Aragorn made his third pass through the teeming streets of the Sixth Circle, and still could find no trace of Boromir, though this was where they had agreed to meet after Boromir had conducted his training exercises with the army.
Frowning, Aragorn now moved to the arch that led down to the Fifth Circle, and had not gone far when he heard a very familiar laugh from a nearby passageway.
A smile spread over the Ranger's features at the sound and quickly he made his way to the entrance to the passageway. He had just rounded the corner, ready to give Boromir a playful scolding for making him hunt so long for him, when the sight before him caused him to stop short, his smile fading.
Boromir was leaning casually against the wall, his lips curved in a small smile. His linen shirt was partially unlaced, his neck and chest gleaming with perspiration. His face was flushed, his eyes bright, his hair slightly damp and discheveled. Normally, this appearance, so close to the way he looked after an especially vigorous round of sex, would have had Aragorn's leggings feeling about five sizes too small. But on this occasion, Aragorn was too filled with consternation by what he was seeing to feel much in the way of arousal at the moment.
Standing directly in front of Boromir, decked out in proper soldier's regalia, was an absolutely beautiful young man. Tall and slimly built, with dark hair that fell in soft curls to his collar. The eyes that were fixed unswervingly and devotedly on Boromir were a deep, rich brown, and when Boromir favored the youth with a warm smile, his own answering smile was almost blinding in its intensity.
But it was not the sight of the young soldier that so disturbed Aragorn all of a sudden. It was the solicitous way Boromir inclined his head as he spoke with him, the soft gleam in his green eyes, and when Boromir's expression turned almost tender at something the young man said and lifted a hand to lightly brush the back of his hand down one flawless cheek, Aragorn felt a lump form in the pit of his stomach.
Oh dear Valar, stop this at once, Aragorn ordered himself sternly. You are acting like a jealous maid! This is nothing but a young, idealistic soldier who obviously worships Boromir. All the soldiers look up to him. He is their Captain-General, their champion. They all aspire to be like him. This youth is merely more ambitious than the others, that is all.
A fierce pride spread through Aragorn's veins at this thought. But fierce pride was closely followed by fierce possessiveness and a crushing sense of doubt as Boromir's hand now left off stroking the young man's face and was now running long fingers through the dark brown richness of his hair in slow carressing motions. In response, the young man's slender body moved closer to that of his superior, so that they were now standing mere inches apart.
They continued to speak quietly, and Aragorn suddenly decided that he would happily give up all the secrets of Rivendell in exchange for the knowledge of what they were speaking of in such an intimate fashion. Intimate......now there was a word!
Boromir's eyes held a sense of deep affection that made the lump in Aragorn's stomach suddenly swell to a leaden weight, and for the first time in the Ranger's long life, he was caught in the grip of an emotion that made him both frightened and angry. The grip of complete, irrational jealousy.
Just then, Boromir's gaze shifted away from the young soldier's face to alight on Aragorn, and in the instant before a pleased welcoming smile crossed Boromir's features, Aragorn could have sworn he saw the green eyes widen almost guiltily.
His eyes still on Aragorn, Boromir bent to murmur in the young man's ear.....something else Aragorn would have given his left arm to overhear.....and then dismissed his protege. Immediately, he strode toward his lover, embracing him warmly and briefly kissing his cheek. This was the accepted, careful executed greeting the two of them exchanged whenever they were in a public setting.
Aragorn, however, returned the embrace rather stiffly and did not return the kiss at all, causing Boromir to pull back with a look of mild confusion on his face, his brow furrowing and a questioning expression coming to his eyes.
Part of Aragorn positively melted at the sight of that handsome, perplexed face. This part of him screamed at the rest of him to stop being so foolish and petty and to properly greet the one he loved so dearly. But another, darker part of him....the part of him only recently awakened....kept seeing that casual familiarity between Boromir and the young soldier. A familiarity that had appeared a bit too tender to Aragorn's watchful gaze.
So, keeping his tone carefully neutral, Aragorn avoided the question in Boromir's eyes, saying, "I think 'twould be a good idea for you and I to return to our chambers. There is something I need to discuss with you that will not wait."
Without waiting for a reply, Aragorn abruptly turned to move back up through the circles again while Boromir, looking more and more bewildered by Aragorn's odd behavior, followed closely behind.
Once in the privacy of their rooms in the Tower, they sat at the table by the terraced window that faced southward, facing one another over flagons of wine. Boromir sipped his cautiously, watching his lover over the rim of his goblet. The Ranger was silent, merely staring into the depths of his cup. The silence spun out. Until finally Boromir, who could not abide tense silences, prodded, "Aragorn?"
