Ficlet: Homecoming, Boromir/Faramir
Oct. 23rd, 2004 01:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
archetTitle: Homecoming
Author: Archet
Pairing: Boromir/Faramir
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The silver song of the trumpets hang in the air, a cheer sounds from the lower levels of the city, and my heart pounds.
Disclaimer: this is fiction. These characters are not mine, I only borrowed them and made this ficlet.
Feedback: welcomed and appreciated!
Archive: if interested please ask first
Warning: Incest
*~*~*
The silver song of the trumpets hang in the air, a cheer sounds from the lower levels of the city, and my heart pounds. You’ve returned home after many weeks away, and I want nothing more than to race down through the circles of the city to find you, to fling my arms about you and pull you close, but I cannot. I remain in place, as if rooted to the spot, eyes straining to catch a glimpse of you in the bright morning sunlight.
It seems that hours pass before you and your company appear, and then it seems as if time races forward, for suddenly you are in the circle of my arms and I am allowed a bare embrace, a few hurried, heartfelt words of welcome, the smallest of touches before you are pulled away. Reports must be made, councils taken, information shared and distributed to our Steward and to your captains, and though I understand that, it is in this moment of wanting that I also resent it, but there is nothing for it. I go behind you, trying only a little to hide the pleased smile that curves my lips.
I follow you, as I ever have, into the Citadel where our father and many others await you, and they all want a word with you, they all want a moment of your attention, and I wonder fleetingly if some might look upon you as I do, if they find you as handsome in your crimson and gold as I do. In the doorway you pause until I am by your side, and you give me a quick and warm smile before heading inside. I go at your side and will my eyes from your face, from the sight of your hands, naked without their gloves. I go inside and sit and listen, composed and still, through all the happy words of welcome offered to you. I sit and endure the pleased smile our father bestows upon you, and I am glad that when his gaze finds me and passes by without distain, but also without acknowledgment, that it hurts only a little. There is little today that can bring me low, not with you here, home, within my sight.
On it goes, and before long the wide table before us is covered with maps and stacks of documents and you are speaking of what you and your men have observed and endured in your time away from our city. The day wears on, the pleasant, bright morning in which you arrived warms into afternoon, and as time passes the faces before us change as some men exit, heading back to their assigned stations and making room for others, all lieutenants and captains and advisors, all valued, important men, each clamoring to hear your news and learn what you might tell them. By late afternoon golden sunlight is slanting through the tall, narrow windows and it seems drawn to you, glinting against your hair. You do not seem to notice, and I can only sit and listen as you revisit some point of information for this new brace of men, and marvel at how kind the sunlight is to you, and how happy I am that you’re home again.
So it is here, in the final meeting of the day, that my attention wavers. Listening to you speak I have to remind myself where I am, what I am to these gathered about us for after so many long hours of having you so close, but not having you close enough, I want desperately to lay hands upon you.
I sit and I listen and I hear every word, but it is the rich timbre of your voice that soothes me even though by now it is hoarse from overuse. Still, your voice washes over me; it touches me like the sunlight, a fine, welcome warmth against my skin. I sit and nod at the appropriate moments and have a care not to stare at your lips overmuch, and to keep my eyes off our Steward. I feel as if a flame has been set loose inside me, and he would be the one to see its reflection in my eyes if anyone could. These assembled here might count the warmth there as nothing unusual between you and I, perhaps most can only see us as the brothers we have always been, but father might see that deeper truth that lies within. We have always been careful, have had to be, and I will not allow one foolish misstep to endanger us.
Yet, I cannot help but look upon you though perhaps to do so is a risk when my longing is so strong. Your hair has grown longer, brighter, even, no doubt from long hours riding under the sun. I envision you astride your horse, riding hard, the sun shining golden against your fair hair and I mourn the weeks, days, hours, we have had to spend apart. Tonight I will bathe you, I think. I will wash the dust of travel from your body. I will wash and trim your hair, though not too much. I rather favor it this way, brushing just below your shoulders.
I know I should look away, study the new set of maps that someone has unfurled across the table for our perusal, yet I cannot for just as I see your beauty, I also see the weariness in your eyes, and it seems heavy with you, and not because of your long ride home or these endless councils, though I cannot explain how I know this. I simply see it. I see it and I worry for you, but I then I imagine that I see the beginnings of a smile as you turn and find me watching. I look into your green eyes for only an instance before I have to glance away, moving my attention finally, down to the table. My eyes trace the lines, letters and contours inked upon the parchments there and I know that tonight I will take your weariness from you. I will wrap you in my arms and tell you how I have missed you, and then I will pleasure you until you beg me to cease, and afterwards you will sleep, held close, and you will know that you are safe and loved.
I promise you, I will do this.
