Boromir slowly worked the soap into a rich lather and then laid the cake aside. He placed both his palms on Faramir’s back and splayed his fingers wide. Slowly, and with deliberate care, he massaged the lather over Faramir’s pale skin. Working in small, tight circles, he moved his hands down wards over the captain’s back until his hands went below the water to Faramir’s waist. Then he began to bring them back up, still using circular motions. Beneath his palms, he felt Faramir alternately stiffen and relax as he mentally argued with himself. Boromir’s mouth tightened as he tried not to smile.
Faramir wondered if Boromir were playing with him. As his body grew more relaxed by the message, he found himself struggling not to lean back in Boromir’s embrace. He wasn’t certain that the general would appreciate such a gesture, though the stiff cock beneath the water suggested otherwise. Still, Faramir needed to be absolutely convinced before he did something rash or foolish and set relations between Dol Amroth and Gondor back to the First Age.
Cupping his hands, Boromir sluiced clean water over Faramir’s back, removing the soap. His own nipples were hardening without even being touched and his cock was completely erect. He knew that Faramir was attracted to him; he could hear the small little moans that the captain tried to conceal and the slight trembling of his limbs. “My turn.”
Green eyes shifted from side to side as Faramir held still. “Pardon?”
“My back?”
“Of course.” Faramir felt like an idiot as he gathered the soap Boromir had been using and turned. But instead of Boromir’s back, he found himself face to face with the general. The dark chest hairs gleamed with drops of water and bits of lather. The puckered nipples begged to be suckled and bitten. Faramir cleared his throat. “You should turn around.”
“I should,” agreed Boromir though he did not move. His gray eyes roamed over Faramir, as if caressing him. He took in the red hair, darker now that it was wet, that slicked back from the tanned face. The beard and mustache were only slightly unkempt and was obviously carefully maintained. The tan ended at point where color met strong throat and Boromir found that fascinating, though he couldn’t say why. Well-defined shoulders marked a lifetime of weapons training.
The hand holding the soap reached out and made contact with Boromir’s chest. When the warrior made no movements, Faramir dragged the wet soap over the dark chest hairs, watching as they became pasted with soap. He moved his hand in a circle and directed it toward a drawn nipple. As he raked the cool, sudsy soap over it, he heard Boromir take a deep breath and hold it. He flickered his eyes up to Boromir’s and smiled his lopsided grin. He moved the soap lower, never taking his eyes from Boromir’s, until his hand slipped beneath the water. He hesitated but a second before moving down over taut stomach muscles.
Boromir breathed out and then in again and his
hand blindly groped for the ledge as he steadied himself. He felt himself
falling forward and suddenly his lips were pressed against Faramir’s.
His eyes opened wide as he was suddenly confronted with moss green depths
and sweet, warm lips against his own. Faramir’s beard was soft and tickled
slightly. The mouth beneath his opened slowly and a tongue touched his. Boromir
could not halt the gasp that burst from him as an electrical zing traveled
up and down his spine.
He reached out and took Faramir in his arms and pulled him closer so that
their chests were pressed together. He felt Faramir grasp his hips and hold
him tightly with slick fingers. He pushed his tongue deeply into Faramir’s
mouth and began a sensuous exploration of the other’s intimate recess.
Their tongues danced shyly around each other’s for a moment until they
found a comfortable pattern. Boromir groaned and Faramir echoed him.
Beneath the water, Faramir’s cock twitched to full attention and he dug his blunt nails into Boromir’s skin. He craved the other’s touch with a need he did not understand. He could hardly believe he was in a bathing room with the captain-general of Gondor’s armies behaving like a camp follower. But he was. And not only did it feel deliciously decadent; it felt right. Nor was Faramir capable of explaining why it felt so right or perfect to be in Boromir’s arms. He couldn’t explain why it was he felt he’d known the steward’s son all his life.
Dragging his head away, Boromir moved his lips lower, touching his tongue and teeth to the tender skin below Faramir’s ear. He raked his beard over the sensitive skin and chuckled as Faramir shivered. His tongue licked away water that tasted faintly of soap, but he did not mind as he opened his mouth wide and sank his teeth into the hollow of Faramir’s collarbone.
