Prize
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Summary: Aragorn offers to help Boromir teach Merry and Pippin how to use their swords. Boromir gets more than he bargained for.
Disclaimer: Do I look like Tolkien? Wait- don't answer that.
“Protect your center, Peregrin.”
“I am!” the hobbit replied indignantly.
“No, you aren’t. If you keep your sword up like that, you’ll be disemboweled,” Boromir said, swiftly growing impatient.
Shortly after it had been determined that Merry and Pippin would be allowed to join the Fellowship, Boromir had overheard Mithrandir state his concern that the two young hobbits would come to harm on their journey, as they had little skill in defending themselves.
Boromir had volunteered to give them some instruction, assuming that it would not be too difficult. After all, if he could train sixteen-year-old recruits in the army, how hard could it be to teach two Halflings the basics?
After the first lesson, he had his answer: very.
“But if I don’t keep my sword up, I’ll get my head chopped off!” Pippin protested.
Boromir sighed. “An orc may be closer to your own size. Why don’t you and Merry spar some more?” He doubted that would help- Merry grasped the principles better than did Pippin, but he was hesitant about applying them.
“Perhaps I can help you show them what you’re getting at.”
Boromir tensed as he recognized the voice that came from behind him. Aragorn. Carefully schooling his features into an impassive expression, he turned, ready to decline the would-be king’s offer with a few biting words. His half-formed retort, however, died on his lips.
Aragorn was no longer dressed as a Ranger. Gone was the scruffy attire and the dirt of the road. He’d even washed his hair. He was dressed simply, in a diamond pattered tunic with black pants and a matching vest. He looked almost Elven.
He was beautiful.
Boromir cursed mentally. Before he’d known who Aragorn truly was, he’d been attracted to the other man, and had intended to make an attempt to get him in his bed. Upon learning his true identity, however, Boromir had abandoned his plan, as well as any feelings of desire- or at least, he’d thought so.
Shoving aside his all thoughts of his feelings for Aragorn to be examined later, Boromir once again opened his mouth to refuse the offer.
“Boromir?”
“Yes, Pippin?” This time, Boromir let it show in his voice that his patience was running thin.
“Maybe it would be easier for me to understand if I watched you and Strider spar,” the hobbit offered.
Aragorn grinned at Boromir. “What do you say?”
So the would-be king wanted to spar with him, did he? Boromir smiled grimly. Yes, that would suit him fine.
“Very well,” he replied.
Merry and Pippin grinned at each other, but Boromir hardly noticed. He had long desired the chance to put this cocky Ranger in his place.
The two men stood facing each other at a distance. A bow, a salute, and the match begun.
They circled each other for a moment, but when it became clear that Aragorn was not going to take the offensive, Boromir moved in. Aragorn easily parried his blow, and returned it with one of his own.
Both men were skilled with a blade. The hobbits oohed and ahhed at every strike, blow, and parry, but the Men paid them little mind. Boromir was utterly focused on the match, his concentration entirely bent upon Aragorn, and their blades meeting in a clash of steel that felt, somehow, as intimate as a lover’s embrace.
As this thought ran through his mind, Boromir met Aragorn’s eyes- and was blown away by the intensity that they held. He knew, with the same otherworldly sureness that had lead him leagues from his home for no other reason than a dream, that the other man had had the same thoughts as he. Aragorn desired him, and for an instant, shivering, Boromir wanted to go to him, and let himself be taken.
Valar, how I want this man, he thought, then shook his head as if to bodily dislodge such thoughts. I am not slave to my baser instincts.
He tried once again to get past Aragorn’s defenses. The other man blocked his strike, but barely. He seemed shaken, and Boromir wondered briefly if the Ranger had been able to read the raw lust in his eyes.
He decided to experiment. The next time that Aragorn blocked his strike, instead of disengaging their blades and trying again, Boromir took several steps forward, forcing the other man back. Aragorn held his ground rather well, and they struggled there for a moment, both pushing with all their weight in an attempt to force the other to retreat.
