Title: Faramir’s Adoration
Author: Persephone - persephone@adelphia.net
Pairing: Boromir/Faramir
Rating: NC-17
Summary: How can both brothers reconcile being brothers, and being in love?

Author’s Note: Incest, Angst, hopeless Romanticism

Disclaimer: Characters owned by Tolkien.

Faramir's Adoration

It had been nearly half a day now since Boromir returned from his errand abroad. As usual, everyone in Minas Tirith was celebrating his return, as if he took and brought the joy with him whenever he journeyed and returned.

It was also usual for Faramir to be front and center at the massive City Gate to welcome him.

Faramir would have the ale on tap and be wearing a huge grin to wait for his beloved brother to jump off his horse and envelope him in a bear hug.

There had even been one famous occasion when he was younger when he had been so eager that he had jumped onto the back of Boromir’s horse and embraced him from behind, which had amused and delighted Boromir, as well as onlookers, to no end.

But not this time.

This time Faramir wasn’t anywhere near the City Gate. Instead he sat in his rooms, staring at the wall, petrified. Nothing would make him leave his sanctuary, much less go near the Gate.

For the first time in his life, he did not want to see Boromir.

Even as the thought formed it seemed like someone else’s. That he, Faramir, would avoid any chance to see his brother was like saying the earth itself wanted no rain. And yet that was his thought.

Faramir sat like a stone, but inside he was in torment. He heaved a deep, deep breath, not wistfully, but like a man who had only just remembered to breathe. At that moment he realized he was clutching his tunic, over his heart. After a few more moments he was able to force himself to loosen his grip. He smoothed his hand over the bunched up leather and felt the rapid beating of his heart.

He didn’t know when it had all began… wasn’t sure how… but this morning he had simply opened his eyes at dawn to discover that he was burning up for his older brother.

There his thoughts halted.

What was happening to him? He could not even begin to fathom.

But how was it possible that a man could feel this way about his own brother? There had been times in his life when he had had a passing lust for a young maiden, so he knew well what aches those desires could kindle. And he had read old stories of great loves in books.

But not like this. The loves in those tales were chaste, if noble. But this, this was white hot desire, as though the very fires of the Nameless Land raged in his head. Nothing had prepared him for this and try as he might, he could not see past the blaze.

Yet, in the firelight of his chamber, he tried to understand.

Boromir was the length and breath of his world. It seemed when he was born he had opened his eyes into this world and Boromir was all that there was. There could not be any other living man more magnificent than his brother. Boromir who was and always had been his protector, his teacher, his confidant, his savior and… and his love.

The completion of the thought seemed to cause the room to sway in the manner he had read the sea did to ships. He tried to quell his rising fear. Love, yes, as a brotherly love. As he had always had for Boromir.

So why and how could it have changed into… desire?

How could he have woken up stiff with a newborn need to feel his brother’s skin hot and naked against his?

Even as he confronted these questions he felt his face heating up, and the heat traversing his entire body to coalesce, throbbing, in his loins. By the Valar themselves, such a thing simply could not be. Yet he was overwhelmed by the image of Boromir naked and willing to let him devour him…

Faramir catapulted from his chair as if it were suddenly on fire. He looked about him, as if coming out of a daze, and could hear the faint shouts of revelry at Boromir’s return coming from far below his chambers.

At that moment he knew one thing for certain: he could not face his brother.

**********

Boromir stood in the slightly ajar doorway to Faramir’s rooms, and knocked softly. Receiving no response from within, he carefully pushed open the door.

When he hadn’t seen Faramir at the City Gate he had known a momentary stab of fear-laced worry.

He had asked around and no one knew where his brother was. That calmed him slightly, and he realized he had been afraid that in his absence his father had done something to Faramir. But discovering that that was not the case, he did not know what to make of Faramir’s absence.

There had only been one other time when Faramir hadn’t been there to greet him and that had been because he had taken ill. When he wasn’t in the city Faramir could be such a recluse that he could fall sick and no one would even know. Perhaps Faramir was ill again and hidden away in his rooms.

At last he had been able to get away from the crush of welcomers and had made his way to his brother’s rooms.

Now he quietly looked in and was taken aback to see his little brother sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, starting at the far wall.

Since the chair faced slightly away from the door, Faramir did not see him. Boromir stepped halfway in as quietly as he could. He leaned against the jamb, watching his brother.

All his life it had always struck him how very much like a sage his little brother was.

On many occasions he had seen Faramir like this, deep in thought.

Boromir smiled fondly, remembering how even as a child Faramir could sit ponderously like an old man, seemingly contemplating the complexities of life.

But as he watched, Faramir leaned forward in his chair, the waves of his hair falling forward past his shoulder. Then could Boromir see that Faramir’s hand was a fist, clenching the front of his tunic, over his heart. He sat so still, he could not have been breathing. Then he heaved an impossibly heavy sigh before reverting to stone once more.

Suddenly Boromir felt that he should not be witnessing this moment. It was a strange thought that he should feel this way about a brother with whom he shared everything, yet there it was.

Silently, he stepped back out into the hallway. He was baffled. He had been gone for six long, hard months and had missed his brother’s soothing company terribly.

And now to return to this? Had Faramir had another portentous dream? One that had disturbed him greatly? But in the past that was exactly the kind of thing he would be eager to share with him. No, something else was wrong.

Boromir stood indecisive in the coolness of the white stone hallway. His hesitation was a direct result of Faramir’s strange mood. He shook his head in wonder. In his six months of absence it seemed that something had indeed changed, for him to return and find his brother in a mood he could not understand, and dared not intrude upon.

And that thought settled the matter for him. Like it or not, Faramir was not looking to greet him at the moment, and he was not going to force the matter.

Disheartened, Boromir turned down the hallway and made for his rooms. He was tired, in any event. Though it was only early evening, he needed to rest.

He had already announced himself and been welcomed by his father and would have an extended audience with him at supper. And if Faramir was there, it would be a taxing time, indeed. He needed to rest.

**********

Faramir did not go to supper. Being Boromir’s first night back he knew he was courting his father’s rebuke, but he did not care. Hidden in an alcove of the stone courtyard in front of the Tower Hall where his father would take supper with Boromir and the lieutenants, he heard the ringing of the bells to signify the hour and knew it would not be long before Boromir came by.

The sun was descending in the western sky and its dusk light set the white stones of the city blushing with a lush pink hue.

There were several lieutenants loitering about waiting for a chance at brief discourse with Boromir before they went in, but none could see Faramir where he stood.

