Crossroads
by Your Cruise Director and Ashinae

s a blade of sunlight cut between the billowing curtains, Boromir's eyes fluttered open and glanced down at the head pillowed on his chest. The hair of the sleeping Ranger smelled of herbs and smoke, much like the warm autumn wind that blew in from the terrace. In repose, Aragorn's face reminded Boromir of Isildur's in the great mural in the hall, though less harsh in the set of the jaw and the fine curve of cheekbone. Soon they would have to rise and dress for the meeting called by Elrond, but for the present, Boromir allowed himself the luxury of stroking a finger down the man's tanned cheek, of allowing that fingertip to trail over his neck and shoulder.

The gentle caress was a stark contrast to the fiery passion that had risen between them the previous night. Perhaps it had been boiling beneath the surface the entire time they had been in Rivendell, along with the argument that had preceded it. While Boromir knew he should have been expecting the none-too-kind exchange of words between them, the moment he found Aragorn's mouth covering his had caught him rather off-guard. He had returned the kiss as if it were a challenge, and pinned Isildur's heir against the wall of the room, determined to prove his strength, his fitness. He could not have guessed that his own desire would flare so brightly, nor could he have imagined such heat and hunger as Aragorn had never before revealed to him...save perhaps in the first moment after they met, burning in his hooded gaze.

The unthroned king of Gondor stirred and opened his eyes, brow wrinkling in momentary confusion as his face turned up to Boromir's. Then a slow, satisfied smile crept over his features and he chuckled softly. "And how long have you been watching me?" he murmured, stretching lazily.

Boromir's face began to feel warm and he tried not to think about how good Aragorn's body felt moving against him. Words stuck in his throat before he finally managed to say, "Not long," then cursed himself for admitting that he had been watching Aragorn at all.

The dark head turned towards his neck, and Aragorn murmured something against his flesh, but Boromir quickly forgot the words. In the next instant, Aragorn was licking his neck with a broad swipe of his tongue, and Boromir's hands had tangled in his hair to hold him there. The Ranger laughed, breath hot against Boromir's throat, sending pulses fluttering through his chest and lower. His hips bucked as Aragorn slid over him, bringing their faces level.

Drawing the smiling mouth down to his own, Boromir distracted the other man with a gentle, nibbling kiss while he gathered his strength, shifted his weight and hurled them both over, trapping Aragorn beneath his body. Blue eyes flashed resistance for a single moment before they brightened with laughter again.

"I see that nothing has changed overnight."

"Certainly not," Boromir replied, though he wondered if this were true at all as his hands found Aragorn's, bringing them up onto the pillow. Aragorn merely stared up at him, offering no further resistance when Boromir's fingers wrapped around his wrists. "Besides," Boromir continued, "you seemed to enjoy the challenge."

"Your challenge was...difficult to resist."

This gave Boromir pause. He looked down at Aragorn for a moment. Finally a smile quirked his lips. "Oh yes," he said softly, "I believe I have the bruises to prove it." He could still feel Aragorn's fingertips on his hips, holding tight, keeping him at what had seemed to Boromir an excruciatingly slow, measured pace until he unraveled completely, biting down hard on a shoulder to muffle groans that might otherwise have been heard in every room of the House of Elrond. The memory made him jolt, and the jolt made him grind against Aragorn, whose eyes rolled back as he rocked with the thrust.

Boromir gazed in the full light of morning at the swollen, parted lips and lowered eyelids of the man arching eagerly under him, trying to remember him as he had looked the evening before, when they were entwined with each other, vying for dominance. He could not say who had been the victor in that battle. But seeing this man beneath him now, he did not want to call what they had shared a "battle." No, what they had shared had been infinite sweetness and agonizing pleasure -- far too lovely to sully with such a dark word.

Wondering if he could experience it again, he leaned forward as though to kiss Aragorn once more, but instead he whispered teasingly, "We are going to be late if we linger."

"Then we had best move quickly." Craning his neck upward, the Ranger snared Boromir's lower lip between his teeth, tugging down gently. At the same time, his hips surged upward, forcing the warrior to slide against him in the sheen of moisture collecting between them. Boromir had no choice but to release one of Aragorn's wrists to regain his balance atop him.

In that moment, Aragorn wrapped his hand around Boromir's head to pull him into a deep kiss. His legs locked over Boromir's, keeping their bodies pressed together. "Shall we make...haste?" he murmured when they paused to gasp for breath. His voice was thick with desire, and it caused a shiver to course up Boromir's spine.

Fingers clenching the pillow beneath Aragorn's head, Boromir allowed himself to let that voice wash over him. This desire would no doubt be his undoing, he thought, as he could not stop himself from moving against Aragorn's body. Nor could he resist taking those lips with his own, tasting and exploring with his tongue, as his fingertips traced down Aragorn's palm and arm, moving lower to seek out and grasp his hip in an effort to pull him ever closer. "Yes," he gasped, "haste."

