Faramir Fiction Archive

Spring Thaw (NC-17)

Written by RubyElf

03 May 2011 | 9184 words

ITLE: Spring Thaw (Part 3)
AUTHOR: rubyelf
CHARACTERS: Aragorn, Boromir, Faramir, Legolas, some hobbits, a dog…
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: AU (ruby-verse)
SUMMARY: Hobbits are out looking for trouble. Everybody else is inside looking for other things.
DISCLAIMER: Characters do not belong to me. They are just here to play.

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Part 3

“That’s not how that song goes,” Merry said.

“It certainly is,” Pippin retorted.

“I’m quite sure it’s not.”

“I’m quite sure you’re an idiot.”

Merry snatched the nearly empty wine bottle from Pippin just before he dropped it. “That’s not how it goes, because when we learned that song there was nothing in it about men, and definitely nothing in it about men doing things like THAT.”

Pippin rolled his eyes. “So I’ve improved it. So what?”

“If there’s a song improved by your singing it, it must be a really terrible song indeed,” Merry observed, but did some damage to his dignity by missing his mouth and banging himself in the nose with the wine bottle as he tried to take a swig from it.

“See, you’re drunk too!” Pippin declared.

“I may be drunk, but you’re drunk AND stupid.”

“I’ll show you which of us is the stupid one, you brat!”

Pippin lunged at him and Merry dodged, but due to their inebriation both of them ended up on the ground, laughing as Merry attempted to retrieve the wine bottle that was rolling away, clinking on the cobblestones.

“Hey! Our wine’s getting away, Pip!”

“What? How dare it?” Pippin giggled, reaching for the bottle as it rolled out of his reach. “Come back here immediately! We’re not finished with you yet!”

The bottle stopped rolling. Merry looked up and discovered that this was because it had rolled to a stop against a pair of muddy paws, which belonged to a filthy, mud-covered puppy.

“Oy! That vicious beast has our wine!” Pippin exclaimed.

The puppy cocked her head and studied the two small creatures curiously.

“That’s not a vicious beast, idiot. That’s Boromir’s dog. You’re Boromir’s dog, aren’t you?”

Finn recognized her master’s name; her tail whipped happily and she barked in excitement. She recognized these two noisy little people as well, and in her experience they were generally happy to pet her and scratch her ears, and they occasionally were covered with tasty substances such as jelly. She bounded at Merry and took an enthusiastic swipe at his face with her tongue. Merry laughed and patted her head.

“Good dog! Lovely lass. What shall we do with you?”

“Maybe she’d like some wine,” Pippin suggested.

“Peregrine Took, you cannot give wine to a dog.”

“Why not?”

“Because then there won’t be any left for us,” Merry said sensibly.

“Oh,” Pippin said. “Well, what shall we do with her, then?”

“Well, we can’t just leave her to wander around. We should take her with us.”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“I’m not sure,” Merry said. “But when we get there, I’ll tell you. Are you coming with us, lass?”

Finn beamed and wagged her tail. She’d had almost enough of sniffing and lurking all over the top two levels of the city and had been considering making her way back to her master’s rooms and her dinner, but her experience had taught her that hobbits and food were often to be found in close association, so when the pair went stumbling off down the street, motioning for her to follow, she gladly padded along behind them, curious to see what they were up to.

Legolas had made it clear that he would tolerate Faramir’s little stunt, but had no intention of enjoying it. Faramir had accepted the challenge and had no intention of losing. Thus far Legolas had managed to avoid making a sound or giving Faramir any sort of conscious encouragement, but to his tremendous annoyance his body had more interest in the activities at hand than in maintaining his dignity, and it was embarrassingly and enthusiastically betraying him.

“I’d think you’d be getting tired of this when it’s not getting you anywhere,” he said, gritting his teeth.

Faramir laughed. “It’s annoying you. That’s getting somewhere.”

His hands continued their slow, deliberate wanderings over the pale white skin, while the elf tried very hard not to twitch and squirm.

“You can surrender any time, and I’ll let you loose.”

“I certainly will not.”

“All right, then,” Faramir said, grinning as he leaned over and reached for something on the floor.

“What have you got there?” Legolas asked uneasily.

Faramir sat back up. “Just that honey you asked for earlier.”

“I thought you didn’t like honey.”

Faramir twisted the cork out of the small bottle. “Hmm. I’ve had honey on bread, and I’ve had honey on fruit, and I’ve had honey on cakes… I don’t believe I’ve ever had honey on elf before. I suspect it might be very tasty.”

