Title: Darkness, Lies and Betrayal
Author: CheyenneDancer (cheyenedgr@aol.com)
Websites: http://www.slashcity.org/~cheyene/
WARNINGS: Okay, this is it, kiddies. I was going to be heartless and start the story from Gimli's perspective and what's going on with our favorite dwarf, but decided that would be too cruel, even for me.
BEWARE: HERE THERE BE DARKNESS. RAPE. SHAME. COERCED UNHAPPY SEX. HUMILIATION. This is where NC-17 *becomes* NC-17. BEWARE. NO COMFORT YET.________________________________________________________
Darkness, Lies and Betrayal 5 - When Darkness Falls
By CheyenneDancer
The hobbits gasped aloud and Boromir could hear Aragorn start to his feet. A scuffle behind him and muffled curses told him that the Uruk-hai was more than capable of handling one wounded and weakened Ranger.
Bleak despair shadowed Boromir's eyes as he watched the Elf's disbelieving face. "Do not do this thing, Boromir. Not here."
"Where then? And when?" Cruel in his agony, Boromir refused to relent, "I have paid your price, whore. Now I wish to see what I have bought."
For a brief moment, Legolas squeezed his eyes closed, the dark lashes a stark shadow against the pallor of his face. It was almost as if the Elf hoped that all that had come to pass was but a waking dream, and would pass upon the opening of his eyes. A slight shudder passed through the slender figure and he raised his head, squaring his shoulders. Desolate blue eyes moved about the camp restlessly, avoiding Boromir's angered gaze.
Legolas rested his sight ever so briefly upon Aragorn's face, what the elf contemplated seeming to deepen the sorrow and grief that was gathering about him. He then allowed his gaze to travel first to Merry and then Pippin, before straightening himself as if about to go into battle. Ignoring the leering faces of Orc and Uruk-hai alike, he set his mouth in a grim line, but looked to Boromir once more, "The halflings should not be made to watch. Please."
Moved more by Legolas's plea on behalf of the small ones, Boromir looked to the Uruk-hai. "The journey is long to Isengard and I cannot keep calling you Thing. By what name are you called?"
Arrogance was something the Uruk-hai had in full measure. Whatever foul means had been used to make this twisted creature, pain and torment had not broken its pride. The flat yellow eyes roved over Boromir as if pondering whether it needed to reply to the man before him. The beast turned his eyes to the Elf, and there was a stronger flicker of emotion behind the soulless gaze, as if the Uruk-hai would devour the Elf. The grimace he graced Boromir with was more frightening than reassuring. "Lurtz."
Briefly, Boromir wondered if it pained the Uruk-hai to speak or if the creature thought speech beneath it. Perhaps, mused Boromir, it was only natural to cling to pride in a world gone mad. In a world where you were stripped of everything you were, shattered and begging, pride would be all that was left. The Son of Gondor could not help but wonder why Saruman had left that hauteur intact within his foul creation. Mayhap, even a wizard with all the dark skills imbued by Sauron could not totally erase the remnants of the proud Elven race from the twisted hulks of their Orc-ish hybrids.
"Lurtz. We are in need of water. Even if your beasts do not need to refresh themselves often, the halflings will." Boromir shifted beneath the emotionless gaze, wishing he could read this fell creature. "Have someone take the hobbits to gather the water they will need from the river."
A flicker of something in that animalistic glare and it was gone too soon to tell; though Boromir rather thought it had been contempt. It was with something akin to relief that Boromir heard the Uruk-hai break out into an abrupt flow of speech, the muttering and crackling harsh upon his ears.
"No!" Pippin's voice cracked. "Let me stay. Please. Don't Boromir!"
Merry hissed at Pippin, "Pip! Be quiet. Don't make it worse for Legolas than it already is."
Struggling in the merciless grip of one of the Orcs that was shoving him towards the sounds of running water, Pippin quavered, "Boromir won't do *that* to Legolas. Not if we are here."
Boromir blinked, his breath caught at the simple faith Pippin yet had that all of his goodness had not fled with his betrayal of the Fellowship. "Do not torment Legolas, little one. I do this for his sake, as much as yours. It is all the mercy that is left me."
Defiantly, Pippin twisted free of the Orc holding him, dashing towards Boromir. Angry denial shook the small hobbit's body and Pippin spoke quietly, "I do not torment him. You've taken that task for yourself." The orc quickly snatched the little one up with a sneer, and loped away. Boromir took several deep breaths to calm himself.
Turning slowly, he turned his gaze back to Legolas. "I have done as you asked. I have done this for *you*. Does it not make you happy?" Legolas stood unmoving, his desolate gaze staring off into the middle distance as if he sought to withdraw from the present. Boromir flushed. Legolas was not to ignore him! Not after everything he had done to gain the Elf's favor! "Do I not get a thank you? Even courtesans have better manners. And you, my whore Prince, need to keep in mind all that is held in balance. I will not allow you to continue to trifle with me so."
Shaking himself, the Elf's voice was barely audible, "Thank you."
