eyeus: (Sons of Gondor)
Title: A Day Without Sunshine (Epilogue)
Fandom: Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Pairing: Boromir/ Faramir
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1300 (21500 total)
Summary: “Let Faramir have the shop,” Boromir argues. “He knows flowers. He knows the business. And he loves what he does, something you stopped doing since mom died.”

A/N: Flower Shop AU. Inspiration for the flower shop and the floor above it drawn from Natsuyuki Rendezvous, seen here and here. Title from Alan Jackson’s That’s What I’d Be Like Without You.



~


By the time Faramir blinks awake the next day, the sun’s already passed its highest point in the sky, and the light filtering through the curtains has settled into the soft, muted golds of late afternoon.

He shifts in the bed, trying to snake a hand out to the clock on his night table, just to see how late he’s slept in. It’s then that he realizes he’s trapped; that the bars of his prison are formed by Boromir’s arms looped loosely around his waist. Faramir scrabbles fingers along the carpet beneath the bed, hoping for a shirt among the mess of jeans and socks and belts, but Boromir tugs him back into his arms, like he won’t let Faramir escape. Buries his face in Faramir’s neck and mumbles something inaudible, his breath a wisp of warm air that sends a delicious shiver down Faramir’s spine.

Faramir doesn’t mind the compulsory cuddle; he’d take having Boromir here beside him over an empty bed any day. In fact, if he had his way, he would never wake without Boromir. Would never be without him.

Just when he decides he’ll surrender to Boromir’s insistent embrace, Faramir spies a card perched on the edge of the clock. A covered vase beside the card, obscuring the clock’s digital display. He paws at the folded cardstock with the one hand that Boromir lets free, and pulls it in to read the handwritten note.

I’m thinking of you, it says. I can’t live without you. And I love you too.

It’s unsigned, but the familiar half-fold of the card and the loose, easy scrawl of the words leaves no doubt as to whom they’re from, and a swell of affection blooms bright in Faramir’s chest.

He tips aside the paper covering the vase, surprised to find a clumsy but sweet recreation of the arrangement he was making for Boromir. The primroses and salvia are in the exact same positions—only, the centerpiece of red roses has been swapped out for a cluster of crimson ambrosias. For returned love.

Oh, Faramir realizes, and the fondness that’s welled up in his chest swells even higher, like a balloon fit to burst. He slides back under the blankets and nuzzles into Boromir’s warmth. Wonders where his brother found the information on flowers and their meanings, or when he’d found the time to put this arrangement together.

When Boromir lets out a tiny, tired sigh, Faramir laughs softly, careful not to wake him; it’s more than likely Boromir woke early to fit the flowers together, then snuck back into bed.

Faramir closes his eyes again, trying to fall back asleep, but as much as he’d like to stay in bed, curled in Boromir’s arms, there’s an insistent gnaw of hunger in the pit of his stomach. He manages to ignore it for all of a few minutes, before he’s forced to muscle his way out of Boromir’s arms in search of food.

Boromir makes a soft, hurt noise in his sleep, as soon as Faramir’s broken free.

“I’ll be back,” Faramir whispers, guiltily. He kisses Boromir on the brow. Scoops up his brother’s red plaid shirt, Faramir’s favorite, from the floor and throws it on.

He’s halfway to the kitchen, when his hip clips the corner of Boromir’s desk, jostling a pile of order sheets and phoned-in requests.

Faramir mutters a curse and rubs his sore hip. Starts straightening out the papers, ordering them by date, when he spots the faded spine of a little handbook.

It’s half-hidden in the sea of papers on Boromir’s desk, but Faramir tugs the book out anyway. Touches fingers, light, to the cover. Finds that it’s a beginner’s guide to flowers and their meanings, called The Language of Flowers.

The book’s been dog-eared within an inch of its life, and Faramir thumbs his way through the bookmarked pages, chuckling at the mess of highlighting. Leafs through other pages marred with post-it notes written in Boromir’s hand, like:

Windflowers ≠ daisies !!! IMPORTANT !!!

Faramir’s favorite??? by a photo of some lovely purple water lilies.

And carnations ≠ roses [starburst pattern vs. concentric circles in petals], something he’s been trying to get Boromir to remember for the longest time.

Faramir sets the book down when he’s finished flipping through it, and piles some papers over it, like there had been before. Peeks in on Boromir, wanting to wake him up and pelt him with kisses—because Boromir’s been putting real effort into making the shop work, to share in Faramir’s dream—before thinking better of it, letting him sleep for just a while longer.

He pads downstairs to grab the pizza where they’d left it on the counter, and throws a few slices in the microwave. Eats one and brings in two slices, covered, to leave on Boromir’s night table, along with a freshly cut flower. Then he slips into bed again, cuddling into Boromir’s side, smiling to himself when Boromir’s arms close around him once more. He spends the next minute listening to the rhythm of Boromir’s breathing, slowing his own to match until they’re drawing the same breath. Watches the way Boromir's eyelashes fan against his cheeks with each breath, for another.

A whole hour passes this way until Faramir decides Boromir’s slept more than is good for him, and wakes him up with tiny feather-light kisses. Marks a trail from his brow to his cheeks, then another from his nose to his neck.

Boromir wakes when Faramir has marked a path of kisses all the way to his shoulder.

“What time is it?” Boromir yawns, his eyes still half-lidded with sleep. He trails fingers along the curve of Faramir’s backside, warm, before folding arms around Faramir’s waist again. Twines his legs, snug, over Faramir’s calves and nuzzles into Faramir’s neck. It’s a unique embrace that Faramir has secretly termed The Starfish Cuddle.

One day, he’ll tell Boromir that of all the ways his brother likes to hold him, he enjoys this one the most, for the closeness and intimacy it allows them. For the safety he feels when Boromir’s draped around him like a cozy security blanket.

Today is not that day.

“Time for you to get up,” says Faramir, letting his arms settle around Boromir’s neck. “To eat something. And,” he adds, feeling a flush rise to the tips of his ears, “time to give us a kiss.”

Boromir hums and obliges, pressing small, closed-mouthed kisses to Faramir’s lips.

Faramir tries to open his mouth against Boromir’s, urging him to slip his tongue in, and upon finding Boromir won’t, tries to nudge his way into Boromir’s.

“Wait, wait,” mumbles Boromir, drawing away, though he keeps his arms tight around Faramir’s hips. “I need to wash up first before we do that. Morning breath, remember?”

“Nuh,” Faramir protests, tugging him back into the sheets.

Boromir laughs. “At least let me brush my teeth.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed, and Faramir can see the moment Boromir finds the flower on the night table, sees the token of Faramir’s love, because he goes absolutely still.

“Boromir?” Faramir asks, worried. His nails blanch as he clutches the sheets, too tight. Maybe this is too overt, but he’s always trusted Boromir in this, has to believe that Boromir won’t see it as too much.

Alternatively, Boromir might not even know what the flower means. At least there’s that.

Faramir watches his brother twist the stem of the white flower, its petals imperfect, uneven, but beautiful all the same, in his fingers. Rolls it back and forth, thoughtful. Then he looks at Faramir, his smile warm and broad and real. “Forever, then?” he asks, hopeful.

Faramir grins back, pleased at how quickly Boromir’s grasped the meaning this time. “Forever,” he nods, a promise, as he touches their lips together and cups his hands around Boromir’s.

Around the white rose known for eternal love.


[End]
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