Boromir locked eyes with Aragorn and poured all of the desire he felt for the other man into a single look. Aragorn took a surprised step backwards, and Boromir took the advantage, pressing forward and managing to slip under Aragorn’s defenses and bring the point of his sword to the Ranger’s neck.
“Do you yield?” Boromir asked, smiling grimly.
“Aye,” Aragorn replied hoarsely.
“That was very impressive,” exclaimed a strongly accented voice.
Boromir blinked. He’d completely forgotten the hobbits’ presence. So, it seemed, had Aragorn, yet it was he who managed to pull himself together first.
“Thank you, Pippin. I wouldn’t recommend attempting such tactics yourself, though. I don’t think they’d work on an orc.” He punctuated this last with a smile in Boromir’s direction.
Boromir scowled at him. The point of this had not been to give the Ranger ideas. “I think that’s enough for today,” he said to the hobbits.
Pippin and Merry seemed grateful that the lesson would be cut short, and lost little time in departing.
Aragorn hadn’t moved. As soon as the hobbits were out of sight, Boromir turned to him. “So,” he asked lightly, now more determined than ever to put the other man in his place. “Is there some prize for besting Isildur’s heir in a test of skill?”
Aragorn seemed amused. “A prize? What sort of prize?”
Boromir took a step towards him. “This sort,” he growled, claiming the other man’s lips with his own.
He’d expected Aragorn to be surprised, but he seemed to have anticipated this move. The other man kissed him back, sliding his tongue into Boromir’s mouth.
When they pulled apart, both men were panting.
Aragorn smirked, and Boromir suddenly realized that he was the one who had been put in his place. “Will that do?”
Boromir was unable to think of a suitable response. “Aye,” he said hoarsely.
Aragorn turned to leave. It wasn’t until he was almost out of sight that Boromir thought of a reply. He lost no time in calling it out.
“Yes, Ranger, that will do- for now.”
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Summary: Aragorn offers to help Boromir teach Merry and Pippin how to use their swords. Boromir gets more than he bargained for.
Disclaimer: Do I look like Tolkien? Wait- don't answer that.
“Protect your center, Peregrin.”
“I am!” the hobbit replied indignantly.
“No, you aren’t. If you keep your sword up like that, you’ll be disemboweled,” Boromir said, swiftly growing impatient.
Shortly after it had been determined that Merry and Pippin would be allowed to join the Fellowship, Boromir had overheard Mithrandir state his concern that the two young hobbits would come to harm on their journey, as they had little skill in defending themselves.
Boromir had volunteered to give them some instruction, assuming that it would not be too difficult. After all, if he could train sixteen-year-old recruits in the army, how hard could it be to teach two Halflings the basics?
After the first lesson, he had his answer: very.
“But if I don’t keep my sword up, I’ll get my head chopped off!” Pippin protested.
Boromir sighed. “An orc may be closer to your own size. Why don’t you and Merry spar some more?” He doubted that would help- Merry grasped the principles better than did Pippin, but he was hesitant about applying them.
“Perhaps I can help you show them what you’re getting at.”
Boromir tensed as he recognized the voice that came from behind him. Aragorn. Carefully schooling his features into an impassive expression, he turned, ready to decline the would-be king’s offer with a few biting words. His half-formed retort, however, died on his lips.
Aragorn was no longer dressed as a Ranger. Gone was the scruffy attire and the dirt of the road. He’d even washed his hair. He was dressed simply, in a diamond pattered tunic with black pants and a matching vest. He looked almost Elven.
He was beautiful.
Boromir cursed mentally. Before he’d known who Aragorn truly was, he’d been attracted to the other man, and had intended to make an attempt to get him in his bed. Upon learning his true identity, however, Boromir had abandoned his plan, as well as any feelings of desire- or at least, he’d thought so.
