Title: Aragorn's Lair: Relief
Author: Brigantine
e-mail: gidgetpup@netzero.com
Pairing: Faramir/Boromir
Rating: NC-17
Warning: the usual - incest.
Disclaimer: not my boys.  I'm just playing perverted games with them.
Feedback: is ever so jolly!
Summary:  Boromir is bored, and misses Aragorn.  Faramir understands. 
A/N:  This sort of smutty nonsense is what gets written on a rainy day when *I'm* bored.

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Boromir's mood matched the weather.  Gondor in mid-winter was damp, cold, and 
generally cheerless, and a delegation of grumbling Dunlanders had pushed the Steward of 
Gondor over the line from tetchy to intolerable.  Earning the sincere gratitude of 
experienced and far more patient councilors Boromir had excused himself from tonight's 
conference with the excuse of an intense and distracting headache, neglecting to mention, 
in a rare expression of diplomacy, that the farking Dunlanders were giving him the 
headache, and the persistent desire to skewer one of them mid-complaint was bloody 
distracting.

Boromir sat in the dark of Aragorn's private study, sulking by firelight.  If Aragorn hadn't 
been off in farking Dol Amroth, Boromir knew exactly what he'd do about his headache 
and his mood.  If Aragorn had been here, where he belonged, Boromir could and would 
bend him over the nearest convenient furniture, take him hard and fast, and they would 
both feel the better for it.  Even if Aragorn already had been feeling just fine he would 
still, Boromir insisted to himself, feel that much better for a good--

The door to Aragorn's study opened behind Boromir, and the Steward turned from his 
brooding.  "Faramir!"

The prince of Ithilien slammed the study door, stalked wetly across the room, stood 
between his brother and the welcome fire, and shook himself like a great dog.  Rainwater 
splattered, hissing in the fire, and making Boromir yelp and laugh.  "Sit down and have 
some wine!  Eru's teeth, it's good to see you!"  

Faramir threw his cloak aside and dropped into the chair nearest his brother.  He took a 
long draught of wine, closing his eyes appreciatively.  "Oh, that's marvelous.  It's rotten 
cold on the road!"

"Thought you wouldn't be here until another two days yet," Boromir said.  "Not that I'm 
complaining, mind you, it's been unbearably dull around here!"

Faramir chuckled, marking the sullen set of his brother's face, the stubborn tension in his 
shoulders.  "Aragorn away?"

Boromir rolled his eyes at his younger sibling.  "As you know very well.  He's been gone 
for eleven days.  Eru's eyes, I can't stand it!"

Faramir laughed outright.  "You're surrounded by dolts and upstarts and you're bored and 
fed up with the lot, and there's nobody around you're allowed to fight, and Aragorn isn't 
here to cheer you up!"

"You have no sympathy for my suffering," Boromir muttered into his wine cup.  He 
grinned, adding, "And you understand me far more thoroughly than is altogether 
comfortable."

"I do," Faramir agreed smoothly.

His elder brother regarded him suspiciously over the rim of his cup.  "I know that tone.  
What devious thoughts are going through your over-active mind?"

The ranger's eyes gleamed in the firelight.  "I can relieve your boredom, brother."

Boromir swallowed, feeling himself flush.  He set aside his wine cup.  "You're not talking 
about a nice game of chess, are you."

Faramir rose and moved to straddle his brother's thighs, leering companionably down at 
him while the rain from his travel-sodden trousers soaked into Boromir's lap.  "Give me 
your mouth."

Boromir wrapped his arms about his brother's damp hips, tilting his head back for 
Faramir's convenience as he kissed him, softly at first, licking at the wine taste, then 
plunging in, all tongue and teeth, and Boromir squirmed and moaned beneath him while 
Faramir's dark hair draped against his skin. 

Faramir unlaced his brother's shirt and dove for his neck, biting just enough to sting, and 
Boromir hissed and arched upward for more.  Faramir raked his teeth across the muscle 
above his brother's collarbone, bunched the front of Boromir's open shirt in his fists and 
stood, pulling his brother up with him.  "I haven't seen you naked in months," Faramir 
growled against Boromir's throat.

"...can fix that," Boromir breathed, and Faramir stepped back to give both of them room.

