Faramir Fiction Archive

Revelation (NC-17)

Written by Carla Jane

03 April 2004 | 5987 words

Title: Revelation
Author: Carla Jane
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Faramir
Disclaimers: Tolkien,Jackson and various artists own these toys. I don't mean any harm.

Boromir has an encounter with his friend, Corwin. Faramir sees more than he should and decides to act on his discovery.

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Boromir hadn’t meant to follow Aragorn out of the council. They’d begun speaking in one corner of the meeting area, discussing all the possible routes to Mordor. It just happened that Aragorn started walking without ceasing his quietly voiced musings on their upcoming journey. Part of Boromir’s temperament baulked at the way he was being manipulated, certain that Aragorn was doing it on purpose. It was the sort of trick father would use on potential advisors that were too timid to take seriously. Father would make them chase him all over the battlements if they wanted to speak to him, usually losing them along the way. Still, Aragorn was a Ranger. He walked constantly. That could just be how he ploughed through his thoughts. Boromir was forced to admit it might just be happenstance that had him chasing after the dark-haired man. Either way, he followed, falling in step with Aragorn.

There was an irresistible magnetism about Aragorn that inwardly infuriated Boromir. A Ranger had no right to command his attention this way, even if a King did… but Boromir acknowledged no King. This man had no entitlement to Boromir’s attention. He should stop in place. He should turn down the next corridor and leave this upstart claimant to Gondor’s throne to talk to himself… but he couldn’t. Boromir spun out a few possibilities that justified his lingering in Aragorn’s company. They would soon be companions on the road and so they should act accordingly. This man was a trained Ranger and his opinion of the road was important. The elves and the wizard, Gandolf, seemed to think Aragorn someone who should be listened to, and Boromir was under instructions from his father to take what the elves told him to heart. All of those reasons seemed valid enough, but all Boromir knew was he ‘wanted’ to be near Aragorn. He had felt the urge to approach Aragorn when he’d first seen the man looking up from his book, and Boromir likely would have if he hadn’t been so caught off guard at not noticing the Ranger sooner. The man’s gaze had qualities of a shuttered flame. Boromir had wanted to speak but his tongue hadn’t worked so he’d retreated to keep his dignity intact. Looking sideways at the man even now, Boromir ‘wanted’ Aragorn.

That last thought came out of nowhere and rattled Boromir to the soles of his feet. He stumbled and might have fallen if it weren’t for a steadying grip on his arm. That touch, however had it’s own dangers. Boromir flinched and pulled away as if the contact burnt him. “What trickery?” Pale eyes open wide, Boromir stepped back until his spine met the cool of a wall. His gaze swept up and down the man before him raising heat that prickled under his skin.

“You merely stumbled. I caught you. Is that a problem, Boromir?” There was that devilish lilt in Aragorn’s voice and his eyes glittered, pinning the younger man in place. “We are to be companions, shield brothers… it seemed the right thing, to begin looking out for you even now.”

Boromir’s face heated suddenly then chilled just as quickly. That term meant different things in different kingdoms and he had no idea which one Aragorn referred to. His gaze dropped to the smooth floor and he sought after another line of speech to cover the rush of arousal attempting to flood through him. He refused to entertain such thoughts as Aragorn’s nearness provoked, not now, not here. “I should think the halflings will take more care than either you or I. It’s a powerful responsibility, looking out for those little ones. A task Gondor must aid with. My father taught me to take responsibility very seriously.” That seemed a safe line conversation and mentioning his father invariably reinforced Boromir’s self-control in every way.

After seeing him first in the shrine of the broken blade, then again at Elrond’s council… Aragorn couldn’t help but compare Boromir to slowly rising storm.

