Disclaimer: Property of New Line Cinema and J.R.R. Tolkien’s estate and heirs, not ours.


This was wrong; he knew it was wrong to watch so avidly, to want him so deeply. But Boromir was perfection, even Father said so; held him up as an example for… everything. Not surprising, to his mind, that he worshiped such perfection. But he knew enough not to be obvious, or at least, not so obvious as to attract Father’s attention. Not after what happened to that pair of guards.

Not after he’d heard…

Faramir shuddered, and refused to think about it any more. Instead he watched the graceful arch of his older brother’s body. The way the sweat caught the sunlight and reflected it, the gleam of teeth bared in joyful effort. Watched the swing of the sword, the dip and strike and recoil of Boromir’s body moving exactly as he willed.

He wanted what knew he could never, ever have.

But this much, he was allowed.


Faltering, Boromir almost missed the block, catching the gleam of the sun thrown from red-blond hair. Firmly, he turned his attention to his back to his swordwork, or tried to. Now that he knew, he could feel those eyes burn into him.

Watching him.

He couldn’t help but turn, breathing deeply, holding his sword just so. Helplessly displaying himself like a strutting rooster, even though those eyes just worshiped him the way all younger brothers worshiped their elders.

As soon as Faramir grew up, those eyes would turn away.

It couldn’t be bad to enjoy it while it lasted, could it?


Faramir tried not to gasp when Boromir turned just so. His brother was a golden god in his vision, and the sunlight could not leave him alone. It played down over his sweat-dark hair, over his broad shoulders and back, limning him in radiance.

If there was something beyond perfection, Boromir embodied it.

The way he moved, the easy laugh when the match was over, the ready grin for his defeated opponent and the clap on the back… for a moment, it was all too easy to hate the soldier with whom Boromir had sparred.

Then he recalled himself, recalled his father’s sharp eyes and sharper tongue, and the reasons why he could not be so possessive.

Recalled that he did not have the right to be so possessive.

He looked back over the courtyard, saw Boromir picking up his shirt, and pushed his unbrotherly feelings deep deep down before pasting a grin to his face and stepping out of the shadows.

He couldn’t have Boromir, but he couldn’t not be around him, either; he was drawn as a moth to a flame.

And he would relish the flame.


Boromir could not help his smile when he saw Faramir leave the shadows in which he’d hidden. It was always thus, and there were days when it seemed to him that his brother was the only thing that could bring a smile to his face.

Faramir’s hair glowed copper-red in the sun, and he moved with none of the awkwardness with which a youth was usually plagued.

A youth, he reminded himself, before he got lost in the bright blue eyes. All too soon, he will realize that I am not perfect, and he will move on. He will realize…

He will realize that my love is more than just what I should feel, that it is so very wrong, and he will despise me.

But he let none of the despair these thoughts brought him show in his face, and when Faramir was close enough, he rested his hand on his shoulder. Smiling, he said, “‘Tis good to see you, little brother.”

This is what I can have. I will be satisfied.


The warmth of his brother’s hand on his shoulder branded him, even as he wished he could move closer, bathe in the unique scent of Boromir’s musk mixed as it was with salt-sweat and the metallic tang of steel. He wanted to enfold himself within the brightness of the smile he wistfully claimed as his alone. He wanted to be able to do so much more than smile back foolishly, his every dream damnably visible in his eyes. He had to look away, wrench himself from that wonderful smile he’d never seen Boromir bestow on anyone else – and then, of course, he stumbled.

He’d curse his stupid, bumbling feet, except they threw him exactly where he ached to be.

Enough to add new fuel for his fantasies; the feel of sweat-slicked hair over flat planes of muscle, close enough to almost taste; arms automatically wrapping around and steadying him, hand hot on the curve of his waist, the fingers flexing in a way he could pretend presaged pulling him closer.

Faramir drew in a shuddering breath, even as Boromir chuckled indulgently.

He shut his eyes, unable to look up, feeling embarrassment and lust mix unbearably, heating his cheeks to a burning brightness, even as his manhood lengthened.

Even in laughing at him, Boromir was perfection. There was none of the cutting edge to his laughter. It should have made his embarrassment ascendant, but instead, it merely heightened his arousal.

He had never been more grateful that the length of his tunic was so generous.


Faramir smiled back, brief bright sweetness before looking self-consciously away. About to remove his hand, Boromir tightened his grip instead as his brother suddenly fell into his arms, slender calloused hands bracing against gravity’s sway, pressing into his bare chest.

Swiftly bringing his other arm around, heedless of the shirt he dropped in his haste, Boromir reached out to grip his brother’s waist – purely to keep him from falling. Or so he was sure it would look.

No one need know that he was fighting the urge to pull him closer. That he wanted to lean in until he could find the source of the faint, slightly sweet scent that always marked Faramir’s presence.

