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Adoring Eyes

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Leaves rustled as they brushed the outer walls of the tree-ringed bath house, and through the foliage, moonlight made the small building near Minas Tirith's palace shimmer like a perfect diamond encrusted with living emeralds. The breeze and the darkness conspired with Faramir to let him enter the structure unnoticed, as he had done for many a night now. For nearly as many nights, in fact, as his brother had made it a habit to practise with his sword and come here afterwards to bathe...

At first, Faramir had followed him to watch his sword practice and learn from his brother's superior skill. Boromir was imposing and proficient, performing in the silent courtyard with only a solitary moon and a now grown-up Faramir for an audience.

When Faramir returned the second night, his admiration of Boromir's sword work subtly became secondary to his aesthetic appreciation of the moon-gilded figure's grace, moving in a kind of silent dance against the ink black sky.

On the third night, Faramir hid more closeby, and found that his concentration began to waver swiftly. No longer was his gaze fixed to the broad sword slicing in impressive arches through the air, nor the exact stance of Boromir's feet. Instead, his eyes were riveted to the play of muscles in his brother's bare chest and arms and the trails of sweat winding over and around them. That night, Faramir fled, and vowed to himself not to watch his brother again.

On the fourth night, however, he returned to the now familiar spectacle of Boromir fighting an invisible assailant like a figure in a shadow play. As he watched the quick, fluid movements, he began to notice that Boromir's breathing was rapid and loud enough for him to hear it in his hiding place, and he swallowed hard. When he closed his eyes, he found that he could quite imagine hearing his brother's panting breaths interspersed with his own name, and it took Faramir's own breath away. That night, his eyes followed Boromir as he retreated to the bath house some time later. It took all of Faramir's willpower to stop himself from following.

Until the fifth night. No longer did Faramir have any illusions about the nature of his need to spy on Boromir this way. He knew how wrong it was, and yet, he could not keep away. Flustered and shaking after Boromir's unusually lengthy training session, Faramir crept after his brother to the solitary building; the bath house was used only by the steward's family, and at this time of night, no one would ever come there. No one but Boromir.

Faramir kept a safe distance and hid behind one of the inner walls of the enclosure, while Boromir prepared to bathe inside. Faramir watched the stone pool fill with water, warmed by large, heated river rocks at the bottom, and then he watched as Boromir added scented oil to the water and removed his armour and outer layers of clothing.

Grateful for the sound of the running water to cover up his heavy breaths, Faramir stared wide-eyed as the last of Boromir's garments fell from his sweat-slicked skin and, for a split-second, he glimpsed Boromir's tight buttocks as he climbed into the pool. Faramir barely managed to suppress a loud moan, but he knew that if he would not, this beautiful spectacle would be lost to him. And so he watched as Boromir lay back in the soothing heat with a sigh, letting himself be enveloped by the scented water. Faramir could only imagine the joy of surrounding his brother's perfect form like that, and he watched, mesmerised, while Boromir washed.

When his brother eventually stood to exit the bath, turning sideways as he did so, Faramir drew back rapidly, his care slipping in his excitement as he fell back against the wall, now facing away from the view he'd had to abandon. Frantically and ineffectually, he rubbed himself through the material of his breeches, needing any kind of touch at all, if he could not have his brother's. The thought made him nauseous with shame. He had to leave. Run right now and find a quiet place to hide his disgrace. The soft footfalls, once he heard them, were too late a warning, and Faramir could only pray that the rapid withdrawal of his hand from the front of his breeches had gone unnoticed.


It cost him all his strength to remain standing, let alone raise his eyes to his brother's astonished face, for before him stood Boromir, naked but for a plain towel wrapped haphazardly around his hips. Drops of cypress oil scented water trailed in rivulets down his chest and behind the soft barrier. The barrier Faramir found he could not take his eyes off, for if he were to reach out and hook a single finger behind it...

"Faramir!" Boromir chuckled warmly, tearing Faramir forcefully from his shameful thoughts. "Why do you lurk out here rather than come in and keep me company?"

Faramir swallowed, and though he forced his eyes to remain locked with his brother's, his situation could not be more dire. He had lost his speech entirely.

