Aragorn stands at the window, looking out at the night sky. The night air is cool on his skin, still damp from their lovemaking; he shivers, and grabs for an over-robe. Then smiles when he realizes he'd grabbed the worn, ultra-soft dark green robe that his lover prefers; putting it on, he is immediately wrapped in warmth and scent.
His lover. Even now, it is sometimes difficult to believe. Looking out at the vastness of the stars, he wonders how anyone could love hima33;and trust hima33;so much.
Echoes of a long-ago conversation ring in his memory.
"Do you ever look at the stars at night and feela33;small?"
"No. I feel--connected to something larger than myself, sheltered and protected and given something to search for, to reach for."
Ah, Halbarada33; would that you had not reached so high.
His Steward slips up behind him, wraps strong arms around him, and kisses the small Tree of Gondor tattooed on Aragorn's necka33;a private, rarely-seen mark done to complement the Star of Gondor at the nape of Boromir's neck. Aragorn smiles, and slips his hands along Boromir's forearms, a lover's version of a warrior's grip.
They stand in silence for a time, then Boromir, softly, asks, "What keeps you awake, love?"
"Remembering, I suppose. And still feeling small when I look at the stars."
Boromir falls silent, recalling a clear night on the Quest, when Aragorn had told him of Halbarad. The words come slowly, but he knows they are right. "He would be proud of you, of what you have becomea33;of what his teachings made you."
Aragorn smiles slightly and nods. "I know... but still I miss his wisdom."
He shivers, chilled. Boromir murmurs, "Come to bed, before you catch a chill--I would not have you kept in bed for a cold."
"No, only because that is where you wish me." Aragorn laughs.
"Ah, if only..." and the leer is clear in Boromir's voice.
Aragorn lets himself be led back to their bed, lets Boromir's robe be pushed from his shoulders. Stretching out next to his lover, he asks, "Do you regret that I did not come to you untouched?"
Boromir smiles. "No, for nor did I--I know that Halbarad was your first, and I do not grudge him that. For not only did he teach you how to pleasure a man--but how to love one. And that is far more important."
Aragorn kisses him, a kiss full of all the love and joy and trust between them. When Boromir breaks the kiss for need of breath, Aragorn's eyes are shining. "Let me show you, then, how I love you. My Boromir."
"I am in your hands, my lord... now and always."
Smiling, but silent, Aragorn turns Boromir onto his front, and marvels yet again at his beauty--finely sculpted broad shoulders narrowing to a trim waist, the swell of firm buttocks leading into hard, sculpted thighs and calves, to surprisingly narrow ankles and well-made feet. Well-muscled arms, to broad strong wrists, to fine-boned hands which are as nimble with pleasure as with swordplay.
Aragorn blankets Boromir with his body, feeling the warmth and silk-softness of his skin, reaching out to twine his hands with Boromir's. He says nothing, but they have never needed words as others do. The connection between them hums with pleasure, love, loyalty... but Aragorn cannot stay still for long.
He gently unlaces their hands, running his own up Boromir's arms, then down his back, rubbing and massaging, stroking out what little tension remains. Hands anchored at Boromir's hips, he bends to lick gently at the six-pointed Star of Gondor at the base of Boromir's neck, tasting salt and musky skin. He sets his teeth there, gently but firmly, sucking hard enough to bring the blood to the surface of Boromir's skin, leaving a rich red imprint around the star. "Mine," he murmurs, and Boromir's breathy "yes" is all he needs.
Aragorn continues down Boromir's broad back, nipping at his shoulder blades, licking down his spine, his hands roaming ahead. At the base of Boromir's spine lies another star--and again, he closes his mouth around it, leaving his mark. His hands hold Boromir's hips down in a gentle but firm grip--this is a particularly sensitive spot, which is why he loves it so.
His hands cup the firm globes of Boromir's rump, stroking and fondling. Every circle moves slowly closer to Boromir's center, until finally his thumbs slide down the crease, brushing lightly over that sensitive spot. Under him, Aragorn can feel Boromir tense with anticipation--and he cannot have that. He nips lightly at each cheek, smiling at the "Hey!" that causes... and when Boromir is suitably distracted, draws his tongue in a long lick down the crease of his ass.
A hiss of breath, and Boromir relaxes. Aragorn smiles to himself--with what he has planned, Boromir won't be that relaxed for long. Cupping Boromir's arse in his hands, he slowly pulls both cheeks apart, revealing his target. He blows gently on the puckered hole, loving how it quivers--and loving Boromir's ragged moan. Then, he licks around--but not on--the edges, until Boromir's moans splinter around his name. That is his signal, and he stabs ruthlessly with his tongue, twisting and curving it as deep as he can, thrusting in and out, loving the earthy, musky taste of Boromir, and the deep moans and cries this act can drag from his lover.
But he does not want this to end here, and he gentles the touch, slowly moving away, hands soothing and stroking until Boromir's breathing evens out, his voice less shattered.
Then Aragorn turns him over and does the same to his front, sucking and biting at his nipples, the ridge of muscle across his abdomen, the crease where thigh meets hip--and finally, one long slow lick along his cock, but not letting him come.
Boromir, frantic and needy, meets his eyes, and simply says, "My king... please." And that is all it takes--and as Aragorn sheathes himself in Boromir's tight heat, he kisses the seventh star, tattooed over Boromir's heart. For his heart is Gondor and his heart is his King... and the star is both.
It takes only a few long, deep strokes before Boromir arches in climax, his hand moving furiously over his cock, his release flowing over those broad fingers to splash upon his belly and chest. The muscles of his ass contract around Aragorn, and it is too much--he thrusts in one last time and freezes, feeling his own release spilling into his love, marking him. He slowly lets himself down onto Boromir's chest, feeling those familiar arms wrap around him, and kisses the star once again, chucking when he tastes the familiar salty tang of Boromir's essence.
They both groan when Aragorn slips from Boromir's body... but that separation is only skin; they are tied together in mind and soul, and cannot be separated. Boromir is half-asleep already, murmuring his thanks when Aragorn gently cleans his chest and belly, then turning onto his side into sleep.
Aragorn lies awake a little while longer. He would be proud, Boromir's voice echoes, and he thinks that Boromir is right.
On the edge of sleep, he seems to hear a voice. I *am* proud of you, my captain. You are loved, and I am not forgotten--and I know I was loved and am still. Be at peace, my brother, my captain... my king. A light, insubstantial touch brushes over his forehead, his closed eyes, and a deeper touch to his lips. We will meet again, someday... remember me until then. The sense of presence disappears, slowly.
Smiling, Aragorn turns and wraps himself around Boromir's warmth, falling into dreams where Halbarad and Boromir may join him.
Summary: Aragorn and Boromir, connecting.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1288 Read: 1104
Published: 02 Aug 2009 Updated: 02 Aug 2009