Faramir isn't sure.

Chapter 8: The Sons of Denethor

this page added by Gab&Milly

“Are you sure?” Boromir asked.

“Yes, I am sure, I said get off me!” Faramir panted while shoving Boromir away with his shoulders since his hands were pinned and currently useless to him. But his efforts to free himself were to no avail, and his resistance seemed to merely amuse his drunken brother.

Boromir’s mind was still too poisoned by the alcohol to the point where he seemed incapable of understanding his brother’s resistance, let alone reacting to it. No, for all Boromir’s care, Faramir might as well have been a saucy bar wench, putting up a playful fight while being dragged kicking and screaming to the barn for a quick fuck and a few coins pressed to the palm.

Grimly Faramir thought to himself that the only thing more abhorrent than submitting willingly to this crime of lust was if someone were to find them. But since Boromir had lured him miles from the encampment, being discovered, at least for the time being, was unlikely.

Any reasoning would be in vain, as would any protest, and would probably cause Boromir to become rougher and more careless. To his chagrin, Faramir realized that the only possibility of walking away comparatively unharmed would be to pretend to willingly surrender. But how could he? He could never submit to Boromir! The idea that he would willingly give his body to satisfy his own brother’s alcohol-fueled lusts was simply unthinkable.

But any decisions or actions he was about to make were abruptly forgotten when Boromir again claimed his lips, this time eagerly thrusting his tongue into the younger man’s mouth. Though he tasted of ale and stale smoky taverns, it felt good, far better than it should have. Faramir heard himself sighing and felt his own lips and tongue eagerly answering Boromir’s movements. He flushed when he noticed that his appreciative groans were almost as loud as those of his drunken captor while fingers continued to dance and tease across his chest and nipples.

“No Boromir, this is wrong,” he at last managed to croak out between kisses. “Get off of me! Take me back to camp now, and I will forget any of this ever happened.” To make his point more clear, he gave his hip a wiggle and a buck in effort to throw Boromir off.

“Don’t tell me you don’t *hiccup* vrant this F-f-farmer.” The lips were back, and the hot breath stinking of ale. Boromir’s movements were no more than awkward gropes, ill timed and totally lacking in finesse, yet still they incited Faramir’s blood more than even the most skilled lover might. A wide palm slid between his legs and over the rigid shaft that made lie of the young captain’s protests.

“No Boromir…” he again managed to moan. With Boromir’s hands otherwise occupied, he was at last able to work the ropes from his hands and immediately they went to his brother’s shoulders. Instead of pushing him away though, he found himself gripping the heavily muscled arms, pulling him closer and groaning into the kiss. Boromir shifted, and their cocks were aligned. Despite his intoxicated state, there was no lack of functioning on Boromir’s part. He was hard as stone, and it would have been uncomfortable were it not the most arousing thing Faramir had ever felt.

“Lie back now,” Boromir commanded in an almost sober tone of voice. Since he was a mere lad, ordering others around was something Boromir was accustomed to, and he had a natural authority to his voice few ever questioned. Not surprisingly, Faramir easily obeyed the command, too aroused now to protest that what they were doing was wrong. It was awful that what Boromir was doing felt so good, especially as he was hardly a focused partner, stinking of ale as he was, and with his awkward fumbling. Yet to his utter embarrassment, Faramir felt impatient now – almost eager to help his brother so they could continue their sinful misdeeds together.

He could not admit to Boromir that his resistance was breaking, so he allowed his brother to try his best to force himself upon him. But when Boromir’s clumsy attempts became too rough and violent, he shook his head. “Let me do this, I don’t want our clothes torn – otherwise there will be things to explain even you will find difficult to tell father.” His voice held a seriousness that Boromir could not ignore, even though Faramir suspected that it was mainly the prospect of reaching his target faster that stayed his hands. Faramir went about freeing first himself and then Boromir from the confines of their clothing; unbuttoning trousers and pushing them away from their hips, pulling tunics over shoulders and tossing them to the side. Before the older brother could do anything, Faramir forced him to look into his eyes. “This is wrong and I told you so – do not mistake my help for a permission. I explained my motives earlier.”