No need for anyone to notice the thrill he had when he realized that his brother was wearing one of his old tunics or how much he wanted to remove it…

Though if he didn’t let go soon, he’d have to think of something stronger than the thought of Father fornicating with the statuary to keep control of his unruly flesh.


For a span of rapid heartbeats, he wavered. There was no small part of him that wanted to feign illness, so he could have an excuse, however slight, for swaying forward against that wide chest. Boromir would pick him up, cradling him gently, and take care of him, as he had done every time he had been sick in the past.

Would the heat in his cheeks pass for a fever other than that of lust?

But even as his body tried to take the decision away from him, he realized that he could not – that if he did fall against Boromir now, his brother would feel the way his sex had hardened, and would turn from him in disgust.

In a flash, he was reminded that brothers should not feel this way about each other.

So, he steeled himself, making sure his feet would not betray him again – oh, sweet betrayal! – and straightened away.

“I’m sorry, brother,” he said. “I don’t mean to be so clumsy.” He glanced up into Boromir’s face quickly, and away, and it was only as his brother’s hands slowly drew away that he registered what he had seen.

Had Boromir actually looked… hurt when he pulled away?

No, it couldn’t be.

But he looked again, anyway.


It was so very difficult to keep what he felt from his face when Faramir found his feet again. It felt like rejection, and it was impossible to stop the emotions from dancing across his face – need unfulfilled, guilt, pain.

Deep blue eyes met his for an instant before falling away again, and Boromir cursed himself, even as he followed Faramir’s wishes and let him stand on his own.

“Worry not!” he forced himself to reply, as heartily as he could manage. “You’ve simply yet to grow into your feet.”

For some reason, though, he could not bring himself to finish the ancient joke.

Instead – and he groaned at his lack of self-control – he brushed his hands over Faramir’s shoulders once again, smoothing the familiar old tunic. “I’ve not seen this one in years,” he said. “What made you decide to wear it now?”

Faramir looked up at him with hooded eyes. “I’ve outgrown all my own, and thought you wouldn’t mind… Should I give it back?”

And then, Boromir looked, really looked at his little brother. And he saw that he was no longer a youth, but nearly a man. He’d not gotten his full growth yet, but his shoulders were already much broader than he recalled, and he could feel the firm muscle beneath his hand.

The last bastions of his resolve started to crumble, and he felt a tremor in his hand where it rested on Faramir’s shoulder.

Suddenly, even the image of his father naked in the midst of a council meeting would not make his manhood submit.


He couldn’t help his pointed question; he was forever fruitlessly attempting to catch up to Boromir, but that old joke hurt, especially from his brother’s lips.

And Borormir looked at him. A full sweep of green eyes studying him from his head to his toes, scrutiny enough to make him shake inside; he didn’t understand why he earned such a look now. It fanned the heat curling low in his belly, that flushed his cheeks, and he desperately hoped that his borrowed tunic would not fail of its duty.

He barely managed to keep his eyes up, watching. He had to know, now that his brother was finally starting to see him as an adult. He had to see the walls come up, the careful distance he knew his brother would put between them that was present whenever Boromir looked on any one he thought of as an equal. He longed for that distance even as he feared it.

It was the only sign of his manhood that he cared to measure himself against.

So he watched, soaking up every fragment of emotion, memorizing the light touch of his brother’s hands on his shoulders, savoring the knowledge that he was wearing something that had once belonged to Boromir, even as he wished he himself did.

And saw such clear want stamped across Boromir’s strong features that even his pessimistic paranoia could not convince him he saw otherwise.

His breath fled him, his heart pounded, blood pooled mercilessly in his loins, and he couldn’t move, wallowing in the knowledge of Boromir’s desire.

For him.


He was showing far too much in his face, in his eyes; Faramir was too close for him to be displaying this much of what he felt, but the simple fact of his brother’s closeness was what caused him to feel so much that was not fraternal. A battle he’d been fighting for so long, only to be undone by searing blue eyes looking defiantly up at him from within the circle of his own arms. So very close and yet such a large divide between them.

He fully expected to see his brother pull away in disgust – there was no way even blind adoration could mistake his carnal lust for anything but what it was.


Instead, Faramir’s whole face softened, his mouth fell open slightly, and his eyes darkened; his cheeks paled and his body swayed almost imperceptibly closer.

Boromir bit his lip against what he wanted to say, shocked beyond belief to see his lust returned so clearly –

In the middle of the courtyard, with one of the soldiers a bare span of steps away, and well within sight of any prying eyes from the castle rearing up around them. He took in a shuddering breath, and forced himself to let go – but unable to deny himself a light brush of his fingers against his brother’s cheek, ostensibly to push golden-red strands away from his face.

He was quite proud of himself that he managed actual words, inviting Faramir to pick other tunics from his closet that he had yet to pack away.

This was not the place for what he wanted; he hoped Faramir would follow his thought and join him.

