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Something More Than Fictions

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Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams,
Unnatural and full of contradictions;
Yet others of our most romantic schemes
Are something more than fictions.

-- Thomas Hood, The Haunted House (pt. I)

 

Indigo drapes - sheer voile like the dress of a fairy creature - fluttered in the cool summer breeze, brushing wide open balcony doors which creaked minutely in the wind. The room was dark, but not completely so; silver moonlight edged everything, catching on shining surfaces and bathing the entire room in an unearthly glow.

Faramir tossed in his bed, restless with anticipation, though he knew not of what, until branches creaked outside, just where the tallest tree lashed the balcony. He peered through half-closed eyelids and saw movement beyond the parted doors - too much movement to be caused entirely by the wind tugging at the fragrant leaves of the old apple tree. And then, he heard the heavy sound of footfalls on the balcony, and there was a shadow prowling across the white stone and towards the open doors.

Faramir's breathing quickened. The visitor had not been expected, but it felt oddly right that he should come here, even if his identity was still a mystery.

"Who is there?" Faramir called out, but his voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper, and all that answered him was soft, throaty laughter, which sounded eerily familiar. He drew his heavy feather duvet up higher and waited to see who was entering his room.

The shadow came into full view a moment later, standing there backlit by moonlight and thus obscured like a specter. Waiting. Then moving closer, towards Faramir's bed. And oh, his footsteps sounded so familiar.

"Please, who are you?" Faramir whispered again, so quietly, he did not expect the other to hear him. He did not whisper for fear of who it might be, but for fear that to speak too loudly might frighten him away.

And then, the shadow was leaning over him, one hand on either side of Faramir's head - one on his thick pillow, the other on the edge of the bed, cutting off any chance of escape, should Faramir attempt to try it. Curiously though, Faramir had no thoughts of escape, despite the pounding of his heart and the dizzying rushing of his blood through his veins. Squinting, Faramir tried, in vain, to discern the other's face, but he saw only outlines, half-lit features, a glint of even teeth as from a smile, a flutter of lashes, a movement as the wind blew the other's hair around a bearded face.

The hand which had rested on Faramir's pillow was lifted and cupped his cheek. He gasped. While slightly rough as though from fighting with a sword, it was infinitely tender against Faramir's skin. The shadow bent lower, and just as Faramir had almost made out the features of his face, he was being kissed. The mouth on his set off a maelstrom of sensations, churning and spinning every thought in Faramir's head into a jumble of insignificant snippets. Nothing was clear to him but the force of the other's passion, devotion... even love, all poured into Faramir's very soul in that one kiss. Oh yes, there was no doubt - this shadow figure loved him.

Faramir moaned, returning the kiss as best he could, trying to keep up with his tongue, his lips, his teeth, breathing only when the other allowed it, before letting himself be once more devoured in a sweet mingling of their tastes - so different, yet so alike - like honey and chocolate, sweet and salacious and addictive all at once.

When Faramir's arms wrapped around the other's neck, his bedding was pushed out of the way, and the fully clad form descended to lie squarely on him, and even through his nightshirt, Faramir could feel metal studs and clasps pressing against him as the other pinned him down with a body taller and heavier than his own. Heated kisses, tender hands on Faramir's face, the rhythmic movements of the other against his shivering body... all made fire pool in his groin and threaten climax soon, too soon.

"Who are you?" Faramir managed to gasp once more, but the man did not speak, instead making another scorching kiss his only answer, and Faramir ceased to care for any other. Surrender. Sweet, absolute surrender. Faramir had dreamed of it, known he would offer it to the one love who would eventually find him. He did not need to see the other's face, or hear his voice, to know that this was the one. His love. He had always trusted his heart, and he would not stop now.

Faramir pleaded between scorching kisses, "Take what you wish of me! I ask only for a memory of you in return."

