But at least they are not expected to perch on one of the huge trees. And at least he's not expected to share a cave with the little ones or the dwarf and the elf, but will be sharing it with Aragorn. Aragorn.. Boromir bites his lip thoughtfully. He will have to be on his guard with the ranger, keep his feelings buried inside himself.

Aragorn walks in silence, his eyes to the ground, and a maelstrom of thoughts in his mind, conflicting emotions, concerns, fears and above all, grief. Grief for his friend of so many years - lost to him - suddenly and unprepared - lost to the fellowship that hangs now by a thread. Aragorn walks in silence, waiting for peace and the privacy to remember and grieve. He's glad of this time, though he knows others are not. Like Boromir - the man who walks behind him now; untrusting, an enigma, an uncertainty - a friend? From that moment in Rivendell, when they'd first met, he'd felt drawn to the proud warrior of Gondor..

Boromir's eyes bore into Aragorn's back. It is so very difficult for him to understand this man. One who has chosen a life in the shadows and even now that he has been revealed as the rightful King of Gondor, chooses to travel almost in secret, as if his legacy burdens him or shames him...

To have Gondor... To be the one who rules over Gondor. How can Boromir understand not wanting that? And how can he trust Aragorn if he doesn't even understand him? Maybe this time together will help him get to know Aragorn, will help him make Aragorn see just how important Gondor is... how beautiful... how deserving of his love...

Aragorn lets out a small sigh of relief when the elf leads them into the cave where he and Boromir will be staying. He's tired, he aches, he's grieving; he wants a smoke and he needs to sleep - but he also wants to try and get to know his companion. The son of the Steward of Gondor who had arrived in Rivendell looking for the answer to a riddle he and his brother had shared in a dream. The riddle had concerned himself, Isildur's heir. But right now he feels like the heir to nothing.

Aragorn sighs and look around him. There's a small fire burning near the entrance, there is some flickering candlelight within and the rock ledges, fashioned as beds, are covered with mattresses and furs. He thanks the elf in quiet tones and begins to peel off his pack, looking for his pipeweed. Watching Boromir out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn decides to be direct.

"So, son of Gondor; what is it you fear about staying here to rest?"

Boromir sets down his pack and weapons and sits down on the floor, as if seeking contact with the earth, with something solid and familiar.

"I do not like this place, Aragorn. Yes, it has beauty, but it is a cold beauty. It feels as if the trees are constantly spying on us, whispering to each other, reporting our very thoughts to that lady, so cold and glittering" he sighs, throwing his head back and resting it against the bed.

"And I worry about the delay. The feeling that I am needed at home is eating at me. I cannot stop worrying" he looks up at Aragorn, his eyes guarded. "I know that to you what is happening in Gondor, what will happen to Gondor is nothing, just a tiny fragment in something bigger, but to me Gondor is everything, its people are my people. To me Gondor is a place of joy and beauty, a jewel that has been given into the hands of my family for safeguarding. I'm so scared for Gondor!"

Boromir's hands shield his face from Aragorn's eyes. He does not want this ranger who might be his king if he so chooses, to see his weakness, his fears...

Aragorn is surprised that Boromir speaks so readily of his concerns. He studies the man of Gondor closely for a moment and then with a sigh, sits down beside him on the floor.

"It is not weak to voice your fears, Boromir," he says quietly, resting his hand briefly on Boromir's knee. "Nor have you need to hide your feelings from me, for I would never use them to my advantage. I understand your worries for your people, your land - you are far from home and you feel them keenly. But you are wrong to say I do not care what happens to Gondor or your people. If I am guilty of anything it is that that I have concerns that reach far beyond the boundaries of your country at this time, and that I have just lost my oldest friend."

Aragorn searches through his pack for his pipe. "I feel a great sadness, a weight of responsibility for the fellowship, with the loss of Mithrandir," he whispers. "You say you worry about the delay - I can understand that, but this short time may help us heal a little, strengthen our will - let us support each other in this time of need."

Boromir slowly lifts his hands from his face. It costs him to do so, to let this man who has occupied his waking thoughts since Rivendell, this man who would be his king read in his face his longing for his home and his fear that alone, without the support of this strange fellowship, without his support, he will not be able to defend it.

But from what he has just said Aragorn's feelings are not much different, and his words are in their own way an echo of what Boromir himself is feeling. Yes, with Gandalf gone and the fellowship looking to him for guidance, Aragorn is indeed carrying a heavy burden, one that involves far more than Boromir's concerns for Gondor.

Hesitantly he puts a hand on Aragorn's knee in a clumsy gesture offering comfort.

"I am sorry; I have never been as close to Gandalf as you must have been. I did not mean to slight your loss."

Aragorn's fingers close instinctively around Boromir's hand.

"Thank you, Boromir. It means more than you know that you understand my loss and that of the fellowship. It would mean even more if I had your support - your counsel, your friendship... "

Aragorn pauses, his eyes blurring as he looks at Boromir. "The ringbearer - the other hobbits - their need is great. They expect - need - more from me than I am able to give at this time... I admit I am feeling lost, son of Gondor."

