Title: Birthday Surprise Author: Eremir (eremir82[at]yahoo.se) Pairings: Boromir/Faramir Rating: NC17 Summary: It is Faramir’s birthday, and someone has a surprise for him. Warnings: smut, incest - the usual. Feedback: Is my precious drug Disclaimer: Characters, names and places all belong to Tolkien. I’m merely playing with them in my own twisted fashion and mean neither insult nor harm. A/N: Written for my dear friends Zoe and Half Elf Lost for their birthday, July 7 2006. I love you guys. ---------------------- The green clad ranger steps lightly on the forest floor. The woods of Ithilien lie quiet, too quiet, and Faramir can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched. He peers beneath the cover of his hood, moist strands of ginger hair falling before his eyes as he breathes. The air is close. Too close. He begins to feel warm inside the leather of his armour, the afternoon sun slowly setting behind the mountains. The birds are silent. Too silent. Tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the presence of his stalker confirmed. Faramir whips around, sword at the ready, but there is no one there. Suspicious eyes scan the surroundings, but find no clue as to where his follower is hiding. The young captain wonders where his men have gone, for he has not heard a whisper of them for countless minutes. He stands alone against an unknown enemy. From nowhere appears his attacker, striking him across the back and knocking the sword from his grip. The ranger hits the ground, a heavy body descending onto his back and holding his face firmly pressed against the moist forest floor. Arms trapped painfully behind him in an iron vice, he winces, not able to struggle. His captor is far too strong. All Faramir can do is lie still and wait for what is to come. The stalker bends down, panting hot breath into tousled hair. “Never did I think you would be such easy prey, little brother.” “Boromir!” the ranger shouts in anger, not wanting his relief to be apparent. The older man laughs, kissing his brother’s ear. “You were not afraid, were you?” “You nearly had me soiling my breeches, you rank bastard!” Faramir yells and renews his efforts to break free. “Easy,” Boromir croons. “I did not come all this way to fight.” The ranger settles, suddenly curious as to what his brother is doing there. The older brother turns him on his back, yet retains his hold on Faramir’s arms and keeps them firmly pressed to the ground, restricting him from further movement. The younger man looks up into smiling blue eyes, long suppressed feelings stirring in his groin. “What exactly are you doing here, then?” he asks, holding his breath as Boromir leans closer. “Do you not know what day it is? Did you forget your own birthday?” Faramir chuckles. “You came all the way from Dol Amroth to say Happy Birthday?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Well, this is certainly an original way of saying it.” “Oh, there is more,” Boromir grins, leaning down to seize his brother’s lips in a needy kiss. Faramir groans, his cock awaking and yearning to be freed from its restricting prison. “We can’t...” he pants, “...not here...not now...my rangers...” “Are far away from here,” his brother purrs. “I sent them on a little mission. They should not return until morning.” He kisses Faramir again, with even more passion, thrusting his tongue inside the yielding mouth and claiming it for Gondor. “We have the whole of Ithilien to ourselves this night, brother dear. You can scream as loud as you want. No one will hear.” A tiny whimper escapes the captive brother, and he reaches his head up to capture his beloved’s mouth once more. Lips he has missed for months, kisses he has dreamed of for weeks, and the warm body he has desired his entire life - they are too close to deny. Not a moment must be wasted. Faramir struggles again, his hands longing to touch and feel, grab and hold, claw and scratch. But Boromir holds him firmly in place. “Release me, brother,” he implores, “and I shall show you sweeter release.” “Ah, but this is your birthday, and it is my present. I will give it to you on my terms.” “Prick.” Boromir chuckles. “There’s a fine way to thank me for your birthday present! Insults!” “Well, you are!” Faramir hisses, grinding his growing bulge against the warrior straddling him. “Mmm...really? Perhaps I should take my prick and go back to uncle Imrahil, then? Though, I’m not sure he can help me with it the way you can.” Boromir grins and rocks his hips over his brother’s aching cock, making Faramir grunt with discomfort. “You arse!” “Arse? First I’m a prick and now I’m an arse! Will you make up your mind?” “Can you please shut the hole in your face?! Stop teasing and fuck me already!” The elder brother