WINTER DREAM
By Your Cruise Director and Ashinae

Buried under blankets to ward off the chill, Boromir dreams of two familiar sensations: the sharp ache of arousal in his groin, and the warmth of his brother's body pressing against his back.

Stifling a groan, he keeps his eyes shut tight, trying to will this dream to fade into another. He pictures battles, the parry and thrust of his blade, but these are not soporific thoughts. To encourage sleep, he tries to remember what bored him earlier while meeting with his father's men, so much so that he nearly fell asleep at the table. Yet this reverie leaves him agitated as well.

His shoulders must be growing tense, for the warm weight behind him makes a faint noise and stirs, flinging an arm around Boromir. "Stop thinking so much," Faramir mutters. To demonstrate that he is not, in fact, even awake, Boromir snores faintly, but this only inspires Faramir to grumble, "And stop that."

"I'm asleep," Boromir mumbles, peeking open one eye and finding himself relieved to see only blackness. "Faramir, what are you doing here?"

"It's drafty in my room," his brother explains, blowing cool air against his neck. Ah, that is why he has dreamed of Faramir in his bed, for it is often the excuse given when he discovers Faramir in his bed in winter. And in the summer, it is because Boromir's rooms face the north, and Faramir claims that the breeze is cooler through his windows than Faramir's own.

Nodding in acceptance of the explanation, Boromir rolls onto his belly and shuts his eyes, preparing to dream further. After a few moments, however, he thinks he feels Faramir stroke his arm.

"Boromir? You are stealing all the blankets." Loosening his grip on the fabric wrapped across his shoulders, Boromir lets Faramir snuggle closer to him lest his brother should catch a chill. But Faramir's fingertips brush over his nipple as he moves, making him shiver. When he shifts, he inadvertently causes Faramir's fingers to stroke him again, and he thinks after the third time that it is almost as though Faramir is doing it deliberately.

Another dream, Boromir tells himself firmly. It is not unusual for him to dream of his brother touching him thoughtlessly in sleep, and it means no more than it did when they were children, huddling together under the blankets for what comfort they could find. It was more awkward after Boromir became a man, when the slightest touch could make his body react shamefully -- riding a horse or playing with the dogs could arouse him then as easily as his brother's soft hair against his cheek in the night. Then he learned to relieve his urges when he washed late in the evening so that his discomfort was less acute, and until Faramir began to grow to manhood and his body to change, they continued to share a bed.

It was difficult for him to explain to Faramir why that simple pleasure had to cease, the first morning when he awoke with his brother murmuring in his sleep and thrusting against Boromir's thigh. Faramir was very nearly too young to understand -- too young to be ashamed, for which Boromir was grateful, but he did not know how to make his brother recognize the impropriety of such intimacy while preventing his own guilt from becoming evident to Faramir and humiliating him. So they began to sleep apart more and more often, yet Faramir still found excuses to come into his room after dark, and over time those excuses have become nearly a joke between them.

Boromir thinks sometimes that he should cease this indulgence, but he craves it when it is impossible due to long separations. He thinks that he cannot be faulted when he wakes to find the sheets damp with his seed, or his leg wet with his brother's release, for they cannot be held accountable for where their desires travel in slumber. Though he has shared bedrolls occasionally with other men and has taken women upstairs at the inns, Boromir has felt love only in the sweet embrace of his brother, chaste and dreamlike though it must be.

Now, however, Faramir's mouth seems to move against the back of Boromir's shoulder, and the younger man shifts so that his hand slides lower, fingertips touching Boromir's other nipple. Faramir is all but lying over Boromir, certainly an accident of his position in repose, though the press of hard flesh against Boromir's thigh tells Boromir that his brother must be dreaming, too. It would be most prudent to move a bit apart, but he does not want to wake Faramir again, particularly since these sensations may all be part of Boromir's own dream.

When Boromir rolls onto his belly, he finds that he is aching to push into the mattress, and spreads his legs slightly to facilitate the movement. Just then Faramir pinches his nipple -- a natural, defensive reaction to finding his hand trapped beneath Boromir's weight, Boromir tells himself. Unfortunately Faramir chooses to roll entirely on top of him, sliding across Boromir's back until his cock fits itself comfortably into the cleft of his buttocks.