At first glance Boromir seemed the very image of his father in face and form. The Steward was a straightforward man of Gondor, dependable and welcome as rain on farmland. The warrior’s solid frame and fierce expression mimicked his father, Denethor, as did the general shape of his features but there was something more to Boromir. Something impossible to grasp, like a shock of wild lighting flashing over the darkness of the forest. That strangeness appeared most often in Boromir’s light green eyes, a gift from his mother. That duality and depth showed up in his manner as well. Boromir’s father’s temperament showed in every public move the son made. Well-earned pride in his people and his own achievements gave Boromir the courage to stand up and speak his mind, to fight for whatever was best for Gondor. But it seemed even as one face was turned to the world another was hidden safely away, only to shown in flashes, perhaps to either an empty room or just one or two close friends. It had been near on painful to watch the look of wonder and reverence for Isildur’s mural and sword snuff out as soon as Boromir realized that he was not safely alone in the dimly lit alcove.

Aragorn’s love for Arwen was impossibly deep and abiding. He loved his elf-maid with his very soul, but sometimes… and this was one of those times, the human that lay almost dormant inside Aragorn, called out for something else. Something wild, unpredictable and completely mortal. Boromir’s relative youth and tempestuous nature, so carefully guarded behind a mask of responsibility and worldliness, called out to Aragorn. The only question was how to draw that spirit out.

For now, Aragorn walked, leading Boromir through the winding passages of Rivendell back to the rooms that Aragorn had called home for so many years. “The little ones will prove stronger than they seem, I suspect.” It wasn’t much further and Boromir would feel the need to break away once they reached the door.

In the end, Aragorn chose the straightest path. They came to a sudden halt. Aragorn gave no warning of the destination until they arrived at it. “This is my room.” Daring greatly, Aragorn reached out to catch hold of Boromir’s upper arm. “I would have you come inside.”

The blond man startled, looking down at the point of contact between them, not daring to meet Aragorn’s eyes. “You have maps in there?”

Aragorn had to stifle a chuckle of amusement, knowing Boromir would misunderstand his amusement and he wanted no misunderstandings between them this afternoon. “Yes, but we will not be looking at them for I keep them in a box in the sitting room… and I would like you in my bedroom, Boromir.” Leaving nothing to interpretation, Aragorn smoothed a caress up the strong arm under his fingers.

With his head shaking slightly, as if in refusal, Boromir tensed. The eloquence he showed in the council completely vanished. “I can’t. It would be… unwise.” Still, he made no attempt to either shrug off the touch or withdraw. “We shouldn’t. I might under other… but I do not… do… such things with other men, in the light of day… without reason.”

Testing, Aragorn let his hand drift up Boromir’s arm and onto his shoulder. Fingers brushed Boromir’s jaw and into his hair. The action earned a breathless gasp from Boromir and the blond leaned into the gentle touch even as his hands clenched into fists. “Do not do this to me.”

“I would never force. I only ask.” Aragorn leaned in to whisper the words, keeping them private. “Come lay down with me. I greatly want to touch you like this all over your body.” It was all too simple to guess what Boromir’s reaction might be like if Aragorn’s fingertips traced skin more sensitive than a cheek and Aragorn intensely wanted to feel that. “Don’t be frightened.” The words were a dangerous choice that could ruin everything, but Aragorn couldn’t help but voice them.

Oh yes, there it was, Aragorn grinned. Skyfire flashing, turning pale green eyes to almost silver.

Boromir’s countenance lit up with barely contained emotion. “I’m not afraid! I’m no maid, no child!” A hint of a sneer pulled at Boromir’s lips.

“Then come inside Boromir, warrior of Gondor,” Aragorn dared, delighted with the other man’s reactions. Still simmering beautifully, Boromir pushed past, opening the door himself and striding inside as if it were his own. Aragorn followed quickly, unsure how long this burst of bravado would last. “That’s the bedroom.” A finger flicked, indicating a wide arch.

Boromir only had to turn and take a few steps before he was just inside the entrance. That was as far as he got. Faced with the massive, elegantly carved bed, he froze.

Stepping carefully, Aragorn eased past the other.