"Better. No more delays. No more games, Legolas." Boromir drew his dagger from his belt and stalked over to the Elf. With the ease of any predator, Boromir sliced through the bonds binding Legolas. Sliding the dagger back home in its sheath, Boromir stepped back a pace, crossing his arms across his broad chest, staring at the Elf with fierce determination.
"Legolas. You do not have to do this."
Boromir snarled, not taking his eyes from *his* Elf, "Keep your mouth shut, Ranger or I will have one of the Orcs give you something to fill it."
Ignoring the traitor, Aragorn urged with quiet desperation, "Legolas, flee. You are not bound."
With a subdued dignity, Legolas answered, looking neither to Aragorn nor to Boromir, but rather looking inward to some vista that only he could see, his voice faint and wraithlike, though calm. "I am bound more surely by my word than any chord or chain. To this I have agreed."
Legolas strode to the center of the glade. Ignoring the loud mocking cries of the circling beasts, the Elf removed the twin bracers from his arms with care. Pensively, he caressed the soft leather and traced the Great Tree emblem of Mirkwood, before setting them aside upon the log that he had shared with Boromir.
Settling with stiff grace, he removed his boots, his gaze fully focused on each individual task, as if the simplest action required the entirety of his concentration. When that was done, he slid his leggings down the length of his muscled legs, spare toned flesh being revealed a centimeter at a time.
Boromir found himself holding his breath, as the Elf stood his movements slow and fluid. Nimble fingers worked the fastenings of Legolas's over-tunic.
If Boromir had not been standing so close to Legolas, he would have missed the slight tremor in the fine slender-fingered hands. The deep green garb fell to the ground about the Elf's bared feet revealing a mithril hued fabric that shone brightly beneath Anor's touch. The under-tunic fell in soft folds about Legolas's body and seemed to change color from palest blue to an Ithil-hued silver.
Legolas chest rose deep and even, as if counting each breath. He shut his eyes for a moment, before catching the hem of the undergarment in his hands and pulling the fine material over his head in one continuous movement, allowing it to drop heedless to the ground. All to soon for the Elf, he stood naked before the ravenous eyes of his foes. He could not bring himself to meet any look directed his way. Legolas could hear Aragorn's quiet intake of breath and dared not look to his friend lest his courage fail him now.
The noise of the Orcs receded, and the Uruk-hai prowled about the glade with its eyes fixed upon the Elf, its mortal enemy, standing slender and still in the center. Understanding the fell creature at this moment, more than Boromir wished to admit, the Man's breath caught in his throat, his gaze riveted.
Anor must love Elves and Legolas above all others. He seemed to draw the warm touch of the sun. Stiffening unconsciously beneath the heated gazes, Legolas canted his head. Straight and proud, Prince of Greenwood the Great, Son of Thranduil, Son of Oropher, the nobility of the elven race undiminished stood quietly, tension delineated every long line of his body, as if given the choice, he would flee and quickly.
Legolas's long hair hung like gold silk about his oval face, stray strands of hair escaping the small braids woven at his temples and accenting the delicate pointed ears. A fading bruise shadowed one high cheekbone. Smudges of dirt could not deflect from the beauty of the pale, gleaming flesh.
Smooth as any boy, Legolas stood revealed. His body seemed illuminated by a light from within. The Elf's chest was smooth and hairless, pale pink nipples surmounted a muscular torso. A breeze teased and taunted the expanse of Legolas's flesh, causing the Elf's hair to dance and the nipples upon his chest to crinkle.
Boromir licked his lips and his fingers twitched with the desire to pinch rosy discs of flesh until they stood taut and erect and begging for his attentions. A pent breath fled his lungs as he stared mesmerized.
Legolas's sleekly muscled chest narrowed into a flat abdomen. Long, slender legs met with tapered hips.
Boromir could not help but greedily devour the vision standing before him, his eyes traveled ceaselessly over the slim figure, lust and admiration dancing twin attendance within his blood flushed body. Resting his gaze upon Legolas's lax genitals, Boromir allowed a small sound of approval to escape betwixt his lips.
As smooth and slender as the rest of the Elf, Legolas's sex, its rosy crown all but hidden by its foreskin, lay quiescent, arching gracefully over the low slung orbs that were framed by pale thighs.
Drawn across the glade without thought, Boromir stopped within a hands' breadth of Legolas. "Look at me, Legolas."
Slowly, the Elf raised his gaze to Boromir's face, sorrow and shame mingled without hope in the star-bright depths.
Stricken, Boromir reached out, touching the bruise that he had left marking Legolas's face. With soft caress, Boromir ran his fingers along Legolas's jaw, tangling his fingers in the wild locks of sun-kissed hair and smoothing its long length back from the Elf's face. Exploring Legolas face with tender touches, Boromir felt the soft sweep of the dark lashes against his fingertip, the moistness of an angry tear that the Elf had not been able to withhold.
"You are beautiful--even in sorrow--as any maid I have known."