Since waking to his private agony this morning he had not laid eyes on his brother. He felt he could not be in Boromir’s presence without him seeing deep into Faramir’s soul.

So that Boromir would not come looking for him, Faramir put out the word that an urgent matter called him to Ithilien for a few days and had avoided the upper circles of the city all day. It really did not matter whether or not he went into Ithilien, because now that Boromir was back no one was going to pay much attention to Faramir’s comings and goings.

The important thing was that Boromir believed it.

Now he found himself waiting with bated breath for Boromir to come bounding up the steps to the courtyard. Perhaps upon finally seeing him Faramir would realize that nothing had changed at all.

But when he heard Boromir’s bellow of greeting to the lieutenants, even before he came into sight, Faramir’s heart pounded to a halt.

And when Boromir crested the steps he looked to Faramir’s eyes like a god.

In the warm light he saw sparkling sea-green eyes, and straight golden hair falling forward to brush against a day’s growth of golden beard, and white teeth in a devastating grin, and big, strong arms and a broad velvet clad chest.

It was worse than Faramir feared. He could not even breathe.

Standing as still as he could he felt as a child again, playing hide and seek with Boromir, but in this instance he had no desire for discovery.

Slowly the men made their way towards the entrance of the Hall and as Faramir watched his brother’s receding back the irony did not escape him. For his very first memory had been of trying as a toddler to climb Boromir’s back, to get on his shoulders, which he only accomplished with his brother’s strong hands supporting his own little arms.

He had made it to his goal and had sat on those shoulders, resting his cheek on top of Boromir’s head. The world had appeared magical from that vantage point, and he vividly recalled that Boromir’s hair had smelled like sunshine and grass.

As Boromir was about to step into the Hall, he casually turned and looked over his shoulder back towards the courtyard. Faramir shrank farther into his hiding place, but already Boromir had turned away and continued into the Hall.

Surely he had simply wished to look over the land in the beauty of the setting sunlight, and had not suspected Faramir’s presence.

Whatever the impetuous, Faramir had lingered long enough. Once certain nobody was about, he slipped down the steps and, in the failing light, descended into the city.

**********

"Can it be that for three days you have been avoiding me, little one? I ought to take a whip to your hide."

Faramir froze. He had known this moment was coming, in fact had allowed it to happen. After all, he knew he could not hide from Boromir forever.

It was past suppertime and he had only just returned from the lower circles of the city, where he had been staying in Beregond’s house since Boromir’s return. He had indeed managed to avoid his brother for three days.

But it had seemed like time to face him at last. Beregond had said Boromir had asked after him a few times while he was "gone" in Ithilien. Beregond had also had the wisdom to leave much unspoken to Faramir.

Casually, he steeled himself and turned around. Boromir loomed in very close proximity.

"Brother," Faramir murmured formally, bowing slightly but mostly stalling for time. He even tried smiling. But he grasped the leather belt around his waist when he would have grasped Boromir’s arm.

Boromir leaned against his door jamb, filling the entire entrance, and arched an eyebrow. "We are no strangers."

"O-of course not." But Faramir made no further movement.

"Faramir!" Suddenly Boromir reached out and grasped his arms before pulling him into a fierce embrace. Thus while Boromir crushed him to his huge chest, he had no choice but to hesitantly return the embrace, patting him on the back.

At last Boromir stepped back. But he kept hold of Faramir’s arms and looked into his face.

"You are not happy to see me!" he cried, astonished.

"No, no! I am! Very pleased, very happy." Yet he felt himself taking a step back.

Boromir refused to let him go. "Then why have you been avoiding me, and why when I teased you about it a moment ago you did not respond in kind? Why have you become distant?"

The questions were too pointed, and Boromir’s presence was too potent. Faramir felt himself beginning to heat up, and he could not reason clearly. He felt as when he had drank too much ale.

"In!"

Before he knew it Boromir had ushered him into his chambers and closed the door behind him. Faramir avoided his brother’s piercing green gaze, but he knew Boromir was watching him with a deep scowl.

"Speak, Faramir. What has happened? Has father caused you grief?"

"Nay."

"Have you dreamt a bad omen?"

"Nay."

"Have you lost one of your men dear to you?"

"Nay."

"A beloved book of lore, perhaps?"

"Nay."

Silence.

Then Boromir sighed. "Truthfully I am surprised at my own patience in the matter." He moved closer. "I hope you did not expect me to actually believe you were in Ithilien."

Faramir’s eyes snapped to his brother’s face at last. It seemed for Boromir that broke the tension. He grinned so infectiously that Faramir suddenly found himself grinning back, even though he was flushing with embarrassment at being discovered.

"I am five years smarter than you are, my sweet Faramir," he laughed. The words of endearment made Faramir’s heart trip, but he did not let it show.

He instead moved away from the heat of Boromir’s body and farther into the chamber.

"It is… wonderful, to see you again, brother," Faramir smiled cautiously at Boromir.

"I should hope at the very least! You used to push the men of Gondor out of the way to throw yourself into my arms when I returned."

Faramir blushed even harder, trying to turn his face away to the window as Boromir inched forward and tried to get a closer look.

"Ah, but something has changed."

"I am not sure of what you speak, brother," Faramir tried weakly.

"I think that you are… preoccupied?" Boromir straightened. "You will not speak of it with me, Faramir?"

Faramir kept his face averted. "It is nothing, just my mind… wandering."

After a few tense moments Boromir let the matter drop. "Lost in stories of the past, I guess," he chuckled as he poured them both some drink.

**********

Boromir shook his damp hair out of his face and took a moment to survey their progress.

All told there were about thirty men with him, repairing a portion of the fourth circle wall. In some parts the masonry had crumbled more than it should ever have been allowed to and he had taken it upon himself during these few months of being home to orchestrate a repair.

Denethor had been inordinately pleased by the suggestion but of course had taken the opportunity to insult Faramir for not coming up with the idea himself.

Patient as ever, Faramir had explained to Denethor that that was but one of the numerous tasks he must eventually get to. Boromir had regretted bringing up the matter and had kept his calm and had offhandedly asked their father to drop it altogether.

Boromir knew what disadvantages Faramir was up against, how their father constantly set him up for failure and how in fact Faramir never actually failed but only ever looked that way in Denethor’s eyes.

Now as he stood shirtless and steaming with sweat in the morning heat he was very glad to take this task off Faramir’s shoulders.

