(no subject)
I posted this to blackforest_fps (some of you may have read it), but I never posted it to my lj or other communities; so here goes:
Title: Golden Mist
Author: Númenora
Warnings/Rating: NC-17 for explicit descriptions of sex and rough language. M/M Slash, AU; mention of underage sex with an older male. Major angst.
Disclaimers: Characters are NOT MINE, never will be.
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir Aragorn/Well-known Tolkien Character
Summary: On the eve of his departure on a diplomatic mission, Aragorn tries to allay Boromir’s fears that nothing will change between them while he is away. Also posted to 25fluffyfics for Prompt: Nightmare.
A/N: One-shot (I’m not planning to continue this one) inspired by Gayle’s wonderful art entitled “Undone” and “Going South” and other Aragorn/Boromir works found at this link: http://www.tenebris.org/x__art/x__art_sub.html Please visit and enjoy, but please head her warnings. My readers know that I am an Aragorn and Legolas fic person, but I do love Boromir, too.
This will be a bit long-winded, but here goes. The back story to this one is similar to the one for Another’s Guilt. The Ring and Sauron were both destroyed during the First Alliance and since then, Men and Elves have drifted apart, except that in the last 150 years or so, the Noldo of Imladris and Lothlórien have extended the hand of friendship to the people of Gondor; the only realm that has not done so before is Greenwood the Great (never called Mirkwood since the Darkness never descended), but that has now changed. The Sindarin King, Thranduil, in the tradition of his Elven cousins has asked that a representative from the White City come to live in Greenwood for one year to restore relations between the races while the Elves still inhabit Middle-earth. Aragorn has been delegated by his father, King Arathorn II, to represent Gondor just as the King did in Rivendell and his father before him in Lórien. Aragorn and Boromir, the Steward’s son have been lovers for 2 years since Aragorn turned 18 and Boromir was 20. This fic begins on the night of Prince’s farewell celebration.
[ ] denotes a dream sequence
* * denotes thoughts or stressed words or italics
“There you are! Do you realize that I have been everywhere-hither and yond-looking for you?” Aragorn, the Crowned Prince said dramatically with a hint of teasing in his voice.
Boromir didn’t answer him for he didn’t trust himself to speak as the sadness he was feeling threatened to overwhelm.
“Alright, my Love; I did not search ‘*everywhere*’ for I knew that you more than likely would be here in our special place.” Their special place was a forgotten room they stumbled upon in the Tower of Ecthelion, which had been hidden away and blocked off when Ecthelion I rebuilt it so many years ago. As far as the two could figure, it was probably used as a safe room during times of strife or (Boromir said lasciviously) it was used by some randy Steward and his mistress or with some virile young guard for elicit sex! This was their use for it and one man could always find the other there for this or just to talk or hold each other.
Their affair almost didn’t happen since Boromir didn’t always love Aragorn; he tolerated him in the way that children did with those younger than they. Boromir had no problems with his brother Faramir who was five years his junior; partly due to their blood relations, but mostly because the older brother thought of Faramir as his baby-even before their mother died. Aragorn was different. He was the Crowned Prince and a distant cousin, two years younger and for a teen like the Steward’s eldest, two years may just have been twenty.
Aragorn was a pest, Boromir felt; always asking foolish questions of the 13-year-old, following him around with puppy-dog eyes, hanging onto every word Boromir said, even when he wasn’t speaking to Aragorn-which was most of the time. For Aragorn-the sun rose and set on Boromir’s shoulders and his words were as precious as those of the Valar. Boromir was his first crush and his first love.
Boromir had been in love several times; his first was when he was fifteen--it was with a nobleman’s daughter whom all his friends thought was the loveliest girl in the land. She had red hair and big brown eyes and was tiny and demure and she adored him; he enjoyed the envy of his friends, having her on his arm. She was the first female he had actual feelings for and the last. His next love came in the form of his mentor; the man assigned to train him in weapons and guide him as he served with the Rangers for his first duties as a future officer.
It started as hero worship, but turned to something more when they were stationed on the outskirts of Osgiliath. He was sixteen and after three days in the field, they returned to the barracks where he had his first bath among the other soldiers. He’d seen unclothed males before, but those were boys his own age and these were men; large, muscular and very virile. He’d blushed to show his undeveloped frame, but the men made him feel at ease and when his mentor, Orodreth touched him for the first time (innocent though it was) his heart fluttered. Then later, after he became a bit drunk one night at an inn, he tried to kiss the man on the lips. Orodreth told him that if he still felt the same way when he was sober, then he’d be honored to share comfort with him.
Two days later, Boromir got his first taste of cock and he never wanted to kiss or be around women ever again until he was compelled to marry. Orodreth was an excellent teacher, but he only taught the young man about oral delights between men; telling the young man that Boromir should save himself for someone he truly loved. When Orodreth was transferred to head an Ithilien regiment, the Steward’s son was crushed until he fell for a beautiful young lieutenant. This went on and on like this, one beauty after another; and when back home, he kept Aragorn at arm’s length.
At fourteen and fifteen, the Prince was gangly and awkward; while fair of face since he was born, he was still a boy and Boromir saw him as a *little* boy-until one day, after being away from home for months (now a young lieutenant), an eighteen-year-old Boromir returned home to attend the Prince’s 16th birthday celebration. He didn’t want to, but it was an official event as the teen was coming of age. The blond was prepared to be pestered as always and was gearing himself up for it all.
He didn’t see Aragorn when he returned the day before the party, the boy having been away all day at the tailors for last minute fitting of his new wardrobe; and Boromir spent the next morning and noon catching up on his sleep and visiting friends whom he hadn’t seen for the months he’d been away. When he arrived late for the party, he had to endure his father’s lecture on his tardiness and disrespect. He apologized, saying the necessary things to appease him, only half sorry since the later he was, the less time he’d have to spend in the Prince’s presence.
