The noises of the Citadel were loud and, for the most part, merry.
Barrels of ale were being drawn through the gates, soldiers laughing
amongst themselves safe in the knowledge that today at least they had
the opportunity to do so. For Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor, was
currently not in residence.
Boromir walked through the corridors towards the Great Hall, nodding
cheerfully to the acknowledgements from the soldiers. His eye fell on
the decorations that were littering the Hall, bright and gay, managing
to find some type of breeze with which to flutter majestically. He nodded
in approval, before giving a few more orders to passing guards.
Faramir’s reaction was as he had expected it to be; stunned bewilderment.
His brother, back annoyingly early from Ithilien, had managed to spoil
the total effect of the surprise. However, his touching gratefulness
– albeit mixed with not a small part of misgiving – made
up for this.
"Father would not approve," he said as they walked through the halls.
Boromir rolled his eyes.
"Father is not here, little brother. It is time we celebrated your
birthday the way it should be celebrated."
"With plenty of ale?" Faramir raised an eyebrow. Boromir laughed.
"Of course. Could there be a celebration without it?" He plucked one
of the brightly coloured decorations from the walls and twirled it between
his fingers. "Garish colours and loud noise. Everything that you and
your rangers attempt to avoid!"
"They’re not my rangers," Faramir protested. Boromir
made a pah noise in dismissal.
"Of course they’re your rangers. They’re certainly not
mine, and you know how involved Father gets in the day to day practicalities."
Boromir carefully put the slightly mangled decoration behind Faramir’s
left ear, and stood back to survey this in satisfaction. Faramir gave
him a long suffering look, which Boromir chose to ignore.
"How drunk are you?" asked Faramir suspiciously. Boromir gave him an
innocent grin.
"Drunk?" Boromir pooh-poohed the suggestion. "I’m not drunk!"
Faramir eyed him in disbelief. Boromir rolled his eyes again, which
were seeing a lot of exercise recently.
"I may," said Boromir with exaggerated patience. "have sampled the
ales for tonight. But that is my solemn duty as elder brother. Can’t
have you poisoned now can we. Not on your birthday! Damn rude,"
"My hero," remarked Faramir drily. Boromir looked at him in some surprise.
"You being sarcastic at me?"
"Perish the thought,"
"Well, you’d better start. Otherwise I’m going to have
to assume you’re ill and that would really disappoint your surprise,"
Boromir had moved on to assessing the tables. Faramir watched him cautiously.
"My surprise has the ability to be disappointed?" he asked suspiciously.
Boromir had been hinting all week at some surprise he had stored up
in celebration of his brother’s 20th birthday, and Boromir and
plots never went together well. He had the nasty tendency to either
not think the entirety of it through, or, even scarier, think it through
a little too much. Boromir thinking about anything other than military
tactics for more than fifteen minutes at a stretch was normally a good
reason to be concerned.
Boromir seemed to register the suspicion, and looked back at him.
"You going to be standing there all day or am I going to have to carry
you?"
"What’s the surprise, Boromir?" Faramir stayed rooted to his
spot. Boromir sighed in a dramatic fashion.
"If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise would it,"
"If you told me it would be a surprise because you never tell
me anything!" countered Faramir. Boromir’s brow furrowed.
"That’s not true. I tell you lots of things," he protested.
"When you remember. And that’s normally when I’ve had to
remind you," replied Faramir, his arms folded. "Go on. You’re
only going to tell me anyway once you’ve had enough ale. At least
now I can assume it might be accurate."
Boromir studied his brother thoughtfully. "You," he said idly. "need
some ale in you. Loosen up. It’s your birthday, after all!"
"I don’t do loose well,"
"Don’t I know it. So stiff you could be used as a bookshelf,"
Boromir grinned in amusement. "Not that being stiff is entirely a bad
thing. Your surprise is counting on it,"
Faramir’s comeback comment died in his throat. He blinked at
his brother, who had already managed to get a couple of guards to pass
them a mug or two of one of the new ales.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked suspiciously. Boromir passed him
a mug.
