Faramir Fiction Archive

And All Because... (NC-17)

Written by Foofy

02 February 2005 | 55500 words | Work in Progress

Part 2: The Lady Loves

The hills were alive, dangerous. Faramir rested briefly although still constantly keeping watch, his eyes flickering over the hilltop for any sort of danger or indication that it might appear. There had been many reports of bandits in these lands, mostly Haradrim, organised ruthless killers who hated the men of Gondor as much as the Gondorians hated them. After so long hunting them, Faramir knew better than to put his guard down.

Faramir tested the weight of his sword in the sheath, and glanced towards the side as one of the Ithilien rangers approached. The Captain relaxed slightly.

“Cathalin. What news?”

“Very little my lord,” replied the ranger in a low voice. “The paths seem completely empty.”

Faramir growled in his throat. They had been tipped that there would be a meeting here, a suitable spot to strike and rid the land of at least one or two of the leaders. Denethor had been extremely strict upon this matter, warning that he would look very unfavourably on any possibility of failure with a glare that stated exactly how unfavourably it was going to be. The young Gondorian lord frowned towards the skyline, annoyed at the set back.

“Has there been anything? Any tracks, any passage?” he said, slightly sharper than he meant to. Cathalin shrugged slightly, not meeting his gaze and choosing to rest his cool blue eyes on the beauty of the surrounding low-lying forests instead.

“Not that we have found, my lord,” he said carefully and not without regret. There was no love lost between the Ithilien rangers and the Haradrim, and they were all aware of the sensitive issues between Faramir and his father.

Faramir growled again angrily. Yet again he was going to fail in his duty, fail to meet up with his father’s expectations. Although that was mostly the problem. Denethor had expectations of his younger son’s talents, and succeeding was not one of them. Nothing, no act of bravery, no word from Boromir, no off the cuff victory seemed to change his mind on this matter. Faramir knew damn well that many of his successful battles could have easily drifted towards failure had it not been for the skill of the rangers as a fighting unit and not a small amount of good fortune within the battle itself. And for what? One small word of praise which constantly failed to materialise.

“The source must not have been accurate,” continued the ranger, his eyes flickering back to watch his young lord carefully. Faramir snorted.

“Father will not see it like that,” he replied bitterly. “We simply followed the wrong interpretation, no doubt,”

Cathalin gave another graceful shrug, displaying the elvish in his bloodline. “Perhaps we are a day early,” he suggested.

“Perhaps,”

They stood looking down towards the empty road in silence. The ranger finally moved slightly.

“I can organise the watch if you wish to rest, my lord,” he said. Faramir shook his head.

“I cannot fall asleep on duty.” His voice was firm on this matter. The ranger watched him cautiously.

“You will be of more use to us refreshed, my lord,” he said finally. Faramir glared at him for a moment, eyes hard and cold, his posture more like Denethor than the young man would ever realise. But his eyes softened after a mere moment, a slow smile on his face.

“Perhaps you are right.” He murmured after a while. The ranger shrugged once more, with an expression of one who knows he is right but does not want to boast. Faramir slapped the man on the shoulder lightly, then moved towards the main camp.

“My lord,” Cathalin’s voice was suddenly low and urgent. Faramir stopped immediately, his hand directly to the hilt of his sword, scanning the surroundings carefully then glancing back to the ranger. Cathalin was alert, posture like an alarmed cat, surveying the landscape.

Faramir felt the familiar thrill of battle racing through his veins, his breathing light and quick, standing on the balls of his feet to ensure speed and agility. Cathalin was poised, his head slightly cocked to one side, as though he had heard something. Their eyes met. Cathalin nodded once towards the east.

Moving as a pair, they started towards it, Cathalin to the north and Faramir slightly to the south, surrounding the heavily foliaged area. Within a minute Faramir had lost track of the other ranger as bushes and trees interrupted their line of vision.

He moved forwards, silently, his eyes scanning the trees for signs of any danger. He paused as he surveyed a figure hidden mostly by leaves, slim, alert, no more than four metres away from him. His eyes fixed upon the figure, he moved steadily towards it, Faramir slowing his movements to avoid detection.

However, it is never the elf that you saw which proves the danger.

It is the one you didn’t.

