Title: Lessons in Sensuality
Part: 1 of 2
Author: December
E-Mail: d-cember@mail.ru
Pairing: Boromir/Faramir 
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Entering adolescence, Faramir turns to Boromir for advice on how 
to behave with girls. Boromir takes the request too lightly.
Warnings: Graphic sex, Faramir is underage 
Feedback: Any kind is welcome! This is my first story :)
Notes: The story is based on the book version.
“” denotes speech
** denotes thoughts

~ 

“I am telling you, they were looking at you!” – Boromir gave a throaty laugh 
and clapped his brother on the shoulder as they walked down a shady palace 
corridor.

Faramir blushed but said nothing, for he too had noticed how the girls were 
eyeing him at breakfast. He had heard their giggles and hushed whispers too. 
It made him feel both excited and uncomfortable at once – an altogether 
unfamiliar sensation. Only recently did he start to develop an interest in such 
matters, and it all still seemed somewhat odd ridiculous to him. Still partly a 
child, he was not at all used to this sort of attention.

Meanwhile Boromir winked at him and pressed on:

“They are visiting for a week, you know. I would not miss the chance if I were 
you.”

“Miss the chance to do what, brother?” – Faramir asked exasperatedly. He did 
not fancy how the older brother made fun of him over this greatly sensitive 
subject. Secretly, he hoped that feminine affection would make him look older 
in Boromir’s eyes. Alas, to no avail.

“Do what?! Pray do not tell me you do not even know what you are supposed 
to do!” Boromir was so obviously enjoying himself. His taunting was good-
natured, of course, but it was taunting all the same. “You do know, do you 
not?”

“I… Well, certainly.”

“And?..” Boromir raised his eyebrows in anticipation of further explanation. 
He now turned around and was walking almost backwards to see the better 
into the boy’s face.

“Oh, let me be! For Valar’s sake, it is not as if you actually expect me to say it 
aloud!”

“Believe me, brother, once you get a taste of what they have to offer, it will be 
the only thing you would talk of day and night.” The young man laughed 
again and shook his head amusedly. He himself was somewhat touched by his 
brother’s recent transformation. 

Faramir could not see this, of course, but in the last year he had changed 
greatly. Always a charming child, he promised now to be an exceptionally 
handsome youth. Though very alike to Boromir he appeared, there was a 
special, elegant attractiveness to his looks such that the older brother did not 
possess. Same grey eyes, same noble features of face, same shiny, almost 
black hair, same tall and agile frames they sported. Yet whereas Boromir had 
always had around himself an air of power and sheer masculinity, Faramir’s 
fair face and grace of movement implied a more sensual and delicate quality. 

Now, as the nature began preparing him for manhood, there emerged first 
hints at how he would look when fully grown. Faramir stretched taller and 
broadened in shoulders, legs and chest no longer childishly skinny but covered 
with lean and defined muscle; yet his hip bones and clavicles stuck out as 
ever, his chin and upper lip still perfectly smooth. In between two stages of 
life he was, neither boy nor a young man. His alluring appearance was now 
attracting glances at least as much as did his lineage. What more, he seemed 
disarmingly unaware of his own beauty, as close to complete innocence of 
body and mind as a boy of thirteen could possibly be. 

That innocence had but a little while left to last. Boromir was by all means 
certain that in no time his little brother would find all the doors of the adult 
world open to him. Perhaps they were open already, only he was not yet 
prepared to enter. 

At that point they left the palace grounds and entered one of the narrower side 
streets that led to the market. Boromir was not malicious enough to keep on 
picking on his brother in public. They spoke no more on the subject for the 
time being. 

***

Though there was plenty of room in the royal quarters, neither of the brothers 
had ever expressed a desire to occupy a separate chamber. However, now it 
was more and more seldom that Boromir spent the night in their old bedroom. 
Sometimes he would be gone for days serving his duty as a young captain; on 
other occasions it was only for the night that he left. In the latter case he 
would return by dawn, tired but apparently pleased, his clothes rumpled and a 
smell of mead and something sweet and unfamiliar around him. Strange as it 
may seem, it was on such nights and not during long military expeditions that 
Faramir missed him most. Both envy and jealousy the boy had to fight, 
awaiting sleeplessly the older brother’s return. And always a great relief he 
received when Boromir finally strolled inside and gave him a conspirational 
wink. For it meant that whoever kept him company in the darkness, he never 
stayed with them but came to Faramir instead.

