"Oh gods, Aragorn. Yes. Yes, harder, my lovely!"
Boromir uttered these words in a hoarse plea between panting breaths, his voice heavy with lust and desperation. His body was clad only in a shimmering layer of perspiration and was laid across the bed, his legs wrapped firmly around the leanly muscled torso of the man above him, his thighs gripping his partner's sides as though Aragorn were a wild stallion that Boromir was determined to break.
"Boromir.....melethron-nin......" Aragorn murmured softly, huskily, tossing sweat-soaked tendrils of dark hair from his face with a toss of his head as he thrust ruthlessly and unremittingly into the body beneath him. His mind centered completely on the intensely pleasurable heat surrounding his member, and on the beauty of the man that writhed and groaned in response to him. The golden radiance of hair and body. The verdant glory of those eyes. So trusting. So welcoming. So needy. It was everything Aragorn had been searching for during his long existence. His warrior. His lover. His life. His Boromir.
Breathing harshly, his blue eyes flashing, Aragorn lay on his side, rolling Boromir with him to lay opposite without breaking the point of their connection. Now Aragorn pressed his body fully against that of his lover and continued to thrust, calloused hands busily stroking and petting, hips slapping in a quickening tempo, mingled groans of lust and whispered terms of affection slipping from kiss-bruised lips.
Tense and almost sobbing with need, Boromir held Aragorn tightly, long fingers burying into dark tangled tresses as he sucked greedily at the Ranger's tongue in between urgently uttered words. "Aragorn. Please....please....bring me over now. Please my love. I shall go mad." He lowered his head to press his forehead to Aragorn's, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasurable agony, his penis a pulsing iron spike pressed against Aragorn's abdomen.
The Ranger smiled gently, slipping his face up to kiss Boromir's forehead, then his lips, then nibbling softly at the warrior beard-shaded chin as he took his lover's overburgeoning need in hand and began to work it in long, even strokes. It did not take long. Boromir shuddered and uttered a sharp cry as his release shot forth in hard bursts, splashing between their shimmering torsos.
Moments later, Aragorn was slipping a hand around Boromir's lower back, pulling their hips flush as Aragorn's own need was fulfilled and his own seed poured forth to fill the body of his lover. For those few moments of almost blinding pleasure, Aragorn forgot every word he had ever known except for the name of man he held in his arms, and he chanted that name again and again in a raspy whisper as he slowly came back to himself.
When it was over, he did not withdraw immediately, but only savored the way that Boromir burrowed against him, his breath warm against the Ranger's damp neck. The closeness. The sensation of holding and being held. Of heartbeats combined. Of souls fused and unbreakable even until the ending of the world.