The present situation, as Boromir saw it, had its merits. Sure, he was in the fifth day of being the current whore of the King of Gondor, a somewhat significant flaw by anyone’s standards. Aragorn had protested loudly when Boromir had commented on his position, and the Gondorian had promptly dropped the subject; but, he was nothing if not a realist and there was no other possible description for what he was doing, except possibly slave.

And there also lay the merits. Despite the severe attacks on his pride, Boromir had grudgingly accepted the fact that the feeling of Aragorn on and in his body wasn’t bad. In fact, it could be classified as very good, if not for the little problem of his soon to be wife.

Boromir gritted his teeth at the thought of Arwen. The she-elf seemed determined to ensure that the Lord of Gondor was under her own control, a little toy under her whim. Thankfully, due to a lot of hard work, defiance and Aragorn’s unknowing support, there was only so much she could do. Any command could normally be reversed by careful playing of Aragorn, making sure that the defiance came from the King of Gondor rather than Boromir himself. Arwen was not fooled but she hesitated from directly commanding Aragorn, for reasons Boromir could not quite comprehend.

For now, the Gondorian was satisfied just lying over his lover’s lap like a cat, feeling Aragorn’s hands playing with his soft dirty blonde hair idly, Boromir’s chest resting on Aragorn’s thighs. Complications and considerations could wait for tomorrow as far as he was concerned.

Boromir shifted slightly and sighed contentedly, Aragorn smiling down at his lover fondly. The rest of the bed demonstrated exactly what type of activities they had recently undertaken, a few blankets littering the floor, the oil bottle almost empty sitting innocently on the bedside table.

“How very touching,” came a voice from the doorway.

Aragorn’s hand paused in Boromir’s hair at the sound. Boromir’s eyes opened slightly, giving the she-elf a wary look as she walked towards them, arms folded. The Gondorian cursed the elf household rule about a lack of locks on doors, a system based on trust and annoying as anything to those not used to the invasion.

However, Arwen’s attention seemed to be for all Aragorn. There was a distinct flicker of annoyance in her features, something that she normally managed to avoid., a clear indication that things were not entirely satisfactory.

“You started without me,” the she-elf managed to make her voice pleasant. Aragorn shrugged and went back to playing with Boromir’s hair, watching her steadily.

“We had things to do,” he replied. Arwen glanced at Boromir in vague disgust and back at her betrothed. Aragorn, however, was staring at her firmly, well aware that something was up. Neither had Aragorn missed the particularly sharp look aimed at his lover, his back straightening as if expecting a little more argument than normal to come his way.

In response, Boromir attempted to rise, but a hand between his shoulder blades put paid to any further suggestions along those lines. The Gondorian sighed softly and resettled himself back on Aragorn’s lap, green eyes watching their visitor warily.

“Do you begrudge us this time?” Aragorn asked softly. “After all, our union was your idea.”

Arwen smiled winningly. “Of course not. However,” she paused delicately, as though attempting to find the words. “I confess to being a little concerned about your restraint.”

The ranger watched her, a slightly confused expression gracing his features. “My restraint?” he echoed.

“Well,” Arwen glanced towards Boromir idly, then back at Aragorn. “Your visible conduct. There may be some people in this world that might not like hearing exactly what happens here. Patience is needed to avoid any… difficulties,”

Aragorn felt Boromir tense against him, and started to caress his lover’s back in a vague way of calming him down. Obviously the fear of their union reaching his father’s ears weighed heavily on the Gondorian. The ranger considered the matter further, his eyes no more relaxed.

“I assume that was not a threat, dear heart,” he said softly. “So I thank you for your concern. I admit, I had not fully considered the prospect of how this news would be welcomed in Minas Tirith.”

Boromir resisted the urge to looked slightly shocked at this sentence. Obviously if Minas Tirith was being considered, long term relationships were likely to be forthcoming. However, Aragorn’s gentle and talented hands were still on his back, tracing long forgotten scars idly. Just this touch managed to put these thoughts of the back of his mind, gently relaxing him. Or, indeed, as relaxed as he could get with Arwen standing in front of them.

Boromir purposefully kept his eyes away from the she-elf, trying to avoid the hard glare of her anger. However, he could still feel it building against him, promising trouble. Boromir shivered slightly, and nestled even further against the strong strength of Aragorn.