The autumn brought chills and a freshness with it, as well as early sunsets. 
There came little light from the tall window and Boromir went to light the 
fireplace. Turning his back to the boy who sat on his bed wrapped in a 
blanket, he crouched to arrange the logs.

Not having to look his brother in the face, Faramir felt less timid and asked 
tentatively:

“So, Boromir, you truly think I should do something about… about our 
cousins?”

Boromir shrugged and answered absent-mindedly:

“Well, if you want to…”

“I would… But…um..”

“But what?” Forsaking the logs, Boromir looked at Faramir over his shoulder 
and the boy blushed instantly. This time his brother’s face was wholly serious 
and he frowned in disapproval. “You are giving this matter too much thought. 
You are to be a man very soon, Faramir. We are not thinkers, leave it to the 
ladies to brood over your every step. We are meant to live by action, to do 
things. You see an opportunity, you take it. So I say,” and at this he returned 
his attention to the fire. It had already started a happy little dance on the dry 
wood, warm reflections flickering on Boromir’s face and clothes.

“But I know not what to do!” Faramir half cried, half whispered in 
desperation. It was humiliating to be saying this, to be lectured on manly 
behavior, yet far less humiliating than losing face with one of those bright-
eyed, dark haired girls. Moreover, they happened to be daughters of their 
father’s second cousin. Somehow being kin with them made Faramir feel even 
worse.

“There is nothing to know, brother.” Boromir still sounded annoyed, yet he 
spoke more softly now. “It is not something I would explain to you 
beforehand. Much as I could not teach you through words how to ride a horse 
or wield a sword.”

“But I am good at learning through words, Boromir. Explain as you will… 
Just, just tell me how you do it.” 

This time it was Boromir who blushed, for this side of his life never happened 
to be discussed between them. Slowly he walked to his own bed opposite 
Faramir’s and sat down, his eyes on the hearth. Though there was a distance 
of several feet between them, the young man almost physically sensed the 
boy’s agitation and embarrassment.

“Learn well you may but I am no good teacher, Faramir. I do not know how to 
speak of these things. There was never a need,” at this he grinned and rubbed 
the back of his neck, as though remembering a pleasant moment.

At this point, unexpectedly even for himself, Faramir stood up and spoke. His 
voice started loud and daring but finished in a barely audible whisper:

“But be true to your words, brother! You say to live by action. So let us not 
talk of it, just show me.” Instantly he was filled with regret for such action and 
a fierce red flooded his cheeks. He lowered his face in trepidation of 
Boromir’s response.

In the meantime a look of uttermost amazement came upon the young man’s 
face and his mouth dropped slightly open. He contemplated Faramir for 
several long moments, at a loss for what to answer. But then he threw back his 
head and laughed heartily. Startled, the boy gaped at him in bewilderment.
	
“Well said, brother! As ever a master of words you are. Never should I speak 
lightly in your presence.” Boromir spread his arms, acknowledging defeat, a 
broad grin still upon his lips. “But I shall be true to what I preach.”

He paused and as he accepted this new role his expression changed 
unrecognizably; and Faramir was swayed by what he saw. Never had he 
witnessed such a look on his brother’s face; and that look made him feel 
suddenly dizzy and hot inside his clothes. Boromir appeared at ease with 
himself and relaxed, but a bright, dark fire lit within his usually cool eyes. The 
orange and scarlet flames reflected in them seemed to come as though from 
within his very soul. And he regarded Faramir in such a pleased, contended 
manner as though there could not be a more beautiful sight under the stars. 
Slowly he raised his hand and thoughtfully caressed his short dark beard, as 
meanwhile his gaze shamelessly moved up and down the other’s body. *This 
must be how he is with women,* Faramir thought vaguely, *no wonder they 
swoon when he is around.*

“Come over then,” both an invitation and a command, the voice giving it 
warm and playful.

At these simple words Faramir’s already pounding heart beat ever faster. He 
did as he was told, a strange lightness in his head, the room blurring before his 
eyes. He stopped in front of Boromir without looking at the man, yet sharply 
sensing how close they were. 

