Finding Rest
Merry and Pippin were subdued as well. Pippin's guilt at
clumsily alerting the Orcs to their presence in Moria
seemed to have matured him. His heartbroken weeping had
quieted and he seemed much less flighty than the cheerfully
innocent Hobbit that had begun their journey. That maturity
would likely serve them well in the future, high as the
price had been.
Legolas was the steadiest, having dealt with loss myriad
times in his long life. He mourned Gandalf nonetheless, and
needed the peace of the forest to soothe his spirit. The
smothering dark of Moria had been an ordeal for him. Gimli,
whose seething anger at the Orcs had nearly sent him raging
back into the mountain after their escape, seemed almost
dazed since their audience with Galadriel. Aragorn might
almost believe him smitten, if the idea weren't too
ridiculous to entertain.
Boromir, however, was Aragorn's most pressing worry at the
moment. His feelings toward the other man had been
unsettled from the beginning. The issue of Aragorn's claim
to the throne of Gondor was an uncomfortable, if largely
unspoken, issue between them, and Aragorn was further
troubled by Boromir's fascination with the Ring, and his
willingness to entertain the idea of using it to defend
Gondor. Yet he was also struck by the flashes of humor he
sometimes saw in Boromir, and frequently smiled to see his
affectionate and protective manner with Merry and Pippin,
even while subtly interposing himself between Boromir and
Frodo as often as possible.
But there was no ambivalence in his feelings about Boromir
the warrior. He would have expected the future Steward of
Gondor to be a capable fighter, but in that frenzied rush
of a battle in Balin's tomb Boromir had impressed him.
Aragorn smiled ruefully, remembering the disgusted, battle-
worn sigh with which he had greeted a rampaging cave troll.
And his sword had moved like a living thing, flashing
hungrily as it cut down Orcs almost as fast as they could
swarm through the door.
But Boromir seemed more strained the further they
progressed in their quest and since they had escaped Moria
he appeared drawn as taut as a bowstring. Aragorn had been
shocked to see him in tears under Galadriel's gaze.
Fortunately, his rational self had squelched his impulse to
intervene. One did not challenge the Lady of the Wood in
her own domain, and Aragorn's bemusement at his own
solicitous feelings toward a hardened warrior were enough
to deal with.
And as he wandered into a secluded glade, the Elvish dirge
still drifting on the air, he came upon Boromir sitting
alone on a rock, looking nothing like a hardened warrior at
the moment. Aragorn hesitated, considering whether to leave
him to his private thoughts, but the hopeless slump of
Boromir's back made him speak.
"Take some rest. These borders are well-protected."
"I will find no rest here." Boromir took an unsteady breath
and the words began to come in a rush. "I heard her voice
inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of
Gondor. She said to me, 'Even now there is hope left,' but
I cannot see it." He looked up despairingly into Aragorn's
startled eyes. "It is long since we had any hope."
Aragorn moved slowly to sit slightly behind Boromir and
waited for him to continue.
"My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing and our
people lose faith." Boromir's voice shook with emotion. "He
looks to me to make things right and I would do it. I would
see the glory of Gondor restored." He paused and then
continued softly. "Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The
White Tower of Ecthelion... glimmering like a spike of
pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning
breeze.... Have you ever been called home by the clear
ringing of silver trumpets?"
Aragorn met his eyes as he turned, and never in his life
had he felt less worthy of the throne of Gondor.
Boromir's passion for his home and his people struck him
like a blow. "I have seen the White City," he replied
quietly. "Long ago."
Boromir reached and grasped Aragorn's arm. His voice,
though still unsteady, was eager and his eyes smiled.
"One day our paths will lead us there. And the tower guard
shall take up the call: 'The Lords of Gondor have
returned.'"
Aragorn stared wonderingly at Boromir, at this man who
spoke so hopefully of returning to the land he had
been bred to rule, with its lawful king at his side.
