Title: Depictions of Love: Embarrassed Author: Persephone Author’s email: persephone@adelphia.net Pairing: Boromir/Faramir Rating: NC-17 Summary: Boromir feels a fever. Warning: Incest. Chan. A/N: Part 1/3 of my “Depictions of Love” series which portrays the love between the brothers when Faramir is 13, 15, and 17 years old. This series was inspired by three drawings by E.W. Embarrassed, Boromir remained standing where he was. Faramir was crossing the dim hallway with his tutor, heading for the even dimmer libraries. But even with his face burning, Boromir had to force himself not to follow Faramir to the library and simply wait till his lesson was over. After which Faramir would have another type of lesson for him. It had been exactly fifteen days since it had first happened. At first Boromir had nearly left Minas Tirith for the shame he felt. But Faramir would not let him. And if he was honest, shame or no, he would not have left on his own. Because fifteen days later, here he stood. Faramir had passed a long time ago but Boromir was still standing immobile in the hallway with his mind in chaos. He loved Faramir, from the moment the boy was born. But- but at eighteen, he also knew what was right and what was wrong. And he knew he should not be expressing his love as a man did with a lover. And… Boromir bit down on his lower lip hard, until the pain made his eyes water. Even then, even if he came to terms with needing to make love with Faramir, it would not be such unbearable torment if— He could not even let himself finish these thoughts, to remember the things he did to his thirteen year old brother in the dimness of whatever corner he could secure. And yet his mind dwelt on nothing else. For fifteen days. Boromir realized his breathing was now nothing more than a hiss. He clenched his hand into a fist and pushed away from the wall. And it wasn’t for another few minutes that he became aware that he was heading in the direction of the library. Helplessly, he stood in the doorway, staring at Faramir. His brother was bent over some parchments with his old tutor, running his fingers over the ancient words. Faramir’s jet dark hair fell across his face, but as if he knew, he lifted his eyes and locked on Boromir. And then one side of his mouth pulled up in a half smile. A much too knowing smile. Boromir gripped the wooden door jamb until it began splintering under his fingers. But he was in no frame of mind to notice such a thing when his cock was already leaking badly, soaking the crotch of his britches, thankfully hidden behind his shirttails. Stop now, he silently begged Faramir. Why could a mere child have such power over him? He grunted under his breath and didn’t even bother answering his own question. Was this not Faramir he was talking about? Faramir looked up at the sound he didn’t realize he’d made so loudly. His tutor also looked up, smiled slightly, and then resumed looking at the parchments. Faramir’s eyes were half closed. “Wait,” he mouthed. Boromir pressed his trembling lips together, smoothed his hand over his beard, and stepped into the room. “Well, we must cut short this lesson, dear teacher,” Faramir said in a clear voice, and Boromir could not help marveling at his composure. “I am afraid Boromir requires my attention at the moment.” Boromir counted the moments as the tutor nodded and gathered up his sheaves and left. The old man probably said something to Boromir on his way out, but it didn’t register. A moment later, they were alone. And Faramir was standing behind the table, smiling. Boromir took one quick step forward. “Shut the door, brother,” Faramir said quietly. Boromir stopped and did as he was told. He walked over to Faramir, already breathing harshly. His fingers burned. His tongue burned. His cock burned. Every part of him wanted a part of Faramir. Faramir stepped backwards, moving into a corner. There he stopped when his legs came up against a grey stone chair that seemed to be carved into the wall. It seemed to be meant for quiet contemplation and reading, as it was hidden in the corner, and obscured by blue velvet curtains. Boromir didn’t think he’d care if the chair was sitting in the middle of the Courtyard of Stone, right under the White Tree itself. It was going to be another site of shame. Already Faramir was lifting his shirt over his head. “May I see, Boromir? I want to see… that.” He pointed to Boromir’s crotch. Boromir immediately lifted the front of his shirt to remove it. He heard a little gasp escape Faramir’s throat. Boromir looked down. “You’re so wet,” Faramir breathed. Boromir’s face was so hot by now he was afraid he would die of shame. And instead of coming toward him as