Though, as he was having a grand time of it, he would not really call it a task. The scene was what he missed so much about being away from home.

There were men of the city heaving heavy stone and masonry on pulleys and carts, with young women bringing cool water and a light heart to them, while the older folks sat in the shades, trying to keep excited children out of everyone’s way.

They had only been working for a few hours since morning, but Boromir’s mind had been distracted from the very start.

No Faramir.

Where was he? That he was not at work with them was no surprise since he had other duties to attend, but that he did not come by to simply say good morning perturbed Boromir.

Well, truth be told, it hurt him. It seemed everyone else in the city had managed to stop by to see for themselves if it was true that the Captain of the White Tower himself was working with the men on rebuilding the wall.

The old Faramir would have been the first one there, with a few wry observations to make. Which would have forced Boromir to have to keep up with his brother’s wit, which in turn would have given the city a great morning’s entertainment.

Yet he was absent.

This new personality of Faramir’s sat heavy in Boromir’s heart. He had only just managed to get over the displeasure of realizing Faramir had avoided him when first he arrived, and would not even tell him why. But he truly thought they had settled that matter between them.

He sighed. Perhaps he was reading too much into his brother’s actions. Perhaps he was just called to other matters this morning.

Sighing deeper, he wiped his forearm over his eyes to dry his sweat, but only accomplished getting more grains of sand and dust in and around his eyes. He grimaced at his stupidity.

"My Lord, let me," came the soft voice of a maiden.

He turned to her and smiled benignly, holding still as she stood on her toes to wipe a slightly damp and cooling cloth over his face.

"Herein lies the true strength of Gondor," he rumbled, and winked at her. The young woman reddened alarmingly and scurried back into the crowd.

Laughter wafted from where the old folks sat in the shade.

"Who stokes a furnace with their bare hands?" one wrinkled old woman observed.

"Only the young," came her companion’s dry reply, which caused even more laughter. The poor young woman looked mystified.

Boromir grinned wickedly.

"Lord Faramir!" one of the men suddenly called out.

Boromir whipped in the direction of the call. Finally! And he did not even stop to wonder why he was so thrilled.

His brother was indeed approaching in the morning light. He was covered in white dust and sand. He must have been at the quarry breaking out the rocks with the other men.

Boromir felt his heart begin to lighten. It was so whenever he laid eyes on the younger man. Seeing his brother always made him feel… worthy, as if all the battles he went out and fought had purpose, as if beyond passing glories of victories, there was yet real hope for Gondor.

Faramir gave his life meaning.

Looking around, Boromir could see the same look of worship on nearly everyone’s face at Faramir’s approach. The men and women, the old and young, even the children. Everyone loved Faramir.

Yet Boromir feared his brother did not see this. Sometimes Faramir saw himself only through their father’s eyes and Boromir wished more than anything that he could remove that from his sweet brother’s thoughts once and for all.

Then a sudden thought gripped him.

Could that be the cause of Faramir’s new behavior towards him? For the only other person Faramir treated thusly was their father. He also avoided Denethor, was also distant and closed off to him so that at times in their father’s presence none could read his thoughts.

Was it possible his brother now believed that Boromir measured him by Denethor’s yardstick and so was responding to Boromir the same way?

But why would Faramir think such a thing? It was ridiculous. But a small voice inside insisted that six months had come and gone in which Faramir had had nobody to protect him from Denethor’s vicious tongue, and a lot may have changed.

Suddenly it was as though a cold blade was piercing Boromir’s heart. He could not let this go on.

Faramir walked by him and inclined his head by way of a fleeting greeting before climbing onto the wall. He called down to someone on the other side and a thick frayed rope shot up into the air, which his brother deftly caught. He began to haul something up the wall.

"Let me give you a hand," Boromir pulled himself up onto the wall next to Faramir.

He made to grab the rope but Faramir kept it from his reach.

"It is alright. I can manage," he muttered firmly.

He watched as Faramir then hauled the block up and settled it on a cart before shoving it along to the farther end of the wall, where the masons waited.

Boromir jumped back down and walked alongside the wall on the ground, watching him.

"Is that where you have been all morning? At the quarry?"

"Yes."

There was silence as they moved along, then Faramir sighed, before reluctantly adding, "We just rigged up this pulley system to get the rocks here quicker, and I wanted to try it out first."

"It seems to have worked," Boromir replied needlessly, for in the face of Faramir’s reserve he found himself at a loss of words.

Suddenly his brother burst out, "I can manage on my own, you no longer need to shadow me like a hawk!" Boromir started in surprise.

"I meant nothing by it," Boromir quickly replied. "I merely wished to walk with you a little way." He was greatly taken aback that his brother would be angered by his presence.

Faramir drove the cart a few more feet and brought it to a halt by the masons. One of the men grabbed the ropes and pulled it from him. Faramir thanked him and jumped down, and began walking back to the quarry.

"No, Boromir," he said tightly, as he stalked away. "You were shadowing me. As you do, as you have always done. And I would have you know that I do not take kindly to being treated like a child."

As Faramir spoke, Boromir realized he was not angry, but was instead… mightily strained. Boromir knew his brother well enough to see that he was carrying a weight he did not wish him to notice.

He stopped following Faramir, and quietly called out, "My love…"

Faramir stopped dead in his tracks. "Do not call me that," he ground out. "I am no longer a child!"

Boromir stepped closer behind Faramir, glad that except for one or two cavorting children they were alone in the shadows of the stone walkway.

"Have I offended you?" he asked carefully. "Because I could not sleep if I thought I had in some way made your life more difficult. I know I can be unthinking, at times. But your refusal to explain this situation to me is driving me mad."

Faramir did not move. He just stood with his back to Boromir, his lips pressed tightly together and his eyes staring straight ahead.

Boromir hesitantly moved closer and touched his arm. "I have come to depend on your patience and wisdom, Faramir. Will you not smile upon me again?"

In the silence that followed Boromir made up his mind to give it one last valiant try.

"I feel I must tell you what lies in my heart, beloved brother," he spoke softly, bowing his head. "For it looks that no matter how much my heart is breaking, and no matter how hard I try to prevent it, you are indeed growing apart from me."

He stepped even closer. "That it should happen so late in our lives, when everyone said it would not outlast adolescence, devastates me."

He got only silence in response.

"Do you remember, Faramir, how once I came upon you giving a lesson in the histories of Middle-earth to some children of the city? How I thoughtlessly mocked you, and them?" Unconsciously, he began stroking his brother’s arm. "And do you remember you taught me a lesson of my own?"