"I am no maid, Boromir." Legolas's voice was tight, carefully leached of any betraying emotion. Only the slightest tremor underscored his words, whither anger or some deeper pain, Boromir could not tell.
Grief burrowed deep within Boromir's chest. He wanted tenderness with this fey, wild creature. He wanted to hold him and stroke him and have him respond with willing passion to his caress. Yet, he could not free him, not now that he had the Elf. Legolas would flee his attentions and never submit to him.
"No. No, indeed, you are not. I doubt that I would desire you so, if you were." How could the Elf confuse him so? He spoke to Legolas beseechingly, his voice hoary with lust and yearning, "It does not need to be this way, Legolas." Feather soft, Boromir traced Legolas's throat, resting his spread palm at the base where the Man could feel the pounding rush of the Elf's heart blood.
Deep anguish shaded Legolas's quiet words; "It is the way you have chosen, Boromir. Only you hold the key to change this."
"I cannot change this. It is not in my power. I will not change this, Legolas, do not hope for reprieve from me. All I ask is that you make it easier upon yourself. Would it be so very heinous to give to me some small favor?"
A sharp sound that could have been bitter laughter attempted to escape the tight-pressed lips of the Elf. Legolas stared at him with patent disbelief. "You ask that I make this travesty into a mockery of something it is not. Nor will it ever be. I cannot do this thing you ask of me. It is best that you do whatever is in your heart. I expect no mercy from such as you."
"Then you shall get none." Boromir snapped. Furious with himself for believing he could have aught but the barest morsels of the Elf's attentions and those only when he snatched them for himself. A frustrated growl rumbled deep within his breast and he thought rather that he should shove this arrogant creature to the ground and use the pale, slender body as any beast in rut.
Boromir saw the expectation of pain in Legolas's eyes. The Elf's eyes blazed with anger and shame like an ocean on fire. Boromir stroked the silky flesh that seemed to burn under his touch. A flare of nostrils and a sudden swiftly contained quiver of limbs like a high strung mare beneath his palm betrayed the Elf's nervousness.
Touching Legolas's cheek with the back of his fingers, he savored the downy softness. It was a lover's caress not the touch of a conqueror. And Boromir did not bother to hide the tender light tinged by sadness held locked within the depths of his own green gaze as he rode out the roiling storm that brewed within the depths of Legolas's betraying eyes.
The Man of Gondor allowed his hand free reign, sweeping down the long throat, resting upon the collarbone, his thumb lightly circling the hollow at the base of Legolas's neck. Boromir could see Legolas fighting his response to the soft touches and it angered him.
"Think you that you shall stand and merely accept all that I do to you? Nay, that is not what I wish, fair Legolas. I will not bugger a corpse, but will have warm and passionate response from you. It will do good to resist."
Boromir continued his exploration of the Elf's body, his eyes never leaving the fair face, watching every shadow that fled across the changeable features, feeding off the wide-eyed dismay that reflected back at him. Legolas stood quiescent beneath the Man's wandering hands, his breath coming in a faint whisper.
Drawn by the sudden tightening of the pink discs on Legolas's chest, Boromir allowed one hand to sweep back and forth between the small nipples, plucking at the tight bud until the flesh peaked betwixt his fingers. A hiss of breath escaped his reluctant lover and Boromir smiled in pleasure, eyes gleaming with wicked knowledge.
A smile of wonder crossed the Man's face and he stepped closer to his captive lover, losing himself in the contemplation of Legolas's beauty. His voice was a quiet murmur between them, filled with dark promise, "Think you not I know the ways to pleasure your body? Your innocent arrogance leaves you vulnerable, my love. Do not be so assured in your own power of resistance. I know many ways to bring a man to completion, whether his desires burn hot or no." A nasty smirk twisted Boromir's face. "I do not imagine an elf is so very different."
Power seemed to flow into the Man of Gondor and he felt himself swell with it. He would keep the Elf off balance and near to him, he would break him to his touch, if this was the only choice Legolas would give him. But have the Elf and dominion over that slim youthful body, he would. It seemed as though the world spun away from him and it was only the two of them upon the face of all Arda.
Voices dimmed and faded, Aragorn's angry declamations and violent struggles with the Uruk-hai less than the buzzing of a fly. The Orcs caustic jeering and brazen suggestions mixed in the Black Tongue and broken Westron ignored as Boromir teased and tantalized the smooth silk of Legolas's flesh.
Cupping Legolas's face in the palm of one sword-callused hand, Boromir ran the ball of his thumb over the Elf's full lips, his heated gaze locked upon the Elf's downcast expression. Dropping his other hand, he folded his fingers in loving tribute about the warm soft flesh resting quietly between Legolas's thighs.
The Man of Gondor kneaded the warm flesh within his palm, felt the soft sacs roll between his fingers whilst the shaft of Legolas's member did thicken and lengthen at Boromir's urging. A triumphant look flashed into Boromir's eye and he studied the hidden turmoil evidenced within Legolas's downcast eyes. He nuzzled against Legolas's jaw, indulging himself with the pliant feel of smooth Elven skin. With all tenderness, Boromir sent warm puffs of air tickling the upswept ear, his voice mocking Legolas's unwilling response. "Kiss me, Legolas. Kiss the Man who has won your body if not your heart. Show to me the passion of the Elves."
