Aragorn groaned as he opened his eyes, eyelids crusted with sweat and blood and Eru knew what else making the tiny movement oddly uncomfortable. His head swam, and as he found focus, the first thing he saw was the wide cloth directly above him, far finer than any tent had a right to be. He furrowed his brow, wincing at the sharp stab of pain that followed.
It was dark in this tent, but not the dark of night, of that he was certain. He strained his ears for the usual raft of nighttime sounds: insects burrowing, owls hooting, prey scattering, wind hissing, trees rattling. There was no scent of earth, nor of green nor even the subtle rot that lay under each.
As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he became aware of a strange sense of space; the tent had no sides, and the ground beneath him was soft. The only light seemed to come from a flickering taper to his right, and beyond its glow was naught but darkness.
A low, throaty chuckle startled Aragorn, making him jerk, making his heart pound in his chest as he realized he could not move his arms. One glance confirmed what he already had guessed, and his sense of disorientation grew. His wrists were bound, not with coarse rope, but smooth, supple leather, stretching above his head and wound around stout wooden pillars at either corner of the bed he lay upon. He did not need to look below to know his ankles were similarly bound, his body divested of every stitch of clothing, every weapon, every defence. He felt himself stretched wide, muscles protesting, each cut, bruise and wound vibrating with the sort of pain that left him lightheaded and breathless.
"You're awake." A chair creaked a moment before a familiar face leaned into the circle of light. "I had begun to wonder if perhaps that last knock had taken all your senses with it." Boromir smiled, but the stretch of lips and teeth were anything but friendly. "Nevermind. You're safe now. Just as we are all safe." He stood, closing the distance between them, settling on the edge of the bed, taking his time to simply look at Aragorn's body. He wet his lips, the predatory gleam in his eyes growing stronger. "You've missed much." His fingers were gentle, but sure, lacking all the hesitation that had run through them when he had shared Aragorn's bed on the road. The tips trailed up Aragorn's side, across his chest, lightly plucking at a nipple before they brushed up the side of his neck.
Aragorn sighed, words of rebuke dying in his throat. He shivered, shifting against the mattress, tugging hard against the straps that held him down. "Let me go," he murmured, the force of his own certainty leeching out of him as Boromir raised an eyebrow, amusement obvious on his features. He tried again, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. "You pledged yourself to me. I am your king."
"Gondor needs no King." Boromir's smile widened, his teeth glittering in the gloom. He raised himself up, sliding over Aragorn's body, velvet and silk brushing against too-sensitive skin, drawing response where none was wanted. The candle flame guttered in the sudden breeze, dipping and dimming so that little but Boromir's face filled Aragorn's vision. He leaned close, rubbing his cheek against Aragorn's own, sliding one hand up to grip Aragorn's hair tight enough to draw tears from his eyes. "But that does not mean I cannot still find use for you."
Aragorn struggled to turn his head away, pressing his cheek to the fine cloth underneath, eyes open in the dark, seeing nothing but Boromir's free hand clenched against the sheets. A wide gold band, perfectly fitted around Boromir's finger, winked at him with the very last glint of light.
Summary: Aragorn had missed much.
Rated: R
Categories: LOTR FPS Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: Non-conChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 643 Read: 889
Published: 27 Dec 2009 Updated: 27 Dec 2009