Boromir blandly nodded, not seeming particularly interested in Faramir’s reasoning. Still Faramir had needed to make himself clear, and to support his assertion, he tried to look at least a little reluctant when Boromir’s fingers slipped between his legs. Faramir groaned and tried twisting away, an act that seemed to only increase Boromir’s excitement.

“Oh wrhat a lovely lil’r buck you are.” Boromir started to giggle and then slipped his index finger into his mouth to wet it while pushing his brother’s thighs apart and up towards his chest. Faramir sighed in surrender and allowed his brother to penetrate him, the digit slipping past the tight ring while the heavier body collapsed atop the younger’s more slender form. Their mouths came together again, and despite Faramir’s deliberate effort at coolness, he could not help but return the kiss with a hunger that rivaled his brother’s. He was at once ashamed but he pushed it to the back of his mind while the finger slipped in and out of him and the slippery tongue plunged and tasted him. Unlike Faramir, Boromir was an accomplished lover, and despite his inebriated state, he went about proving it. He grasped both of their cocks in his wide hand and stroked. After that, Faramir was gone. He rocked his hips back and forth to maximize the sensation from both the penetrating finger, and the warm gripping palm.

”Please,” Faramir whispered hoarsely, not knowing anymore if he was begging for Boromir to stop or to proceed. He shook his head, writhing in pleasure with his eyes squeezed closed and his cheeks burning with reddish shame. What they did was wrong – but how could he care when it felt so good beneath Boromir’s hands and hearing his pleased groans? Faramir could feel his groin pulsing against his brother’s palm, and then there was nothing but pleasure as he spilled himself over Boromir’s hand. The older son laughed roughly and withdrew his fingers to scope up some of the semen to prepare the younger man’s hole further.

When Faramir finally recovered from his orgasm, Boromir was already buried deep inside of him and thrusting with a force that would have torn him completely had his brother not at least taken a little time to prepare him. But still, it hurt, far worse than he had imagined after overhearing tales from other men. Yet, before the first whimper of pain had left his mouth and had resounded in his ears, he could feel the pleasure spreading up his legs and through his belly like a warm soothing blanket. He felt his whole body responding to it, leaning back, taking as much of it from Boromir as he could. Boromir’s chest pressed against his and strong arms wrapped around his torso, holding him close, and he wanted more. He put his hips in motion, driving back to quicken and deepen the penetration. So it was true, he could feel it; it wasn’t just a lie clever men told to seduce the younger more innocent men. Each time Boromir rammed forward at a certain angle, it was as if Faramir were skewered on a spear of pure and unbearable bliss.

It was at that moment that Faramir knew he was going to erupt again, and hard. This orgasm was going to make the first seem like nothing. His brother totally surrounded and commanded his body and they were moving as one. He had never heard such desperately hungry sounds as those coming from Boromir’s throat. His brother was hunched over him, eyes squeezed tightly with a look of something like agony on his face. He rammed forward a few times harder than what Faramir could bear before his whole body began to shudder. Faramir could feel the pulsing warmth deep inside his body as Boromir let go.

Faramir felt dizzy for a second as Boromir’s seed filled him. Suddenly Boromir’s fist was back around his sex, expertly manipulating the flesh with exactly the touch Faramir needed to go over the top again. Faramir watched, dazzled, his flesh inside his brother’s palm spraying long creamy ropes that landed across both their bellies and chests.

After that Faramir collapsed, utterly spent and stunned from what he had just allowed to occur. Boromir caught his breath and rolled partly off him, letting his legs down gently while arms enclosed in an affectionate embrace.

“That was beautiful Fara,” he sighed. He seemed far more sober now, far more composed and focused. The next kiss was a small tender peck on the lips while a wide hand brushed the sweat-damped locks from Faramir’s forehead. Boromir held his little brother in his arms as a lover. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Faramir was speechless. He lay on the ground, bewildered, trying to pretend that this exact moment was nothing more than any other the two brother’s had spent laughing, lying together beneath a tree under a summer sky. But it was an impossible fantasy; he could not ignore the trickle from his still-throbbing opening, nor the softening organ of his brother lying sticky against his thigh.

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What happens next?

• Faramir agrees to become Boromir’s lover.

• Someone has been watching them and decides a little blackmail is in order.