Boromir's Retaliation
The light of Lórien was silvery, illuminated by the flying clouds that alternately revealed and concealed, but also scattered the argent glow throughout the peaceful woods. The luminance leached the daytime colors away to pale shadows of the truth. Boromir's golden hair appeared to be tarnished silver and his eyes that were usually the green of new leaves now looked like the ocean after a storm.
Boromir spoke of his hopes and fears for his city and his eyes held something that Aragorn could not define and it made him uncomfortable. It was the same look that made the Ranger think that his control over the Steward's son was not complete. He felt his rage rise again and he vowed that he would smash any hint of defiance or rebellion from his unwilling lover.
Aragorn had been forced to relinquish some of his control over Boromir, otherwise the warrior would have been useless to the Fellowship. And Gandalf would have asked questions. But with the small amount of freedom granted to him, Boromir had seemed to shake off his bitterness and his anger. And Aragorn thought that he was being given a glimpse of the man who was truly there, inside his reluctant captive.
"One day our paths will lead us there, and the silver trumpets will announce the Lords of Gondor have returned."
His cock stood at attention as the silken voice washed over him. He stood abruptly and ordered, "Follow me!"
Boromir looked startled; perhaps he had thought that there would be peace between them. He recognized Aragorn's tone and did not question, but trailed after the Ranger deeper into the woods.
Aragorn reached a clearing and whirled round. "Strip," he said curtly. Boromir's hand went slowly to the clasps of his tunic, but Aragorn was not satisfied.
"Quickly," he added, almost laughing aloud at the stricken look on Boromir's face. Evidently, he was under the mistaken impression that their heroics in Moria and Aragorn saving his life when that nasty orc was about to end it, meant that they were friends. Aragorn was about to show him how wrong he was.
Boromir stood naked, standing with his shoulders back, as if proud of his form, but Aragorn knew that he was resisting the temptation to cover himself and the scars left from his righteous punishment. Aragorn saw that his eyes had lost their confidence and hope and now were fearful, but under it all there was something else.
"Rise for me," the Ranger ordered. Boromir put a hand on his flaccid cock, but Aragorn stopped him. "No, use your mind. Think of all the times I have taken you and the ecstasy you've felt. Think of me plunging into you, hitting your pleasure center and how I make you come every time."
Boromir trembled and Aragorn saw shame creep into his eyes. He smirked, knowing how much Boromir resented his own body's betrayal and its response to Aragorn. The Steward's son closed his eyes and Aragorn decided to allow him that to focus his thoughts.
A moment later, Boromir opened his eyes, his staff jutting proudly from his body. His face was despairing and his green orbs liquid with unshed tears. The Ranger unwrapped a leather thong from his wrist and quickly looped it around the base of Boromir's cock, catching his remaining ball in it as well. Aragorn tightened the leather and arranged Boromir to his satisfaction.
"Lovely," Aragorn said, circling his victim, a finger lightly tracing ridges of muscles that were lightly sheened with sweat. "My beautiful Boromir. My own," he growled biting hard on a sleek deltoid, and smiling at the copper tang filling his mouth. "Delicious," he hissed. Boromir stiffened but did not cry out. His victim was well trained, but Aragorn meant to break him.
"Embrace yonder tree," Aragorn gestured. "And brace yourself," he added as Boromir obeyed. The tree was a youngish mallorn, but Boromir could not get his arms around it. He splayed his legs without being told, knowing what was coming, but Aragorn surprised him by trailing a hand up his back to tangle in his hair.
Aragorn's other hand quickly freed his stiffened cock from his breeches. Then using two fingers he plunged them into Boromir's puckered opening without warning. The man bucked slightly, but quickly controlled it when the hand in his hair tightened. Aragorn smiled to himself at Boromir's responses, knowing that this night would be most enjoyable. His fingers twisted and stretched, the lack of lubrication making the task difficult. He lightly brushed the man's prostate, certain that the combination of pain and pleasure was pulling Boromir out of control.