Too often, men and other foes, influenced in their thoughts of Elves by ethereal beauty and sweet voices, forgot that these most lovely of creatures blessed by Iluvatar were the Firstborn. Neither Man nor ill-formed beast, but alien creatures, nonetheless, whose passions burned bright as Anor and despairs were said to plumb the pits of Moria. Elves had been warriors first, aiding the Valar in their battle against Melkor, long before the songs of the Ainur brought into being the thought of Mortal Man.
It flashed through Boromir's mind that this had been his own mistake, so caught in the youthful seeming innocence of the Elf, the Man had allowed himself to forget how very deadly even an unarmed Elf can be. Bitter surprise, followed almost by relief claimed him as Legolas moved with a swiftness Boromir could not hope to evade.
Spinning from beneath Boromir's questing hands and insolent touches, Legolas gave a keening cry of anger. Boromir's own knife appeared as if by magic in Legolas's long slender fingered hand. A quick blow of the Elf's palm to the Man's jaw and a sweep of the Elf's feet and Boromir felt himself slammed against the forest floor, the wild-eyed Elf having reached his limit and following him down with deadly intent.
Rage was easily seen dancing beneath the contorted features, eyes focused with grim resolution. It seemed as if the Valar must have come down, as Legolas's fury seemed to outshine Anor's light. The Elf straddled Boromir's hips, the Man's dagger clasped so tightly his fingers were white about the knuckles as raised the dagger for the killing blow. Legolas's face was a mask of seething emotion, his mouth pulled into a feral snarl which detracted not from the Elf's timeless beauty, his eyes so dark as to seem black in their fathomless misery.
Taking in a great gulp of air, suddenly so hot that it was hard to remember the day lingered cool on the cusp of winter, Boromir felt all color drain from his face. With what little honor he had left to him, Boromir stared into the face of his Doom. Some small protest deep within him would not allow him to simply surrender to this fate.
Pushing himself up on his elbows, Legolas's hair provided a curtain of seeming privacy about them. He could feel the Elf's hardened member throb against his belly, even through all the layers of his clothing. Almost hoping to find relief from the dismal path down which his choices had driven him, Boromir met the fury in Legolas's face with harsh determination of his own. "Do it." The Man commanded, "Do it now, Legolas. I care not. It is the only way you shall be free of me." Almost to himself, Boromir murmured, "Better to die by your hand than to dwell in eternal misery."
Of a sudden, Legolas seemed to come into himself, the light of vengeance fading from the overbright gaze. Some great struggle seemed to be shaking the Elf's slender body and his fingers clenched and unclenched upon the hilt of the gleaming blade.
A dark whimsy moved Boromir and he taunted Legolas, unable to resist fanning the flames of that glorious fury. With perverted pleasure at the nearness of his own death, Boromir whispered harshly, cutting across the Elf's inner turmoil. "You are foresworn, even as I. So much for the honor of the Elves."
With an incoherent outcry, desolation deep as the dungeons of Barad-dur chased the fire from Legolas's eyes. Flinging the dagger from him, it landed with a dull thud. Gone was the avenging spirit whose light had both sanctified and terrified, Legolas seemed to fold into himself with a shudder. Where but moments ago, Boromir's death had waited writ large upon the coldly carved features of Elven rage, the daemon of destruction was replaced by a pale and frightened Elf youth whose beauty was cloaked only in his despair.
The starkness of it caught in Boromir's throat, burning as if he had taken a draught of dwarven ale overfast. Tangling his hand in the golden strands masking Legolas's face, Boromir rolled them both until the naked Elf lay stretched beneath him.
Suddenly, Aragorn's voice rang out, clear again against a backdrop of Orcish grunts and laughter. "Because you have forsaken honor and trust, does not follow that all those you once named companion have become forsaken, as well. Have you not shamed Legolas enough? Leave him in peace, Boromir. He has never wished you ill."
"To the victor come the spoils, son of Arathorn. Did you not know?" An evil passion to debase Legolas's valiant love as much as he himself was debased, Boromir looked to the ranger, arrogance settling about him. "Would you that I grant him mercy, Heir to the Betrayer of his people?"
"I would suffer in his stead, if you would but free me."
Boromir snorted, "I doubt not that somewhere in your thick head you have some soft spot for our favorite Elf, but it is not you that sends my loins burning, nor desire leaping." He jerked Legolas's head towards him by the shank of hair still entwined about his fingers and pressed an obscene kiss against the swollen lips. Smirking, Boromir turned their faces so that Aragorn could see the Elf's pale face. "You did not answer me. Shall I grant him mercy?"
"Yes! Curse you! Whatever it is you may demand of me, if it be in my power I will give it you."