The other whimpered against the side of Faramir's neck, as though he was hurt, but before Faramir could voice his concern, the nature of the whimper became clear to him as the man struggled with Faramir's nightshirt, lifting his own body off the slighter form to pull the cotton up and over Faramir's head, leaving him tousled and naked, while he rose and removed his own garments with great speed.

And then... the sweet, blissful feeling of bare flesh against bare flesh, and Faramir could have cried from the perfection of it. Moaning, they moved against each other, their legs intertwined, their arms shielding each other from all that was not part of their realm. Rough hands soothed Faramir's heated skin... warm breath ghosted over his face... the light scraping of a well-trimmed beard rasped against his cheek... lips touched his features reverently, lingering on his nose, the lids of his eyes, the soft indent above his lips...

Shivering with pleasure, Faramir submitted to his lover's experienced touch, so relaxed in his submission that he felt no pain when his legs were parted, one lifted over the other's shoulder, and he was being penetrated. There was only blinding, bone-melting pleasure. They mated in silence, the moment too special to sully it with harsh grunting and groaning.

When Faramir climaxed, he merely gasped - a soft, broken sound stilled by the other's thumb in his mouth, and as he bit down on the soft pad of flesh, he shuddered through his lover's own release, certain he could feel the hot pulse inside himself.

Faramir clung to his lover, the certainty of an impending separation tightening his grip. "Don't leave," he pleaded, his voice still uneven and breathless.

The familiar hands brushed back his sweat-dampened hair, and he was kissed once more; it was a farewell kiss which said, better than words, how much the other regretted having to leave.

Sighing, Faramir anticipated the coldness to come upon him when the other would move from his grasp, but instead, there was only a blinding light on his closed lids, and the next moment he woke up, gasping a name on the edge of consciousness without knowing what name it was. The room was bright around him, there was a ray of sunlight on his face, and Faramir squinted against the harshness of day after the tenderness of the night. He could have cried, so keenly did he feel the other's loss.

~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~

Later than was usual for him, Faramir went to the hall to have breakfast. His limbs were heavy and lethargic, and his heart was burdened by a hitherto unknown sorrow.

Not surprisingly, he had woken to find his belly covered in his own seed, the sheets wound around one long leg and hanging off the bed to brush over the wooden floor. His nightshirt had ridden up and twisted into a soggy mess. But for a moment, he had felt euphoria.

Now that more time had passed since his dream lover had left him, sadness was once more creeping into his mind at a steady pace. The loss felt so real, he could scarcely believe the encounter had not been. He arrived at the heavy doors to the hall in such a distracted state, he nearly collided with his brother, who had approached the doors from the other end of the corridor.

"Faramir!"

Hands gripped his shoulders to steady him, and the jolt of pleasure to shoot through Faramir's every nerve at the contact made it painfully clear that the effects of his dream still lingered far too acutely in his body. He recoiled, ashamed to react so to his own brother's touch.

"Forgive me, Boromir!" he exclaimed, not certain whether he was apologizing for his distraction or the flush to creep over his face when he met his brother's concerned eyes.

"What ails you, Faramir?" Boromir asked, his voice quivering uncharacteristically.

It was then that Faramir noticed his brother's state this day: the usually calm features were tight and worried, and his hair and clothing were in disarray. And furthermore, Boromir was as flushed as Faramir himself. And the hands, still on his shoulders, were trembling. "I... nothing. I am well." Faramir laboured at a smile and did not quite succeed. "My sleep has been somewhat disturbed."

Boromir gasped at this, but recovered quickly to ask, "You are not being plagued by nightmares, Faramir?"

It was a question Faramir remembered well, for he had frequently suffered from them when he had been a child.

"No, not at all. I--" Faramir swallowed hard, wishing that Boromir would remove his hands from his shoulders, and yet knowing that if he did, he might simply fall.

"Then..." Boromir tried to meet Faramir's eyes, but his younger brother's head was bent low. "What manner of disturbance has occurred?"