chuckles. “With pleasure.” Hungry mouths rejoin, urgency driving their teeth to scrape. The young captain delights as a heavy body covers him, weighing him into the soft soil and putting delicious pressure on his heated flesh. He groans, barely noticing his hands abandoned to freedom for the greater cause of laces and clasps. Boromir tears the ranger’s jerkin open, revealing a smooth, moist chest, its colour creamy and pale behind its shelter from the sun. The cool air does not dampen Faramir’s desire. The beast has already awoken, and only one thing can put it to sleep again. Pulled to consciousness by a hard bite to his nipple, the ranger snaps his head up, entirely displeased with the layers of clothing he sees still covering his brother. They must go. As the older man proceeds to lick and suck at any skin he can reach with fervent need, the younger pulls at his brother’s tunic, soon exposing the slightest bit of back. With renewed strength, encouraged by this vision of perfectly aligned muscle, he pulls hard and drags thick clothing over Boromir’s head, trapping the arms from movement. The warrior sits up, panting with combined effort and lust as he tries to wiggle out of the spell that has blinded him. Faramir watches enthralled, his gaze fixed on the snaking dance of the headless torso. Reaching out to touch it, he hears the familiar voice swearing from inside its leather prison. Chuckling, the ranger helps his brother, and no sooner has the elder been freed than their mouths are joined again. Needy kisses consume all mental energy to the point where fingers fumble and hands slip. It has been too long. Much too long. Faramir sweats. Even in the chilly twilight he sweats. A heat within him is replacing coherent thought, and soon limbs work on their own, all driven by their need to be touched and worshipped individually. Toes curl inside muddy brown boots. Four strong legs battle for dominance, both pairs seeking to grip their opponents. One pair is rested, adapted to the miles of walking that entails guarding the woods. The other pair is weary, having spent days clasping the ribs of a broad-backed horse. The younger brother pushes his advantage, laying claim to the older man’s hips and rolling him over. He judges a kiss would be adequate reward, but Boromir stops him. “My present, my rules.” The green eyes do not waver. “On your back, forest boy.” “But...” Faramir tries to object, but sees there is no use. Resigned, he rolls off his brother, removing jerkin and tunic as he does. His heated back meets cold grass and he shivers. Boromir stands above his lover, enticingly slow undoing the laces of his breeches. “Now close your eyes. Hands above your head, and keep them there.” Again, the ranger tries to object, sending his brother a look that says ‘Have you been drinking?’ The man of Gondor pays no heed. He pulls the laces free and balls them up in his fist as he steps out of his breeches. Faramir does what he’s told and closes his eyes. The next thing he feels is Boromir straddling him, and leather ties being placed around his wrists. A convenient tree root sticking out of the ground becomes their anchor, and when the older man begins to tickle him by means of his beard there is no escape. “No! No!” Faramir giggles hysterically. “Not the armpits!” Hot breath on his face brings a blush creeping onto his features. “Want me to stop, do you?” Boromir purrs, and the ranger would do anything at that moment to keep him talking just for the shivering pleasure of hearing his voice. Faramir has never met another man who possesses masturbational powers in his vocal cords. A piece of clothing, from the smell of it judged to be Boromir’s, is placed over Faramir’s eyes. An assurance that he won’t peek. Taut with anticipation, the ranger waits. The weight is lifted from him, his breeches removed. Licks and kisses wander his thighs and stomach, avoiding the core of his desire; the throbbing spear that lies waiting for the warrior to wield it. He does not see the wicked gleam in his brother’s eye, but he feels it. He is just about to utter a sarcastic remark when he is swallowed whole, and the only sound leaving his throat is a strangled cry. Boromir sucks like he was born for it. He sucks and pulls until Faramir is a bucking mess under his fingertips, and then he stops, bringing little brother away from the dangerous edge and showering him with protective kisses. The ranger sighs, as much happy as angry about his twofaced treatment. Over and over the polished Gondorian soldier keeps up his routine, until the young captain can take no more. Faramir cries out for mercy. For a few seconds he is left alone and cannot see what his brother is doing. He focuses on breathing, his cock pounding the raging rhythm of