// denotes italics.

***

Boromir gave a sigh of contentment as he sank down to sit on his bed,
accepting the cup of mulled wine from Faramir with a grateful smile.
Trust his younger brother to be cheerful enough for the both of them
on Boromir's return. He had stood waiting in the courtyard, his hair
whipped by the wind as he strode to meet Boromir. Denethor had
acknowledged his report with a surly nod, and then dismissed his
older son for the evening, saying he wished to hear more the next
morning.

The open window afforded a steady flow of cooler air from the
courtyard, and occasionally there would be the muted crunch of gravel
under boot heels as the sentry outside turned to recommence his
round. The brief call of a bird had Faramir turn his head, and he
leaned against the window frame, looking out at the dark sky.

"The birds do not sing anymore. They only call in warning," he
lamented. "I see them rarely."

"They draw away in fear," Boromir said. He had not intended for his
voice to sound so tainted with regret, yet he knew what caused it.

Faramir drew away from him and - as he had done so ever since he
matured - ducked out of Boromir's good-natured embrace and flinched
at the arm laid across his shoulders. His blue gaze would cloud with
feeling when he looked at Boromir, and during the long audiences with
their father his hands would restlessly trace the star engravings of
his dagger hilt until Denethor sharply told him not to fidget.

When Boromir watched him spar with the swordmasters in the courtyard,
Faramir's movements would be sharp and precise, but straying the
final fraction where they would have scored the skin of his opponent.
As he turned to look at Boromir from under his tangled fringe, his
gaze would be as sharp as the sword blade. There was rebuke and
remonstration in the gaze, glazed with anger, but in a curious way it
seemed more sorrowed than anything else. He tried hard not to think
of what the reason was, believing he was reading far too much into
it.

Kicking his heavy boots off, Boromir settled to lean back against the
headboard of his bed. He contented himself with regarding Faramir,
who was still standing by the high window, seeming lost in thought.
Not even the wine could completely erase the worry that gnawed at
him, and yet seeing Faramir freed up a stream of life in his spirit
that surprised him, as it had many times before. He felt truly alive
in his brother's company, far more so than on the battlefield after a
day's fighting. It helped him forget for a moment the bitter cold and
the smell of smoke that would drift from the East.

Faramir came out of his silent reverie with a little flinch, and he
pushed the window closed. "It is good to have you back," he said,
settling to sit on the bed. There was a look of tenderness on his
face and a note to his voice that Boromir did not recognize.

There was a glitter of something hopeful, something promising in
Faramir's dark-blue eyes.

He was leaning easily back against the footboard of the bed, one knee
propped up. The collar of his shirt was open, baring a sliver of pale
throat, and Boromir could glimpse a faint shadow of a bruise over the
collarbone.

"I see you have not been idle," he teased, nudging Faramir's
leg. "Who was it?"

Faramir looked down, shaking his head gently and tightening the grip
on the cup he was holding. "It is not what you think, brother," he
said. "Sword practice, that is all."

"Sword practice indeed?" Boromir laughed, setting his cup aside.
Leaning over the bed, he shoved Faramir backward and to the side,
moving to pin the younger man down. "That is a very convenient place
for an accidental bruise," he went on, tugging on the collar to bare
more skin. To him, it did indeed look like an innocent mark, but he
would not let pass an opportunity to tease Faramir.

He pressed his fingers to the bruise, feeling the delicate, silken
skin under his fingers. A thrill meandered a slow path up his spine
as he felt Faramir's pulse thrumming under his hand and sensed
the
heat of his blood coursing through the veins. He let go before
Faramir noticed his unease.

//The things he does to me... the smallest detail is enough to drive
me mad.//

Faramir smiled, letting the cup he was still holding roll over the
edge of the bed and fall to the floor. The pleasant expression lit
his features, warmed by the wine. He shifted sinuously under Boromir,
who repressed a gasp and pretended not to notice the alluring motion.

Boromir grasped his chin, bending close.

"Tell me, who is your sweetheart?" he grinned. So long since he had
last had reason to smile so easily. And so long since he had last
been so happy.

