The other man is anyone else you prefer
Steam rose from the mug and clouded Faramir’s sight for a moment. In that split second, the clear gray eyes in front of him shut closed. It was just how Faramir had seen his brother in that Elven boat; the scene that tortured Faramir’s mind again and again in his waking dreams and had just assaulted his memory a few seconds ago.
“No!” Faramir cried out in distress, desperately trying to find anything that would anchor him to the world he thought he had just woken into. He felt like drifting again, not sure whether he was still dreaming or was waking or was already awake. It was this utterly confused moment of waking up from a nightmare, but not knowing whether it was really a waking from a dream or a waking into another dream, that left him vulnerable and confused.
The mug was removed from his shaking hands, and warm and strong hands grasped his fingers and pulled him into a gentle yet tight hug. “Shhh, little brother, you are awake now already. I am here with you now, your Boromir here. This is not a dream, nor a vision, I am here in your bed in your room. Remember last night? Dear one?” It was indeed Boromir’s voice, and Faramir could inhale the scent of his brother, could feel the warm breath in his hair; they were both as real as the thud of two sets of beating hearts.
“Tell me again what had happened brother.” Not wanting to risk any movement just in case he would wake up by the motion, Faramir begged his brother for reassurance.
With an inwardly sigh, Boromir recited the ritual that seemed to be becoming a routine on a monthly basis, or, whenever Faramir suffered a vivid nightmare, that left him confused and vulnerable. “The war is over, my darling, Sauron has been destroyed. The King has returned. Since our father has departed to join our mother, I am the current Steward of Gondor. You, my little one, are the Prince of Ithilien. The White city is being rebuilt, as is Ithilien and the rest of the Middle Earth. And you, my little ranger, have worked yourself too hard into your duties, and have suffered many restless nights of sleep, which leads to a terrible nightmare, and now you have woken up crying in my arms, as you have done many times since you became my brother 36 years ago. By the way, we are already five months and 2 days into the new age now.” With one pause to let the words to sink in, Boromir continued “Very likely you will suffer a headache if you do not drink what’s in that mug, and you would end up wondering for a whole day on whether you are really awake or still in a dreamland.”
“I love you brother.” Faramir murmured into his brother’s neck. “And tell me what else you forgot to remind me?”
Boromir could feel the smile on Faramir’s face against his neck. With an exaggerated heavy sigh, he confessed: “That we are more than just brothers, we are in fact lovers. And the King is not very pleased with this discovery.” Pause, to see the effect of his confession, then a grin, “He is thrilled!”
Finally, Faramir raised his head, his eyes clear now though still sad. “That, is the best knowledge to wake up to. That we are still brothers, that we are still lovers.”
“Drink.” With all the authority one could manage as a very convincing Steward of Gondor, Boromir delivered the mug under Faramir’s pale lips.
“But how would I …” Protested Faramir, before the liquid was poured into his open mouth. Boromir grinned; it worked every time.
Setting the now empty mug back on the night stand, Boromir stood up, removed his boots and tunic, eased himself back into the bed, turned left to face Faramir, propped his elbow on the pillow, and supported his head with his left fist against his temple.
With the practice of understanding that had developed between the brothers over the years, Faramir curled on his right side, squirmed himself as close as possible against Boromir’s body and unlaced Boromir’s loose shirt, to reveal the broad chest that marked with different shade of scares.
Boromir closed his eyes with a deep intake of air, when the warm and wet mouth closed around his left nipple, followed by a slow but strong sucking sensation. Faramir’s beard scraped his chest and sending waves of tinkling down to Boromir’s lower belly. “Mmm.” Moaned Boromir, and pressed his right hand fingers into the damp hair, pushing Faramir even closer to his chest. Looking down at the wavy raven hair that covered Faramir’s face, Boromir tucked away locks of hair to review the pale face, the thinned but beautifully lined jaw moving with the sluggish sucking, long and thick lashes fanned against the unhealthily pinked cheek.
Faramir felt stronger and calmer with each movement of his mouth, he felt like his brother was pouring his own strength into him, as the two of them become so united and strong and inseparable with each sucking.
Faramir could not remember when they had started to do so, he was told by Boromir many times that it started when Faramir was an infant. One day when Boromir visited his little brother in the nursery, Faramir was restless and cranky, the wet nurse was not around, and the little one was just about to burst. Not wanting their mother who was taking a nap on the couch on the balcony be disturbed, the 5-year-old Boromir picked up the baby from his basket for the first time, without any aid, and held him the way he had seen the nannies had held Faramir, close to his heart. Then, the hungry little one located the nipple he was looking for, and started to suck through the thin summer shirt Boromir was wearing. The sensation almost made Boromir giggle. He thought it was funny, and since it calmed baby Faramir instantly, he allowed the little one to continue. Even without reaching the milk he thought to, baby Faramir calmed and quieted, looked up into the eyes of his brother, content and happy, till he was too tired to keep his eyes open.
The bonding was built then, and the ritual continued through the years. Especially after their mother’s death when Faramir was barely five. For a long time, Faramir could not go to sleep without his brother’s left nipple in his mouth. Boromir never refused his brother’s need of comfort in such a fashion, even in his own awkward teenage. But when Faramir reached his teenage, he tried very hard to conquer this weakness. But whenever he was too scared by the stormy nights, or too wounded by their father’s harsh treatment, or too hurt from the cuts he received from his sword practice, he found himself in Boromir’s arms, sucking the strength out of his brother, seeking comfort and peace.
The bonding led to caress, and led to deeper desire to melt into each other’s body. The seeking and giving of comfort became a mutual act that both brothers could not live without. The day Faramir turned to thirteen, the mark of becoming a man according to Gondor’s tradition, the brothers crossed the border of being just brothers, and became lovers in bed. They never considered the question of right or wrong, but they knew very well this was forbidden, and they kept their secrets well.
Even when they became captains of Gondor, great leaders of their own armies, long separated by battles and time, whenever they got together, they would seek comfort from each other, giving comfort to each other, by continuing their own way of bounding.
The combination of the drug and the comfort of loosing himself in his brother’s arms, left Faramir drifting again, like a kite in the warm spring wind, knowing that the thread was strong, and safely in the pair of hands he trusted the most in the whole world. “Even if this is a dream after all, it is a nice one that worth the emptiness I have to face when wake up.” He thought to himself, before he fell into a dreamless sleep.
Untangling himself carefully from Faramir’s side, the now very aroused Boromir sighed in both relief and frustration. “I wish I could follow you into your dreams, and have you finish me there.” pouted the Steward.
“Or, maybe I can handle the Steward with his problem while the Prince busies himself somewhere else .” Came a hoarse whisper from the bedroom door.
“How long have you been watching?” Boromir hissed, before he turned to face the one standing at the door.
What happens next?
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