Part 1, The Reasons Why
Their father was at it again, and Boromir could feel his younger brother
shrink into himself even when he remained stiffly tall before the condescension
of the Steward of Gondor. Denethor was a hard man, and showered only
his eldest son with all his affections. Only Boromir was worthy of pride
and love. Only Boromir did things right. Only Boromir should have been
born. It did not matter that most men were proud to have more than one
son. Denethor hated it when Boromir was ill and Faramir was not. Denethor
would rather that Faramir was hurt than his precious Boromir. Boromir
could do no wrong, and Faramir could do no right.
Faramir took the verbal abuse, nodded to his father, and stiffly left
the hall. Boromir had to wait to be dismissed, his own teeth gnashing
at the fawning his father drowned him in. How he disliked his father.
He showed respect to the Steward of Gondor, but he would have walked
away from his father. It was a dilemma. But once he was dismissed he
rushed from the hall, and went in search of his brother. Faramir only
ever tried to win his father’s love, and always failed. One love
he never had to win was Boromir’s. That one was freely given.
It took longer than anticipated to find Faramir, but Boromir heard
the soft sniffling from an empty stall in the stables. The stables were
usually empty, not many in Gondor had horses except for the Steward
and his sons. And those were purchased from Rohan, the Horse Lords to
their northeast. Boromir’s heart shattered at the small sniffles
coming from the young teen. Faramir’s hair, the color of sunset
and gold, and his eyes the color of rare blue stones were inherited
from their mother. Boromir remembered her more than Faramir did. She
had died of illness when they were younger.
Faramir started, startled, and wiped furiously at his eyes when he
saw his older brother. “What do you want?” he snapped, angry
to have been caught in a moment of weakness.
“Don’t let his words wound you, little brother.”
Boromir climbed into the empty stall, and slid an arm around the slighter
shoulders. “He is wrong, and he is bitter. I value you,”
he offered with an encouraging smile.
Faramir leaned against him, clutching at his elder’s tunic. “Why
does he hate me, Boromir? I have only ever tried to do what he wants
and expects, and yet it never pleases him.”
Boromir could not help stroking Faramir’s hair as he held him.
His younger brother was the sensitive one, the gentle one, and the poetic
one. Faramir learned to be a warrior, but he spent much of his time
in the archives, reading and learning. He wrote what Boromir thought
were beautiful poems and songs, and when he sang his voice was likened
to the Elves’. It rang pure and sweet and Boromir felt soothed
by the sound of it. Even when Faramir read to him he felt the tension
of being Denethor’s precious firstborn wash from him and cleanse
him.
“If I had answers, little brother, I would change his heart.”
Boromir settled down, and drew Faramir closer. They were three years
apart in age, he a man grown now, and Faramir nearly so despite his
slight size. “Let not his ugliness tarnish you, Faramir. I love
you, and never will my heart change towards you.”
“And I love you, Boromir.” Faramir was ever grateful for
the love and protection his older brother provided him with. Boromir
often defended him to their father who’s unjust and oft-unprovoked
anger was constantly aimed at him.
Faramir remembered when he was a child, small and slight and afraid
of the creatures that haunted the dark. He would patter barefoot down
the hall until he reached Boromir’s chamber. Not his father’s,
but his brother’s. Boromir would lift the covers and hold him
all night. His love and protection would chase away the fell beasts
that he feared. Sometimes Boromir would tell him stories of valiant
heroes who went on daring adventures and who were invincible. Awed Faramir
would never question how his older brother knew these tales, he would
lie there and listen and liken Boromir to those heroes. In his young
eyes his elder sibling was brave, strong, adventurous, and invincible.
When Boromir was older and women began to smile at him Faramir would
tease him, and Boromir would playfully cuff him. Then Boromir would
seek him out, and recount to him different stories. These were about
the pretty females he’d kissed behind the pantry or stables, or
the one who had boldly shoved her hand between his legs and squeezed
him until he was hard, and then rubbed him until he no longer was. Faramir
had been intrigued and eager to hear more, and Boromir had so wanted
to share these intimate experiences with someone he trusted. He trusted
Faramir above anyone else.
Boromir wanted to end these tears his younger sibling was shedding.
An idea struck him. “I am to meet Adnea soon.”
