Home » Fiction


This story is rated «R», and carries the warnings «AU - Boromir lives».
Since you have switched on the adult content filter, this story is hidden. To read this story, you have to switch off the adult content filter. [what's this?]

Remember that whether you have the adult content filter switched on or off, this is always an adults only site.

The Steward’s Loves (R) Print

Written by Minx

23 April 2006 | 3868 words

A/N: This was started a long time ago. More than a year ago to be more precise. It was started as a birthday fic for Iris for her birthday – last year! She requested the trio, but RL and then the muse decided to be uncooperative. Since her birthday nears again, and because she truly deserves many beautiful Faramir fics, I figured I should complete and post her fic for last year before I complete and post her fic for this year! She was also kind enough to read it through before I posted it ;)

The tiny bower was a favoured trysting spot for them. It was one of the few places in the citadel gardens that few knew of or were likely to chance upon. Faramir had been waiting, seated on one of the stone benches. At Boromir’s arrival, he had risen hastily, grey eyes bright with happiness.

Boromir smiled and hugged him gently.

Faramir sighed and melted into Boromir’s embrace as their lips met. Boromir pulled him closer, gently slipping his tongue around the welcome contours of the ever-yielding mouth.

“Mmm…,” Faramir pouted a little when they came apart, “I’ve missed you so much,” he breathed out softly.

“And I’ve missed you,” Boromir replied softly.

“Well, you took your own time letting me know that,” Faramir could not help but say, even though he knew Boromir now had many new duties as Steward of Gondor now.

“You were unwell!” And he still was, Boromir thought. Faramir still looked tired and strained, and if he hadn’t suggested this twice the day before, Boromir wouldn’t be here. It was still a little chilly outside. He continued however, unwilling to broach a subject that Faramir intensely disliked, “I knew not if I could control myself when I would have seen you. You know that, I told you… if you could but know how many hours I spent desiring nothing more than to hold you in my arms…”

“Are you going to just hold me?” Faramir interrupted, his voice soft and provocative, his fingers starting to play with the ties of Boromir’s high collared long tunic.

“Of course not, you little imp,” Boromir retorted and squeezed Faramir’s buttocks roughly, “If you really want to know, I’d ideally like to throw you over the king’s high table and-“

“And?” Faramir demanded excitedly, his grey eyes bright in his pale face.

“Well, we can’t do that any more, of course, now that the king is returned, so we must make do with our little garden here.”

Faramir sighed, “Our little garden has missed you as much as I have, I could swear it,” he said softly, “Will you stay the night with me here, and make love to me, Boromir?”

“Of course I will, but later… we must return later to dine with the king, surely you remember?” He would not say anything about the inadvisability of making love to Faramir outside in the cold… although it was difficult for him to restrain himself, as he remembered the last time they had lain together before he had left for Rivendell, their glistening bodies entangled in the sheets on his bed.

Faramir made an impatient noise, interrupting the enticing flow of thought, and stopped toying with Boromir’s tunic. Boromir laughed softly and pulled him close.

“Ah, now I have annoyed you, little one,” he said pulling Faramir closer still and stroking his cheek lightly, even as he noted how much thinner Faramir felt.

“I’m no longer little!” Faramir retorted, and then his eyes dropped as his expression changed to one of disquiet.

Boromir watched him in alarm. He hated it when Faramir had that look on his face.

“Please Faramir,” Boromir said softly, “Don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not,” Faramir said heavily, “I could never be angry with you, but…”

“But?” Boromir said encouragingly.

“I – I will understand if you feel I no longer I fulfil your needs,” Faramir said in a rush, his voice still soft.

“What?” Boromir crooked a finger under the trembling chin and lifted Faramir’s face to his.

“Is this about Éowyn?” he asked gently, “I thought you knew her match with me is purely political! She has little interest in marriage. She said so herself, do you not remember? She will never stand between us, love… I would not have agreed to the match if there were even the slightest inkling she would, my sweet one.”

“Not Éowyn,” Faramir said his voice still so soft, Boromir had to strain just to hear the words, “I – you have met another, have you not, Boromir? You have lain with another, Boromir, I know… I can tell.”