"Full of questions aren’t you!" Boromir sighed, and took a long
swig from his own mug. There was obviously thinking going on. Finally
the mug was lowered. "Look, all I can say is that it’ll be fun
and something to get you properly loosened up, okay?"
"Hmmmm,"
"Trust me,"
"Hmmmmm,"
Boromir sighed. He bet this was all down to that stupid race he’d
organised which had managed to get Faramir two broken ribs from being
thrown from his horse after it had spooked at a badger. And possibly
the time where their late night drinking session with a couple of the
lads backfired and they almost managed to set the throne room alight.
Or possibly the violent illness by a young Faramir after Boromir had
passed him one of the more dubious Gondorian drinks one night. Oh well.
"You’ll like her, don’t worry," he said reassuringly. Faramir’s
ale slopped in the mug at the jump.
"Her?!"
Cursing his lack of control over his vocal cords, Boromir attempted
to soothe the troubled waters. However, the vocal cords were still being
played by someone else entirely.
"Well, yeah." Boromir shrugged. "Thought you might .. like.. okay,
what’s the matter?"
Faramir had been regarding him with something close to horror, his
eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar. Finally, the jaw snapped shut with a
click, and Boromir found himself pulled towards a side room subtly but
purposefully. With the wooden door between them and the general public,
Faramir leant back against it.
"Don’t worry about being nervous," Boromir began, not entirely
sure what was happening. "You’ll be fine once it gets going, in
a manner of speaking,"
"Exactly what," Faramir was obviously having difficulties working his
words. "did you have planned for this girl?"
Boromir looked a trifle worried. "She’s agreed to everything.
In fact, a lot of it she suggested, especially the costume and the nipple
tassels and the .. er… you know," Boromir made an embarrassed
gesture. Faramir looked at him wearily.
"You are aware… that is to say, you do know…," Faramir
trailed off again uncomfortably, and leant back on his door again. "Boromir..
he said finally. "You do know I prefer … uh.. male companions,
don’t you?"
Boromir stared at him. And then had to stare some more.
"You’re …,"
"I’m….," Faramir agreed.
"Oh. Bloody hell," Boromir ran a hand through his hair. Faramir shut
his eyes; he had dreaded telling his brother, fearing that to do so
would invite further distance between him and his family.
"Then who’s going to produce the bloody heirs then?" complained
Boromir. Faramir opened his mouth to reply, ran the sentence through
his mind again, then glanced at his brother in bewilderment.
"What?" Faramir stared at him. "Why can’t you?"
Boromir raised an eyebrow. "For the smart one out of us, you can be
incredibly dense sometimes,"
"You mean you-"
"Got it in two."
"Oh," Faramir thought about this some more. "Then all that late night
sword play was for ..,"
"I still can’t believe you fell for that," A cheshire cat had
nothing on Boromir in the grin department.
Faramir sulked. "Well, you were very believable. You even bothered
to keep up the supposed pulled muscles the next morning!"
"Oh, those were pulled all right. And pushed. And randomly abused."
agreed Boromir.
Faramir dwelt on this image briefly. "I didn’t have you down
as the abused, more the abuser," he admitted. Boromir shrugged.
"I am, "he said. "a man of many talents,"
There was a pause as both members of the family thought about talents.
"So what are you doing about this girl then?" queried Faramir. Boromir
shrugged.
"I’m sure I can find some nice straight bloke for her." Boromir
eyed his brother thoughtfully. "So… got anyone special?"
Faramir raised an eyebrow at him. "Can I translate that as a query
about who I’m fucking at the moment?"
"You may indeed," Boromir grinned at him. "Come on, out with it!"
"Me out with it? You’re the one whose been active for .. what,
five years?"
"Seven, but who’s counting," Boromir shrugged. "And before you
start, the bloody army takes up most of my time. As you know. And I
have to be extremely careful about what activities I take up and where,
due to our father’s supervision."