Aragorn's own reluctance to assume his rightful title,
which he had always regarded as so altruistic, suddenly
seemed small and selfish. While he had roamed the forests
and lived among the Elves, and brooded over the weakness of
Isildur that possibly tainted his blood, Boromir had lived
and worked for nothing but Gondor and its people. It was
his city, Aragorn realized, in a way that it would never be
his own.
He put his hand over Boromir's, which still clasped his
forearm. "That is the hope she spoke of, Boromir. Together
we will finish this quest. The Ring will be destroyed and
Gondor will be safe from Sauron forever."
The light left Boromir's eyes and his hand pulled away,
leaving Aragorn's suddenly cold. "How can we hope to defeat
Sauron? We have not even reached Mordor and Gandalf has
already been taken from us. Two men, a Dwarf, an Elf, and
four Hobbits against the thousands that Sauron commands? It
is hopeless."
Aragorn smiled, trying to tease him from his despair. "Ten
thousand Orcs against us? Legolas will shoot half of them
before they get near us and between our swords and Gimli's
axe we'll cut through the rest like grass." His smile
turned into a grin. "We'll even give Sam a frying pan to
improve the odds. Did you see him in Moria?"
Boromir tried to smile in return but it didn't touch the
sudden exhaustion in his eyes. Aragorn sighed. "You must
rest, Boromir. Our hope comes from each of us being at his
best when we leave this place."
Boromir was suddenly up and pacing restlessly. "I cannot
rest. Each night I try to sleep and I see the destruction
of my people. I hear the whispering‹" His voice broke off
and his movement became almost violent. Aragorn stepped
into his path and gripped his shoulders, trying to calm
him. Boromir resisted Aragorn's hold and for a moment the
two men struggled until Aragorn shoved him hard against the
nearest tree and pinned him there. Two sets of startled
eyes met and suddenly something new sparked in the air
between them. Aragorn's heartbeat quickened and he briefly
considered backing off and leaving this new thing
unacknowledged, but instead stayed and waited to see what
Boromir would do.
Neither man moved for a long moment, and then Boromir's
hand rose and slipped around the back of Aragorn's neck,
fingers moving lightly, hesitantly through his hair.
Aragorn allowed himself to lean forward minutely, and
Boromir's grip abruptly tightened and pulled Aragorn's
mouth hard onto his own. Aragorn stepped eagerly into
the kiss, dropping his hands to Boromir's waist and opening
his mouth. Boromir's tongue swept past his lips and began
to explore aggressively, licking smoothly over teeth and
gums, thrusting deep. Aragorn felt something low in his
belly quiver and responded by crowding even closer, and
boldly ground his hips forward. Boromir gasped against his
mouth and pulled his lips away. His hands fell to his sides
as Aragorn stepped back a pace. Breathing heavily, both men
stared at each other.
Aragorn spoke. "Do you want this?"
A dozen emotions flickered through Boromir's eyes before
they calmed. "Yes," he said simply.
This time the kiss started more slowly. Aragorn slid his
lips lightly against Boromir's, his tongue slipping
teasingly in and out while Boromir's hands moved restlessly
over his back and shoulders. He gradually deepened the kiss
until the two men were pressed together full-length,
tongues lazily fighting for dominance, beards rasping
gently against lips and cheeks. Aragorn slid one knee
between Boromir's legs, sucking in an unsteady breath at
the firm pressure of Boromir's muscular thigh against his
hardening flesh. Boromir's groaned softly as Aragorn's
thigh rubbed his own erection. Aragorn pulled away again
slightly and looked steadily at Boromir as he raised his
hand and lightly traced Boromir's lips with a gentle thumb.
There was something uneasy in Boromir's eyes but Aragorn
was unsurprised. He was feeling the same unease himself.
Boromir's experience with men was undoubtedly similar to
his own: quick, aggressive, and practical encounters before
or after a battle; just another form of camaraderie between
soldiers willing to help each other ease tension.
Tenderness was a foreign thing between two men. But Aragorn
could not treat this so casually.