Closing his eyes in hopes of gathering his thoughts more easily, Faramir struggled for an explanation, but try as he might, he could focus on nothing but the spreading warmth where Boromir's hands were upon him. His shame grew, making it ever harder to concentrate.

"Faramir, talk to me!" Boromir beseeched him. "You make me fear for you."

Faramir focussed his mind as best he could. His eyes met Boromir's, not steadily, but this time, he managed to hold the contact. "Truly, Boromir, you worry too much for me. I had restless dreams, that is all, though they were certainly not nightmares." He blushed. Instead of the playful mocking Faramir had expected, he received a cornered, uncertain glance in return, which made him frown.

"Oh," Boromir simply said. Then he paled and released his hold on Faramir's shoulders so abruptly, Faramir nearly fell against him. Wiping a hand across his forehead, Boromir stepped back, gesturing to Faramir to proceed him to the breakfast table. "I apologise, Faramir. I did not mean to pry," he said meekly.

Faramir nodded, unsure of what to say to this strange reaction, and entered the hall, which they found mercifully empty. He did not know if he could face their father after this encounter. To make matters more odd yet, despite a tense and silent breakfast, Faramir could not help but note that his sadness had lifted, and he no longer felt the void left by his dream lover quite as keenly. And that was well. Was it not?

~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~

When Faramir's visions the following night shifted from the misty, random imagery of dreams into the clarity of a painted scene on a sunlit wall, he had no need to even remind himself that he was merely dreaming.

He found himself walking across a grand hall lit by oil lamps and candles and bordered by stone arches. His steps were soft, and thus he could hear the trickle of a fountain somewhere outside. When he gazed down upon his feet, he noted that he was wearing pale tan leather sandals, intricate straps winding around his slender ankles and over the graceful arches of his feet as well as around his toes. He was dressed in sapphire blue trousers, wide and loose around his legs, but gathered in just above his ankles. His upper body was nearly bare, save for the straps of criss-crossing leather matching the sandals.

A glint of light caught Faramir's eye from the garden outside, and he moved swiftly as a shadow through an arched doorway and into a splendid palatial garden, quite unlike anything he had ever seen. A vast stone fountain - circled by fragrant cypress trees standing guard around it - gleamed brilliant white in the moonlight. Tall stone figures from myths and legends loomed over the deep basin, and the fountain was fed by the water streaming from bowls and urns held high above their heads.

When Faramir approached the basin, he beheld the brilliant blue of the water already gathered there, and as he gazed, another face appeared beside his own reflection, and a smile came upon his lips. Hands closed around his slender shoulders, and he was drawn back against a warm and solid body.

With a sigh, Faramir rested his head back against the other's shoulder. "You came back to me," he whispered softly, not wishing to break the spell.

A sigh blew warm breath over his ear, and the now familiar mouth descended upon the soft space below his lobe. The heat of the intimate touch far exceeded that of the sweltering summer air, and Faramir shuddered against the sturdy form behind him. Already he felt himself become aroused, and he was delighted to feel the other's need press against the top of his buttocks.

Careful but insistent hands moved down Faramir's arms as the kisses continued down the side of his neck, and then they were once more on his shoulders, and a jolt of an indistinct memory caught Faramir off-guard. A moment later, all thought was forgotten as the hands slid across his nearly bare chest, tracing the narrow straps of leather, always teasingly close to bare skin but traveling the paths made by the straps instead.

When Faramir made an impatient sound, a soft chuckle stirred the air against his left shoulder, and as lips descended upon the smooth flesh, the fingers left their safe paths and trailed across the exposed skin of Faramir's chest. Index fingers torturously circled his achingly tight nipples. Panting, he tried to twist and turn in the embrace so that they might touch those sensitive points, but the other was always a step ahead of him, the fingers now touching an exposed square of skin on Faramir's stomach, just above his hipbone, then at his navel. He gasped, but again the fingers only made a lazy circle, and Faramir whimpered.

