Faramir closes his eyes, the only way he can do this. Slides his hand beneath the sheets and. Pretends.

He's good at this now, slides easily into the fantasy. A different hand on his flesh, bigger, heavier calluses. A face and body he knows so well - but not the way he wishes - filling his mind.

Faramir whimpers, bites his lip, doesn't think about how this will only ever be a fantasy. Thinks instead of how skin might taste, the hot-slick way a mouth might feel sliding over him.

Breaks, comes with a shudder and a name on his lips.

"Boromir."