He was in the middle of hearing again how the Steward would not tolerate such behavior from his eldest whom he expected great things from in the future and now, when he was pulled into a rib-crushing hug from a richly-dressed, dark-haired young man. He laughed thinking that it must be one of his old classmates that had moved away, for he couldn’t place him at first; but when the man pulled back and Boromir looked into beautiful blue-green eyes, he was struck dumb. His mind couldn’t grasp that this beautiful young man with Aragorn’s eyes was actually Aragorn.
He’d always admired the Prince’s eyes, but the boy was irritating. But this stunning creature took Boromir’s breath away and he couldn’t form two words together to say anything. Aragorn mistook his silence as his customary annoyance and he hurriedly patted the older teen on the shoulders, saying welcome home and backed away with hurt in those incredible eyes.
Boromir only heard half of what his father was saying to him about his continual rudeness-that he’d be Aragorn’s Steward someday and on and on...
The eighteen-year-old excused himself from his gapping father and ran to his room to get something he’d found while out on patrol-it was a dagger that had been buried in a cave. From the markings, it was from the days of the early Kings, when Osgiliath was still the capitol of Gondor. He had planned to give it to his father or perhaps King Arathorn himself (whom he greatly admired), but now, he wanted the Prince to have it. So he took it out to make sure the weapon was presentable. He’d taken it to a well-known metal smith to restore it.
After placing it securely and lovingly in its velvet pouch, he wrapped it inside the cloak that he’d picked up at the last minute for the Prince. It was made of a nice material, but hardly remarkable. Securing the box under his arm, he checked his hair and appearance in the mirror before returning to the party. Once there, he hovered near Aragorn, but didn’t try to talk to him and when the young Royal would glance his way uncertainly, he managed to smile at him which brought happiness where hurt once dwelled.
When it was time for the Prince to receive his gifts, Boromir waited and waited, thinking that Aragorn wouldn’t like his present; what if the smith and the historian were wrong and this was just some knife someone dropped-the jewel’s could be fake! He had worked himself up into such a state that he didn’t hear the Steward ask the guests if there were any more gifts to be presented. When Faramir tapped him, pointing to the box under his arm, he stepped towards the table where Aragorn sat, surrounded by his bounty.
He mumbled that his gift wasn’t much, “Just a cloak I bought in Osgiliath and something I found while on patrol...” His voice trailed off and then, “I hope you like it...and happy birthday, Prince Aragorn.” Aragorn smiled in that little-boy way that used to bug him, but now, Boromir thought was the loveliest thing he’d ever witnessed.
Aragorn opened the box, pulling off the ribbon; when he saw the cloak, he loved it-not because it was beautiful or anything, but because the blond had given it to him. As he lifted it out, the black velvet pouch fell back into the box. With a delighted look, he opened it to reveal a beautifully carved dagger of mithril and gold-encrusted with gems. The collective sounds of awe and admiration that went throughout the room at the sight of such exquisite workmanship made Boromir feel relieved, but the pleased and joyful look from Aragorn made his soul sing. Boromir was in love-totally, hopelessly in love.
From that day, the two were inseparable-spending everyday together. They rode, talked and played games; and one day, as they picnicked together, pelting each other with food and wrestling one another to the ground, Boromir ended up pinning the Prince. And as they stared in each others’ eyes, Aragorn’s (and now Boromir’s) fondest wish came true and they shared their first kiss-the first of many. The weeks following were happy until it was time for Boromir and Aragorn as well to leave Minas Tirith for their Ranger duties. It was hard for the two to be apart; especially for Aragorn after finally getting his Boromir. But they had to go. They promised to write often and when Boromir learned that Aragorn was going to serve under Orodreth, he told the Prince to stay away from the man, “You belong to me and not him! Don’t ever kiss him or let him kiss you!”
Aragorn laughed at the vehemence in his beloved Boromir’s voice, but promised to be true. Then seriously, “I love only you and have done forever; no one can ever take your place-ever!” They adored and cherished each other from that time on and when Aragorn turned eighteen, they made love for the first time, pledging their undying love and fidelity.
And now here they stood in their special room and Aragorn waited for Boromir to chide him for his melodramatic statements. When the blond continued to remain silent, his lover became concerned. “Boromir-what is wrong? You left the festivities just as my father was toasting my coming adventure.” His voice was uncertain now.
“I’m sorry, Ara-love; I didn’t mean to spoil your fun, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving me tomorrow.” He turned around and the candlelight sparkled off a perfect tear streaming down his cheek. The look in his green eyes broke the Prince’s heart.
“Oh, Boro-I am not leaving *you*...never you, my Heart!” Aragorn threw his arms around the slightly larger man. “I will be back before you even have time to miss me! It is no different from the times we’ve been separated from each other during our times with the Rangers-we’ve endured weeks and months apart. Those times only served to make our reunions the all the sweeter.” His fingers were carding through his lover’s soft hair while simultaneously wiping away his tears. Aragorn knew that the man was truly upset for Boromir never cried-he got angry and frustrated and he yelled. The last time the Heir of Gondor could remember him doing so was at his mother’s funeral-but this; he did not know what to do.
“Come sit and tell me what has brought this on.” They sat on the bed that they’d snuck up to this room, piece by piece (after everyone was asleep) over several days between the watches of the Tower Guards. It was great fun and they were so proud of their accomplishment and christened the bed several times in celebration. But now, they sought only comfort. “Please talk to me.”
“I had a dream and in the dream I...I lost you to Greenwood-you never returned to me.” He got out finally, defeatedly.
“You dreamed that I died in the Elven realm?” The blond’s head was on his shoulder as they lay against the headboard.
“Nay-you did not die...In the dream, you returned home, but your heart was no longer mine. There is a great beauty in that land and she stole your love...or...or more accurately, you gave your love to her.” There was great conviction in his tone.
“Then I know that my heart is safely yours, for no female could steal me away! I am too fond of the male form (your male form) and there is a certain part that I am very, very fond of and no female that I have ever encountered has one.” Aragorn tilted Boromir’s face so that they were staring into each other’s eyes. “Tell me exactly what you saw in this dream.”
