Mine in
Blood
Not saying a word Aragorn stared into the catlike eyes of his companion, into
the storm of emotions that was brewing there.
Slowly Boromir withdrew the daggard, easily twisting his arm free of the
darkhaired man's grip.
"Let me go," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving Aragorn's. "I wish to be
alone."
Still not uttering a single word, Aragorn let the younger man take a few
steps into the heavier setting of trees. Then he followed. Soundlessly and
determined,
he moved, not willing to let this end yet.
Only the moonlight accompanied them now.
Still keeping back a little, Aragorn noticed that Boromir had stopped. He
appeared to be listening for a little while, then the ghost of a smile made its
way
over his features, like a flittering shadow.
"I know you are there, Aragorn. I can feel you watching me."
Treading softly into the clearing, Aragorn studied the other's broad back and
shoulders. So much strength, he admired. Yet such a waste unless he was able to
take up this fight with Fate, and battle her down.
As he had expected, Boromir didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge Aragorn's
presence with a look.
Worry, by itself, could be an anonymous feeling, despair could paralyze your
actions. But these two combined with anger made for a fearful potion.
He moved like an animal of the woods, attacking with raging force, tackling
the smaller man to the ground.
A glint of moonlight on steel told him that Boromir never had let go of the
daggard, which made Aragorn smile, his eyes holding a silvery shimmer in the
pale light.
A moment their eyes met, Time stopped her weaving in respect and maybe in
mourn. The moment passed, and the feelings that had been hidden and
supressed, was balancing on a thin thread over the abyss of love and hate.
"You carry weapons," Aragorn stated, using all of his strength to kep Boromir
down. "But they are of no worth unless you are willing to use them..."
He gripped Boromir's right wrist, forcing the daggard out of his hand. He
knew the other man was partially letting him take it, still sure of the lost
king's
nobleness, that he would never inflict harm on one who wasn't regarded an enemy.
Aragorn was about to prove him wrong.
Silently studying the daggard, he looked thoughtful. "Beautiful... As
beautiful as you, my dear." The smile grew wicked. "You did not really think
that I
would let you go so easily, my Boromir? That I would let you end this on such
terms?"
Daggard in hand, he leaned down over the other. "We are bound together, you
and I... We were meant to find each other." His voice was slow and deep, the
glimmer in his eyes held Boromir pinned to the ground just as much as Aragorn's
hands did.
"You belong to me."
The dance of the blade was as always an elegant one, as it came to rest
against Boromir's throat. The blond fought not to show any emotions, but he knew
it
was of no use. Just by looking at him, Aragorn could read him as clearly as
written words on paper.
The blade laid against the side of his jaw, pressing over the pulsepoint
hidden under warm skin. Aragorn studied him silently, letting the tips of his
fingers
touch Boromir's lips.
"You are mine," he whispered. "If not by heart...then by blood." A flicker of
his wrist and the blade slid easily into Boromir's skin, digging deep.
Not able to supress a small whimper of pain, Boromir stared up at Aragorn,
finding his face veiled in shadows and darkness. For the first time he knew fear
in the larger man's presence.
Blood was seeping from the cut, easily running over his throat and dripping
onto the forest floor underneath him. Before he had the chance to move or speak,
Aragorn was over him, mouth attaching to the bleeding wound. Leaning over the
younger man, he was pressing Boromir's wrists to the ground, licking and
sucking the blood from the wound.
Overwhelmed by the unexpected erotic feel the action produced, Boromir
couldn't stop himself from tilting his head back to let the darker man have
better
access. The world was rapidly becoming a dizzy spin of brightly lit stars and he
closed his eyes.
The lips moved, trailing over his cheek. Boromir's eyes fluttered open to be
greeted by the sight of light wolf's eyes gazing back down at him.
"Have I tamed you already, proud warrior?" Aragorn's voice was low and
amused. His lips was ordained with stains of crimson red. He released Boromir's
hands just to be punched in the face and forcefully pushed away.
Landing on his bak, Aragorn lay still, watching Boromir quickly get to his
feet. The blond's voice was cold and brimming with anger when he spoke.
"Never underestimate me, Aragorn."
"Ah, but that would be cruel to ask of me," Aragorn retorted. "After all, it
has become one of the biggest joys of my life, to underestimate you." Moving
quickly, he kicked out, taking the other man out by the knees, sending him back
down to the ground. Then he pounced.
All inhibitions gone by now, Boromir fought him back. As Aragorn had hoped
him to. Rolling on the ground, in a silent and dangerous fight that was
physical as well as a battle of wills, they both drew more blood.
In the end Aragorn found himself on top, using his weight to pin the other
down, straddling him with his sligthly larger body. Capturing Boromir's lips
with
his, he fought for access, claiming his lips with wild ferocity.
Raising his head again, Aragorn locked eyes with Boromir. The other's damp
lips were matted with blood. His blood, Aragorn's blood...the blood of them
both. Reading something in the blue eyes, Aragorn understood, mirroring it in
his own heart. He pulled Boromir to him, holding him as close as he possibly
could.
"Why is it that I cannot make you see this?" he hotly whispered. "Give in to
me, let my love heal you... Surrender yourself to me."
His beloved was holding him as well, face hidden against his neck. But his
words was a barrier set between them as thick as a fortress' wall.
"I will never surrender."
by
BlueKat
he blade of the daggard was
sharp, yet it wasn't held with the neccessary force to draw blood. It was only
meant to serve as a warning.