"You do not have it in your power to give to me what I wish. But this mercy I will grant to you." He shook Legolas harshly then leaned over the Elf, licking a long slow trail down the Elf's throat. He rested his lips above the bruise that had bloomed upon the pale flesh from his first caress and sucked at it delicately.
Legolas balled his hands into tight fists, swallowing great gulps of air. His eyes shut of their own volition and he turned his face forcibly from Aragorn, leaving strands of hair dangling loosely from Boromir's hand. It brought bitter amusement to Boromir, that to escape Aragorn's sympathy, Legolas burrowed nearer to his tormentor. "Tell, me, Ranger. I hear by nature your kind are prepared for all things. Do you have some unguent that can be used to ease his way?"
He felt the hitch in Legolas's breathing as a vibration between his legs. Boromir petted the Elf consolingly.
Aragorn stared at him aghast and half-rose from the kneeling crouch that the Uruk-hai had forced upon him at the beginning of this debacle. "I will have no part in this. I want no part in this!"
The disgust Aragorn felt wavered between the two a silent challenger. Boromir looked at his rival implacably. "No? If I say that I do not believe that you have ever dreamt of lying with this Elf, it would be a lie. As surely as the one you seek to have me believe. So be it, then. It will be upon you, whatever pain he may feel for lack of your consideration."
Impotent rage shadowed Aragorn's angry answer, "Look at yourself! Do you no longer take responsibility for your own actions? It is by *your* hand he suffers!"
Snarling, Boromir rose from straddling Legolas, eyes flashing a promise of death for the Dunedan. Legolas sat up, placing a shaking hand upon Boromir's wrist, the leather-tooled bracer warm beneath his hand. "Saes*--Boromir. Boromir, please. I--have a healing ointment in my pouch." Legolas looked like there was much he wished to add, but even his pride had its limits and it were as though he feared to bring down any more retribution upon his head than he had already earned.
Aragorn began to protest and finally Legolas caught the Dunedan's eyes, the pallor upon the Elf's face alarming. "Estel. I just wish to finish this. Do not..."Legolas broke off fighting for control, before he was able to continue, his voice underlined by the faintest of quavers, "Do not make this any more difficult. Do not judge me too harshly in the ways of Men. Please."
Boromir grimaced, Legolas's words piercing his heart and leaving it bleeding. The wounds inflicted here today, he had no doubt would be long in healing. His own, as well as the Elf's. At least the Ranger had subsided with his protests, though the blaze of blue eyes followed him in helpless agony as Boromir retrieved Legolas's pouch and dug through the various oddments.
He knelt by the Elf, one hand petting Legolas's bowed head absently. "Which is it? You have many small jars within."
"'Tis blue." The Elf answered in the quiet tones of defeat. Legolas picked at the blades of grass beneath his fingers listening to the faint melodies of the birds who had returned after their initial flight from the onslaught of the Orcs within these woods. The Orcs loathsome stench befouled the fair breeze.
The trees, though strange, whispered to him and he sought comfort in their songs, wishing dismally that the day had not turned so bright and beautiful. It seemed unfair. One should not have to participate in one's own rape when Anor shone so brightly and green growing things were sprouting new shoots in promised greeting of a renewal of life and hope.
If this thing must be done, he would have sooner had it happen within the reaches of Orthanc, the tower of the Betrayer, in the dead of night than beneath the boughs of this wood that reminded him so much of home.
He started when Boromir touched his shoulder lightly. "Hands and knees, Legolas. 'Twill be easier done, for both of us."
Legolas moved with a slow elegance, stretching his arms before him and burying his fingers in the dark loam. His breathing sounded harsh and irregular, and Boromir could only wonder what was passing through the young Elf's mind as he stroked gentle fingers tenderly down the length of Legolas's spine, resting his hand possessively upon the curve of the Elf's buttocks.
Taking a moment to admire the Elf in his submission, Boromir allowed himself to regard Legolas as he knelt before him. Long hair tangled with dead leaves and bramble, hiding the Elf's face from Boromir's searching gaze. Muscled arms and legs trembled as if Legolas, even now, fought the urge to fight or flee.
Equally quiet, voice no less defeated, Boromir commanded gently, "Lay your face down, Legolas. Hide in your arms, if you must. I will not punish you this time."
Uncomplaining, Legolas buried his head in his folded arms, the gold hair spilling around him. Boromir pulled Legolas's legs further apart, watching with avid interest as the twin sacs and Legolas's sex swung enticingly between the parted thighs. A shudder racked the slim body and a small noise of protest was muffled.
Opening the jar with a quick twist of his wrist, the Man of Gondor impatiently skewered a thick coating of the gel upon his fingers. With firm grasp, Boromir pulled the firm cheeks apart, exposing the most secret of entrances to the Elf's body. Boromir tickled a finger coated in the cool goo along the shadowed valley. Laying his face against the soft flesh of Legolas's buttocks as he watched the movement of his fingers. He gave the curve of the Elf's buttocks a brief kiss as he pushed his fingers against the tender opening. With slow deliberation, Boromir fought the ring for possession of Legolas's body and won as his fingers pressed inward.