Now, all he had to figure out was how to manage to walk without proclaiming his condition, and the cause of it, to everyone in the castle…


Surely, surely this is one of the hallmarks of the end of the world, Faramir thought, dazed.  The stubborn pessimist in him could not, would not believe that Boromir returned his feelings.  That Boromir desired him in return.

The feel of strong, hard fingers caressing his cheek, however… It jolted him, made his heart pound madly in his chest.

He barely heard Boromir’s offer of other tunics, almost missed the implications in the invitation.  But even as his brother’s hand retreated from his face, he stared into the impassioned green eyes, and understanding dawned.  He gave Boromir a rare bright smile, and took strange delight in the quick intake of breath he tried to muffle.

“I’ve finished my studies for the day,” he said, not even noticing how breathless he sounded.  All he could see was Boromir, so beautiful in the sunlight, remembering the way his touch seared him even through his clothes.

The way it almost made him feel claimed.

And he wanted

Swallowing, trying to keep his voice from trembling with the desire threatening to overwhelm him, he went on, “If you’ve nothing more pressing to do, may I choose some now?”

His brother’s eyes darkened even more, boring into him, and he saw that his mouth was open slightly, heard him panting ever so softly, as if he were winded from his practice match.

Then Boromir nodded slowly, eyes locked on his face.  “Now… that is fine,” he replied, his voice husky and warm, sending more blood to his groin.  “I have… many tunics that will fit you now.”

Unaccountably, this made Faramir’s face heat even more, and he tore his gaze from Boromir’s, knowing that if he continued to look at him, he would lose what little control he still had.

Catching sight of Boromir’s shirt on the ground, he ducked to pick it up.  Then, grinning, one eyebrow arched, he gave it to his brother.  “Then… shall we?”


Some part of Boromir was faintly scandalized at Faramir’s choice of words.  Nothing more pressing to do? By the Valar, Faramir! 

The words went straight to his manhood, causing it to throb and twitch in his breeches.  He caught hold of a thin edge of control and reined himself back, before he attacked his brother in broad daylight.

Staring into his brother’s eager face, he saw no subterfuge, and belatedly, he realized that Faramir had not yet had the experience of being around foul-mouthed and foul-minded soldiers for very long.  He probably doesn’t even know how crudely the soldiers speak, and how seemingly innocent words may hold double meanings…

Somehow, he was able to form words once more, and though it did not sound quite normal to his ears, nor to Faramir’s, by his sudden flush, it would not raise the suspicions of anyone nearby.

And when with a flourish Faramir handed him his abandoned shirt, he returned his grin.  There was a way to make it back inside and through the corridors to his room without looking like a rutting animal.  He draped his shirt over his arm, held it close to the front of his body and gestured with his free hand.  “Indeed, we shall.  Lead on, little brother.”

Faramir nearly stumbled over his own feet again in his impatience.  But it was only as they left the courtyard, his brother just in front of him, that Boromir suddenly grasped what he had done, and groaned at his own stupidity.

Long legs, muscular calves and thighs outlined by the clinging material of his breeches… Thankfully, the tunic was long enough to shield Faramir’s behind from his gaze.

He wasn’t sure that he would be able to follow Faramir all the way to his room without wanting to kiss him senseless when they got there.

Or even before.


He walked as swiftly as he dared; Boromir a furnace behind him. He fancied he could feel his brother’s eyes roaming his backside, though surely that was wistful thinking. He didn’t have the muscled legs of the soldiers did to admire.

But even as he devoured the distance from the bright sunlight to his brother’s room, his doubts grew. This was too good to be true; he must have misread something, mistook some cue of Boromir’s for lust when really it was…

Well. Faramir wasn’t sure what else that look in his brother’s eyes could have meant, but he’d always been second-best in his life; he couldn’t truly believe that this time, when it mattered the most, that he was actually first.


He should have been thinking of consequences. He should have been thinking that Father wished for him to be an example for good not ill. His duty was quite clear – he should have turned Faramir away. Should have finished the joke, should have stepped aside and cloaked his feelings behind acceptable, if rough, humor.

But he couldn’t bear to.

Not even when he could literally see the doubts settle deeper upon his brother. He knew that if he did what duty demanded, Faramir would assume that what they shared in the courtyard meant next to nothing.

This one time, Boromir would sacrifice duty for desire.


Despite the haze of wanting that cloaked his mind, Faramir could feel doubt gnawing at his heart.  He didn’t want to discover that he’d misread his brother’s feelings so completely, when he thought he’d known him so well.  He didn’t want to find that he was seeing more than was there, didn’t want this to be some cruel jest of the universe.

He didn’t want Boromir to turn away from him, however unlikely that seemed.

Of their own volition, his steps slowed as he reached the corridor that held his room and Boromir’s.  He glanced behind, as if waiting for his brother to catch up, but…

But Boromir was right behind him, so close he almost trod on his heels, and he looked surprised at Faramir’s slackening pace.  He parted his lips as if to speak.