The Ranger pulled his fingers out, absently noting that they were slightly streaked with blood from Boromir's overtaxed muscles. He placed his rigid cocked so that it rested at the battered opening and halted, giving Boromir a chance to understand what was going to happen to him. Boromir's breath hitched and beads of sweat stood out on his back, but otherwise he did not react. Aragorn's smile grew wider.
"Very good, pretty," he said and plunged into the luscious body before him. The muscles were desperately tight as Boromir tried to cope with the pain of the rough entry. Aragorn did not give him a chance to adjust, but lacing his fingers with Boromir's, set a punishing rhythm. Blood from Boromir's violated opening soon provided lubrication, making Aragorn's task easier. The mallorn tree had relatively smooth bark, but it was still a tree and Boromir's cock was crushed against it with Aragorn's every lunge. With the leather tight at the base, there was no hope for Boromir to come and relieve the pressure.
Aragorn deliberately held back his own pleasure and did not slow his strokes. After many minutes of this punishment he could feel that Boromir was starting to wince with every thrust. Aragorn increased the pace, grinning madly. He knew that Boromir would break soon.
It came with a groan that Boromir desperately tried to muffle, but Aragorn heard. He gripped the man's hands tighter until they became another source of pain for the Gondorian and continued his brutal pounding.
Boromir suppressed another groan and then he could stand no more. "Please," he whispered, his voice trembling. Aragorn nearly howled in triumph at the anguished, shattered sound of his usually silken voice. He let his own orgasm loose and nearly collapsed at the ecstasy of it as the flood seemed to last forever. When it had died away to nothing more than a slight spasmodic jerking, Aragorn leaned his full weight on Boromir's back, feeling suddenly boneless.
As awareness slowly returned to him, Aragorn realized that Boromir's legs were quaking with the effort of holding up both of them. Aragorn withdrew from Boromir's body slowly, relishing the tight heat that even now seemed to clench at him. His cock was streaked with blood which had oozed from Boromir's torn muscles.
He freed Boromir's hands and turned the other man around. The Steward's son was a sight; he was shuddering slightly and his eyes were unfocused. His chest was heaving with little sobbing gasps and his cock was engorged to the point that it was nearly purple. There was a raw spot on the underside of his cock that had been scraped on the tree and was seeping blood. There were other scratches on the front of his body from his harsh contact with the tree.
Aragorn stood for a moment admiring his handiwork. Then he picked up Boromir's fur cloak and spread it out on the ground. He sat down on it and held his arms out to Boromir. "Come here to me."
Boromir tumbled into his embrace nearly sobbing and Aragorn stroked his hair and then fished through his own clothes for some healing salve. He lightly stroked the Gondorian's face and then said gently, "You know that I never leave my lovers unsatisfied, don't you?"
The blond man nodded tiredly, his green eyes luminous with both fear and hope. "Shh, pretty, all will be well," Aragorn soothed. He helped Boromir to turn around on the cloak until his back was once again to the Ranger.
"Lean on me, love." Aragorn eased him back until Boromir's shoulders rested on his chest. Aragorn began smoothing the salve over the scratches on the other man's chest, all the while muttering soft, soothing words until he felt Boromir relax somewhat in his arms.
"Now we must take care of your poor cock," the Ranger said, rubbing the salve gently over Boromir's engorged length. "Do you want to come, my beauty?" he asked when Boromir tensed slightly.
"Yes," Boromir answered hoarsely.
"Then you must take yourself in your own hands," Aragorn said. Boromir winced and Aragorn added, "Yes, I know it will be painful, but I would not leave you in this state. Make yourself come." The last was spoken in a tone of command and Boromir put his hand on his cock, wincing at the pain of the contact on his mistreated flesh.
Aragorn immediately freed the leather loop at the base of Boromir's manhood and began caressing Boromir's ball to the rhythm of the other man's strokes. Boromir's breath quickened immediately and Aragorn whispered in his ear, "Come for me."
Boromir lost control and thick jets of cream spurted out from his abused shaft. The orgasm was overwhelming, pain from his battered body mixing in with pleasure long denied. Aragorn held him, keeping him grounded while he rode out the spasms.