Boromir took him softly on the forearms and motioned for the boy to kneel. 
He was now slightly above Faramir, and so put a hand beneath the smooth 
chin and turned his brother’s flushed face towards himself. A pure and lovely 
face it was, and it seemed only natural to the man that he was the one offered 
to take its innocence. Boromir waited patiently so at last Faramir looked up 
and met his eyes. The boy saw in those eyes emotions he knew no names for, 
yet they spoke to him more clearly than any words could. Then the hand 
beneath his chin traveled in a gentle caress along his pronounced jaw line, 
brushing him lightly on the neck and behind the ear, sending a shiver down 
his spine. Unaware of it, he leaned into this warm touch and pressed his cheek 
into his brother’s palm. Watching him as though mesmerized, Boromir traced 
his thumb to the corner of Faramir’s mouth and below the full, bright lips. 
They opened at the contact and the young man felt the hot and restrained 
breath on his skin. 

Time itself stood still for that moment and both their hearts skipped a beat.

And then Faramir knew it would happen. Boromir’s gaze darted from the 
boy’s right eye to the left and then slid to his lips. The older boy exhaled 
loudly through his nose as though unable to keep control any longer. The last 
thing the younger one felt before his senses left him was that the warm hand 
on his cheek trembled. And then Boromir leaned forward and kissed him.

Instantly he drowned in the soft shyness of those lips. He was tempted to 
wrench them open with his own and pry inside, to devour this mouth, to claim 
it completely. Yet the younger boy was timid and Boromir forced himself to 
progress slowly. First taking Faramir’s upper lip into his mouth and pressing 
on it gently, he then did the same to the lower one.  This he repeated again and 
again, each time gaining a more pronounced response. The boy’s lips grew 
warmer and warmer until a distinct heat was issuing from them. Boromir then 
tilted his head and kissed him sideways, prying his lips wider apart. Faramir 
sighed into his brother’s mouth. His hands acted as though off their own 
accord and came to rest on the man’s arm and heaving chest.  

When the tender, uncertain hand covered the very spot beneath which his 
heart beat, Boromir drew away for a second, as though in a last vain attempt 
to escape the inevitable. And then all his resolves crumbled; and his passion 
broke free. Grabbing Faramir on both shoulders, he pulled him forcefully 
forwards, and bit ravenously into his mouth, and thrust his tongue in between 
the burning hot lips, and moaned aloud when his action was all too eagerly 
returned. And they opened their mouths as far as nature allowed, pressing and 
rubbing lip against lip, tongue against tongue, all surfaces becoming equally 
hot and moist, flesh colliding and breaths mingling. Faramir’s arms snaked 
around Boromir’s neck and held as if for dear life.

The air around them grew dense and charged as though before a thunder 
storm, filled with a heavy and hypnotizing scent of desire. Faramir felt 
disoriented, oblivious to the hard cool floor under his knees, to his brothers’ 
fingers gripping him painfully on the shoulders. He realized somehow that 
they entered now an altogether new state of being, where nothing but them 
was real, and this state blew his mind away. All consciousness was burned to 
nothing by the flame of his brother’s body and touch. Only the heat, the 
senseless need was left within him, and Faramir did not resist it, could not 
think of resisting it. A primary want awoke inside him, sending a burning and 
pulsing ache through his spine and into the lower abdomen. His aroused 
manhood demanded attention and unconsciously he pressed it against 
Boromir’s thigh.
 
Without thinking Boromir reached down and cupped the bulge between 
Faramir’s legs with his hand. Faramir’s mouth slid away from the kiss as the 
intensity of the sensation shook him. This touch was too intimate, too erotic to 
bear. Rubbing against the probing hand he searched for Boromir’s lips again, 
panting and moaning against his skin and beard, the wetness of his lips 
smearing across his brother’s face. But instead of helping him reseal the kiss 
the young man drew sharply away and leapt to his feet, in the process shoving 
his brother to the floor. Faramir took the fall hard as it came unexpected, the 
searing pain in his shoulder and arm restoring his touch with reality.

Boromir stared down at him, bewildered, guilty and remorseful at once, his 
face contorted. He raised a hand and ran it across his mouth and cheek, as 
though tracing Faramir’s touch. His eyes shut as though unable to look at the 
scene, and he trembled violently.

“Boromir, please…” Faramir reached out to him, unable to think of anything 
else to say.

But the sound of his voice seemed to do it for the young man. He groaned 
desperately and rushed past Faramir and out of the chamber. 

That night the steward’s younger son spent alone.