"So who is he?" Aragorn abruptly asked, tilting rather blank blue eyes toward Boromir. "Your young friend you seemed to be so close with?"
Boromir blinked at the sudden unexpected question, then replied slowly, "his name is Orlithron. He's been a member of the second watch brigade since he rose from the Academy three years ago." He fell silent, feeling maybe he should add more, but yet reluctant to do so before the almost cold appearance of those eyes before him. Now, for the first time, Boromir felt threads of true unease creep into his belly, and he quickly tried to drown those by taking another nervous swallow of wine.
Aragorn continued to stare at his lover in a cool, measured way, even as the jealous throb in his body was flaring hotter. And it was this that prompted him to say in the same even tone, "I see. Very impressive indeed. And how long have you been sleeping with him?"
There was a thunderstruck silence as Boromir stared at Aragorn with wide eyes, scarce able to believe what he had just heard. Then the absurdity of the moment struck him, and the reason for Aragorn's odd behavior suddenly became quite clear. And despite the worry that Boromir had felt over Aragorn's demeanor, he was now too shocked to prevent the harsh bark of laughter that erupted from him, causing Aragorn to raise his eyebrows in response.
"Gods, Aragorn. Is that what troubles you?" Boromir leaned back in his chair, his expression unbelieving. "You think I would be so blatently unfaithful to you? Do you really think that?"
The rational side of Aragorn tried to rise up again, to tell him that there was still time to stop this irrational behavior before it got too out of hand. But the jealous part of him rose up stronger than ever, now inflamed more into anger by Boromir's seemingly callous disregard of Aragorn's feelings.
"I do not know what I should think, Boromir. I know only what I saw. You two did seem quite well acquainted. More well acquainted than you seem with the other soldiers, in fact." Aragorn's face now held a measure of pain that he could not completely hide behind his mask of coldness, for hearing his own words was cutting deep into his heart.
Boromir sat up again, his expression of disbelief now turning to one of complete exasperation. "Sweet Valinor," he muttered, running a hand distractedly through his tousled blonde hair, then saying, "if you would know the whole story, Aragorn, I will tell you, as I would have no secrets between us."
He sat back again, his gaze firmly locked on his lover as he explained slowly, "young Orlithron has indeed performed......services for me in times of battle, when such expressions of camraderie are often the only means of comfort men at war can expect to find. Orlithron is quite enamoured of me, both as his commanding officer and as a man. And when he came to me in my tent and went on his knees before me, offering to relieve me of my stress and give me peace in my mind for a time, I would not deny him."
Boromir paused, and was disturbed to see that the pain in Aragorn's eyes had increased rather than lessened. And this made him hesitate. He knew that Aragorn understood about the concept of men seeking the pleasures of other men during battle, for they had discussed such things before. But this particular time, the idea seemed to grieve Aragorn mightily, and Boromir was now at a loss as to how to continue. Some of his earlier exasperation faded now, to be replaced by that uneasy feeling again. He suddenly felt himself as one tiptoeing on a thin ledge over a great chasm, where one misstep could send you plummeting to your doom.
In the face of Aragorn's persistant silence, Boromir licked his lips nervously and plunged ahead, his tone now slightly less direct and with a more pleading edge as he said, "but all that was long ago, Aragorn. Nothing of that sort has taken place between Orlithron and I since. But I still hold fond regard for him that he sought so eagerly to bring me comfort in the only way he felt he could." Boromir paused, then shrugged, adding, "'tis nothing more than that, my love." He took up his goblet and took another deep drink of wine, watching Aragorn carefully.
Aragorn's face seemed to tighten at Boromir's spoken endearment toward him. He sat for a moment, as if absorbing all Boromir had told him, then suddenly rose from the table, taking a couple of steps away, and standing with his back to his lover. Then, in a soft voice with a slightly roughened edge, he said, "so tell me this, Boromir. If you have such wonderful young soldiers so eager to bring you pleasure, what do you need of a grizzled Ranger of the North who is twice your age?"
"Aragorn," Boromir gasped, rising from the table in a rush and moving toward the other man. "My heart's own.......surely you do not think........?" As he spoke, he reached out to lay his hands on the Ranger's shoulders, but no sooner had Aragorn felt the Gondorian's touch than he shook him off with a rather violent gesture that left Boromir numb with shock, temporarily unable to react.