“There is an oddness to my being here.” Boromir looked about the bedchamber, tension showing in every line of his body. “On the night before a battle when we might all die I have… taken some comfort where it was offered… most men do, but I do not lay down with men at home.” His chin lifted. Leaving wasn’t an option. He didn’t want to leave. His cheek was still tingling from their passing contact outside and Boromir greatly desired to feel that same spark of sensation elsewhere on his body… but a proper bed… with sheets and pillows. This setting of elfish luxury had nothing in common with the situations of Boromir’s other encounters with men. This was the sort of place he would take one of the ladies he trysted with.

Aragorn padded across the room, choosing to sit on the bed. That kept a little distance between himself and Boromir even as his choice of perches suggested the intimacy Aragorn wished to share with the blond. “This is not Gondor, Boromir. It will be long months before you see your home again and comfort will be in short supply once we leave Rivendell.”

“Yes, I suppose that is the truth,” Boromir quietly responded. He felt curiously eager to lay hands on this man, a situation he’d never encountered before. Normally his encounters with other warriors involved no more than pushing away only whatever clothing was needful and tending to business. Caresses, fondling and shows of affection were something to be lavished on women. Still, he was strangely anxious to strip Aragorn down to skin and actually feel him, even as he was hesitant to move in the other man’s direction. Honestly, Boromir wasn’t at all sure of how he felt or exactly what he wanted from Aragorn. His mind was in turmoil, and all Boromir really knew was that he didn’t wish to leave this man’s company, not yet.

The look Aragorn turned on Boromir was frightening in it’s intensity. He seemed to be able to read Boromir’s every thought at a glance. “This un-mans me,” the blond man finally admitted, crossing his arms over his chest to contain a shiver. “I feel exposed and I do not like it.” Grey-green eyes shot toward the door, then back again. He suddenly wanted to know if Aragorn had locked it behind them but was uncertain if having it so was a good thing or a bad thing. Could he open it if he needed to? Did he want to? What if someone came in and found them doing all the things that were skittering and flashing across Boromir’s mind? A sigh gusted out.

“I won’t stop you if you wish to leave, Boromir.” The assurance was softly spoken with no trace of accusation in it.

It would have been easier for Boromir if there was a taunt hidden in these words too, something he could raise his temper at but there wasn’t, not this time. It was just a simple offer. “I want to be here.” His own voice sounded oddly thin to Boromir’s ears. “I would like to… stay.”

“Would you come over and sit beside me?” Aragorn asked, pointedly setting his palm on the mattress next to him.

Boromir took the few steps necessary to cross the space between them with movements so stiff he might have been a puppet in a play. He sat next to Aragorn, settling in the exact spot the other man had indicated. Boromir turned to steal a glance at Aragorn, to gauge how his strained obedience to the request had skewed things between them, only to find that Aragorn was still staring at him. His gaze caught, Boromir’s eyes widened in reaction. Boromir’s lips formed several words, but all were discarded, unvoiced.

Slowly and cautiously, Aragorn’s face leaned toward Boromir’s. It startled Boromir to realize they were now kissing. Kissing had no place in an encounter between grown men, yet here it was, and it felt wonderful. The contact was at first tentative. They tested one another. Tongue, lips, teeth were all carefully sensed, touched, and probed, but the kissing became progressively hungrier until it grew hotly passionate. They were almost devouring each other and soft, embarrassingly eager, noises rattled Boromir’s throat.

Convention be damned, nothing had felt this good in too long. He wasn’t going to waste it. Boromir settled his hand on Aragorn’s leg and, as the kissing heated up, he moved it up aggressively to Aragorn’s crotch. Boromir cupped Aragorn’s clothed balls and squeezed rhythmically, purposefully punctuating his kisses with squeezes and thoroughly aware of the feel of the erection pressing up into his hand. The nervousness that Boromir had felt diminished as they moved into territory he understood. Kissing Aragorn was as odd as it was exciting, but hard flesh pressed into his palm and manly desperation were something Boromir had dealt with before.

