Title: Boromir Wished
Author: Lorielen ( firstname.lastname@example.org )
Summary: At Rivendell, Boromir misses his brother so. AN: Book-verse, where Boromir actually had time to prepare before leaving to Rivendell.
Posted at: sons_of_gondor, ithilien_night, gondorcest and my own journal.
Upon learning that his brother was to head to Rivendell, Faramir had gladly provided Boromir with a myriad of information, tales and poems about the place and its inhabitants. The steward’s elder son could recall the gleam in Faramir’s eyes as his soft voice, filled with awe and respect, instructed Boromir about the elves and their uses, their stories and qualities, their uncanny appreciation for surrounding themselves with beauty to mirror their own and sing in lovely voices about their accomplishments, tradition and misery, all of which ran deeper than those experienced by any other creature.
Boromir had been among the Fair People for nearly three days now, and had silently concluded that even though their eyes did shine beautifully, none could compare to the way his little brother’s gems would lighten up when speaking of the elves, of Gondor and, more endearing even, how bright Faramir’s eyes and smile would be to welcome his brother home.
Boromir could recall a great part of what he had been told, even if he had had trouble focusing on the words rather than the mouth uttering them. The peace to be found at the home of Elrond Half-Elven was legendary; yet, as the heir to the steward of Gondor walked restlessly through the halls of Rivendell, his mind and heart were troubled. The twilight outlined the sadness in his usually golden features. Unique, everything at Rivendell was. Faramir would like to see it.
Boromir could picture his love’s little gasp of wonder at touching the exquisitely crafted columns, the glitter in his bluish eyes as they’d behold the paintings. He could see it so clearly, and he reckoned he’d gladly spend endless hours by Faramir’s side at the Fire Room, drinking avidly at his adored brother’s rare joy, reveling in Faramir while watching him be told tales and sang songs to. Faramir was sure to like all the singing and story-telling of the elves, his brother knew.
Faramir, who dwelled at Ithilien and whose face was often hid by a hood, features kissed by the moonlight as he’d look up at his brother, smiling sweetly and awaking in Boromir urges to kiss his brother senseless, breathe in the curve of his neck, in attempts to elicit either a moan or the soft laughter he treasured so.
Boromir returned to the confines of the room designed to him, one hand over his eyes as if to shield them from excessive sunlight. However, there was no such brightness, and it was the lack of it that disturbed him, rather. For a coy and suggestive smile in Faramir’s lips shone so prettily…
Boromir rested on his belly, sprawled over the smooth linens of the soft bed. So delicate a cloth would have made Faramir’s skin justice, leaving whatever reddish marks to be caused by Boromir’s passion: lips, teeth, hands, love and fierce desire. He bit at his lower lip, muscles tense beneath his nightshirt as he inhaled deeply and found the sweet scent of his little brother sorely lacking. Faramir would have made the bed seem small, all too small for their bodies and wishes. However, little room wasn’t that bad, since it was bound to cause brotherly cuddling, which Boromir appreciated greatly. He’d much rather be a tangle of limbs, pressing his body against Faramir’s warm and ever inviting one, than to lay in the huge, devastatingly empty bed.
Had Faramir been there, Boromir believed he could eventually learn to like the elves, or trust them, even, instead of feeling unpleasantly suspicious of their aware and shiny eyes that saw so much. Faramir made him feel powered and invincible; and yet soothed his arrogant nature: in short, brought out the best in him. Were Faramir with him at Rivendell, Boromir would have less reasons to dislike the elves; at least he wouldn’t hold against them resentment for having ripped him from his lover’s side.
Boromir turned on his side, unease. Everything in that place was of Faramir’s liking, reminded his brother of him, painfully so. The steward’s elder son caught himself wondering… in case Faramir could indeed have come along with him in that journey, turning it into delightful time free of Denethor’s vicious shadow and the pains of never-ending war, wouldn’t the wise ones have learned of the brothers’ secret love? The elven eyes saw too much in a man’s heart, Boromir now knew. Although… perhaps in that respect, the pointy-eared folk were more sensible and sensitive than Men. More respectful towards the wishes of one’s heart. The twin sons of Elrond seemed perfectly comfortable with their shared affection, and Boromir hadn’t heard or seen anyone frown upon the pair.
Denethor, also, saw too much in the hearts of others. Probably because he lacked one himself, or so Boromir thought in his secret bitterness, for how else could anyone despise Faramir? A heart noble as his brother’s, eyes wise and a fair soul. Vaguely resembling of elves, Boromir thought morosely. Surrounded by the fairest beings, resting in a place that radiated peace, beauty and wisdom. All that Boromir’s surroundings did was remind him of his brother, of the joy Faramir could be having, should be having. They had shared the dream that was the cause of his visit, and it was so very unfair that they couldn’t share the pleasurable occasion together, having instead to stand painful parting. With Faramir by his side, nothing was too much to fight against or put up with; without him, however, there were no joyful moments to be had.
Boromir muffled a small whimper, curled up in a tight ball and wishing more than anything else that he could have Faramir with him.