Boromir thought he would, Faramir stepped out of his britches and stood naked for a moment before stepping backward to the chair. He sat down. Then he lifted both legs and hooked them on the chair’s stone arms. Boromir’s teeth began to chatter. His eyes squinted and his jaw clenched. He took a step forward to get a closer, deeper look at Faramir’s opening. “Take it out. I want to see, remember?” “Please, just let me lick you first,” he heard himself hissing. Faramir pouted. “But I like seeing…” Boromir snapped his leather thong and pulled his cock out. It was massive, and it was hard, and it was burning hot. “Oh, yes,” Faramir gleefully smiled, as if Boromir had just shown him sweets. Boromir began to feel feverish. This child was going to kill him… Boromir dropped to his knees before his brother and grabbed his inner thighs, pushing his legs farther apart. Faramir squirmed and Boromir could see him pucker. His mouth began watering and he forced himself to go slowly as he leaned in. But once he tasted Faramir, there was no taking it slow. His grip tightened on Faramir’s thighs but he could not make himself stop. He stiffened his tongue and forced it into Faramir and somewhere in the back of his mind thought that his brother could not be any tighter. Even though he had fucked him enough times to debase any grown man. His cock throbbed painfully, and pumped out a few more drops. “Boromir…” Faramir panted softly, “You must go slowly. We have time.” But Boromir wasn’t listening. How could he? He curved the tip of his tongue and licked Faramir’s inner walls, tasting as deeply as he could. Faramir cried out and grabbed the back of his head. Faramir buried his fingers in Boromir’s dark hair, and pulled Boromir’s head hard against himself so that Boromir’s nose was right up against the skin covering the soft bump above his entrance. Boromir inhaled deeply and moaned wretchedly. After a moment Faramir pulled at Boromir’s hair and Boromir reluctantly pulled his head back. Faramir moved Boromir’s head up, to his cock. Boromir took the smaller cock in his mouth instantly and sucked it all the way down, until his nose was tickling against Faramir’s hairs. He trapped his brother’s cock in his mouth and rhythmically constricted his muscles around it. Faramir gasped over and over, his fingers writhing in Boromir’s hair. When it got too much for Faramir, Boromir pulled back, letting the spit covered cock rest against Faramir’s stomach. Boromir slid his arms under Faramir’s legs and stood up, lifting him up against his chest. Faramir’s lips locked on his and Boromir had to struggle to stand upright against that onslaught. Faramir kissed like a child, but it was filthy. Boromir quickly stumbled down unto the stone chair and set his brother on his lap. Faramir’s arms locked around his shoulders and neck and the boy leaned down and sucked the skin of Boromir’s neck into his searing, wet mouth. “Oh, Faramir! Oh, gods!” Boromir panted helplessly, his hands shaking so badly he could not position Faramir. He simply could not do it by himself. “Help me,” he whimpered. Faramir lifted himself and then sat down on the tip of Boromir’s cock. Boromir gritted his teeth and threw his head back, scraping it against the stone of the chair. Faramir swiveled his hips on the tip, and Boromir gripped his hips like a vice and thrust his own hips upwards, impaling Faramir. Faramir cried out sweetly and tightened his arms around Boromir’s neck. He gripped a handful of Boromir’s hair lying against Boromir’s neck, then dropped his head back down to Boromir’s neck and sucked hard on his flesh. Boromir lost his mind. The fingers of his left hand slid around, gripped Faramir’s left cheek, and worked their way into his ass. Until he could feel his cock against his fingers inside Faramir’s heat. With his right hand he held Faramir suspended by his hip and fucked roughly into him, unable to do anything else. And Faramir sucked harder on his neck. In much too short a time, Boromir was spurting in long, endless spasms into his brother. Faramir pressed his cock against Boromir’s stomach muscles, rubbing wetness all over him, and sweetly came. His childish moans forced another bout of come out of Boromir, so that when he finally stopped, he had tears in his eyes. Afterwards, Faramir moaned delightedly and pulled himself closer against Boromir. He covered Boromir’s upper lip with his and leisurely sucked on it, and Boromir immediately sucked in Faramir's lower lip. Boromir left his cock inside his brother even though it was softening, and stroked his fingers between Faramir’s cheeks. Already he was feeling embarrassed again, but he knew he would not sleep well until the next