Aragorn was the one to finally break off the prolonged kissing and groping. He paused. It was the briefest of moments, yet it was an instant that would shake the very foundations of Boromir’s soul. It was the instant when Aragorn gifted with Boromir a look of unrelenting passion, without any coyness or flirtation to soften the blow. “I want you. All of you.” Aragorn reached for Boromir’s clothing and plucked at the first buckle on his vest. “I need you undressed, lovely Boromir. Completely bare. I want to see all of you.”

A shudder of reaction delayed things, but gradually Boromir began to peel away his bracers, leather, mail, and silks. He shucked his boots and pulled his pants off. His growing erection was raging for the freedom of exposure. He would have been content to just bare himself at the waist, but more had been asked of him and despite how odd it felt, at this moment, Boromir was willing to give it.

Aragorn, who had briskly slipped out of his vest and shirt in what looked like one economical movement, knelt down to help peel away Boromir’s many layers. Aragorn’s assistance, however, was cut short as Boromir’s hardening cock was freed to lift away from his body.

Resting one hand firmly on the curve of Boromir’s arse, and grasping the shaft with his other hand, Aragorn drew Boromir’s cock into his mouth. Boromir froze, his breath catching in his chest and a pained moan escaped him. Boromir’s back cheeks were being squeezed in Aragorn’s strong hand. His erection throbbed on Aragorn’s lips as the head was carefully circled by a warm, moist tongue. For some reason he couldn’t pinpoint right now in his shattered thoughts, Boromir had assumed he would be the one expected to kneel and service Aragorn.

Too quickly, Boromir felt like he might loose his load into Aragorn’s demanding mouth, and yet, even as he tried to pull away, Aragorn took the shaft deeper into his throat. It was almost beyond imagining that Aragorn would so feverishly swallow him. The man was Boromir’s king. And there it was. Even as Boromir had publicly denied it mattered, this man was the heir of Isildur. This man kneeling before him like a camp-follower was destined to be Boromir’s master, and that prospect terrified Boromir in ways he couldn’t begin to voice.

Mayhaps if this strange encounter had shifted another way, Boromir might be able to shake it off afterward with a laugh and a jest… or perhaps blocked it out with resentment if he’d been simply subjugated, but it overwhelmed him. It was wonderful. As it was, his fingers shook with something like reverence as he reached down to touch the dark curls of the man making him feel like he was dying and coming alive at the same time.

Aragorn revelled in the sensation of Boromir’s hard flesh in his mouth. It wasn’t something he made a habit out of, but Aragorn had taken a fair number of erections into in mouth during the course of his long life. Somehow though, wrapping his mouth around Boromir’s cock seemed like one of the most natural things he’d ever done. The feel of the tip pulsing against his tongue was intoxicating, and the sliding of the stiff shaft in and out of his mouth felt fantastic.

Aragorn could both feel and hear it as Boromir approached orgasm. Boromir’s groans grew louder and more guttural as the vein pushing on Aragorn’s tongue throbbed hotter and faster.

Aragorn had half-way intended to play more with Boromir, not allowing him come so soon, and certainly Boromir didn’t expect satisfaction this quickly. At this point, though, both knew there was no delaying the inevitable. An almost vicious squeeze on his behind triggered it. Boromir spilled into Aragorn’s mouth with a gut-wrenching groan of completion. Aragorn kept his lips tightly wrapped around the base of Boromir’s shaft in an effort to contain Boromir’s sticky seed. Even so, milky droplets seeped out of the corners of his mouth.

Aragorn slowly pulled back, not swallowing, but rather holding the spill in his mouth. Raising slowly, a sinuous movement, Aragorn aligned his lips with Boromir’s. There was a moment’s hesitation when Aragorn leaned forward to press a kiss on his new lover, then Boromir’s lips parted, a faint whine escaping as they did.

