Unspoken
Uncertainly he holds the other man, unsure whether Aragorn is ill or in despair
about some secret yet unknown to Boromir. He is surprised by the softness of
Aragorn's unwashed hair against his cheek and by the sweet scent of pipe-smoke
that clings to it, by the balmy dampness of Aragorn's breath gusting across his
throat before the Ranger tilts his head and brushes a kiss beneath Boromir's
ear, so swiftly that it might have been accidental. Yet Aragorn moans, and
Boromir feels gentle wetness that could only be his tongue stroking his skin,
traveling above the line of his jaw to his chin. Perhaps, thinks Boromir, this
is some strange custom he learned from the Elves, though he feels absurd trying
to hold still while Aragorn tastes him. Then Aragorn's mouth slides up to cover
his own.
Boromir has rarely shared such kisses with lovers; the women of Gondor are
either more demure or more deliberately seductive with the Steward's son, and
men escaping the misery of the battlefield spare little time for this kind of
tenderness. Aragorn parts his lips with gentle, insistent pressure, tasting his
teeth and gums, his tongue and the hollow beneath it, the roof of his mouth and
the ticklish soft flesh on the sides. Hesitantly Boromir meets him, unsure what
the other man wants from him. He is wary of surrendering to this unexpected
sensation, unwilling to be passive yet reluctant to pull away.
The hands clutching Boromir's back begin to ease their grip, sliding over his
body. Untrimmed fingernails press pleasurably through his clothing, raising
chills over his arms and making his nipples tighten. A spontaneous hum vibrates
his nose and he finds his own hands moving over Aragorn's shoulders, fingers
wrapping in the other man's hair. Aragorn shifts closer, pulling Boromir against
him with a knee hooked over his leg, until he can feel Aragorn's swollen cock
prodding him through his breeches.
Little light from the cold moon penetrates the trees, and Boromir feels as
though he has become caught in a dream. Yet it is a pleasant one, making his
body yield quickly and urgently to his lover's touch. When his thoughts intrude,
he wonders how Aragorn knew that he would not refuse him, for this is a longing
he had not admitted even to himself, though it takes only moments for him to
realize that he has long harbored it. For another moment he wonders whether this
is a test of his resolve, but Aragorn's shaking fingers and quiet, needy sighs
persuade him that the other man's desire is sincere.
Aragorn's fingers move to the laces of Boromir's breeches, then hesitate as if
waiting for a signal. Boromir gives it to him, reaching for the ties that bind
the cloth over Aragorn's erection and fumbling in the dark to loosen them. He
feels his own cock deftly freed to the cool night air before warm hands cover
it, cupping and stroking, until he is nearly overwhelmed by the need for relief
from the throbbing ache brought on by the contact. His fingers tangle in
Aragorn's laces, curling into fists. Feeling his tension, Aragorn slides away
and moves to help Boromir unfasten the breeches. The Ranger draws out his cock
and rubs it in the fluid leaking from the engorged head of Boromir's.
A desperate whimper escapes from Boromir, yet faster than he can cringe at his
own weakness, Aragorn moves down to lick the slit before wrapping his mouth over
the hot flesh, sucking enthusiastically, returning one of his hands to circle
the base while holding Boromir still with the other wrapped around a thigh. His
tongue swirls around the crown of the cock while he slides his head and hand up
and down, letting his fingers wander to stroke the sac and the sensitive spot
behind it, never breaking the delicious rhythm.
Pressure builds swiftly, relentlessly, until Boromir bites down on his own hand
to keep from groaning loudly. His other hand weaves into Aragorn's hair,
attempting to slow him down without pulling, but Aragorn either cannot read his
signals or chooses to ignore them. Boromir feels his groin beginning to clench
and knows that in a moment he will have no choice but to stop completely or to
spill himself down Aragorn's throat. Just then one of Aragorn's wandering
fingers moves down and back, skimming, then pressing, fingertip snug against the
puckered hole. There is not even time to grunt a warning as Boromir's entire
body convulses, cock pulsing with the spurts that flood Aragorn's mouth.
Aragorn holds him while he recovers, arms wrapped around Boromir's waist, face
pressed against his belly. After a minute he begins to kiss his way up Boromir's
body, first under his clothing, then on top of the cloth when he can push it no
higher. His erection surges against Boromir's thigh, and for a moment Boromir is
afraid that this has all been a ploy to subdue him. Will the Ranger take him now
as an earned reward? Yet Aragorn's hands are gentle on his face, turning
Boromir's lips to his, kissing tentatively, as if afraid the taste of his own
seed will offend Boromir; and after only a brief hesitation, Boromir returns the
kisses hungrily, feeling a secret thrill at the reminder of his pleasure in the
other man's mouth.
Groaning, Aragorn rubs his cock against Boromir's hipbone, and Boromir takes it
into his hands, surprised to feel chills prickle across his skin again at
Aragorn's sob of gratitude. He strokes gently, exploring, planning to take his
time and draw out the other's enjoyment before bringing him to climax, but
Aragorn clutches Boromir's forearm and groans again, thrusting into his palm.
Remembering Aragorn's hands on him, Boromir suddenly guesses what he wants. The
other man's thighs fall open when he nudges them apart, stroking around the
balls and behind them, and when he leans down to kiss the tip of Aragorn's cock,
Aragorn clenches his shoulder and cries out very suddenly, spraying liquid heat
over Boromir's lips and cheek and into his hair.
"I'm sorry," whispers Aragorn, the first words either of them has spoken since
he lay down beside Boromir, but Boromir wants no apology; he lifts his head,
unable to resist grinning as he wipes thick fluid away with his hand. Aragorn
watches, appearing to hold his breath for a moment before returning the smile.
Leaning forward, he licks the wetness from Boromir's cheek, stroking his fingers
through sticky hair until it has become soft once more. Before he has finished
they are kissing again, faces hot with the friction from one another's beards.
Boromir can still smell Aragorn, in his hair, on his skin, all around him, and
he wonders whether the others will be able to as well when they wake in the
morning. But he knows they will not speak of it, and he finds that it warms him,
much as Aragorn's arms warm him when they lie down together. He wonders briefly
whether he should offer thanks or ask the many questions struggling to surface
in his thoughts, but he forces them to be silent. And he remains silent himself,
listening to the constant rhythm of Aragorn's heart.
by Your Cruise Director
ragorn comes to Boromir silently one night and makes love to him without
explanation or regret, only a wordless plea in his generous hands and hungry
kisses. The close heat of his body pulls Boromir from his half-sleep on the edge
of their encampment, where he can guard the rear if woken by a shout from
Legolas who stands watch. Though he is tired, Boromir enjoys the sensation of
warmth radiating from the Ranger. Then Aragorn turns unexpectedly, taking
Boromir into his arms, and he is as shocked to find Aragorn trembling as he is
by the sudden, passionate embrace.