"Yes, I can’t see him liking it," mused Faramir, who had realised
this was probably one of the oddest conversations he was likely to have
with his brother.
"I don’t want to see him reacting to it at all, personally,"
replied Boromir briskly. "Which is why he’s not going to know.
ANYWAY, we were talking about you."
Faramir looked embarrassed, and the floor got a damn good looking at.
Boromir waited patiently, which was another rare thing for him.
"Well," Faramir said awkwardly. "I’m not really .. well versed
in the .. uh… practical side. More the theory,"
Boromir frowned in puzzlement. "Theory?"
"Thinking. Assessing. I suppose you might not have come across them
much,"
"Don’t be cheeky," growled Boromir cheerfully. He rubbed his
chin with a hand thoughtfully. "So, you’ve been thinking and assessing
stuff rather than actually going out there and doing it?"
"What, you want me to grab someone off the streets?" Faramir sighed.
"And it’s not just thinking. It’s reading too,"
"I think I might be able to arrange… reading? What d’you
mean, reading?"
"It’s where you look at written symbols on parchment and see
words in them," supplied Faramir helpfully. Boromir growled at him again.
"Yes, thank you very much. Exactly what have you been reading?"
Faramir shrugged. "There’s this bit in the library to the back
where we have some old dusty books and scrolls, most of them elvish.
The Ithilien rangers have been teaching me to read elvish, and the pictures
aren’t that difficult to work out either,"
Boromir blinked. He had always assumed elves to be stuck up princesses
more obsessed with walking gracefully through sun-dappled forests than
the more dubious aspects of nature. After all, this sort of thing was
messy.
"Elves, eh?"
"Kinky bastards apparently," agreed Faramir. "They have this one where
he’s just ..," hands attempted to gesture to exactly what this
chap was doing and failed miserably. ".. uh, I think you’d have
to look yourself. There’s a bit I’m not sure what he’s
doing, but if it’s what I think it is it certainly doesn’t
look comfortable."
Boromir looked like he was in a world of his own. Faramir snapped fingers
in front of his nose to bring him back to reality.
"So…," he prompted. Boromir still looked blank. "You might be
able to arrange…?"
"Oh. Yes! Well, I’m sure I can arrange something little brother."
Boromir paused as he noticed further embarrassed shufflings from said
brother. "Something the matter or have ants taken camp in your breeches?"
Faramir looked painfully embarrassed. "I .. uh.. I’m not sure
I can do it with just anyone, brother,"
"I wouldn’t put you with just anyone!" Boromir grinned, which
fell slowly as Faramir didn’t return this smile. The frown returned.
"Why, who did you want?"
"Uh,"
"Don’t know him." Boromir folded his arms. "Try again,"
Faramir twisted uncomfortably some more, which was making Boromir feel
uneasy. There was a pause of about a minute or so. Finally Faramir,
who had been taking a deep interest in his boots, took a deeper breath
than usual.
"Uh. Well. It has to be someone I trust really well. Know them in and
out, so to speak,"
"Well, who do you know like that?" Boromir’s mind ran through
the ranger possibilities, not that he actually knew them that much.
The Ithilien rangers tended to shy away from the ale parties they threw,
which was a shame for learning about his brother’s work but a
distinct plus when it came to how much beer was to be shared out. Faramir
was looking even more uncomfortable.
"That’s just it. I can only think of .. well, one person who
I’d trust that far,"
Boromir looked at him. "Who is…?" he prompted. There was another
agonising silence. The boots were back to be studied. Boromir sighed.
"Look, if you want to be able to shag them you have to be able to say
their name," A lop sided smile appeared. "It’s good manners,"
Faramir looked at him wretchedly. There was another long pause.
"So…?" Boromir felt the conversation needed to be poked some
more. Faramir gave him what could only be classified as an incredulous
look.
"You still haven’t worked it out?"
"Lets just say I’m very thick," Boromir shrugged and picked up
his ale again which had been placed on a table after the whole pushing
thing. Faramir gave him a look which stated that no one could be that
thick. Boromir rolled his eyes.