The kiss broke only long enough for Boromir to drag in a breath then he went wild, clutching at Aragorn. Fingers dug into one bicep while Boromir’s other hand caught at and tangled into dark curls. The sharp edge of Boromir’s teeth almost, but didn’t quite cut Aragorn’s lips.

Gradually, the frantic level of Boromir’s caresses eased a little. “You enjoyed that.” Aragorn’s tone was more than a little smug when he was finally able to speak again.

“Merciful… oh… the feel of you is astounding,” breathed Boromir. Almost mindlessly he pushed back tight, demanding another sharply flavoured kiss.

When that flurry of oral exploration finally slowed, Aragorn was panting as well. After licking his lips, Aragorn finally responded, “The taste of you is even moreso, lovely Boromir.”

The other man winced slightly, unsure of how to take the complement.

Disturbed by the frown that seemed to be attempting to tarnish Boromir’s pleasure in what was happening, Aragorn gave him just a little space. “I can not believe you stayed upright through that. My skills must not be as considerable as I believe.” Rather than suggesting it aloud, Aragorn pressed gently, indicating that his lover should rest back on the bed.

Once Boromir’s knees unlocked, he was lost. He collapsed on the bed, completely spent and amazed by what they had done. He, Boromir, heir to the Steward of Gondor, had just crawled over Aragorn like a love-starved girl on midsummer’s eve demanding kisses… ‘kisses’ from another man. A king, his king, had just swallowed Boromir’s cock. The very idea was foundation shattering. Worst of all, he had done it, not because there were not women about, but simply because that was what his body desired… and now he wanted more.

Looking up at Aragorn sent a rush of heat through Boromir. He’d been wrong. That concept wasn’t the strangest thing however. The strangest thing was the desire growing in his body right now to return the act with something even more. The emptiness he felt in his mouth was rapidly being overcome by a hunger somewhere else. He was no innocent. He’d seen and heard many things and one of those ‘things’ hit Boromir like a bolt from the heavens. His mouth went dust dry as his mind suddenly visualized Aragorn, pressing up against him, sliding that erection that at this moment strained right before Boromir’s face, into Boromir’s arse.

Breath catching and pupils dilated to almost swallow the green, Boromir stared up at Aragorn. Conventions be damned, he wanted Aragorn’s body so badly it actually pained him. The path to Mordor lay before them and Boromir couldn’t help but think they both might die protecting the ringbearer. He would take what pleasure he wanted and worry about the consequences later.

Aragorn had at some point doffed his shoes and socks, but he still wore his leggings. It was unacceptable next to Boromir’s nudity. Boromir wanted to taste this man’s skin, every curve and crevice of it. Sitting up a bit straighter as if to convey his commitment to what was about to happen, Boromir teasingly inquired, “Why is it that you are still covered? Will you not join me in undress?”

Glancing down at his leggings as if to see for himself, Aragorn smiled. “It does seem unfair, doesn’t it?”

“Come closer. Stand in front of me,” Boromir heard himself say. His nervousness had eased now the choice had been made and he was anxious to take in the sight of Aragorn’s entire body.

Aragorn’s bared chest was well defined. His shoulders were strong if not terribly prominent and his stomach was smooth and taut. Aragorn’s biceps were visibly defined even when relaxed. Even so, Aragorn didn’t have a bulky build. He was lean, built like the deep-forest ranger he was.

Boromir, on the other hand, had earned the body of warrior, wielding a sword since he was old enough to lift it. As Aragorn stepped closer, Boromir snaked out of the last of his own coverings, a shirt that had clung to one of his arms. His own solid frame was completely revealed as he sat on the edge of the bed in all his naked glory.

At this moment, Boromir felt perfectly content and in tune with his situation and surroundings. He could feel the cloud-soft rug under his toes, the slightly rumpled bedspread under his bare skin, the cooling air of the evening drifted in the window to wrap around his body, and then there was that o’ so warm presence a mere step away. His body seemed all afire. His downy-fine body hairs stood on end, his cock stirred once more, and his heart began beating almost madly. His mind still crackled with sensation rather than sense and he was unable to concentrate.

