Flogging
Tears his shirt, his doublet, his soul,
Ring pulses in his mind, cock in his pants,
More than he can handle, but less than he deserves,
'Beg', a whisper in his heart,
Whip whistles as it descends, a tune he does not know,
Pain pauses, begins once more,
Denethor alone stands, and Faramir at his knees,
Argonath tall, proudly defends
Pain to forget the Ring, remember his oath,
Frodo watches, with Sam by his side,
Tears fall with the rain, no shame in that,
Blood from his nose paints his face,
'Beg', a whisper, a command in his mind,
Dancing under the leather, cries of pain.
Daylight, but dark,
Arms catching him before death,
Alive, but not living,
Leather-stained hands, now with thread,
Denethor is gone, and Faramir, too.
Betrayal rings in his mind,
A king may tend to him now;
by Lanna Michaels
eg,' is a whisper in his ear as the pain grows.
Sounds of flesh slapping flesh, and then he knows.
Crack of whip, screams of pain,
sounds of passion sound the same.
the lashes are beginning to take their toll.
Won't cry, can't beg, blood rushing to his head,
screams of joyful slaughter as the darkness is fed.
both semen and sedition are traitors' laments.
Scream growing in his lungs,
wild roar as it becomes—
sags in the ropes, his strength nary preserved.
Blood the color of life streams freely down,
lubricating constantly against his mound.
'and then you and pain shall part.'
Dishonor—better than death,
but also a mark he would bear with every breath.
but he will not allow his breaking heart to show.
'Aragorn', he cries, and 'lover', too.
Hoping that the second one still is true.
he begins to wonder what all of this is for.
Sweat in the rope, in his eyes, his hair,
makes him see things that are not there.
paying homage to the mallorn trees.
White Tower sparkling, calling him home,
knowing he would make the trek alone.
the last vestige of the glory of men.
'Gondor!' it calls, and 'Arnor!' as well,
the two kingdoms before they fell.
and he tries to grasp and hold onto both.
Cleansing and purifying the skin off his back,
trying to make up for the honor he lacks.
but Merry and Pippin have run to hide.
Gimli understands, and the elf as well.
They know the message Aragorn is trying to tell.
heart valves expand and contract.
Stomach cramps, but he holds his tongue.
This cannot last very long.
in his eyes, showing his disgrace.
Hates that it excites him, hates that he longs,
hates that he cannot be strong.
as pain and passion combine.
'Aragorn!' he screams, 'please, my liege!'
My brother, my captain, my sole need.
But dishonor is not so deeply ingrained.
Sword too far to reach, bonds tied tight,
and he is already too tired to fight.
clean, but with a mark.
Blinks.
Falls.
forcing him to take another breath.
'Stop' he cannot say,
but he cried a river today.
Beloved, but not loving.
"In my heart always, no more so than now,
hush, Boromir, and let me show you how."
and light kisses against his head.
Ring is gone, if just for the time,
and the morningbirds begin to chime.
White Tower is now the sky blue.
Horn at his hand, arrow in his teeth,
bites down, grabs his sword in its sheath.
Rends his heart without making a sound.
But Boromir shall never bow.