time. And next time, for the sixteenth time, he promised himself he would go slow. Title: Depictions of Love: In Accord Author: Persephone Author’s email: persephone@adelphia.net Pairing: Boromir/Faramir Rating: NC-17 Summary: Faramir is now fifteen years old and wants to teach Boromir about patience. Warning: Incest. Chan. A/N: Part 2/3 of my “Depictions of Love” series which portrays the love between the brothers when Faramir is 13, 15, and 17 years old. This series was inspired by three drawings by E.W. Boromir hurried down the white stone hallway towards his father’s rooms. It was mid-morning, and he had been looking for Faramir for hours. It was just a few minutes ago that a guard had told him Faramir was most likely in his father’s rooms. The night before, he had turned over in his bed to find that Faramir had left, and the dent that had held him was cold. Boromir had gotten out of bed and, as was now habit, looked in on Faramir to make certain he was in fact in his own bed. He found him there, sleeping peacefully. Faramir was only fifteen, but he had already developed a sense of how to watch out for both of them. But it also meant that he woke up every morning burning to get rough in Faramir’s heat. The only exception this morning was that his need seemed worse than it had been for a while. Now as he strode down the hallway, that need was overshadowed by a panic he tried hard to quell. Denethor was presently in audience in the White Tower, so why would Faramir be in his rooms? It could only mean that his father had called Faramir in there this morning for another one of his talks, and had made Faramir stay there as punishment after he left. Finally Boromir was pushing open the thick wooden door of the front room of his father’s chambers. He stepped inside and saw Faramir standing by the wide open balcony doors, leaning against Denethor’s large writing desk. “Faramir…” he whispered across the room. Faramir turned his head and looked at him. “Hello, brother,” he said, and smiled slowly. Boromir’s heart bumped. The morning sunlight poured into the room, bathing his brother on its way in, turning strands of his black hair into midnight blue. Faramir lifted his hand and beckoned to him. Boromir walked until he stood directly in front of his brother, his back to the balcony. He peered into Faramir’s face. “I am fine,” Faramir smiled gently. His hand lifted and rested on Boromir’s chest. Then his fingers clenched slowly until he held a fistful of Boromir’s shirt. “He left a long time ago.” “Then what are you still doing here?” “Waiting for you.” Boromir’s brows furrowed. “Why?” Faramir shifted backwards until he sat on their father’s broad writing desk. He spread his legs and pulled Boromir into the space between them. “Because early this morning I read a chapter in a book.” He said nothing further, and Boromir asked thickly, “And what did your book say?” Faramir shrugged. “A myriad of things.” He leaned back on his hands. “But I am one to decide for myself.” Even as he vaguely wondered what kind of chapter in what kind of book his brother had studied, Faramir’s legs wrapped around his, and pulled him closer. “This is dangerous, Faramir.” “Aye.” Faramir stared up at him with shining eyes. “But not without purpose.” “And the purpose being?” Faramir smiled slowly at him. “It will come to you. But in the meantime, remove your shirt.” Boromir's previous worry for Faramir’s well being vanished. And his need came charging back. He pulled his shirt off, thankful that their father’s room was far above the ground facing the east. No one could see. “We will go slow,” Faramir said. Boromir nodded over and over. Faramir laughed and Boromir found himself staring at his brother’s beautiful face. “We will,” Faramir insisted. Boromir placed his hands on Faramir’s hips and pushed his shirt up over his head. He pulled it off. Then his hands slid back down to Faramir’s hips and as Faramir lifted himself he pulled his breeches off. Faramir’s cock sprang against his stomach. “I read this morning,” Faramir whispered as he watched Boromir remove his own breeches, “that a good elder brother takes care of his younger brother.” “Aye,” Boromir managed to say. He stepped out of his clothes and placed his hands on either side of Faramir’s body. He leaned forward and covered Faramir’s mouth with his, kissing him deeply. Reaching between them with one hand, he swiped his finger over his wet tip and rubbed it on Faramir’s entrance. His brother moaned and lifted his feet unto the table. Now he was wide open for Boromir. “And also that when brothers love each other few things in the world can match it. Do you think that is why—” he gasped heatedly as Boromir’s