Still only silence.

"You secretly followed me out to the plains the next day and sent my horse riding back to Minas Tirith without me. I walked all day to get back home and when I returned you gave me a lecture…."

Boromir felt his heart squeezing at the memory.

"Yet you were so nervous to do it. I had been the culprit and you carried the burden. You were naught but a lad of thirteen years and I practically a man at eighteen, and there you were, stammering out your admonitions to me. I felt such pride swelling my heart that my little brother could be so strong and fair, even in the face of a brute such as I had been."

Faramir’s breathing began to deepen noticeably.

Boromir gently tightened his grip on his brother’s arm. "So have you now lost all hope in me? For however I have wronged you, am I no longer worth even a stern lecture?"

Finally, Faramir turned and faced him.

"Boromir," he whispered, and the anguish on his face caught Boromir completely off-guard. "Permit me to leave in peace."

Boromir’s hand dropped to his side and he watched helplessly as his brother passed out of the passage way like a dream.

********

Faramir thought he would shout the walls of the city down with frustration. And as he sat in the circle of men in the tavern drinking a celebration at the progress of the wall’s renovation, he felt after a few more ales he would be well on his way.

Boromir was with them, of course, sitting across from him. He was, as usual, the center of attention. Faramir had had no choice in where his brother sat but if he thought too much about it, he would have to admit he himself had chosen to sit facing Boromir.

Because no matter how hard he tried, he could not make himself look at anything else. It seemed with every passing moment his brother looked more beautiful, and Faramir was plunged further into war with himself.

The pleas Boromir had put to him earlier that morning had nearly sent him over the edge. And when Boromir had called him his love, he had come dangerously close to pushing him up against the walls of the shadowed passage, and the rest of the world be damned. True, such an endearment had been standard between them for all his life, so Faramir knew that Boromir meant nothing more than brotherly affection by it. But it had seemed so potent at that moment, and it had very nearly been Faramir’s undoing.

It seemed the more he tried to distance himself from Boromir, the harder Boromir fought to keep him close. Such things as Boromir had spoken to him that morning were like water to a parched throat. As he had listened he had come perilously close to breaking faith with himself and baring his heart to his older brother.

At that moment he did not care what the consequences would have been. He had just wanted more than anything to clutch at his brother and never, ever let him go. To soothe the pain that was so clear in his beautiful green eyes.

How could Boromir fear that Faramir would chose to shut him out of his life? With constant hatred from his father, did Boromir not know that Faramir lived one day to the next only because he saw himself reflected in his brother’s eyes? His pain, his joy, everything.

If anything were to happen to Boromir, so that it was just he and Denethor, he knew he would have no reason to carry on living.

He looked into his mug and sighed. But where did that leave him, he questioned silently. There could be no confessing.

He had not even trusted himself to speak and allay Boromir’s fears when his brother had asked if he had offended him. It devastated him to think Boromir was under the impression that he was upset at him, but for now was it not better that they have that fiction between them? Until, at least, Faramir could make a decision about what to do, how to handle his dilemma.

And how did one handle such a dilemma? How did one say to one’s brother that he wanted to… taste his body? That he would trade a year of his very life for a chance to make him moan and sweat in his arms?

Faramir tempered his rising tide of heat by imagining how Boromir would react to finding out his secret. His brother had ever been his protector, and even confronted with such a strange revelation he would not turn Faramir away, or try to intentionally hurt him. He would, however, be disgusted. How else would he be expected to feel? And that was the one thing Faramir would not risk, not for anything.

And also, he would pity him. He would try to make Faramir’s life easier, as he saw it, by leaving Minas Tirith often, and for as long as he could. Sweet, selfless Boromir.

Knowing that he should not, that it was simple torment to do so, Faramir nevertheless lowered his eyelashes and dared to watch Boromir from under them.

Presently none of that sweetness was in evidence, as Boromir, as was to be expected, was shaking the tavern to its rafters. He had been away for so long, but he was now back, and eager to leave his dent in the revelry.

Everyone else in the room seemed like drawings on parchment, while Boromir was real, and heat and life shone from him like rays of the sun. Especially now that he had had a few pints of ale to warm him up. Faramir could not help a small smile as Boromir began taking up challenges to arm wrestle, and wagers were immediately placed.

Boromir stepped up to the first contender and pushed his shirtsleeve up his big, powerful arm. Then he anchored his elbow on the table and clasped the other man’s hand, and the man let out a howl of pain.

While the intoxicated, packed tavern roared its approval, Faramir’s eyes came to rest on his brother’s big hand clasping the other man’s.

How often had he innocently felt those hands on his body… and even on his bare skin? Rough, calloused… He remembered that Boromir’s grip could be like a metal vice, lending steadfast support… or mercilessly imprisoning another to his will.

Faramir lifted his mug to act as cover as he licked his open and near panting mouth, and repressed a hot shudder.

He should put these thoughts from his mind, he really, truly should. But he could not deny that there was something ferociously erotic in the thought of him lusting after his god-like brother, and not having the power to put a stop to it.

Faramir took a deep drink from his mug. His mouth and throat were now dry as dust, and his head was beginning to throb. Perhaps he should never have followed Boromir around like a homeless puppy all his life. Maybe then he would not be at this juncture.

But no, he resigned, this was the natural end of his feelings for his brother. He, Faramir, had been born in love with Boromir. No matter the type of love one wished to call it. It was the way things were, and it was the way they were meant to be.

"Lord Faramir, what say you, then!"

That startled him out of his rumination and he looked at the speaker. It was Beregond. And he clearly had had plenty of ale.

"What say I about what?" There was laughter. Faramir looked around, smiling. "Aye, I was caught with my mind far off."

"As usual. Well, call it hither and make a reply: that after six months of weary fighting your brother can no longer wrestle and pin you to the ground as he used to!"

Faramir couldn’t help his burst of laughter. "He never once did past my fourteenth birthday, unless his men saw fit to cheat and hold me down."

The room roared and he caught Boromir’s eye. His brother had a huge, untrustworthy grin on his face and he looked so good Faramir feared his heart would fail him.

Boromir jumped out of his chair and slammed his mug on the wooden table. "I know a challenge when I hear one!" he bellowed, and leaped on the table. He stalked a few paces and then stopped, turned and shouted into the room, "Men, seize him!"

Faramir cursed himself for not seeing this maneuver and before he could get out of harm’s way, was grabbed on all sides and pulled onto his back on the table.