Legolas gave a soft gasp, moving his head in denial against his arms, his eyes squeezed tight. The Elf could not help but wonder if there had been some sign that he should have seen. Mayhap, Boromir had spoken truly and his ravishment, the betrayal of the fellowship, the endangerment of Aragorn were as much his fault as Boromir's. If Legolas had not been so deep within his own woes, would he not have noted the deepening shadow that twined about the Man of Gondor, strangling honor with lust?
Trembling, the Elf fought to keep himself still when he felt Boromir press a kiss to his nether regions. It was almost too much when he felt the fingers pushing against his passage. He bit his lip until he could taste blood; it's taint coppery and tart upon his tongue when the fingers gained entry. He wished to sob like a babe in his mother's arms and felt shame plunge into him with each twist of Boromir's thick digits within his body.
Ignoring Legolas's quiet whimper, Boromir pulled his fingers from the Elf's body. Patting Legolas's backside condescendingly, Boromir pulled his anger, frustration, desire and lust about him using it like a goad, he concentrated on the kneeling figure before him. The Man reached his hand betwixt the quivering thighs, cupping the lax genitals. With a knowing motion, Boromir fondled the hot flesh nestled in his palm, before closing his fist tightly about Legolas's organ. With slow tantalizing strokes, Boromir teased the bashful crown from it's foreskin. A slow smile of pleasure lightened the Man of Gondor's face and as Legolas's hips made a quickly aborted movement, he released the engorged member.
Kneeling behind Legolas, Boromir again prised the tight buttocks apart, planting a heated kiss upon the orifice there. He continued to lick until he heard a muffled plea escape the Elf's hidden lips. Triumphantly, Boromir opened his trousers only and pulled his member from within. He wished that this could be done slowly, rightly, with bare flesh touching bare flesh, yet there was neither time, nor did he think Legolas would be willing.
With careful attention, Boromir slicked a handful of the cool gel over his throbbing sex, eyes upon his trembling prize. He would force Legolas to desire him. Given time, he was sure that he could make Legolas crave him. Curling his hand about one of the Elf's slim hips, he curled his finger, brushing in tender mocking remonstration against the soft flesh, mimicking the play between lovers.
Boromir poised his sex at the doorway to Legolas's body. "Relax, beloved. It will be easier on you if you relax."
A teary laugh was Boromir's only answer. Gritting his teeth, his fingers clenched and bruising upon the pale flesh of Legolas's hips, Boromir thrust forward breaching the entrance to Legolas's body.
Another whimper, louder this time, answered this violation of the Elf's body. For Boromir knew, no matter what words he told himself, nor what spell he sought to weave about this joining, it was no less a violation of body and spirit than if Legolas had never given consent. Anger filled him then. Anger and a sense of wrongful betrayal and he began to move forcefully within the tight confines of the Elven body.
"You are mine, damn you! Mine! Do you hear? Tell me!" With each word, Boromir thrust deeply into Legolas, feeling the tight grip of the Elf's channel pulse about him. A loud groan reverberated from his throat, joined by a pained cry torn from Legolas's lips. He gave the buttocks before him a sharp slap, a rosy print blossoming almost immediately upon the rounded curve of Legolas's buttocks.
Legolas jumped and gritted his teeth, determined to ride out the brutality of Boromir's assault. With the fierce resolve of a warrior of his race, he concentrated on his breathing, unable to withhold small whimpers of pain as it echoed through him like a sharp spear shoved along his backbone. Just as he thought he must cry out in agony, Boromir's harsh movement slowed and changed angle.
Legolas gulped a huge swallow of air, expelling it with sudden trepidation when Boromir thrust inward along his channel brushing some spot that was hidden deep within the Elf's body and causing a starburst of pleasure to flare out from his center. Crying out, Legolas jumped forward, almost dislodging Boromir.
But Boromir gripped him with hard hands and pulled him back, firmly impaling Legolas upon his rigid shaft. It seemed to be what the Man had been waiting for, some secret sign that Legolas had been too unwary to heed. Boromir's hand snaked around Legolas's belly and dragged slick fingers around the Elf's quickly engorging sex. Legolas cried out again and again, as the Man made sure that each forward thrust slid against that hidden spot of pleasure and each withdrawal slid with enticing promise.
orrified, Legolas yelped, struggling to escape the Man's clutches only to have Boromir pull him backwards and into his lap. Legolas's very struggles impaling him further until he thought he could taste the Man's sex upon the back of his tongue. Tears of humiliation from betwixt tight closed eyes trailed down his dirt smeared cheeks. The fact that Boromir was yet fully clothed save for the flesh entering his body in unyielding demand twisted deep and dark laying a shadow upon the young Elf's spirit.
Boromir's hand upon Legolas's turgid sex moved with knowing persistence and Legolas was caught between hand and hip. When the Elf sought to raise himself and escape the huge organ piercing his body, his sex leapt and throbbed in quick response beneath Boromir's resolute touch. Writhing, he was unable to escape the twin sensations and sobs began to be torn from his lips unwilling.