"And if I do not?" Faramir said, answering the smile and trying to
get out of the hold. "What if there was nothing to tell?" He cuffed
Boromir playfully in the shoulder. "What is this curiosity? Why are
you suddenly so interested?"

"I am interested because you are my brother," Boromir replied,
leaning back, shifting to straddle Faramir's thighs. "Who would I
tease if I did not have you?"

Faramir flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes. "Your lover, your
wife... if you were to take a wife. You have not. I find it hard to
believe that military arms could hold so great a lure that you would
forsake lover's arms for them."

Boromir laughed, but even he could hear that the mirth was not
genuine. The wine was going to his head and it was making him
careless.

Faramir was far too tempting, his face flushed with heat and wine,
and he seemed familiar and a stranger at the same time. He had
changed, Boromir thought, matured in Boromir's absence. He had gone
from youth to man, and Boromir realized to his shame that his own
feelings had gone from brotherly love to desire in that time.

"I want no wife," Boromir retorted, choosing his words carefully. "I
do not wish to be tied down." It felt as though every word might give
away his feelings, as though his drink-sated tongue would conspire
against him.

"I did not speak of marriage only. You seem so blind to all
advances!" Faramir said, his voice nearing anger. "They may go on for
years--" he stopped mid-sentence, turning his head away as if in
shame, and Boromir looked at his brother curiously. The truncated
statement rang ill to him.

//You are foolish! It is your deluded and wine-clouded mind that
draws its own conclusions.//

The younger man shifted underneath him, seeming eager to get out of
the embrace. Boromir complied, standing up and righting his rumpled
clothing. Faramir remained supine, stretched out but tensed in
discomfort, one of his hands knotted into a fist.

"You still have not told me how you got that bruise," Boromir said,
pouring himself more wine. He found his hands shook, and he wrapped
his fingers tighter around the stem of the cup.

"You are nosier than the old wives," Faramir retorted. He leaned over
the edge of the bed to pick up his own cup and flashed Boromir a taut
smile. Boromir felt as though he was drowning in the blue eyes, lured
by Faramir's beautiful mouth. The smile may not have been wholly
genuine, but it was like enough to one that Boromir felt nearly
undone by its intensity.

"Are you jealous?" Faramir went on.

Boromir found his reply catching in his throat. It was true. He was
jealous, but this jealousy was so warped, he realized. This was his
brother. Blood-kin. What he wanted more than anything else, and his
desire was equalled only his shame.

"Well, are you?" Faramir said, and Boromir flinched at how close his
brother suddenly stood. Faramir had his arm slung over Boromir's
shoulder, and he was leaning in close, side against side.

The position was suddenly uneasily intimate, and Boromir clenched his
fists in nervous anticipation. The pause was too long, too charged,
and words eluded him as he tried to find a glib remark with which to
defuse the situation. Faramir's skin was warm, heated by wine and
high spirits, and the blue gaze swam with promise, with an invitation
Boromir knew full well that he could not accept and which was not
intended for him.

Faramir's earlier barb about preferring swords over lovers woke anew
in his mind.

//I lie and tell him I love the sword more than the body of a lover,
for the one I wish to have is the one that will always be denied me.//

"Who do you love? Truly love?" Again and again the same question, and
he knew to answer honestly would be folly. Faramir was smiling as he
wrapped his arms around Boromir's neck, creating an embrace that was
too intimate to be one of brothers.

"You," Boromir heard himself say. Cursed thoughts, cursed tongue
loosened by the wine.

"As I love you, my brother," Faramir said, his voice hushed.

In the silence that fell, Boromir felt acutely aware of every
sensation: the weave of the carpet under his bare feet, of the scent
of the burning wood, and of Faramir's hands on his skin. He drew in a
deep breath, intending to finally say something, perhaps rushed words
of fear. Faramir moved suddenly, sliding his hand up to cup Boromir's
face, and within the space of a breath, leaned in to press a swift
and hard kiss to Boromir's mouth. There was heat and urgency in the
kiss, tinged dark with fear and desperation.

Boromir had no intention of fleeing, but could well understand the
fear that surely thrummed through Faramir's veins as well. This was
the most forbidden of loves.