This did not go unnoticed for long, and after a worried frown drew Boromir's brows together, he took stock of what might be amiss with Faramir. Everything from the flushed face, feverish eyes and guilty expression to the way Faramir's hands fidgeted before him as though seeking to hide something. He looked almost as if...

"I must go, Boromir," Faramir croaked, turning with the intention to run as quickly as his feet could carry him.

But Boromir was faster and stronger, and when Faramir had barely taken a step, his older brother pinned him once more to the wall behind with both hands closed on his shoulders and his full weight pressing him there. With a moan he could not stifle, Faramir knew his guilty secret was plain to see written on his face and in every tense line of his body. Mortified, he closed his eyes and steeled himself for Boromir's inevitable disgust.

Drawing back and breaking all physical contact, Boromir stared at Faramir in complete astonishment. So he had been right. Faramir's nostrils were flaring with his sharp breaths, and his entire body was tense and yet trembling, and his eyes, before they had been shuttered before him, had been dark, but not with fever. Oh no, not with fever.

"What a state you are in, little brother," Boromir whispered.

Faramir's eyes flew open, for there was nothing but tenderness in Boromir's voice. And in the warm green eyes as well. He gulped, still unable to think of anything remotely sensible to say. Why did Boromir look at him so?

Boromir's mind was in turmoil. Being the older, he should repair the situation as best he could and save them both embarrassment in the process. He should smile and clap a hand on Faramir's shoulder, joke about some elusive maiden he must have encountered on the way to the bath house, and then send him off to bed like the young boy he really, truly... mercifully, no longer was. And he might have done so had not feverish dreams of Faramir looking just so, and due to him, plagued him for some time.

He moistened his lips, aware that Faramir was watching this with wide blue eyes, and repeated in a low and intimate voice, "Such a state." He raised a hand to Faramir's cheek and brushed it with his knuckles. When his shaking hand connected with his brother's flushed skin in this blatantly tender caress, he knew he was lost.

Faramir gasped. There was such tenderness in Boromir's eyes. But also a longing as deep as his own.

"For me, Faramir?" Boromir was speaking low and huskily, his hand still moving gently against a soft cheek - their only point of contact at that moment.

Faramir gulped for air. "Boromir, are you angry with me?" he asked, his voice trembling, for how could his elder brother not be. He hurried on frantically. "I never meant to... watch you like this. I know it is wrong. You were practising, and at first I watched you with the sword, I wanted to learn from you, but I could not help myself... and you looked so... so... beautiful."

Boromir shushed him. "Is that why you are here, Faramir? Is that why you are..." Before Faramir could even guess his intention, Boromir's palm had cupped the hard shape of his arousal within the linen of his breeches, and his knees buckled as he groaned wantonly. "So aroused," Boromir's eyes fixed on Faramir's with only a feverish glaze belying his control. He squeezed gently, and a shiver ran down his spine at Faramir's reaction. Beads of sweat pearled at Faramir's temple and the base of his neck, and his lips were parted like an invitation; an invitation Boromir did not yet accept. "You must tell me what you want, little brother, for I would do nothing against your will."

Faramir was certain his brother's voice had never been gentler. He wetted his lips and murmured, "You," avoiding Boromir's eyes coyly.

Boromir squeezed a little tighter as he supported himself with one hand against the wall at Faramir's side. "You want me to touch you like this?"

"Oh yes," Faramir sighed, pushing forward into his brother's hand, which he could feel trembling slightly.

"Do you want me to..." Boromir leaned in to nuzzle the sweat-damp hair at Faramir's temple. "... do this?"

"Please," Faramir whispered. Not knowing what he was allowed to do with his own hands, he let them hang loosely at his side, trapped as he was between Boromir's body and the wall behind. The stone was cool, but Boromir's skin was hot enough to nearly burn him through his clothing. He wondered whether his brother would undress him if he begged.

"Perhaps I might taste more of you... here." And Boromir leaned down and lapped at the hollow of Faramir's throat where pearls of sweat glistened enticingly. Still his hand did not release Faramir's arousal, which he felt straining and hot under his palm as thought there was no cloth in the way at all.

Faramir was reduced to whimpers of need, and Boromir now gazed at him heatedly from very near. "How beautiful you are," he said in a voice which sounded foreign to them both.

"Boromir," Faramir begged. "Please, touch me."