Boromir's hand is suddenly tingling under Aragorn's and he swallows hard before answering. "We are all feeling lost.. perhaps that is why we have been brought together - to offer each other support and friendship, to share what strength we have and so become stronger ourselves. The hobbits are strong and true, but they are like simple children in a world that is too big for them. Our strength must come from each other, Aragorn, man to man."

As Boromir speaks the words, he can feel Aragorn's eyes on him, as if they are burning into his soul. Suddenly a little breathless, he reaches out to one of the packs of provisions the elves have left them and finds a flagon of wine. He unstops it and sniffs at it carefully before nodding, satisfied. He offers it to Aragorn.

"Drink, my friend, wash the dust and sorrow from your mouth."

Aragorn lifts his head, a small smile touching his lips. "Thank you," he murmurs, accepting the flagon with a small nod, "but only if you will join me, my friend." Lifting the flagon into the air, he locks eyes with Boromir. "To strength - and friendship," he says softly, raising the wine to his lips and then drinking thirstily. The wine is rich and smooth and slightly spiced.

Aragorn lowers the flagon. There is a pleasant warmth in his belly and he licks his lip where a drop of the wine has escaped. His head swims for a moment as he passes the wine to Boromir. "Take care, my friend ... for that is a heady brew."

Boromir takes the flagon and drinks, repeating the toast as the blue eyes burn into him. The wine is strong and sweet and seems to dispel the cold he feels deep inside him. He raises the flagon to his lips again and while he drinks, the image of Aragorn licking his lip after drinking flashes before him.

It must indeed be a heady brew for suddenly he feels too warm and his skin tingles where his body is touching Aragorn's sitting by his side. Boromir laughs and shakes his head.

"Look at us," he says, hiding his uneasiness. "We are so used at lying on the bare earth by now that even when we have a bed of furs we rest on a cold floor."

Aragorn smiles as his eyes leave Boromir to glance at the bed. "We would indeed be more comfortable there than on the floor, but right now, I am content to just sit here and drink and touch you..." Aragorn looks down, flustered for a moment, feeling the colour rise in his face. "I mean, talk to you, Boromir..."

Aragorn lifts the flagon to his lips with both hands - hands that are suddenly shaking a little, as he wonders what the elves have put in the wine to make him want to drink more, to make him want more...

"You will hear no complaint from me, friend Aragorn," Boromir replies softly, giving Aragorn's knee a quick squeeze but forgetting to take away his hand, savouring the feel of muscles and bone under his palm.

"I am happy to sit down here on the ground with you... it feels solid... safe... The same way you feel. That is probably why everyone looks to you for strength and comfort. Tell me, Aragorn, surely you must feel that need yourself? The need to have someone to whom you can let it all out... the need, the loneliness, the hunger, the fear..." Boromir asks before he can stop himself, and as soon as the words are out he wonders if that is something he is asking of Aragorn or to himself.

The warmth of Boromir's hand seems to spread to places Aragorn was not expecting to feel heat in such surroundings. His eyes focus on Boromir's fingers, trying very hard not to imagine how they might feel on other parts of his body...

The wine... he thinks, it is just the effects of the wine... on Boromir and on myself...

He hears Boromir's words through a haze of confusion and unbidden, dangerous desire. The son of Gondor is talking of need and loneliness and hunger - everything that Aragorn is feeling right now - sitting on the floor of a Lorien cave... He lifts almost drugged eyes to look at his companion. "Yes, Boromir," he replies, his voice barely a whisper, "I need..."

Boromir's hand has slid to the inside of Aragorn's thigh, the tips of his fingers massaging absent-mindedly the strong, tense muscles bunching under his touch.

How good he feels... solid, strong... how would his skin feel?

A soft whimper escapes his throat without his noticing. He leans his head back against the bed and takes a deep breath. They are shoulder to shoulder; he can feel the warmth seeping into him where their bodies touch. He can smell sweat and leather, and wine on the ranger's breath.

When Aragorn turns to look at him with hot, hungry eyes the whispered word need burns through Boromir so fiercely that he doesn't know who has said it. Was it himself, or Aragorn?

He leans close, so close, as if to look for it on Aragorn's lips.

"My friend," Aragorn murmurs, almost on a sigh, his desperate eyes searching Boromir's. "Listen to me - do not think ill of me..." Aragorn finds himself drawn into those glittering green eyes. "I know not what is happening to me, Boromir... I only know that I want to touch you... to have you touch me... to touch your skin - to taste you..." The feel of Boromir's hand on his thigh is burning, making him hard and he has to tear his eyes away from that intense gaze.

"I should go, leave you now," he murmurs, but even as he speaks, he is pressing his lips to Boromir's.

Boromir is too distracted, too busy to catch much of Aragorn's words. He's distracted by the blue eyes seeking his, by wondering how the ranger's stubble would feel under his lips, by needing to lick the patch of skin at the base of Aragorn's throat where he can see a film of sweat forming. He's busy leaning close to take Aragorn's breath into him as soon as it rushes out of the ranger, so close that when their lips meet he doesn't know who moved to shorten the distance. He slants his mouth and does what he now realizes he's been wanting to do since Rivendell, has been scared to do since Rivendell... kiss his king.