Boromir caught Aragorn's thumb between his teeth and sucked
it into his mouth and Aragorn was barely able to keep from
groaning aloud at the wet heat of it. His entire body felt
flushed and sweaty. Their mouths came together again, this
time more hungrily, with more deliberate purpose. Boromir
slid his hands over Aragorn's chest and Aragorn responded
by reaching down to pull Boromir's hips more firmly against
his own. In the space of one breath, Boromir twisted
Aragorn around to shove him roughly against the tree. He
slid a hand firmly over his chest to caress the damp
surface of his neck. Aragorn's breathing grew deep and
ragged, and then caught in his throat when Boromir leaned
in close and licked a drop of sweat from his jaw, tracing
the salty trickle up around his ear. Boromir thrust his
hips forward sharply, thrust again, kicked his feet apart
and thrust yet again, his arousal grinding firmly between
Aragorn's slightly spread thighs.
Aragorn felt as if his knees had all the strength of water
and he leaned back against the tree for support as
Boromir's hardened flesh drove excitedly against his own.
The rough bark scraped almost painfully at his back through
his shirt but he barely noticed through the haze of arousal
that had dropped like a blanket over his senses. He moaned
and clutched frantically at Boromir's hair, holding his
head at the right angle for the ravenous kiss. Teeth
clashed and tongues plunged. All tenderness and control
were gone as Boromir, still rocking against him, feverishly
began pulling at Aragorn's clothing. His efforts were
hampered by Aragorn's similar designs upon himself and the
fact that neither man showed any willingness to allow their
mouths to separate for even a moment.
Finally, with a frustrated growl, Boromir broke the kiss
and pinned Aragorn to the tree with his left hand while his
right yanked at buttons and laces. His fingers, none too
steady to begin with, fumbled even more when Aragorn turned
his face to the side and began working with his teeth at
the buckle that fastened Boromir's wrist bracer. A final
tug of his jaw and the buckle was undone, allowing Aragorn
to lap at Boromir's wrist with a hungry tongue. He closed
his eyes and sucked at the sharp flavors of sweat and
leather.
Boromir's curses steadily grew in volume and force. He
managed to pull Aragorn's shirt off and his hand began
its ineffectual assault on the remaining clothing. Aragorn,
his mouth still busy, endured it for a moment and then
laughed, pushed Boromir's hand away and began to quickly
undress himself. Boromir watched intently, breathing hard.
"Are you going to leave all that on?" Aragorn asked with a
grin and Boromir hastened to strip off his own clothing. In
a moment, after several curses over stiff buckles and
stubborn boots, both men were naked.
Aragorn had barely a heartbeat to enjoy the sight of
Boromir's tall, thickly muscled form before he was pushed
down to the ground and covered. The contrast between the
cool grass beneath him and the hot flesh above forced a
gasp from his lips that instantly changed to a moan when
Boromir's mouth fastened firmly on one nipple. All the
strength left Aragorn's body in a rush and he lay
helplessly accepting as Boromir's tongue swirled around his
achingly sensitive nub, alternating with the gentle scrape
of teeth and occasional strong pull of suction.
When that maddening mouth traveled wetly across Aragorn's
chest to perform the same service for the other nipple,
Aragorn abruptly regained the use of his limbs and sent his
hands sliding through Boromir's hair and down the back of
his neck to clutch and pull at his shoulder blades.
Boromir's head moved upward to take Aragorn's mouth again
and Aragorn took advantage of the shift to roll them. He
let his weight rest heavily on Boromir's broad chest as he
indulged in soft, deep kisses. Then it was his turn to set
his mouth wandering and he spent a delicious few minutes
exploring Boromir's neck and chest with tongue and teeth
while Boromir panted over his head. His lips slid teasingly
over nipples and his tongue softly traced the contours of
ribs. When he moved downward, the quivering muscles under
his mouth twitched and jumped with every lick and nip. And
then still further down.
"Aragorn!"