The other's resistance faltered. Faramir was spun around, and while his eyes still languidly travelled up the taller shape dressed in much the same exotic fashion as himself, safe for an emerald green where his own garb was blue, the face was once again obscurred as it descended for a kiss.

Faramir held on to the other's shoulders, pressing against him as he parted his lips under the impassioned assault. The friction between their near bare chests was all soft leather, warm skin, light hair and hard peaks of flesh, and it made them groan into each other's mouths while their tongues fuelled their desire further, imitating the undulations of their bodies.

When their hard arousals - barely concealed by their sheer garments - rubbed against each other, Faramir was pushed back against the rim of the fountain and, knowing he would need the support, he clutched the stone ledge behind him as the other unlaced the silken bindings restricting his sex. Lips descended on the previously neglected rosy buds adorning Faramir's chest, alternating between them, as long, gentle fingers closed around Faramir's shaft. The tip of a raspy tongue flicked against the aching flesh of his nipples, and Faramir whimpered helplessly, jolting under the touch.

When the other sank to his knees, traversing the patches of flesh on Faramir's chest and stomach on his way, Faramir once more attempted to focus on identifying his lover, but all he could make out were the softly falling waves of hair on the bent head, their shade not unlike his own. This oddly enough increased his arousal, and when the other's mouth finally brushed against the shaft cradled in a warm hand, Faramir groaned deeply. The tickling of facial hair against his smooth flesh was the last thing Faramir could distinguish before sinking into an abyss of pleasure. The warmth of the other's mouth closed over the leaking tip of his erection, then moved on until his full length was lodged in the hot cavity, with the rosy, dripping head brushing against the back of the other's throat.

Faramir's release was almost painful in its intensity, and it was upon him after mere seconds of that deep, swallowing suction. He filled the other's mouth and throat, knowing instinctively that his lover was spending his own seed at that very moment, was almost able to taste it on his tongue.

When the flow had ebbed, his lover stood and drew him close, letting him rest against his broad chest as the last tremors wracked the slighter form. Faramir's heart was still pounding when he was released. Cool, moist fingers - wetted in the clear water of the fountain - stroked loving patterns over his flushed cheeks and sweat-damp forehead.

"Will you not stay with me until I wake this time?" Faramir whispered. "So that I may hold you close by the light of day?"

Leaning forward, his lover whispered, for the first time, a single word in Faramir's ear. "Soon..."

And as though the spell had been broken by the tiny word, Faramir jolted upright in his bed, once again sticky and spent and wide awake. He knew that voice, knew it well. Why did his cursed mind not let it linger once he was awake, but leave it like a morsel of a forbidden treat stored in the recesses of his subconscious? He fell back, growling in frustration.

~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~

Faramir could face no breakfast, nor company, and he longed to spend the day in solitude, for his jumbled mind and hazy recollections of hints and clues of his dream lover's identity nagged at him to a point where to gather a single clear thought was impossible. How could he hope to hold a conversation this day, or in fact do anything, when he could think of nothing but his sweet, clandestine lover?

For a time, he fared well in his retreat, for his father had left Minas Tirith for a meeting in Osgiliath which would see him mercifully absent for a few days, and Boromir had been in conference with senior members of the city's guard since mid-morning. Thus Faramir was able to spend his day in solitude until the late afternoon, which found him reading - or rather, holding a book - on the balcony outside his room, where he sat on his discarded vest.

When Boromir joined him there, and Faramir was shocked to find he had been so lost in thought as to have had no inkling of his approach. He stared, wide-eyed, at his elder brother, and his heart was racing unaccountably.

Boromir smiled mildly. "I did not sneak up on you, you know. In fact, I should think the fall of these clumsy boots would wake you even from the deepest--"

Faramir gasped, as did Boromir, and there was a sudden unease in the air.