***

Pale and weary, his eyes underlined with dark bluish circles, Faramir 
descended for breakfast. Denethor was already there. Deep in thought and 
looking rather pleased with himself, he paid little attention to Faramir 
appearing.

Only two plates were set, and the boy wondered why no meal was served for 
Boromir.  Yet he was afraid to ask, suspecting his absence had to do with the 
events of last night. Faramir had prayed all would be forgotten as the new day 
came and Boromir would already be here, devouring the food and speaking 
animatedly with Father. Now the empty chair opposite him made it more than 
clear that his prayers went unanswered.

Having barely eaten he excused himself and headed for the inner gardens of 
the palace. Faramir hoped their serenity and seclusion would aid him to 
collect his senses and decide how to act next. Perhaps he ought to pretend 
nothing had happened? *Actually, nothing has happened, he was only helping 
me practice*, the boy told himself. *We got a bit carried away… But it means 
nothing!* He slumped on a marble bench and clasped fistfuls of dark hair in 
his hands, his head bent low over his knees. Inexperienced as Faramir was, 
something told him that what happened between them did not mean nothing. 
Moreover, in his heart of hearts he yearned for it to recur, and wished in 
shame that Boromir had not halted. Would he not lose his mind if Boromir 
kissed him on the neck as he did on the mouth, if he tore apart his shirt and 
sucked on his nipples, if he undid his trousers and…

It was impossible to see behind the clouds of emotion swirling in his head. He 
groaned just as Boromir had done the night before. Too complicated was the 
situation, too complex for him to untangle. Yet one thing was clear – the 
blame lay on him. *I have started it all, I made my brother do it by 
challenging him to keep true to his words. I have caused him a great distress, I 
am responsible. It would be despicable to pretend it never took place!*

With a fresh resolve to seek Boromir and clear the matter, he hurried out of 
the garden. Faramir hastened to find him lest his determination crumble before 
fear and uncertainty of the other’s reaction.

Not knowing where to start the search he headed impulsively for their 
chamber. To his surprise, Boromir was actually there. The young man stood 
with his back to the door, his soldier’s possessions spread on the bed and floor 
before him, a large saddle-bag in his hand, another one lying at his feet. He 
did not turn as Faramir walked in, yet the boy saw him grow tense.

“Boromir…” he began and was dismayed to have his voice catch in his throat.

“Father has sent me on a mission with the troops,” the older brother 
interrupted expressionlessly. “I must be gone very soon. Please do not bother 
me to pack.”

As if hit on the midriff, Faramir had all air stolen from his lungs. Never had 
Boromir spoken to him so, never dismissed him as a nuisance, as a nosy child. 
Tears suddenly welled in the boy’s eyes and he forgot everything he was 
meaning to say to his brother. 

He ran out and let the door slam behind him, not caring any more what 
Boromir would think. 

***

In the evening the steward and his younger son ate alone again, as Boromir 
had departed at noon. Faramir did not feel the taste of the broth he was 
absently spooning into his mouth. His life had been split at the very core and 
little mattered to him now.

“I wish to speak with you, child,” his father said pushing his empty plate 
away. “For you worry me.”

Faramir froze with the spoon still in his hand. *He knows. Oh Valar, he 
knows!*

But Denethor looked concerned rather than wrathful, scrutinizing the boy with 
his heavy eyes.

“You know well enough a father’s heart is large enough to love two children 
at once. Yet it will grant its love to those only who are worthy of it. You are 
strong of body and sharp of mind, my son, but where is your spirit? We live in 
a dark time, a time of war, but you do not wish to fight. You brother this 
morning came to me begging to let him leave the confines of safety. He 
yearned to be gone with the men, to protect Gondor with his sword. Boromir 
cannot stand inaction, but what of you, Faramir? Does it not shame you that 
others die to grant your peaceful living? Would you not take pleasure in 
slaying our enemies? Do you not strive to make me proud? Is it…”

“He begged you to let him leave?..” Faramir’s spoon fell heavily into his bowl 
and sent a spray of soup everywhere.

“Aye, that he did. And I see you are surprised, for Boromir has acted in valor 
but did not boast to you. Take heed of my word, son, make his action an 
example for yourself. Do not force me do be disappointed in you.”