"Again you cheat!" he yelled, chocking on his laughter as he struggled to free himself. "Rangers! Rangers of Ithilien! Your Captain needs you!"

"Let he who dares come up against the Heir of Denethor, Captain of the White Tower!" Boromir shouted back, inciting cheers of approval from the boisterous tavern.

Boromir stomped over to where Faramir was held down on his back and roughly straddled his brother’s torso, pinning his arms to his sides with his knees. Faramir stifled his groan.

"For Gondor!" Boromir yelled, thrusting his arms into the air. The tavern of drunk men went wild, cheering and echoing back in reply. Boromir laughed even harder and then called for more ale. Then as the men moved away to get more drink he looked down at Faramir.

"Still ticklish, little one?" he asked in a low voice. Then he poked Faramir in the side. Faramir started violently.

"You dare not!" gasped Faramir.

"Ahh. You should not have said that."

"But Boromir," he pleaded, "there are many eyes on us and we are no longer children. You tamper with our dignity as grown men."

But more importantly, Faramir remembered how much pleasure he used to take from this annoying habit of Boromir’s, and at this moment such pleasure would be a terrible embarrassment to suffer in public.

Boromir leaned down until their faces were very close. "It is a small price to pay to see you smile at me again."

And he proceeded to send Faramir into ecstatic, if improper, convulsions of laughter.

**********

Boromir watched his brother sitting on the edge of the parapet of the stone courtyard, seven leagues above the earth and facing the Pelennor Fields.

Faramir was sitting with his legs hanging on the outside of the wall, looking completely tranquil, and Boromir knew he was safe as long as he stayed seated.

Were it to become unsafe, Boromir would fly to his brother’s side even before Faramir was aware of any danger. In fact on many occasions the danger would come and Boromir would deflect it without Faramir ever knowing. So Faramir could sit in peace.

Over the past two weeks, Boromir, on the other hand had known no peace, and had gotten more frustrated than he had ever been in his life. Despite having made him laugh in the tavern, after that night Faramir had gone back to keeping him at arm’s length. Granted he was no longer brusque with him, but the distance was even more firmly entrenched.

Boromir had done his best at every turn to make clear that nothing had changed on his part, but then he had realized something. It had taken a while to see and recognize, but he knew his brother well. This problem between them was not caused by Faramir doubting Boromir’s respect for him.

His brother was hiding something. Some secret, or a burden some kind. But as was typical of Faramir, he chose to bear it in resolute silence.

So what could this secret be? There was one person who would have an idea. The one person who probably loved Faramir nearly as much as Boromir, and in whose house Faramir had stayed during his false journey to Ithilien. Beregond.

The bells sounded the hour and he got up to make his way down to Beregond’s Guard House where they would discuss Faramir. He took one last look at where Faramir was sitting and, willing him to remain safe, began to descend the steps.

At that precise moment, Faramir stood up on the wall and Boromir’s heart stopped completely. How many times had he told that young man he must never stand on that wall?

Faramir stood with his feet planted wide apart as the wind caught his wavy hair and whipped it around his face. Even in his fear for his brother’s safety, Boromir could not help but be mesmerized by his quiet confidence.

The men of Gondor were worshipful of warriors and he, Boromir, was their prime warrior. He displayed unsurpassed skill in every measurable aspect of combat.

Faramir was different. He did not revel in the mindlessness of battles, and for this they thought him less brave. No one would say it aloud, but Boromir knew. Yet anyone who had eyes could see that Faramir was equally valiant, and not being as foolhardy as the rest of them, most likely better than all of them. Such wisdom Boromir knew he himself was not gifted with.

Such wisdom as was not on display at the moment, for Faramir was still standing on that wall! As the wind settled a little, Faramir pushed his hair out of his face and tilted his head back, drinking in the midmorning sky.

At that moment, he was perfect to Boromir. His form was tall, his chest broad, and his body lean and beautifully muscled.

But it was the perfection of his blue eyes that could truly cast a spell.

Shaking his head once, Boromir wondered where that thought had surfaced from. It was true that his brother had perfect blue eyes, he reasoned, but if he thought they could cast a spell, then being denied Faramir’s companionship must be making him unbalanced.

Then realizing he was going to be late for his meeting with Beregond before his shift began in earnest, he reluctantly left Faramir standing on the wall and walked toward the Citadel.

But since he was being forthright about Faramir, he might as well do the same about himself. When he looked deep within his own thoughts, he saw that he was also hiding something.

He was hiding the truth that what was really driving him mad was the absence of Faramir’s… adoration. It unsettled him to admit such a thing, but that was the truth of it.

It was not an adoration of vanity, for he was not a vain man. It was that adoration of worth. He had had it all his life, had known that Faramir was always somewhere with his eyes on him, watching every move he made, imitating, adulating. His brother had never even tried to hide it, which had always amused and flattered Boromir. But that adoration had been like a shining beacon, indicating which of Boromir’s actions were of any value.

And if that were not enough… he ached to touch his brother.

A strange word to use perhaps, but true nonetheless. He found himself dreaming of a time when Faramir would welcome his arm around his shoulders to hold him close, and when he could take his brother’s hand in his as they talked, and when he could freely kiss Faramir’s face. The closest he had been allowed to come to any of this was that night in the tavern.

Surely it was because he had always had the comfort of that touch that he now wanted it so strongly. For now all he felt was cold and empty. And somehow diminished. If he could not get Faramir back, all came to naught.

Presently, he came to the Guard House. Beregond stood up and allowed him entrance. They clasped hands and Boromir sat opposite his old friend, taking the proffered mug of cider.

"I take it from your expression that he still has not talked to you about what ails him," Beregond began.

Boromir shook his head. "If you know of anything that took place in my absence, tell me. Anything at all that may not even seem of importance to you."

The older man shook his head sadly, but kept his eyes on Boromir.

"At first I thought perhaps he mistakenly thought I sought to treat him as our father does."

"But you no longer believe that is the case."

"No. Now I think he… has a secret." He looked up and found Beregond watching him. "I…" He looked closer at Beregond. His next words were deceptively quiet. "What do you know of it?"

Beregond sighed. "I cannot break another man’s faith."

Boromir’s mouth hung open in surprise. Then he shut it. "You know what troubles my brother?" He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back. "And all this time –!"

"My Lord Boromir," Beregond spoke softly, obviously shaken by Boromir’s intensity. But he still held his eyes. "My Lord, you have never asked me about your brother."