"I do not wish for you to touch me right now, Boromir," Aragorn whispered huskily, and it was at that moment that Boromir realized the full extent of the pain and insecurity that Aragorn was carrying within himself right now.
Still not quite able to find his tongue, Boromir could only watch helplessly with a steadily building ache in his own insides as Aragorn moved slowly over to the large sheepskin rug spread before the hearth and sat down upon it, leaning back on his hands, his long leather-clad legs stretched out in front of him. He still did not look at Boromir, but now said in a voice almost lost beneath the soft crackle of the fire, "perhaps Eomer was correct, Boromir. Perhaps 'tis not fitting for a King to share a bed with his Steward. Perhaps 'twould be better if I released you from your obligations to me in that regard and allowed you your freedom to pursue others."
Finally, Boromir found his voice. "I do not wish to pursue others," he protested vehemently.
Aragorn now at last turned his head to regard his lover with dubious, defeated blue eyes. "Indeed? I saw your face today in the presence of that young soldier, Boromir. I know the light of desire in your eyes. I of all people would know that light beyond any doubt. You wanted him again. I could see it plain as day." Aragorn felt silent now, his eyes dropping to the floor, then slowly he turned away again to face the fire, his voice a mere rasp of air as he added, "and as far as I am concerned, you may have him. You are obligated to me as a lover no longer, as I am no longer obligated to you."
Now a shock of searing pain shot through Boromir. A pain as real as that caused by the arrows of the Uruk-Hai that had pierced his body on Amon Hen so many months ago. Only this was worse........so much worse. And just as potentially deadly.
Giving up all pretense of pride, Boromir suddenly rushed to the rug before the fire, dropping down on his knees beside Aragorn, speaking earnestly, "Aragorn.....do not say such things. For you mean the world to me and I should cease to find any happiness in this life again if I cannot share it with you."
Aragorn sat unmoving, his eyes still looking into the depths of the flames, not giving any indication of whether he even heard Boromir speaking.
Undaunted, Boromir bent over, placing his hands on the thick shaggy warmth of the rug and literally crawled closer to Aragorn, his heart aching so terribly now that he actually wondered if it would just break open and bleed all on its own accord, staining the white sheepskin to deepest claret. His voice now held a hoarse, pleading note, his speech coming with a great effort, for he felt he had shards of glass caught in his throat. "Aragorn......please......."
Slowly, cautiously, as if reaching toward something so fragile it might break at the slightest touch, Boromir moved his hand toward Aragorn, placing it on the Ranger's arm. When his touch was not denied this time, the Gondorian then grew a bit bolder, slipping closer and sliding his other hand up Aragorn's other arm, until both were resting on the Ranger's shoulders. With soft beseeching sounds deep in his throat and tears coming to his eyes that would not be held back, Boromir began to nuzzle at the underside of Aragorn's jaw, kissing softly but insistantly, whispering in the other man's ear, "I love you, Aragorn. I have never loved another as I love you. Please, my lovely......do not release me."
Helpless to resist the power of Boromir's persistant and obviously heartfelt ministrations, Aragorn sighed deeply, finding his stern resolve melting. He knew he would never be able to let Boromir go. For to do so would be to dismiss a deep part of himself that he could not live without. But he still hurt, and the memory of the tender moment Boromir had shared with the young soldier still seared at his mind and heart. He could not so easily let such a thing slide by. He would have to give Boromir a reminder of who he had given his heart over to.
"You truly do not wish to be parted from me?" Aragorn now murmured, tilting his head almost unconsciously to give Boromir even greater access to the side of his neck.
"I do not," Boromir replied, speaking between kisses and licks to the Ranger's musky-scented flesh.
His voice growing deeper with building arousal, Aragorn ordered softly, "then undress me."
Lifting his head and looking at Aragorn with eyes burning with hope, Boromir hastened to do his lover's bidding, removing Aragorn's shirt first, then making short work of the boots and leggings, until Aragorn sat naked before the fire, his penis already starting to stir into life.
"You wish to continue to be my lover?" Aragorn now asked, reaching out to run his fingers through the softness of Boromir's hair.
"Aye," Boromir replied, his own voice now growing huskier as he took in the sight of the body of his lover, golden in the firelight. Aragorn could see that the front of the Gondorian's breeches was quite well filled out as well, but that would have to wait for the time being. There was a lesson to be taught here.
Now Aragorn tightened his grip on the blonde locks surrounding his hand, dragging Boromir's head down toward his lap as he said with calm authority, "then let us see what you can do for this old grizzled Ranger."