The Ranger wrapped them together in Boromir's cloak and Boromir was soon sleeping. Aragorn stared at the face of the Steward's son, with his bright green eyes veiled in slumber. He still wondered what he saw in those eyes at times, whether it was laughter, or contempt, or something else. Maybe it was not laughter; Aragorn had seen that when he was tussling with Merry and Pippin and other times when his good humor broke through the bleak hopelessness of their task.
The sleeping face was strong, with scars and lines of a man who had lived a full life. He was a warrior almost without peer and Aragorn realized that he would trust no one else to protect his back as well as Boromir did, not even Legolas.
And he was a lover like no other Aragorn had ever had. It was not just a matter of his physical beauty and his burly golden body, of which Aragorn knew he would never tire. But his responsiveness, his obedience and his half-ashamed delight in every thing they did to each other made Aragorn hard for him again and again.
Suddenly disgusted with the direction his thoughts had taken him, not wanting to feel anything but lust for this . . . this beast which he had tamed, Aragorn untangled himself from Boromir and pulled his clothes back on. He walked out of the clearing without a backward glance.
The rest of their time in Lórien, Aragorn left Boromir strictly alone and ignored the questions in those green eyes.
And Aragorn managed to maintain that distance while they paddled down the river, wrestling with his emotions, until the last night that they camped by the Anduin.
Boromir had the insolence to argue with him about the best path once they left the river. Aragorn could not believe that Boromir had found the courage to defy him.
"I would not bring the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city," he growled and whirled away. But his anger overflowed and he decided that Boromir should be punished for his rebellion.
He stalked back to the place where Boromir had spread his blankets. "Come with me, now!" he ordered.
Boromir went after him without question. Aragorn led them deeper into the woods until the murmur of the river had faded. He did not fear for the Fellowship, for Legolas was guarding them. At last he found a suitable spot, not unlike their clearing in Lórien, but without the argent light.
He turned around and found that Boromir was already on his knees, and before this night, Aragorn would have been pleased that the man knew he had done wrong and accepted his punishment. But tonight the moon showed the hopelessness in Boromir's eyes and weariness and resignation as well. Something broke in Aragorn at that moment and he could not do it, could not humiliate or subjugate the man before him any further.
The uncomfortable feelings the he had felt in Lórien were back and he realized that the warrior had earned his respect and that they were equals, equals in lineage, in courage, in all other ways. Boromir was not a thing to be mistreated.
Before he could stop to question himself, Aragorn reached out his hands and clasped Boromir's, drawing the man to his feet. "Not that way, not tonight," he said quietly.
"My lord?" Boromir questioned.
"No, not that. Never again. I was wrong to enslave you. You are free of me, free to go or to stay. I will make no claim on you ever again." Aragorn felt a tightness in his chest and a sickness in his belly, but his mind felt clear for the first time in weeks. Boromir would take his freedom and go.
"If I choose to stay?" Boromir had not moved, but his eyes were glowing with a warm green fire like a spring morning. "And if I ask you to claim me?"
Aragorn felt a cry rising in his chest, but he forced it down. "How? After what I've done?"
"Not like before," Boromir said, picking up a strand of Aragorn's dark hair and rubbing it between his fingers. Startled, Aragorn remembered that Boromir had never touched him before of his free will.
"Like lovers," Boromir continued.
The tightness in his chest fled abruptly and Aragorn wanted to go on his knees to Boromir and thank all the Valar that the warrior was still here. "Yes," he whispered and stepped into the circle of Boromir's arms.
The kiss was beyond anything that Aragorn had ever experienced. Boromir's mouth covered his, overwhelming him. He shuddered as he completely surrendered control to Boromir, letting take what he would. His body tightened and clenched as the other man feasted on him.
Aragorn was reeling when Boromir finally broke the kiss. He clung to the warrior's shoulders, content to nuzzle his neck under his long golden hair.
"I'm a bit out of practice with that," Boromir said and his honey voice was full of unspoken promises that sent shafts of desire into Aragorn's belly. Aragorn thought that if that kiss was out of practice, then he would not survive it if Boromir was at his peak.