“You were walking through a great forest and there before you, a vision appeared. A great golden mist surrounded you and pale hands caressed your face and lips of ruby-red kissed you and you were drowning in a sea of blue. I could not see her properly, but the look of love and happiness on your face told me all. You were in love and it was not with me.” He glanced away from the blue-green gaze of his lover.
“Boromir, my sweet Boromir. There can be nothing to this dream; you know me. I would not-*could not*-fall for some female; be she Elven or not-no matter how beautiful. Do you not remember when my father invited those elves from Rivendell here? It was three years ago and the Lord of that land sent his daughter here along with his Advisor; she was by far the loveliest female we ever laid eyes upon. I was more intrigued by Erestor and the other males than her! *You* seemed more taken with her charms-I wanted to throttle you!” They laughed at that for Boromir only pretended to desire her to make Aragorn jealous.
“I remember; and you are correct. Perhaps...perhaps I am just worried for nothing. But you know that Faramir and I both have the gift of sight through dreams as our father does.” Aragorn did know. Boromir had a prophetic dream about his mother’s death and he also dreamed that orcs would attack a settlement near Ithilien before it happened and managed to save many lives. He never doubted his beloved’s insight, but this was different. There was no chance of him falling in love with any female and forsake Boromir for her.
“Why don’t we go back to the celebration? The food is delicious and the wine and ail is flowing; there is little time before I have to retire to gain my rest for the journey tomorrow.” Aragorn coaxed.
“I am not in a festive mood-at least not for revelry among a room full of people. Can we not just stay here for a time and then you can go back down?”
Aragorn smiled wickedly; he knew that tone and that look from Boromir. “But what, oh what could we do here in this room with naught but a bed in it?” He nuzzled his nose against the slightly older man’s.
“I may have an idea...” Their mouths came together and they nipped at each other’s lips playfully. Boromir pushed his fears aside and became aggressive, grabbing the Prince around the shoulders and flipping him onto his back as he devoured his mouth in earnest.
Their tongues warred with each other and hands sought out familiar places-under tunics, across chests and backs until they felt that clothes hindered their progress. Soon these bothersome garments were flying across the small room. As hands caressed and tweaked taut flesh, Boromir’s teeth latching onto the brunet’s left nipple, nipping almost painfully and laving it and the other alternatingly.
As he feasted, Aragorn twined his fingers into the other’s hair both pushing and holding him to his breast while making loud mewling noises in response. As Boromir abandoned the hard nubs reluctantly, he moved down the well-toned chest to the flat stomach, delving his tongue inside the hirsute navel. Aragorn arched off the bed at the invasion which gave his lover the chance to push down his pants that had been loosened by Boromir’s questing fingers as they near-stripped each other earlier.
As the cool air hit his heated skin, the Prince trimbled, but then moaned loudly as the blond man ran his tongue along his hard shaft before taking it into his mouth, swallowing him half way; then pulling back to the tip, circling the head, gathering the nectar there before taking his thickness entirely down his throat. Both men knew the other and could deep-throat their lover’s considerable lengths-having had hours of practice over the two years they’d been together.
Aragorn held Boromir’s head as he fucked that eager mouth devouring him, knowing how hard or fast to move. As he neared his peak, he moved faster, Boromir taking him all the way; but before he could spill his essence, the blond pulled back, causing Aragorn to groan in protest, but he was soon moaning again when his lover parted his nether cheek and ran his tongue along the crevice back and forth, finally stopping at his puckered entrance where he nibbled the small opening before pushing to gain entrance.
Boromir loved the taste of his beautiful love and as the tight opening began to relax, he folded his tongue and pushed further inside, laving against the slick walls. The brunet was getting very loud and pulled a pillow to his mouth to stifle his cries of passion and at the same time, Aragorn pushed against that maddening, exquisite tongue, trying to force it further inside.
Soon, Boromir added one finger, then another along with his tongue, stretching and probing that tight channel. As one digit found and rubbed against that secret place inside, Aragorn parted his legs even wider, opening himself up wantonly to get more penetration as liquid fire coursed through his body.
He couldn’t stand much more, so he reached to the small table next to the bed and rifled through the drawer until he found the small vial there. He gripped the tiny vessel and pushed it towards Boromir. “Please, no more! Take me, Love-take me now!”
The blond continued to lick and savor the Prince’s secret cavity as he pulled the stopper out of the vial and coated his fingers. Once they were slick, he replaced his mouth with two digits, shoving them roughly inside, the way the brunet liked it. As he scissored the fingers of one hand, loosening his lover up, the other stroked the man’s swollen shaft, making him writhed in delight against Boromir. He knew what the Prince liked, playing him like a fine instrument, loving the wild music he made.
Soon, he had three fingers inside and Aragorn begged him to fuck him before he died of want. Boromir laughed lovingly, “Does my Sweet Love crave my touch?”
“I crave everything that is you! Inside-now!” He practically screamed. Boromir complied by quickly coating himself before shoving his cock inside, nearly seating himself in one push. The sound that the Prince made was animal and the Steward’s son was sure that the entire Citadel must have heard him-but he cared not. He had his lover beneath him screaming his name, meeting him thrust for thrust. It was not a gentle joining; it was almost violent, but filled with love and passion.
As they continued their frenzied dance, Boromir covered Aragorn’s mouth with his own, pushing his tongue roughly down the other’s throat in the same manner as his cock breached the Prince’s nether portal. Aragorn growled deeply as the blond hit that tight bundle of nerves over and over and soon he froze before he screamed his release, spilling his seed between the two of them, splattering his chest and Boromir’s.
As he came, his spasming channel squeezed his green-eyed lover’s pounding tumescence tightly, almost painfully, causing Boromir to reach his peak inside his lover, filling him with his hot fluids, marking him from within.