"Go on, who. I’m unshockable."
Faramir watched his brother take a mouthful of ale. "It’s you,
you stupid idiot,"
The ale went down the wrong way. Once the airways had been cleared
through a remarkable amount of splutterings, Boromir stared at Faramir
in stunned bewilderment. Faramir closed his eyes slowly.
"I thought you couldn’t be shocked," he said slowly.
"Shocked, no. Easily surprised, yes," Boromir ran his hand through
his hair in thought. Faramir opened his eyes a crack to observe this.
"So I guess the surprise is off?" he remarked idly. Boromir glanced
at him.
"Why?"
Faramir blinked at him. "Have you even been listening to the conversation?"
Boromir gave him a lazy grin. "Actually, yes. So lets go find these
documents of yours and start doing some practical research, eh?"
Faramir looked stunned. In fact, Boromir mused, that was probably the
expression he would expect if the Ithilien rangers were suddenly faced
and overthrown by a bunch of killer badgers in tutus. Not that they
were likely to. In fact, he really had to stop thinking about badgers
full stop.
He put his hand on the door handle.
"So…," he prompted again. Faramir seemed to come out of his daze.
"Yes! Right!"
"Onwards! To the library!"
And with that unusual war cry issuing forth from one who had a distinct
suspicion of book infested libraries, they were off.
"What the hell is that?"
There was the sound of papers rustling as the book was moved to a more
suitable angle to observe the picture.
"I have no idea. I think it’s a trumpet," mused Faramir.
"Really?" There was a pause while Boromir looked slightly closer. "
It doesn’t look as though it’s been well looked after,"
"I’m not surprised given where it’s been placed,"
There were further rustling as the pages were turned. A somewhat amused
chuckle came from Boromir.
"That looks bloody uncomfortable. Don’t get any ideas, little
brother, my legs do NOT work like that,"
"Elves are more flexible,"
"There’s flexibility and then there’s being able to kiss
your own arse,"
"That’s something of an exaggeration, Boromir. And besides,"
there was a grin inserted here. "you manage to kiss your own arse all
the time,"
There was the sound of a hand connecting lightly to the back of Faramir’s
head.
"Hey! You can’t slap me, it’s my birthday," protested Faramir.
Boromir shrugged happily.
"Put it down to some type of bondage fetish," he suggested. Faramir
frowned.
"I suppose that’ll work in some twisted way," he said slowly.
Boromir flicked through a few more pages idly.
"You have something against bondage?"
"I think I’ll be allergic. I’d come out in bruises," said
Faramir drily, and leaned over to see which lithograph Boromir had paused
at now. It was one of several elves, intertwined with each other, a
mass of graceful erotism and an amazing lack of .. well, mess. It was
possibly the neatest orgy Boromir had ever seen.
"If I’d tried that in a forest I’d get a pinecone stuck
up my arse," he complained. Faramir smiled and looked at the picture
a little harder.
"Boromir, you don’t have to do this," he said almost as casually
as before, his hand turning the page. Boromir paused the page on another
picture which showed a novel use for a waterfall.
"I know," he agreed cheerfully. "Looks cold, eh?"
But Faramir was not focusing on waterfalls. "Honestly, Boromir. If
this is some noble gesture you want to do-"
"Have I ever done any noble gesture that I haven’t actually wanted
to do?" Boromir released the book.
"Yes."
There was a pause. "That’s besides the point," Boromir waved
a hand grumpily. "This isn’t a noble gesture for the good of mankind.
This is a gesture which is for the good of me and you."
"Many would disagree with you,"
"Many think that purple trousers are the most tasteful evening wear
at diplomatic meetings. What should I care for their opinions?" Boromir
folded his arms stubbornly.
"Father would disagree with you," Faramir said softly. Boromir paused.
Father was definitely not someone in the purple trouser category.
"Father disagrees with everything. Especially to do with you." Boromir
moved forward to put his hands on his brother’s shoulders, having
worked out that he was probably not going to win any long and serious
debate with his little brother. Action was called for, and any mess
could be sorted at a later date. Faramir relaxed against his brother’s
hands, his eyes drifting shut.