Steam swirled around them and the water sloshed over the sides of the pool as they pushed together. Sweat and water made their skin slick and hard to hold. Their moans and hisses echoed softly in the tiled chamber. Boromir pulled Faramir onto his lap and held him close for a moment, pressing their bodies extra close in an embrace that was as much brotherly as it was passionate. He breathed their mingled scents and the scent of soaps. His breath rasped in his throat and he placed his palms beneath Faramir’s shoulder blades and pressed his face to the muscular chest. He kissed and nuzzled his way through the fine hairs, searching for the pale pink nipple that he’d seen pucker under the red-head’s fingers. His tongue touched the tip and he growled as his teeth sank into the sensitive disk. He pulled back slightly, stretching the skin taunt as his teeth roughly worried it.
His hips hitched forward of their own accord as Faramir felt himself pulled into Boromir’s lap. He pressed down on strong thighs while the Gondorian’s cock bounced against his buttocks. His own member pressed against Boromir’s tight stomach muscles. His gasped aloud as his nipple was pulled and grazed and he sank his fingers deeply into Boromir’s shoulders, leaving behind half-moons of gouged flesh that would, by morning, become bruises.
A final swipe of his tongue, and Boromir released the tortured nipple, but he did not release Faramir. He moved his head and before Faramir could react, had captured the other nipple in the same manner as the first. As he latched on with his teeth, Faramir raised one hand and tangled it in his hair. Water splashed his chin and occasionally into his mouth as Faramir bounced lightly in the water. He could feel Faramir’s cock brushing against his chest and stomach while his own cock slapped Faramir’s buttocks. His gray eyes were darkened to nearly charcoal as he moved his head back and stared up.
Faramir bent down and placed kisses along the bearded jaw, tracing a path downward as he scooted back to balance on Boromir’s knees. He kissed over Boromir’s shoulders, pausing long enough to suck on a small battle scar before moving on. His fingers tugged and pulled roughly at the dark curling chest hair before encountering puckered nipples to pluck and pinch.
Boromir’s head lolled back and his eyes were closed. His breathing was ragged and his chest heaved with effort. He felt Faramir leave his lap altogether and he opened his eyes in time to see red hair dive beneath the surface. He frowned, but only for a moment, as hands grazed over his thighs and then a hot mouth engulfed him. Both hands splashed from the water and grasped the edge of the pool with his elbow pressing hard against the tiles. His hips jerked and twitched and his buttocks cleared the ledge and he felt himself slam hard at the back of Faramir’s throat and he winced. Yet the younger man did not rise from the water for yet another few moments and Boromir grew even more amazed as he felt himself sucked beneath the water.
At last, when he could stand no more, Faramir splashed up from Boromir’s lap and took a deep gulp of air. He shook his head and droplets of water showered around them. He grinned at Boromir. “If you would sit on the rim,” he began.
But Boromir only smiled wickedly. “Nay, not this time, I think. Perhaps it would be better if you were to sit on my lap again.” He retrieved some soap— he did not pay attention to which one, and began to lather his fingers. When Faramir made to turn and back on to Boromir’s lap he was stopped by a hand at his waist. “Nay. Front ways, so I can see you.”
Finding himself again straddling Boromir’s strong thighs, Faramir only grinned. It had been a long time since he’d allowed another to take him, as he preferred the dominant position. For some reason, however, he did not mind if Boromir dominated. The situation seemed somehow right. Perfect. As if they had always been. Or perhaps…Faramir dismissed the random thought and concentrated instead on what Boromir’s fingers were doing to his body. Soap-slicked fingers pushed past his ring and pressed deep inside his passage. He could feel Boromir’s wrist flesh against his cheeks and wriggled his fingers deep inside his body. He closed his eyes, riding the waves of pleasure. He felt full and the soap stung slightly. Boromir’s fingers changed angles and his eyes opened wide and a small gasp was ripped from his throat as his pleasure spot was teased.
“That did not..take…Oh,” he breathed as again, Boromir again found the exact spot. He grasped the pool’s rim with whitened knuckles and rocked and pushed against the fingers pressing deep within him. He growled playfully and nipped at Boromir’s ear as his tender gland was teased.
Boromir felt Faramir contract around his fingers and thought of how that would feel around his cock and he groaned. “I want to be inside you,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Yes, take me,” panted Faramir.