No sooner had he spoken than Aragorn wedged his hand between their bodies, clutching his throbbing hardness together with Boromir's, rubbing with fingers and rocking hips. Choking back a moan, Boromir shifted his hand to join Aragorn's. They strove together, lips, hands, bodies moving in concert, with no trace of the struggle for dominance that had fueled their frenzied joining the previous night.

Despite their urgency, Aragorn drew out long, gliding strokes and squeezes, holding him close, whispering his name, until Boromir could no longer remember feeling anything for Isildur's heir other than all-consuming need. He could think of nothing but drowning in him, losing himself and never mind the consequences. Nothing could match the sweetness of blue eyes stormy with desire, or the way one of those maddening hands touched the side of his neck, so briefly, before they tangled in his hair to pull him down for a kiss. Had there ever been a single moment before this when Boromir had felt that he was complete?

As he gasped into Aragorn's mouth, knowing that he would not be able to last much longer, he began to doubt that he had ever made love with anyone else. He had shared pleasure, to be sure, and satisfied desires; he had enticed, seduced, bestowed endearments, assented to the urges of his bedmates. But he had never experienced such a sense of union, not even with his body joined to that of another. The night before he had nearly felt it when Aragorn had lost control, yielding to their mutual passion with such open joy that Boromir had joined in his cry of release. Now Boromir was just as aware of the pounding of Aragorn's heart as he was of his own, just as aware of the Ranger's moans of pleasure as the sounds torn from his own throat.

Though he gave in to a sudden overwhelming urge to look into Aragorn's eyes, Boromir was unable to hold that gaze. Not once, he realized, had Aragorn turned from him. He could not cling to his last shred of control. He looked away, his hair fell into his eyes, and he was surrendering again. A cry was given up against Aragorn's shoulder and he felt warmth spilling over his hand -- and recognized with terrifying clarity that he would lose himself, that this feeling would consume him. It had already begun to do so.

He could not even find the strength to want it to stop.

Aragorn's roar of fulfillment faded, replaced by contented sighs. His fingers remained threaded through Boromir's hair, stroking gently, and his lips brushed Boromir's cheek with languid tenderness. It deepened the ache, the hollowness that followed such wrenching pleasure -- the understanding that he held nothing, even though his hands still clutched at pliant flesh.

His breath hitched, and Aragorn whispered, "What is it?"

Boromir turned his face away, still feeling Aragorn's eyes on him. A desperate, empty part of him wanted nothing more than to give a voice to all the wordless emotions that warred inside him. But another part, one ruled by stubborn pride, refused and he mumbled, "It is nothing of any importance."

Whatever part of him was the more sensible knew that Aragorn was a wiser man than he, and would not believe a word he spoke. He breathed out a sigh and struggled to his knees, looking down and meeting eyes that stared levelly at him. "We shall be late."

Aragorn raised himself on his elbows, creasing his elegant brow just as he had when he first awoke. Even nude, disheveled and prone, his features and form bore the regal grace of his inheritance. Too easy to picture that visage crowned with gold, draped in velvet, on a high throne, out of reach. Yet it was too close as the Ranger sat up, catching Boromir's hand in his own. "I had hoped that you would trust me," he entreated.

There were so many possible responses to this, and far too many of them left him distressingly vulnerable. The Captain of the White Tower would not be vulnerable. When he looked down at their clasped hands, and noticed how tenderly Aragorn touched him, and was for the first time aware of the way his own thumb stroked the back of Aragorn's hand in unconscious little circles, he was aware too of how empty he felt.

He raised his eyes again, and was struck anew by the openness of Aragorn's expression. "Can you tell me that you are so eager to trust *me*?" he asked.

A smile flickered across Aragorn's face, much like the light glinting through the spaces in the curtains. It was wry yet undaunted, full of hope. "Here I am," he said simply, pressing his palm more firmly to Boromir's as he rose to his knees so that they faced one another on equal levels. "If that is not enough to convince you of my faith, then tell me what you need of me."

"And if what I would ask is more than you would give?"

"Then at least I would know your heart, and you would know mine."

Unbidden, Boromir's free hand reached up to tangle in Aragorn's hair, pulling him close. He had intended to show Aragorn nothing but burning hunger. Instead, he kissed the Ranger as though they had all the time in the world, as though the gentle play of lips and tongue was enough to satisfy him.

Finally resigning himself to his fate, Boromir thought that there could never be enough time. His fingers tightened around Aragorn's hand, holding it as though he depended on its strength. "And if my heart longs for you to come home? When we reach the place where our paths might turn, will you ride with me to Minas Tirith and defend Gondor by my side?"

Feeling the scrape of beard against his cheek as the other man shifted, Boromir thought that for the first time Aragorn would evade his challenge. But he only pulled back enough to look at Boromir. His gaze was clear and steady, though sorrow welled in the corners of his eyes. "In truth, I cannot answer you, Boromir. Not now."