One touch of Aragorn's tongue and Boromir was gasping and
arching wildly. Aragorn used a strong forearm to pin
Boromir's hips to the ground and resumed his work. Within
seconds, the soft, wet sounds made by Aragorn's mouth were
drowned out by Boromir's groans and curses. Aragorn closed
his eyes and savored the heat and taste and scent, mildly
shocked in the back of his mind at how much he was enjoying
this. He worked his way down the shaft, alternating teasing
licks and hungry, sucking kisses, then flattened his tongue
against the base and painted a broad, wet stripe up the
length of it. The very tip of his tongue swirled around the
contours of the head and his lips closed softly to suck the
drops of moisture gathered there. Aragorn paused for a
moment, breathing heavily and allowing his cheek to rub
gently against the slick and heated flesh.
A hand on his face startled him and he glanced upward to
meet Boromir's eyes, dark with passion. With their gazes
still locked, Aragorn abruptly engulfed Boromir in his
mouth. Boromir's eyes clenched shut and his head fell back,
a strangled moan escaping his throat. Aragorn's lips
continued downward, taking more and more until the head was
prodding the back of his throat. Recklessly, remembering
times he had been on the receiving end of such pleasure, he
swallowed around the throbbing length until his lips and
nose were buried in wiry hair. He held his breath and
ignored the resulting tears in his eyes, as he ignored his
aching jaw and the increasingly desperate noises above his
head, and slowly pulled back, maintaining a hard and even
suction until just the tip remained between his lips. He
flicked his tongue lightly, gathering the bitter fluid,
then went down again. He hummed contentedly as his head
steadily bobbed up and down.
Within seconds, Boromir's hands twisted tightly in
Aragorn's hair and yanked. Aragorn released his mouthful
just in time to prevent serious damage and found himself on
his back on the forest floor, with a panting and perspiring
Boromir looming over him. Their mouths met again and
Boromir let out a startled moan as his tongue licked his
own taste from Aragorn's lips. They kissed and thrust
against each other, their bodies sliding and grinding
together.
Boromir pulled back and spoke breathlessly. "What...
what do you want?"
Aragorn gamely attempted to focus his glazed eyes and
considered. Without a word, he let his legs fall open and
grasped Boromir's hips between his thighs.
Boromir's jaw dropped and he stared. "Have you ever... "
"No. But I want to now."
"I've never... are you sure you want to be... "
Aragorn snorted, not sure whether to be amused or
exasperated. Frustrated was the only feeling of which he
was certain. "Fucked? Why not? It wouldn't be manly? It
wouldn't be kingly? You think this makes me unsuitable to
rule? Stop worrying about me and get on with it."
Boromir gaped another moment and then burst out laughing,
even as he was half groaning at the friction of his
movement. He grinned wickedly down at Aragorn. "As my liege
commands."
His weight came down heavily and it was Aragorn's turn to
groan as his mouth was plundered. Boromir's hips began a
firm rocking motion that made Aragorn's knees lift
helplessly as his own hips jerked upward. Boromir turned
his face away from the kiss and resisted Aragorn's attempt
to yank him back. "I need something," he said desperately
as Aragorn sucked intently at his earlobe. "I don't want to
hurt you."
Aragorn bit back a curse and twisted underneath Boromir,
eyes scanning the forest. "Off!" He shoved ungraciously and
scrambled on his knees to the nearest cluster of plants.
Nothing. He headed further into the forest, growling in
frustration. A stray thought suggested that he sounded
rather like Gimli and he squelched it ruthlessly before it
killed his ardor.
"What are you looking for?" Boromir trailed helpfully
behind him.
"Mare's tongue. It's pale green, with thick, rubbery
stalks. Usually grows under plants with broad leaves."
The two men split and began batting leaves aside. As they
ranged further apart, searching for the smugly elusive
plant, Aragorn thought longingly of the vial of oil he used
when sharpening his blades, stowed safely in his pack back
at the campsite, and muttered distractedly under his breath
that at least in this remote spot there were no...
"Aragorn?"
Sweet Elbereth, he mustn't think these things. "Hello,
Legolas."