Boromir slid his fingers out of Faramir’s passage and pulled the younger man until their bodies were pressed as tight as they could be. Faramir shifted so that his knees were against Boromir’s chest and his feet were flat on the ledge. He placed both hands behind him on Boromir’s knees and his head titled back so that his hair trailed the water. The head of Boromir’s cock nudged at his opening and he hissed as he was breached. The long, thick muscle pushed inexorably inside him, stretching him wider and wider, until he felt as though he would split apart. He breathed shallowly and heard his own whimpers echo back to him. Dimly he was aware of hands on his hips holding him steady and of Boromir’s soft hisses. At last he felt soft curls brush his backside and heavy sac as Boromir was fully sheathed within him. There was a soft grunt as Boromir raised his hips and shifted within him. Stars exploded behind Faramir’s closed eyes and he cried aloud as the spot so recently teased by Boromir’s busy fingers was hit by thick cock. Without thinking, he began to rock up and down, jamming the cock deeper and deeper, striking over the nerves in his body. Hands moved from his waist to his upper arms and kept him from collapsing back in the water. Using his thighs, Faramir raised himself and then allowed gravity to haul him back down again. He could feel his sac begin to draw tight against his body and fluids dripped from his cock. His body trembled violently.
Boromir could feel Faramir tightening around him. He ground his teeth and held on hard to the writhing body. He could barely catch his breath as he arched his hips up, meeting Faramir’s thrusts with his own. His lips pulled away from his teeth and his eyes squinted nearly closed and he struggled to delay his release. He felt a hand brush his chest and he opened his eyes. Faramir had clutched his weeping cock in one hand, supporting his weight on the other and relying solely on Boromir’s strength to keep his head above water, and began pumping furiously up and down.
Their mutual cries bounced off the walls and water heaved and crashed over the sides of the pool, nearly flooding the small room. Their discarded clothes floated in an inch or more of water. One of them screamed. Perhaps it was Faramir. Perhaps not. One loud cry was followed by another and then by a sharp gasp. For a moment there was no sound but heavy breathing.
Erestor stepped into the bathhouse and frowned as water soaked the hem of his robes. Something must be wrong with the pipes, he thought, as he went to the door the twins had said their human guests had gone in to. He wrapped sharply with the back of his hand and then pushed open the door. His mouth was open to call to the men, but he stopped frozen in his tracks. There was, apparently, nothing wrong with the plumbing.
Faramir lifted his head from Boromir’s shoulder as the door was thrust open. Before him stood the elf, Lord Erestor, and his face was a blank mask. Faramir looked guiltily around the bathing room and then at Boromir and his face turned red right up to his ears. He struggled to slip off Boromir’s thighs, but the Gondorian held him tightly.
Glancing over his shoulder, Boromir saw Erestor and his brows drew together and his mouth tightened to a grim line. Every muscle in his body went rigid as he realized he and Faramir may have committed a terrible breach of etiquette. Though there was nothing he or Faramir could do about it at this late date, save apologize. However, Boromir was loath to offer an apology for having made love with Faramir in the bathing pool. Men might not always be so open about such things, but he did not care what others thought. Nor did he care what the elves thought; even though a warning voice whispered in his ear that he really needed the elves’ aid.
“The diner gong has sounded,” said Erestor quietly. “I have been sent by Lord Elrond to escort you to the table.” He quietly closed the door behind him.
Both men scrambled from the tub and grabbed towels off of near-by shelves. They collected their spare clothing and were dressed in record time. Their shoes were soaked all the way through and they squished when they walked. Their hair was toweled off as best they could. They exited the room together, each holding a bundle of wet clothing as far away from them as possible.
“Leave them,” said Erestor. Then, more gently, he added. “Servants will come and get them for you later. They will be washed…and dried and returned to your rooms.”
Faramir carefully laid his clothes on the floor. “Lord Erestor, have we given offense?”
Erestor lifted his eyes from the sodden clothes. His face was still blank, although, for a moment, something flickered behind his eyes. His head shook imperceptibly. “Nay, Captain. We elves are far more accepting than men.” He turned away and headed towards the exit. “We must hurry or we shall be late.”