“I-,” he thought of denying it but only very briefly. He would never lie to Faramir. “Yes,” he said heavily, “But – but it just happened, and just the few times, and –“ he stopped, floundering for words, as he looked into Faramir’s eyes. They were unreadable.

It had been just the few that he had lain with this other, that was true …. From that first time in Lothlorien, under golden leaves. How was he to explain it to Faramir? Or how after that he had felt himself resurgent and filled with hope and confidence, so much so that he could ignore even the murmurs of the ring that Frodo wore. It was that which had given him the strength to fight the Uruk Hai when the fellowship had been attacked, that which had given him strength as the depleted group had made their way through Rohan and Gondor and then the battle at the black gates. It was that that had given him hope when he had reached Minas Tirith to find his father dead and his beloved Faramir nearly dying. And how was he to explain that many times after that they had kissed, and that each time he had felt love for the other, much as he felt for his brother.

“You love him,” Faramir said quietly.

“I love you,” Boromir said raggedly.

“And you love him,” Faramir repeated, “Do you not? You try not to think about it, and you probably do not tell him, but you love him, do you not?”


“Come, Boromir, you can tell me. I can tell you have not told him at any rate. He wonders and you know he wonders and yet you will not say you love him, will you?”

“I love you,” Boromir repeated, his voice almost a sob.

“And you do not let yourself love him,” Faramir said calmly, “Because you love me. You tell yourself that he is no more than someone who kept you warm during the long, cold, lonely days of the quest, is that not it?”

Boromir let out a soft, gasping sound and lowered his head.

“Just someone to bed, was he not?” Faramir ran his fingers over Boromir’s bowed head and tightened his hold around the older man.

“No!” Boromir’s voice was anguished, “No, he was not. I love him as much as I do you, and ever have I known it though I could not bring myself to say it. He is noble as you are, and deserves all the love I will give to him, yet I cannot bring myself to.”

“Because of me,” Faramir said sadly.

Behind one of the trees surrounding the bower, Aragorn sank to his knees on the soft ground, as the anguished words flew out of his Steward’s mouth.

He had come across the brothers and stopped to watch and slowly understood why the love he saw in Boromir’s eyes was never translated into words. He had watched as the Steward and his younger brother had melded into each other’s arms, watched as their mouths had melted into each other, and he had come to see how beautiful and true their forbidden love was.

And now this!

“You must tell him, Boromir,” Faramir was saying quietly.

“I cannot.”

“You must. He loves you too. I see it in his eyes every day.”

Boromir shook his head, his eyes still lowered.

“No,” he said softly.

“I will still love you,” Faramir said softly, “Please Boromir, look at me.”

He looked up, into those beautiful grey eyes that he had always felt he could drown in.

“Tell him his desire is reciprocated,” Faramir said gently.

Boromir sighed, “I need to think about this. Not now, though. It is late and I am weary.”

Faramir sighed.

“Oh all right,” he said resignedly, “Kiss me then.”


“Kiss me,” Faramir said calmly, “Is that not why we have come here? I’ll help soothe your weariness.”

“I love you,” Boromir said gently stroking the pale cheek.

“Then show me,” Faramir said raggedly, taking the hand and guiding it onto his lower body, “Love me here as you have so often done. I know I must share you now, and I will try not to feel insecure, but you must help me if that is to be done.”

Aragorn felt himself harden as he heard the words and blushed in his place behind the trees. He should leave, he knew but Boromir’s declaration and Faramir’s acceptance had left him suffused with such happiness he could not bear to take himself away, and besides … he gasped slightly as Faramir turned his head sideways. Swiftly he moved behind the tree. Had Faramir seen him?

Apparently not, he thought as the two brothers moved into a closer embrace.

“Imp,” Boromir said smiling a little and pulling Faramir close, undid his tunic and began to stroke the chest underneath, “You’ve gone unrecognisably thin,” he said quietly.


“And you have so many more scars… I’m not surprised the healers said you were still not fit to be up!”

“Mm-hmm… kiss me?”

“I should send you back to bed… you’re looking terribly fatigued!”

“I would have you in my bed with me… kiss me, please?”