Boromir sputtered, "Just now –!"

"I did not lie to you. Nothing happened in your absence. And you have mentioned to me that you think something ails him, but you have never, not once, asked me if he has a secret or whether I know what it is."

Boromir’s anger deflated. Beregond was right. "By the Valar, Beregond!" He began to pace. "I am no wit. Why do you play games with me. You knew I looked for answers from you when first I spoke with you about Faramir. Why did you not make a useful reply?"

"As I said, I cannot break Faramir’s faith in me." He paused. "But that does not stop you from asking questions of me that may aid you more than simply shouting angry words at me."

Boromir picked up his chair and sat back down in it. "I am a fool. Forgive my outburst." He thought for a few moments. "Does this secret… threaten his life?"

"Nay, my Lord. It is a good thing."

Boromir’s eyebrows shot up. "I find that difficult to reconcile with his behavior." He wrinkled his eyebrows and thought aloud. "A good secret that causes a man so much anguish…"

After a few minutes, in which Beregond wisely said nothing, Boromir sighed softly. "Ah," he said. "I think perhaps I have found the answer to the riddle. Love, at last."

Beregond stood up. "My Lord, I must return to my duties, if you no longer are in need of my services."

As Boromir slowly made his way out of the Guard House he stopped and clasped the other man’s shoulder. "You did not break his faith, good Beregond. But I thank you. You are a wise and dear friend. To both Faramir and I. Yet… I must make one try: this secret love, he did not say who?"

"I can, in all truth, say he did not."

Boromir smiled his thanks and left. Beregond watched him walk away, shaking his head. Boromir was certainly not the shrewder of the two brothers. For his question should not have been whether Faramir said who, but rather whether Beregond knew who. Again, he had asked the wrong question.

But Boromir was already lost in thought, walking somewhat unsteadily. Could it be? Had he finally lost Faramir to a maiden? After a moment, he was surprised to find himself praying that that was not the case. After all, Faramir was not ready for such a thing. He still had many battles to fight and many things besides to accomplish before he settled into marriage.

Aside from which, whoever this woman was, she could not possibly deserve Faramir. Look at the pointless anguish she was putting him through when all she needed to say was yes. For, certainly she too shared Faramir’s feelings for her. There was not a single person in Gondor, man or woman, who would – or should – turn down Faramir’s affections!

**********

Boromir awoke from a fitful, hazy dream and rolled over, groaning loudly.

Where was he? He sat up groggily and looked around. Well, he was in bed in his own chambers, that he could see. But it seemed to be not dawn, but coming unto dusk. Why was he only just awaking at dusk?

Then he saw several mugs strewn about the floor of his chamber, as well as wet areas on the rugs which he assumed were patches of spilled ale. What in the name of the Valar…

Then it all came crashing down on his head again. Snatches of his conversation with Beregond, coming to the realization that Faramir was… that his brother was in love, but not with—

There was a knock on his door and he growled something even he could not understand. The door creaked open and a frightened maid poked her head in and said in a tiny hurried voice, "My Lord wished not to be disturbed, but the kitchen is terribly worried as it is going on the second day—"

"Be gone with you!" The door slammed shut.

He flopped back down in his bed. This was undignified. He was hung over, living in a sty, and bullying the servants. But he refused to see anyone, to leave his room. Because it was also unfair.

Faramir was his. Even to himself he was not sure what that meant, but he was sure of the fact that he should not be losing Faramir to anyone else. But where did that leave him? And where did it leave Faramir? Was he so starved for his brother’s affection that he would deny him such happiness as this?

He could step into the shoes of the big brother he had always been and somehow get Faramir to take him into his confidence and make him see that love was meant to be a happy thing. He could be happy for his brother, even if Faramir was not himself.

But he did not wish to be happy for some wench who would claim his brother’s love!

He groaned again, covered his face with his hands, and allowed himself the thought that was keeping him locked in his rooms. How could a brother be jealous of his brother’s love for a woman? Especially since he himself could not supply such a love. Could he? No, of course not!

So then why was this so difficult!

Then the door to his chamber pushed open without a knock.

He did not even bother to open his eyes as he warned the intruder, "Were I you—"

"I would take a whip to your hide for this juvenile behavior," finished Faramir in a quiet, confident voice.

For the very first time in his life, Boromir was embarrassed to be seen by his brother. He self-consciously pulled the sheets tighter around him, shrinking back into this beddings. Even in his bleary gaze, and in the cold dimness of his room, Faramir looked like a warm dream.

"Brother… I- I did not realize…"

Faramir lifted his finger to his lips and Boromir stopped talking. His brother opened the door farther and several servants poured into the room. They had firewood and a huge tub of hot water, fresh sheets, blankets, and food.

Boromir got out of bed with his sheets around him and stood aside as they changed his beddings. Faramir stood silently, watching everything. When all was set, a fire already roaring, he thanked the servants, shut the door, and locked it behind them.

**********

Faramir pulled up a stool, set it beside the tub, and motioned for Boromir to step into it. The look of apprehension on his brother’s face made him smile, for only yesterday he had walked around with that same expression on his own face. And had been doing so for nearly a month.

But that was all over. He had found himself again. And in doing so, had also found his brother’s place in his life.

Boromir had never been one for modesty, but now he could not seem to drop his sheets. So Faramir silently turned his back and in a few moments heard him get into the tub.

He turned back to see his brother staring at the fire blazing in the hearth.

"Faramir," he said in an uncharacteristically subdued voice. "I cannot help you. Not this time. For I myself am lost."

"That is quite alright, sweet Boromir." The use of the endearment got his brother’s attention, but Faramir only proceeded to dip a washcloth into the water.

By the flickering light of the fire place, even looking distraught, Boromir was beautiful in his brother’s eyes. The firelight caught in his golden hair and beard, and made his eyes appear like those of Elves with starlight in them. His golden skin gleamed also, and Faramir began by wiping the washcloth over his chest.

He stared as he worked, because he had wanted, had fervently wished this for so long. He moved forward off his stool and knelt closer to the tub. He ran the cloth over Boromir’s chest and shoulders and up to his neck, watching every inch of skin heat up and come to life as he did so. In a few moments Boromir was breathing in slow deep breaths, trying to keep his eyes on Faramir’s face, but unable to help himself when they drifted shut with pleasure.

But Faramir watched. His own breathing was getting labored and his hands were beginning to shake, so that by the time he was done with Boromir’s upper body, he could barely hold the cloth.

