Aragorn and Boromir to the rescue

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Chapter 12: Comfort and Coercion[edit]

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“I just want to check on him, Aragorn.” Boromir said. He had been increasingly worried over the past few days as he observed Marek’s almost obsessive lust for his brother.

“Check on him at a later time, Boromir.” Aragorn said, not removing his hand from his lover’s hip. “Right now I want you in my bed, in my mouth. Come, Faramir will be fine for a few hours.” He whispered into Boromir’s ear. “I need you now.”

“Do you hear that?” Boromir said suddenly. “It sounded like someone fell.” Removing the King’s hand from the front of his breeches, he walked towards the sound. “One minute for Faramir, and then several hours for you. I think you’ll be able to contain yourself for that long, sire.”

“Do no be so sure,” Aragorn grumbled before he began chasing after the younger man. He watched as Boromir opened one of the doors and stopped suddenly. Aragorn paused as he watched a look of rage take on the Gondorian’s face as Boromir suddenly bolted into the room and began yelling at someone. The King grimaced, and drew a small knife before running towards the room. Somehow he could just *feel* that the Haradrim was at the bottom of this.




Consciousness came to Faramir in stages, as he numbly tried to make sense over what was going on. A hand between his legs, and then loud shouting. Even though he still couldn’t see, he could feel the hand jerked away and heard the sounds of a scuffle between two people.

Another hand reached him, and rolled him over to his back which caused him to moan softly. His head ached and nausea was roiling in his stomach. “Faramir?” a voice asked him, but he couldn’t identify it. Marek? No, there was no malice in this voice, merely honest concern.

“No, no.” He said softly, trying to open his eyes to get a better view of the stranger who was stroking his face. “Please, please don’t.”

Aragorn kept stroking Faramir’s face, increasingly concerned with the bruises covering the young man’s face. It was obvious he was a little concussed, and rather disoriented but the King wouldn’t blame him on that. Glancing over to where Boromir was wrestling Marek to the ground, landing blows across the Haradrim’s face in random places. “Boromir, stop beating him and restrain him. Your brother needs help.”

The Gondorian glanced up with his fist raised and then nodded once before hitting Marek until the Southron lay still on the floor. “Faramir?” He asked hesitantly, taking his little brother into his arms.

Faramir whimpered and clung to him, forgetting for a moment his nudity and the presence of the King. Boromir was here, and that meant that everything would be alright again. “Boromir,” Faramir whispered into his brother’s chest as he tried to squeeze himself as tightly into the embrace as possible.

“Shhh, Fara. It will be alright. We’ll get rid of Marek, do not worry.” Boromir soothed, rubbing Faramir’s back.

Aragorn stared at the scene between them, a tightening in his groin taking him by surprise. He had noticed on several occasions how close the two brothers resembled each other, yet there was softness to Faramir that Boromir lacked. Yet when he stared at the two together like that it seemed he felt a ‘rightness’ to it that he hadn’t felt for a long while. Perhaps….

“Boromir, comfort your brother please.” The order left his lips before he could quiet himself.

Boromir stared at the King for a moment before raising an eyebrow. “What does it *look* like I am doing, Aragorn?” He asked, puzzled. What exactly did his lover mean by….Boromir gaped in disbelief. Surely not; surely Aragorn didn’t mean *that*. “You mean I should comfort him a little bit…more?” He asked, wanting confirmation to what the King wished.

Aragorn nodded and gestured to the shivering man in Boromir’s arms. “He’s cold; warm him up.”

Boromir stared at the King for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Faramir, sweetheart? Look at me please.”

Faramir looked up and when he did, his brother captured his chin in one hand and kissed him lightly. “Are you feeling better?” Boromir asked him softly.

Faramir nodded, confused with this new development but not instinctively hating it.

“Good.” Boromir said, and then kissed him far more deeply.

Faramir gasped, and then began struggling to get away. Marek’s hands on his body a too recent reminder of the pain that was sure to follow. “No no no” he said, shaking his head to forbid his brother access.

Aragorn walked over and put his hand on Faramir’s back, before moving it to the man’s ribs and pulling Faramir into him. “I know you are hurt; we should take you to the healers. But then they would know what Marek was trying to do and the embarrassment would be great. Do you wish us to do that anyhow? Your head must be hurting you.”

Faramir paled at the thought of an examination by the healers and shook his head yet again. “I want my clothes back please,” he asked his King.

“They will be given to you,” Aragorn smiled, before taking Boromir’s hand and placing it on Faramir’s chest. “After I am finished.”

Faramir’s attempt at subtly pulling away was thwarted by a hard hand on his back keeping him pinned between the two other men. “Let me go please,” he said, panic beginning to trickle into his veins again. “I…Boromir please?”

Boromir looked at him, rubbing his hand against Faramir’s chest. “But why would you wish to leave? I know you desire Aragorn.” Then he rubbed his thumb over a dark nipple. “And was it so very long ago that we were children and you came to my bed to practice for women? Just think of this as the final exam, little brother.”

Faramir stared at his brother before glancing over to Aragorn. “You want me?” He asked. Was it possible, even after the conversation between the King and his father?

Aragorn smiled and kissed the young man on the temple. He had never actually realised how eager Faramir was to please him. Something he wished he had time to explore. “I don’t love you Faramir. My marriage plans are further along now than they have ever been and Arwen and I will soon be together. However that does not mean I do not wish to watch you enjoy yourself with your brother. Boromir?”

Faramir looked down at the floor, trying desperately to believe that this was not truly happening. How could his rescue have become so bitter? A warm tongue on his neck brought him out of his musing and he glanced at Boromir before pressing his forehead into his brother’s chest. “I want to leave now please. Thank you for rescuing me Boromir, but I just want to dress and go.”

Warm strong hands rubbed Faramir’s shoulders as he was pulled onto his brother’s lap. “I think I like you like this little brother.” Boromir said. “Naked on my lap, waiting for me.” Nuzzling his brother’s face, Boromir leaned in and whispered “I know that you are untried; I would be gentle.”

Faramir’s struggles were nothing against a man who had swung a broadsword since the age of ten. Pinning him, Boromir licked at his navel and licked at Faramir’s cock. “I know this is hard for you, Fara. Marek was a cruel teacher in the ways of love. But allow me this, little brother. I’ll show you just what you’ve been missing all these years.”

Aragorn smiled, reaching into his breeches to stroke himself. He had never realised how nice it would be to watch these two. “Love him, Boromir. I want to see him howl for you to fill him. Will you, sweetheart?”

Boromir looked at him, and then gazed at his brother’s naked pleading form under him. Already he was hard and aching, and Faramir’s warm soft body was beckoning him silently.





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