This second kiss was wholly different, soft and warm and long, born
of desire and blessed lack of worry. They were both drunk, Boromir
knew that, yet not drunk enough to be completely without sense to
judge. He took gentle hold of Faramir's neck, lacing his fingers
through his hair.

Faramir's shirt provided no obstacle, and the fabric tore with a
satisfyingly soft sound. Faramir gasped, a sharp intake of breath
that bordered on a moan, and for a moment Boromir was afraid he might
have gone too far, been too harsh.

As Boromir slowly traced his hand up Faramir's chest, ticking off an
old white scar, Faramir's hips bucked forward, in wordless
acknowledgement of desire, and Boromir straightened up again, sliding
one hand down along Faramir's front. As he raked his fingertips over
Faramir's chest and proceeded further down, Faramir's breathing
increased until he was panting, the flat stomach rising and falling
with each shallow breath. Exasperated, Boromir tugged the lacings of
Faramir's breeches loose, sending the soft fabric puddling around his
ankles. A slow, languid heat was travelling through Boromir, settling
in his groin, and he pulled Faramir close for another kiss.

He could hear his pulse beat in his ears, a heavy rush of blood that
whispered of lust and coveting.

Boromir nuzzled close, pressing a kiss to a spot just under Faramir's
ear, delighting in the slight sigh that escaped the younger man.
Taking Faramir's chin gently in his hand, Boromir turned the younger
man's head so he could kiss him on the mouth, nibbling slowly on the
full lower lip. Faramir's eyes drifted shut, and he slid his hands
down along Boromir's side, finally grasping his hips and pulling him
close.

He stroked firmly, watching with delight as Faramir gave a soft moan
and bucked against his hold. The younger man had closed his eyes and
was leaning his head back, the pale skin of his bared chest tinged
golden by the firelight. Boromir leaned in, pressing a light kiss to
the hollow of Faramir's throat while tracing a slow circle around an
erect nipple. Every sound was a concession, a step towards
permission, it seemed. Permission to go further than he had ever
dared. To bond in flesh with one that was kin in blood.

Faramir bent his head back, the line of his neck a pale arc in the
gathering gloom. His breathing was shallow and erratic, a stutter of
breath as he twisted in Boromir's grip, trying valiantly and in vain
to keep still under the questing touches. Boromir gripped him harder,
nearly pressing bruises into the taut skin, listening to the roar of
blood.

The deep blue carpet under Boromir's knees was soft, a delicious echo
of Faramir's skin under his hands. "Are you sure you wish to do
this?" he asked, nuzzling his cheek against Faramir's stomach,
feeling the long muscles contract. "I will take nothing from you that
you do not willingly give me."

"What is there to take when you already have all?" Faramir countered.
He was not looking at Boromir, but instead kept his head bent back.
To Boromir, it was as though he was kneeling down to something larger
than life, to the one that he worshipped and had always worshipped.
Every sharp angle and curve under his hands was familiar and yet
alien, a scape of skin to explore in secret only, never else.

The younger man swayed slightly where he stood and finally looked
down at Boromir. Touch and caress as Boromir mapped the curves and
hollows, finally grasping Faramir's narrow hips. Faramir's chest was
heaving, his cheeks blushed, and Boromir did not think he had ever
seen him look so beautiful.

Driven by lust, and perhaps even by greed, he leaned forward, taking
all of Faramir's cock deep into his mouth, delighting in the high,
sharp gasp that issued from the younger man. Faramir's head fell back
again, his golden curls reddening in the light of the fire, echoing
the blush on his cheeks.

The first taste on Boromir's tongue was salt, but in a curious way
sweeter than honey. Laving his tongue around the head, he wrapped his
fingers around the base of Faramir's cock, stroking in slow,
leisurely time. Looking up, he could just catch Faramir's gaze, and
the hunger he saw in the dark blue gaze sent a shiver through him.
Quickening his pace, he took Faramir in as deep as he could manage,
the tip of his nose touching the hairs on Faramir's groin.

