Boromir makes love to a reluctant Faramir
Chapter 13: The King, The Steward's Heir and his Brother
this page added by Minx
“You know you want him, Boromir,” Aragorn murmured softly.
“I’ve never had a virgin yet,” Boromir admitted, “It should be interesting.”
“I’ll just throw Marek out and have one of the servants take him back to his house,” Aragorn said tugging the Haradrim’s prone form away.
Boromir didn’t reply. He was too busy moaning loudly as he reached between Faramir’s trembling legs.
Faramir whimpered as he felt the hands slip in between his thighs. Marek had tried to do that, he remembered…slipped his hands inside Faramir’s pants, slid them between and fingered his entrance just as Boromir was doing. He jerked back in fright only to groan as pain radiated through his concussed mind.
“Take him, Boromir,” Aragorn had reentered the room, “He’s asking for you!.”
“I will, I will…” Boromir murmured, mistaking the pain-filled groan for one full of anticipation. Faramir felt his eyes drift shut, despite the intrusive hands that ran over his groin now. His head and back hurt, and he’d hardly eaten anything the whole day having been too nervous to eat in the morning and then too distressed at noon and night to have food at all.
“The oil,” Boromir said almost dreamily and it was then that Faramir realised he sounded a little drunk as did Aragorn. There would have been Elven wine at dinner he realised – strong elven wine from Mirkwood.
Faramir could vaguely hear Aragorn telling Boromir something, then he felt the hands move off his thighs…but only for seconds. They were back, and wet this time.
He yelped as Boromir slipped a slick finger inside him, slowly at first, just the nail pushing in through him and then in a rush all the way up to the knuckle. His eyes flew open in fright at the sensation – pain mixed with a strangeness he couldn’t define. He knew what men did to each other, though he’d never really known the details….
“H-hurts,” he mumbled and tried to wriggle away but Aragorn was down by his side in an instant and had pulled him up in his arms. Faramir felt his arms being pinned against his body and his legs being parted further by Aragorn allowing Boromir better access to his lower body.
“He’s so tight, Aragorn!” Boromir was exclaiming. Faramir heard Aragorn murmur something from behind him. He was settled against Aragorn’s body, he realised, his back resting lightly against the strong chest… there was that smell of pipewood he’d come to recognise and reluctantly like. Aragorn’s hands were on him, on his thighs, gripping him gently. His head still hurt a dull pain radiating from the base of his skull in waves.
“Very soft too,” Aragorn was murmuring, “Boromir if you don’t hurry and take him, I swear I will!”
Boromir’s finger was sliding in and out of Faramir’s body now, and was soon joined by a second finger. Faramir groaned again as he felt his tight entrance being stretched. A burning sensation spread through his backside. Another finger went in and Faramir cried out louder as the fingers scissored painfully into him.
“Pl-please let me go,” he cried out softly trying to get Boromir to look at him but his brother was too busy watching his fingers slide in and out of still resisting Faramir’s body, widening the tight passage further and further.
“Oh, hurry Boromir…however long will you take/” Aragorn asked impatiently.
“Soon,” Boromir grunted out, “I told you, he’s tight… and he keeps wriggling!”
“Pl-please,” Faramir begged again.
“Hush, little one, let me show you how it feels,” Boromir said softly.
“You’ll love it, you see,” Aragorn said gently.
The fingers were withdrawn, not very slowly though and left a sharp twinge of pain travelling up Faramir’s backside. As soon as the fingers were out of his body, Aragorn freed him and moved to Boromir’s side. Faramir curled into himself sobbing softly. He felt weak and tired and unable even to move himself away.
“Oh, Aragorn, he’s going to feel so wonderful, he’s so tight and completely untouched… I didn’t believe it at first, he is well of age,” Boromir said enthusiastically as Aragorn helped him remove his robe. He couldn’t wait!
And Aragorn couldn’t wait either to see these two brothers melding into each other, Boromir’s gloriously sculpted warrior’s body fitting into Faramir’s slender frame.
Faramir could hear clothes rustling but he didn’t realise the significance until he was pulled back onto his back. Faramir continued trying to protest but in vain. Boromir stood naked in front of him now.