As their breathing became more even, they kissed tenderly in stark contrast to the near violent coupling they just shared. As Boromir’s softening length slipped free of the Prince’s body, he turned on his back, puling Aragorn with him. Before the two of them drifted off, the blond pulled a cover over them, keeping the chill at bay as they slept in each other’s arms.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[*Boromir watched as Aragorn walked through the golden mist in the beautiful green grotto. There he went into the pale arms of the Elven Beauty, kissing the rose-red lips deeply.
As the blond man moved closer, the Beauty glanced over ‘his’ Aragorn’s shoulder without breaking the kiss, pinning Boromir with his cerulean stare. The Steward’s heart froze. He had interpreted the previous dream erroneously; the Great Beauty in Greenwood the Great was not female, but an exquisitely beautiful Elven male with pale-gold hair and large blues eyes. As the vision continued to stare, the Prince of Gondor turned and looked at Boromir with sad, apologetic eyes saying, “Oh, my sweet Boromir-please forgive me...”.*]
Boromir cried out, awaking in a cold sweat-jarring Aragorn awake as well. “Wha..? Boromir-love, what is wrong?”
The candles lighting the room had burned down, but there was enough light in the room to reveal the fear and sadness in the man’s eyes. “Make love to me,” The blond said desperately.
“So soon, Love? My poor backside has barely recovered-I fear I may have to ride on my belly tomorrow.” Aragorn said in a playful mood; he wanted to remove that haunted look from his lover’s face.
“No...No, I want you inside me; I want to feel you deep inside.” He buried his nose in the Prince’s neck, smelling and tasting him.
“But we’ve never...I never taken you before. I never thought you wanted that.” Aragorn was perplexed at this turn.
“Please...please do this for me. I must know you in this way before...before it’s too late...” The last was just above a whisper, so low as his voice trailed off, that the Heir was not sure he heard correctly.
“Of course; anything. You know that I would die for you. If you want this now, we will and we can do so again and again when I return.” He kissed his love’s eyelids covering those dreamy green orbs he so adored. It started a little uncertainly, for this was new territory for them, but soon their passion took over.
But where their coupling was rough and frenzied before, Aragorn was very gentle and tender with Boromir; partly because it would be his first time, but mostly because of the near fragile state he was in. Aragorn figured that the older man must have had another disturbing dream, but he was confident that they were born of Boromir’s apprehension at their coming separation which would be the longest that they’d ever been apart.
At least when they were separated by ranger duties, they knew that if it became too difficult, he or Boromir could find a reason to go to the other-for they weren’t at war. Yes, this would be different, as the Prince will be in a foreign realm and Boromir will not be able to come to him nor the Aragorn to the man. They would simply have to write as often as possible-if possible; but they would find each other again and Boromir’s dreams will not stand in their way (Greenwood Beauty or not!).
As he held Boromir close, they fell asleep with him spooning behind, still buried inside his lover. They were that the next morning way when Faramir came to wake Aragorn. Faramir, who was three years younger than the Prince, found out about them a year before. Upset at first, he soon accepted the pair, being very romantic at heart.
After a quick bath and a light meal to break his fast, Aragorn mounted his horse as he took his place among the Dúnedains. He was very valiant, the picture of a Prince as he said his public goodbyes to his parents, the Steward Denethor, Faramir and Boromir (the latter and he had said their tearful farewells in private). He felt some guilt at leaving his lover, for though he would miss him terribly, he was also very excited about this mission which would be a chance to prove himself and show Gondor in a great light.
Boromir watched for a while next to the Royal family, but then he went to their special room to watch Aragorn from the tower-watching until he could no longer see him on the horizon. He took one last look at their room saying goodbye, for he knew without a doubt that he and Aragorn would never make love or share special moments here again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Weeks later in the forests of Greenwood the Great...
The Rangers and the Prince were met by green-clad elves guarding the borders of King Thranduil’s realm and they escorted them through the beautiful, ancient forest. After three days, they called a halt, for they would be meeting the King’s own emissary here. When an hour had past, Aragorn let his mind drift back to Gondor, wondering how his Boromir was faring. At first, he didn’t realize that anything was happening; since the elves moved so quietly, he didn’t hear the Royal Emissary arrive. It was only after one of his personal guards tapped his shoulder that he noticed the elves kneeling with heads bowed respectfully.
As his group stood waiting, two heavily armed elves of remarkable size came forward and one spoke, “Friends of Gondor-I present to you His Highness, Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen.” As they stepped aside, Aragorn breath caught in his throat at the vision before him.
He was so taken that he forgot his manners and failed to bow before a Royal in their on land; but before he could correct this oversight, Prince Legolas smiled and bowed before him, “Welcome to Greenwood the Great, Prince Aragorn-we have been eagerly awaiting your visit. Thank you for honoring us with your presence.” That the Prince was amused by his reaction was apparent, but Aragorn didn’t feel that he was being mocked. He was sure that the Prince was quite used to non-elves reacting to him is this way (perhaps other elves as well) for he was *exquisite.*
Aragorn remembered himself finally and smiled as he bowed to the lovely elf, “I am most honored to be here, my Prince and grateful for the opportunity to experience such beauty.” As he finished speaking, he blushed when he realized how this may have sounded-like he was flirting (perhaps subconsciously he was). As he was informed as to their schedule to reach the palace, Aragorn and his personal guard (who would remain with him during his stay) said their farewells to the rest of the Rangers, the border elves escorting them back the edge of the forest; Prince Legolas and his delegation proceeded to lead Aragorn to his ‘new’ home for the next year.
As the two Princes talked and began to get acquainted, Aragorn became spellbound and as the Sindarin stared into his eyes, he felt that he was drowning in a sea of blue. That last thought sparked a bit of sadness and guilt, but he didn’t put it into perspective until much later when Boromir’s words and warning came back to him weeks later as he found himself falling in love.
“Oh, my sweet Boromir-please forgive me...”