Aragorn sighs with relief and desire as warm pliant lips part under his own. The sigh stretches into a moan as Aragorn twists his body round, threading his fingers into Boromir's hair and tipping his head back so he can deepen the kiss. Warm, wine tinged breath exchanges with his own as his tongue slowly explores Boromir's mouth and Aragorn knows then that he wanted this long before he brought the wine to his lips. The image of Boromir's glittering green eyes appears in his head and he lifts his mouth, breathing fast and looking at the face of his steward. The kiss was indescribable... and it is not enough. Not nearly enough.

"Boromir..."

"Yes."

Aragorn's murmured Boromir was not a question, still Boromir answers as if it was, as if by saying his name in that breathless, yearning voice Aragorn is asking something, seeking something, something that the steward has been holding safe for his king, who now needs it.

"Yes," he repeats, bending his head to kiss and lick the tantalizing hollow at the base of Aragorn's throat while his fingers begin to unlace the ranger's leather over-tunic.

"Yes, Boromir... ah, yes," Aragorn breathes, tipping his head back and inviting Boromir's mouth to explore at will. His own shaking fingers manage to part the heavy fabric of the steward's tunic, only to find another seemingly identical layer beneath. He smiles breathlessly as he tries to push away the garments from Boromir's upper body, his movements hampered by the unfamiliar fastenings, Boromir's attempts to remove his own clothing and his own pounding heart.

"Wait," he says softly, stilling Boromir's hands with his own, "let us undress ourselves and lie on those furs." He pauses and smiles, a little shyly. "I need to feel your skin, Boromir - and I fear the fastenings used by Gondor's seamstresses have me at a disadvantage."

Boromir lets out a soft laugh that sounds suspiciously like a frustrated moan.

"I think the seamstresses of Gondor made these clothes with warmth and endurance in mind, not the need to bare one's skin quickly. I must say your ranger clothes seem to offer more flexibility..." His hand has made its way past Aragorn's leather vest and inside his tunic and is now splayed on Aragorn's chest, feeling under his palm the quick rise and fall of his breath, feeling the soft hair damp with sweat, feeling the muscles tightening under his touch.

"But you are right... Touching you is giving me pleasure already, your touch on me will give me even more..." Reluctantly he withdraws his hand and rises to his feet, working quickly on the fastenings of his clothes.

It has been but a few moments since their passion erupted and even less since he felt the burning touch of Boromir's fingers upon his chest, but already Aragorn wants it back... needs it back.

Breathlessly, he pulls at his tunic and waistcoat and the fastenings of his leather breeches with fingers that have lost all dexterity, and almost stumbles in his attempts to remove his boots. But at last it is done. Aragorn stands naked, his mouth slightly open and very dry as Boromir's firm body and fine golden skin are revealed to him. A rough groan of want escapes Aragorn's lips at the sight of Boromir's erect shaft. Desire gnaws deep in his belly as he moves quickly to stand in front of his steward in waiting.

Boromir knows he should not be doing this... He should be thinking of the future of Gondor, he should not be feeling this devouring desire for its rightful king. Yet, as his gaze moves over the lean, muscled body, he can only think of the dangerous beauty of this man, he can only think of how much he wants to lick and bite and suck every inch of his flesh, of how much he wants to lose himself in Aragorn.

He knows Aragorn can read the lust on his face, he knows his cock is already tight and hard against his belly, betraying his need. Yet he cannot stop himself, he reaches out and takes the ranger's hands, his face contorting in a grimace of pleasure so intense it is almost painful when he feels their warm, dry roughness against the skin of his chest.

He doesn't want to beg, though the word is already hovering on his lips, he just locks eyes with Aragorn, green eyes filled with desire and shame and trust.

"Please," Aragorn whispers, stroking his hands up Boromir's chest to frame his face, "I want you - do not regret this before we have even lain together..." He leans close, letting his hands trail down Boromir's back, pulling him close as he presses his lips to the base of Boromir's throat.

"I can see the conflict in your eyes, my steward," he mouths, tracing a path down Boromir's neck and sucking softly under his ear. He licks and then adds his teeth to the skin, nibbling gently. Aragorn can feel Boromir's barely controlled restraint slipping but he doesn't want Boromir to simply surrender to desire... he wants him to want and need - as much as Aragorn wants and needs.

"If you have any doubts, Boromir," Aragorn whispers hoarsely, "then let us stop this - now..."

"There are no doubts about how much I want you, Aragorn," Boromir whispers back, his body trembling with desire. "There's no hiding the fire your touch kindles in me. And there can be no regret in sharing something so strong and beautiful with such a man as you are," he goes on softly, touching Aragorn's body with the tips of his fingers, meeting Aragorn's eyes and letting him read in his green ones the wonder, the need, the passion.