Faramir sought to dispel it with a nervous chuckle. "You have no fault in my distraction, Boromir. It is entirely of my own making." Sitting down on the ledge across from Faramir, Boromir sighed, a doubtful look on his face. "What is it?" Faramir prompted.

Boromir cleared his throat. "Did you sleep well last night, Faramir?"

Faramir felt his face instantly suffused with heat. "Why do you ask?" He looked off to one side, unable to meet Boromir's gaze.

"Because..." A deep sigh, and Faramir heard something unspoken in it. "My own sleep has been somewhat... restless of late."

"Oh. I am sorry."

"No, there is no need," Boromir said quickly. He seemed to struggle to decide on his next words. "Faramir, how have your... your dreams been of late?"

Faramir jumped to his feet, knocking the book which had been perched on his knee over the ledge of the balcony. "Oh! I must get that! Father would kill me if I lost it. I am sorry, Boromir!" And he all but ran from the balcony and away through his room like a frightened child, ostensibly to retrieve what was a minor and little-read addition to Denethor's library, and Boromir knew it well.

The elder brother remained behind, his fingers tracing the celestial patterns and designs on Faramir's discarded vest as he sighed wearily.

For the remainder of the day, Faramir managed to hide more successfully.

~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~

In equal parts feared and longed for, sleep did finally claim Faramir well after midnight.

This time, he found himself in strange, unfamiliar corridors, much like a maze. He knew with the unerring certainty of a dreamer that in some shadowed corner or hidden doorway, his phantom lover lingered, awaiting him. He longed to find him and yet, he feared the encounter. Unlike during his blissfully unaware first dream, there was now a half-hidden truth which nagged at him, and it was the unraveling of this that he feared. At first, he hastened through dark, tunnel-like hallways, but the more nervous he became, the more he slowed his pace to edge around corners, always watching the shadows. But all his care did not prevent the inevitable and, soon enough, a hand closed around his wrist and drew him through heavy drapes into a dark recess.

Gasping, Faramir found himself in a tight embrace, crushed against the warm solidity of his lover, and any apprehension he had carried from his waking life into this dream vanished at the surge of longing that gripped him. With a sigh, he let his head fall on the broad chest, inhaling the scent of... of...

He looked up, but the small space around them was pitchdark, though there was little need for illumination when a mouth such as that descended upon one's lips. Whimpering, Faramir opened himself, his tongue reaching for his lover's this time, drawing him in as he clung to him. His fingers dug into the smooth material of the other's clothing, feeling warm skin so temptingly just underneath. This was how to make it all real, Faramir decided. He needed to feel bare skin under his hands again. He needed to coax sounds of pleasure from his lover. And this time, he would pay closer attention to what his mind might tell him of the other's identity. This time... he would not disregard what seemed too shocking to accept.

Pulling and tearing at the rich garments, Faramir found his way inside and to a smooth chest and a pounding heart palpitating through warm skin. The other's heavy breaths moved over his forehead as he bent his head to nip and lick at the sweet flesh before him, and fingers settled against his scalp, guiding his lips to the most sensitive spots.

"Speak to me," Faramir pleaded huskily, the need to feel, to taste, to touch, warring with the need to know. "Let me hear your voice. I must know..."

In truth, the other was quite unable to speak when Faramir's tender lips made their way across his stomach, then to the warmth of his abdomen as his trousers were shoved out of the way impatiently, and a hungry mouth descended on the now free, weeping arousal. A harsh groan resounded in the dark, and Faramir shivered at the sound of it. He knew what to do now, how to make the other speak. His lips, tongue and fingers teased the other into a frenzy, and he could hardly bear to draw back when the slow trickle of moisture on his tongue began to come more steadily, but he wanted... no, needed to know.

"Please!"

Faramir's heart was beating irregularly. He still could not be sure. "What did you say?" he whispered.