I lift my gaze and look at the men gathered around the table, and I wonder if any of them hunger for the sight of your bare skin, thirst for a drink from your lips, long to delve deep inside you as I do. I wonder if any of them might love you as much as I do, and I decide that none do. No one can love you as much as I do.
At last you reach the end of your final report for the day, though your audience here is clamoring with questions. I watch as you take them in turn, as you lean over the table and pull one of the many maps toward you. I lean forward and read the names of lands that I have traveled and of those that I have not, and I think of all that I want to tell you, of all that I want to do to you, but that will have to wait until we are shut away from prying eyes, alone.
Alone. Ah, brother, how I want them all gone, these captains with their maps, these men that lead other men and look to you to lead them.
I ache to touch you, to show you how much I need you, to take you to my bed and revel in you, to run my hands over your naked skin and press our bodies together and convince myself that you really have returned unharmed to me. I want to lose myself in you, sink into your depths until I no longer know where I end and you begin. I want to remake all the old promises and forge new ones. I want, so much.
Yet, I must wait. I must put aside my desires while these good, yet terribly inconvenient men still seek your council and your company. And even when they are sent away father will keep you even that much longer with his questions. I will not stay for that, but you will know where to find me once you’ve freed yourself from him, as you always seem to know just where to find me. I will be waiting and I long for the hours from now until then to simply fly, swift as eagles, away, to be anywhere but here, between us.
I watch as your fingers trace a path along yet another line on yet another parchment, and I remember how mine own fingers, my lips, have traced you during our stolen nights together. I do not even know what lands you are touching as for the second time today, I am not paying attention. I see only your hands as you pause at the curling edge of the map, as you reach out and smooth it, strong hands splayed, holding it down flat. I know these hands, oh, I know them so well. I have held them, have been held by them.
How much longer can this meeting of minds last, I wonder? Not too much longer, surely.
Hours have come and gone since you’ve returned home, and what have I had of you? The barest embrace, the barest words of welcome, the smallest of touches, but I have so much more, my Boromir. The truth of it is there in your beautiful eyes when you look at me, my love. Only I can see it, only I know to look for it. I have all of you, and I always will.
There’s so much I wish to tell you, but for now my words hold themselves still. For now their silence looks upon you with desire’s eyes and loves you where I cannot. Until tonight, my Boromir. Until tonight where I will take what is mine, and will give you what is yours, and that will be your true homecoming. Only then will you have truly come home.
Until tonight, my love.
Author: Archet
Pairing: Boromir/Faramir
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The silver song of the trumpets hang in the air, a cheer sounds from the lower levels of the city, and my heart pounds.
Disclaimer: this is fiction. These characters are not mine, I only borrowed them and made this ficlet.
Feedback: welcomed and appreciated!
Archive: if interested please ask first
Warning: Incest
*~*~*
The silver song of the trumpets hang in the air, a cheer sounds from the lower levels of the city, and my heart pounds. You’ve returned home after many weeks away, and I want nothing more than to race down through the circles of the city to find you, to fling my arms about you and pull you close, but I cannot. I remain in place, as if rooted to the spot, eyes straining to catch a glimpse of you in the bright morning sunlight.
It seems that hours pass before you and your company appear, and then it seems as if time races forward, for suddenly you are in the circle of my arms and I am allowed a bare embrace, a few hurried, heartfelt words of welcome, the smallest of touches before you are pulled away. Reports must be made, councils taken, information shared and distributed to our Steward and to your captains, and though I understand that, it is in this moment of wanting that I also resent it, but there is nothing for it. I go behind you, trying only a little to hide the pleased smile that curves my lips.
I follow you, as I ever have, into the Citadel where our father and many others await you, and they all want a word with you, they all want a moment of your attention, and I wonder fleetingly if some might look upon you as I do, if they find you as handsome in your crimson and gold as I do. In the doorway you pause until I am by your side, and you give me a quick and warm smile before heading inside. I go at your side and will my eyes from your face, from the sight of your hands, naked without their gloves. I go inside and sit and listen, composed and still, through all the happy words of welcome offered to you. I sit and endure the pleased smile our father bestows upon you, and I am glad that when his gaze finds me and passes by without distain, but also without acknowledgment, that it hurts only a little. There is little today that can bring me low, not with you here, home, within my sight.
On it goes, and before long the wide table before us is covered with maps and stacks of documents and you are speaking of what you and your men have observed and endured in your time away from our city. The day wears on, the pleasant, bright morning in which you arrived warms into afternoon, and as time passes the faces before us change as some men exit, heading back to their assigned stations and making room for others, all lieutenants and captains and advisors, all valued, important men, each clamoring to hear your news and learn what you might tell them. By late afternoon golden sunlight is slanting through the tall, narrow windows and it seems drawn to you, glinting against your hair. You do not seem to notice, and I can only sit and listen as you revisit some point of information for this new brace of men, and marvel at how kind the sunlight is to you, and how happy I am that you’re home again.