Legolas looked even more cool and beautiful than usual, if
such a thing were possible. The blond silk of his hair was
freshly braided and he wore a shimmering tunic lent him by
the Lothlórien Elves. The only thing marring this picture
of lovely serenity was his expression, which hovered
between amusement and shock. Amusement was rapidly winning
the battle. Understandable enough, considering that he was
confronting Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, The King in Exile,
and Rightful Heir to the Throne of Gondor, kneeling naked
and aroused on the ground, clutching a handful of broad
leaves that had unfortunately not been hiding mare's
tongue.
The sound of rustling shrubbery intruded on their tableau.
Legolas' eyes shifted and his poise was well and truly
shattered when Boromir came lurching triumphantly out of
the trees bearing a pale green, stalky plant that had been
ripped from the ground by its roots.
"Legolas!" he... well, squeaked is the only word for it.
Aragorn closed his eyes, wondering if he could convince
Legolas not to tell this story until he had been dead for
several generations.
Legolas made a visible effort to remove the mirth from his
face, cleared his throat and spoke gravely, very carefully
meeting neither of them in the eye. "Boromir. Aragorn. Is
there any way I can be of assistance?"
"Uh... we were just... uh..." As if there were a
remotely innocent explanation anywhere to be had. "...
looking for some mare's tongue."
Legolas coughed. "Of course. But I don't believe that's
mare's tongue, Boromir."
Aragorn took a closer look at Boromir's prize and paled.
Boromir blinked. "Pale green, thick stalks, and I found it..."
Aragorn sighed. "It looks quite similar, but... see the
purplish tinge near the roots? That's elfsbane. Its juice
makes you... itch. Rather badly."
The elfsbane landed in a nearby shrub.
"You should be fine if you didn't break any of the stalks,"
Legolas murmured.
"Legolas..." Aragorn began.
"Please, Aragorn," Legolas quit trying to hide his
amusement. "I apologize for interrupting you. I believe
I'll just head back the way I came and make sure no curious
Hobbits wander in this direction..."
Boromir groaned.
"...investigating odd noises." A wickedly mischievous
look, shockingly strange to see on an Elf, crossed his
face. "Perhaps later you can fill me in on what I missed."
"Legolas!"
"Unless you'd like some assistance now?"
"Legolas!" Both men looked aghast. Then speculative.
Intrigued. And then, under Legolas' laughing eyes,
mortified.
Legolas smirked. "I only meant to assist you in your
search. I believe I see some mare's tongue under that
hartslip bush."
"Thank you." Aragorn grimaced.
Legolas cast one more glance at his two nude and disheveled
friends and turned back up the path with a delighted laugh.
Aragorn and Boromir watched him go.
"He's going to be bloody insufferable about this, isn't
he?" Boromir ventured after a moment.
"You have no idea. Elf humor can be terrifying." Aragorn
glumly imagined the sly glances and provocative comments
that were sure to be headed his way in the days to come and
sighed. But a small, reluctant grin crept onto his face as
he mentally reviewed the entire scene. One sidelong glance
to meet Boromir's eyes and abruptly both of them were
snorting and giggling like boys.
"It could have been worse," Boromir laughed, wiping tears
from his eyes. "What if it had been Gimli?"
Aragorn flopped backwards on the ground, groaning and
laughing at the same time. Truly, the worldly amusement of
an Elf was vastly preferable to the horror or hilarity they
might have received from other members of the Fellowship.
"Actually, I'm shocked it wasn't Pippin. With Merry close
behind." His laughter cut off with a grunt when Boromir
landed on top of him.
"Before any other names are mentioned to completely kill
the mood, I suggest we collect that thrice bedamned mare's
tongue and get back to what we were doing."
Aragorn smiled at him, feeling the blood, which had heated
his cheeks for the last few minutes, begin to rush downward
again. "You'll have to get off me, then."
Boromir rolled to the side and scrambled to his feet,
heading for the hartslip bush. Aragorn leaned up on one
elbow and enjoyed the view from where he lay.
Boromir gingerly tugged the plant from the soil. "This is
it? It won't make me itch in appalling places?"