Grunting quietly, Boromir feels himself pressed against the bedcovers while Faramir moans into his hair and rubs against him. He gasps as he feels a kiss pressed to the back of his neck and thrusts involuntarily between the weight on his back and the mattress. Once he realizes what he is doing, he pulls his knees up to give him leverage against the body on his back, but this leaves room beneath him for Faramir to slide his hand down Boromir's chest, over his belly, until fingers wrap around Boromir's cock, beginning a slow, trancelike stroke that Boromir thinks must be the rhythm of his brother's dream.

Though he clenches his buttocks together, understanding through the unreality the need to prevent Faramir from taking this any further, Boromir guesses from Faramir's groan that the pressure is not acting as a deterrent but encouraging him. Immediately he tries to pull away, but that requires thrusting forward into Faramir's hand, which speeds up its attentions to his cock.

This is one of the most pleasant dreams that Boromir has ever had, he thinks as Faramir moans softly, squeezing him gently. He slides forward, then shoves back hard until he feels the tip of the cock behind him pushing him open. It hurts, but he's far too aroused to care, and grabs the pillow above his head to shove under his face.

For a moment he feels Faramir withdraw and thinks that his brother has finally woken, but then he hears Faramir spitting onto his fingers and a moment later he feels himself being stretched. It is unbearably arousing, and Boromir bites down onto the pillow to stifle the sound he would make that might wake his brother, who still seems to be moving as if in a dream, as is Boromir.

Whimpering, Faramir removes his fingers and pushes the damp head of his cock into Boromir, holding himself steady with one shaking hand on Boromir's hip. Again the stretch is painful, but Faramir's other hand tugs and trembles on Boromir's cock, and he whispers his name.

With a cry that not even the pillow can muffle, Boromir jerks in Faramir's hand and loses control very suddenly, spraying seed across the bedsheets beneath him. He hears his brother groan loudly as he spurts over his hand, and a moment later Faramir stiffens and shudders behind him, the hot wetness of his release easing the aching stretch of the entrance.

For awhile Boromir can do nothing but lie twitching beneath his brother, rocking his hips and sighing in pleasure. Then he hears his brother utter, "Boromir...oh," wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight.

"Faramir." Boromir makes a humming noise. "I was having a dream."

"Oh..." Faramir's voice trails away. "I must have been, as well."

Rolling to the side, Boromir pushes aside the damp bedsheet beneath him and takes a corner of it in his hand. He wipes off Faramir, then his own thighs, avoiding Faramir's eyes and shaking his head. "It is no great matter."

While he throws the sheet to the floor, his brother retrieves a folded blanket from the chair beside his bed, spreading it over the mattress. When Faramir lies back, he tentatively holds his arms open to Boromir, who stretches out at his side, turning into the embrace. Yet as he kisses his forehead, Faramir shivers.

"Are you cold?" asks Boromir, drawing the covers up around them.

"A...a little," Faramir replies and Boromir can hear the shudder in his voice. Pulling his brother closer, he wraps a leg over Faramir, feeling sleepy and content. Whimpering softly once more, Faramir whispers, "Boromir."

"Shh. Go back to sleep." Boromir strokes Faramir's hair reassuringly, yet Faramir seems to become more agitated, shifting back so he can look at him.

"I can't. Oh, Boromir, I'm sorry..." Faramir cups his face in his hand. As Boromir studies his brother's face, Faramir leans in and kisses him. Returning the kiss gently, not wishing his brother to believe that he will now make demands, Boromir is surprised when Faramir suddenly clutches at him, shaking.

"Shh," whispers Boromir, holding him close. "What's the matter?"

"I--I was afraid. I thought that you would hate me."

"It was only a dream," Boromir soothes, swallowing his guilt for fear of revealing it to Faramir. "And I could never hate you." Feeling Faramir nod hesitantly, he kisses him again and adds. "You mustn't let it upset you."

Faramir hides his face in his shoulder. "You're all I have, Boromir. I need you so much. I don't know what to do."

Puzzled and distressed, Boromir holds him tighter. "I don't know what you mean," he murmurs. "I'm here. You're here. Everything is all right."

"I want...I want -- " Faramir's voice breaks. "It felt so good, Boromir, and it shouldn't have, I know, but please don't ask me to leave!"

Tensing all over, Boromir speaks more loudly than he intends. "When have I ever asked you to leave?" At Faramir's silence, he softens his tone. "It was a dream. It's not your fault. Now hush. Go to sleep." Lightly he kisses Faramir's cheek, and then, even more lightly, his mouth.