Boromir sighed and gently slipped his hands into the waistband of the younger man’s pants, lowering them till they rested halfway down his hips, and began nuzzling his neck. He would have to move this indoors…soon.

Faramir made a soft, throaty sound and turned his neck to give him greater access, revelling in the tiny nips that Boromir gave him on his throat, and the hands that wandered between his thighs. His own hands he wound around Boromir’s body, running them up and down the familiar contours of the broad back.

It felt so good, Boromir and he, in this tiny little bower just as before. It had been so long. He smiled dreamily.

“I have missed you so much,” Boromir said hoarsely, as Faramir began nibbling on his ear.

And then suddenly Faramir groaned, not the lust-filled sounds that Boromir loved to hear from him, but a pain-filled sound that tore at Boromir immediately.

Boromir looked up in alarm at the sound and was just in time to grasp Faramir tight as his knees buckled and he swayed, his head falling forward, dark hair flecked with sweat covering his pale face.

“Faramir!” he cried out urgently, “Are you all right?”

Faramir whimpered, and the pain-filled moaning sound did not fail to pierce through the foliage into Aragorn’s ears. The king clenched the tree near him in alarm. Faramir sounded ill…

He crashed out of the bushes, unmindful of how undignified he might be looking with leaves stuck to his tunic, his hair wild, and a very evident hardness showing up around his groin.

“What happened?” he demanded as he strode over to where Boromir was now sitting on the grass, cradling his brother’s limp figure in his arms.

“Aragorn! Oh, thank the Gods you are here… I don’t know… he just cried out… and fell… and… he must be ill. I know you said he is yet to recover, but he never listens to me…”

Aragorn couldn’t help but look closer at the two brothers, both with their shirts undone. And in Faramir’s case, Boromir was frantically undoing the rest of the bindings of his shirt to ease his brother’s breathing and the younger man’s pants had slipped to his hips.

“Aragorn,” Boromir said plaintively, “Please help me…”

“Of course,” Aragorn murmured gently, and sat by him to help remove Faramir’s shirt. His eyes were drawn towards the loosened pants and Boromir noticed his glance.

“We – I”

“Hush, Boromir, it is all right,” Aragorn said quietly.

Boromir flushed.

“I understand,” Aragorn said softly, and with such reassurance in his voice that Boromir felt his doubts lessen. Aragorn had obviously witnessed closeness between brothers before. It was not unknown among Elves and that Boromir himself had witnessed Elrond’s twin sons kissing each other in the great hall in Imladris.

Aragorn was examining Faramir, listening to the beat of his heart and pulse; letting gentle fingers wander swiftly over the prone body. Faramir let out a soft sound almost like a painful sigh and Boromir found himself almost sobbing out aloud.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in anguish, running his fingers over Faramir’s face. He looked so pale and ill…

“I cannot tell,” Aragorn said in a puzzled tone, “He is as yet recovering, that is true, but … perhaps he was merely tired… he appears to be all right, Boromir, well… as well as anyone in his state can be. Do not fear, my dear friend.”

He spoke calmingly and soothingly, aware of the intensity of the love these two men shared. Quietly he removed his own cloak draped it over the younger man, “He will awaken soon, I am sure.” Taking one of Faramir’s hands in his, he began gently rubbing into the soft flesh.

“I always fear for him,” Boromir said softly, “He is everything to me!”

“I know,” Aragorn said softly, unable to keep the wistfulness out of his tone.

Boromir stared up at him sharply, and then his eyes fell as he met Aragorn’s gaze. Often he had noticed in them lust and passion, and of late – tenderness and admiration and love. It was so much like the love he saw shining in Faramir’s eyes.

Faramir stirred a little and he gently brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes before glancing up at Aragorn again. The king leant over Faramir’s figure, the concern radiating off his expression.

“Do not worry,” he told Boromir, “He shall be all right.”

“He will?” Boromir’s voice was pleading, “I know he should not be out as yet and exerting himself so, but he does like it here and – and – we -“

“I understand,” Aragorn said softly, “He has missed you, has he not?”

