Faramir Fiction Archive

Spring Thaw (NC-17)

Written by RubyElf

03 May 2011 | 9184 words

TITLE: Spring Thaw (Part 4)
AUTHOR: rubyelf
CHARACTERS: Aragorn, Boromir, Faramir, Legolas, some hobbits, a dog…
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: AU (ruby-verse)
SUMMARY: Boromir gets what he wants. Certain young hobbits find out that there can be too much of a good thing, especially when that good thing comes in a bottle.
DISCLAIMER: Characters do not belong to me. They are just here to play.

Hmph. Well, it’s an ending. I am not super-happy with it, but I can’t seem to make it so I’m happy with it… oh, well. There is A / B smut in it, so at least that part ought to be worth reading. That’s what I get for starting something without the vaguest idea where it’s headed… oh, wait. That’s what I do with everything. Never mind.

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Part 4

Merry wasn’t quite sure at what point the situation had changed from a dog following to hobbits to two hobbits following a dog, but Finn seemed to have a destination in mind, which Merry and Pippin did not, so it seemed logical to allow her to take the lead. Pippin was still carrying the near-empty bottle of wine, which Merry had decided a while ago he wanted nothing to do with. Pippin had insisted he was going to finish the bottle and had argued with Merry when the older hobbit attempted to take it from him, so Merry had given up. As a result, Merry was actually beginning to sober up slightly, while Pippin was having a difficult time putting one foot in front of the other.

“Ask her where we’re going, Merry.”

“What, the dog? She’s just as likely to answer you as me.”

“Well, I wish she’d hurry up. I’m tired and my head hurts. Are we almost back to our room?”

“Pip, Arwen will have locked up hours ago, and you know she won’t open the door for us till morning. As soon as I figure out where we are, we’ll go to Boromir’s room and he’ll let us in.”

“He’d better,” Pippin muttered. “I don’t feel very well.”

“I told you not to drink all that wine.”

“You’re always telling me things.”

“And you never listen to any of them.”

“Well, if I didn’t listen, you should have made me stop drinking it.”

“I tried. You argued with me.”

“You should have tried harder,” Pippin said reproachfully. “I don’t like things going round and round like that, Merry… make it stop. I want to lie down.”

“That’s likely to make it worse,” Merry said, but seeing that Pippin was really rather miserable, he took pity on him and grabbed his arm. “Here, hang on to me.”

They continued down the darkened street after Finn until their path was suddenly blocked by a tall, bony man with a shuffling gait and a scowl.

“Little bastards! I knew if I waited up late enough I’d catch you!”

“Catch us?” Merry repeated, bewildered.

“Thought you little beasts could come about and break my windows at night, eh? I’ll give you a proper beating before I fetch your parents!”

Merry dodged the man’s intoxicated lunge, but Pippin could only squeak in terror as the man grasped him up by his shirt and shook him.

“You’ll wish you’d never come near my store, little…”

Pippin gave a small cry of alarm, and Merry shouted at the man.

“We’re not children! We’re hobbits! Let him go this moment!”

“Hobbits, eh? And I’m a unicorn!”

The young hobbit squirmed and cried out in protest. Before Merry could move, though, the man had abruptly released Pippin with a loud howl of pain. Merry raced forward, grasping the neck of the wine bottle Pippin had dropped, as the man spun around and turned his attention to the half-grown dog who had just buried her sharp little teeth into the back of his calf. Now she was crouched low, growling deep in her throat, eyes fixed on the man.

“That beast bit me!” he exclaimed. “Come here, you brute… I’ll…”

Merry lunged forward and slammed the bottle as hard as he could into the back of the man’s knee, and he collapsed like a puppet without strings. He tugged Pippin to his feet as Finn darted past them, shooting Merry an urgent look.

“Pip! Come on, now!”

Finn trotted briskly around a corner and then disappeared into a darkened doorway. Merry followed her, and the smell of hay and horses immediately told him where they were. He could hear the slightly puzzled animals shifting and snorting in their stalls, but he kept his eye on Finn’s shape in the dimness, and soon she had ducked into an empty stall, freshly bedded with sawdust and straw.

“Look, Pip, she’s found us a place to sleep,” Merry said, tugging the younger hobbit into the stall. Finn sniffed for a moment and settled down in the middle of the stall, facing the door with her head on her paws. Merry sat with his back against the far wall and let Pippin rest his head in his lap.

“There, see? She did know where she was going.”

“She bit that man…”

“That she did. Boromir will pretend to be angry with her, but really he’ll be very proud. Sort of like he always pretends to be angry with us, even though he’s not.”

“He’ll be angry with us for stealing his dog.”

“We didn’t steal her. We found her, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

Merry yawned and petted Pippin’s curly hair. “Now that we’re at the stables, I know where we are. We’ll be back in time to meet Boromir for breakfast.”

“Ugh. I feel terrible, Merry. Don’t ever let me drink wine again.”

“Hush, silly hobbit. I told Frodo the same thing the first time he let me get drunk. Now go to sleep.”

By the time he had finished speaking, Pippin was already snoring. Merry glanced at the puppy warily guarding the stall door and grinned.

