Aragorn had deliberately chosen for his private study a room in a high, unfrequented corner of the palace. Aragorn's queen, though otherwise a courageous woman, wisely considered the unholy mess of it fraught, uncharted territory and wanted nothing to do with it. This was not Aragorn's office. No public matters of state were conducted here. The study was a separate nation, and trespass was grounds for reprisal. Counselors nor advisors dared invade--except for the Steward of Gondor, but he was neither counselor nor advisor, though he sufficed as both.
Settled contemplatively in the darkened room with his legs stretched out toward the fire, Aragorn spied resting on the hearth a sheet of parchment, one corner of which was slowly scorching and turning in on itself. It appeared to be an agreement or treaty of some kind, and Aragorn wondered how it had got up here. He nudged it aside to safety with one bare toe, stretched, and sipped at his wine.
A noise behind the king startled him, and he glanced over his shoulder as his study door opened smartly, and Boromir strode in, his face set and thunderous. He spared a moment to briskly secure the latch on the door, then crossed the room in quick, tense strides.
Aragorn began, "I take it the discussions at Dol Amroth did not go as well as--"
"All of that," Boromir stated, waving in Aragorn's general direction, "needs to come off."
"Pardon?" Aragorn set his wine on the floor next to his chair.
Boromir loomed over his king. "Clothing. Off."
The king rose, facing his steward, the two of them half in darkness, half in firelight. Aragorn shrugged out of his loose shirt. Ice grey gaze steady with Boromir's burning green, Aragorn unlaced his trousers, worked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed them past his hips. He'd got to mid-thigh when Boromir moved, shoving him awkwardly back toward the heavy, cluttered writing desk, half-lifting him onto its surface, papers, books, quills scattering everywhere until Aragorn's shoulders rested just at the far edge. His neck bent back, exposing the vulnerable curve of his throat, and giving him a remarkable upside-down view of the moon outside his window.
Boromir pulled Aragorn's trousers roughly off, pushed his knees aside, and Aragorn gave a sharp, strangled gasp as he felt himself engulfed by a forceful mouth, his own body immediately obeying the demand for response. Lips, tongue, teeth scraped against the underside, down and up again. Aragorn grunted and jerked, hands flailing, riding a knife-edge of pain and pleasure. His fingers grappled at the edge of his desk, even as it cut into the back of his hips.
Boromir pulled away abruptly, leaving him cold, bereft. He dared not move, but heard the sound of the steward removing his cloak. Boromir pushed folded layers of cloth between Aragorn's hips and edge of the desk. Aragorn heard the clatter of belts and weapons falling to the floor, the rustle of clothing, the soft sound of it shed. A small drawer to the side opened, closed. Callused fingers circled between his tender cheeks, slick, warm, intrusive. Aragorn writhed into the touch. Boromir's mouth descended on him again, briefly warm, no more, and then Boromir's arms shoved against the backs of his thighs, pushing his knees high and back as Boromir braced himself against the surface of the desk, and Aragorn's grip tightened on the edge as Boromir plunged, a precise, thorough ravaging, skin on skin, sweat beginning where the steward's biceps strained against the backs of the king's knees, fire edging a fresh sheen on chests and shoulders. Skin slickened where insistent pelvis jutted into yielding backside, and Aragorn listened to Boromir's deep, rapid breaths, felt the warm puffs of air over the dampening silk hair across his chest. Half-sensible, he watched the stars wheel behind the moon, and wished he had words for this moment, for moments that had come before, and that would come after, words for what all of this might be.
He felt his body pulling taught, as if strung on steel wire, from his toes in mid-air, from his fingers clutching at the heavy oak, from his shoulders rolling and clenching on the hard surface beneath him, all gathering at his groin, and he let out a frustrated sound too much like a sob, like a plea for mercy, and Boromir's rhythm hitched when he shifted his balance. He loosed Aragorn's legs, leaning in close, shoving in tight, pressing their two bodies together, his breath hot and quick against Aragorn's collar bone, and Aragorn squirmed beneath Boromir as the wires knotted together where Boromir's body rubbed heavily against his, wound together until the tension became unbearable, and it all suddenly broke apart, sending sharp, hot shards back out to fingers and toes and belly and shoulders, and Aragorn made a long, low, wretched sound of a fulfillment that he could not describe, while Boromir arched and thrust like a mating tiger and snarled satisfaction into the king's skin.
They lay there, sweating and panting quietly, Aragorn's heels resting on Boromir's back, until Boromir rose up with a grunt and a contented groan, and pulled Aragorn gently toward him. Aragorn balanced groggily on the edge, his arms resting easily about Boromir's shoulders, the steward's hands sliding affectionately over the king's back, massaging the back of his neck. Boromir mumbled into the salty dampness of his hair, "My uncle is driving me bloody crazy."
Aragorn kissed the side of Boromir's neck. "Bless the man."
He felt Boromir's grin against his shoulder. "Bastard."
And just then Aragorn understood what all of this was, these moments, intimacies that sometimes raged hot and quick, others slow, languidly devouring an evening, a night. In his heart, in his blood, he understood what lay between them, bound them together always. He understood, too, that whatever words there might be for it did not matter.
Summary: Boromir's been having a rough time of it, but he knows where to find Aragorn, and that's alright.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 985 Read: 1197
Published: 31 Jul 2009 Updated: 31 Jul 2009