“Yes,” Boromir said and gave him a grateful look. And then he looked closer at Aragorn and noticed the leaves stuck to the king’s clothes and wondered where he had been.

“I can see why you called him stubborn,” Aragorn said smiling.

“I did?” Boromir said smiling in return, “When?” and then he remembered when and gulped. One night in Lothlorien when he had told Aragorn of how Faramir had once doggedly made his way through a book in Quenya on stars after their father had refused to give him the Westron translation. He felt his face redden as he remembered that night.

“We wished to join you at dinner tonight,” he said quietly.

“I was looking forward to it,” Aragorn said simply, “Oh, get up now, Faramir, I know you’re awake.”

Boromir started in surprise as Faramir opened his eyes and made to rise.

“You knew,” he stated simply.

“I realised it now,” Aragorn replied, “Although I must admit you don’t really have to act. You look terribly ill anyway!”

“I’m quite well,” Faramir said, but he took Boromir’s proffered arm anyway, “You my king, on the other hand, seem to need help,” he stated, as he sat up slowly and glanced at the two men kneeling at his side.

Aragorn noticed his gaze lingered over his lower body and flushed, “I-“

“Let him help you, my king,” Faramir said quietly.

Aragorn flushed even more. Boromir shifted uncomfortably as he noticed Aragorn’s tenseness.

“I noticed you in the bushes, sire,” Faramir said patiently, “Boromir did not I think, but it is time he noticed how you look at him, and that you noticed how he looks at you.”

“I –“ Aragorn bit his lip unhappily to keep from stuttering.

“He is afraid of what I would feel, but I would never keep him away from anyone who would bring him such happiness,” Faramir said slowly.

Boromir made a soft distressed sound at that.

“Nor would I keep him from one who has given him happiness all these years,” Aragorn said quietly.

“I would –,” Boromir interrupted, and then stumbled over his words. Surely they could not have him choose one over the other!

“Would you have us both, Boromir?” Faramir asked quietly, gently, “I would not hold it against you if you would.”

“Nor would I,” Aragorn said and realised that he meant it.

Faramir nudged Boromir forward and Aragorn gently wrapped his arms around his Steward. Faramir made to move back and away from them, but Aragorn’s voice stopped him.

“Stay Faramir,” he said gently, with no trace of command, “Please.”

Boromir looked up at him, his eyebrow raised in a gesture that Aragorn often found strangely endearing.

“You want me to stay?” For the first time that evening Faramir faltered, losing the sense of assurance he’d had earlier.

“Aye,” Boromir said his eyes shining a little “Stay with us. If you will.”

“You would have me?” Faramir asked, colouring a little.

A wordless glance passed between the two older men, and they gently pulled Faramir in between them.

“We would,” Aragorn breathed softly, his face very close to Faramir’s, causing the younger man to flush even more, “If you would.”

“Aye,” Boromir said from behind him, his breath warm against Faramir’s neck, now cold from lying on the damp grass.

“What do you say, My Lord?” Aragorn asked, his voice still soft, his hands gently cupping Faramir’s face.

Faramir looked up worried at this turn of events, wondering if he should even be here, getting in the way of the love his brother and his king shared. His eyes met the king’s and he looked into the sincerity and affection in them.

“I – would be honoured,” he stuttered formally in response.

“Somewhere more comfortable,” Aragorn murmured, “We have time before supper and it gets colder here.”

Faramir could recollect little of how they made it back to his private chambers, which being further away, were the least likely to be guarded or disturbed. Boromir had aided him up through the quieter rear stairways, and to his chagrin he had realised that he did indeed need his brother’s help, for he felt strangely weary and short of breath. Aragorn had followed shortly, slipping in through his doorway as Boromir had set to relighting the fire in the hearth.

There had been little need for words between them, and they had acted in comfortable silence. He had stood quietly, almost nervously, as the two older men had wrapped their arms around him and hugged him lightly.

“We are very glad to have you with us,” Aragorn said, “But you are as yet ailing and you must tell us if ever you feel too unwell, and would prefer to rest.”

“I have rested enough,” Faramir murmured as he felt Boromir’s fingers slide lovingly through his hair, and tried to stifle the yawn that suddenly came up.