*Father sent me on a mission with the troops. Father sent, my ass! You 
coward, you fled from me, you would not even look me in the eye! How little 
do I mean to you if you could forsake me thus!?*

“I am sorry, Father,” he turned to the steward, his voice for once defiant, his 
glare ablaze with hurt and offence. But Denethor mistook the emotion in 
Faramir’s eyes for pride and ambition, and was glad. 

“I must have forgotten my place and duty,” the boy went on and the words he 
said seemed to him not his own. Now his father would be the only person 
whose opinion of him mattered. And Denethor made it perfectly clear how his 
favor was to be won.

“Pray forgive me and grant a chance to prove my worth to you. I shall do 
whatever deed you see fit for a steward’s son. Send me wherever I am 
needed.”

“Truly, you give me a reply I had hoped for yet did not expect to hear.” 
Faramir winced slightly at the diminishing words but held his father’s gaze 
steadily. “In the morn a group of rangers are setting out to join the patrols on 
the Eastern borders. You are good with the bow, you may go with them.”

The Eastern borders. Any Gondorian knows what stands behind those words. 
Mordor.

***

Three weeks passed since Faramir and the group of soldiers left the white 
walls of Minas Tirith. Grim and serious men as they were, they took to him 
warmly and listened with respect whenever he spoke. He suspected he was a 
burden to them, young and of precious lineage, no more than a hindrance on 
the road. Their genuine acceptance should have gladdened him, but it brought 
little comfort. 

He awaited impatiently their first encounter with the orcs or whatever other 
enemy. He hoped it would be orcs, for it seemed easier to take a beast’s life 
than a man’s. Perhaps he would find pleasure in fighting, in killing. Perhaps 
the void inside him would be filled.

Yet when a sizeable group of orcs was espied and the rangers ambushed them, 
pleasure was absent from his heart. He felt no fear, no anger, his head cool 
and his mind clear. Only great remorse filled him as he threw aside his bow 
and drove his sword into the abdomen of a charging enemy. Oblivious to the 
fetid blood splattering all over his front, he shoved aside the sagging body and 
took on the next opponent.

Once all was finished the men collected their arrows and, as no one was 
heavily wounded, retreated further in the woods. They sought a robust creek 
in which to wash off the blood and dirt of the combat. In this they took turns, 
only two entering the water at a time, the others standing by ready for a new 
assault. 

The ground was freezing to step onto with bare feet and the icy water bit 
harshly at naked skin. The soldiers joked it was their luck winter had not come 
yet. By right of birth Faramir was among the first to bathe and then stood 
aside, watching the other men from the corner of his eye. The boy wondered 
whether the look of their strong and muscular bodies would summon in him 
the desire of that unfortunate night. But nothing happened. They were but 
naked people to him, not particularly handsome, with numerous scars and 
plenty of hair on their bodies. Yet whenever he remembered the feel of 
Boromir’s lips on his own and the way that warm hand had groped in his most 
intimate places, he grew hot all over and a brief bliss enveloped him.

Meanwhile he gained further respect from his comrades, and they 
complimented him openly on his courage and level-headedness in combat. 
They would no longer restrain him or try to keep him behind when they 
fought. Though he was not even fourteen yet, his lack of strength was made 
up for by agility and swift judgment.

But as chilly winds tore the last leaves off the trees and a thin shroud of snow 
fell upon the ground, there came a time when his skills did not help him. Too 
many were their foes and too suddenly they struck. Faramir answered the 
attack fearless as ever and came out of it alive, but several wounds were set in 
his body. Neither one of them was severe enough to claim his life, but 
together they drained him of much blood and strength.

His men would hear no objections and arranged a small group to deliver him 
safely to the city, where his cuts could be properly mended. On the way he 
grew feverish and reached Minas Tirith in a half-unconscious state.

That night he slept fitfully, though the healers’ potions and clever hands had 
set him on the course for recovery. 

As he awoke not long before noon, he found Denethor by his bedside. Though 
a slight disappointment showed on the steward’s face, he nodded to Faramir 
with approval.

“You have endeavored to serve Gondor properly, son, even though you had to 
be carried back in the arms of her men. But nevertheless I give heed to your 
efforts. You may not be a complete letdown to me after all.”

Such was the nature of Faramir’s heart that he took no offence at this 
judgment of his achievements. In fact, his father’s words seemed almost 
praise to him and he smiled.

~

Please proceed to part 2.

2 September, 2007

All feedback is MOST appreciated! Please take a minute to tell me what you 
think.

d-cember@mail.ru