At this, Faramir lets out a soft whimper and kisses Boromir back, and though they have kissed one another so since they were children, Boromir finds that he is unable to keep his lips from parting hungrily at the passion in Faramir's response. His brother opens his mouth for Boromir as he lifts trembling fingertips to Boromir's face, touching his cheek. Faramir trembles almost violently as he touches Boromir's tongue with his own, moaning.

Once more Boromir reminds himself that they are, after all, only kissing, and refuses to think about the somewhat pleasant ache in his backside as he strokes Faramir's tongue with his own. Faramir begins to suck gently on his tongue as his hand comes to rest on his brother's hip; otherwise, he holds himself perfectly still, because his body is coming awake again, and soon he feels something nudging at his belly. He decides that he must be dreaming again.

"I love you," gasps Faramir as he moves his mouth from Boromir's and kisses his chin, then ducks his head to kiss Boromir's shoulder. Wondering whether Faramir knows that he talks in his sleep, Boromir nuzzles his brother's hair and the side of his face as Faramir squirms alongside him, rubbing himself against his belly. "May I...may I touch you, Boromir?"

Boromir cannot hold back a frown, for Faramir is still talking to him. He holds completely still and tries to even out his breathing, but Faramir waits for his permission for a very long time before he drops his hand between their bodies and tentatively runs his fingers over the length of Boromir's cock. Though he shudders aloud, Boromir hopes that Faramir will not notice, and makes certain that his eyes are clenched shut.

"Are you sleeping?" whispers Faramir while his fingers curl around Boromir and begin to fondle him.

"Yes, and so are you," Boromir half-breathes through his mostly-closed lips.

"Oh," Faramir replies, a soft puff of breath against Boromir's neck. "Then this is a very good dream..." And he strokes Boromir's cock again, his mouth moving against his brother's skin.

"Yes it is," agrees Boromir, bending his head to kiss Faramir's hair. Hesitantly his fingers come around his body to find the stiff object pressing into him.

"Oh!" Faramir gasps. "Boromir!" His hips jerk forward against Boromir's fingers.

"Shhh," Boromir insists. He cannot do this if he can hear his brother's voice, which would suggest not only that Faramir is awake but also that he wants Boromir to be touching him like this. To silence Faramir, he kisses him on the mouth and feels Faramir whimper, trembling. His fingers, which had fallen still, begin to move over Boromir's cock again.

Boromir fights an urge to roll Faramir onto his back and press down against him. He will not impose his unnatural lust onto his brother, who, he insists to himself, came into his bed for warmth and comfort. No, if he moves, this may become violation; he allows only his hand to shift against Faramir's skin and his lips to remind him that he loves him.

Faramir shifts restlessly. His fingers tighten a little around Boromir's cock and he catches Boromir's bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling gently before sucking. He pauses a moment, peering at Boromir, and then continues, sucking on his lip, stroking his cock a little faster.

With sudden, sickening clarity Boromir recalls how badly he wanted Faramir's cock inside him before, even without anything to ease the way, to be that close to him. Now Faramir is moving on him as if he understood that feeling...as if he wants more. He groans and jerks in his brother's hand, knowing that he should pull away and quite unable to do so.

Faramir holds Boromir tighter against him and pulls his mouth away, letting out a loud groan. Then he is coming, again, stifling his cry by biting down on his lip. His seed splatters against Boromir's belly and he lies in his arms, trembling. It is Boromir who shouts at the sensation. His brother trusts him; his brother has no idea that Boromir is imagining scooping up the liquid, coating his cock with it and opening Faramir around him, sheathing himself in the heat of his body...he moves his wet fingers around Faramir's on his cock, trying to disengage him before he shames them both.

But Faramir will not let him go, clutching at him with one arm while his hand continues to move over Boromir's cock. "Please," he gasps, "Boromir."

"But I'm..." Boromir tries to explain. There are no words to tell his brother that he is imagining his mouth on him, his fingers inside him, things he has blamed resolutely on dreams he cannot control. But this is real. Shuddering, he rocks into Faramir's touch, and finishes his sentence, "...not asleep."

"Neither am I," Faramir says, his voice breaking. "But I have dreamed of this. Please, Boromir."