“Good night, Finn.”

Recognizing her name, she wagged her tail happily for a moment before returning to her guard post.

Boromir grinned and leaned back in the warm water of the bath as he impatiently tugged Aragorn to him.

“Hurry up, old man.”

“If you’re going to call me an old man…”

“Hush,” Boromir muttered, hands strong and demanding on the other man’s hips, pulling him determinedly into his lap before grasping him by the hair and tugging his head down for a kiss.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“What do I always want?” Boromir growled. Aragorn laughed and let his hand sink down to rub his palm over the hard shaft that rose against his stomach.

“That’s not a bad start…”

“No?” Aragorn asked, grinning.

“Damnit, love, get on with it please…”

Relenting, Aragorn raised himself on his knees and smoothly lowered himself down; Boromir gasped and arched up against him, then relaxed with a sigh.

“That’s better…”

Aragorn rested his forehead against Boromir’s shoulder and breathed deep for a moment, slowly adjusting to the familiar stretch and burn. Boromir waited, running his fingers through the other man’s hair, until Aragorn sat up and grinned at him.

“You look like the cat that caught a mouse,” Boromir muttered breathlessly.

“I’ve got you where I want you now.”

“Do you,” Boromir said, grasping his hips tightly with both hands and thrusting up, rewarded with a sharp hiss and the sight of Aragorn’s eyes drifting closed almost against his will. “Perhaps I’ve got you.”

Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, but Boromir’s massive hands had a firm hold on him now, lifting him up and pulling him hard back down as he thrust up to meet him.

“Thought you were tired,” Aragorn forced out, before another sharp plunge stole his breath again.

“Never too tired for this.”

Aragorn grasped the other man’s broad shoulders, pushing him back against the side of the bath, then reached down and clasped the hands that had a vice grip on his bony hips. Boromir laughed and reached up, long fingers wrapping around Aragorn’s waist instead, sturdy thumbs pressed into the lean belly. Aragorn leaned forward to kiss him and then sat back and began to rock slowly, keeping the motion steady but letting Boromir’s hands dictate the pace. Boromir’s eyes slid closed and he slipped further into the water, his knees rising against the backs of Aragorn’s thighs, tipping him forward until he was within range of a demanding mouth that found a grip on his throat. Aragorn thought briefly about protesting, knowing if Boromir kept this up he’d be wearing a high collar in public for at least a week, but then Boromir braced his feet and began to thrust himself up to match Aragorn’s motions, and he forgot about everything except trying to keep the rhythm that allowed him to capture the full force of Boromir’s hips slamming up to meet him, fingers digging hard into Boromir’s shoulders as Boromir’s mouth released him, now open and gasping as his head arched back. Aragorn reached to touch himself, but Boromir brushed his hand away and grasped him firmly, stroking hard.

“Please, love…” he breathed.

Aragorn would have answered him if he’d been able to, but he had lost the ability to form words, and in a moment Boromir had too, and both of them could only groan as Boromir’s insistent hand pulled Aragorn hard over the edge, taking Boromir with him.

Aragorn slumped onto Boromir’s chest, and the other man’s arms came up to wrap around him, gentle now, tugging lightly at the wet hair that fell down his back.

“Are you all right?” the deep voice rumbled.

“I’ll tell you as soon as I can put a proper sentence together.”

Boromir chuckled softly. “This bath will have to be drained and refilled before anybody uses it again.”

“It’s your bath. The only other person who uses it is your brother.”

Boromir grumbled. “He’d better not have ever had that bloody arrogant elf in here with him.”

Aragorn laughed, sitting up and freeing himself from Boromir’s grip. Boromir leaned back and put his hands behind his head, yawning.

“I do believe I’m ready for a proper sleep in a proper bed,” he said.

“Are you interested in some company?”

“Might as well, since you won’t have to fight Finn for a spot. Wonder if she’s driving Faramir crazy yet?”

“You are the most stubborn creature in existence,” Faramir exclaimed, exasperated.

Legolas gave him a sharp look, but refused to speak; he was fairly sure that if he didn’t have a firm grip on his lower lip with his teeth, his attempt to keep himself silent would immediately fail.

“I ought to just untie you and throw you out and go to sleep,” Faramir said.

Legolas grinned; they both knew that if Faramir did that, he would have lost the game that was being played between them without any conscious decision to begin it. To his surprise, though, Faramir leaned over him with a knowing leer.

“If I can’t make you admit you enjoy it, you impossible creature, I’ll just have to go ahead and enjoy it without you.”

Legolas cocked his head curiously, but his eyes widened when he realized what the man meant as Faramir stretched out lazily on the bed next to him and began, slowly and almost absently, to stroke himself. Faramir glanced over at him and grinned.

“Well, at least one of us might as well have a good time,” he said, shrugging. Legolas found himself unable to take his eyes off the hand that continued its steady motion. Faramir caught him looking, chuckled knowingly, and then closed his eyes and set about his task properly. Legolas scowled at him, but Faramir took no notice. The man was listening closely, but he wasn’t about to let the elf know that.