Aragorn stood right before Boromir and looked down at his lover with eyes that were asking for something… yet already seemed to know what would happen next. Boromir could easily discern the bulging, shadowy shape that Aragorn’s legging attempted to contain and he could smell Aragorn’s arousal. The aroma of constrained manhood was distinct and well familiar to Boromir from his time in the field with his men.

Without waiting another moment, Boromir eased down Aragorn’s leggings. Aragorn’s hard cock dragged down briefly, then it was completely revealed, a shaft far larger than Boromir had expected. Once the tip was free, the cock sprang up to a rakishly high angle.

Aragorn allowed Boromir the time to stare though it was hard to hold back at the sight of the blond’s lips parted in amazement. Even so, Aragorn’s body was demanding some kind of stimulation. Keeping his tone a cautious whisper, Aragorn gave voice to his need. “Touch me, Boromir.” Perhaps a hint of command tainted his tone, but Aragorn did manage to restrain himself from catching at the lovely golden mane so temptingly near his twitching fingers. “Touch it. I know you want to.”

Breathing carefully, as if he might shatter if his chest heaved too heavily, Boromir took the dark erection in his hands, testing it’s firmness with his fingertips, feeling the powerful throb of blood just under thin skin. The shaft twitched, as if it objected to being confined by two hands, as if it had an independent life of its own. Boromir had held only a few hard cocks before, but all of those times had been cloaked in either darkness or uncommon haste. This careful seeing and feeling another man’s raging erection, was both frightening and terribly arousing. Boromir could feel his whole body shivering with excitement as he fondled Aragorn’s thick erection.

It was such a beautiful mouth, and it hovered so close. Yet more authority crept into Aragorn’s voice. “Taste me, Boromir. Open your mouth, lovely one.”

He responded near mindlessly, allowing the endearment to simply wash over him. Boromir pressed the hardened flesh against his cheek, savouring the warm power and the astonishing reality of the shaft in his hands. Then, bit-by-bit, Boromir slipped the hard rod between his lips. It was an exquisite feeling. The firm cock pulsed on his tongue, and the head and front of the shaft more than filled Boromir’s mouth. A small, breathy moan, demanded escape so Boromir slowly eased Aragorn’s hard sex back out of his mouth. Experimenting, he kept his lips tightly closed about the heated shaft. Boromir found himself liking the feel of it and if the groan above his head was any indication, Aragorn did, too. A moment later Boromir swiftly and surely forced the full length in once more, restraining the urge to choke by force of will. Aragorn’s cock-head throbbed at the back of Boromir’s throat.

Aragorn groaned as his cock pulsed, growing increasingly needy inside Boromir’s hungry mouth. “Sweet Boromir. Stop. Wait,” Aragorn uttered breathlessly. Wary of causing pain, still, Aragorn gave way to the urge to catch at Boromir’s golden hair and he pulled, as gently as he could, urging him off. “Please, my love… I want inside you, inside your lovely body.” The word had to be used for a thin veil of confusion still lingered between them. “Your behind, love. Right into your body. Let me show you how good it can feel.” Aragorn was fairly certain Boromir had never experienced such a thing before.

Boromir quaked. His feeling of nervousness hadn’t wholly vanished it seemed, and yet he ‘was’ excited at the prospect even as it disturbed him. In a sign of assent, Boromir allowed Aragorn’s blood-hot shaft to slip out of his mouth.

A long, deep breath shivered out of Aragorn. He knelt perilously close, almost looming over the other. “You need to move. I need you in the middle of the bed… on your knees but bent over. Let your elbows and forearms hold your weight.” The instructions were carefully spoken, his tone cautious, wary of Boromir panicking.

Slight tremors slowed him, but Boromir moved slowly into the pose requested of him. The position muffled his sight even as it exposed him more thoroughly than he could believe possible. Relying on sound, and the shifting of the bed as Aragorn moved he had a moment’s warning that the other man was behind him prior to a warm hand coming to rest on his flank.

