Boromir returns to his lover's bed during the night, and Faramir gets to witness some hot lovin' before he is noticed
Faramir curled underneath the thick blanket, trying to make sense of his thoughts. The pallet he occupied was near the hearth and the fire still glowed dimly, but he still felt cold. It was dark out and all was silent around him, as he tried desperately to fall asleep. But it was so difficult when his thoughts were so caught up with the day’s events.
He could see Aragorn’s sleeping form on the bed. He had had no choice but to accept the king’s invitation to spend the night here. On hearing the king’s words, Faramir had stared at him in surprise, a reaction that the king mistook for assent.
Aragorn had promptly suggested he turn in now for he was very tired, and surely Faramir must be too. He’d suggested the pallet and Faramir had simply nodded mutely, a part of him overjoyed to be so near the king and another part of him combating with the familiar uncertainty of what to do. Should he have refused the invitation? And yet, Aragorn had asked, nay, told him to stay and Faramir had been unable to refuse.
The king had gone to sleep immediately after that, pleading fatigue and Faramir had slowly followed suit, after changing into an old night robe Aragorn had told him he could have.
He’d lain down by the hearth, and then found he couldn’t sleep, as the events of the day finally made them felt. He hurt all over, and he knew bruises were beginning to form all over his body. And he could not forget Marek’s leering face looming over him, as the prince had touched him.
He’d tried hard all day to not think of this but now in the cover of the night, he found his thoughts drifting back to those awful moments when Marek had held him down, and raped him. It was a thought he had tried not to confront all day long as he’d ignored the pain and worked. Just as he’d tried to ignore Denethor’s reaction.
He’d kept thinking back to Denethor’s words. His father had mentioned a deal, and it had taken no little time for him to realise what had happened. The very idea that his father had known Marek was going to visit him at night sickened the young man to the core. And yet he had done nothing. Denethor’s reaction and admission had been no revelation. His father’s words and actions over the last few years had left no illusion of what he was in the steward’s eye.
He turned over restlessly, wincing as pain flared up over his bruised body. He hadn’t expected to hurt so much. And all the thoughts he’d tried to block out all day came hurtling back to him. He’d been raped his first time with another man, and his father –
He felt silent tears trickle down his cheeks as he recollected Denethor’s angered face.
He tried not to think of that, not to feel betrayed … perhaps if he could just try and remember he was in Aragorn’s chambers…
But not in his bed…
The king didn’t even look at you, he told himself unhappily. Aragorn had merely waved him towards the pallet and told him to help himself to any books he wanted.
He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but it was the soft gasps that woke him up. He opened his tired eyes slowly ignoring the twinges of pain coursing through his aching body. Moonlight from the open window flooded the vast chambers and the two naked figures on the bed, casting its glow on creamy skin and dark hair.
There was a louder groan, and the two figures rolled across the bed in a mass of well-muscled arms and legs. Faramir’s eyes opened wider as he watched his king and his brother wrap themselves in each other’s arms. He watched as hands wandered over the most intimate of places, as they gasped and heaved and breathed heavily, kissing, touching, and licking. They kissed each other in the most intimate of places and Faramir felt his face flush as he watched Aragorn rise, push his brother back gently, laughingly say something and then move. Faramir watched open-mouthed as Boromir’s erect shaft came into his view. He couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his lips as Aragorn lowered his mouth onto it and took it in completely.
His soft gasped echoed through the high walls of the chamber, and Faramir almost cowered as the two figures on the bed came apart, both cursing fluently, There was a flurry of movement before both men stood, each holding a sword.
“Faramir!” Aragorn cried out in surprise, “I forgot you were here…”
“Faramir?” Boromir cried out in surprise, “Whatever are you doing here you little fool?”
He rose sitting up on the pallet hugging the blanket around himself as he realised the fire had died out and the room was so much colder, although he thought dazedly, the other two men didn’t appear to feel it. He flushed as he looked up at them, and then lowered his eyes, embarrassed by their nakedness.
“Well!” Boromir demanded as Aragorn hurriedly pulled on a robe.
“I told him to stay here,” Aragorn said handing another robe to Boromir, “Forgive me, I should have spoken to you earlier of this but I was forced to profess an interest in your brother yesterday and in order to keep up the ruse I invited him to spend the night here.”
It took a completely confused Boromir a while to understand the entire story, and all through Faramir huddled miserably inside the blanket, the story filtering through his head in bits and snatches.
“Prince Marek… offer…consort…unhealthy interest… he’s just a boy… it was safer this way… “
Boromir listened to the entire tale without comment and then when it was offer jumped up angrily.
“How dare he?” he cried out in anger, “Marek, that that- “
“Exactly,” Aragorn said and rose to light the fire in the hearth, “that’s why I decided to refuse his offer. He’s not a very nice man. I’m sure he could have turned nasty.”
Faramir didn’t reply. Boromir sounded furious.
“Faramir,” he was by the younger man’s side in a moment, “You poor child, did he touch you? I’ll- Faramir! What on earth are these-“
He had forgotten the bruises would show if he wore a night robe. Especially one ad thin as this. And the fire in the hearth had lit up the room now. The bruises on his hand were ugly – purple, blue and red, and he knew those covering the rest of his body were no better.
“Pl-please Boromir,” he pleaded as the older man’s hands flew to his neck and tore the bindings of the robe. The thin cloth fell open revealing his chest, and the marks left by Marek’s pinches and nips. He closed his eyes trying to forget the way Marek’s hands had moved over his chest as he had pounded into him, pinching and twisting the soft flesh around his nipples. He swayed slightly.
“What is this?” Boromir raged. He grabbed the distraught younger man by his shoulders and shook him heavily. “Aragorn, what has happened to him?”
“Boromir, you’re hurting him!” Aragorn cried out, and gently pulled Faramir into his arms, “Child, look at me! Who –“ he stared helplessly at the livid marks and then very gently pushed the rest of the night robe down, revealing the bruises on the hips and thighs.
Boromir let out a strangled cry at the sight of the bruises.
“Marek,” Faramir found himself whispering through his tears as Aragorn soundlessly pulled him closer. The last thing Faramir felt before he fainted were the king’s arms wrapped around him.
When he woke a few minutes later it was to Boromir’s distraught voice.
“But how could Marek have done this to him?” Boromir was demanding unhappily.
--Minx 1 December 2005 18:08 (GMT)
What happens next?
Please visit the talk page to comment on this chapter.