It is impossible not to hear them,
soft grunts barely muffled, the gentle slap of flesh against
flesh. If it was only that much, he could have ignored,
letting his thoughts wander instead to their surroundings,
hearing the songs twining within leaf and wind
The scent of it is more difficult, creeping to him slyly,
thick tendrils of arousal encircling him, trapping him in
heady waves. Sweat, sharp and almost acrid, and such a
strange scent it is to him. Elves did not sweat, heat or
cold making little difference to them, and the sharp salt
scent of it is almost like a memory that he cannot place.
If he turns his head only slightly, he could see them, watch
their shapes twisting together as they coupled. Slowly,
tonight, and he wonders what new thing Aragorn might be
teaching. Aragorn would know he was awake and not begrudge
him the sight, and if Boromir did, he was certain to change
his mind.
He inhales deeply, almost capturing a taste of it in his
mouth, suddenly rich and pungent, the faintest cry carrying
to him, shivering in the air, and he does not look.
-Finis-
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