Back home in Gondor, Boromir’s heart was breaking.
Finis
Please review My Aragorn Table
Title: Golden Mist
Author: Númenora
Warnings/Rating: NC-17 for explicit descriptions of sex and rough language. M/M Slash, AU; mention of underage sex with an older male. Major angst.
Disclaimers: Characters are NOT MINE, never will be.
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir Aragorn/Well-known Tolkien Character
Summary: On the eve of his departure on a diplomatic mission, Aragorn tries to allay Boromir’s fears that nothing will change between them while he is away. Also posted to 25fluffyfics for Prompt: Nightmare.
A/N: One-shot (I’m not planning to continue this one) inspired by Gayle’s wonderful art entitled “Undone” and “Going South” and other Aragorn/Boromir works found at this link: http://www.tenebris.org/x__art/x__art_sub.html Please visit and enjoy, but please head her warnings. My readers know that I am an Aragorn and Legolas fic person, but I do love Boromir, too.
This will be a bit long-winded, but here goes. The back story to this one is similar to the one for Another’s Guilt. The Ring and Sauron were both destroyed during the First Alliance and since then, Men and Elves have drifted apart, except that in the last 150 years or so, the Noldo of Imladris and Lothlórien have extended the hand of friendship to the people of Gondor; the only realm that has not done so before is Greenwood the Great (never called Mirkwood since the Darkness never descended), but that has now changed. The Sindarin King, Thranduil, in the tradition of his Elven cousins has asked that a representative from the White City come to live in Greenwood for one year to restore relations between the races while the Elves still inhabit Middle-earth. Aragorn has been delegated by his father, King Arathorn II, to represent Gondor just as the King did in Rivendell and his father before him in Lórien. Aragorn and Boromir, the Steward’s son have been lovers for 2 years since Aragorn turned 18 and Boromir was 20. This fic begins on the night of Prince’s farewell celebration.
[ ] denotes a dream sequence
* * denotes thoughts or stressed words or italics
“There you are! Do you realize that I have been everywhere-hither and yond-looking for you?” Aragorn, the Crowned Prince said dramatically with a hint of teasing in his voice.
Boromir didn’t answer him for he didn’t trust himself to speak as the sadness he was feeling threatened to overwhelm.
“Alright, my Love; I did not search ‘*everywhere*’ for I knew that you more than likely would be here in our special place.” Their special place was a forgotten room they stumbled upon in the Tower of Ecthelion, which had been hidden away and blocked off when Ecthelion I rebuilt it so many years ago. As far as the two could figure, it was probably used as a safe room during times of strife or (Boromir said lasciviously) it was used by some randy Steward and his mistress or with some virile young guard for elicit sex! This was their use for it and one man could always find the other there for this or just to talk or hold each other.
Their affair almost didn’t happen since Boromir didn’t always love Aragorn; he tolerated him in the way that children did with those younger than they. Boromir had no problems with his brother Faramir who was five years his junior; partly due to their blood relations, but mostly because the older brother thought of Faramir as his baby-even before their mother died. Aragorn was different. He was the Crowned Prince and a distant cousin, two years younger and for a teen like the Steward’s eldest, two years may just have been twenty.
Aragorn was a pest, Boromir felt; always asking foolish questions of the 13-year-old, following him around with puppy-dog eyes, hanging onto every word Boromir said, even when he wasn’t speaking to Aragorn-which was most of the time. For Aragorn-the sun rose and set on Boromir’s shoulders and his words were as precious as those of the Valar. Boromir was his first crush and his first love.
Boromir had been in love several times; his first was when he was fifteen--it was with a nobleman’s daughter whom all his friends thought was the loveliest girl in the land. She had red hair and big brown eyes and was tiny and demure and she adored him; he enjoyed the envy of his friends, having her on his arm. She was the first female he had actual feelings for and the last. His next love came in the form of his mentor; the man assigned to train him in weapons and guide him as he served with the Rangers for his first duties as a future officer.
It started as hero worship, but turned to something more when they were stationed on the outskirts of Osgiliath. He was sixteen and after three days in the field, they returned to the barracks where he had his first bath among the other soldiers. He’d seen unclothed males before, but those were boys his own age and these were men; large, muscular and very virile. He’d blushed to show his undeveloped frame, but the men made him feel at ease and when his mentor, Orodreth touched him for the first time (innocent though it was) his heart fluttered. Then later, after he became a bit drunk one night at an inn, he tried to kiss the man on the lips. Orodreth told him that if he still felt the same way when he was sober, then he’d be honored to share comfort with him.
Two days later, Boromir got his first taste of cock and he never wanted to kiss or be around women ever again until he was compelled to marry. Orodreth was an excellent teacher, but he only taught the young man about oral delights between men; telling the young man that Boromir should save himself for someone he truly loved. When Orodreth was transferred to head an Ithilien regiment, the Steward’s son was crushed until he fell for a beautiful young lieutenant. This went on and on like this, one beauty after another; and when back home, he kept Aragorn at arm’s length.
At fourteen and fifteen, the Prince was gangly and awkward; while fair of face since he was born, he was still a boy and Boromir saw him as a *little* boy-until one day, after being away from home for months (now a young lieutenant), an eighteen-year-old Boromir returned home to attend the Prince’s 16th birthday celebration. He didn’t want to, but it was an official event as the teen was coming of age. The blond was prepared to be pestered as always and was gearing himself up for it all.
He didn’t see Aragorn when he returned the day before the party, the boy having been away all day at the tailors for last minute fitting of his new wardrobe; and Boromir spent the next morning and noon catching up on his sleep and visiting friends whom he hadn’t seen for the months he’d been away. When he arrived late for the party, he had to endure his father’s lecture on his tardiness and disrespect. He apologized, saying the necessary things to appease him, only half sorry since the later he was, the less time he’d have to spend in the Prince’s presence.
