Title: Dust to Dust
Author: Nevoreiel
Pairing: Faramir/Boromir
Rating: R
Summary: Boromir teaches Faramir sword fighting.
Disclaimer: J. R. R Tolkien and Co. owns all, no infringement meant.
Warning: Chan [ish], brothercest.
Notes: Part of my "Challenge Me" experiment. Postingwhore requested – Faramir/Boromir; "There is something in his eyes."
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Faramir is small and wiry, still a boy, and Boromir is afraid to hurt him. He is teaching Faramir the art of the sword and, while they are using practice swords, he would not forgive himself if he should harm his little brother.
Boromir nimbly touched his blade beneath Faramir's upraised arm, intoning, "Never leave yourself unprotected." They circled, Faramir's face screwed up in concentration. Exchanging blows, they stepped through the dust, feet quick and light, Boromir offering corrections and encouragements.
With each clang of the blade, the air seemed to grow closer, ready to spark from the clashing silver swords.
Sweaty and out of breath, muscles aching pleasantly from the strain, they slid, laughing, to the ground.
"You're getting better, Faramir. With more practice maybe you'll be able to beat me in a spar," Boromir clapped his brother's shoulder warmly.
"It would be an honour to beat you," Faramir mocked, flexing his sword hand.
Gathering himself up, Boromir prepared to stand, patting Faramir on the back once more. He was startled into stillness when he glimpsed Faramir's face; it was composed into a most peculiar expression – lips parted and eyes wide and staring. There's something in his eyes that Boromir supposed to be adoration.
Throat clenching tightly as he swallowed, Boromir opened his mouth to ask if something's the matter, but before he had a chance to speak it aloud, Faramir surged forward and awkwardly pressed his mouth to his brother's.
Boromir pulled back, brows drawn together in confusion. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he did not know what to say even if he could spit it out. Boromir saw that Faramir's face was tight with love, yes, but also hunger.
Lean fingers brushed against Boromir's cheek and threaded through his hair. As there was no resistance, Faramir pressed small kisses over Boromir's face, the recent stubble rough under his lips and the bones prominent.
Boromir shuddered and raised his hands to frame Faramir's face, thumbs stroking, teasing his lips. The red, red tongue flicked out and wetted the soft pads, eyes slipping closed with an easy contentment, lowering his head to lean on Boromir's shoulder.
Scooting closer, Boromir wound his arms about the clinging body, stroking the bowed back, keeping in their warmth. They sat drowsily until Faramir's busy fingers slipped below the belt, making Boromir stiffen and cease the soothing motion of his hands. Something quickened within him and he felt the hunger catch. He knew what desire was.
They kissed roughly, gripping each other tightly, cheeks sliding together, breath hot and humid.
Faramir was hot to the touch, scalding hot, and Boromir drew back, in fear of being burned, before being called back with breathy moans. Yet a boy, Faramir already knew that he wanted all that Boromir could offer.
Cloth parted, Boromir nipped and licked and brought the most delicious sounds out of Faramir's throat, hands questing over the thin, heaving chest. He suckled one nipple than the other, rubbing his nose against Faramir's soft belly. Faramir whimpered, his lower lip caught between his teeth as a hot tongue cleaved to his flesh, making his thighs tremble with pleasure.
Boromir was as skillful and learned in the way of the sword as he was with his wicked tongue and lips. Hands sliding in the dust, he raised his hips urgently, jerking like a marionette.
A bit more pressure and Faramir came, groaning his approval.
Boromir knelt up and, turning aside, spat into the dust, licking his mouth with a smile. Unfastening his breeches, Boromir fisted his hand and moved it jerkily, Faramir watching every move with avid curiosity. Boromir panted as he rubbed himself, spasms of pleasure tugging at his muscles.
Boromir sagged when he spilled himself into his palm. He shook out his hand over the spot where he had flecked Faramir's seed, wiping his hand on his tunic.
Faramir rose to kneel, watching as Boromir stood, knees dusty, and with the toe of his boot mixed their essence, leaving a muddy mess on the ground.
They caught each other's eye and grinned widely, their tie now beyond flesh and blood.
End