"That's it." Aragorn grinned. "Just think where that
elfsbane would have had me itching."
Mare's tongue in hand, Boromir came back and dropped to his
knees beside Aragorn. Their smiles faded slightly. An
uncertain look returned to Boromir's eyes.
"Aragorn..."
Before he could finish, Aragorn reached up, gripped the
back of his neck and hauled him down into a bruising,
open-mouthed kiss. He swept his tongue past Boromir's lips,
stroking the roof of his mouth and scraped his lips with
sharp teeth before pulling away to look him steadily in the
eye. "No more talk."
"No more talk," Boromir agreed breathlessly. Their mouths
met again greedily. Boromir became the aggressor, thrusting
his tongue into Aragorn's willing mouth and deliberately
grinding his hips forward so that their erections slid and
kissed against each other.
Aragorn parted his legs so that Boromir rested in the
cradle of his hips. Reaching out, he snapped a stalk off
the mare's tongue and fumbled it into Boromir's hand. Lips
parted and the two men rested their foreheads against each
other. Boromir pushed himself up and squeezed the plant
stalk. When his fingers were coated with the milky fluid he
moved to kneel between Aragorn's upraised knees and one
slippery finger gently circled the puckered opening to his
body. Aragorn's hips moved restlessly. When the finger
breached him, feeling impossibly thick and intrusive,
Aragorn tensed at the unfamiliarity of it. He shifted his
hips again, not sure whether to move toward Boromir's hand
or away from it. Boromir settled the question by taking
firm hold of his cock in his other hand, pumping it easily
up and down, pausing intermittently to rub a friendly thumb
over the head. Aragorn thrust up into that marvelous hand,
driving down onto Boromir's finger with every return
stroke.
The finger slipped in and out easily now, so Boromir
squeezed out more of the slippery fluid and added a second.
Again, Aragorn felt his body resist the intrusion and he
willed his muscles to relax. Boromir was simply
concentrating on working his hands and watching Aragorn's
pleasure. The two fingers delved deep, pumping smoothly in
and out of Aragorn's flesh. Aragorn was breathing heavily
and grunting at the sensation when Boromir's fingers nudged
something deep inside him. A sharp, shocking burst of
pleasure erupted from the base of his spine and he gasped
and convulsed under Boromir's hands.
"What—?" A startled Boromir pulled his fingers out and
placed a steadying hand on Aragorn's hip.
"No... don't stop," Aragorn panted. "You touched...
something. I'm fine. Please don't stop."
Boromir cautiously slid his fingers back inside and gave
Aragorn a little grin as he resumed his earlier thrusting
movement, searching for what he had found before. "I felt
it. That good?"
"Later... oh, fuck... later I'll do it to you."
Not even the discomfort of a third finger could quell
Aragorn's pleasure. Boromir thrust his fingers deeply,
stretching muscles and firmly stroking the buried nub over
and over again while continuing to squeeze and pull the
heavy length of Aragorn's cock. The feeling gathered and
built until Aragorn's head was thrashing and rolling on the
ground, heels and fingers digging grooves in the soil, his
back arching off the ground with every gasping breath he
took.
And abruptly, the hands were gone.
"Boromir!"
"Just a minute, just a minute..." Boromir's voice was
strained as he ripped off another stalk of the mare's
tongue. He squeezed it liberally over his swollen and
leaking shaft, hissing as the cool, slippery juice dripped
on his heated flesh. He smoothed it over himself quickly
and grasped Aragorn's hip firmly with his wet hand.
"Ready?"
"Yes, I'm ready! Do it!"
Boromir braced his knees and guided the tip of his erection
to the slick entrance to Aragorn's body. He pushed gently
until he felt resistance, breathed deeply, then pushed more
firmly until he felt the tight ring of muscle give way.
"Oh..." Aragorn squeezed his eyes shut at the stab of
pain and his hands tightened on Boromir's shoulders.
Just the tip of Boromir's cock felt enormous, stretching
his muscles to impossible proportions.