“Oh, no. That wasn’t the plan. I don’t want that stuff all over me…”

Faramir ignored him and tipped the bottle. Alarmed blue eyes and patiently amused gray ones watched the honey creep slowly through the neck of the bottle and form a large golden drop that hung in the air for a long moment before falling. Legolas twitched as it landed on his stomach.

“That’s enough of that,” he protested.

“Not quite.”

“It’s sticky!”

“And what were you planning on doing with it?”

“That’s different. You’re a man. Men like being dirty and messy.”

“Oh, stop complaining,” Faramir chuckled, moving the bottle slowly and leaving trails of honey up and down the lean body even as the elf tried to squirm away.

“Ugh! It’s sticky! Faramir!”

The man relented and sat the bottle back on the floor before moving to lean over Legolas, one hand on either side of the pale chest that was rising and falling rather quickly despite the elf’s attempts to hang on to his composure.

“Now what?” he protested.

Faramir grinned, leaned forward, and slowly licked a broad stripe from the elf’s navel to his throat. Legolas muttered a protest, but his body had completely given up listening to his brain and was arching up eagerly into the firm stroke of the man’s tongue.

“That’s not fair,” he said reproachfully.

Faramir grinned and moved back down, starting another long trail through the honey, this time continuing up the elf’s neck and over his jaw to his mouth to claim a kiss. Legolas scowled and turned his head slightly.

“Don’t be difficult, or I’ll go find the hobbits and let them come in here and clean you up.”

“You wouldn’t do any such thing,” Legolas said, trying not to laugh.

“You’re right. Dirty-minded little creatures… not likely to properly appreciate a fine sight like this one.”

“Well, get back to appreciating it,” Legolas said, relenting and turning his face back to the kiss. “How’s the honey?”

“Quite good. I think it’s really entirely wasted on silly things like bread.”

He leaned over and picked the bottle back up again. Legolas eyed him warily.

“What are you up to now?”

“Thinking I’d like to see how it tastes when licked off other parts of you.”

“No!” the elf protested. “Stop that! I’ve got hair down there… ugh!”

“Legolas?”

“Yes?”

“Stop complaining. If you didn’t like this, you’d be out of those ropes and ten miles away by now, so please just shut up and stop pretending you don’t.”

Legolas laughed. “Are you sure you’re not an elf in a man’s body?”

“Hmm. Not sure. You can check on that later.”

By the time Aragorn had finished patiently scrubbing the mud off Boromir’s skin and out of his hair, rinsing off the soap, and pouring another kettle of hot water into the tub, Boromir appeared to be very nearly asleep. Aragorn was not at all expecting the muscular arms to shoot out and wrap around him as he slid back into the bath.

“Hello, there. I thought you’d dozed off.”

“As if I’m going to doze off with you climbing all over me naked and rubbing me with soap,” Boromir muttered into the side of his neck.

“Perhaps we should go back to your rooms.”

“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere.”

“We can’t stay here in the bath all night.”

“You promised you’d warm me up.”

“You feel quite warm to me.”

Boromir grasped his hand and led it downwards, wrapping it around his shaft.

“See? Got some parts that still need proper attention.”

“I see that,” Aragorn said, squeezing lightly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I can think of a few parts of you that are particularly nice and warm…”

“Hmm. Well, for one of those, you’ll have to get out of the bath, since I’m not a fish and don’t breathe very well under water…”

“Especially with your mouth full,” Boromir said, grinning.

“And for the other, we ought to have some oil or something, and I don’t think there’s…”

Boromir shook his head, regarding Aragorn lazily with one eye. “Silly man. Has it been that long since we’ve had a bath together? There’s a jar of some very nice salve behind the stove… all nice and warm, too.”

Aragorn laughed and retrieved the small jar, which Boromir grabbed out of his hands and set on the edge of the bath.

“There it is. Now…”

He moved much more quickly than Aragorn had expected, and before he knew it one broad hand was between his shoulders, bending him forward over the edge of the bath, while the other hand had a firm grasp on his hip and was impatiently arranging him on his knees. He smelled the fragrance of the warmed salve as Boromir twisted the lid off the jar, muttering curses, and then the hand was back between his shoulder blades, and the other one was now sliding downward, slick fingers probing wet skin, finding the muscles already warm and relaxed from the hot water, sliding in easily. Aragorn gasped and pressed his forehead against the cool stone, hearing Boromir’s low chuckle.

“Very warm. Excellent. Now… come here.”

“You’re awfully demanding,” Aragorn said.

“Like you expected anything different, love. Get over here.”

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