"Please..." A broken voice, as though long unused, obliged him, and Faramir closed his eyes when he finally felt certainty. Heavens! It was a dream, he told himself. Only a dream, removed from the laws and morals of the waking world, and no one would know. He could not stop now. Grasping his lover's hips firmly, Faramir took him deep into his throat, and with his eyes closed, swallowed.

"Faramir!" The cry was cut off abruptly by what must have been a fist in the other's mouth and, shuddering with the force of his release, the taller form standing above Faramir fell back against the wall, his free hand slamming against it in its search for support.

When the last of the sweet and bitter sinful brew had been swallowed, and Faramir's senses ceased to reel from his own climax within the confines of his clothes, Faramir slumped against his lover's trembling thighs, and wept. Wept while a tender hand stroked over his hair. Wept until the sun pierced his damp eyes open.

~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~

The knocking on the door came only moments after Faramir had managed to clean away his spilled seed as well as his tears. His washed skin was still damp when he shrugged into a thin white tunic, and he stood as straight and calm as he could manage.

"Enter."

He was not surprised at his visitor's identity. Nor at the tear tracks on pale cheeks or the unaccustomed awkwardness of Boromir's movements. As so often before, his brother was like a mirror to him. Once the door had closed, they stared at each other for a long time.

Boromir was first to speak. "For twenty years, Faramir, we have been close. You have been more familiar to me than anyone, including myself. And more precious also."

"I know. As you have to me." Faramir sighed, not breaking eye contact, seeking some kind of anchor for himself in the sea-green eyes. "Why do I feel as if I am looking upon you for the first time?" he asked brokenly.

Boromir looked ready to weep at this, his slender hand brushing over his forehead, the base of his palm pressing against his temple.

"It cannot be true. Can it, Boromir?" Faramir shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. He stood several yards away from his brother, but even that seemed much too close.

Boromir sighed, his eyes full of worry. "I do not know why we have these dreams. I do not think of you, this way, by day." As if caught by a sudden fear, he quickly added, "You must believe me, Faramir, I would never hurt you!" He began to move closer, instinctively reaching out to reassure his brother as he would have normally done. But this was not their normal discourse, and he aborted the movement.

Faramir stared at him, unblinking, and felt his eyes fill. "Nor does he, I mean... you... hurt me in my dreams."

"I know."

It was an unnecessary reminder that they shared all aspects of their dreams, as intimate as they were, and they blushed furiously.

"What is this madness?" Faramir asked, feeling close to hysterical.

Boromir gave him a measured glance. "I know not. Perhaps it is because we are so close. Have always been so close. We love each other so much more than most siblings do." He paused at this, and continued only when Faramir nodded his agreement to the statement. "But Faramir... they are only dreams. They mean..." He closed his eyes, as tough finding it hard to go on. "They mean nothing."

Faramir nodded slowly. "You are right, brother. How could they mean something. To even think we would derive pleasure from such forbidden acts is... is..." His voice broke.

Boromir moved closer and said with false bravado, "True enough. Why, I could embrace you now and would feel nothing but brotherly affection." They stood awkwardly before each other, then moved as awkwardly into a mockery of an embrace; they barely touched, then drew apart as though burned. "There, you see?" Boromir declared triumphantly over the trembling of his voice.

Faramir feigned a smile. "I knew it would be so. No doubt we could even kiss, and it would simply feel strange and wrong."

Boromir stared at him. Then he conceded hesitantly, "Yes."

"Well, then." Faramir moved closer, tilting up his chin. When Boromir did nothing, he pleaded, "Please, brother. We must do this. We must be sure."

Unable to think of any other way, Boromir bent his head and pressed tightly closed, dry lips to his brother's mouth, for but a second. The effect was devastating, even where there had been no romantic intent, and they could do naught but draw apart hurriedly and turn away from each other, breathing heavily.

"There, nothing." Boromir began to move towards the door in long strides.

"Nothing," Faramir confirmed shakily. He pressed his lips together tight and tried to still his heart.