Shoving aside his all thoughts of his feelings for Aragorn to be examined later, Boromir once again opened his mouth to refuse the offer.
“Boromir?”
“Yes, Pippin?” This time, Boromir let it show in his voice that his patience was running thin.
“Maybe it would be easier for me to understand if I watched you and Strider spar,” the hobbit offered.
Aragorn grinned at Boromir. “What do you say?”
So the would-be king wanted to spar with him, did he? Boromir smiled grimly. Yes, that would suit him fine.
“Very well,” he replied.
Merry and Pippin grinned at each other, but Boromir hardly noticed. He had long desired the chance to put this cocky Ranger in his place.
The two men stood facing each other at a distance. A bow, a salute, and the match begun.
They circled each other for a moment, but when it became clear that Aragorn was not going to take the offensive, Boromir moved in. Aragorn easily parried his blow, and returned it with one of his own.
Both men were skilled with a blade. The hobbits oohed and ahhed at every strike, blow, and parry, but the Men paid them little mind. Boromir was utterly focused on the match, his concentration entirely bent upon Aragorn, and their blades meeting in a clash of steel that felt, somehow, as intimate as a lover’s embrace.
As this thought ran through his mind, Boromir met Aragorn’s eyes- and was blown away by the intensity that they held. He knew, with the same otherworldly sureness that had lead him leagues from his home for no other reason than a dream, that the other man had had the same thoughts as he. Aragorn desired him, and for an instant, shivering, Boromir wanted to go to him, and let himself be taken.
Valar, how I want this man, he thought, then shook his head as if to bodily dislodge such thoughts. I am not slave to my baser instincts.
He tried once again to get past Aragorn’s defenses. The other man blocked his strike, but barely. He seemed shaken, and Boromir wondered briefly if the Ranger had been able to read the raw lust in his eyes.
He decided to experiment. The next time that Aragorn blocked his strike, instead of disengaging their blades and trying again, Boromir took several steps forward, forcing the other man back. Aragorn held his ground rather well, and they struggled there for a moment, both pushing with all their weight in an attempt to force the other to retreat.
Boromir locked eyes with Aragorn and poured all of the desire he felt for the other man into a single look. Aragorn took a surprised step backwards, and Boromir took the advantage, pressing forward and managing to slip under Aragorn’s defenses and bring the point of his sword to the Ranger’s neck.
“Do you yield?” Boromir asked, smiling grimly.
“Aye,” Aragorn replied hoarsely.
“That was very impressive,” exclaimed a strongly accented voice.
Boromir blinked. He’d completely forgotten the hobbits’ presence. So, it seemed, had Aragorn, yet it was he who managed to pull himself together first.
“Thank you, Pippin. I wouldn’t recommend attempting such tactics yourself, though. I don’t think they’d work on an orc.” He punctuated this last with a smile in Boromir’s direction.
Boromir scowled at him. The point of this had not been to give the Ranger ideas. “I think that’s enough for today,” he said to the hobbits.
Pippin and Merry seemed grateful that the lesson would be cut short, and lost little time in departing.
Aragorn hadn’t moved. As soon as the hobbits were out of sight, Boromir turned to him. “So,” he asked lightly, now more determined than ever to put the other man in his place. “Is there some prize for besting Isildur’s heir in a test of skill?”
Aragorn seemed amused. “A prize? What sort of prize?”
Boromir took a step towards him. “This sort,” he growled, claiming the other man’s lips with his own.
He’d expected Aragorn to be surprised, but he seemed to have anticipated this move. The other man kissed him back, sliding his tongue into Boromir’s mouth.
When they pulled apart, both men were panting.
Aragorn smirked, and Boromir suddenly realized that he was the one who had been put in his place. “Will that do?”
Boromir was unable to think of a suitable response. “Aye,” he said hoarsely.
Aragorn turned to leave. It wasn’t until he was almost out of sight that Boromir thought of a reply. He lost no time in calling it out.
“Yes, Ranger, that will do- for now.”