It didn't matter to Boromir that he was uncomfortable, bent over himself, knees almost onto his shoulders.
It didn't matter to Boromir that he was being taken, stretched and filled, over and over again.
It didn't matter to him that once upon a time he would have lied about his pleasure, overwhelmed by anger, by shame.
It didn't even matter that the cock filling and stretching his hole wasn't the one he always thought he wanted, the one forever denied to him but in his darkest lust-filled fantasies.
What it mattered was the pale moon over the top of the trees, the sliding in and out of his body, the endless rough riding, the ache between his thighs, the dirty hands that were holding him still, just a body bent to someone else's pleasure, just a hole to be used.
Anything, anything to forget the burning in his mind, the tearing of his soul, the hopelessness of his thoughts.
And Aragorn, trying to reach him, trying to give him what he needed, trying to beat the hatred and mistrust out of Boromir's body with his own flesh, since words didn't reach him, gestures and glances lost.
Anything. Anything.
Boromir would plead and beg, to have more, to have it harder, to feel his King's cock buried deep inside of him, his King's seed spurting on his skin, thick and creamy, salty on his lips, sweet on his tongue, burning down his throat.
Night after night, he would go to Aragorn, and kneel for him, and beg, and show his King what he wanted, where he wanted it.
And Aragorn would not, could not deny him.
Aragorn, who was trying to keep the Fellowship together, who was trying so hard to forget his own pain, his own aching heart.
Anything. Anything.
Summary: Both Aragorn and Boromir need hope, and they look for it in strange places. (Triple drabble.)
Rated: NC-17
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 300 Read: 718
Published: 09 Aug 2009 Updated: 09 Aug 2009