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    Summary

    "Explain it to me," Boromir demanded. "This… filth in the shape of a poem. I know enough to know you have written something… bawdy. But I would hear its truth from you."

    "No. Please," Faramir whimpered. "It is nonsense. A jest. A stupid, drunken—"

    "I read the thing, Faramir. I could feel the lust curling the edges of the parchment. A drunken jest? No. This is meaningful. It's meticulous! Tell me what it means. Now."

    "It means nothing!" Faramir choked out.

    "Nothing, aye? Okay. 'Two-two was too satisfying'," Boromir read aloud. "Too much wetness. Hotness. And hardness." At the word hardness, he emphasised the point by crushing their bodies together, from head to toe. "What does it all mean? Shall I take it up to the scribes and ask for a court-wide workshop?"

    Faramir's breath hitched. "You wouldn't."

    "Try me," Boromir responded. "I've done worse for less, little brother."

    OR, the story of how Boromir finds Faramir's dirty little poem, gets intensely aroused by it, demands to know what and who it's about, and then is utterly unravelled by the answer.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    14,208
    Chapters:
    2/2
    Comments:
    17
    Kudos:
    78
    Bookmarks:
    10
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