"There is shame though... What will you think of the men of Gondor? What will you think of your own steward... such a slave to his passions that he cannot stop himself from lusting after his king instead of showing him respect and understanding?"

There is anguish in Boromir's eyes, yet his hands cannot stop stroking Aragorn's chest, his throat cannot stifle the soft whimpers of pleasure.

Aragorn shivers under Boromir's touch and he moves closer, pressing his hard shaft against his steward's body and hissing with pleasure. "You think I would make such a judgement? No, Boromir..." he breathes, "there is no shame in honest desire and mutual need, no weakness in giving and receiving comfort."

Aragorn's words are quiet, seeking to soothe, to reassure - but they are from the heart. They also belie his state of arousal.

"Who I may or may not be is of no importance - I am just a man - like you. So... no more talk of shame. That you want me as I want you is all that matters."

With a moan, he bends forward and presses his lips to Boromir's chest.

Boromir's breath hitches as the length of Aragorn's erection presses against him. He can feel it against the skin of his hip; he can feel it as if he were touching it with his hand, with his lips. He knows it's hot, burning hot, he knows it feels sleek and silky; he knows the vein pulses in time with Aragorn's heart. He swallows, his throat suddenly too dry to let him speak, and desperately hangs on to his last shred of pride, the one that's keeping him from falling to his knees and worshipping his king with his mouth. And as he's still fighting with himself, his body locked by the battle raging inside him, his uncertainty evaporates, he is released. Aragorn's words are as a soothing balm, the dark head pressing hot, dry lips against his chest is indeed the only thing that matters.

"Yes," he whispers, echoing his previous word, and tangling his hands in Aragorn's dark hair.

A small sigh leaves Aragorn's lips at his steward's whispered yes... All other thoughts leave his mind and he drops to his knees, his cheek pressed against Boromir's belly and one arm pressed close around his buttocks. Aragorn turns his head and buries his face in Boromir's groin, inhaling deeply as the fingers of his free hand slowly trail up the other man's thigh.

"I would like to taste you, son of Gondor," he whispers, sucking on Boromir's warm, damp skin. "Let me taste you."

You shouldn't, Boromir wants to cry, I should be the one on my knees before my king!

But he knows he must stop thinking, his body is screaming at him that Aragorn is right. Yes, Aragorn is right, there can be no king and no steward here, here in the cave there is room only for two men wanting each other, giving and receiving comfort.

His fingers massage gently the ranger's scalp as he turns his head up, so that their eyes can meet.

"Please," he whispers. "I want you."

"As I want you," Aragorn replies, and leaves one long slow lick up the length of Boromir's erection. He slides his hand between Boromir's legs, teasing the sensitive skin with his fingertips and then cupping and caressing his balls.

Again, he looks up at Boromir, his eyes shining. "In truth, I believe I have wanted you since we first met at Rivendell," he whispers and once more licks up the hot taut flesh. And again. Then Aragorn curls his fingers round the base of Boromir's erection and opens his mouth, sucking softly on the head and pressing his tongue into the slit, tasting the wetness there...

Boromir hisses in pleasure as Aragorn skilfully uses his mouth and his hand on his throbbing erection, showing his want- showing that they are indeed one in their need for each other.

"Wanted you," Boromir whispers softly. "All the time... I wanted you... for Gondor... for my own... to be mine.. my captain, my king... and more... I wanted you for my lover; I wanted what we are having now. And more... Taking and giving..."

Aragorn groans deep in his chest and takes Boromir's shaft as far into his mouth as he is able, only stopping when it butts against the back of his throat. He moans again and licks his way back up, releasing the glistening flesh and smiling breathlessly at Boromir.

"And now you have me as your lover," Aragorn murmurs, locking his eyes with the shining green ones above him, "and I am aching with need for you. Tell me, Boromir - right now, do you wish to take... or give?"

"You are taking me from wanting and not having to having too much all at once," Boromir whispers in a voice strained and thickened by raging arousal, still feeling intoxicated by the warm wetness of Aragorn's mouth.

He slides his hands along the ranger's sleekly muscled shoulders to his arms, urging him up so that they can be eye to eye.

"You are making me greedy, and now I want it all. I want to be claimed and I want to claim. But right now I want you to take me..."

Aragorn smiles, his eyes sparkling as he slowly turns Boromir so he can sit on the fur covered bed. "I know about wanting it all, my lover, my friend - but yes, let me take you... this first time..." He kisses Boromir's mouth softly.

"Lie down," Aragorn murmurs, holding Boromir's arms and encouraging him to lie back amongst the furs. "Lie down and let me feast my eyes on you, let me warm your body with mine and then let me fill you," he says softly, running his fingers up Boromir's thighs and spreading them, so he can kneel in between. Aragorn reaches down to his pack and takes out a small bottle of salve and coats his fingers with the oily substance.

"You are a sight to behold, son of Gondor," he murmurs breathlessly, his fingers gently circling Boromir's entrance. "Forgive me if I cause you pain..." He gently presses one oiled finger into Boromir, then another, moving them gently. He looks into the steward's eyes. "You are so warm, Boromir," Aragorn says softly, his voice shaking with barely restrained need, "so very, very warm..."