He was in the middle of hearing again how the Steward would not tolerate such behavior from his eldest whom he expected great things from in the future and now, when he was pulled into a rib-crushing hug from a richly-dressed, dark-haired young man. He laughed thinking that it must be one of his old classmates that had moved away, for he couldn’t place him at first; but when the man pulled back and Boromir looked into beautiful blue-green eyes, he was struck dumb. His mind couldn’t grasp that this beautiful young man with Aragorn’s eyes was actually Aragorn.
He’d always admired the Prince’s eyes, but the boy was irritating. But this stunning creature took Boromir’s breath away and he couldn’t form two words together to say anything. Aragorn mistook his silence as his customary annoyance and he hurriedly patted the older teen on the shoulders, saying welcome home and backed away with hurt in those incredible eyes.
Boromir only heard half of what his father was saying to him about his continual rudeness-that he’d be Aragorn’s Steward someday and on and on...
The eighteen-year-old excused himself from his gapping father and ran to his room to get something he’d found while out on patrol-it was a dagger that had been buried in a cave. From the markings, it was from the days of the early Kings, when Osgiliath was still the capitol of Gondor. He had planned to give it to his father or perhaps King Arathorn himself (whom he greatly admired), but now, he wanted the Prince to have it. So he took it out to make sure the weapon was presentable. He’d taken it to a well-known metal smith to restore it.
After placing it securely and lovingly in its velvet pouch, he wrapped it inside the cloak that he’d picked up at the last minute for the Prince. It was made of a nice material, but hardly remarkable. Securing the box under his arm, he checked his hair and appearance in the mirror before returning to the party. Once there, he hovered near Aragorn, but didn’t try to talk to him and when the young Royal would glance his way uncertainly, he managed to smile at him which brought happiness where hurt once dwelled.
When it was time for the Prince to receive his gifts, Boromir waited and waited, thinking that Aragorn wouldn’t like his present; what if the smith and the historian were wrong and this was just some knife someone dropped-the jewel’s could be fake! He had worked himself up into such a state that he didn’t hear the Steward ask the guests if there were any more gifts to be presented. When Faramir tapped him, pointing to the box under his arm, he stepped towards the table where Aragorn sat, surrounded by his bounty.
He mumbled that his gift wasn’t much, “Just a cloak I bought in Osgiliath and something I found while on patrol...” His voice trailed off and then, “I hope you like it...and happy birthday, Prince Aragorn.” Aragorn smiled in that little-boy way that used to bug him, but now, Boromir thought was the loveliest thing he’d ever witnessed.
Aragorn opened the box, pulling off the ribbon; when he saw the cloak, he loved it-not because it was beautiful or anything, but because the blond had given it to him. As he lifted it out, the black velvet pouch fell back into the box. With a delighted look, he opened it to reveal a beautifully carved dagger of mithril and gold-encrusted with gems. The collective sounds of awe and admiration that went throughout the room at the sight of such exquisite workmanship made Boromir feel relieved, but the pleased and joyful look from Aragorn made his soul sing. Boromir was in love-totally, hopelessly in love.
From that day, the two were inseparable-spending everyday together. They rode, talked and played games; and one day, as they picnicked together, pelting each other with food and wrestling one another to the ground, Boromir ended up pinning the Prince. And as they stared in each others’ eyes, Aragorn’s (and now Boromir’s) fondest wish came true and they shared their first kiss-the first of many. The weeks following were happy until it was time for Boromir and Aragorn as well to leave Minas Tirith for their Ranger duties. It was hard for the two to be apart; especially for Aragorn after finally getting his Boromir. But they had to go. They promised to write often and when Boromir learned that Aragorn was going to serve under Orodreth, he told the Prince to stay away from the man, “You belong to me and not him! Don’t ever kiss him or let him kiss you!”
Aragorn laughed at the vehemence in his beloved Boromir’s voice, but promised to be true. Then seriously, “I love only you and have done forever; no one can ever take your place-ever!” They adored and cherished each other from that time on and when Aragorn turned eighteen, they made love for the first time, pledging their undying love and fidelity.
And now here they stood in their special room and Aragorn waited for Boromir to chide him for his melodramatic statements. When the blond continued to remain silent, his lover became concerned. “Boromir-what is wrong? You left the festivities just as my father was toasting my coming adventure.” His voice was uncertain now.
“I’m sorry, Ara-love; I didn’t mean to spoil your fun, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving me tomorrow.” He turned around and the candlelight sparkled off a perfect tear streaming down his cheek. The look in his green eyes broke the Prince’s heart.
“Oh, Boro-I am not leaving *you*...never you, my Heart!” Aragorn threw his arms around the slightly larger man. “I will be back before you even have time to miss me! It is no different from the times we’ve been separated from each other during our times with the Rangers-we’ve endured weeks and months apart. Those times only served to make our reunions the all the sweeter.” His fingers were carding through his lover’s soft hair while simultaneously wiping away his tears. Aragorn knew that the man was truly upset for Boromir never cried-he got angry and frustrated and he yelled. The last time the Heir of Gondor could remember him doing so was at his mother’s funeral-but this; he did not know what to do.
“Come sit and tell me what has brought this on.” They sat on the bed that they’d snuck up to this room, piece by piece (after everyone was asleep) over several days between the watches of the Tower Guards. It was great fun and they were so proud of their accomplishment and christened the bed several times in celebration. But now, they sought only comfort. “Please talk to me.”
“I had a dream and in the dream I...I lost you to Greenwood-you never returned to me.” He got out finally, defeatedly.
“You dreamed that I died in the Elven realm?” The blond’s head was on his shoulder as they lay against the headboard.
“Nay-you did not die...In the dream, you returned home, but your heart was no longer mine. There is a great beauty in that land and she stole your love...or...or more accurately, you gave your love to her.” There was great conviction in his tone.
“Then I know that my heart is safely yours, for no female could steal me away! I am too fond of the male form (your male form) and there is a certain part that I am very, very fond of and no female that I have ever encountered has one.” Aragorn tilted Boromir’s face so that they were staring into each other’s eyes. “Tell me exactly what you saw in this dream.”
