To Be an Elf
Haldir has watched Boromir for the time it has taken to travel to Caras
Galadhon and can find no fault in him. No matter what the Lady insinuates or
the Lord states outright, Boromir is perfect. Slightly haughty of course,
but that is only to be expected of a man of his station. Arrogance only
becomes him all the more.
As Marchwarden, Haldir is accustomed to having to wait for his pleasure and
so is pleasantly surprised when Boromir merely nods his acquiescence when
Haldir tells him what is desired. Haldir is going to remark on it, but stops
himself. 'Twouldn't do to insult the man he wishes to bed.
Men wear too many layers, Haldir decides a few minutes later. His own
garments have been shed quickly enough, but chain mail was never intended to
be removed quickly and Haldir considers ripping it to gain better access to
the prize awaiting him. But again he stops himself. He hasn't taken a human
lover in centuries. Men change.
Finally Boromir is down to only a loose undertunic and breeches and Haldir
strips them away carefully. At last Boromir is bare before his eyes and
Haldir drinks the sight in eagerly. Firm muscles, but he had known that
already, and his gaze moves downward to Boromir's obvious excitement. So the
man is not so cold and unfeeling after all. Boromir shall not be a placid
lover, not if Haldir can help it. There are marks on Boromir's body where a
sword performed its quick dance, but there are marks of other lovers as
well. Haldir itches to put his own mark on Gondor's future steward. But that
can wait. First he has a Vala that needs worshipping.
Haldir is not accustomed to kneeling before mortals, or even elves for that
matter, but something in Boromir's stance demands it. Tall, hard, and
seemingly unfeeling, Haldir knows that it would take a storm of Orcs to make
the man show hate, and the Marchwarden wonders what it would take to make
the man show lust.
The forest is alive around them as Haldir sinks into a crouch and takes
Boromir's legs between his arms, placing his arms delicately on the small of
Boromir's back, positioning the young warrior. He rests his head gently
against the man's flat stomach and breathes in, sensing the trees shake off
their winter gloom to watch. The smell of decaying leaves reassures him as
he turns back to the wild man in his arms and begins to suck.
Boromir's hair whips in the breeze and in the way the man's head lolls as
Haldir's tongue works its magic. Haldir wonders what Boromir thinks of
behind his closed eyes and serene features, and the elf bites down gently.
Eyes spring open, no longer serene, and Haldir grins as well as he can. He
tries not to listen to the name Boromir groans as he comes, but such a feat
is impossible for a Silvan Elf, and besides, the name does not surprise him.
Once recovered, Boromir makes no move to return the favor, for that had not
been their agreement. Instead he lies back against the rotting leaves and
looks so peaceful that Haldir is loath to disturb him. But he must. He has a
question to ask.
"Boromir?" Boromir grunts that he has heard and Haldir's hand moves to lie
on Boromir's smooth chest. "Shouldn't you have hair here?"
Then:
The Fellowship had barely escaped the fires of Moria with their lives and
not even the hobbits would rest until they were far enough away from the
mountain so that it could not be easily seen. Boromir felt restless and,
worse, useless. All he had done under the mountain was protect Frodo. How
could he face his father knowing that he had failed the leader of his
expedition? And now the new leader would not take heed to his advice to head
for the White City for reinforcements. Boromir felt useless, like extra
unneeded baggage, easily discarded.
He studied the dynamics of the Fellowship well. The hobbits stayed together,
and Gimli walked often in the lead, trying to forget the horrors of Moria.
And Aragorn walked with Legolas. His fellow human, and he betrayed him for
an elf. His king, even, and neglectful as well as surly.
And so Boromir approached Legolas softly one night while Gimli was on watch,
carrying blades with him.
"Legolas," he whispered once he was certain that the elf had been alerted as
to his presence.
"Boromir," the elf returned and sat up from his pallet. "What can I do for
you?"
There was little moonlight but even still the knives glowed as Boromir took
them out. "I want to look like an elf. I desire your help in doing so."
Legolas blinked. "You want me to shave you?"
"Aye."
"By Eru...why?"
"Aragorn notices elves."
Legolas was silent for a long moment and then nodded. "I see. Where do you
wish to be bladed?"
"All over," Boromir whispered hoarsely as he realized the entirety of his
desire. "I want to look the elf. I have already taken care of my beard, but
I cannot do my..." Boromir gestured south with one hand while the other
offered the knives to Legolas. "I need you to help. Gimli probably wouldn't
know what to do with a knife and-"
"And you don't want Aragorn to know."
"Aye."
Legolas took the blades without another word and pushed Boromir down gently,
removing the loose clothing Boromir wore to hide his body from the chill. He
had enough water in his flask to wet Boromir's hair so it would not hurt
more than necessary, but nothing to work into a lather. Then inspiration
struck him and his hands grasped Boromir's manhood and began to stroke it.
"Legolas, what are you doing?" Boromir's hands had risen to move Legolas'
away, but the elf would not be deterred.
"I need cream to do this and you must provide it."
"And if it is not enough?"
Legolas laughed at Boromir's suspicion. "You're young. We can do this
again."
"Very well."
Legolas had underestimated Boromir's youth, however, for it took longer than
he had expected to make Boromir come apart under his hands. He took the
precious fluid carefully and began to massage it into Boromir's chest hair.
Boromir held completely still as the knives went to work over his chest and
stomach, flinching only as cold metal came in contact with an erect nipple.
Legolas was in rapture at the dance of the blades, the chunks of the hair
coming free, the complete submission on Boromir's face. He had never counted
himself a lover of men, but Boromir was enough to tempt any elf. Legolas
took his time, relishing Boromir's pliant flesh under his hands, wondering
what it would take to have it lose all that precious control. Milking
Boromir had not brought it on, and Legolas wondered what would.
Finally the knives had nothing left to cut, nothing save the patch of hair
protecting Boromir's manhood from the world. "Remove it," Boromir whispered.
"Make me an elf."
Legolas bowed his head and moved his left hand to caress his own bulge.
There was none of Boromir's semen left and Legolas could not bring himself
to take Boromir to unfeeling ecstasy. But unlike men, elves had complete
control over their bodies and Legolas' hand was soon wet and warm. He
slathered his seed over the pubic hair, unable to resist the urge to
'misplace' a few drops on Boromir's member itself. If it would be his only
way of claiming this warrior, so be it.
The knives moved carefully around Boromir's testicles and Legolas watched in
fascination as the warrior held himself completely still, though the fear of
castration was written clearly on his face. But Legolas would never let
himself do that. Boromir belonged to Aragorn, even if Aragorn was too
shortsighted to see it. Boromir belonged to Aragorn and only the king of men
could decree such an ignoble punishment. Only a king of men, and only to his
faithful subject.
The prince of elves finished his task in silence and waited for Boromir to
roll onto his side to begin to clean up. The blades would have to be
resharpened, of course, and Boromir would feel a strange itch for the next
few days, but other than that there was no change.
Save one. When Boromir stood, Aragorn's eyes followed.
Fin.
by Lanna Michaels
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