Since Faramir wasn’t looking, Legolas allowed himself to stare, both annoyed and fascinated. He twisted his hands, still tied above his head, and felt himself twitch in response as the man’s breathing changed, became faster and more urgent.

“Damnit, Faramir!” he burst out, almost without meaning to.

Faramir’s hand went still, and he opened one eye and glanced at the elf. “Is there a problem?”

“You know perfectly well what the problem is!”

“Well, I’m not going to waste the rest of the night playing games with you. I’m going to finish my business and go to sleep.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Oh? Did you have something else in mind?”

“You’re evil,” Legolas said reproachfully.

Faramir raised his eyebrows. “That’s not going to get you anywhere.”

“You expect me to beg?” the elf said indignantly.

“No. I just expect you to tell me what you want.”

Legolas studied him for a long moment before smiling to himself.

“That can be arranged. I think you should untie me, though.”

“Why would I do that?”

The elf grinned broadly. “Because I do believe it’s your turn.”

Aragorn frowned, peering around Boromir’s door at Arwen. His wife rarely stopped by Boromir’s rooms looking for him; it could be a bit awkward for all involved.

“They didn’t come back at all?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “The guards haven’t seen them, and neither has anyone else I spoke to.”

“I’d have expected them to come here looking for Boromir if they were shut out of our rooms,” Aragorn said. “Haven’t heard from them, though, and they’re not exactly quiet. Why don’t you go home in case they turn up there, and Boromir and I will go look for them?”

Arwen nodded. Boromir growled and rolled out of bed, groping for a pair of pants.

“Now we’ve got to get up and go looking for bloody hobbits, do we?”

Aragorn was about to close the door when he spotted the figure approaching down the hall.

“Hello, Faramir. Have you seen any hobbits?”

Faramir shook his head unhappily. “No. My brother in there?”

Boromir stumbled out of the bedroom, grumbling to himself. “What do you want? Where’s Finn? You didn’t leave her with that stupid elf, did you?”

Faramir took a deep breath.

“Boromir… Finn got out of her collar yesterday and ran off. I’m sorry… everyone’s been looking for her everywhere… I know we’ll find her…”

He trailed off as Boromir, instead of flying into a rage, grinned widely.

“Is that all? She does that all the time. Getting damned good at slipping that collar, isn’t she?”

“All the time?” Faramir repeated, jaw dropping.

“That’s right,” Boromir said, laughing. “And I know exactly where she is, too. Let me get a shirt and my boots and we’ll go fetch her.”

“We’re supposed to be looking for hobbits,” Aragorn reminded him.

Boromir gave him a sharp look, and Aragorn shrugged.

“All right, then… we’ll get Finn and then look for hobbits.”

“Well, look at that,” Boromir chuckled.

Aragorn peered into the empty stall and laughed. Merry was curled up in the corner, head leaning against the wall; Pippin was tucked securely against his side, face buried into the front of Merry’s shirt and Merry’s hand still tangled in his cherry-brown curls, and draped across both of them, snoring softly, was a very dirty and very contented puppy.

“Hello, lass,” Boromir said fondly.

Finn’s eyes stayed closed, but her tail flopped happily against Pippin’s side. Merry raised his head and looked up at them, a smile spreading across his face.

“Good morning, Boromir. You did say you’d come fetch us for breakfast, didn’t you.”

Pippin groaned and tried to bury his face even deeper in Merry’s shirt; the older hobbit patted him sympathetically.

“I do believe this may be the first time I’ve ever said this,” Pippin muttered, “but I don’t think I want to go anywhere near breakfast.”

Boromir frowned, concerned. Merry grinned and mimed drinking from a bottle, and the man lau
ghed.

“Too much to drink, little Pippin?”

“Ugh! Stop shouting!”

Boromir shook his head and reached down, lifting Pippin like a small child in spite of his pained groans of protest.

“Come on, you. I’ll put you to bed on my couch and Aragorn can give you some willow-bark tea for your head.”

“I warned him,” Merry said. “He never listens.”

“I don’t know anyone like that,” Aragorn muttered, glancing at Boromir.

“I certainly don’t either,” Boromir said, returning Aragorn’s look.

“I am the King, you know. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“True. But when you were a smelly, filthy Ranger you still didn’t listen to me.”

“That’s because he thinks your head is full of rocks,” Merry said helpfully.

Aragorn scowled at the hobbit. “I didn’t say that.”

“You certainly did!” Pippin said, glancing out from the safety of Boromir’s arms. “In fact, what you said was that there were so many rocks in his head that they hadn’t left any room for a damned ounce of common sense.”

“And after that,” Merry added, “you said that he…”

“Enough,” Aragorn exclaimed.

“Oh, no,” Boromir said, grinning. “Come on, my little hobbits, and on the way to my rooms you can tell me all these things our good King says about me while I’m not around.”

Aragorn watched them go, frowning.

“Hobbits,” he muttered.

Finn rubbed her nose against his leg, and he swore her expression was one of sympathy.

“You had to put up with them all night, didn’t you? Poor lass… you know how I feel.”

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