"Please..." He has no idea what Faramir is asking for, can only do what he has always done, and kiss him; and Faramir's fingers have tightened on his cock, and his hand is still moving, and his seed is smeared over both of them, and it is too much to resist. Boromir rolls, pressing Faramir beneath him, thrusting into the hand that moves so deliberately over him, and when finally he spends himself, shooting hot spouts of seed over Faramir's fingers, he arches and calls out as if they were making love.

Faramir stares up, gasping, and then he tugs at him, pulling Boromir into another kiss. When he pulls his hand free after a moment, it is covered in Boromir's seed, and he tentatively licks at one fingertip with his eyes closed. Boromir can only stare at his little brother, who is tasting what he has so shamefully spilled onto him. "What are you doing?"

Faramir opens his eyes, and looks at Boromir for a long, breathless moment before slipping his finger fully into his mouth. Boromir watches in fascination and horror. This must be like when they were children and dared one another to eat insects, he decides. "Don't!" he exclaims, pulling Faramir's finger free.

Faramir's tongue darts out and licks his lip. "Why?" he asks. "Why shouldn't I?"

"It is not..." Boromir tries to calm himself, to think clearly. Faramir is evidently not ashamed, and has no idea of the potential consequences of what they have just done. Telling him how wrong it is will only upset him, and make him blame himself, for he often insists on blaming himself for things not within his control. "Faramir," he tries more gently. "I am your brother. We should not...I should not have done this."

"But I wanted you to," Faramir whispers. He swallows, and adds, "I love you, Boromir. I wanted to do this." His clean hand comes up, and strokes the hair from Boromir's face.

"I love you," Boromir replies automatically, wondering if he will ever again be able to dissociate those words from what they have just done. "But you do not know what you are saying. Brothers do not do this! We are not even supposed to think of this with one another, though you are young and no one would blame you."

"How do you know?" Faramir asks in a reasonable tone. "Have you spoken to all the brothers you know? And what about all those you do not?"

Boromir's breath strangles in his throat. "I have never spoken to anyone, and neither should you! Faramir, I do not want to make you feel ashamed, but no one must ever know. Surely in the stories of old that you read, you have seen that some love is never acceptable."

"And yet, if one digs deep enough, if one reads between the lines..." Faramir pauses, and strokes Boromir's hair again. "We do not have to tell anyone. We won't tell anyone."

Boromir buries his face in his hands. "You are telling me...you planned this. When you came into my bed, as you have done a thousand times. You wanted me to...to make you..." This is unfathomable.

"You have made me do nothing!" Faramir insists. "I have tried so many times, Boromir, to kiss you, and touch you. To tell you I wanted you to...to love me."

"I have always loved you! But this!" He clutches at his brother, trembling slightly. "Do you know what Father would say...what everyone would say! What the maids may say when they see my blankets tomorrow!" He reaches out to touch Faramir's belly, where his seed is drying in flaky white patches. It is not the first time they will wake so in his bed together, but he cannot escape the feeling that desire will make his guilt apparent. "But that is not even the point. You should have a lover you can enjoy, and later, a wife, a family..."

"I cannot have those things for many years! And I do not want them now. I want you, Boromir. And you wanted me too...in your sleep. You cannot deny that!"

Surely, surely Faramir does not know what he is saying. Boromir realizes that he has grown winded, as though he has been racing, and Faramir's previous words swim in his head. "What do you mean...if one reads between the lines?"

"I do not believe that no one in history has ever made love to his own brother," Faramir says, with a little smile.

"Brothers do not make love!"

"You do not read enough books. What is it that you think we just did?" With that, Faramir's fingers tangle in Boromir's hair and pull him close for another kiss, and Boromir can no longer remember the argument he wished to make. A moment later he cannot even remember why he wished to make it.

Faramir turns, resting Boromir's face against his shoulder, and whispers, "Now go back to sleep," as if he were the older one. And Boromir clutches at his brother the way he clutches at his memories, not wanting to separate what may be real from what is only reverie.

In the morning, he thinks, they must talk further. He must make Faramir understand that some things that happen in dreams must not be permitted to exist in the light of day, for dreams are often false, and may lead men to believe that the unthinkable could be possible.

But Boromir's head slides heavily across Faramir's skin as his eyes study the dark, and he wonders whether it will even be possible, when he awakens, to tell truth from fantasy. For the next time Faramir creeps to his room in the night and crawls into his bed, he knows that he will welcome him with the promise that this love is only a dream.