“You were walking through a great forest and there before you, a vision appeared. A great golden mist surrounded you and pale hands caressed your face and lips of ruby-red kissed you and you were drowning in a sea of blue. I could not see her properly, but the look of love and happiness on your face told me all. You were in love and it was not with me.” He glanced away from the blue-green gaze of his lover.
“Boromir, my sweet Boromir. There can be nothing to this dream; you know me. I would not-*could not*-fall for some female; be she Elven or not-no matter how beautiful. Do you not remember when my father invited those elves from Rivendell here? It was three years ago and the Lord of that land sent his daughter here along with his Advisor; she was by far the loveliest female we ever laid eyes upon. I was more intrigued by Erestor and the other males than her! *You* seemed more taken with her charms-I wanted to throttle you!” They laughed at that for Boromir only pretended to desire her to make Aragorn jealous.
“I remember; and you are correct. Perhaps...perhaps I am just worried for nothing. But you know that Faramir and I both have the gift of sight through dreams as our father does.” Aragorn did know. Boromir had a prophetic dream about his mother’s death and he also dreamed that orcs would attack a settlement near Ithilien before it happened and managed to save many lives. He never doubted his beloved’s insight, but this was different. There was no chance of him falling in love with any female and forsake Boromir for her.
“Why don’t we go back to the celebration? The food is delicious and the wine and ail is flowing; there is little time before I have to retire to gain my rest for the journey tomorrow.” Aragorn coaxed.
“I am not in a festive mood-at least not for revelry among a room full of people. Can we not just stay here for a time and then you can go back down?”
Aragorn smiled wickedly; he knew that tone and that look from Boromir. “But what, oh what could we do here in this room with naught but a bed in it?” He nuzzled his nose against the slightly older man’s.
“I may have an idea...” Their mouths came together and they nipped at each other’s lips playfully. Boromir pushed his fears aside and became aggressive, grabbing the Prince around the shoulders and flipping him onto his back as he devoured his mouth in earnest.
Their tongues warred with each other and hands sought out familiar places-under tunics, across chests and backs until they felt that clothes hindered their progress. Soon these bothersome garments were flying across the small room. As hands caressed and tweaked taut flesh, Boromir’s teeth latching onto the brunet’s left nipple, nipping almost painfully and laving it and the other alternatingly.
As he feasted, Aragorn twined his fingers into the other’s hair both pushing and holding him to his breast while making loud mewling noises in response. As Boromir abandoned the hard nubs reluctantly, he moved down the well-toned chest to the flat stomach, delving his tongue inside the hirsute navel. Aragorn arched off the bed at the invasion which gave his lover the chance to push down his pants that had been loosened by Boromir’s questing fingers as they near-stripped each other earlier.
As the cool air hit his heated skin, the Prince trimbled, but then moaned loudly as the blond man ran his tongue along his hard shaft before taking it into his mouth, swallowing him half way; then pulling back to the tip, circling the head, gathering the nectar there before taking his thickness entirely down his throat. Both men knew the other and could deep-throat their lover’s considerable lengths-having had hours of practice over the two years they’d been together.
Aragorn held Boromir’s head as he fucked that eager mouth devouring him, knowing how hard or fast to move. As he neared his peak, he moved faster, Boromir taking him all the way; but before he could spill his essence, the blond pulled back, causing Aragorn to groan in protest, but he was soon moaning again when his lover parted his nether cheek and ran his tongue along the crevice back and forth, finally stopping at his puckered entrance where he nibbled the small opening before pushing to gain entrance.
Boromir loved the taste of his beautiful love and as the tight opening began to relax, he folded his tongue and pushed further inside, laving against the slick walls. The brunet was getting very loud and pulled a pillow to his mouth to stifle his cries of passion and at the same time, Aragorn pushed against that maddening, exquisite tongue, trying to force it further inside.
Soon, Boromir added one finger, then another along with his tongue, stretching and probing that tight channel. As one digit found and rubbed against that secret place inside, Aragorn parted his legs even wider, opening himself up wantonly to get more penetration as liquid fire coursed through his body.
He couldn’t stand much more, so he reached to the small table next to the bed and rifled through the drawer until he found the small vial there. He gripped the tiny vessel and pushed it towards Boromir. “Please, no more! Take me, Love-take me now!”
The blond continued to lick and savor the Prince’s secret cavity as he pulled the stopper out of the vial and coated his fingers. Once they were slick, he replaced his mouth with two digits, shoving them roughly inside, the way the brunet liked it. As he scissored the fingers of one hand, loosening his lover up, the other stroked the man’s swollen shaft, making him writhed in delight against Boromir. He knew what the Prince liked, playing him like a fine instrument, loving the wild music he made.
Soon, he had three fingers inside and Aragorn begged him to fuck him before he died of want. Boromir laughed lovingly, “Does my Sweet Love crave my touch?”
“I crave everything that is you! Inside-now!” He practically screamed. Boromir complied by quickly coating himself before shoving his cock inside, nearly seating himself in one push. The sound that the Prince made was animal and the Steward’s son was sure that the entire Citadel must have heard him-but he cared not. He had his lover beneath him screaming his name, meeting him thrust for thrust. It was not a gentle joining; it was almost violent, but filled with love and passion.
As they continued their frenzied dance, Boromir covered Aragorn’s mouth with his own, pushing his tongue roughly down the other’s throat in the same manner as his cock breached the Prince’s nether portal. Aragorn growled deeply as the blond hit that tight bundle of nerves over and over and soon he froze before he screamed his release, spilling his seed between the two of them, splattering his chest and Boromir’s.
As he came, his spasming channel squeezed his green-eyed lover’s pounding tumescence tightly, almost painfully, causing Boromir to reach his peak inside his lover, filling him with his hot fluids, marking him from within.