cock pushed into him, “—why this feels so good?” Boromir heard himself grunt before he wrapped his arms around Faramir’s thighs and thrust deep. “Boromir!” his brother cried out quietly and sank backwards, his eyes closing blissfully. As his back touched the smooth wooden desk he slid his feet off it. Boromir watched his face begin to glow and felt his ankles wrap around his waist. “Who am I to you, Boromir,” Faramir whispered. “You are my beloved brother,” he said hoarsely, struggling. It was not the time to speak… He pulled out to the tip of his cock and then thrust smoothly back in. “Yes. Oh, yes, brother,” Faramir panted, gripping the edge of the table with one hand. “Now hold still.” Boromir held still and shook with the effort. “Like this?” he asked, his voice trembling along with his body. Faramir made no response in words, only sounds. His other hand hovered over his cock for a moment before it descended and his fingers scraped up its length. Boromir listened and watched, mesmerized. Faramir was no longer a child, for his movements were assured to elicit his own pleasure, and the sounds he made in his throat were low and sensual. But nor was he yet a man, for when he cried out Boromir’s name it was with such sweet trust that a fierce need to protect him shot through Boromir. He remember Faramir as a baby, as a little toddler, as a young boy, and yet he could not wonder how it had come to be that he was buried inside him as a lover. He would do anything his brother asked. And he would do it to the best of his abilities. But he could no longer hold still. “C- can I move, Faramir,” he hissed. Faramir’s chin slowly lifted as his head fell back even farther. He began to scrape his fingers up his length, over and over, and his muscles began to clench rhythmically around Boromir. Boromir’s breath caught so that he could not even gasp aloud. Faramir's books had taught him something new. “Pull out all the way to your tip,” Faramir panted softly. Boromir pulled out nearly all the way. “Tease me with it.” Boromir’s stomach muscles clenched and stayed so, as he did his best and pumped the head of his cock in and out of Faramir’s heat. “It sounds… good,” Faramir said between breaths. Boromir looked down at Faramir’s face, at the results of his efforts, and realized he was in trouble. Faramir was far gone, and he was bordering on pain. “Faramir…” he pleaded. “Oh yes, my brother,” Faramir was panting hard now, one hand gripping the table, the other slicked wet as it flew up and down his cock. Boromir realized to his surprise that Faramir was near his climax. “My wonderful… magnificent brother…” Boromir whined. A moment later Faramir slid all the way down on his cock. Boromir let out a long ecstatic groan. He spread his legs wider and braced himself to move. Faramir’s legs fell farther apart against his arms. “Hard, Boromir.” Boromir pounded into him until the desk scraped across the stone floor. He was grunting hard, and Faramir was panting beautifully, for now, for the first time, they were in accord. Boromir continually pulled Faramir’s body possessively against his, ran his hands over his thighs, daring anything and anyone to come between them. Faramir cried out and his other hand clutched Boromir’s hip, and Boromir realized he had been speaking out loud. Faramir pumped his cock one last time and then pressed it up against Boromir’s stomach and spurted hard against him. Boromir took one look at the bliss on his brother’s face and came inside him. He collapsed on top of Faramir, and as they waited for their breathing to return to normal he found himself thinking that he must remember to shift Denethor’s writing table back to its former position. Then it hit him like a sword hilt to the head what they had just risked in their father’s room. By the Valar, he was twenty and should know better, but he was afraid that he did not. He thought of Faramir's words and still wondered at the purpose of this madness. Whatever it was, he knew one thing for certain, he must take control and act more responsibly in the future. If not for his sake, then for Faramir’s. Title: Depictions of Love: Let it Burn Author: Persephone Author’s email: persephone@adelphia.net Pairing: Boromir/Faramir Rating: PG-13 Summary: A conversation before a kiss. Warning: Incest. A/N: Part 3/3 of my “Depictions of Love” series which portrays the love between the brothers when Faramir is 13, 15, and 17 years old. This series was inspired by three drawings by E.W. Boromir held his brother by the waist, wanting to say many things. But there were too many places to start. Faramir stood unmoving, his head deeply bowed, his dark hair falling forward over his shoulder. At