Sensation built within his body, holding him prisoner of delight, his nipples tightened at the lightest brush of a teasing breeze, the Orcs loud laughter assaulted his ears and deep within, Boromir continued to thrust like a beast in rutting season determined to bring Legolas into completion with him. Unyielding was the Man of Gondor and Legolas's fair body was wracked with tremors.
Heat gathered in the Elf's loins and, as if Boromir could feel the change in Legolas's own flesh, tightened his hand and began to plunge wildly and without finesse within Legolas's body. A warning throb and a sudden thrum of purest delight flooded through the beleaguered Elf and he wailed his denial as if in agony even as he was overwhelmed by wave after wave of pleasure intense as the touch of the fires of Anor. Legolas's release spilled with wild abandon upon the grasses and he sobbed uncontrollably, his body shivering even now within the circle of Boromir's strong arms with receding pulses of unwanted ecstasy.
When Legolas's seed filled his hand, Boromir cried out, the Elf's tight channel constricting spasmodically along the length of his manhood. Savagely, Boromir bit the tender flesh of Legolas's neck, a matching bruise blooming immediately.
Victory wove its heady enchantment about the Man of Gondor, and Boromir tightened his arm reflexively against the Elf, slamming Legolas down upon his needy flesh. Straining upwards against the Elf, he whispered hotly against the bowed head, heedless of the near silent sobs that shook the bowed shoulders.
He pinched one of Legolas's nipples ruthlessly until it filled with blood perched far out upon the pale chest like a young woman's. Mercilessly, Boromir lost himself in the rut, heat savage and wild suffused him and gathered in his loins, running in tingling circuit from the center of his desire to the crown of his head. Boromir felt as if every separate hair upon his body stood out, like unto walking into a thunderstorm. With a loud cry, he pulled Legolas tight against his body one more time, no longer caring if the Elf hurt in Boromir's search for pleasure within the welcoming confines of Legolas's body.
Orgasm thrummed through Boromir with the power of an explosion, the world was swept away and his spirit soared among the starry sky. Legolas's name fell from his lips and as he fell, exhausted and spent, he pulled the Elf against his chest, coddling him and petting his hair and whispering words of comfort that fell upon deaf ears. Boromir kissed the tip of a pointed ear that was just visible in the mass of golden hair. With a quiet laugh, as if this had solved all problems, Boromir plucked a few twigs from the knotted strands.
Silence reigned supreme. Even the Orcs were quiet. No songbirds sang and the breeze seemed to have been stifled. Boromir came to awareness slowly, Legolas lay still within his arms, his back to the Man, Boromir's sex yet buried within the heated recesses of the Elf's unresisting body. Shame filled Boromir then, and he pulled from Legolas's body with a thick wet, sucking sound. Sitting up, he saw that many of the Orcs were staring hard-eyed and lustily at the pair of them, their gnarled hands groping betwixt their legs.
The Uruk-hai sneered, amusement writ large across the ugly monstrous face. "You are a fool."
Boromir agreed silently, though no words left his lips. He turned from the beast to look down at the huddled bundle at his feet. Thoughtlessly, he picked up the first bit of clothing his hand came across, wiping the mess from his lax genitals before tucking himself back into his trousers, as if he could so easily erase what had gone before. With a shaking hand, Boromir lightly touched the Elf's sweat dampened back, brushing golden hair aside to delicately caress the Elf's flesh. Self-loathing blossomed strong in Boromir's breast as his eyes wandered beseechingly over the trembling figure. How could he have done this? What was happening to him? He helped Legolas to sit and a hissed breath from the Elf was like a scourge taken to naked flesh.
Yearning streaked pain in his tones as he entreated, "Legolas--I... "
Legolas interrupted him, keeping his head down, and his body turned from Boromir, the sweep of golden hair used as a shield between him and those who had watched. Words spilled in soft broken hesitancy into the still air, "I would like to bathe."
Boromir stood, slowly, feeling aged like an old man. Apology hovered on his lips and died as he pulled the unresisting Elf into his arms. Legolas stood stiffly erect, face averted. The Elf's body quivered like an over-stretched bowstring, pulled just to breaking and held there against reason.
It was only now that Boromir realized fully that he had never undressed. He had; indeed, treated Legolas like the whore he had accused the Elf of being. He wondered if Elves could even conceive of the word, did Legolas understand? As great as the guilt that oozed through him, Boromir found his love for Legolas grew a thousand-fold flaying him relentlessly.
"Legolas... " Again Boromir searched for something to say to ease the anguish he had caused. Boromir turned the Elf within his arms and Legolas allowed it. Swallowing thickly, Boromir stroked the tangled locks, pressing Legolas's head against his shoulder. "Legolas... I..."