So it is here, in the final meeting of the day, that my attention wavers. Listening to you speak I have to remind myself where I am, what I am to these gathered about us for after so many long hours of having you so close, but not having you close enough, I want desperately to lay hands upon you.
I sit and I listen and I hear every word, but it is the rich timbre of your voice that soothes me even though by now it is hoarse from overuse. Still, your voice washes over me; it touches me like the sunlight, a fine, welcome warmth against my skin. I sit and nod at the appropriate moments and have a care not to stare at your lips overmuch, and to keep my eyes off our Steward. I feel as if a flame has been set loose inside me, and he would be the one to see its reflection in my eyes if anyone could. These assembled here might count the warmth there as nothing unusual between you and I, perhaps most can only see us as the brothers we have always been, but father might see that deeper truth that lies within. We have always been careful, have had to be, and I will not allow one foolish misstep to endanger us.
Yet, I cannot help but look upon you though perhaps to do so is a risk when my longing is so strong. Your hair has grown longer, brighter, even, no doubt from long hours riding under the sun. I envision you astride your horse, riding hard, the sun shining golden against your fair hair and I mourn the weeks, days, hours, we have had to spend apart. Tonight I will bathe you, I think. I will wash the dust of travel from your body. I will wash and trim your hair, though not too much. I rather favor it this way, brushing just below your shoulders.
I know I should look away, study the new set of maps that someone has unfurled across the table for our perusal, yet I cannot for just as I see your beauty, I also see the weariness in your eyes, and it seems heavy with you, and not because of your long ride home or these endless councils, though I cannot explain how I know this. I simply see it. I see it and I worry for you, but I then I imagine that I see the beginnings of a smile as you turn and find me watching. I look into your green eyes for only an instance before I have to glance away, moving my attention finally, down to the table. My eyes trace the lines, letters and contours inked upon the parchments there and I know that tonight I will take your weariness from you. I will wrap you in my arms and tell you how I have missed you, and then I will pleasure you until you beg me to cease, and afterwards you will sleep, held close, and you will know that you are safe and loved.
I promise you, I will do this.
I lift my gaze and look at the men gathered around the table, and I wonder if any of them hunger for the sight of your bare skin, thirst for a drink from your lips, long to delve deep inside you as I do. I wonder if any of them might love you as much as I do, and I decide that none do. No one can love you as much as I do.
At last you reach the end of your final report for the day, though your audience here is clamoring with questions. I watch as you take them in turn, as you lean over the table and pull one of the many maps toward you. I lean forward and read the names of lands that I have traveled and of those that I have not, and I think of all that I want to tell you, of all that I want to do to you, but that will have to wait until we are shut away from prying eyes, alone.
Alone. Ah, brother, how I want them all gone, these captains with their maps, these men that lead other men and look to you to lead them.
I ache to touch you, to show you how much I need you, to take you to my bed and revel in you, to run my hands over your naked skin and press our bodies together and convince myself that you really have returned unharmed to me. I want to lose myself in you, sink into your depths until I no longer know where I end and you begin. I want to remake all the old promises and forge new ones. I want, so much.
Yet, I must wait. I must put aside my desires while these good, yet terribly inconvenient men still seek your council and your company. And even when they are sent away father will keep you even that much longer with his questions. I will not stay for that, but you will know where to find me once you’ve freed yourself from him, as you always seem to know just where to find me. I will be waiting and I long for the hours from now until then to simply fly, swift as eagles, away, to be anywhere but here, between us.
I watch as your fingers trace a path along yet another line on yet another parchment, and I remember how mine own fingers, my lips, have traced you during our stolen nights together. I do not even know what lands you are touching as for the second time today, I am not paying attention. I see only your hands as you pause at the curling edge of the map, as you reach out and smooth it, strong hands splayed, holding it down flat. I know these hands, oh, I know them so well. I have held them, have been held by them.
How much longer can this meeting of minds last, I wonder? Not too much longer, surely.
Hours have come and gone since you’ve returned home, and what have I had of you? The barest embrace, the barest words of welcome, the smallest of touches, but I have so much more, my Boromir. The truth of it is there in your beautiful eyes when you look at me, my love. Only I can see it, only I know to look for it. I have all of you, and I always will.
There’s so much I wish to tell you, but for now my words hold themselves still. For now their silence looks upon you with desire’s eyes and loves you where I cannot. Until tonight, my Boromir. Until tonight where I will take what is mine, and will give you what is yours, and that will be your true homecoming. Only then will you have truly come home.
Until tonight, my love.