seventeen he was nearly as tall as Boromir, his muscles carved beautifully into his nearly perfect body. Boromir’s hands spread wider and pressed slowly into his body. Faramir stood with a stillness that seemed impossible to Boromir, his serious mind coursing with secrets Boromir could not begin to deduce. Faramir waited for Boromir to speak, his gentle breathing into the warm space between them making his chest rise and fall. And except for that sound, there was silence. Boromir didn’t breathe at all. He could not, for between his hands he knew he held what mattered most to him in this world, and he was daunted. He closed his eyes and made himself breathe in measured breaths against Faramir’s cheek. He worked to find his words. Faramir waited, his body resting trustingly in Boromir’s large hands, his arms hanging down his sides, a warm statue in marble. Boromir turned his head slightly until his nose touched Faramir’s cheek. Very slowly, he brushed it back and forth against his brother’s warm skin, and in the dark silence behind his closed eyelids Boromir listened to what Faramir was asking of him. Four years ago Boromir had opened his eyes to the need inside him, and he had taken Faramir again and again to quench it. But it was a need like none other, for it gave rather than took, and so in every moment of those four years Faramir had owned him. In owning him his brother had saved him from self-accusation, from a humiliation that could have consumed him, from torment that would have driven him from their white city. In owning him his brother had tamed his urgency to love without heed, as if rushing their act would lessen the agony. And so it was that while still a child Faramir had had the strength of mind to properly consummate their love when Boromir had been brought to his knees by it. For four years Faramir had worked hard to get them to this point. Now they stood at the end of one thing, and at the start of another. They would move forward, but Faramir was going to wait for him to take them wherever they were headed, because the living heart Boromir held between his hands was no longer that of a child... was no longer living in complete assurance of itself. Now it asked to rely on the love of an older brother, on the strength of a man. The Steward’s second son, Minas Tirith’s second warrior, Gondor’s second lord. His first love. Which mattered the most was not a difficult question for him to answer. But it was difficult to prove. And proof was what was required of him. “It is very hard for me to say this,” he said hoarsely. “Because we are brothers?” Boromir shook his head slowly, his black hair brushing against Faramir’s. That was long in the past. “Because… it burns.” Faramir swayed toward him, almost imperceptibly. He was silent for moments before he whispered, “Then let it burn.” Boromir’s fingers tightened, and he turned his head more, until his hot breaths fanned against Faramir’s cheek. And like that they stayed, caring nothing for the minutes passing, for the time melting for them. Boromir kept his eyes closed, and this time he listened to the words coursing through his own heart. Faramir remained still, waiting. Finally, Boromir began to speak. “I am yours, Faramir,” he said. “And I am yours, Boromir,” Faramir whispered back. “Though I have waited too long to tell you that, yet now is the right time for me to tell you that this is not a fate you are by any means bound to.” He strained to listen to Faramir’s breathing. It was unchanged. He continued quietly, “You can still say no. You can find a man who is not your brother.” “A man who is not you?” Boromir was silent as the question sank into his mind. When he said the words, they were mere words. But when Faramir posed the question it became something on which his very purpose for living depended, and clearly so. “Faramir,” he breathed, ready at last. “Ours will not be an easy path. But I promise you, you will never walk it alone.” Boromir turned his face until his lips pressed against Faramir’s skin, warm and smooth. Slowly their naked bodies came together. And for a time all he could do was stroke his lips back and forth against Faramir’s cheek because his eyes stung and he was letting himself burn. Then he leaned forward and opened his mouth over Faramir’s. Faramir lifted his head and opened his mouth in response. They breathed for each other for a moment before Faramir sucked Boromir’s upper lip into his mouth, and then Boromir’s tears fell because Faramir had not kissed him in his sweet childish way for a very long time. And Boromir knew he did it now as a farewell and a welcome… for the man who would always be his little brother, and yet a child no longer.