Boromir rubs his back against the furs like an eager cat, testing their sensual richness, knowing that in a few moments he will be flattened against them by the man he wants like he's wanted like no one before in his life. His hands stroke up and down Aragorn's thighs, enjoying the feeling of hard sinewy muscles and coiled strength as much as he enjoys the look he can read in the blue eyes that never leave his

"Pain is nothing, emptiness is pain, more pain than you could ever give me.. Fill me..." he whispers, moving his hips to chase Aragorn's fingers.

"And you are eager..." Aragorn smiles, holding the emerald green gaze and slowly removing his fingers. "But no more than myself... I am burning for you, Boromir," he whispers, smearing some more oil on his already leaking shaft. Bunching up one of the furs under Boromir's hips to ease the angle, he positions himself, breathing hard, then presses himself hard into Boromir in one thrust.

Gasping at the heat suddenly surrounding him, Aragorn can feel every move of Boromir's clenching muscles and he holds still, murmuring soothing words in elvish, licking and kissing his lover's lips, waiting for him to relax.

Boromir's breath hitches at the sudden feeling of being so filled and stretched and he has to stifle the growl of pain rising in his throat, breaking it into small laboured pants that fade one by one against Aragorn's lips, soothed by the soft words he's whispering in the language of the elves.

Slowly Boromir relaxes, easing the painful clench of his muscles into a tight, velvet grip. Now he can breathe, he can reach up to capture Aragorn's lips in a hungry kiss, he can lift his hips off the bunched fur and press his thighs against Aragorn's sides, urging him on.

Aragorn breathes heavily as he feels Boromir's muscles relax around him, making movement possible - making the pleasure begin. When Boromir's lips take his own, he sighs and pulls back and slides in again - slow and deep... pulls back and thrusts in again... slow and deep - building a rhythm, the friction almost unbearable.

"You feel incredible," he gasps, balancing his weight on his hands either side of Boromir's body. "But I fear I will not last - I wanted you too much..." Aragorn gasps, knowing he is close to release. He locks his eyes on Boromir's pleasure contorted face and lifts his still oiled fingers to Boromir's pulsing erection. He strokes it firmly as he thrusts into his steward hard and fast - once, twice and then stills, coming with a long rough moan of delight.

"Do not hold back, my lover. I want your pleasure as much as I want mine, and we'll come together, because I am close too... Your hand is taking me with you on this journey..." Boromir manages to say in-between soft gasps for breath. His hips dance against Aragorn's, his cock sliding into the slicked grip of the ranger's hand, until they both freeze and let their pleasure run together with the same harsh moan of release and joy.

Still locked inside Boromir's body and breathing hard, Aragorn slowly lowers himself on top of Boromir, his heart beating loud in his chest. He kisses the damp skin of Boromir's neck repeatedly then presses in close, relishing the solid feel of the body beneath him and the sensuous touch of skin against skin. It had been a long time since he had lain with a man and he had forgotten how pleasurable it was - the strength, the equality, the amazing tight heat gripping him...

He sighs, unwilling to speak for fear that the spell will be broken and Boromir will once more voice his doubts. And that these few minutes of sated bliss will be all that he'll share with this warrior of Gondor.

This feels so special, so right; nothing has ever felt this way... Boromir thinks in amazement, locking his arms around Aragorn's body, afraid that he might withdraw, leave him empty again, leave him thinking that he has dreamed it all. He doesn't even realize that his hands are tracing patterns on the small of the ranger's back, as if to seal his touch into the sweaty skin.

"You feel so right in my arms, we fit together as if it was written before our time that we should..." he whispers into the dark strands of hair veiling Aragorn's face from his eyes, his voice very low, as if afraid that now that the burst of need and passion is sated Aragorn will scoff at this, act as if nothing has happened.

Aragorn lifts his face from Boromir's neck and smiles. He says nothing for a moment, just traces the lines of the steward's face with his fingers and then kisses him gently on the mouth.

"It makes my heart beat a little faster to hear you say that, Boromir," he murmurs. "For I have been lying here hoping that your doubts had disappeared. For myself, I can only say that I have not felt so wanted, so needed, so..." Aragorn pauses, as if unsure of his words, "... so cherished - as I do right now. The strength of your arms around me, the feel of your fingers on my skin... it indeed feels right, Boromir - so very right."

Aragorn sighs and pulls the furs up around them. "And perhaps, my warrior of Gondor, after we have rested a while and enjoyed some more wine, we might make it feel right again?"

Boromir sighs softly under Aragorn's kiss, relieved to hear that their feelings are the same, and tightens his arms around the body draped so comfortably over his, secure now in the knowledge that his display of emotion is not unwelcome. He relaxes, holding the ranger close under the soft furs.