Boromir was the quicker of the two, given that Faramir had arrived armed and dressed 
against the cold, but Faramir was not so far behind his brother that he shouldn't allow 
himself a few moments to stare at his elder's body with open appreciation.  Boromir 
blushed beautifully, all the way up from his groin to his cheeks.  He reached for his 
younger brother, curving a callused hand over the prominence of his cheekbone.  Faramir 
turned into the caress, then out of it, smiling, "On your knees, brother."

Boromir dropped to all fours on the old rug before the fire without bothering to argue 
rank, and Faramir stood over him for a moment, watching the light play over his skin, 
and the smooth roll of lean muscle beneath; the way his hair hid his face in a curtain of 
gold silk.  For a brief moment he missed Aragorn, wishing he could be here to share this, 
but he couldn't quite put his heart into it.  It had been a long time since Faramir had had 
his brother to himself.  He reached for the drawer where Aragorn kept the fine almond 
oil.

Boromir sighed and hummed contentedly while Faramir trickled and rubbed the oil over 
sensitive skin, bowman's fingers callused from rough use but gentle now.  When Faramir 
ordered quietly, "Down on your elbows," Boromir let out a small moan of anticipation, 
arching his spine downward to spread his knees wider and tilt his hips further upward, a 
familiar gesture of eagerness and trust, and he made no protest at all, but gave way easily 
when Faramir leaned on one hand between his shoulders, pressing Boromir down while 
he teased his way into his brother, a precious torment for them both, and at last Faramir's 
right hand slid along the beginning sheen over his brother's hip, to his belly, and further 
down between his thighs to grasp him at the root and hold him hard within the tight circle 
of his fist, Boromir moaning and begging beneath for harder, cursing his brother for 
more, and yes, please, more.  Faramir breathed long and slow and closed his eyes, taking 
his time in the slick plunges into and out of Boromir; reveled in the heat of him within 
Faramir's grip, in the living, sweating memory of their discovery on Faramir's twenty-
first birthday that Boromir cherished the authority of Faramir's fist, just there, just like 
this.  

Faramir licked at the slow trail of sweat glittering down his brother's spine toward his 
shoulders, Boromir's thighs beginning to shiver from at once keeping their wide stance 
beneath Faramir and meeting the strength of him.  Boromir cursed and pleaded in low 
moans, his fingers grasping at the rug, and Faramir bruised the flat of his hand into 
Boromir's back for leverage, granting him at last the hard use he'd been begging for.  He 
grimaced in breathless triumph at Boromir's cries of pleasure and frustration, until at last 
his struggles brought Faramir to the breaking point, where he laughed and cursed dizzily 
into his own hard-earned release.

Stars still danced before his eyes as Faramir removed himself, hauling sideways on 
Boromir's hip to roll him over.  He shoved his brother's knees high and wide, and 
devoured him, more fiercely even than he had kissed him, and Boromir howled into a 
storm of relief, arms flailing for balance against the rug.

In the sudden quiet that followed, Faramir crawled up his brother's body, his own sweat 
added to Boromir's making them slippery.  He grinned tiredly down at him.  "Feel better 
now?"

Boromir wiped his own damp hair out of his eyes and chuckled breathlessly up at him.  
"Every time you take me that way there's a moment when I'm fairly convinced I'm going 
to die.  The frightening thing is, I don't mind."

Faramir kissed his brother's nose, admiring the curve of his cheekbones by firelight.  
"You know I adore our Aragorn," he said, "but at the moment I'm rather glad he's not 
here."

"Aye," Boromir agreed, wrapping his arms around his brother's shoulders.  "Poor fellow, 
though.  Stuck in Dol Amroth and missing the fun."

Faramir snuggled up beneath his elder's chin, suggesting thoughtfully,  "After all those 
insufferably boring meetings with starchy dignitaries…"  He made a face and yawned 
hugely.  "…the endless yammering at banquets and the awful, formal ceremonies, 
Aragorn will surely be terribly *tense* by the time he gets home, don't you think?"

"I believe," Boromir smiled, tickling his brother's nose with a lock of his own dark hair 
and making him sneeze, "that our king will be very grateful by then for any relief that his 
friends might provide."


--end--