Too quickly, he turned away, strode down the corridor to Boromir’s chamber and opened the door, berating himself and wondering what he could have possibly been thinking.  How could I have believed he… desired me?  When he is so perfect, and I am not? It must have been a moment of madness…

He stepped into his brother’s room, toward the cabinet that housed his clothes, intending now only to take his brother at his word, refusing to believe what his eyes had seen.

Surely it can’t have been real…

A hand as hot as flame wrapped around his arm, and in an instant, he found himself up against the door, closed once more, Boromir’s wide body leaning against him, pressing him into the solid wood behind him.  Startled, he tried to take a breath, but instead, his mouth was taken by Boromir’s, and the world stopped.


To say that he was surprised by the way Faramir’s pace slowed as they approached his bedchamber was an understatement.  He had been so caught up in his appreciation of his brother’s form that he’d nearly walked right over him when he paused.

The look that he cast over his shoulder, though – it struck him, wounded him to the heart.  The doubt in the blue eyes was clear.

He didn’t know the cause – whether Faramir was having the second thoughts that he should have had about the wrongness of what he wanted so to do, or whether there was some other root – but it pained him.  That his brother would doubt him hurt him more than a thousand arrows.

And in his mind, so addled with lust, there was only one way to reassure him.

Distracted as his brother was by his thoughts, it was easy to catch hold of his arm and pin him against the door.

And then… there was no thought of consequences, of duty, of good or ill; there was only Faramir.

It felt so very right to have Faramir against him, to feel his body hot against his, to hear the way his pulse raced in his veins.  He dipped his head to kiss him, as he’d been longing to for so very long, and did not have to bend far to do so.

That Faramir’s mouth was slightly open was a treat, and he took advantage of it, letting his tongue stroke against his brother’s lips, before working it into his mouth.

Faramir shuddered, sagged against him, hands clutching his arms, tongue timidly trying to match his own.

After what seemed an age, he broke the kiss, as gently as he was able, and as Faramir panted, he whispered against his cheek, “So long have I wanted to do that…”

The sound Faramir made was half a sob and half a groan.

Raising a hand to tremblingly brush his cheek, Boromir straightened away, and looked into his brother’s flushed face.  “But I will not take anything that you are not willing to give me… You must tell me, yea or nay, if this is what you want.”

And then he held his breath.


Heat and wetness; hard arms under his hands and a tongue that stroked into his mouth and inflamed his desire. When his brother broke away, Faramir thought, for one heart-stopping moment, that that was it, that was all he would be given, that Boromir found his uncertainty distasteful and that now would come the awkward words with Boromir turning his face into a polite mask before leaving and wiping his mouth and hands free of tainted touches.

Instead, a shaking hand against his cheek, branding him, even as green eyes resolutely met his own, and a voice hoarse with what had to be desire caressed his ears.

And there was fear there. Boromir, the courageous, feared his answer. Feared his choice.

As if his choice was not obvious in the way he yielded to his brother, the grip he still had on Boromir’s arms.

But the power that Boromir gifted him with was almost as awe-inspiring as the desire written clearly on his face, and the gentleness in the hand cupping his cheek.

Faramir smiled.


With his brother’s brilliant smile, Boromir relaxed, breathed out, and leant forward to begin again, when Faramir surprised him. Hands that had been clutching his arms slid up – shivering skin in their wake – to the nape of his neck, carding into his scalp, and urging his head down.

Lips ghosted against his own, before sliding up his face, a tongue no longer shy brushed provocatively against his cheek, letting him feel every word breathed against his skin.

“I would give you everything, brother.”

Boromir shuddered.


With every inch of his being, Faramir felt the way that Boromir shivered, and he marveled, stunned that he could wring such emotion from his brother with such a simple truth.

For truth it was; he could think of nothing that he would not give Boromir, if he but asked for it.  His love, his desire, his body… even simple companionship, if that was all he cared for.

The hand against his face slid down his throat, and his eyelids fluttered at the heat that blazed through that feather touch.  He’d never before felt anything like this, never seen Boromir’s eyes glow as they did, despite the lack of light in the room.

Boromir’s hand left his flesh, traveled down his chest, muted now by the fabric of his borrowed tunic, but he still arched into the touch, wanting more.

His very air was stolen away when his brother kissed him again, lips firm, tongue probing.  Faramir clenched his fingers in the fine strands of hair, drawing Boromir even closer, as the kiss set a fire in his flesh.  He was burning, could feel the sweat trickling down his face, and Boromir was no less hot than he, a wildfire in his arms.

Suddenly, Boromir’s lips were no longer against his, but pressed against his cheek, his chin, and the stubble of his beard scraped along his skin.  His hands, too, were moving, stroking his sides, his back, making his head whirl with sensation.  He leaned his head back against the door as Boromir’s kiss traveled downward over his neck.  His breath was short and fast, matching the hammering of his heart, and he dug his fingers into his brother’s shoulders just as a whimper escaped him.