"Our joining has banished all the doubts, Aragorn. And your words give me faith in us," he kisses the strong, muscled shoulder, inhaling the scent of musky skin. "I know my father would not approve, or worse would try to twist this to his advantage, but I stand with you.." he chuckles at the foolishness of his own words. "Well, we are not standing but I am indeed by your side, and I feel that there is where I belong, if you will let me take that place. Your warrior, your steward, more if you want me to..."

Aragorn smiles and slides himself slowly out of Boromir's body and onto his side, bringing Boromir with him so they are laid face-to-face, still wrapped each other's arms amongst the furs. "Now you are properly by my side," he murmurs, his mouth curling into a wide smile, "before it was not quite that way..."

Aragorn drops his head to Boromir's shoulder. "Your words move me, Boromir - more than you can know. My life has generally been a nomadic one, with little time for lo..." he stops, burying his face in Boromir's neck. "... little time for - well, comfort, passion, closeness - with another. That you would wish to be by my side is most welcome."

Boromir smiles back and shakes his head.

"I am speaking like a fool... It is long since I have spoken so freely of myself. Only with my brother can I let my control slip. And now with you," he adds, rubbing his cheek against the dark head buried under his chin with a soft, pleased sigh. "I have never known this togetherness, of bodies and feelings, but then I have never known someone like you, I have never had someone like you with whom to feel one. My king..."

Aragorn looks up his eyes warm and shining. "I am glad you feel this way, Boromir... that you feel able to talk freely to me. I share this feeling also." He lifts a hand to Boromir's cheek. "But please, I am not your king... not yet, if at any time, for much is uncertain and unfinished - and certainly not here in your arms. Here we are men, Boromir... lovers - together as one - as we will be many more times, I hope, no matter what our futures and destinies might hold."

Suddenly Aragorn feels a weariness overcome him, as thoughts of the loss of Mithrandir and what they must face ahead without his counsel, return to haunt his mind. He shivers slightly and once more buries his face in the steward's warm neck.

"Hold me, Boromir," he whispers.

"Yes, we are just men here, equal in our need and desire, in our longing for someone to share our hard life, yet I cannot stop thinking of you as a king, as my king, Aragorn, whatever the future and our destinies may bring us. This I have with you," Boromir murmurs, holding the ranger fiercely and protectively against his body, "and this I will guard to my very last breath."

"Sleep now - res.. I will watch over you..." he promises softly, kissing the dark head resting against his chest.

Aragorn hears Boromir's words as if in the distance as sleep begins to claim him, but in them he finds strength, resolve and renewal and something else that he is at the moment unable or unwilling to define. All he knows is that in Boromir's arms he feels warm and safe and almost loved, as he drifts into sleep, and that it is a feeling he had not thought to experience this night when they had first approached the Lorien cave...

Boromir can feel it when sleep takes Aragorn, he can feel the body become heavy and relaxed in his arms and smiles, happy, as he hasn't been in a very long time. He'd been sent to Rivendell to seek the answer to a dark riddle, but what he's found is not what he expected to find and the same time more than he could ever dream to find.

He kisses Aragorn's forehead, brushing tousled hair away with his lips, and closes his eyes, relishing the fierce joy and the sweet tenderness he feels at having this exceptional man resting within the circle of his arms. Soon he is asleep too, breathing softly against the ranger's ear.

Aragorn wakes with a start in the darkness, images of the bridge at Khazad-Dûm painfully portrayed in his mind, and Frodo's anguished voice ringing loud in his ears. He's sweating, heart pounding and panting for breath, unclear as to where he is, struggling against unknown forces that seem to bind him - that hold his body against his will...

Boromir is deeply asleep, a blissful sleep that for the first time in days is free of the dark dreams filled with whispering voices that have often haunted him of late. He's half-draped over Aragorn's body, his arm curled around the ranger's waist, his face buried in the crook of his neck when he's jolted awake by Aragorn's frantic struggling.

Raising himself on his elbow he peeks into the scant light coming in from the entrance of the cave is someone is around, then realizes that Aragorn is still asleep, caught in a nightmare that is twisting his body and soul like a torture. As the ranger squirms and fights to break free of his hold, he tightens it, feeling Aragorn's pain as if it were his own, pulling Aragorn closer to his chest, showering him with small kisses and murmuring soothing nothings in a soft, low voice.

Boromir's voice cuts through the images and sounds in Aragorn's head and he sighs, rubbing his cheek against Boromir's chest and nestles closer, seeking the comfort offered.

"I am sorry," he whispers, "I was back there - at Khazad-Dûm - in my dream... I could do nothing..."

"Shhh, I am sorry your sleep was disturbed, Aragorn. You need rest, it is the best medicine..." along with love, Boromir wants to add. He's holding Aragorn so tightly against him that he can feel the racing beat of the ranger's heart, the quick laboured breaths and the film of sweat on his skin.

"You need to stop thinking. There was nothing you could have done; do you not think the wizard knew? Do you not think he would have chosen a different path if what happened did not have a place in a greater scheme of things that only he could see? It is right of you to grieve for him but do not blame yourself, you carry enough weight on your shoulders already, my king. Let me help you, Aragorn, let me make you stop thinking in the only way I know..." The last words are whispered against Aragorn's damp skin, as Boromir's tongue traces a path down the ranger's neck, following the line of his stubble down to his collarbone.