“Obviously you had not,” Arwen smiled at Aragorn, as though a teacher rewarding a talented pupil, and sat down on the bed herself. Boromir was surprised as the elven hand patted him on the head like a dog; so much so that he glanced at her, confused. The she-elf’s expression made him shiver again, not that he could pin down exactly what caused the reaction. Arwen was serenity itself.

“What would you have us do?” Aragorn queried further. “I will not give him up,” Hand tightened on Boromir’s shoulder possessively. The Gondorian sighed to himself, and reminded him that as heir to the Stewardship this type of possession was well within the King’s rights. Regardless of how embarrassing it was at times.

“Simply use slightly more caution, my love.” Arwen’s voice was soothing. “Resist the urge to pounce on him at all times, and allow yourself a little more flexibility,”

Aragorn watched her cautiously. This sounded too easy. Arwen was aware of the disbelief and laughed lightly, playing with Boromir’s hair in a similar manner as Aragorn had previously.

“You do not have to worry, my darling. I am not planning to take him from you,”

“You still have not informed me why you tolerate his presence in the first place,” Aragorn said finally.

Boromir decided to keep his eyes shut and tried to stay out of this as much as possible, shrinking against Aragorn’s lap and wishing he could pull off it altogether, simply curl against the other side of Aragorn and keep ranger between him and Arwen. However, that line of retreat was simply not open to him, although Aragorn’s hand still soothed, aware of the tension through his Steward.

“He gives you pleasure that I cannot,” said Arwen simply after the slightest of pauses.

“I see,” replied Aragorn in a tone that stated his caution. Arwen leant forward, kissing her betrothed gently on the lips before tracing her finger and sharp nail lightly down Boromir’s back.

“You,” she said in the lightest of whispers. “are far too suspicious. Can’t a girl do something nice for her soon to be husband?”

Boromir resented the idea that he was a present between lovers, but kept his mouth shut, especially as Arwen’s nail continued to trail along his back, a hidden threat to Aragorn but extremely clear to the increasingly nervous Boromir.

“Hmmm,” Aragorn suspected further reasons, but now was not the time. He was already late for a meeting with his father and Gandalf, and there was no way he could speak to them whilst he reeked of sex and sweat. He shrugged slightly again.

“Obviously I cannot hope to understand a woman, so I shall merely look baffled and get myself a bath.” Aragorn sighed, and gently helped Boromir to slide off his lap onto his bed. He ruffled the younger man’s hair affectionately again, smiling at the warmth of the look he received from Boromir.

“Would you like me to assist you?” Arwen queried. Aragorn looked surprised.

“I think I could probably manage, although thank you for your offer,” he smiled. “It will only be short one. I have meetings, unfortunately,”

Aragorn swung himself from the bed and padded naked towards the next room. Arwen watched him leave, then turned her attention onto the Gondorian who was trying to remain forgotten. Unsuccessfully, he noted much to his dismay.

“And I think we have some discussions to have ourselves, don’t we pet?”

“Is he awake?“¹ Haldir eyed his brother briefly before turning his attention back to the door. Rúmil shrugged delicately, a look of distain crossing his features, keeping to the same use of elvish as his brother.

“Apparently. He’s not doing much,”

“Have you had any difficulties?“ Haldir strolled into the chambers and looked down at the scruffy and bewildered young man who was huddled in the corner. Huge blue-green eyes stared at him. The elf returned the gaze, haughty, cool, completely unaffected by the human’s fear and uncertainty as he scrutinized him.

Haldir was pleased to notice his assessments on the race of Men was entirely correct. Pointless the lot of them. Their reputation as fighters, the one mere quality that recommended them, was obviously flawed. Most likely these creatures were just opportunists, squabbling amongst themselves. After all, they had managed to swiftly subdue and capture one of their leaders without much fuss, although Haldir’s brother was nursing a bruised jaw from a well aimed punch. One human, no matter how talented, would never be a match for an elf, let alone three. It had all been a simple matter of time and patience for the best time to strike, away from the humans who made up the rest of the unit.

Rúmil entered the room behind him and studied the human himself.

“None that we have found. He appears to be behaving himself,” he answered.

Faramir’s eyes flickered to the new presence in the room, the faintest of frowns appearing then disappearing on his features. Haldir nodded, satisfied.

“Well, at least he is capable of behaving. Have you the knife?“

Rúmil nodded and produced the slim knife from his belt. The stamp of the Tree of Gondor was clearly marked on the leather. Haldir pulled it from its sheath and studied the rough engraving on the blade briefly before returning it.