Faramir knew what that meant. Adnea was teaching Boromir all he would
need to know about intimacy with a female. She had been the one to squeeze
him between his legs. Later she taught him to touch her. Always she
let only so much happen. Enough to tantalize the Steward’s eldest
son, and the youngest’s thoughts. “You do not have to remain
with me, Boromir. I will sit here a while longer, and then go to the
archives. Father never goes into the archives.”
Boromir chuckled, and shook his head. “I would not leave you
yet. Come with me, little brother. I will hide you where she will not
see you, and you can watch us. Today she promises to be with me in truth.”
The thought of it excited Faramir. “She may know I am there.”
“Not if we are careful.” Rising he helped Faramir to his
feet. “Let us go now, and she will never suspect you are there.”
Hidden behind the latticed door of the armoire Faramir watched as
Adnea entered and set the bolt. She then turned, and laughed when Boromir
eagerly yanked her near and kissed her wetly. One of her hands slithered
down and Boromir moved back to give her access so she could squeeze
him between his legs. “You are eager and already hard,”
she licked at her lips.
“And are you eager and wet?” he enquired as he pushed a
hand up her skirts.
She shoved him back. “Not yet.”
Boromir scowled. “What game do you play with me?”
“None,” she purred, easing his temper by rubbing the hardness
that bulged between his legs. She maneuvered them to this backless sofa,
Boromir upon his back with his head resting upon the one arm. Deftly
she undid his trousers and freed him.
Faramir’s blue eyes widened in surprise to see Boromir’s
cock raging boldly from a tangle of light brown curls. It was engorged
and dark. Adnea began to stroke it, her hand wrapping about it and pumping
it while Boromir moaned and gripped the sofa’s sides. Despite
himself Faramir was hypnotized by the look of his sibling as pleasure
contorted his face, and his own cock began to swell. Adnea opened her
bodice and lifted her skirts. She let Boromir’s fingers probe
between her legs for a few seconds, but soon pushed his hand away and
climbed atop him. Faramir’s nostrils flared and he tried to stop
his harsh breathing as he watched Boromir’s cock slide deep inside
her. She lifted and lowered in rapid succession while her lover pinched
and kneaded her breasts. This went on for long moments until she climbed
off him, and Boromir lay with flaccid member and eyes shut. She hurriedly
fixed her clothes and left the room.
“You can come out now, little brother,” Boromir hoarsely
told him.
Faramir did not know if he could. His own member was thrusting painfully
out like a steel lance, and he trembled with need. His blue eyes were
riveted on his brother’s hand as he used a cloth to wipe clean
his cock. Faramir’s hand reached down, and he pressed at his arousal,
his eyes fluttering shut and a mewling little moan escaping him. He
heard Boromir’s heavier footfalls nearing, and he gritted his
teeth and tried to get control of himself.
“Hurry up, Faramir, before Father finds us.”
The mention of their father deflated Faramir’s excitement, as
well as his arousal. Climbing out of the armoire he hurried to his brother.
“Let us be off.”
They sneaked about until they were safely outside by a stream they
often bathed in. “Well? Did you watch?”
His face flaming Faramir began to pull tall blades of grass out of
the ground. “I watched.” He glanced at his blonder brother.
“What does it feel like, Boromir? To be touched thus, and to touch
another?”
“I cannot describe it,” Boromir’s turquoise colored
eyes grew dreamy and distant with the memory. “The pleasure is
immense, and yet not enough.”
“That makes no sense,” Faramir told him. “How can
it be immense but not enough? If it is not enough it cannot be much.”
“Someday, little brother, you will experience it, and understand.”
Boromir rose to his feet, and began to shed his clothes. “While
we are here I should bathe.”
Faramir flushed, and when he caught a glimpse of his brother’s
sexual anatomy he tried not to remember the sight of it engorged or
being touched. “The look on your face was like none I’ve
ever seen on another. I would experience that someday.”
“And you will,” Boromir reassured him before leaping into
the water and surfacing with a laugh. “Come! The water is warm,
and the day hot.”
Faramir nodded, shed his clothes, and rushed into the water. The brothers
laughed and sprayed water at each other. They held contests of who could
remain beneath the surface longest, swim fastest, or wrestle the other
beneath the water. For the moment they were two young males enjoying
a summer’s day and each other’s company. All worries about
Gondor, and their father were but shadows chased away by the sun.
TBC