Boromir's words both offer comfort and make sense and Aragorn allows himself to believe them, if only for tonight... He sighs and then moans softly as Boromir's warm wet tongue trails down his neck. Shivering involuntarily, Aragorn tips his head back as his own hands begin to stroke Boromir's chest.

"Yes, Aragorn... like that... let me take care of you.. let me make you feel better.. let me chase the dark dreams away..."

The fragmented words are dropped softly one by one along the progress of Boromir's mouth across Aragorn's skin. Some fall on the sweat-slicked hair growing in the indentation between his pectorals. Some go to hide in those same swirls of hair that hide the rosy nubs of the ranger's nipples. Some are bolder, and make their way lower, following a thin trail of dark hair that bisects the strong, taut muscles of Aragorn's belly.

Past and future dissolve once more into want and need and Aragorn gasps, his body twisting and arching under the sweet and sensual attack of Boromir's mouth and the seductive quality of his words. Aragorn's fingers stroke and caress the steward's warm skin wherever he can reach, astonished and yet not at the speed at which his desire for this man's touch has passed way beyond his control. In a matter of moments he's hard, his cock tight and twitching against his belly.

"Yes, Boromir," he pants softly, his voice almost a purr, "just like that... Help me - help me into the light..."

Boromir's roughened hand curls around the ranger's cock with surprising gentleness, stroking it in a leisurely fashion as he flicks his tongue around the head, eager to know the taste of this man, feeling a need to know him in every possible way.

"Yes," he whispers, lips brushing against the silky skin of Aragorn's shaft. "I will care for you, I will not leave you to face this alone.." The steward's hands slide under the ranger's hips, lifting them from the soft furs, so that his tongue can reach the small, hidden hole and lick at it tentatively, as if uncertain of the reaction.

Aragorn moans softly, hips bucking a little as Boromir's hand curls round his cock. His eyes and mouth open, pupils dilating as a shiver of pleasure runs through him. The light and too brief touch of the steward's warm breath and sinful tongue on his shaft makes him groan and grasp Boromir's shoulder, his fingers digging hard into the muscle.

When Boromir lifts his hips and licks at his entrance, Aragorn feels as if he is being branded and he all but shouts aloud, shuddering violently and squirming against the fur. He lifts his head to catch the stewards gaze, his eyes wild.

"Please," he gasps, "please, Boromir... do it again. If you - if it pleases you - do it again."

Boromir smiles, more assured of himself now that he can see that Aragorn was not put off by the touch of his tongue.

"So you liked that, my beautiful ranger? You want more of it?" he asks, as he traces the crease of Aragorn's hips with his thumbs. "Turn around for me, then," he whispers without waiting for Aragorn's answer. "Let me take care of you, let me give you what you need..."

Aragorn's eyes flash at the smile in the steward's softly spoken words, moaning softly as he turns on his belly, opening himself to Boromir's gaze, his touch. He closes his eyes, ashamed of his arousal, his wanton position, but he can't stop himself from twisting a little in the fur, rubbing his aching erection against the warm roughness of the pelts.

With a groan, Aragorn turns his face to look over his shoulder at Boromir, his eyes dark and cloudy and conveying his need, his uncertainty, his trust...

It takes his breath away... seeing Aragorn like this. The smooth curve of his back, marked here and there by old battle scars... The pale, unmarred skin of his muscled buttocks... Boromir watches the ranger move sinuously against the furs and whispers, almost awed...

"You are so handsome, so beautiful... I want you so much, Aragorn, I need you," he murmurs, bending low to trace the curve his eyes have just admired with his lips.

"And I want you..." Aragorn groans, his hands twisting in the fur as he tries to push up against Boromir, needing the warmth of the steward's body on him... in him... wanting the liquid fire of Boromir's tongue on him again. Never before has he felt such desire... Boromir's words and voice only serve to fan the flames raging so far out of control that they threaten to devour him.

"Boromir," he pants, shivering as he feels warm lips caressing the curve of his buttocks, "please... put your mouth on me... take me - before this heat consumes me..."

"I am yours my ranger, my king - there is nothing you cannot ask of me, nothing I would not give you. I promised I would take care of you, so trust me, have faith in me..." Boromir whispers, his breath blowing warm and moist against Aragorn's cleft, exposed by the callused hands that are gently spreading his buttocks. His tongue laps gently at Aragorn's entrance, softening, preparing it, teasing it...

Aragorn makes a keening noise, his neck arching as he tries to lift his hips, pushing back against Boromir's tongue. He can feel himself slipping, losing his grip on coherent thought - almost on consciousness itself. He shakes his head to try and clear it and feels the sweat running down his back. Gasping for breath, he twists in Boromir's grip, aching now for release.

"Enough... please," he manages, his voice almost a whimper as he tries to lift himself to get his hand on his cock. "For pity's sake, Boromir... take me, fuck me..."