They stood for a time, Boromir slowly stroking his hands up and down Aragorn's back. The Ranger gradually regained his senses and they parted to spread their cloaks on the forest floor. They stood back from each other and each man removed his own clothes, slowly while the other watched. Aragorn drank in the sight of Boromir's naked body, his broad shoulders, sword-toughened muscles, strong thighs dusted with golden hair. He cock stood rampant from its patch of tawny hair. There was no shame in Boromir's stance tonight, but his posture spoke of pride that his body could arouse such lust in Aragorn.
Boromir reached for Aragorn's hand and pulled him down to their cloaks. The Elven material smoothed out of roughness of the duff as they settled against each other.
"Make love with me," Boromir said softly, his hands cupping the Ranger's face for another kiss.
Aragorn shuddered a deep breath and then let his hands and lips roam over the familiar golden body. He knew all of Boromir's sensitive spots and he squirmed as Boromir discovered his. He nearly came when the warrior latched onto his nipple with his clever lips and swirling tongue. He fought desperately to contain himself when Boromir engulfed his erection with his pretty mouth for the first time.
Boromir drew back smiling. "I don't want to waste that," he said. "You will claim me and come this night inside me and no where else."
"Let me love you," Aragorn begged, sitting up and pushing Boromir to his back. The warrior went willingly and Aragorn began a slow sensual exploration of the golden body. His fingers were gentle and his lips were easy and his teeth nipped occasionally but he did not draw blood. Boromir would never bleed again on his account.
Aragorn knew that he had been several kinds of fool with his treatment of Boromir. The delighted and unashamed cries coming from the warrior told him that Boromir willing was far more exciting than Boromir coerced had ever been.
He worked his way down Boromir's torso until he reached the warrior's rigid cock, standing at attention for him. He nearly wept as he drew his lips down the scar of Boromir's mutilation, a wounding that Aragorn had inflicted on him. That such beauty had been marred, and at his own hands, it was unthinkable.
Boromir must have understood for one of his hands came down, stroking Aragorn's head gently. Aragorn swallowed his tears and Boromir's cock almost at the same time. The Gondorian thrust his hips into Aragorn's mouth and Aragorn let him fuck his mouth.
Boromir was quickly moaning and whimpering, "Can't come yet. Make it last. So good."
Aragorn was content to allow Boromir to take whatever he wanted. Finally, Boromir lost control, spewing his release into Aragorn's mouth, while the Ranger gulped down every drop of the warm cream that he could get. Boromir's spasms went on and on before he dropped his head to the cloaks, exhausted. Aragorn stayed where he was, nuzzling and licking the delicious flesh.
"Are you ready for more?" he asked when Boromir quieted.
"More?" Boromir gasped, but Aragorn saw that he was smiling and his eyes were twinkling.
Aragorn moved his mouth lower and propped Boromir's hips in his hands. His tongue was searching and at last found the warrior's puckered entrance. He laved the muscle, holding Boromir while the other man squirmed and pleaded. He plunged his tongue inside, feeling Boromir's warmth. Something bumped his head and he saw that it was Boromir's cock, hard again.
He crawled up the body of his lover until they were face to face again. Boromir's eyes were dazed, but his hands grabbed Aragorn pulling him into another searing kiss. His tongue explored every corner of Aragorn's mouth as if trying to taste himself in the other man.
Aragorn pulled back slightly, fumbling in his clothes for some salve. He slicked his cock swiftly, but then hesitated at Boromir's entrance.
"Are you sure you want this?" he asked, uncertain of what he would do if Boromir said no.
"Yes," Boromir growled impatiently, thrusting his hips. "Claim me! Make me yours of my own will."
Aragorn bore down slightly, until his tip had barely parted Boromir's muscles. Boromir writhed, trying to take more, but Aragorn held him off, moving slowly inside, until he was fully seated inside his lover. He stopped then, fighting for control, for Boromir was so hot and tight and his wanton movements were pushing Aragorn to the edge.