"This is not assisting your argument," he said softly.
"As far as I’m concerned, these many people can go and .. copulate
with themselves."
"Have you been extending your vocabulary again? Dangerous business,"
Faramir sighed as Boromir began to massage the shoulder area. Boromir
leant over and kissed his brother’s neck gently and cautiously.
There was no murmur of discontent from Faramir. Encouraged, Boromir
ran his tongue along the soft skin, occasionally nibbling when the mood
took him.
Faramir shifted uncomfortably, his breeches becoming an issue.
"So you want to take or be taken?" murmured Boromir in his ear. Faramir
paused, not realising he would have a choice in the matter.
"Uh,"
"Speaking of vocabularies, yours really needs to be extended." Boromir
grinned, his hands slipping over the shoulders and across his brother’s
chest. "Choices need to be made."
"I suppose I don’t need to ask whether you’d be gentle,"
Faramir’s words were just above a whisper.
"That’s right. I’m never gentle." Boromir laughed as Faramir
immediately tried to sit up straighter. "Kidding, kidding! Gentle as
a lamb, me. Well, if lambs got into this situation and then you’d
probably have to fish out all the wool-"
"Boromir, please stop talking,"
"Okay." Boromir’s lips were back on the neck, his hands having
travelled down Faramir’s chest to tug on the hem of the tunic.
Boromir pulled back a few centimetres. "This," Tug tug. "Off. Now."
Faramir hesitated for a few seconds, before doing as his brother requested.
Said brother had wandered back to the door and ensured that it was fully
locked, although the question why this section of the library needed
a lockable door was obviously one that needed to be breached at a later
date. This part was his father’s own reading material, which suggested
some .. well, interesting answers.
Having satisfied himself that they would indeed be left alone, Boromir
turned and stripped off his own clothing with practised ease, throwing
the clothes aside and draping the fur-lined cloak on the floor which
he had specially retrieved from his room. Faramir’s eyes grew
bigger as Boromir completely unself-conciously rid himself of his breeches,
the fire in the corner of the room – another mystery in a book
favoured area – solving any problems with cold air reaching parts
that cold air was banned from.
"Come here," Boromir’s voice was soft. Faramir dragged himself
off the chair and walked unsteadily to his brother, who was assessing
him thoughtfully.
"You’ve filled out," he said approvingly. "although I note the
leggings are still on."
"You ordering me about on my birthday?" Faramir nevertheless started
fumbling with the drawstring on the breeches. Boromir considered this.
"Apparently so. However, I swear I’ll make it up to you," Boromir
grinned lazily as he watched. Before the breeches had even finished
hitting the ground Boromir had stepped forward and captured Faramir
in a long kiss. Faramir resisted at first, then moved into it, his hands
beginning to explore the powerful muscles of his brother’s back
with curiosity mixed with a good dose of desire.
Boromir finally broke off the kiss, running his hand between them.
Faramir shut his eyes slowly, his head lolling back slightly as Boromir
gently touched him, each time sending what seemed like electric shots
through his body. He groaned in approval. Boromir grinned again with
a lop sided smile, and pulled away briefly to pick up a bottle which
he had left on the table.
Faramir opened his eyes slightly to view what was going on.
"What’s that?"
"Some type of oil. I can never remember,"
"What’s it for?" Faramir frowned at him. Boromir looked at him
blankly, then gave a quick glance to the books.
"Don’t tell me your elves do it without do they? Definitely kinky
buggers," Boromir shook his head in what appeared to be admiration,
then looked back at his brother. "It’s for.. well, making it easier.
Don’t worry, I can show you,"
"Sounds messy," It also sounded culinary, but Faramir didn’t
want to say that in case spices turned up as well.
"Sex is messy. Or at least the good stuff anyway," replied
Boromir cheerfully, pouring a little over his fingers and rubbing them
together. Faramir eyed him cautiously. "Don’t worry. Or at least
worry knowing there’s nothing to fear from it anyway."