his pulse. His leg is lifted. Something slick and cold touches a place that has not been touched in many weeks. A finger slips in, the ranger gasping. Want, need, desire, lust, love, excitement - they’re all a level higher than they’ve ever been. But with Boromir, that is always the case. Every time those beloved hands touch him, it’s sweeter than the time before. “More...” Faramir breathes. Two fingers. Three. Screwing, poking, prodding, scissoring, fucking. A loud, throaty groan drifts off between the trees, leather laces digging into archer trained wrists. Hard knuckles moving through the ring of fire, stretching and pulling at sensitive skin, teasing the hidden pleasure inside. The ranger lies helpless, abandoned to his brother’s will. Cold air is blown onto his wet member and he shivers, growing even harder. His nipples contract, goosebumps spreading over his skin like lightning across the sky. He is so close. He could come in an instant if Boromir but uttered one word. The elder brother knows this weakness and so keeps silent. By keeping Faramir from seeing and hearing and moving, he can play with his victim for as long as he chooses. The ranger whimpers as the sensation of fingers disappears, but it is soon replaced by something else. His legs are forced up and apart, the long yearned for body descending between them at last. He quivers, as he knows what will happen next. Lips graze his. Something blunt nudges at his well- prepared opening. His entire body is open wide and welcoming whatever may come. His breath quickens, hot air bouncing back at him from Boromir’s sweaty face. When his brother’s fat cock tears him apart, Faramir knows nothing more. Only the liquid euphoria that is their coupling. It may be wicked, it may wrong, it may even be an incestuous crime of horrible punishment under the laws of Gondor, but no one can deny it is first and foremost incredible sex. Mind-blowing sex. High in the sky, raging stampede, shooting star kind of sex. The ranger knows not what cries his demented self utters in this haze of lust, only that for some reason his hands are free and his nails are digging deep pink lines into his brother’s back. His eyes see again, and he watches Boromir’s body undulate with fury, hips grinding their need deeper into Faramir’s darkness. Cries grow louder in the darkening woods. Boromir fucks his little brother’s tight ass as if he thought he’d never do it again. Fingers fist in hair and grass and dirt, the two bodies frantically seeking friction, pounding into each other. Faramir looks up and meets intense green eyes. His entire body - blood, muscle, and skin - is screaming for release and he begs the warrior to free him. The great Gondorian keeps his pace, looks deeply into the shining pools of his brother’s eyes and utters with his magical voice, “Good things come to those who wait.” Faramir watches explosions behind his eyelids as his body cramps, wave after wave of delirious spasm wrecking his nerves. He clamps down on the fraternal invader, forcing a guttural growl from Boromir’s lips as the elder brother loses the last of his defences. During long, breathless seconds, all that is heard is the couple’s grunting and breathing as they hold onto each other for dear life, waiting for the orgasm to wash them clean. As ecstasy lets go the ranger feels his strength failing, and heavy limbs fall to the forest floor. He lies still, staring up at the deep blue sky and swaying canopies, his breath moving damp, blond hair before his mouth. “Happy Birthday, little brother,” Boromir mumbles against his neck. Faramir chuckles, the weight lifting from his chest as the brothers part. They lie next to each other, wide grins on their faces. “Did you like your present?” “It was certainly better than last year,” Faramir answers. “And what is wrong with leather underwear? Looked quite edible on you, it did.” “Prick,” the ranger grins. “Oh, here we go again...” Boromir rolls his eyes. “You’re never nice to me. It’s my birthday too you know!” “I know. I just don’t care.” “Why you little...” Filled with renewed vitality, Boromir lunges on his brother, topping him and tickling him wherever he can reach. He does not stop until Faramir begs for forgiveness. Keeping the little bastard in a firm grip, he gazes lovingly into the laughing eyes. “Did you not get me a present then?” “Of course I did, you big oaf. I love you, remember?” Faramir smiles. “Oh, riiiight,” Boromir nods. “Love...I think I’ve heard of that. So what did you get me?” “Leather underwear.” “Faramir!” “All right, all right. I’ll give you your present. In the caves.” A wicked grin brightens the tired face. “It’s a dungeon, isn’t it? I knew it! You always know what to get me!” “That I do, brother dear. Happy Birthday.”