Aragorn rubbed some oil over Boromir’s erection and began working his hands over the stiff length. Faramir stared in utter fascination, his mind still foggy and his vision still vague as Boromir started to moan. The sight of his king on his knees to his brother was strangely repulsive yet enticing… and then Aragorn pulled away leaving Boromir standing there grinning at him. “I’ll leave you for Faramir,” Aragorn said laughing.
Surely Boromir didn’t mean to? But he was his brother…. and that large – thing was not to enter him was it?
Aragorn bent over him and turned him onto his stomach swiftly shoving a fat book of elvish poetry under his hips to raise his backside, and pushed his legs apart even wider. Faramir stared at the greyness of the floor in confusion, Aragorn’s words still swirling in his aching head.
“I don’t love you…”
“I’ve never had a virgin…”
He loved Aragorn though and Boromir… he was too confused now….his head continued to hurt… perhaps if he closed his eyes, he would wake up and none of this would be happening.
“I won’t hurt you,” Boromir told a now panic-stricken Faramir right before pulling up his hips and entering him swiftly, the oil helping him slide.
Faramir gasped aloud as the thick member pushed into him. He felt as though he were being torn and moaned. Boromir’s one hand was resting on his chest, digging into the soft skin around his nipples. The other hand wound around Faramir waist lifting the younger man into Boromir’s erection.
Faramir had dreamt of his first time… of a large high room in the tower, with long windows and a huge bed upon which he would be lying and Aragorn would be gently kissing him and touching him all over. It would be just about breaking dawn and there would be soft sheets under him. And Aragorn would keep murmuring loving phrases in his ear…some of those phrases from the poetry book that was sliding out from under his hips.
He could feel the hard floor under him right now. And a mirror in front of him where he could see himself lying on the floor, naked, bruised, and unkempt, while over him Boromir kept pushing into him. Behind them Aragorn had opened his robes and was stroking himself.
And then as suddenly as he had pushed in, Boromir began to pull out. Faramir cried again for this hurt him just as much…
“See I told you you’d like it,” Boromir said happily, oblivious to Faramir’s grimace.
And then he thrust into Faramir again, shocking the younger man with the speed of his thrusts. Faramir felt the book under his hips slide away as his body was lifted and then shoved down again… and again… and again…
His hip bones kept impacting painfully with the cold ground and he knew he would have more bruises to add to his already marked body.
And then suddenly Boromir was screaming aloud, “Yes, Aragorn, harder, harder…”
Faramir opened his eyes to see Aragorn mounting Boromir .
He could see it all in the mirror just as it was happening. He lay on the floor, with Boromir pushing into his tight and resisting body… even as Aragorn in turn was pushing into Boromir. He could feel the weight of both men thrusting into him.
Boromir had turned his head around now and Aragorn was kissing him. His hand continued to grip Faramir’s waist clenching into his soft skin.
As Boromir broke away for air gasping Aragorn spoke, “Take care of his need first, and then…”
The hand around Faramir’s waist slipped lower and grasped his semi-erect member, working up and down it rapidly.
Faramir didn’t know what to think. There was pain rippling through his lower body and yet… that feeling in his groin… it was so strangely thrilling, leaving him feeling almost numb and lightheaded.
He thought they might have come together – all three of them… he knew for sure that as his release shot out into Boromir finger’s, a sticky liquid trickled down his thighs and Aragorn and Boromir were both groaning loudly and screaming – for each other. And then they all seemed to collapse down on him. He laid on the floor, Boromir still inside him, cold and aching, Boromir and Aragorn’s combined weights pressing down on him, suffocating him… the lightheadedness intensified….
“I need you,” Boromir was telling Aragorn.
Faramir lay slumped on the floor even after Boromir had pulled out of him. The king and his brother were kissing each other as they lay on his bed now.
They made love again, even as Faramir stayed on the hard, cold floor alone unable to move his exhausted body, watching them. The last sight Faramir had before a weary blackness overtook him was that of them making love … Aragorn pushing gently and slowly into a blissfully happy Boromir who was spread out on Faramir’s pillows.
The young ranger woke the next morning, cold and disoriented and feeling distinctly ill and bruised.
He rose slowly, still half-asleep, memory returning in tiny, filtered bits.
Marek…touching him, hurting him…. And the Boromir… and Aragorn… and Boromir touching him….
His eyes flew open as he remembered the previous night’s occurrences. Boromir’s release still coated his body he realised, now dried but there… on his backside…. His legs…
And then he gasped as he saw…
What happens next?
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