*~*
Elves treated meals like a banquet. There was music and singing and poetry intermingled with discussions and historical accounts. Boromir and Faramir found themselves seated at the high table with Lord Elrond and many distinguished guests. Faramir recognized Mithrandir and nodded his head. Across from him were strange child-like men called Hobbits and he wondered about them. They were not princes or nobles, he was certain, yet the young, pale one seemed to be the focal point of much attention. Also present was a blond elf of Mirkwood with his entourage and several dwarves. Several courses were served and the wine flowed freely so that Faramir forgot his embarrassment and began to relax and enjoy himself. He often caught Boromir looking at him with a secretive, knowing smile and once or twice, Boromir’s hand slipped beneath the table to caress his thigh.
At last, after what seemed hours, Lord Elrond rose from his seat and his guests did the same. Chairs scraped lightly over the stone floor and servants rushed in to clear the tables. Lord Elrond looked down the length of the high table towards the lesser tables and smiled warmly. “A fire has been lit in the Hall of Fire, my friends, and tonight you shall be treated to the merriment of elves.”
There was polite applause and the guests began to stream from the room. Faramir and Boromir made to follow but Lord Elrond stopped them. “Lord Boromir? Captain Faramir? Could I please have a word with you?” His deep resonant voice held a strong warning note.
The two men exchanged puzzled, slightly nervous glances, and Faramir felt his face grow hot as they soundlessly followed Elrond Half-Elven from the feasting hall to a study not far away. They entered a long, rectangular room that had on three sides floor to ceiling shelves lined with books and scrolls. The fourth wall was taken up by open doors that led on to a balcony overlooking a garden. In the center of the room was a long table equally laden with books and scrolls and open maps. There was a writing desk next to the table. Candles flickered in wall sconces and in holders. Outside, the moon was just rising.
“Please, be seated,” Elrond indicated a small couch. “Would you like wine?” His voice had taken on a smooth quality, unlike the tones he’d used when he’d requested Faramir’s and Boromir’s presence.
Faramir and Boromir seated themselves tensely on the couch and waited. Faramir’s green eyes shifted nervously while Boromir stroked his beard. When both men declined wine, Elrond turned to them at last, unable to delay the moment any longer. During the evening meal, Erestor had leaned close and frantically whispered in his ear and it had been all Elrond could do not leap from the table with a dismayed cry. Rather, he’d taken an extra large sip of wine and gently placed his silver knife on the edge of his plate. Anger was not the reason for his actions, but sorrow. He cleared his throat. “This is not any of my business,” he began and frowned when Boromir’s stormy eyes bore into his and brows creased into a frown.
“If our actions have given offense, my lord, then I apologize,” said Faramir in his quiet way. “We did not mean any harm.”
“Nay, Faramir, I will not apologize for what was a private moment.” Boromir’s head came up defiantly and every line of his body spoke of unbending pride.
Elrond’s own brows drew close in a frown. How alike they were, and yet, how different. Boromir wore his pride like a shield while Faramir disarmed with grace. “I am not concerned with …” he stopped, uncertain how to continue or even if he should. This was not his problem; still, his heart bade him speak. He studied the two men for a moment. There was between them a connection that was palpable. He sighed heavily, knowing that whatever he said was going to cause irreparable harm. He decided on a point of attack “Captain Faramir, you are Prince Imrahil’s nephew, correct?”
“Yes, my mother was Finduilas.”
Boromir shouted and leapt to his feet with an expression of horror. “No, that cannot be true. Finduilas died.”
Faramir stared curiously at Boromir. “Aye, she returned to Dol Amroth to die after, after.” He stopped. The connection he felt with Boromir suddenly made sense. He looked at Elrond, hoping the elf would say that there was a mistake made. That there was a punch line to the joke.
“Your father? Who is he?” Boromir’s voice was barely a whisper.
“I know not,” Faramir shook his head. “Mother died when I was too young to remember her. My uncle, Prince Imrahil never spoke of him.”
“Prince Imrahil, though loyal to Gondor, felt that Finduilas’ death was due in part to Denethor. There was love between them, but Lord Denethor was consumed more by a love Gondor and Finduilas could not compete. She returned to Dol Amroth and there she faded,” Elrond spoke with great sadness.
Faramir’s eyes swept from Boromir to Elrond and back. His face was devoid of color and, for a moment, Elrond felt he might faint. Apparently, Boromir had the same feeling as he stepped forward with his arms outstretched.
With an inarticulate cry, Faramir launched himself from the couch and fled the room.
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