"Your cloak is likely to get messed up,"
"You stalling?"
"Well… uh…,"
"Thought so," Boromir stepped forward and re-captured Faramir in a
long and lingering kiss, his non-oiled hand pressing Faramir’s
body to him. His brother almost melted against him, a whimper issuing
from his throat. Boromir’s other hand carefully drifted lower.
He caught Faramir as the younger man jumped against him at the feel
of Boromir’s touch.
"Shhhh," soothed Boromir. "S’okay."
Faramir tried to relax against him again, but the feel of Boromir’s
finger gently circling him was disconcerting to say the least. He looked
at the soft grey-green eyes of his brother, who was watching him carefully,
and smiled. His eyes shut briefly again at the feel of another finger
carefully inserting itself in him, his breathing tight and controlled.
"You okay?"
Faramir nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Boromir chuckled to
himself, carefully increasing his movements. This position was not the
greatest for such actions however. He withdrew his fingers carefully,
and was further encouraged by a sulky protest.
"Lie on the cloak," he instructed. "On your back,"
"I don’t get a please?" Faramir did what he was told however.
Boromir shrugged.
"Sometimes," he said gravely. "pleases are just not available,"
Faramir paused. "That made no sense whatsoever,"
"Hey, I’m a fighter not a philosopher," Boromir shrugged, and
knelt down between his brother’s legs, moving them apart gently.
"I feel like I’m about to give birth," complained Faramir. Boromir
leant across him, his fingers back to their original target.
"Allow me to change that," he said solemnly, and smiled as Faramir
arched against him. Ah, that was better; he actually had room to move,
and chances to go to even further depths. Faramir seemed to be getting
far too involved, moving his hips to try to get Boromir’s fingers
even further in. A natural, it seemed. Boromir risked another finger.
Faramir dropped his head back and groaned, although his hips never stopped
moving against his brother.
Boromir finally re-rescued the oil bottle and spread some more on his
hands, sliding his hands over his burning arousal to fully coat it.
Faramir watched with sleepy looking eyes as his brother touched himself,
a slow and hungry smile on his face. The bottle was once again abandoned,
Boromir finally moving back between Faramir’s legs, bracing his
brother’s legs against his arms to position himself properly.
"You ready?" Boromir held back from pressing into his brother, his
eyes scanning Faramir for any signs of distress.
"I’m ready! Hurry up!"
Boromir rolled his eyes, then gently started to push into Faramir.
His brother went silent as Boromir slowly and gradually entered his
body.
"You still okay?" Boromir was a little concerned at the lack of ..
well, anything. Faramir gave a half laugh, his eyes not opening.
"Please tell me you’re not going to ask that at every thrust
are you?" he grinned. Boromir sighed in a melodramatic fashion, and
began to increase his movements, not least because his body desperately
demanded it. Faramir groaned, as Boromir rested, buried up to the hilt
in his younger brother.
"You out of energy already?" teased Faramir when it became obvious
that Boromir was being overly cautious. "Get on with it, soldier!"
"Sir!" Boromir grinned, and began to thrust into Faramir, the speed
and care of the thrusts losing cohesion every so often. Faramir squirmed
against him, trying to get him deeper inside him, when suddenly he cried
out loudly as Boromir slammed into what appeared to be the centre of
every nerve in his body, his back arching against the floor.
"Hey, quieten down!" Boromir glanced at the door, only half joking.
"We are in a library you know!"
"Fuck that," gasped Faramir. "What the hell did you just do?"
Boromir shrugged, and thrust in again. Faramir let out a strangled
moan.
"That."
"Well, don’t start talking, just get on with it!" Faramir was
becoming extremely demanding. Boromir was more than happy to oblige.
His own self control was becoming more than a little frayed around the
edges, his climax approaching in a very determined manner. Boromir groaned,
tried to resist, but failed miserably, exploding into his brother with
a muffled cry.
"By the Valar…," he gasped, his breathing all over the place.
