On the White City's Walls
As he gazed over the city, lost in thought, another body slid onto the
wall behind him and molded against his back. An arm encircled his
chest, and strong fingers twisted into his hair, lifting it away from
his neck. Warm lips touched his nape. Aragorn leaned into the kiss,
melting into protective embrace. "Boromir," he whispered, "I have
missed you..."
A beard scraped on his skin as Boromir leaned very close to murmur,
"Have a care, my liege," pausing to lick the soft skin below his ear,
"The people might tremble to learn their king is made of wax."
Aragorn chuckled softly. "They need not worry. For none other has
your skill in melting me."
He felt Boromir smile. "And a good thing too," he muttered.
Aragorn laughed, rising to his feet. "Indeed! I might never harden
enough to..." Too late he realized how the remark would sound and
noted Boromir's ineffectual attempt not to laugh.
"Come," he said in a businesslike tone. "The king must be about his
business."
Boromir let himself be pulled to his feet, but he stood by the wall.
His gaze raked over Aragorn from his boots to the crown of his head
and he licked his lips. "I have few ideas," he said slowly, "Of how
to keep him busy." Still he did not meet the king's eyes.
Aragorn wavered. The king must not shirk his duty. Yet it had been
so long...
"I'm sure you do," he said, "And let it not be said that the king
refuses good counsel." He stretched out his hand, and Boromir took
it, and they went down together, to go about the business of
celebrating peace and victory in the way they most wished.
by
Sparky
awn came as a golden haze and found Gondor's king seated on the wall.
He did not look so much like the king, crownless and clad in simple
garments of black and silver.
