendezvous were arranged in the recesses of the library or the labyrinth of the tombs—anywhere off the beaten path, where they might steal moments for intellectual, emotional, and physical intimacy. To anyone else the brothers seemed as ever they did: close beyond measure and greatly fond of each other’s company. Only together did they share the secret of their love.

Several years passed between their holiday and Boromir’s departure for the council at Rivendell. Faramir bore the older man’s leaving with a brave face, but in private he wept bitterly. He had experienced many terrible dreams and portends. He feared that his brother, his lover, his husband would not live to come to him again. His fears were only worsened by Boromir’s small half-smile, heartbreaking as ever, accompanying the words he uttered as they said farewell: “Remember today, little brother.” The day marked not only victory at Osgiliath, but also the anniversary of the night they made their wedding vows on Amon Hen.

Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months, until one afternoon Faramir led his rangers through northern Ithilien on a mission to scout what forces answered Mordor’s call. He was lost in happy memories of his thirtieth birthday journey when he heard the unmistakable sound of the horn of Gondor ringing clearly through the air, some distance away. It was torture to bear the knowledge that Boromir was in distress and that he was impotent to find and aide the man he loved.

With their mission accomplished his men, rattled by the horn, requested to turn for home, but Faramir tarried. When he could hear the horn no more he lowered his eyes and made one small sound. His men recognized it as a ranger signal, but could not pinpoint its meaning.

“Keep on guard, just in case. If we are separated and I whistle like this…” Faramir made a curious sound that mimicked the call of a bird, and yet sounded unique to anything Boromir had ever heard. “It means I have encountered something and you are to stay put, firmly, until I find you.”

Yet Faramir knew their course was run. There was nothing he could do.

Faramir watched from the window of his home in Emyn Arnen as dawn crept over the spike of Ecthelion. He turned to glance over his shoulder as Éowyn stirred in their bed, but did not wake. He breathed a little sigh of relief.

He had married the White Lady of Rohan hastily following the War of the Ring. When he met her he was a broken man, trying to act as Steward while recovering from the physical wounds and fever he had sustained in defense of his country. But it was not the pressure of leadership or the sting of orc arrows that shattered him. It was the loss of his beloved older brother, whose death he suspected the day Boromir’s horn, cut in two, washed up on the bank of the Anduin. When the young hobbit Peregrin Took had come to Minas Tirith and given him confirmation, he was nearly inconsolable. Only the understanding that there was still much to be done in Gondor’s defense kept him from completely breaking down.

Outwardly his was the mourning of a man who’d lost his brother, his closest friend and the only buffer between himself and his overtly abusive father. That was the grief he showed, carefully separating it from the devastating emotion that festered within him. Inwardly, he struggled with the loss of not just a brother and a friend—but a love, a lover, and a spouse. He was a secret, silent widower, never again to see the one thing that made him truly happy. The only thing that made him whole.

He had ridden to Osgiliath fully expecting to die and return to Boromir in whatever life beyond death would be. Yet he survived. What would seem to any to be miraculous fortune and cause for celebration was only the assurance of more time to grieve. Éowyn was frosted with sorrow, as well. He connected with her because he related to her pain and the loss of innocence she had endured. In an effort to avoid the intensity of his feelings he poured himself into the act of wooing her, his broken heart ruling his head.

And yet he did not love her. How could he? The partner in his real marriage, his first and truest union, was gone. With every passing day he felt more in betrayal of Boromir and greater a fraud to Éowyn.

He had decided to distract himself with a visit to the wild, alone. He was Prince of Ithilien; it was his territory to do with as he pleased. He planned to travel north along the eastern shore of the Anduin, past the Falls of Rauros, and across Nen Hithoel. He knew his destination well.

He was returning to the foot of Amon Hen, to the small clearing of statues where he and Boromir had made their vows, and made love for the first time.

It was the same place where Boromir had given his life.

Faramir ensured his belt carried his cherished knife, the gift Boromir had commissioned. As he shifted to gaze due north he fingered the wooden sheath thoughtfully.

His journey to Amon Hen was certain. Whether he would return would remain to be seen.

“We will be with each other, one way or another, forever. We are both of the Dúnedain, though admittedly with lesser pedigree than some. Still, we will live long lives, and live them together. I fully expect to have you by my side when I become Steward, and I will never send you from my sight. You will be my most trusted advisor,” Boromir fantasized. “And we’ll spend as much time together as we desire. We’ll walk in your gardens, and you can teach me about your plants. You can read your books to me—I’ll even acquiesce to learning some elvish. The Sons of Gondor shall never be parted, if it is within my power to prevent it,” Boromir concluded.

On to Unexpected Blessings

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