Boromir did not hesitate, but immediately took the semi-hard shaft into his mouth, suckling eagerly, feeling it lengthen and harden between his lips and feeling a rush of excitement that completely swept away the pain he had previously felt. He uttered a muffled grunt and began to tend to his lover with even more enthusiasm. His fingers grasped none too gently at Aragorn's hips as he took the now rock solid shaft deep into his throat, burying his face in the Ranger's lap, the feel of his coarse pubic hair and the almost overwhelming scent of his arousal almost driving Boromir mad.
"Boromir.......oh gods........" Aragorn murmured, his head tilted back, one hand still tangled in the warrior's hair, the other grasping hard at the rug beneath him, supporting him. He did not believe he had ever seen Boromir swallow him as greedily as he was doing now. It was almost more than he could bear. And for a brief moment Aragorn was tempted to forego his earlier intentions and just find blissful release down his lover's beautiful velvet throat, but the bruised part of his mind would not allow that. And it was not long before he was tugging gently at Boromir's hair again, this time encouraging him to rise.
"Stop now, Boromir. For there is more that I wish to do." Aragorn could not help but feel a pang of loss as that glorious sucking mouth released him. But he recovered quickly, saying quietly, "go and get the oil from the bedside table and bring it here."
With eyes gleaming like emeralds in the fire's glow, Boromir hastily rose and went to the table by the elegantly carved bed that they often shared. He returned in no time with a small crystal vial of amber-colored oil and knelt again by Aragorn's side. He began to hand the vial over to Aragorn, but Aragorn stopped him.
"No.....I want you to undress for me first."
Setting the vial carefully aside, Boromir removed his own boots and shirt, then finally unlaced his breeches and pulled them off. Aragorn let his eyes roam over the familiar but unspeakably lovely curves of his lover's body, feeling his already aching member grow harder still.
When Boromir was again kneeling beside him, Aragorn then wrapped his fingers around his own penis, stroking slowly and deliberately, watching Boromir as the Gondorian's eyes watched his every move as if hypnotized. As Aragorn had suspected, the warrior's own shaft was fully erect, the tip glistening with moisture. Aragorn had a sudden urge to lick that moisture away, as he had done countless times in the past. But there would be other opportunities for that. Many, many opportunities.
With this rather cheerful thought in mind, Aragorn now asked, "you wish to feel this buried within you?"
Passing his tongue over rather dry lips, Boromir nodded, so aroused he felt his body was vibrating with energy.
A slight smile curled the edges of Aragorn's mouth as he instructed, "then prepare yourself for me."
Boromir hesitated only for the briefest moment, a shade of a frown darkening his countenance. This was not something he had done very often. Usually, it was Aragorn's fingers stretching him open prior to taking him. Boromir still felt a slight awkwardness about doing this to himself, however. But, after all that had taken place today, Boromir knew it would be best for both of them if he were to follow Aragorn's instructions, and besides, he was not quite in a position to argue anyway. He was almost aching with need, and if this would bring his relief all the sooner, than he was all for it.
And so, coating his fingers liberally with the oil, Boromir reached around and began to probe at the tight entrance to his body, breaching the outer muscle easily and working his way in. He whimpered and squirmed as he tunneled deeper, trying desperately to find that elusive spot within him. He had no trouble finding that spot inside Aragorn when he made love to him, but finding his own was the devil's own job.
Meanwhile, Aragorn was almost beside himself as he watched Boromir. The warrior looked so lovely kneeling with his back slightly arched, his head tipped back, his eyes closed in concentration. Soft sounds of effort and frustration came from him, mingling with the smoother sighs of obvious delight. And as Aragorn watched, Boromir drew in a sharp breath, his teeth bit down on his lower lip, and his hips moved just the tiniest bit to the left and then....
"Oh!" Boromir exclaimed loudly, his entire body abruptly stiffening as his probing fingers had obviously made contact finally with his prostrate. His erection jumped at the sudden burst of stimulation, and some more clear fluid ran from the head.
This time Aragorn could not resist, but leaned slightly forward to slowly pass his tongue over the tip of the warrior's shaft, licking away the slightly syrupy discharge, but not attempting to touch him in any other way. Boromir uttered a strangled moan in response, trying to push his hips into deeper contact with Aragorn's mouth, whilst simultaneously grinding down harder against his fingers.
