FIC: Most Admiring (LotR)
I realize how far behind in responding to feedback I am, and I must apologize for that. I absolutely appreciate and adore every piece I get, and I promise you, I am not ignoring any of it; I'm simply really pressed for time these days. I have every intent of backtracking and answering all your kind words; it's just going to take a little while. *facepalm*
Title: Most Admiring
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: LotR
Pairing: Boromir/Aragorn
Rating: PG
Archive: Lothlorien and sons_of_gondor.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I have a vivid fantasy life, but I do not pretend to be JRR Tolkien, nor do I pretend to own his characters.
Summary: Boromir admires Aragorn's form in a completely heterosexual and therefore innocent manner.
Notes: After being confronted by a baffling interest, I asked empy what "non-slash fanfiction" could possibly be (as opposed to simply listing "het" and/or "gen"), and she replied, "Maybe non-slash is badly written hetfic which constantly over-emphasises how straight the characters are." Of course, as these things always go, no sooner was it said than it was done. I blame her for what her words spawned, but I also thank her for letting me repeatedly run it by her until it was tidy enough to post. (Consider it a belated birthday gift, empy. ^_^)
Most Admiring
By Galadriel
Boromir gazed at Aragorn; his long, lean form, the way each droplet of sweat clung to the curve of his muscles, trickling down his bare skin. The Ranger's chest heaved as he sparred with invisible enemies, the dappled light playing across each roll and shift of his body, now stripped to the waist. Every controlled move, every regulated breath simply underlined the rigorous training he had undertaken in his life, hinting at how each hardship experienced had been turned and whetted to make his edge more keen.
Boromir bit his lip and looked away, focussing once more on his duties as tonight's watchman. He shifted uncomfortably, the tree bark scratching and scraping even through the layers of cloth at his back. It would not do to be caught eyeing a companion's form; that was how the vilest of rumours began, and they had strife enough without the shadow of falsehoods dogging their tracks. It was a good thing, he consoled himself, that he was only interested in the fairer sex. (And, he noted, those dark, dangerous eyes and dusky, tanned skin marked Aragorn as far, far from fair.) Better still that Boromir was known in the White City as a ladies' man -- those few moments of youthful exuberance and drink-addled judgement aside -- for there would be no mistaking his looks as anything other than that of a soldier admiring the toil of another warrior's muscles; his touch as anything but a friendly clap on the shoulder, back or buttocks; and his choice of bedroll placement as anything more than the desire to combine and cement the defence of the Fellowship's strongest fighters should they be attacked in the murky watches of the night.
Yes, Boromir thought, it was a very good thing he was well-known as only interested in the joys of women. Otherwise he might have to reconsider why his breeches had become so uncomfortably tight, and that simply would not do. As his gaze was once more drawn to Aragorn's firm shoulders, strong back, lean hips and taut thighs, he resolved to speak with the Head Seamstress on returning home; she really must see to such an alarming pattern of shrinkage after normal wear.
END
(June 27, 2007)
Crossposted to sons_of_gondor, athelingas, rugbytackle.
Title: Most Admiring
Author: Galadriel (caras_galadhon)
Fandom: LotR
Pairing: Boromir/Aragorn
Rating: PG
Archive: Lothlorien and sons_of_gondor.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I have a vivid fantasy life, but I do not pretend to be JRR Tolkien, nor do I pretend to own his characters.
Summary: Boromir admires Aragorn's form in a completely heterosexual and therefore innocent manner.
Notes: After being confronted by a baffling interest, I asked empy what "non-slash fanfiction" could possibly be (as opposed to simply listing "het" and/or "gen"), and she replied, "Maybe non-slash is badly written hetfic which constantly over-emphasises how straight the characters are." Of course, as these things always go, no sooner was it said than it was done. I blame her for what her words spawned, but I also thank her for letting me repeatedly run it by her until it was tidy enough to post. (Consider it a belated birthday gift, empy. ^_^)
Most Admiring
By Galadriel
Boromir gazed at Aragorn; his long, lean form, the way each droplet of sweat clung to the curve of his muscles, trickling down his bare skin. The Ranger's chest heaved as he sparred with invisible enemies, the dappled light playing across each roll and shift of his body, now stripped to the waist. Every controlled move, every regulated breath simply underlined the rigorous training he had undertaken in his life, hinting at how each hardship experienced had been turned and whetted to make his edge more keen.
Boromir bit his lip and looked away, focussing once more on his duties as tonight's watchman. He shifted uncomfortably, the tree bark scratching and scraping even through the layers of cloth at his back. It would not do to be caught eyeing a companion's form; that was how the vilest of rumours began, and they had strife enough without the shadow of falsehoods dogging their tracks. It was a good thing, he consoled himself, that he was only interested in the fairer sex. (And, he noted, those dark, dangerous eyes and dusky, tanned skin marked Aragorn as far, far from fair.) Better still that Boromir was known in the White City as a ladies' man -- those few moments of youthful exuberance and drink-addled judgement aside -- for there would be no mistaking his looks as anything other than that of a soldier admiring the toil of another warrior's muscles; his touch as anything but a friendly clap on the shoulder, back or buttocks; and his choice of bedroll placement as anything more than the desire to combine and cement the defence of the Fellowship's strongest fighters should they be attacked in the murky watches of the night.
Yes, Boromir thought, it was a very good thing he was well-known as only interested in the joys of women. Otherwise he might have to reconsider why his breeches had become so uncomfortably tight, and that simply would not do. As his gaze was once more drawn to Aragorn's firm shoulders, strong back, lean hips and taut thighs, he resolved to speak with the Head Seamstress on returning home; she really must see to such an alarming pattern of shrinkage after normal wear.
END
(June 27, 2007)
Crossposted to sons_of_gondor, athelingas, rugbytackle.