And Boromir… stopped.


The taste of him was… indescribable.  Wonderful.  He pressed harder against Faramir as his mind spiraled away, overwhelmed by the passion.

His hands roved over his brother’s body, yearning to learn how he felt, even through the barrier of cloth.

The sound Faramir made jolted him out of his rut, and he froze.  What am I doing?  Am I frightening him?

He was too eager.  He wanted too much, was going too fast.

His need to touch his brother, for his brother to touch him in return and set him aflame warred against his own vow never to hurt him, a promise he’d made to himself all of Faramir’s life ago.

Boromir took a deep steadying breath, his head resting against Faramir’s shoulder, his hands stilling against his waist.

“Boromir?” Faramir managed to pour a wealth of questions into his name, but it was the tone of his voice – hesitant, perhaps even a bit hurt – that Boromir responded to.

He sighed into his brother’s neck, then smiled as he quivered and gasped at the rush of warm moist air.  “Nay, little brother,” he murmured, nibbling once more at the column of his throat.  Faramir gave a soft, breathless cry, his eyes closing.  “I will stop if you wish it.  ‘Tis only that I do not want to frighten you.  You are too dear to me…”

“Do not stop,” Faramir panted in his ear.  “I will follow as you lead, only, please, brother, do not stop.”

Boromir groaned, and pulled him close.  He feared he would not be able to stop… He had tasted of him, felt of him, and feared he would never now get enough.


Held tight in his brother’s embrace, pounding heart palpable even through the cloth between them, Faramir finally dared to believe. Boromir truly desired him. Wanted him enough to grip his waist bruising-tight. Cared for him enough to worry about his sensibilities. This was lust, but that worry illustrated more than any words that there was more here than a mere slaking of desire, even above and beyond what would be needed to dare the incredible risk that came from the simple fact that they were male, and shared a lineage. Else Boromir would have acted as he did with the trollops, the hangers-on, the ladies who shamelessly beckoned and called to the soldiers as they passed. He would have fallen on him and swept him into the bed, and out of his clothes in a whirlwind of cloth.

Faramir firmly quashed the part of him that wistfully asked for that – that wanted to not claim his fair share of the consequences of what they would do.


Every time he was not hesitant, every time he acted on his own impulses, his brother had rewarded him with increasing intimacy.

Faramir inhaled deeply of Borormir’s scent, nose buried in sweat-dampened hair. Licking the tempting curl of an ear, he sucked in the soft lobe and nibbled, before releasing it and whispering against the spit-slicked skin. “Or is it that you wish for me to lead?”


The strangled moan that escaped him put paid to any notion of protest – as did the involuntary tightening of his hands, pulling his brother closer.

Not that he wanted to protest.

Not when agreement won him Faramir’s hands stroking his scalp, Faramir’s tongue sliding against his chin, Faramir’s hips against his with proof of their mutual desire pressed hotly together.

Tearing one hand away, trailing his fingers along his brother’s spine, Boromir buried his fingers in soft, red-gold mane, and used that grip to bring Faramir’s wandering mouth back to his own.

This time, as tongues slid against each other, eager awkwardness swiftly mutated into a tantalizing, deliberately baiting tease.

Faramir had always been a swift learner.


For once, Faramir did not worry about if he was doing something right or wrong.  It seemed that whatever he did to Boromir wrung a groan from him – hands roaming over his chest and back, tongue swiping against his stubbled cheek, and, when Boromir dragged their mouths together again, against each other.  Everything made his brother tremble and gasp…

And pull him closer, press against him harder.

He would do anything for that to never end.

Boromir’s hand cradled the back of his head as they kissed, and the sensation of a tongue not his own stroking the roof of his mouth set him a-quiver, sent more sensation to his groin.

He was panting and desperate for air when Boromir pulled away, but still made a little sound of protest, and tried to urge him back down.

Boromir resisted. “Nay…” Instead, he applied his mouth to the side of Faramir’s neck, while his hands fumbled at the belt of the tunic.  “Let me see you, let me touch you…”

The husky words wafted over the sensitive nerves in his neck, and he shivered, closing his eyes.  “Yes…” He ran his fingers down his brother’s chest, still slightly slippery from perspiration, and Boromir bit his throat.  It was nothing more than a grazing of teeth against skin, but it made him moan.  “Touch me, brother…”

Touch me, and let me know how I should touch you in return…

Some he knew already, from half-seen encounters in darkened corridors, when ladies sought out his brother, though he had never watched any to the conclusion.

Now… now it was he in Boromir’s embrace, heat enveloping them both, his hands stroking his brother’s skin, his body curving into Boromir’s hardness…

Following his drifting thoughts, one hand, having paused at Boromir’s waist on feeling the fabric of his breeches, hesitantly skimmed downward, until it was resting on the bulge of his manhood.


Boromir had just mastered Faramir’s belt, and unwound it from his waist when he felt his brother’s hand light against the front of his trousers, pressing against his sex.