Giving another whimper, Faramir fisted his hands in Boromir's hair,
bucking forward. The long muscles of his thighs were trembling with
the effort to keep standing upright, and his breath was catching,
hitching unevenly. His eyes were closed and his slack lips mouthed a
silent plea to whichever Vala might be listening. The chamber was
silent around them, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and
Faramir's ragged breathing. Boromir set a slow pace, laving the
length of Faramir's cock, pausing to suck gently at the head,
catching the pearly drop with the tip of his tongue.

Sensing Faramir was close, Boromir swallowed around the shaft in his
mouth, and the simple movement sent Faramir over the edge. Biting his
own fist to muffle the sharp cry, Faramir climaxed, his entire body
tensing into a tight bow. Greedily drinking down the seed, Boromir
suckled lightly until Faramir was entirely spent, then rose to steady
the younger man who seemed boneless with languor.

Faramir opened his mouth, intending to speak, but Boromir hastily
silenced him by pressing his fingers to Faramir's mouth.

"Say nothing," Boromir urged. Lifting Faramir's hand, he frowned at
the red teeth-marks seared into the knuckles. Noticing the scrutiny,
Faramir gave a smile, then leaned forward to capture Boromir's mouth
in a deep kiss. He freed his hand from Boromir's grasp and slid it
down along his side, finally stopping at the curve of the hip, as
though asking wordless permission. Boromir bucked his hips forward as
Faramir unlaced his breeches, and he closed his eyes as he felt
Faramir's long fingers wrap around his cock. The touch was deft and
firm, bringing him to the edge far too soon. Grabbing at Faramir's
wrist, he stilled the motion.

"Not so fast," he panted, "I cannot--"

Faramir let go, yet before Boromir had a chance to draw breath,
Faramir knelt in front of him.

"Let me do this to you," he said, chancing one last look up at
Boromir. His fingers made fast work of the remaining lacings on
Boromir's breeches, and Boromir gave an involuntary shiver at the
feel of the material sliding down his thighs.

Faramir rocked back on his heels slightly, pushing Boromir back so
that he leaned against the footboard of the bed. Cleverly replaying
the scene, he took Boromir deeply into his mouth, adding the
slightest touch of teeth.

//Where in Eru's name has he learned that?//

It felt as though he was weightless, his breath hitching wildly in
his throat. Time had slowed to a mere confused blur in his mind.

Faramir's mouth was clever, wicked, and he could not hold back. It
seemed he could not even tell if he was standing upright or not.

A thousand thoughts snarled into themselves in his mind, but
dispersed like mist at the next touch of Faramir's hands.

His blood was singing in his ears, winding into the rapid beat of his
heart. He was falling, far too fast. Faramir slid his hands up
Boromir's thighs, then grabbed his brother's hands, lacing their
fingers together. His nails bit into the back of Boromir's hand, and
the sliver of pain was enough to tip him over the edge. A clipped
shout sprang from his lips before he could stop himself, and next he
bit his lip to stay silent.

His knees threatened to buckle, and he grasped Faramir's shoulder
tightly, surely bruising the pale skin. The room seemed to have
contracted, dwindling into the space immediately around the two of
them, and he was drowning in the waves of sheer sensation. Heat and
chill wrapped around him as he twisted, his eyes so tightly shut he
saw jagged tracks of white.

Finally slumping back against the ornate footboard of the bed, he
stood silent for a long while, trying to even out his breathing.
Faramir was still kneeling in front of him, his head tilted back so
he could look at Boromir.

Twining his fingers into Faramir's hair, Boromir pulled back, urging
the younger man to stand. Greedily kissing him, Boromir revelled in
the thrill of tasting himself on Faramir's lips and in the sense of
debauchery. The younger man was pliant in his arms, but soon enough
he took control, pushing Boromir back against the bed.

Faramir's hair clung to his forehead, a sweat-dampened curl pasted
along his temple. As one of the candles sputtered out, adding to the
falling dusk, Faramir gave a slight smile, leaning his head on
Boromir's shoulder.

"The hour is late," he said simply. "You need to rest if you are to
face Father in the morning."

Boromir tipped Faramir's face up, giving a short laugh. "You have
such strange priorities, brother sweet. I would hold you for every
hour of the night, and you usher me to sleep already."

"Would you sleep if I was to share your bed?"

"No," Boromir said. "And neither would you."

[END]