“That’s perfect.” Both of Aragorn’s palms now smoothed over the curve of Boromir’s lower cheeks in soothing caresses. “You look beautiful this way.”

The proprietal tone of the other’s voice made Boromir suspect he should baulk, shake Aragorn away and retreat to his own rooms until this madness passed, but he’d never been so thoroughly aroused before in his life. He was on fire and frozen at the same time. His erection had returned faster than seemed possible and it was already aching as if he’d gone unfulfilled for days.

Too soon, and not soon enough, Boromir felt Aragorn’s hands concentrate on what lay between the cheeks of his arse. They were gently spread apart and a brush of sensation shocked him to the core.

Aragorn stroked his finger down the exposed crease a few more times, testing Boromir’s reactions to the contact. The moans that the action earned suggested that it was safe to proceed. Catching his cock in the same hand that had been teasing, Aragorn set the tip at Boromir’s virgin entrance and pressed just a tiny bit, testing.

When he pulled back and Boromir let out a faint wail of loss, Aragorn knew for sure his partner was willing. “Soon, very soon, lover.” Fingers dug into skin. Bending, Aragorn huffed out a breath of air at the sensitive entrance to Boromir’s body in warning, and then flicked out his tongue. If he hadn’t been holding Boromir tightly, the blond surely would have thrown himself off the bed and onto the floor in reaction. As it was, heaving shudders shook Boromir’s frame at every flick of Aragorn’s tongue.

“Ancestors… I can’t… Oh…” The words made little sense, being mere gasps and groans more than anything else. Boromir had fallen to rest on his shoulders and the side of his face. One hand clawed uselessly at soft sheets, the other was clenched. “Aragorn!” He jolted as Aragorn’s tongue breached him then withdrew.

Just when Boromir thought he couldn’t take any more and would shoot if one more lick were given, Aragorn’s mouth pulled away. “NO!” Boromir’s spine bowed. “Don’t stop!” he pleaded desperately.

“Trust me, Boromir. You’ll like this even more,” Aragorn assured in a ragged tone as he shifted back up to his knees. They would use oil next time but for now all that saliva would have to suffice. Boromir was more than eager and he, himself, was leaking profusely. Aragorn was certain it was enough. Once more Aragorn pressed his hard cock up against Boromir’s tight but moistened, all-too-inviting hole.

Aragorn’s knuckles stroked over curved skin before his hand dropped to cup his balls and the base of his hard shaft. The wait had been long enough and his erection was throbbing and weeping. Steadying himself with his fingers, Aragorn pushed. He felt resistance from Boromir’s body but by steadily increasing the pressure the head of his shaft he eventually penetrated his lover. Holding there, Aragorn concentrated on the texture of Boromir’s gasps. “You like it.” No small sense of pride tainted the announcement. “It gets better.” Carefully Aragorn pushed just a little further into Boromir’s body.

He hadn’t known what to expect, but much to his amazement, Boromir found himself craving more. The feel of Aragorn’s shaft stretching him out and filling him up made his own cock jump with excitement. The sensations flashed out from the place their bodies connected to sent sparks all through Boromir. His balls were tightening up and his body wanted to move.

That movement seemed too long coming, so Boromir pressed himself back against Aragorn’s cock. A grunt and groan from Aragorn spiced the physical pleasure he felt as his body enveloped more of Aragorn’s.

“You’re ready then.” Aragorn took Boromir by the hips and started slowly rocking, rhythmically thrusting himself deeper into the tight heat, out, and deeper again. The steady stroke repeated over and over, growing longer at each thrust.

The deep rhythm was making Boromir rock-hard, and he could feel himself rapidly approaching orgasm again. His cock was jerking with renewed hunger at every re-entry Aragorn made. Boromir’s entire focus was on the feel of Aragorn thrusting into him, the shaft sliding smoothly in and out, stretching him. Boromir swore he could even distinguish the head of Aragorn’s dick as it pressed deeply inside his body.