He dropped his lips over Boromir's once again and waited, kissing him gently, until Boromir opened his eyes. The green eyes were full of passion and wonder and Aragorn held them with his own and began to thrust slowly, angling himself so that he rubbed over Boromir's tiny gland. Boromir wrapped his legs around Aragorn's waist, but his eyes stayed locked with the Ranger's.
They moved together, slowly, never dropping their gazes, until the pressure building in Aragorn became too much and he put his hand to Boromir's erection and began to stroke.
"Please come with me," he said and Boromir's eyes grew warmer. His orgasm built from deep within him and finally burst out, overwhelming him, but he felt the warmth of Boromir's climax cover his hand, while blue eyes and green eyes showed their souls.
They lay there, the warrior and the ranger, gold and bronze, still entwined, while their heartbeats slowed down and their breathing evened. At last they rose from the cloaks and helped each other dress, amongst much kissing and caressing. When they were clothed again, they walked back to the camp and Aragorn placed their blankets together. They slept tangled around each other, their breathing matched, in perfect contentment and in accord for the first time since they had met.
The next day Boromir was again lying in Aragorn's arms, and this time there was blood. But for once, it was not of Aragorn's doing. The Ranger desperately tried to aid his fallen lover, but he knew that Boromir's wounds were beyond any healing.
All he could do was look on helplessly as his greatest triumph slipped away from him. The Steward's son would leave him after all. The strange expression was back in Boroimr's eyes, even as he was dying, and to his own surprise, Aragorn found himself promising to save Minas Tirith.
Aragorn was frantically trying to understand what those eyes were telling him, when Boromir spoke for the last time, "I would have followed you, my brother. My captain. My King."
Aragorn stifled his tears, not understanding his own emotions, watching as the light slowly faded out of the beautiful green eyes. He bent over and brushed the gentlest of kisses on Boromir's forehead and whispered, "Go in peace, Son of Gondor."
They sent Boromir on his way with all the honor they could muster out in the wilderness. As he ran across Rohan and battled to save that country and in all the days that followed, delivering Minas Tirith and giving Frodo his chance, Aragorn debated with himself the meaning of Boromir's final words.
Even when peace was assured at last and Arwen warmed his bed every night, the question still haunted him. Did Boromir mean those words or were they the product of the laughter that Aragorn had sometimes sensed, even after Boromir had been tamed. Was Boromir still mocking him, even at the very moment of his death? If that were the case, then Boromir had been laughing at him the whole time they spent together. And Boromir was stronger than Aragorn had realized, being able to throw contempt in his face mere seconds from death. And that meant that Aragorn was a failure. He had failed to master Boromir, failed to tame him and failed to win his respect.
But the other side of the debate was far worse. If Boromir had meant those words, then Aragorn had lost something indescribably precious. No one in Middle Earth had ever seen his dark side, even from Arwen he kept it well hidden. But Boromir had seen it almost from the very day that they met. Boromir had seen all of him, the good and the bad. And Boromir had managed to make that pledge when his life was leaking away. If Boromir meant those words, then Aragorn had lost the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally, who loved him without hesitation or doubts. And if he meant those words, then the look in his eyes that made Aragorn so uncomfortable was not contempt, but love. And if he meant those words, then Boromir was by far the strongest person in Middle Earth, being able to forgive Aragorn for the mistreatment dealt to him and love Aragorn anyway. When he thought of what they could have been together if Boromir had loved him, Aragorn wanted to howl his grief to the uncaring sky.
Aragorn now understood his own feelings and he knew that he had loved Boromir with all of his heart. But he could not know what Boromir had felt.
Had their night by the river been a night of love, or had Boromir just been trying to take pleasure where he could?
Surely a man would tell the truth knowing he was dying? But what man could endure what Boromir had and still love? The question could not be answered.
And thus Boromir had his revenge. For though Aragorn was High King Elessar Telcontar, ruler of both Gondor and Eriador, the Elfstone of his people, every night for one hundred and twenty years his sleep was haunted by the question:
Did he mean it? ... or not?
by Raederle
You see everything you see every part
You see all my light and you love my dark
—from "Everything" by Alanis Morissette