The belt clattered to the floor from his suddenly nerveless fingers, and he stifled his groan against Faramir’s throat.  Almost he bit him again, above the collar of his tunic, but some flare of caution reminded him that questions might be asked if his brother sported such obvious love-marks.

And neither of them could lie, especially if their father asked the questions.

Instead, driving that half-formed thought away, he licked a bead of sweat from his brother’s jaw, reveling in the sharp salt-sweet taste, and was rewarded by Faramir’s fingers cupping him more firmly, wringing another moan from him.

He could feel Faramir’s pulse thrumming fast where his lips rested on his throat, matching his own beat for rapid beat.  Their ragged breaths echoed quietly, swallowed by the dimly lit chamber.

Slowly, he moved, returning his hands to Faramir’s waist, slid them down, along his bony hips, the outsides of his thighs, until he came to the end of the long tunic.  Then he slid under the soft fabric and retraced his path up, feeling the muscles of his brother’s legs tremble as he swept over them, carefully avoiding Faramir’s hardness, until he finally touched flesh.  Hands spread wide over his flanks, he continued further, the tunic bunching as he traveled up, taking great delight in the way the skin he touched jumped and shivered, as if his brother was a skittish colt.

“Lift your arms,” he whispered, unable to stop himself from nipping at Faramir’s neck between words, making him whine softly. “I cannot bear another moment with you thus clothed…”

And without waiting another instant, Faramir did as he asked, trailing his fingers over his sex as he drew them away.  Boromir drew the cloth roughly over his head, letting it fall where it would.

Then his impatience bled away and he just admired his brother, pale gold in the muted sunlight.  He reached out to touch, to trace his fingers over the long lines of his chest and stomach, solid muscle developed from sword practice.

It was as if he’d never seen Faramir before, and all he could do was just drink in the sight of him.

Faramir lowered his arms to wrap around him, straightening away from the door to press against him, hardness to hardness.  “Touch me, Boromir,” he said, his mouth against Boromir’s cheek, and one hand slid down between them, to tease against his cloth-covered manhood once more.

Boromir clutched him tightly, unable to contain the sound of need that bubbled from deep within.  “You drive me mad with wanting you…”  But he did as Faramir commanded, and laid his palm along his brother’s sex.


He couldn’t help the whimpering that escaped him, but it didn’t seem as though his brother minded; on the contrary, he seemed to delight in finding touches that would pull more noise out of him…

Faramir shuddered, gasping as a hand strengthened by years of weapons-work closed with devastating delicacy around him. Stroked him. Bucking up involuntarily into that wondrous grip, he retained just enough thought to mimic on his brother what was being done to him.

By the sounds that spilled from Boromir’s mouth, the effort was much appreciated.


Groaning, he buried his face deeper against sweat-dampened hair redolent with his brother’s scent. So little, just the touch of hands – through cloth yet! – and he was more achingly aroused than he had ever been with even the most forward of women or the most experienced of the soldiers.

It was because this was Faramir. The dream he’d never dared to even imagine coming true. The dream he’d kept in his heart for long before he truly knew what intimacy could happen between two people.

But he didn’t want his brother’s first time to be a hasty, scrambled affair reeking of secrecy and riddled with regrets.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, capturing Faramir’s hand before he lost all control. Bringing that hand up to his mouth, he sucked lewdly on the thumb, bringing both tongue and teeth into play. Letting the digit leave his mouth with one last lick, Boromir stepped back, pulling Faramir with him.

“I would see all of you.” Bending his head, Boromir bit gently at the pad of muscle at the base of Faramir’s thumb, all the while keeping his eyes firmly on his brother’s, his desire plain to be seen.


Faramir found he could not look away from his brother’s eyes; he was captured by their depths, the way they glittered at him.

His throat closed when he heard Boromir’s words, and he could not swallow, though he desperately wanted to.  Boromir wanted to see him, to touch him… and to taste him, if the tongue swiping over his hand was any indication.

And he wanted that in return.  He’d wanted it even before he knew what it meant, what he truly desired.

Finally, his throat worked, and he whispered hoarsely, “Then I… I need to take off my boots.”

Boromir smiled at him in equal parts amusement and passion, and there was enough of him not yet consumed with want to curse his foolish words.

There was a kiss to his palm, a tongue curling about the base of his fingers, and then Boromir released his hand.  “Show yourself to me, little brother,” he said, his tone – the very words – making Faramir shiver once more.

Then he stepped back once more, and sat down upon his wide bed.


Boromir fully intended to take off his own boots when he sat down, but he could not take his eyes off Faramir, and his boots were quickly forgotten.

Tongue running over kiss-swollen lips, Faramir carefully loosened his boots, then bent to draw them off, hair falling around his flushed face as he did so.  The boots fell with solid ‘thunks’ as he dropped them, and he pulled off his socks at the same time.

