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keelywolfeLess Than Memory
by Keely
Boromir/Faramir, Faramir/Aragorn
Rated R, I suppose...
Note: Just a short bit today, spurred by movie viewing. ^_^
~~*~~
It has been only months since his brother’s passing and already Faramir knows he has lost precious moments, memories fading like water poured into sand. His brother’s face is blurred around the edges of remembrance; details captured and held only by love, not the truth he wishes still remained.
He finds that he must close his eyes to truly visualize Boromir, to remember the sound of his voice, his laughter, the brightness in his eyes whenever they met Faramir’s behind their father’s head. He clings to each slender thread of memory with the grim resolve of one who would cheat death in any manner that he may, even if only in his own thoughts.
Clearest, always, are thoughts of Boromir’s hands. The hands of a Man, strong and large, and yet still so capable with all matters of delicacy, and also in swordplay or barehanded fighting, both. An old scar in the cup of his palm from a sword slipping in his grasp, the line and edge of each callus, skin kissed brown by the sun in warmer months.
Strong hands that had nonetheless trembled in the darkest moments of the night, when they slid along his brother’s paler skin and Faramir did not have to close his eyes to bring those memories to the fore, to remember the sweet taste of guilt in his brother’s kisses. That he does it regardless, closing his eyes in the darkness of his rooms while hands touch and stroke his skin in the palest of false memory, is the cruelest of lies but a lie to oneself is barely a mark to ones honor. A worse stain is that the memory exists at all.
He cannot bring himself to feel shame, not even in his regrets that he will never feel his brother’s touch again. Sweat slick hands beneath the curves of his knees, holding him still, his brother’s voice hoarse and thick and cursing him with every breath for willingness, his pliant delight in everything Boromir offered. Each slow push inside him, the aching stretch of flesh not often used in this fashion and he would bite his lips, holding every moan, every whimpered declaration of his love within so that they might not be discovered.
Every frantic moment, every fearful touch. Every shadow of shame in his brother’s eyes, even hidden as it was by love. This, Faramir will never allow himself to forget, for they are now his memories alone.
And when he weeps, harsh tears, bitterly pained by every droplet that seeps from his eyes, other arms hold him and whisper soft words of comfort that he only knows by tone, the language strange and wonderful to his ears. Words said in the voice of his King, and though his hands are slimmer, softer, he knows they once touched his brother as they touch him and a cold comfort is better to hold in the darkness than nothing at all.
-finis-
by Keely
Boromir/Faramir, Faramir/Aragorn
Rated R, I suppose...
Note: Just a short bit today, spurred by movie viewing. ^_^
~~*~~
It has been only months since his brother’s passing and already Faramir knows he has lost precious moments, memories fading like water poured into sand. His brother’s face is blurred around the edges of remembrance; details captured and held only by love, not the truth he wishes still remained.
He finds that he must close his eyes to truly visualize Boromir, to remember the sound of his voice, his laughter, the brightness in his eyes whenever they met Faramir’s behind their father’s head. He clings to each slender thread of memory with the grim resolve of one who would cheat death in any manner that he may, even if only in his own thoughts.
Clearest, always, are thoughts of Boromir’s hands. The hands of a Man, strong and large, and yet still so capable with all matters of delicacy, and also in swordplay or barehanded fighting, both. An old scar in the cup of his palm from a sword slipping in his grasp, the line and edge of each callus, skin kissed brown by the sun in warmer months.
Strong hands that had nonetheless trembled in the darkest moments of the night, when they slid along his brother’s paler skin and Faramir did not have to close his eyes to bring those memories to the fore, to remember the sweet taste of guilt in his brother’s kisses. That he does it regardless, closing his eyes in the darkness of his rooms while hands touch and stroke his skin in the palest of false memory, is the cruelest of lies but a lie to oneself is barely a mark to ones honor. A worse stain is that the memory exists at all.
He cannot bring himself to feel shame, not even in his regrets that he will never feel his brother’s touch again. Sweat slick hands beneath the curves of his knees, holding him still, his brother’s voice hoarse and thick and cursing him with every breath for willingness, his pliant delight in everything Boromir offered. Each slow push inside him, the aching stretch of flesh not often used in this fashion and he would bite his lips, holding every moan, every whimpered declaration of his love within so that they might not be discovered.
Every frantic moment, every fearful touch. Every shadow of shame in his brother’s eyes, even hidden as it was by love. This, Faramir will never allow himself to forget, for they are now his memories alone.
And when he weeps, harsh tears, bitterly pained by every droplet that seeps from his eyes, other arms hold him and whisper soft words of comfort that he only knows by tone, the language strange and wonderful to his ears. Words said in the voice of his King, and though his hands are slimmer, softer, he knows they once touched his brother as they touch him and a cold comfort is better to hold in the darkness than nothing at all.
-finis-
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no subject
Date: 2003-12-29 07:28 pm (UTC)*glances around* Okay, everyone else has said it, but I'm going to also: YAY! You're back writing LotR! I'm turning into such a Faramir fangirl, and this certainly hit the spot for me, no pun intended.
The last line blew me away. It was so beautiful.
Thank you so much for writing something so amazing that really picked up my night!
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Date: 2003-12-31 07:05 am (UTC)