"Like this?" Boromir asked huskily, squeezing Faramir's arousal.

"Yes. Yes. Boromir... help me!" Faramir covered Boromir's hand on his groin with his own clammy one, and together they struggled with the closure of his breeches until Boromir's strong, warm hand closed around his twitching cock. He shuddered and groaned, and his knees buckled.

Boromir quickly wrapped his arm around Faramir's waist, holding him wedged between the wall and his own body. "Hush, Faramir. I have you."

Faramir sighed. "You do." His eyes alternately closed in bliss and held Boromir's own heatedly.

Boromir had trouble breathing. His hand was tight around his brother's erection, sliding over the hot length without any conscious thought on his behalf. When he felt the path of his palm ease with the sticky evidence of his brother's imminent release, he groaned, and his fist moved faster and faster, and his breathing fell into the same hasty rhythm as Faramir's.

Faramir knew it would not be long, and he fumbled loose the towel slung around Boromir's waist and drew him closer.

The towel pooled at Boromir's feet as he moved forward against Faramir and, without a moment's interruption, shifted his hand to close around both their erections together, leaking and hot and twitching in his palm, and Faramir had to feel it to, had to close his hand around them both as well, and the moment their fingers met, just there, both their breaths stuttered to a standstill before they climaxed with deep, nearly silent sighs.

Boromir stayed close, their seed trickling over their hands between them as he slumped against Faramir, one forearm against the wall behind, and his head in the crook of Faramir's neck where he inhaled deeply.

Faramir was panting hard, the sound suddenly too loud as it rebounded from the walls of the bath house. He held his free hand hovering in the air for a moment, unsure what he should, or could, do, but when Boromir made no move to distance himself, he laid it on the back of his brother's head, the damp hair so like his own winding around his fingers. The touch made Boromir sigh, and for a moment, Faramir feared his brother would now step back and look at him with loathing for what they had just done. Instead, Boromir lifted his head and met his eyes with undisguised desire.

"Boromir," Faramir whispered as softly as he could, fearing to break the spell. He felt his brother take his sticky hand and lift it to his lips, where with his eyes fixed on Faramir, he began to clean Faramir's hand meticulously with his tongue.

Faramir's heart pounded, and he wondered faintly whether Boromir too was feeling his renewed arousal already, for he himself felt the first twitches once more, and heat curled in his belly. Without hesitation, he took Boromir's hand and began to lick it clean also.

Boromir's eyes darkened to a deep jade green, and he moaned against Faramir's palm, his lashes fluttering as his tongue traced the stickiness between his fingers.

Faramir felt each lick as though Boromir's tongue was on his once more half-hard arousal, and unconsciously, he tilted his hips forward where they met Boromir's.

They both groaned, and Boromir released his hand suddenly to kneel before Faramir, where he roughly pulled the now stained and wet breeches down over slender hips. Faramir looked down upon him, holding his breath when Boromir gazed at his erection heatedly, and releasing the held breath in a huff when his brother's tongue snaked out to circle him once, before his mouth engulfed him entirely. His head fell back against the wall when Boromir's hands tilted his hips forward and swallowed around him. Faramir moaned his name.

Boromir did not delay, for his one aim at that moment was to taste his beautiful brother's essence once more, not wasting a single drop this time, and when he shifted his hands on Faramir's buttocks to trail his fingers down the cleft and brush over the virginal opening, Faramir cried out and filled his throat, twitching against the back of it for what seemed like forever.

Boromir rose and caught Faramir in his arms and, steadying them both, he nuzzled his younger brother's cheek tenderly, his beard brushing the nearly smooth skin.

It was then that Faramir turned his face, and their lips met for the first time. They stilled entirely for a moment, gasping each other's air without a sound, and then Boromir's hand was cupping the back of Faramir's head and, with a moan, he parted the yielding lips and let his tongue slip between them.

Faramir responded hungrily at first, but soon the kiss grew impossibly tender. The ground fell away but that was well, for Boromir was holding him. They were one. He knew that now. They had been inevitable. And when Boromir's lips separated from his own to breathe out a rushed, "Let me love you, Faramir," he merely whispered, "Yes."

And Boromir lifted him effortlessly and carried him inside the still warm, steam-filled bathing chamber.

The End