“I’m sure you have,” his brother said affectionately, not missing the tired slump in the thin shoulders, “But you will still let us do all the work.”

The cloak fell off Faramir’s shoulders, removed he realised by Boromir. He tried to hold back the shiver that passed through his bare upper body as the cool night air struck him. Boromir pressed cool lips against his shoulder and he sighed raggedly in response as he felt his brother’s skin brush his. Aragorn’s hands had wandered off his face onto his chest and down to his waist where they rested now, warm and reassuring.

Boromir moved away and Faramir could not help but give out a soft desperate sound but Aragorn continued to hold him with one hand, while the other stroked his face gently. He followed the fingers from the corner of his eyes, as they wandered over his cheeks, and neck, and tentatively put his arms around Aragorn’s body.

Aragorn bent forward then and pressed his lips right where Boromir had just done so. Faramir whimpered softly at the feeling. Aragorn’s lips felt different but as nice as Boromir’s had been there, even teeth tugging gently at his skin, a warm tongue licking at the pulled skin, cool lips pressing down, warm fingers pressing against his waist.

He let his hands wander around Aragorn, pushing underneath the loosened tunic, over the span of his back.

Boromir was behind him again then, his arms slipping around Faramir’s waist as well. Aragorn stopped licking at Faramir’s shoulder, and the younger man could feel the other two men kissing over his shoulder.

They nudged him back onto his bed, allowing him to lie back against the cushions, and swiftly divested him off the rest of his clothes. He smiled at them, taking in their loving faces in the flickering glow of the firelight as they set to undress each other. Free of the confines of his clothing, he spread himself comfortably across the bed, raising his legs and parting them. He watched as tunics and trousers came off eagerly, feeling the heat pool in his lower body as both men revealed themselves to him – Boromir’s familiar body, well sculpted and perfectly toned, and Aragorn’s equally perfect frame that he realised he could happily familiarise himself with.

Aragorn leaned forward to kiss Boromir’s mouth. Faramir watched fascinated, as the kiss deepened. They broke apart slowly, and with utmost gentleness and returned to Faramir, stretching out on either side, and he suddenly no longer felt the cold.

And soon he was being kissed, his mouth in Aragorn’s while Boromir gently laid a line of kisses from the back of his neck to his shoulder, before moving up to the spot behind his ears. Faramir moaned aloud into Aragorn’s mouth as Boromir’s very wet tongue swiped that place once, then again, and again. He moaned with each lick, throwing his head back, revealing in the feel of the tongue that explored the inside of his mouth.

There were arms wrapped around him and legs, he realised dreamily, as Aragorn released his mouth and wandered over his throat. Boromir’s arms were wrapped over his upper body, roaming over his chest, brushing over his nipples with deliberate slowness. Aragorn’s arms were lower down over his waist and stomach, his legs thrown causally over Faramir’s calf, holding him very gently in place. Faramir didn’t really mind. He wouldn’t want to go anywhere right now.

He was right where he wanted to be. And he was right where he was wanted.

“Love you,” he said softly, and he did not have to tell them that it was addressed to both.


NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/the-stewards-loves. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!

1 Comment(s)

“He was right where he wanted to be. And he was right where he was wanted.”
And I am reading right what I wanted to read! This story has got all the right elements lined up nicely. What a wonderful birthday gift! And thanks for sharing it with us Iris, happy birthday to you! Do you happen to celebrate your birthday more than once a year? If so, maybe you can ask for more gifts from Minx?

dream.in.a.jar    Sunday 23 April 2006, 23:58    #

Subscribe to comments | Get comments by email | View all recent comments


  Textile help

All fields except 'Web' are required. The 'submit' button will become active after you've clicked 'preview'.
Your email address will NOT be displayed publicly. It will only be sent to the author so she (he) can reply to your comment in private. If you want to keep track of comments on this article, you can subscribe to its comments feed.


Hide | Show adult content

Adult content is shown. [what's this?]

Adult content is hidden.
NB: This site is still for adults only, even with the adult content filter on! [what's this?]


  • DE
  • ES
  • JP
  • FR
  • PT
  • KO
  • IT
  • RU
  • CN