"Are you all right?"
"Just... don't move."
Boromir clenched his teeth and remained still.
Aragorn panted, trying to wait out the discomfort. After a
few moments, he felt his muscles begin to ease, adjusting
Boromir's presence in his body. He opened his eyes to see
Boromir, staring down at him, his face a confused mixture
of concern and desperation.
"Should I pull out?"
"No... push again."
Boromir hooked his elbows beneath Aragorn's knees and
tilted his hips upward. He pushed forward slowly and
Aragorn grunted heavily with the effort of accommodating
him. His muscles protested anew but he set his jaw, reached
down and pulled sharply at Boromir's hips. Fully impaled by
the thick, throbbing length, Aragorn choked back a pained
moan as Boromir let out a loud, gasping curse.
"Don't move, don't move..." Aragorn pleaded in a
strained whisper.
"Not planning to," Boromir spoke through gritted teeth,
beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. "Gods. So
tight."
Again, Aragorn breathed deeply through the pain and waited
for his body to relax its vise-like grip on Boromir's
shaft. And then Boromir began to move, shallow thrusts at
first that gently rocked Aragorn beneath him. Aragorn
moaned and Boromir released one of his knees, keeping the
other pressed up hard against his body. With his free hand,
Boromir cupped Aragorn's face and their eyes caught. As
they stared, shallow thrusts became deeper and harder.
Aragorn slid his hands over Boromir's shoulders and down
his chest, raking his nails through fine hairs and over
hardened nipples. He reached down and took hold of his own
shaft, which had softened somewhat at the pain of Boromir's
entry, but was now swelling again.
Boromir moved both his hands to the ground on either side
of Aragorn's head. Aragorn's other knee relaxed and the
change in angle had Boromir jabbing that spot again with
every stroke. Aragorn broke their locked gaze as his head
began to toss restlessly. He stroked roughly at his cock
and reached up with his other hand to grip the back of
Boromir's neck. Hands firmly braced, Boromir quickened his
pace, slammed into him again and again, grunting with every
thrust.
Aragorn hooked one leg as best he could around Boromir and
dug an encouraging heel into the back of his knee. "Oh...
just like that, just like—" And then words trailed off
and he was reduced to incoherent moaning. He let go of his
cock and surged off the ground, grabbing at Boromir's
shoulders and fastening his teeth onto the bearded line of
his jaw. Boromir shoved him back flat on the ground and
held him still for the steady, pounding rhythm of his hips.
Aragorn's moans increased and he tried to spread his legs
wider, frantic to take more of Boromir inside him. He
reached again for his own erection but Boromir grabbed both
his wrists and pinned them above his head.
This changed Boromir's angle of entry yet again and Aragorn
protested, trying to free his wrists, but Boromir's grip
was painfully tight. He was now pinning Aragorn to the
ground with his entire body, one hand encircling his wrists
as his other arm slipped underneath to clamp his shoulder
from behind. Sweat-slicked skin rubbed up and down the
length of their torsos while Boromir's pistoning hips
continued their work. Aragorn moaned again, protests
forgotten, as the damp skin of Boromir's belly stroked up
and down his hard and leaking shaft.
Boromir's head dropped down and Aragorn shivered at the
hot, moist breath gusting against his ear. Boromir braced
his knees and drove his body against Aragorn, again hitting
that spot, sending pleasure spiking through him. Aragorn
felt his climax building, crackling upward from the soles
of his feet. He once again twisted his wrists, trying to
free himself from Boromir's bruising grip, desperate to
touch, but the hands that held him were like steel. And
then all conscious effort was gone. His body bucked,
heaved, and his muscles clenched and fluttered around
Boromir's cock as his climax slammed through him. A gush of
hot, slippery wetness splashed across their bellies and a
wailing cry was unthinkingly stifled against Boromir's
shoulder. He bit hard into the muscle until his mouth was
flooded with the coppery tang of blood.
