Lord of the Rings Slash
Title: Let it Burn
Author: Persephone
Pairing: Boromir/Faramir
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A conversation before a kiss.
Warning: Incest.
A/N: Inspired by a drawing by E.W.
Boromir held his brother by the waist, wanting to
say many things. But there were too many places to start.
Faramir stood unmoving, his head deeply bowed, his dark hair falling forward
over his shoulder. At seventeen he was nearly as tall as Boromir, his muscles
carved beautifully into his nearly perfect body.
Boromir’s hands spread wider and pressed slowly into his body. Faramir stood
with a stillness that seemed impossible to Boromir, his serious mind coursing
with secrets Boromir could not begin to deduce.
Faramir waited for Boromir to speak, his gentle breathing into the warm space
between them making his chest rise and fall. And except for that sound, there
was silence.
Boromir didn’t breathe at all. He could not, for between his hands he knew he
held what mattered most to him in this world, and he was daunted.
He closed his eyes and made himself breathe in measured breaths against
Faramir’s cheek. He worked to find his words.
Faramir waited, his body resting trustingly in Boromir’s large hands, his arms
hanging down his sides, a warm statue in marble. Boromir turned his head
slightly until his nose touched Faramir’s cheek.
Very slowly, he brushed it back and forth against his brother’s warm skin, and
in the dark silence behind his closed eyelids Boromir listened to what Faramir
was asking of him.
Four years ago Boromir had opened his eyes to the need inside him, and he had
taken Faramir again and again to quench it.
But it was a need like none other, for it gave rather than took, and so in every
moment of those four years Faramir had owned him.
In owning him his brother had saved him from self-accusation, from a humiliation
that could have consumed him, from torment that would have driven him from their
white city.
In owning him his brother had tamed his urgency to love without heed, as if
rushing their act would lessen the agony.
And so it was that while still a child Faramir had had the strength of mind to
properly consummate their love when Boromir had been brought to his knees by it.
For four years Faramir had worked hard to get them to this point. Now they stood
at the end of one thing, and at the start of another.
They would move forward, but Faramir was going to wait for him to take them
wherever they were headed, because the living heart Boromir held between his
hands was no longer that of a child... was no longer living in complete
assurance of itself.
Now it asked to rely on the love of an older brother, on the strength of a man.
The Steward’s second son, Minas Tirith’s second warrior, Gondor’s second lord.
His first love.
Which mattered the most was not a difficult question for him to answer. But it
was difficult to prove.
And proof was what was required of him.
“It is very hard for me to say this,” he said hoarsely.
“Because we are brothers?”
Boromir shook his head slowly, his black hair brushing against Faramir’s. That
was long in the past.
“Because… it burns.”
Faramir swayed toward him, almost imperceptibly. He was silent for moments
before he whispered, “Then let it burn.”
Boromir’s fingers tightened, and he turned his head more, until his hot breaths
fanned against Faramir’s cheek.
And like that they stayed, caring nothing for the minutes passing, for the time
melting for them.
Boromir kept his eyes closed, and this time he listened to the words coursing
through his own heart.
Faramir remained still, waiting.
Finally, Boromir began to speak.
“I am yours, Faramir,” he said.
“And I am yours, Boromir,” Faramir whispered back.
“Though I have waited too long to tell you that, yet now is the right time for
me to tell you that this is not a fate you are by any means bound to.”
He strained to listen to Faramir’s breathing. It was unchanged. He continued
quietly, “You can still say no. You can find a man who is not your brother.”
“A man who is not you?”
Boromir was silent as the question sank into his mind. When he said the words,
they were mere words. But when Faramir posed the question it became something on
which his very purpose for living depended, and clearly so.
“Faramir,” he breathed, ready at last. “Ours will not be an easy path. But I
promise you, you will never walk it alone.”
Boromir turned his face until his lips pressed against Faramir’s skin, warm and
smooth. Slowly their naked bodies came together. And for a time all he could do
was stroke his lips back and forth against Faramir’s cheek because his eyes
stung and he was letting himself burn.
Then he leaned forward and opened his mouth over Faramir’s. Faramir lifted his
head and opened his mouth in response.
They breathed for each other for a moment before Faramir sucked Boromir’s upper
lip into his mouth, and then Boromir’s tears fell because Faramir had not kissed
him in his sweet childish way for a very long time.
And Boromir knew he did it now as a farewell and a welcome… for the man who
would always be his little brother, and yet a child no longer.