Title: Chair Author: Hanna958 Pairing: Faramir/Boromir/Denethor Rating: NC17 Summary: An incestuous affair between father and sons. Disclaimer: I don’t own any of this stuff, I just play with it. Warnings: mild angst He reclined in his chair, for everything seemed to be going well. Not too well, he could never fully place the threat to Minas Tirith far from his mind, but for the moment, he was relaxed and content. He knew his city stood a fighting chance. His sons were capable soldiers, after all. Boromir especially showed promise of leading Gondor to victory. The young man also showed promise of other things, virility not least of all. He sighed proudly as he stroked his son’s thick shaft growing rigid in his hand. He smiled upon hearing a gasp of pleasure from Boromir, as he gave the phallus a gentle tug. The boy was ready, he deemed, and so he moved his left hand to Boromir’s hip and, while caressing the muscular buttocks, pulled his son toward the chair and leaned to the left to meet Boromir’s approaching groin with his mouth. His younger son, Faramir, took this as queue. Ever eager to prove self-worth, Faramir wasted no time in crossing the room and dropping in front of the elaborate chair, head bent forward and kneeling with practiced ease upon the smooth marble floor. He felt the boy inch closer between his naked thighs and take his throbbing erection into that deliciously hot mouth. He thought pleasantly about how favorable this situation really was. Faramir of course, was younger and smaller, with a mouth that fit perfectly over his engorged cock. This would change of course, he realized with dread. Faramir would grow bigger and his mouth would cease to be the cozy refuge of wet heat which he sought now whenever he was in need of quick release. The boy would become more like Boromir and discover needs of his own. It was a time he sensed approaching with a restless combination of both curiosity and dread. He hated change, and didn’t want to lose the good thing he had, but he had to wonder what the boy would do in the face of a challenge. Boromir gripped the side of the chair as shivers arrested his body, bursting forward in a powerful climax. It was a climax that he was proud to give his eldest son. Now he wondered, what would Faramir give to Boromir? Faramir was now draining him and not resisting being held in place. Aged fingers firmly locked around sandy hair, pulling downward. But his son never complained. He felt the boy thoroughly licking him clean, without regard to the pain of pulled hair; so desperately eager to please. Following a moment of ecstasy and a few satiated groans, he gently rested his hand under the boy’s chin and raised Faramir to stand before him, in front of the chair. He marveled at the handsome erection protruding from the pale white skin of his son’s lean torso. Turning again to his left, he saw that Boromir had collapsed onto the floor beside the chair. He was panting heavily as he was obviously exhausted. Smiling almost wickedly, he reached over the side of the chair and took his son’s hand and directing him to crawl to the front of the chair and in between himself and Faramir. Boromir complied without hesitation, moving slowly and silently on hands and knees. He had to smile at the seductive way his son moved, and how Boromir, too, seemed indifferent to the hardness of the marble floor. He then ordered Faramir to come behind his brother. And again, Faramir complied without argument or complaint. He sensed the boy was nervous, but Faramir had to know what was about to happen, didn’t he? The thought that his son might be confused about this was intriguing, and it made him all the more anxious to see how the boy would perform. Beside him, on the chair, was a vial of oil and he handed it to Faramir, instructing his son on how to apply it to Boromir’s backside. Then he reclined again into the comfort of his chair to watch his son’s make love; their heavy breathing and groans of pleasure exciting him all over again. He watched silently as his younger soon took his older son from behind, every thrust being a sensual display; and for a moment he thought he actually loved the boy. Faramir had proven himself to have at least one good use; pleasuring father and brother. Several minutes later, yet all too soon for his satisfaction, his sons came simultaneously and collapsed together upon the marble floor, both breathing hard from their exertion. Soon the sound of their breathing quieted and, since neither said a word, the hall returned to its usual eerie silence. He leaned forward in his chair to inspect what his sons were now doing. He noted proudly that Boromir, still indifferent to the cold of the marble floor and his nakedness, lay upon his back, with eyes closed giving him an almost angelic look. Faramir, however, was squirming from side to side, eyeing Boromir with blatant concern. He was also shivering noticeably, and more from cold than pleasure. The younger man gingerly crawled over to the elder and lay down across Boromir’s chest, clearly seeking emotional assurance. He gritted his teeth and felt his lips forming into a snarl of protest against this sudden and disappointing reminder of how weak and pathetic Faramir really was. At any rate, he was pleased to note that Boromir took no part in this display of emotion, instead easing Faramir gently, though matter-of-factly, back onto the floor, and then rising to get dressed and leave the room in perfect solemnity. With an almost irritated sigh, he, too, rose from his chair and pulled on his heavy black robes, sweeping across the floor toward the door in confident strides, as though nothing had happened there at all. But as he approached the door, he heard a muffled cry and turned back to see Faramir, still on the floor, now leaned against the chair. The boy remained naked and turned away from him as if in shame, no doubt trying to conceal tears. Indeed, he thought, this pathetic creature was far too weak and sensitive to be his son. So unlike Boromir, who could handle any situation, be it pleasant or painful, with stoic acceptance, just as he could. This, he knew, set an impossible standard for his youngest son, but now, especially, he was in no mood to sympathize with the boy. He noticed how prophetic it was that Faramir should be huddled there at the feet of the chair, for now it was certain, that Faramir would spend his life at the feet of that chair, never rising above that and forever ready to please him on command. This tradition, he assumed, would follow with Boromir after he was dead. Boromir was worthy enough to reign from that chair, with Faramir on the floor beside it. The only thing he hoped for now was that Faramir would never come to outlive his older brother.