As their breathing became more even, they kissed tenderly in stark contrast to the near violent coupling they just shared. As Boromir’s softening length slipped free of the Prince’s body, he turned on his back, puling Aragorn with him. Before the two of them drifted off, the blond pulled a cover over them, keeping the chill at bay as they slept in each other’s arms.
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[*Boromir watched as Aragorn walked through the golden mist in the beautiful green grotto. There he went into the pale arms of the Elven Beauty, kissing the rose-red lips deeply.
As the blond man moved closer, the Beauty glanced over ‘his’ Aragorn’s shoulder without breaking the kiss, pinning Boromir with his cerulean stare. The Steward’s heart froze. He had interpreted the previous dream erroneously; the Great Beauty in Greenwood the Great was not female, but an exquisitely beautiful Elven male with pale-gold hair and large blues eyes. As the vision continued to stare, the Prince of Gondor turned and looked at Boromir with sad, apologetic eyes saying, “Oh, my sweet Boromir-please forgive me...”.*]
Boromir cried out, awaking in a cold sweat-jarring Aragorn awake as well. “Wha..? Boromir-love, what is wrong?”
The candles lighting the room had burned down, but there was enough light in the room to reveal the fear and sadness in the man’s eyes. “Make love to me,” The blond said desperately.
“So soon, Love? My poor backside has barely recovered-I fear I may have to ride on my belly tomorrow.” Aragorn said in a playful mood; he wanted to remove that haunted look from his lover’s face.
“No...No, I want you inside me; I want to feel you deep inside.” He buried his nose in the Prince’s neck, smelling and tasting him.
“But we’ve never...I never taken you before. I never thought you wanted that.” Aragorn was perplexed at this turn.
“Please...please do this for me. I must know you in this way before...before it’s too late...” The last was just above a whisper, so low as his voice trailed off, that the Heir was not sure he heard correctly.
“Of course; anything. You know that I would die for you. If you want this now, we will and we can do so again and again when I return.” He kissed his love’s eyelids covering those dreamy green orbs he so adored. It started a little uncertainly, for this was new territory for them, but soon their passion took over.
But where their coupling was rough and frenzied before, Aragorn was very gentle and tender with Boromir; partly because it would be his first time, but mostly because of the near fragile state he was in. Aragorn figured that the older man must have had another disturbing dream, but he was confident that they were born of Boromir’s apprehension at their coming separation which would be the longest that they’d ever been apart.
At least when they were separated by ranger duties, they knew that if it became too difficult, he or Boromir could find a reason to go to the other-for they weren’t at war. Yes, this would be different, as the Prince will be in a foreign realm and Boromir will not be able to come to him nor the Aragorn to the man. They would simply have to write as often as possible-if possible; but they would find each other again and Boromir’s dreams will not stand in their way (Greenwood Beauty or not!).
As he held Boromir close, they fell asleep with him spooning behind, still buried inside his lover. They were that the next morning way when Faramir came to wake Aragorn. Faramir, who was three years younger than the Prince, found out about them a year before. Upset at first, he soon accepted the pair, being very romantic at heart.
After a quick bath and a light meal to break his fast, Aragorn mounted his horse as he took his place among the Dúnedains. He was very valiant, the picture of a Prince as he said his public goodbyes to his parents, the Steward Denethor, Faramir and Boromir (the latter and he had said their tearful farewells in private). He felt some guilt at leaving his lover, for though he would miss him terribly, he was also very excited about this mission which would be a chance to prove himself and show Gondor in a great light.
Boromir watched for a while next to the Royal family, but then he went to their special room to watch Aragorn from the tower-watching until he could no longer see him on the horizon. He took one last look at their room saying goodbye, for he knew without a doubt that he and Aragorn would never make love or share special moments here again.
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Weeks later in the forests of Greenwood the Great...
The Rangers and the Prince were met by green-clad elves guarding the borders of King Thranduil’s realm and they escorted them through the beautiful, ancient forest. After three days, they called a halt, for they would be meeting the King’s own emissary here. When an hour had past, Aragorn let his mind drift back to Gondor, wondering how his Boromir was faring. At first, he didn’t realize that anything was happening; since the elves moved so quietly, he didn’t hear the Royal Emissary arrive. It was only after one of his personal guards tapped his shoulder that he noticed the elves kneeling with heads bowed respectfully.
As his group stood waiting, two heavily armed elves of remarkable size came forward and one spoke, “Friends of Gondor-I present to you His Highness, Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen.” As they stepped aside, Aragorn breath caught in his throat at the vision before him.
He was so taken that he forgot his manners and failed to bow before a Royal in their on land; but before he could correct this oversight, Prince Legolas smiled and bowed before him, “Welcome to Greenwood the Great, Prince Aragorn-we have been eagerly awaiting your visit. Thank you for honoring us with your presence.” That the Prince was amused by his reaction was apparent, but Aragorn didn’t feel that he was being mocked. He was sure that the Prince was quite used to non-elves reacting to him is this way (perhaps other elves as well) for he was *exquisite.*
Aragorn remembered himself finally and smiled as he bowed to the lovely elf, “I am most honored to be here, my Prince and grateful for the opportunity to experience such beauty.” As he finished speaking, he blushed when he realized how this may have sounded-like he was flirting (perhaps subconsciously he was). As he was informed as to their schedule to reach the palace, Aragorn and his personal guard (who would remain with him during his stay) said their farewells to the rest of the Rangers, the border elves escorting them back the edge of the forest; Prince Legolas and his delegation proceeded to lead Aragorn to his ‘new’ home for the next year.
As the two Princes talked and began to get acquainted, Aragorn became spellbound and as the Sindarin stared into his eyes, he felt that he was drowning in a sea of blue. That last thought sparked a bit of sadness and guilt, but he didn’t put it into perspective until much later when Boromir’s words and warning came back to him weeks later as he found himself falling in love.
“Oh, my sweet Boromir-please forgive me...”
Back home in Gondor, Boromir’s heart was breaking.
Finis
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