Unable to wait any longer, his own need and the sight of Boromir's enraptured writhing rapidly unravelling him, Aragorn now got up on his knees as well, sitting back on his heels and spreading his thighs widely apart. He reached over to encircle Boromir's waist with his hands, feeling overheated skin sheathing taut, trembling muscles. "Now, Boromir," Aragorn whispered urgently. "I must have you now."
Immediately, Boromir withdrew his fingers and moved forward, pressing his chest to Aragorn's as the Ranger grabbed Boromir's head in both hands and pulled him into a deep, hungry kiss. Their tongues dueled almost frantically as Boromir reached round to position Aragorn against the entrance to his body, pushing his hips down enough to capture the tip of his lover's erection within him. And once Aragorn felt his shaft penetrate that outer barrier, he immediately bucked his hips upward, burying himself to the hilt within Boromir's body in one mighty thrust.
Boromir cried out in combined pain, pleasure, and surprise as his body was so abruptly violated. Aragorn now stilled, the kisses he bestowed upon Boromir now growing softer, more tender. Their lips sliding softly over one another's, their teeth nipping lightly. Aragorn's hands slid up the smooth length of Boromir's back, hooking over the warrior's shoulders, pulling him down to meet him as he began to move with slow, even strokes, measuring his length within the confines of that sweetly clenching channel.
"Boromir," Aragorn sighed, sliding his mouth down the column of his lover's throat and nipping at the straining tendons in the warrior's neck. "Do not ever risk my ire again, melda-nin.....for I would go mad were you to be possessed this way by another." As he spoke, he rocked both of them in a sensual rhythm, and he was quite surprised in the midst of his deep pleasure to feel tears pricking at his eyes. "Please....please never do that again. I could not bear it." Now his hips were moving faster, thrusting deeper, finding the spot within his lover, and now Aragorn began to stimulate Boromir mercilessly.
Trembling and groaning helplessly as shocks of intense pleasure wracked his body, Boromir managed to grind out between clenched teeth, "never another, Aragorn........Never.......I love you, my treasure......Oh gods.......Love you so much......."
Boromir felt that if he could only get some stimulation to his throbbing erection, his release would be imminent. He started to move his hand downward to give himself this needed relief, but Aragorn was too quick for him. He immediately grabbed both the Gondorian's wrists in an almost iron grip as he growled breathlessly, "be not so hasty, my hot-blooded warrior."
Without waiting for a response, Aragorn suddenly moved forward, tumbling Boromir onto his back upon the rug. Now Aragorn set a hard pace, slapping his hips against Boromir's rear as Boromir lay helpless beneath him, his arms pinned to the floor above his head, his legs wrapped firmly around the Ranger's back. Boromir's moans sharpened to hoarse cries as he was kept at a mind-searing level of stimulation without the possibility of relief, for Aragorn avoided all attempts at the warrior seeking some contact for his painfully swollen member, try as he might.
It did not take long before Aragorn was stiffening and uttering a long moan of pure rapture as he filled Boromir's passage with his hot fluids of release. He bent his head, panting, drops of sweat like glittering jewels in the light of the fire beading on the tips of his dark locks.
"Ara-gorn," Boromir whined desperately, writhing crazily beneath his lover, his need still unfulfilled. His green eyes were wide and pleading. "Please......Please......."
With a soft laugh, Aragorn withdrew from Boromir's body, then released one of Boromir's wrists in order to wrap his fingers around the impossibly hard shaft of his lover. Boromir gasped and arched into the contact, his free hand grasping the edge of the rug and twisting it within his fist as the tension in his body reached a fever pitch. His eyes squeezed shut and he nearly sobbed as Aragorn stroked him with quick, hard, jerking motions of his hand. It only took about thirty seconds of this before Boromir's back arched like a bow, nearly tumbling Aragorn off of him, and his release exploded from him with incredible force, bathing Aragorn's torso as well as his own. Aragorn continued to stroke him, using softer, slower movements now, until Boromir collapsed back in utter exhaustion, breathing heavily.
Aragorn rolled off to one side, leaning up on his hand and skating his fingers lightly over Boromir's shimmering chest, then leaning over to kiss his lips gently.
"You are mine, Boromir of Gondor," Aragorn rasped.
"I wish to belong to no other," Boromir replied, burying the fingers of his right hand within the sweat-stringy waves of the Ranger's hair. "There is only you, Aragorn. Only you. Always."
Aragorn smiled gently, satisfied, and then laid his head on Boromir's shoulder with a contented sigh. The lesson had been hard taught, but the end result was quite beneficial for all concerned, as it turned out.