Legolas trembled, then his voice thin and stretched like old parchment scraped across Boromir's ears. "Say nothing. Nothing. I do not wish to hear it." Pushing himself away from the Man, a fleeting gratitude that Boromir released him flooded relief-like across his down-turned face.
"Can I do anything... " Boromir's voice trailed off.
"You have done enough." The sound of Aragorn's voice whipped across the two. Boromir stiffened angrily, shame twisting him within its cruel talons. Protective anger flared, and the little humanity that had appeared at Legolas's distress fled as goblins before the sun.
Legolas turned looking somewhere beyond Boromir's shoulder. "I need to wash."
Letting his anger wash through him, Boromir turned it upon the Elf. Glaring, the Man demanded, "Why? Why do you wish to cleanse yourself?
Flinching at the harsh croaked words, Legolas briefly looked toward Boromir, but again failed to meet the Man's eyes. For a moment, Boromir thought Legolas would refuse to answer as the Elf's mouth moved but no words came forth.
"The stench is overbearing."
"It is *my* scent upon you, marking you." Boromir grasped the Elf by his upper arm, feeding his anger with Legolas's denial of their love.
"You are quite mad. You know this, do you not?" Legolas spoke softly to Boromir's chest.
The Uruk-hai moved restlessly coming within arms reach of where Boromir stood glowering at Legolas. It's voice jarring in its flat brutality. "The day is old. Night comes. We need to leave, Man. This wood is foul."
A harsh laugh escaped Boromir. "Indeed." Shaking the Elf roughly, Boromir shoved Legolas backwards several paces. "Clothe yourself, we head out of this accursed wood and make for Isengard."
Legolas stumbled to keep his feet. Boromir lifted his head to the growing wind, he could hear the heavy tread of Orcish feet returning from the river. A dull thud and angry cry attested to the fact that the halflings had not, as yet, accepted their leif. Boromir rubbed both hands over his face, scrubbing at his eyes, a strong scent of Legolas's release lingered upon his right hand. In spite of anger, in spite of his inner tumult, Boromir found himself groaning at the tangy odor. As if trained, his body responded quickly, the urge to take the Elf again, to bury his manhood deep within the hot, tight recesses of the Elven body nearly shook him with its power.
Shaking himself as if waking from a deep dream, Boromir caught Legolas fumbling with the clothing upon the ground. Heat traveled over the Man's face as he noted the blood and filth stained tunic lying upon the ground. He did not wish to know that Legolas would prefer to wear even that and so mask the scent of their union. Grim and dour, Boromir halted Legolas's struggle to shrug into his leggings.
The Elf watched him warily, through dulled eyes, their brightness misted by unacknowledged tears.
Boromir stiffened his spine, wishing he could find some spell or enchantment to change the past. To change his future, it beckoned with ill omen, but he shook it off determinedly. As long as he had Legolas, he would be content. Given time, Legolas would turn to him. He would have to.
"You forget yourself, Legolas. You are no more due the honor of the Prince of Mirkwood. You are mine now. Despoiled. My whore, until you submit to me fully." Boromir, loathing making his voice rough, gestured towards the garments clutched betwixt Legolas's tight fingers. "You will wear neither your outer garment, nor your leggings. It is your duty to be ready to please me whenever and howsoever I desire. In this manner you shall be constantly reminded of your new station."
Staring at Boromir numbly, Legolas allowed the soiled garments to fall from lifeless fingers, a dull red color staining the pale flesh. Boromir stooped and handed the Elf the mithril-hued under tunic, too short to cover the Elf with any decency.
Legolas shrugged it over his head and pulled the elven cloth down until its soft folds hid his body. The hem fell just above his thighs and when he moved, a tempting glimpse of pale thigh and a hint of genitalia could be discerned.
"You should thank me for my kindness. I could leave you in naught but the sweet scented night air and your bare feet treading perilous paths."
A quick fleeting glance, anger mixed with shame, and the blaze of Legolas's blue eyes were gone, looking beyond and avoiding best he could all that were here. A quiet murmur hovered between them, "Thank you, Boromir."
Before Boromir could respond, the hobbits were chivvied into the area. Pippin and Merry's eyes at once fastened upon Legolas. Boromir winced. Twin bruises adorned the Elf's throat, a fading bruise yet apparent upon the fair skin of his cheek. The deep green filth besmirched tunic of Mirkwood's Prince lay upon the ground, clearly giving evidence of Boromir's actions.
Legolas looked as if he would break if the hobbits said but one word. With a swift motion, Boromir silenced them, bringing their aggrieved glances upon himself. "We must move on. It is still several days journey through this wood, and untold days march from the borders to Orthanc. Do not tarry."
With that warning, Boromir grasped Legolas tightly, pulling him close. He hissed a warning at the Elf, "Do not stray far, pretty one. You will not like it if you anger me." And though Legolas stiffened beneath the Man's caress as his hand sought the fringe of the tunic and the warm flesh beneath, he did not move away.
So wrapped up with the Elf at his side, Boromir did not notice the Uruk-hai pick up the discarded tunic and inhale deeply before stuffing it into its pack.