There was a bullfinch, ruddy chest and black cap, sitting on the heights of the damson tree, its branches fanned out against the old stone wall close to the house. Boromir caught sight of it as he folded back the first shutter on the morning light and Aragorn, his head propped up on one hand, saw his man begin to wave an angry fist and growl deep in his chest as he stood square in the open casement. The light pouring into the room was gilding him, hip and flank, and Aragorn thought him a hero stepped from a tapestry, except that the silken figures hanging in the great hall did not usually curse so fluently, nor so long.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A bullfinch on the damson,” Boromir replied, taking a step forward and shaking his fists, “he’s stripping the leaf buds off the branches,” and with that he gave a roar that Aragorn thought must surely have been heard on the level below, waited for a moment and then turned back into the room with a satisfied “Hmmph!”
“I shall have to see them netted,” he said. He stood for a moment surveying the scene, the naked man sprawled across the rumpled sheets and his head cocked slightly to one side, so that Aragorn thought he looked a little like a bird himself. Then Boromir’s mouth twitched and the narrow green-eyed smile that began to spread across his face made Aragorn begin to think himself to be the bird about to fall into the clutches of a great golden cat, to be toyed with, trapped and teased by velvet paws that hid the sharpest steel.
As Boromir launched himself forward, Aragorn rolled hastily from under the outstretched body and scrambled up to straddle his man, who’d landed with a shout of laughter face down on the bed.
His King’s weight on his back, Boromir was grumbling and cursing good-naturedly, endeavouring to push himself up on his arms. Before he could get his knees under him and buck him off, Aragorn closed his knees about Boromir’s ribs.
“Peace, old lion,” he murmured, whilst beneath him Boromir spluttered with laughter and then gave a snarl that would have scared the horses, as his hands flexed and clenched on the sheets. For a few moments he twisted and turned, snarling and spitting. One angry yowl and Boromir threw his head back, half turned towards him. Aragorn caught a glimpse of a green eye, sparking fire, and a sharp white tooth beneath a curled lip.
“Peace,” he said again and reached forward to lay his hands loosely over his man’s, rubbing his bearded cheek back and forth against Boromir’s shoulder.
Boromir settled then but the great cat still hissed and growled low in his throat and the sound was running through his whole frame, making the ribs pressed against Aragorn’s knees shudder, making the flesh pressed to his taint tremble.
He sat upright gasping for breath and it seemed as though the chamber were filled with braziers, so hot was the air become and suddenly heavy with musk. Where bodies touched, their skin was becoming slippery with sweat and as the cat purred now Aragorn could feel the blood pooling in his groin, feel the throb as his cock filled, hardened.
Beneath him Boromir was still, silent for a moment and then Aragorn felt the subtle flex of hip and groin as he began to search for some friction on the linens. The lion was panting quietly, rubbing himself against the sheet. Aragorn knelt up some to give him room and a hiss of breath between clenched teeth made him sink down again, his man held close between his knees.
Aragorn had himself in hand, tight and hot, a thumb spreading the moisture around and over the purpled head and when he thought he might cry out he thrust his other hand into his mouth. The panting was becoming heavier, the movement on the mattress more urgent. As he heard the breath begin to catch in Boromir’s throat, the hand about his cock became a blur and with the other he reached back and let his fingers slip into Boromir’s cleft, searching out his hole, pressing, sliding inward as the body beneath him shuddered and heaved.
The seed that bubbled through his fingers, spattering across Boromir’s bowed neck as he gasped for breath, brought a low chuckle from his spent lion.
“Peace, love,” Boromir said, flexing his shoulders and rolling his head to ease tired muscles.
The cum resembled a chain, silver-white against golden skin and Aragorn thought how well a collar of mithril would look on his old lion. Perhaps, he thought, next time the bird would bell-the-cat.
Summary: Aragorn sets himself a challenge
Rated: NC-17
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 799 Read: 636
Published: 08 Apr 2012 Updated: 08 Apr 2012
Story Notes:
DISCLAIMER: "These characters originate with their copyright holders. I borrow them for entertainment, not profit."