Boromir had already laid a trembling hand on the door knob. He stood very still for a moment, then he released it again and spun around.

Their eyes met across the room, the undeniable flush heating their faces now revealed to each other, as was the unconscious, expectant parting of Faramir's lips and Boromir's answering gasp.

Boromir started back across the room.

Faramir met him halfway.

And then Faramir was in his brother's arms, feeling his very soul open and set alight by kisses that sent shivers down his spine and reverberated bone deep. The dreams faded into oblivion as he was lifted clear off the ground, and Boromir's hands were on the backs of his thighs, and he was pushed up against the stitched wallhanging he had been given as a child; Boromir had one to match it.

Teeth bit down on Faramir's tongue, his whimper of pain-pleasure was swallowed. Kisses fell upon his face and throat like hail - cool and yet stinging hot for their fierceness.

Boromir groaned when his brother slipped a little, their groins colliding, and tightened his grip, tilting his hips up to trap Faramir in his precarious position. He was light enough, and Boromir strong enough, to allow Boromir to do some tugging here, some tearing there, exposing smooth skin and tasting it where the early morning sun gilded it, made it like honey, and his tongue lapped while his fingers fumbled to get inside. Warm skin. Quivering flesh against his palm. A flat stomach, sharp little gasps of breath against his ear as he tilted his head to watch his own hand moving down and over Faramir's cock.

Faramir cried out, one hand buried in Boromir's hair, the other clutching at a strong shoulder. "Possess me, Boromir! Please, make it real before it is night again!"

Harsh breaths fell on Faramir's throat. One arm was around his waist, and a hand fumbled with stubborn garments, as Boromir freed himself, letting the irritating fabric pool at his feet.

Faramir was set down for a moment, just long enough for his brother to strip the lower half of his body, then lift him again. Their erections met awkwardly and beautifully, and pearly liquid was stolen from Faramir's and applied to Boromir's urgently. Then there was a nudge against Faramir's opening.

Faramir knew it would hurt, no matter how much he willed it not to, no matter how much he needed this. And he didn't care. Neither of them could wait, and Boromir's mouth was there to catch his scream, his tongue to soothe the ache, his sticky and half-dry slide inside him to heal his heart. Soon, it stopped to hurt, and began to purify, until there was nothing left that was wrong or sinful.

Boromir held him, wringing gasps from them both, repeating the same truth over and over like punctuation in between his thrusts. "I love you... I love you.... I love you."

It all eased, became slippery, pain but a memory in Faramir's mind, no more than a scraped knee remembered from childhood; Boromir used to heal those, too.

"Boromir... brother!" Burying his nails in his brother's flesh at his nape, through a tear in the freshly laundered shirt, Faramir came in long, hot spurts, drops landing on his stomach where it was bare, soaking Boromir's linen shirt, splattering the narrow strip of warm, quivering flesh at and above Boromir's groin... He came so hard, it did not want to end.

Boromir continued to hold him up only by his tilted hips, letting him slide down hard, all the way down while he pressed his palms against the tapestry behind Faramir and kissed him, weeping onto his cheek even while he smiled against his parted lips.

Faramir's I love you wrapped itself around his tongue and slipped down his throat like the sweetest potion, while Boromir poured himself out inside his brother. His lover.

Everything began to fade, and they only barely reached the bed and fell upon it before passing out.

~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~       ~

Faramir awoke, slowly and gently this time. He did not open his eyes right away, because he feared that when he did, his lover might once again disappear, and he would find himself alone. He could feel the aching prickling of sunlight against the outside of his lids and stubbornly kept them closed.

A shadow fell over him then, blocking the light and making him think it night, though it was only mid-morning, and he dared to open his eyes at last. "You stayed with me," he sighed.

Tender eyes smiled down at him. "Now we have truly found each other, my love, I will always stay with you." A new rain of kisses began, but it was no hailstorm now but the slow, warm trickling of summer rain sweetened with tears of joy.

 

The End