"You are so wild for me" Boromir's voice is thick with passion as he draws back and searches for the vial of oil Aragorn had used on himself to ease the way. "Have you any idea of how it makes me feel to see you wanting me so much, needing me so much?"

Having found the oil, he massages some into his cock, moaning harshly at the feeling.

"Turn again on your back, my ranger. I want to see your face, I want to feel your cock between us, I want your come against my skin, not on those furs."

From somewhere, Aragorn finds the strength and coordination to turn once again, and he does so, breathless, his heart pounding in his chest as he lies on his back and wraps his legs loosely around Boromir's waist. His eyes are clouded and dark and a thin film of sweat covers his face and chest.

"It is you who are making me wild, Boromir," he pants, licking his lips and grasping the steward's arms with shaking hands. "Now - a33; I need you now - deep inside me..."

"And I am here, ready for you, aching for you..." Slicked fingers quickly breach and prepare Aragorn's entrance, soon followed by the blunt head of Boromir's cock. The steward's hands close around Aragorn's hips, lifting him against his waiting body as he slowly thrusts in, groaning at the clench of muscle around his invading cock.

"Relax, please; let me in!" he hisses.

Aragorn moans in pain, eyes shut tight, his head tipping back against the fur. "I am sorry..." he gasps, "it has been some time..." He opens his eyes, panting softly, stroking his hands over Boromir's shoulders, willing himself to relax, wanting it - needing it... And then it happens... the sparks of pain begin to dissolve and suddenly he relaxes, moaning in pleasure as he pushes his hips up and pulls Boromir in; his mouth curving into a soft breathless smile.

"Boromir..."

The feeling is almost too much for Boromir when the ranger's inner muscles suddenly adjust and he slides deep inside, the clench turned into a hot, velvety stroke.

"So beautiful, so good..." Boromir pants, his breath coming in short, gasps speaking of almost unbearable pleasure. He pulls back, then pushes deep again, shifting his hips to find the way that will give Aragorn pleasure.

Aragorn wants to tell Boromir how he feels, how he has never known such pleasure, such heat, such need... But he cannot; all he can do is gasp and moan aloud with each delicious thrust of Boromir's body, as the fire inside grows, devouring him, pushing him towards completion. He wants it, he needs it - yet he tries to hold back, to extend the feeling... But then Boromir's hard burning shaft begins to rub against that spot deep inside and he is lost, consumed.

Suddenly the gasping moan becomes a harsh groan as his own erection, trapped in between their bodies begins to swell and pulse. Aragorn's fingers grip Boromir's shoulders, his eyes open wide and try to focus as his hips arch and lock... and then he comes - without a sound.

Boromir almost stills his movement, completely taken by the intense emotions that follow each other on the ranger's face.

He bends low to kiss Aragorn's lips, wanting to capture those emotions, proud in the knowledge that they stem from their lovemaking. He's fully stretched against Aragorn when the ranger's erection pulses wildly, trapped between their bellies, and a gush of warm fluid slicks their skins. Boromir moans, the velvet grip of Aragorn's inner muscles squeezing his body like a hand and comes thrusting deep into the ranger's body, murmuring incoherent sounds of pleasure.

The sudden flush of warmth that spreads through his body chasing the fire seems to unlock the tightness in Aragorn's throat. He sighs, wrapping his arms tight around Boromir's body and pulling him close as waves of pleasure continue to pulse through them both.

After a few moments, Aragorn slides a hand to the small of Boromir's back, massaging gently. "Ah... Boromir," he whispers breathlessly, pressing his lips to the steward's hair, "my Boromir... so fine, so very, very fine..."

Trembling with pleasure Boromir rests against Aragorn's chest, his heart beating so loud he feels all of Lothlorien must be hearing it, must know what happened, know that nothing will ever be the same for the Steward of Gondor. He sighs softly and kisses the hot, sweaty skin under his cheek.

"Whatever might happen on this quest, this day with you has made it worthwhile, my beloved king, my Aragorn..."

Aragorn sighs again, trailing his fingers up and down Boromir's back in a tender caress.

"I did not seek this when we entered this cave today, Boromir, but I am glad to have found it nonetheless," he murmurs. "But when day breaks and we have to rejoin the fellowship, know that I will understand should nothing like this happen between us again." He pauses and once more kisses Boromir's head. "All men deserve to find love at least once in their lifetime, Boromir... and this night it has been my turn."

Aragorn does not realise fully which words he has chosen until he feels the steward's body tense beneath his hands.

Boromir stiffens for a moment, then relaxes and buries his face into Aragorn's chest, hiding the emotion that is making his eyes sting.

"Thank you..." he murmurs, kissing Aragorn's chest again and again. "For giving voice to what is in my heart too and I did not dare say..." He looks up, offering the ranger a trembling smile.

"I do not know what the rest of this voyage will bring us. I do not know if we will have a chance to be like this again... It would not be seemly before the others - you are our leader now. But I will guard you jealously in my heart... You are my love, my captain and my king - forever."