"Yet you ask me to trust you." Boromir gave a short, bitter laugh. He pulled away and rose from the bed, beginning to search for his clothing, which was scattered about the room. Had he been wrong to think that what had passed between them was anything more than a power struggle? Fool that he was, he had surrendered all, while Aragorn had held back, hiding in shadows and sweet caresses. Was Isildur's heir so ashamed of his heritage? Boromir risked a quick glance over his shoulder. Aragorn was now sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him silently.

"You know that Elrond fostered me," he said. It was not a question. "And you know that his daughter has pledged herself to me?" Suddenly the voice held a note of fear. Boromir turned to face the Ranger before nodding in acknowledgment. Of course he knew, for he had often seen Aragorn and Arwen together. Yet he wondered what caused the man's sudden unease -- whether he thought that Boromir would not understand his attachment to an elf, or realized that Boromir might resent his vow to another after the night they had shared.

Fingers clenching around the clothing he still held in his hands, Boromir took a deep breath. He closed his eyes a moment then let the clothing fall back to the floor. "And yet." He turned and approached Aragorn again, slowly, and reached out to touch his face. The gesture was not as warm as it had been before, and his eyes held little trace of their earlier emotion -- though he was unable to mask his pain at the reminder of Aragorn's bond to another. "And yet, it was my bed you graced with your presence," he murmured, "and my name you cried out in your passion."

"Yes," Aragorn said simply, placing his hand over Boromir's on his cheek. For a moment Boromir thought the older man might pull his fingers away, but instead he pressed the palm into the heat of his flesh. Without looking away, he turned his lips to press the skin inside Boromir's wrist. Against that exquisitely tender flesh, he whispered, "I could not restrain myself. As you have said, I am no elf. Yet I must walk between the realms, and I may never be able to choose the path you would wish me to."

"I know." The softly spoken words slipped past Boromir's lips before he could stop them. When confronted with the kindness in Aragorn's eyes, he was completely incapable of being selfish. He sighed and turned away to collect the rest of his clothing. "I fear we will one day come to a crossroad, and be forced to part ways. I must return to my city."

He heard Aragorn rise from the bed and come up behind him. "I know." Aragorn's hands were on his hips, and a kiss was pressed to his jaw. He nudged Aragorn in the ribs and spoke teasingly.

"If you keep that up, we will never arrive. They must already wonder what has become of us."

The Ranger gestured toward the open terrace from which the curtains caught the breeze swirling through the room. "In the House of Elrond there are few secrets," he smiled. "The elves have better hearing than we do, but I do not believe that we were quiet even to the ears of men."

Boromir glanced down at the velvet shirt he held in his hands, an emblem of the dignity of the Stewardship...now torn along a seam and stained faintly beneath the collar. "Then...she will know?"

Aragorn gathered his own clothing as he replied. "She knew of my feelings before I could admit them to myself." The softly spoken words troubled Boromir, for he wondered what else Arwen had observed -- had she suspected his own sympathies, even when they hid behind anger and frustration? He dressed in silence, unsure how to respond to this newest revelation. Then, abruptly, he understood what the other man's admission implied.

"She knew of your feelings?"

"Yes." Aragorn stopped tugging on his boots and looked up to meet Boromir's eyes. "The feelings that drew me to you." Silence hung between them as the Ranger finished dressing and then moved to stand before Boromir. "The very feelings that moved me to try to resolve our...differences."

"And you feel now that our differences are resolved?" Boromir smoothed down a wrinkle on Aragorn's shirt, giving him a smile that bordered on shyness. The expression did not quite suit him, and he could see that Aragorn strongly suspected he was being teased. His honesty was making Boromir feel awkward, and Aragorn took pity on him -- if only for that moment.

"If not, we can certainly strive to resolve them later."

"Ah. Good. I feel there may be a few things I still need to discuss with you." Boromir's grin widened and he began moving to the door.

"Such as?"

"Why not save it for another time?"

Aragorn reached out for Boromir's arm. "Because I long to hear you say it."

He met the bright blue eyes, the same brilliant color as the sky gleaming between the curtains which flew like banners in the wind. A gust lifted Aragorn's hair, blowing it across his face. Boromir started to raise a hand to push it back, yet he paused, just as he hesitated to speak the words rising in his throat.

"In truth, I cannot answer you. Not now," he echoed from earlier in their conversation. He saw both disappointment and understanding in Aragorn's expression. "You are not the only one called to a path you may not be able to follow." Aragorn caught his arm in midair and drew him close, resting their foreheads against one another.

They were already late enough as it was, so Boromir assumed that a few more moments alone would not really matter in the end. There would be chance enough for the harsh reality of their situation when Rivendell was behind them, and Mordor loomed dark on the horizon. For now, he would let himself believe they had all the time in the world.

cruisedirector@littlereview.com
ashinae@last-dance.com