His brother took the cloth from him and finished washing while Faramir kept on watching him. Occasionally their eyes would meet and their awareness of each other was like a physical touch.

They seemed to be participating in a strange trancelike ritual, one they mutually seemed to understand and accept without discussion.

When Boromir was done Faramir got up and brought him a towel. Boromir stepped out of the tub and into Faramir’s arms. Faramir gently and slowly rubbed him down. A light scent of forest and fields and soft leather clung to his body from the scented water, and that was Faramir’s undoing.

Even knowing he should not make such a bold move at this juncture, he leaned forward and inhaled deeply, and then very tentatively slipped out his tongue and licked Boromir’s naked shoulder. His brother jerked forward, out of his reach. Faramir felt a keen sense of loss, but draped the towel over his shoulders and let him move away.

He again stood there watching as Boromir dried off and then wrapped the sheet around his waist. Faramir picked up a freshly laundered robe from a stack on a wooden chest, and handed it to him. Wrapped in the robe, and avoiding eye contact, Boromir sat down at the table and began to try and eat.

"Father has asked after you," Faramir began amicably, sitting at the bottom of the bed. "He is anxious to discover the reason for your self-imposed retreat, but I think even he was afraid to disturb you." Faramir chuckled softly.

Boromir ate in silence, and did not look at him.

"And Cook says she has put in a special potion into your food to soothe your troubled spirits," he tried again, smiling.

Still his brother said nothing.

Faramir nodded slowly. "I see the tide of battle has turned."

There was silence as Boromir finished eating. But he had barely touched the food. Dejectedly, he pushed his plates away and sat forward, staring straight ahead of him.

A section of his robe fell aside, and Faramir’s eyes slid to the exposed flesh. He calmed himself. He must tread very carefully here, and make his arguments as convincingly as possible, or he would ruin everything.

"Beregond talked to me about your conversation with him. He felt it was time he stopped being a middleman."

Still no words from Boromir. Faramir felt tiny threads of apprehension begin to tingle along his spine. Was he too late? Had he waited too long?

"A-and you are correct. I d-do in fact have a… secret, which it was plain f-foolishness trying to keep it from y-you, when you have ever been my confidant, a-and deserved my trust, even in such a d-delicate matter as…"

Faramir could not believe he was so nervous as to be rambling nonsense and stammering so badly.

Without moving a hair, Boromir said in a flat, resigned voice, "Who is this love, that has you in pieces?"

It was Faramir’s turn to be silent.

"What would you have me say, brother?" Boromir continued. "That I was hurt by your rejection of me? That, I was. But now that you have my forgiveness, what more do you want of me?"

"I would have you listen to me…"

"There is no need," Boromir’s voice was so low, he had to strain to hear him. "But I would have you know this. I think not less of myself to confess that I am… jealous… of your new… interest, having always had your attention to myself." His voice dropped even lower, "And having come to… desire it greatly."

Faramir’s heart was pounding so hard he could only breathe in fractured breaths. He focused his considerable powers of concentration on what Boromir was saying, and tried to understand what was being left unspoken.

Boromir turned and looked at him, then groaned softly and turned away again. "Faramir, what do you want of me?" he ground out in frustration. "When I look in your eyes I cannot understand what I see."

"You see love," Faramir whispered hoarsely. It felt so wonderful to be able to just say that to his brother. And what Boromir said next would make all the difference, for it would show where he stood.

But instead there was silence in the warm fire lit room. All that could be heard was the crackling of the burning wood and the soft sounds of their beleaguered breathing. Boromir still looked away from him, but Faramir was patient.

Finally his brother said, "But not for me…"

And Faramir knew the moment had come.

Since waking up to find himself desperately in love with Boromir, Faramir had suffered terribly and alone. He had agonized, and feared rejection, and tried to understand how it was possible to want to make eternal love to his own brother.

But if Boromir felt the same way then that was all the explanation Faramir needed.

It did not have to make sense to the world. Just as long as it made sense to both of them.

He found himself smiling tenderly at his brother. There were certain times in his life in which he knew without a doubt the power he had over Boromir. Such times as when he was deeply wounded by their father and no amount of consolation could ease his pain until Boromir would hold him in his arms. At such times, he knew he only need say the words and Boromir would tear out his own heart for him.

This was one such time.

"Boromir, come here."

Boromir got up and went.

Faramir took his hand and sat him down next to him on the bed. He turned and faced his brother and could see the questions churning in his eyes, questions he himself had had to struggle with for so long. But now he knew the answers, and he was going to guide Boromir to him.

Still, as he put the question to Boromir once and for all, he felt his heart squeezing with a painful mix of love, uncertainty and fear.

"Do you love me?"

"Of course, you know I do."

"How?"

"How do I love you? By the fact that you are my brother, and—"

"No. I mean, in what way?"

Silence. Boromir stared at him. His mouth was slightly open as if he needed even more air in his lungs, and his eyes were on fire. Slowly, nervously, and apparently unconsciously, his tongue slipped out and ran over his upper lip.

Faramir felt now was no longer the time for words, but for action. He turned on the bed and pushed Boromir farther unto it, straddling him. His brother’s eyes widened.

Faramir continued, "In the only way Boromir could ever love Faramir. And in the only way Faramir could ever respond. There can never be any other, but you."

With that he lowered his head and captured his speechless brother’s mouth with his, using his tongue to part Boromir’s lips. Boromir opened his mouth and Faramir sucked gently on his tongue. Boromir’s moan resonated all the way down to his toes.

"It seems you liked that," Faramir smiled in the fire light, looking down into his brother’s face.

But Boromir was not smiling, instead he looked completely smitten. For the first time in their life Faramir felt as if he were the elder, looking out for his less experienced brother. It was a wonderful sensation because it made his love for Boromir fill every corner of his heart.

He placed his hands on either side of Boromir and lifted his upper body off his brother’s.

"Undo your robe," he whispered, and Boromir had begun even before he was done talking. He watched, trying to control his emotions, as Boromir’s fingers worked the sash lose and pulled the sides of the robe from his chest. He was slowly beginning to burn. He had waited so long for this.

"And now undo my shirt."

The sensation of being undressed by his brother was almost more than Faramir could bear, but he made himself stay calm and endure, watching his brother’s face instead. When Boromir finally finished he looked up, enthralled, into Faramir’s eyes, it was as though Faramir was looking at himself.

They were one person in two bodies.

