It did not come to him every
night, though it was near enough. The rest of the Fellowship
would be curled in their blankets, no sound but soft breaths
and the faint rustle of blankets and perhaps there would be
a coil of moonlight, filling their haphazard camp with
shadowy radiance.
The first time it had woken him, the soft touch on his
shoulder. One cool finger resting lightly on the skin of his
neck, and he had been startled, bewildered, and very quickly
shocked at the reasoning behind it. Revulsion had melted
like sugar in the rain, carrying his prejudices with it, and
what remained was a shameful, sordid passion that he was
unable to resist. Almost absurd to believe it was even true
and if not for telling bruises, stark and reproachful in the
golden light of day, he might have thought it all a dream.
He waited for the touch each night, listening to the others
breathe and wrapped in suspenseful agony as his imaginings
tried idly to speculate the events of the coming night.
Worse was the nights it didn't come, the single moment of
knowing that he would be remaining in his bedroll throughout
this darkness was worse than his shame at what he did under
the cover of shadows, and left him with nothing but his
thoughts, wavering images of his father's face, the disgust
that would be in his eyes. For whatever reasons Aragorn did
not crouch next to him and ask his questions with a single
touch, it was those nights he had no rest, wretched in his
own dishonor.
Never had he thought an evening could have been worse spent
and it shamed him further to learn he was wrong.
Kneeling in a cool puddle of moonlight the Elf was easily
the loveliest thing Boromir had ever beheld, his eyes half
closed and his movements as sinuous as a river,
liquid-smooth. That Aragorn was on his knees before him
poisoned whatever beauty existed in their tableau and where
there was never a droplet of moisture to mar the skin of an
Elf, the Man fairly gleamed with perspiration, wickedly
seductive in his own right.
It was not the first time he had seen these two together,
and indeed, the sight often hardened him to stone, smooth
limbs twined together and the shine of ecstasy in two sets
of eyes. He had never had the Elf, not in that manner and
neither had the Elf had him; only Aragorn was free to move
between them in such a manner, as ever a bridge between
Elves and Men.
But never before had it been like this.
Burning with some emotion deep in his chest, he watched them
couple. There was no urgency within the Elf; he moved as
though time were eternal and his lovemaking might be just as
endless, infinite as the crashing of the sea. The cruelty of
his tenderness was visible only in the Man and his agonized
trembling, being neither infinite nor as serene as the one
taking him.
Yet Boromir could only watch them, with bitter, hungry eyes
as the Elf took what he had been powerless to claim, unable
to name that which ached within him. Humiliation and
dishonor he had tasted before, the yellowed bitterness of
each had been his from the beginning. This cold fire was
like nothing he had felt, even as he watched their growing
abandon.
Aragorn tossed his head restlessly, his hands clenching in
the thick loam beneath him and his eyes opened, catching at
once on Boromir's. Not a single crease to his face but the
light of amusement was in his eyes and that wound was the
most grievous that Boromir had even received. He nearly
looked away, ready to bury himself within his blankets and
let this dream die away like a diseased flower on the vine.
Yet even as he began to move, settling back on the ground,
he could not look away and when the graceful dance before
him stilled, he saw the sweep of Aragorn's hand as he
gestured to where Boromir might be placed.
Beneath him.
Such impossibilities Aragorn always asked of him and still
he found himself twisting lithely beneath them, catching his
breath at the first intrusion and drowning his moans in the
slick pool of Aragorn's mouth as they drew him into their
lovemaking, lips and touches adoring him, and he forgot all
thoughts of honor as he cried out softly, the name of his
King.
-Finis-
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