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03 May 2011 | 1346 words
TITLE: Uncalled-For Behavior
CHARACTERS: Boromir / Aragorn, Faramir / Legolas
RATING: R (for dirty suggestions)
WARNINGS: AU (rubyverse)
SUMMARY: Boromir has learned to be more tolerant of certain elves. That does not mean he’s going to tolerate certain elves behaving inappropriately with his brother. Well, okay, maybe he IS going to tolerate it… but he’s not going to like it.
DISCLAIMER: Characters do not belong to me. They are just here to play.
At some point this was going somewhere, but I think it makes a nice little one-shot, too. Dedicated to vjezkova for her birthday that I didn’t know about till somebody told me… hope it’s been a lovely one!
Boromir hunched down in his chair and gave Aragorn a sharp look.
“What?” Aragorn asked, leaning back and propping his bare feet up on the low table in front of him.
“You know what. Get your elf off my brother’s lap.”
Aragorn studied his feet absently. “He’s not my elf. Get him off yourself.”
Boromir sat up, and Aragorn reached out and nearly grabbed the other man’s mug of ale before it could tip over.
Across the table, Legolas raised an eyebrow but made no move to relocate from his comfortable position, draped over Faramir with his head pillowed on the man’s shoulder and his legs over the arm of the chair while Faramir balanced a mug of ale on one of his knees.
“I do not answer to ‘hey, elf’.”
“How about stupid elf?”
“Hmm. That’s not going to work, either.”
“Just get off my brother’s lap.”
Legolas shrugged. “Make me.”
Faramir smiled, unconcerned, and took a long swallow of his ale. “Maybe I like him on my lap.”
“It’s entirely uncalled for,” Boromir muttered.
“Oh, dear,” Legolas said, feigning distress. “Faramir, I do believe we’ve upset your brother’s delicate sensibilities.”
Faramir snorted. Aragorn laughed, and Boromir rolled his eyes.
“Besides,” Faramir said lazily, “it’s rather nice having him in my lap. Makes him easily accessible for any sort of…”
“There will be no groping in my rooms!” Boromir insisted.
“Well, there go my plans for the evening,” Aragorn muttered.
“Better have the kitchen send more ale, then,” Faramir said.
Legolas glanced at the man and chuckled. “No more ale for you.”
“And why not?”
“Because regardless of what you have planned for later, I suggest you attempt to be at least moderately functional for it.”
Aragorn grinned. “I don’t know, Legolas… there’s something to be said for a companion who’s had enough ale to allow certain liberties to be taken…”
Legolas shook his head. “Then you, dear Estel, need a more cooperative companion. I’ve found that my associate here is willing to permit all sorts of liberties to be taken, if he’s approached in a proper fashion.”
Faramir blushed mildly, but grinned. Boromir growled and stared at the ceiling.
“Good gods, elf, do you really think I want you putting ideas in my head about the things you’re doing to my little brother?”
“I can give you…”
Aragorn gave him a warning look. Legolas smiled and settled back into Faramir’s lap, smirking at him.
“At least the hobbits aren’t here,” Faramir pointed out. “They’d be mostly naked and probably sticky already.”
“It should be illegal to give alcohol to hobbits,” Boromir noted.
“There’s the king,” Faramir said, pointing at Aragorn. “Tell him about it.”
“I am not passing a law forbidding the serving of alcohol to hobbits.”
“Then can you pass a law against elves molesting people in public?”
“If sitting in your living room counts as public, Boromir, then everyone in Gondor has seen you and Aragorn…”
“Legolas,” Aragorn interrupted firmly.
Faramir laughed. “Why don’t you just ask him to pass a law forbidding anyone to go to bed with your brother unless they’ve been personally interviewed and approved by you beforehand?”
“Definitely more ale,” Aragorn said, standing up and going to the door. He spoke briefly to one of the guards outside in the hall before returning to his seat. Boromir reached down and scratched Finn’s ears; he didn’t need to look to know she would be lying sleepily on her rug beside his chair, dozing contentedly after a day spent trotting proudly at Boromir’s side through the supply buildings and training yards. Faramir had told him that the soldiers referred to the golden-haired puppy as “the Steward’s little lady,” to which Boromir had responded that since she was both quieter and more agreeable than more ladies he knew, he intended to keep her.
“You don’t even let the dog sit on your lap,” Legolas said.
“Unlike you, my dog knows her place.”
“Are you suggesting I ought to be sitting on the floor?”
“You could sit in a chair like the rest of us.”
“I’m in a chair. It just happens to have someone else in it already.”
Before Boromir could retaliate, Aragorn stood up and flopped himself down into Boromir’s lap. Boromir muttered something as the other man settled himself more comfortably.
“What was that?”
“I said, you’ve got a bony arse.”
Faramir raised his mug and glanced at Legolas. “Never heard him complain about it before.”
Boromir shot his brother a dirty look. “No one asked you.”
“Get that man some ale,” Legolas said. “He’s a dreadful bore when he’s sober.”
“He’s been known to be a dreadful bore when he’s drunk, too,” Faramir added, grinning.
Boromir scowled. “Elf’s been nothing but a bad influence on you.”
He made no move to get up, and despite his irritated tone there was no real heat in his remark. Since their trip to Mirkwood Boromir couldn’t quite manage to conjure up a good reason to be properly angry with Leoglas, and even if he had managed to, no one could deny that something seemed to have had a positive effect on Faramir as of late. While his usually quiet and solemn mood had been steadily lifting since the destruction of the Ring and his brother’s safe return, lately he had developed a different air of self-assurance. Boromir suspected it was more than just the elf’s companionship, but preferred not to speculate as to what it might be. He would ordinarily be in a rage if anyone had been as cocky with him as Faramir often was now, but a greater part of him was too pleased to see that, for the first time in their lives, the balance between them was finally tilting toward level for the first time since they were old enough to understand Denethor’s favoritism.
Someone knocked on the door, and Aragorn answered it, returning with a pitcher of ale. He didn’t waste time, but immediately set about filling empty mugs. Faramir watched as the ale flowed into his mug, which he was still holding on the elf’s knee. Just as Aragorn finished pouring, the man yawned and shifted in his chair, and Legolas made a startled and unhappy noise as the mug tipped and sent its contents spilling all over his lap.
Boromir laughed loudly enough to make Finn raise her head and give him a look of mild concern. Legolas stood up and scowled at Faramir.
“Terribly sorry,” the man said.
“You’re not sorry at all.”
“You’re right,” Faramir agreed. “Especially since those breeches weren’t hiding much BEFORE they got wet.”
“Ugh! Out!” Boromir groaned, pointing at the door. “You two are as bad as those damned hobbits!”
“Not as sticky,” Legolas noted.
“Could be arranged,” Faramir said casually, standing up.
“Out,” Boromir repeated determinedly.
“I believe we’re being evicted,” Legolas said, steering Faramir toward the exit. Aragorn watched until the door had closed behind them before turning to Boromir with a leering smile.
“I think you ought to come sit in my lap now.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Don’t you think there are rather a lot of clothes in the way?”
“That can be easily remedied, love.”
“Good thing my arse isn’t as bony as yours is.”
“There’s only one thing wrong with your arse.”
“And what would that be?”
Aragorn grinned. “It’s still in your pants.”
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