Fleeting Moments I "Wot am I doin?"
He sat up, dragging strands of thick, blond hair from his face to see the
very image of his desire sliding into the tub next to him. He blinked once
and swallowed hard. His eyes drank in the wiry figure disappearing beneath
the water.
"Waiting for me," the dark man said matter of factly. A slightly amused
smile played around his lips.
Boromir's mouth dropped open and he colored brightly, the flush plain on his
pale skin. The smile on the ranger's face grew larger, showing dimples and
lines from the weather. The scruff of beard took some of the sharpness out
of his face, but it was still all angles and planes. He slid across the
small tub until he loomed over Boromir.
"You weren't?"
Boromir blinked stupidly. The heat from the tub was insignificant next to
the heat radiating between the two men.
"Were ent wot?" he managed, when his mouth could form words.
"Waiting for me." The ranger's eyes raked over Boromir's thickly muscled
torso.
Two weathered hands gripped the edges of the tub to either side of Boromir's
ears. The water slapped noisily, then grew silent. The steam continued to
rise in the small room, blocking out everything but the two men in the
water. Boromir's breathing grew more rapid. His eyes took in the leanly
muscled form over him, noting the smooth, powerful shoulders and long
expanse of tanned skin. He felt his stomach flutter. He saw the ranger
appraise him as well. More than his stomach began to flutter.
"Give me your hand."
Without thinking, Boromir thrust out his hand. The dark ranger drew his
fingers lightly down Boromir's arm and over his wrist before grasping it. He
leaned closer and examined the cut left by Narsil.
"You should be more careful with what you handle."
He drew the cut finger to his lips and kissed it, lightly. Boromir gasped
but did not pull away. The ranger pressed himself closer.
"I don't..." Boromir's voice failed him.
"Boromir," his voice was a caress, "I am known here as Aragorn."
"That's famous name in Gondor," he stammered.
"Yes, I have heard."
Aragorn's fingers trailed up Boromir's muscular arm and over his broad
chest. They rested there a moment, feeling the pounding of the blond man's
heart.
"You are frightened of me," he whispered.
Anger flashed in green eyes. Boromir shoved at Aragorn, trying to push him
away.
"No!"
Aragorn grabbed Boromir's wrists. They pushed and pulled, each trying to
gain control of the other. Water splashed everywhere. Boromir found himself
pinned against the side of the tub, his lap filled with ranger. Everywhere
their skin touched seemed to be on fire. Aragorn's lips teased his ear.
"If not me, then what you desire of me."
"Wot could I desire of you?"
Aragorn chuckled. He leaned in and kissed his captive hard. Their beards
brushed. Boromir fought not to return the kiss.
"Do not fight this. It is fate," Aragorn whispered.
His tongue teased the blond's lips. Boromir moaned. His soul told him not to
fight, but his mind swirled with doubt. Aragorn's mouth hovered closely over
his. Boromir trembled.
"I know your father. He has set much upon your shoulders. I am here to help
relieve the burden."
Aragorn's dark head dipped down for another kiss. This time Boromir did not
fight. His strong arms enveloped Aragorn's slim form. Both men's burgeoning
erections rubbed deliciously against one another. Aragorn undulated
enticingly against Boromir's heated flesh. A whimper of need escaped the
blond before he buried his face in Aragorn's tanned neck. His teeth chewed
and teased the ranger's throat. His hands stroked Aragorn's trim waist,
holding them close. Aragorn's fingers wound into Boromir's hair. His
muscular thighs held the blond man tightly as they ground against one
another. Moans of pleasure were held close by the heaviness of the air.
Boromir came with his teeth buried in Aragorn's shoulder and his arms
clutching the ranger's body against his own. Aragorn followed, clawing
Boromir's back and catching himself on the stone lip of the tub. For several
moments the only sounds were the soft slapping of water and harsh, exhausted
gasps.
"We've ruined the water," Boromir teased.
"Don't concern yourself. Not as if it is the first time."
Merriment danced over Aragorn's face.
"Wot'd you mean?" Green eyes flashed with realization and Boromir chuckled.
"You elves are devils alright."
His hands stroked lazily over Aragorn's thighs, as they continued to sit
entwined. He knew he should get up but he no longer had the will to move.
His eyes drooped sleepily.
"Boromir..." a voice was calling to him. He wanted to oblige but couldn't
summon the strength.
"Boromir!"
The tone of command was unmistakable. Boromir immediately snapped to
attention. He shook himself into wakefulness.
"You're tired. Come to bed."
Aragorn's voice was smooth and reasonable.
"Bed..." Boromir managed.
"Yes, bed. Come with me."
Aragorn lightly grasped Boromir's upper arms and gently guided him to his
feet. Boromir fell into his grip and managed to drape himself over Aragorn.
The ranger somehow maneuvered the sleepy blond out of the tub.
"Not farm maid..." he mumbled, drifting off.
"No, Boromir. I don't imagine anyone would mistake you for one."
TBC
by Donna
oromir sighed as he sank into the hot water. He smiled at his succumbing to
luxurious excess, but the elves knew how to live and he had learned long ago
to take what chances were offered. Only in an elf's house would there be a
bath adjoining your bedroom. He leaned his head against the stone lip of the
tub and tried to relax. The steam rose around him as his muscles began to
unlock. The trip from Gondor had been hard and he was not as young as he
once was. He tried to empty his thoughts, but his mind focused on his
meeting with the ranger the night before. The memory of those probing blue
eyes had not left him, dreaming or awake, and he could see them still in his
mind's eye. He sighed once more. He had not thought to see eyes like that
again, nor did he expect to feel such desire again. But he was the son of
Denethor, steward of Gondor, not some farm maid. He could not let a mere
ranger have him. Or could he?