Then he straightened again, and Boromir’s breath caught in his throat at the look in his brother’s eyes, the blue so bright as to be smoldering.  A shiver ran through Faramir’s frame, and he licked his lips once more.

But it was the sight of his hands, slender, trembling slightly, reaching to the laces of his trousers that nearly undid Boromir.  He watched, and forgot to breathe, as those fingers untied the knot that held his breeches up, unlacing them tantalizingly slowly.

When finally they were loose enough, he pushed them down, over his long legs until they puddled at his feet.

Boromir gasped as his brother stood naked before him, and saw that he was even more stunning than he’d imagined in the fantasies he held closest to his heart.  Shoulders that were not as slim as he remembered, smooth chest sparsely furred, narrow hips, legs muscled from practicing footwork and riding horses… his sex curving up from the dark red curls at its base.

For him.

“Beautiful…” he murmured, transfixed, when he remembered at last that he needed air.

And Faramir’s shy smile dazzled him anew.


He felt faintly ridiculous, standing with his breeches around his feet, his cock pointing firmly upward, naked in front of his half-clothed brother. But the heat in Boromir’s eyes, the utterly transfixed expression on his face was more than worth it. He couldn’t help but blush, ducking his head and smiling in delight at the awe his brother infused in that one word to him.

Stepping carefully over his clothing, Faramir hesitated a handswidth from Boromir. He wanted to see, as well.

Boromir had always seemed to appreciate actions, so…

Before he could change his mind, Faramir dropped swiftly to his knees.


Boromir sucked in a sharp breath, unable to believe – but then, Faramir turned aside and –

Reached for his foot?

Clever hands, shaking just barely visible, gripped his boot and drew it smoothly off; long hair shielded his brother’s face from his.

As Faramir pulled his sock off, Boromir leaned forward and tucked his brother’s hair aside, fingers lingering against the curve of his cheek. Leaning into the touch, bright blue eyes closed briefly as a soft sigh of pleasure escaped him, Faramir was a picture of temptation.

One he did not even try to resist.


Faramir felt sure his daring would desert him after he’d bared his brother’s feet, and it very nearly did.  Despite his bold actions, he knew very little of the ways between men and men – or even between men and women – and his bravado would only go so far.

But when he looked up from his task, nervousness fluttering in his stomach once more, he met Boromir’s eyes, and warm fingers caressed his cheek once more.  Faramir felt his breath hitch in his chest at that light touch, and his nerves settled.

With a smile, he ran a hand slowly up Boromir’s still-clothed leg, starting at his ankle, and by the time he’d reached his knee, his brother’s breath had grown rough once more.

“Give me your hands, Faramir,” he said, and Faramir did it gladly, kneeling between Boromir’s legs where he sat at the very edge of the bed.

Then he sucked in a breath; Boromir was guiding his hands to his stomach – no, to the front of his trousers, where his desire bulged.  And he could not tear his eyes away from his brother’s form, backlit by the fading afternoon sunlight; he could not look away from his passion-dark eyes.

“You have inflamed me so, I fear I would make a snarl of the ties,” Boromir whispered, laying his hands on the laces.  “Would you help me with this, too?”

Faramir swallowed again; this was his reward for his forward actions.  He nodded earnestly, unable to speak, and his fingers trembled only slightly as he plucked at the tie.

Boromir moaned softly whenever his hands brushed against his hard member, or stroked his taut stomach, and the sound sent shivers down his back.

Soon, he would be able to see all of his brother… and the very idea that he could was the fulfillment of a lifetime of fantasy.


Boromir did not know what had inspired him to have Faramir undo his breeches, but, looking down at the slim hands at his groin, separated from his sex only by a thin and loosening barrier of cloth, he wondered if it was a good idea after all.

Seeing his brother’s head bent to his labor, nearly in his lap, was not helping the matter.

Then it was done, and Faramir looked up at him, mouth open slightly, cheeks flushed.  He spread his fingers against Boromir’s skin inside his breeches, through the opening and along his hips, and started to work the cloth down.

Breathing heavily, he raised himself up just enough to allow Faramir to work the fabric from him, and draw it off.  Then, when his brother met his gaze again, he let himself lay slowly back down on the bed, propped up on his elbows, exposing his body, his arousal, for Faramir to see, as he had seen.

He could see the pulse pounding in Faramir’s throat, hear his breath harsh and fast in the silence.  His brother’s eyes were fixed upon him, studying him as avidly now as he had outside.  He felt the weight of them against his chest, following the white and pink lines of his battle scars down his stomach, and lingering on his erect manhood.

He bore the intense scrutiny for as long as he could, his heart hammering in his chest as he watched his brother’s sex quiver.  Then he pushed himself up on one arm, holding his hand out.  “Come, Faramir,” he murmured.

Without hesitation, Faramir grasped his hand, and Boromir drew his brother to him, to kneel on the bed astride his legs.  He was close enough now that he gave in to his need to hold him again, and wrapped his arms tightly around his younger brother, fingers digging into the flesh of his back.