Faramir felt his mind begin to unravel and could only focus long enough to get one arm free of his shirt before he lowered his head to Boromir’s chest and kissed his nipple. Boromir grabbed the sides of the bed with both hands, and Faramir realized that his brother was trying to keep his hands off him.

Since Boromir needed reassuring, Faramir slid his freed arm under Boromir’s robe and anchored it around his bare back before rubbing his moist, wet lips all over and around Boromir’s nipple. Boromir’s body jerked off the bed as his back arched, and Faramir let him, scraping his fingernails across his back.

That shattered any reservations Boromir still had, as with a hoarse, plaintive cry he suddenly contracted his arms fiercely around Faramir.

Faramir shut his eyes and let the sound sink into his mind for all time. He wanted always to remember this moment, this first touch.

Then he began to make his way down Boromir’s stomach, licking and biting as he went, shoving the robe aside. When he got to Boromir’s navel, Boromir pushed himself up on his elbow and stared down almost disbelievingly at his brother.

Faramir smiled and with one push, had the robe completely parted. He looked down and was rewarded with a most magnificent sight. Like the rest of him, Boromir’s erection was big, and he was more than ready. He glanced up to find his brother still watching him.

"You are going to kill me," Boromir said quietly, seriously.

Faramir blushed slightly, then touched his brother lightly, and then lowered his head and took Boromir in his mouth. The sensation was like a circle closing. And he tasted so good that Faramir knew he was hooked for life.

Boromir’s fingers sank into his hair and clenched tightly, then as if realizing he must be holding on too tightly, he relaxed them, and smoothed Faramir’s hair rhythmically, before sinking in and clenching tightly again.

He slid his leg over Faramir’s shoulder, using its length to caress Faramir’s warm back. For an eternity Faramir licked and sucked on his brother’s hot, hard erection. None of his wildest fantasies had even come close. And he marveled at the total control he could exert over his brother. He could make him beg by simply slowing down his movements to just licking, or he could make him writhe and kick off the bed by lightly using his teeth. Or, when he took him deep in his throat and sucked relentless on him, he could make him just helplessly gasp "Faramir, Faramir," over and over, like a lost child.

Finally Boromir went rigid and his hands were like a vice on the back of Faramir’s head, and Faramir knew he had reached the edge. He locked his arms around Boromir’s hips. When Boromir peaked it was like wrestling billowing sails in a squall, and it seemed to have no end. But eventually his convulsions subsided and he languidly pulled his brother up into his embrace.

Boromir kissed him deeply and completely for an eternity, then turned so that Faramir was underneath his body, and showered his face with reverent kisses.

Faramir laughed as his brother gently rubbed his beard against his cheeks and chin. "You used to do that to me when you first grew a beard and I was still but a pup."

"It seems like only yesterday…"

"Even after what I just did to you?" Faramir asked coyly.

Boromir was silent for a time, still rubbing his cheek against his brother’s. "It is natural that so many years later we should be here like this, is it not?"

Faramir knew how serious the answer was to Boromir. He stilled his brother’s movements and held his face in his hands, staring into his eyes for a time before answering.

"We are one, my love, my heart."

Boromir stared back. "Yes, we are."

With that, Boromir stood up and walked to the table where his food sat mostly uneaten. He poured golden oil from a jug into a small brass goblet. Retuning, he set it on the floor next to the bed and laid down on top of him, slipping his leg between Faramir’s as they locked eyes.

"Faramir, I want you completely. Do you understand?"

Faramir laughed again. "Brother, this is not a war council. You do not have to be so serious. You have me. Completely."

"But what I am asking—"

"Is not a mystery to me," Faramir finished for him. Then somewhat shyly, "I have read books…"

That made Boromir draw back. "Books? What books?"

"Oh, all kinds. And why do you think I used to spend so much time talking with Mithrandir?"

His brother looked so startled that Faramir laughed again, but this time his laughter was cut short as Boromir reached down between them to take hold of Faramir. His hands squeezed and Faramir felt as though his mind had snapped. When Boromir loosened his grip, Faramir rasped out shakily, "Again."

Boromir obliged him and Faramir’s cry was swallowed into the heat of his brother’s mouth.

Boromir slid down his body, burning up every inch of flesh, and Faramir knew he would not last at all if his brother’s mouth covered him. He had fantasized about it for too long to be able to endure the reality.

Yet as his brother skillfully held him in his grip while he pleasured him with his mouth, Faramir felt the pressure subside and the pleasure take over.

He cradled his beloved brother’s head and wanted all things from him at once: to be kissed like this by him, but also to kiss his mouth at the same time. And to be in his embrace, feeling the heat of his body around him, but also to be inside him at the same time. But more than everything else, he wanted to have his brother inside his body.

"Come to me, Boromir, hold me, take me, show me how you love me…"

With that Boromir surged up and covered Faramir’s body with his own, kissed his mouth deeply, then rose to his knees and he reached for the goblet of oil.

With his brother towering over him like this, Faramir could not see anything else. He wanted to capture this image in his mind forever. He felt the oil being applied gently, carefully and he wanted to beg him to hurry.

Finally Boromir grasped Faramir’s thighs and hooked them over his hips, and then slid slowly into Faramir’s willing body. Faramir gasped in surprise at the heat, the fullness, the intimacy.

This was what he wanted. This was what he had always wanted.

When Boromir was fully inside him, Boromir leaned forward and supported himself on one elbow, while holding Faramir’s thigh in place with his other hand. He rested his forehead against Faramir’s and let them both used to the sensations.

When his brother finally began to move inside him, Faramir looked down at where their bodies were joined and felt himself begin to cry. Boromir used the pad of his thumb to wipe away the solitary tear that spilled down the side of his face and Faramir looked up at him but could not speak, or even think. His body had come alive, and locked in the heat of his brother’s embrace his world began and ended there. Every move his brother made seemed to resonate in his own soul.

"My Captain…" Faramir heard himself sigh, and that seemed to drive Boromir wild.

His easy rhythm intensified and became like a primal dance, and Faramir matched it instinctively, flawlessly, then it got even more turbulent, so that the bed, the world, moved only to the pace his magnificent brother was setting.

Soon their rhythm robbed Faramir of conscious thought and he passed into a place where there was nothing but sensation… and Boromir.

He could hear his brother crying out his name, he could hear his brother’s name bring cried out. And as he was rocked into ecstasy, the last thing he remembered was gripping Boromir’ powerful arms, and hot tears running down his face, and the sound of his brother’s voice crying, "Faramir…!"