Their swords clattered loud and clanged, ringing with the trademark chime of well-wrought blade on blade. It was then early evening and the setting sun burned brightly in the steel of their arms, in their hair and in their eyes. It turned the stream that ran in the meadow where they fought to a burnished golden ribbon beneath the copper sky. They were in the plains of Rohan, far from home, and were at play.
Crinkles came at Boromir's eyes when he smiled, and he smiled often. Aragorn's cheeks dimpled when he smiled, and that was often, too. They both fought hard though it was just a game and who won it did not matter, their bodies aching from exertion and their arms strained with the well-known weight of their swords. They fought in the meadow ‘til their strength waned and Boromir threw himself forward, a wicked grin on his face; he caught Aragorn about his waist and sent them both sprawling, laughing, to the ground.
"Do you yield?" said Boromir, as he knelt astride Aragorn's thighs. Their swords lay abandoned and his hands grasped loosely at Aragorn's throat.
"I yield," said Aragorn, with darkened eyes.
They were then lately returned from war, in victory, where Kings and Steward had fought side by side under the Oath of Eorl. They had been back in Rohan but a week, lodged at Edoras in rooms given them by the king, near him in the Golden Hall. Eomer had told them should they wish to take up arms and practice they would be most welcome to do so with his captains and himself, but they preferred the quiet of this secluded meadow outside of the city. Eomer took no offence; he understood that there they could be undisturbed.
And undisturbed they were, completely, save perhaps for by the birds singing high in the trees. There was no one to see as Boromir plucked at the buttons of Aragorn's shirt, as he brushed it aside and Aragorn shrugged out of it, lying back then with his bare shoulders to the grass at the foot of an old apple tree. Boromir smiled and lowered his head, nipping and sucking a path over Aragorn's chest, up to the sensitive spot under his jaw where he licked and grazed with his teeth.
Aragorn's fingers caught in Boromir's hair and eased up his head ‘til they looked each other in the eye. "Will you *please* take off that shirt?" asked Aragorn; Boromir sat up and complied, smiling broadly. It was a fine thing, if a trifle gaudy, given him by Eomer's wife Lothoriel. It was green and red and the sleeves were far too long; Aragorn said it reminded him of Theoden's tent those years ago at Dunharrow, in clothing form. Boromir pulled it off over his head.
Aragorn's hands roamed over Boromir's chest, grazing over his hard nipples, sweeping over the trail of fair hair that vanished beneath the buckle of his belt. He glanced into Boromir's eyes for a moment and then toyed with the buckle, opening it slowly, then trailed his fingers over the laces fastening his trousers. Boromir's arousal was apparent, as was Aragorn's own. He tugged the laces open.
Boromir's fingers curled around his own erection as he sat there, still pinning Aragorn to the ground with his weight pressing down over his thighs. He stroked it once, twice, let his thumb circle lazily on the head, spreading the small drops of moisture gathered there. He reached down between his legs, his free hand cupping at his balls, and Aragorn watched avidly, his own erection hardening still further within its frustrating confines. He sat up a little, leaning back on his hands, so that the head of Boromir's cock pressed roughly at his navel.
"Move", he said, and Boromir frowned. "Just for a moment. Take *everything* off".
And so he did. A few sharp movements and, divested of his clothing, Boromir stretched out atop him.
Aragorn pulled him in and kissed him then, with all the heat and passion of the sun that was setting above them. He spread wide his thighs and pulled Boromir down closer, one hand at his broad back and the other twined tight in his hair. It stole their breath away and made their hearts race in their chests. Then Boromir pulled back.
"I want to be inside you", he said, his voice thick with desire. Aragorn just nodded.
He moved, pulled off Aragorn's boots and trousers and discarded them carelessly; he lay back down on top of him and both men drew sharp breaths as their erections brushed together. Aragorn reached for his clothing as Boromir reached for the bag that he had left by the foot of the tree; Aragorn pushed the clothes in under his hips and Boromir pulled a small phial of oil from the bag.
Aragorn took it from him as he knelt there between his thighs; he spread it over his hands and shifted a little, his bare back against the soft grass and his hips lifted by his clothes. "Hold my legs", he said, spreading them wider, and so Boromir did; he watched, rapt, as Aragorn reached down between his thighs.
He stroked the thick, clear oil down over his hard cock, then squeezed his balls with the same oily hand; Boromir's own tightened and his breath caught, his hands gripping tightly at Aragorn's calves. Then Aragorn's hands delved further down, slick fingers circling the tight hole there before pressing on inside. His free hand clasped Boromir's as he pressed his fingers in, first one then two, and he gasped, shuddering slightly. Then he withdrew.
"I'm ready", he said. "Now".
Boromir took the oil and spread it liberally, as Aragorn watched. Then he leaned forward, pressed forward, leaning down over his waiting lover as he pushed down slowly, deep inside. Their gazes locked. Aragorn's hands gripped at Boromir's forearms, and Boromir began to thrust. Aragorn bucked back against him, then slipped one hand between them down to his own hardness. They grasped at each other, nails on sweat-slicked skin, and kissed hard, breathless, needy. Aragorn clawed at Boromir's back and Boromir thrust harder, deeper, ‘til they were moaning load and shivering, shuddering to completion.
Aragorn came first, between them, his cry startling the birds. Boromir was not long after, his cry muffled by the side of Aragorn's neck.
***
They lay in silence for some moments after, breathing hard side by side there on the grass. Their slick skin glowed in the failing sunlight, beneath the perfect spring blossom of the apple tree. But the day was turning into night and the air was growing colder; soon they had to dress, with hands and glances lingering at each other's clothes and clasps, before they sat back down with shoulders pressed together and drew their cloaks around them.
Aragorn tucked his long dark hair behind his ears and gazed back at the banners of the city. Boromir's fair hair was greying at his temples; the two men looked the same age then, despite the real difference between them. It hurt that Aragorn would outlive him, but he pushed that thought from his mind. It had no place there. Outside of Gondor they held themselves free of such cares.
"Do you remember Amon Hen?" he asked, turning then to face him as a new thought struck.
Aragorn's rough hand went to trace the place that the scar lay at Boromir's shoulder, under his clothing; it was one of many that littered his body, and Aragorn knew them all, but it was the scar of the uruk-hai arrow that chilled him most. "Yes, I do," he said. "You could have died."
"And so I might have."
He brushed his hand slowly over Aragorn's covered collarbone, up over the curve of his shoulder to catch at the back of his neck. He kissed him quickly, softly, then drew back.
"You told me that day I had to live."
"I did."
Boromir smiled, and drew him close. "And this is what I lived for," he said.
Summary: Aragorn meets someone unexpected on the corsair ships.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: Five Things That Never Happened to Boromir of GondorChapters: 5 Completed: Yes
Word count: 8372 Read: 8622
Published: 07 Aug 2009 Updated: 07 Aug 2009
Author's Chapter Notes:
Boromir gets his happy ending.