Faramir laughed.
"Nice endurance you have there!"
"Huh!" Boromir withdrew from him, a sulky but amused expression on
his face. "Okay, lets see how well you do, shall we?"
Faramir lifted himself slightly off the floor, his face frowning slightly.
" What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, brother dearest," Boromir’s grin was still wide and
lazy. " that it’s your turn,"
Faramir still looked at him in incomprehension. "Are you saying..?"
the look of shock was evident on his brother’s face. "I can’t!"
It was Boromir’s turn to look in incomprehension. "What do you
mean, you can’t? You mean you don’t want to?"
"No! I just .. can’t!"
Boromir looked baffled. "Why not?"
Faramir waved a hand in the door’s direction. "Father would go
ballistic if he knew!"
"He goes ballistic anyway!" protested Boromir. "Where your cock is
at the time is unlikely to make much difference!"
"You’re the heir. You go on top," Faramir folded his arms stubbornly.
Boromir gave him a Look.
"That is possibly the most stupid thing I’ve heard all day,"
"But it’s true. It’s not my place."
Boromir made an "arrrgggh!" noise and ran his hand through his hair,
forgetting that the fingers were slightly oily still and causing some
interesting hair sculptures.
"I’ve told you. Your place is with me. What I do, so can you,"
"You might be talented, brother, but even you cannot fuck yourself."
Faramir was still being stubborn. Boromir eyed him in impatience, then
turned and dropped to his knees, his back facing Faramir. Faramir shifted
himself into a sitting position, his frustrations becoming even louder
at the sight of his brother waiting for him.
"Come on, Faramir. You can do it." Boromir had relocated the oil bottle
once more, and slicked up his fingers. Making sure everything he did
was designed to torment, he carefully and slowly started to open himself
up, his fingers sliding deliberately slowly to show Faramir exactly
what was going on. Faramir swallowed, the burning in his groin reaching
fever pitch.
"I cannot," he said softly and hesitantly. His body begged to differ.
"Come on Fara." Boromir shook his hips in what he hoped was an inviting
way and not looking as though he had cramp. Faramir moved to his knees,
shifting forward, his hands finally lying on Boromir’s hips.
"I don’t know what to do," he said helplessly. Boromir glanced
over his shoulder.
"Really? I would ask those elves for your money back then," Boromir
grinned. "Come on, there’s not many choices. Unless you want to
try to unblock my ear wax,"
"Romantic thought there," Faramir complained cheerfully as he lined
himself up as best he could. "Do I need to .. well, oil up or anything?"
"Nah, I’ll be fine. Just thrust and go, Faramir," Boromir shut
his eyes as he felt Faramir nudge against him experimentally, then timed
his push back just at the right time. Faramir almost yelped as he pushed
into the tight warm of his brother swiftly, Boromir dropping his head
slightly as he adjusted to the sudden invasion.
"You okay, Boromir?" Faramir asked anxiously. Boromir took a few moments
to recover.
"Me? I’m good. Go on!"
Faramir did not need much encouragement. After the initial caution,
he was thrusting heavily inside him, Boromir attempting to keep in a
steady position against the enthusiasm. His knees, which were just past
the fur cloak, were going to kill in the morning. Thankfully, Faramir
had needed little in the way of additional stimulus. After a minute
or so, Faramir tensed and thudded back into Boromir one last time, a
loud cry accompanying his climax. Anyone passing would no doubt think
there was a war in here, thought Boromir drily.
Faramir flopped to the floor as he pulled out, energy completely drained
from his body. He looked at his brother, panting softly, and smiled.
"So do I get this for all my birthdays?" he asked softly. Boromir rolled
over, and grinned at him.
"And other such celebrations,"
"Such as?"
Boromir looked thoughtful. "I’ve always found nights to be extremely
beautiful. Worthy of .. well, celebration, wouldn’t you say?"
"Every night? You’ll be dead within a week,"
Boromir leaned forward, grinning. "Now that’s," he said.
"a challenge,"