Boromir shouted, whether from pain or pleasure, and he
hunched over Aragorn, his thrusts brutally hard. As
Aragorn shuddered and gulped for air in a boneless sprawl
beneath him, Boromir mindlessly drove towards his own
climax. His panting breaths rasped in Aragorn's ear and his
knees dug into the soil. Aragorn forced his heavy eyelids
to lift and he stared dizzily up past Boromir's shoulder at
the stars glinting calmly through the gracefully arched
branches above them. Muscles slack and arms still pinned
overhead, he was rocked and pounded in a mercilessly
unflagging rhythm. Boromir's panting turned to moaning
until finally his rhythm faltered and he stiffened, mouth
opening soundlessly, and thrust jerkily into Aragorn's
spent body a last few times and collapsed heavily upon him.
Still joined, the two men lay trembling and exhausted for
some time. Aragorn tried half-heartedly to draw breath as
he lay flattened beneath a solid weight of limp, sweaty
Gondorian.
"Boromir?"
A muffled grunt was the only response.
"You're very heavy."
Boromir groaned, carefully pulled himself free, and rolled
to the side.
Aragorn sat up, winced, and quickly shifted to one hip.
"You all right?"
Aragorn grinned ruefully. "Just glad I don't have to sit a
horse anytime soon." He looked over at Boromir and
grimaced. "Sorry about that."
"Hmm?" Boromir twisted his neck, trying to see what Aragorn
was looking at and hissed as the bite mark on his shoulder
began to ooze fresh blood. "Oh. Well, it's my own fault, I
suppose. I shouldn't have held you down."
Aragorn examined his wrists critically. The reddened skin
was already starting to show bruises. "I'd better make sure
my sleeves are long enough or I'll hear about this from
Legolas."
Boromir chuckled. "Maybe I should lend you my bracers."
"And you think he wouldn't comment on that?"
"You're probably right." Boromir stood up slowly,
stretching his muscles with a groan. "I suppose we should
find our clothing and get back before anyone else comes
along." He reached down and offered a hand to Aragorn.
"Like Gimli or Pippin?" Aragorn grinned as he let himself
be hauled to his feet. He looked down at his sticky body,
trying to brush off the worst of the dirt and grass.
"Actually, I think we need to find a stream before we
dress."
Silence fell and they looked at each other steadily.
Boromir smiled. "Is this going to be awkward tomorrow?"
"Probably. But I think it was worth it."
Boromir's eyes shifted and dropped to one side. "Aragorn... I want to thank—"
His words were cut off when Aragorn stepped in quickly and
kissed him. It was gentle. Almost chaste. He cupped
Boromir's face and looked him seriously in the eye. "There
is no need for thanks here, Boromir. This was no favor or
boon. I gave nothing to you that you did not return."
Boromir snorted, trying manfully to control his expression.
Aragorn laughed out loud and gave Boromir a shove. "Well, I
suppose things weren't exactly equal. Some day when you
want to change that come and see me."
Boromir grabbed Aragorn's arm and pulled him close. They
kissed, Aragorn still laughing into Boromir's mouth until
his amusement gave way to renewed passion. Boromir kissed
him lazily, tipping his head to the proper angle and
delving deep before pulling back slowly. He smiled again.
"Maybe we'll save that for a time when you can't sleep."
"You're all right, then?"
"I think I'll rest tonight." Boromir's eyes were grave, but
the hopelessness that had dominated them earlier had faded.
"Good." Aragorn kissed him again quickly and they went to
find their clothes, which were folded neatly into two piles
in the glade they had left earlier. And as they stared in
shock they heard a suspiciously Hobbit-like giggle
retreating up the path.
THE END
by Druìs
ragorn moved quietly through the woods of Lothlórien. His
sorrow at the loss of Gandalf, echoed by the eerie lament
of the Elves, was compounded by his worry for the
fellowship, which he now must lead. Frodo had uttered not a
word since they had left Moria, seeming almost numb except
for the raw grief in his eyes. Sam hovered anxiously but
was unwilling, as the rest of them were, to forcibly push
through the silence Frodo had pulled around himself like a
shield.