Aragorn was panting now, picking up the pace. He was practically draped over Boromir’s back, teeth bared to one strong shoulder.

Boromir couldn’t resist any longer and he had to seize his own painful erection while Aragorn enthusiastically continued to stroke into his lover’s body. With his hand wrapped around his own shaft, it only took a couple of sliding squeezes before Boromir exploded. His seed splattered over the elegant bedspread and slickened his hand as he groaned in quiet pleasure.

As Boromir dripped out the last of his come, Aragorn let out a near roar and made one final, brutal thrust into Boromir’s body. Teeth cut into the skin at Boromir’s shoulder but even that couldn’t detract from the feel of Aragorn’s cock shuddering deep inside him. Aragorn’s fingers were unrelenting in their grip on Boromir’s waist. Boromir couldn’t have escaped the overpowering hold he was trapped in even if he’d wanted to. Aragorn moaned, a deep, guttural sound.

Boromir was weakened by his second orgasm and by Aragorn’s complete weight on his spine. He collapsed, dropping on top of his pool of seed. Caught off guard by the loss of Boromir’s support, Aragorn fell as well. Aragorn landed solidly on Boromir.

“Uh,” Boromir grunted as the breath was knocked out of him. “Oh. That was….”

“Incredible,” Aragorn finished the sentence for his lover with obvious satisfaction and some weariness. “Boromir, lover.” His fingers traced an absent-minded pattern on sweat-slick skin.

Boromir lay in the damp spot on the plush, embroidered bedspread. His mind struggled with the many thoughts that threatened to burst into life at the realization of what had just happened. Oddly enough, Boromir realized, he had enjoyed it when Aragorn collapsed atop him. The feel of a naked man on his back, of Aragorn… against him and still inside him, was incredible. The sensation of the full length of Boromir’s bare body pressed against the front of Aragorn’s strong form, with their legs intertwined was erotic beyond anything he’d could recall doing with a woman. Boromir let loose a long, shuddering sigh. He was lost. Gods, but he was completely lost.

“It’s all right,” Aragorn soothed, stoking Boromir’s shoulder. After another pause, Aragorn spoke again, “You are a wondrous lover. I would have you stay here with me until our journey begins, Boromir. There are so many things I want to do to your beautiful body.” Flesh parted with a small hiss from Aragorn, who then shifted to keep them in full contact despite having slipped out of his lover’s body.

Boromir kept his back to Aragorn. “I can’t.” The refusal was weakly voiced. “Everyone would see… would know.”

Aragorn let out a sigh and reached out, turning Boromir and pulling him in close while ignoring the token resistance his lover put up. Aragorn ran a hand through Boromir’s hair and, when he reached the back of his head, he pulled Boromir’s face to his own and kissed him. “It doesn’t matter what anyone sees or thinks, Boromir. It only matters if you want to share my blankets or not. I wish you would, but… do you wish it?”

At that moment, Boromir felt something that he hadn’t anticipated. He felt loved and wanted. Boromir had expected nothing more than sexual satisfaction out of this odd tryst, but Aragorn was making him feel quite strange inside. “I do, but…” Another kiss from Aragorn silenced the objection. It took only moments before Boromir was answering Aragorn’s passion with his own. Gradually exhaustion slowed them to simply laying with their faces almost touching.

Aragorn, a man… his lord, was laying beside him, his left leg casually pressed against Boromir’s right and his muscular arm supporting Boromir’s shoulders. Boromir revelled in the quiet moment but it couldn’t last. “When we reach Gondor…”

“Don’t borrow troubles, lovely one. There will be time enough to worry on tomorrow when tomorrow arrives,” Aragorn whispered. “We’ve a long trail ahead of us and long trails are best taken one step at a time.”

Temporarily soothed, Boromir allowed himself to melt into the warmth of the body next to his.

That’s it, Milk and cookies time

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