This is where you belong, little brother… With me, in my arms.


Trembling helplessly, Faramir reveled in the heat of his brother’s embrace. Strong arms held him tightly; a broad, sweat-slicked chest pressed up against his own. Straddling Boromir’s lap, he should have felt ridiculous and ashamed.

But all he felt was rampant desire.

Quite literally. His brother’s sex pressed up against the sensitive skin behind his sac, slicking the area entire with its steadily drooling tip.

It made Faramir want to move, though he wasn’t sure how.

Shifting his hips restlessly, he was shocked by the deep groan that shuddered through his brother’s chest and into his own.

Sucking in his lower lip and biting on it, Faramir settled deeper into Boromir’s lap, squirming slightly from side to side – and was rewarded by the tightening of his brother’s fingers, and a shuddery gasp against his ear.

He never knew such little motion could inspire such a profound response.


It was almost too much, this sweet torture. Faramir, moving over him, sweet-smelling, sweat-slicked skin shifting around him, a look of intense concentration on his face, compounded by the adorable way he sucked in his lower lip and bit it – all was nearly enough to cause Boromir to spill much too early.

He managed, barely, to hold off – and his brother moved again, legs splaying further apart, bottom settling more firmly atop him; he gasped and strengthened his grip, staving off the explosion.

He would take his brother with him.

Sliding a hand down to close firmly on one bony hip, he smiled, and nipped Faramir’s earlobe. “Nay, little brother. Hold a moment, or this will be too quickly over…”

Stroking his other hand around he slipped it in the narrow space between them, wrapping it firmly around his brother’s sex. Pulling with carefully calculated force, using his thumb to circle the tip and spread the fluid evenly, he licked Faramir’s cheek, voice harsh with want. “Now, move.”


Something happened to Faramir when Boromir’s hand encircled his member; delight as he’d never known rippled through him, until he could barely breathe.  He clutched his brother’s shoulders tightly, shivering in the heat they had created.  He’d pleasured himself before, but it had felt nothing like this, Boromir’s sword-hardened palm on his hot flesh, the feel of his arousal against him more exciting than he could have imagined.

Then Boromir’s tongue swiped his face, and when he spoke, his voice was rough with his need; it sang so sweetly down his nerves, an order that he could not ignore.

Using his brother’s broad shoulders for leverage, he pressed himself more firmly down, felt the intense jolt that ran through him as the crown of his brother’s sex rubbed against that sensitive spot that he never knew he had, hand sliding along his own manhood.  He gasped, his head lolling back, while Boromir trembled beneath his hands, face buried against his shoulder, beard scraping his skin, groaning loudly.

Thought disappeared and there was only feeling, there was only Boromir.  He responded to the pressure of his brother’s grip, shifted his pelvis in the ways that seemed to wring the loudest, most needy noises from him.

Tension coiled in him, in his stomach and groin, and Faramir moved faster, pressing harder, panting into the gold of his brother’s hair, gripping his shoulders strongly enough to leave marks.

Boromir’s thumb scraped the head of his member once more, and with a strangled cry, he spent, clutching his brother tightly, trying to muffle somehow the sounds he could not contain.

Suddenly, Boromir tightened his one armed embrace, pulling him even closer, and even through his own pleasure, he felt his brother’s climax, gushing hot against his thighs.

Shuddering, Faramir collapsed against Boromir’s chest, wrapping his arms weakly around him as he did.  And as he gasped for air, he soundlessly mouthed his brother’s name over and over.


Boromir was so lost in his own pleasure that he was only barely aware of Faramir’s climax, but that sliver of knowledge was what pushed him over the edge.  To keep from shouting, he bit down sharply on the wing of his brother’s collarbone, fingers digging into his back, and let himself spend, black spots dancing in his vision.

It was some while before he returned to himself, and he found himself inhaling Faramir’s scent, still sweet though spiced with musk.  He was too content to move, the haze of delight still clouding his mind, and let his hand trail lazily up and down his brother’s back, resting his head on his shoulder.

This was all he wanted, all he had ever wanted.

Finally, he felt Faramir straighten away from him slightly, and raised his head.  There was a bright red mark on his brother’s collar, and he kissed it, laved it with his tongue, and felt Faramir shake once more.

When at last he spoke, his brother’s voice was quiet.  “Boromir…”

His hand slowed, stopped.  “Yes?” he answered, trying to contain a sudden nervousness.  What if…?

Faramir lifted his head and looked at him steadily.  Blue eyes sparkled in the last rays of sunshine, smiling down at him, and he relaxed once more.  “Is it… is it always like this?  So powerful that you can’t be sure of up or down?”

Boromir smiled in return, and the hand that had been stroking Faramir’s back slid up to cup his cheek.  “Between us… always,” he promised in a whisper.

Then he basked in the warmth of his brother’s smile, happier than he had ever been.

April 12, 2005