“Good,“ He eyed the young man again nonchalantly, then frowned slightly as he noted the position of the young man.”Is he chained?“

Rúmil shrugged, unconcerned. “There seemed no need,”

Haldir stared at him with a look that could freeze fire itself.

“This man is a Captain of the Gondorian army,” he said slowly. “He is unlikely to be harmless,”

“And how much of that will be down to his father’s influence?“ countered Rúmil angrily. “Look at him.“

Haldir returned his gaze back onto the human, who appeared to have huddled even further into the corner. The elf folded his arms slowly and deliberately, enjoying the slight flinch of the young man. This was obviously a man who knew his place in the world. However, one could not be too careful. Arwen would not be impressed should anything happen to her little negotiation tool and Haldir did not feel in the mood to be inconvenienced.

“Regardless,“ he said. “I would prefer that he was restrained.“

Rúmil shrugged delicately again, to indicate the futility of the situation but said nothing as Haldir stepped forward until he was directly in front of Faramir. He studied the young man for a few more moments, the faintest of smiles on his face, before kneeling beside him and seizing the ankle cuff which had been to the side. Their eyes met.

Haldir hesitated, suddenly uncertain. Surely there was something else behind the fear, the nervousness, a flicker of –

Faramir put his full strength into shoving against Haldir, all trace of fear disappeared in the sheer rage that filled the young man. Hard, cold and strong eyes glared at Haldir as he fought, the elf cursing himself for assuming that the humans would know their limitations. He could feel the Man fight through all his strengths, trying to take some advantage over the physical power of the elf by the awkward position that he had caught him in. However, once Rúmil had joined them there was no contest. Faramir’s moment of advantage was over, and the human knew it.

With a look of defiance and disgust, the younger man slumped against the wall of the room, gazing at his captors warily, waiting for the consequences he knew would come. Haldir gave Rúmil a sideways look, vindicated.

“No difficulties?“ he murmured, snapping on the cuff to Faramir’s left ankle with a soft click. Deliberately slowly, Haldir returned his gaze to the young man and carefully stroked his finger down Faramir’s cheek, smiling coldly into the blue-green eyes. There was no flinching now. Sheer hatred shone back at him.

“What do you want?” Faramir’s voice was a lot stronger than Haldir had expected. The elf snorted amusement and glanced back to his brother, completely ignoring the captive.

“Keep an eye on him,“ Haldir began and stopped as Faramir put his hand on the elf’s chest.

“I said,” an insertion of steel here by Faramir, slow, deliberate. “what do you want?”

Haldir looked briefly astonished by the sheer audacity of the creature. The Man had no advantages whatsoever, and yet he demanded information! The elf laughed softly.

“Well, look who’s developed claws,” Haldir said easily in common. “Surely it is obvious, young one. We desire your presence,”

Faramir’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“That is not for you to know,” Less amused by further questions, Haldir prepared himself to assert his authority. The human stared at him a moment longer, a flicker of indecision in his eyes, before finally sitting back further against the wall and staring at his hands which were positioned on his lap. A posture of obedience and submission. Haldir finally nodded his head in satisfaction and put his hand briefly on Faramir’s red gold hair.

“Good boy,”

In Aragorn’s chambers, Arwen had wasted no time into going into the attack.

“Exactly what have you been suggesting to him?” she snapped, keeping her voice low but strong enough to convey her full fury. Boromir sat upright, gathering the remaining blankets to cover himself, trying to limit the vulnerability he already felt.

“Everything that you have told me to suggest to him,” he replied coldly, cautious but still unwilling to jump to this she-elf’s tune. He loathed being the pawn in their game, but until he was sure there was no threat to Gondor or, more importantly, his beloved baby brother, there was little he could do about it. And, what was worse, they both knew it.

Arwen snorted. “You have been teaching him disobedience,”

“Not intentionally,” Boromir’s gaze was more steady than he felt. “I have done everything that you have ordered me to, and everything that he has asked.”

Arwen noted the difference. Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, I have noticed the growing . tenderness of your relationship,” she replied finally. “Don’t let it get in the way,”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Safe in the knowledge that Aragorn was within shouting distance, Boromir felt slightly braver than normal. His father would be furious that he had pandered to a female’s whim, but he had obviously not encountered female elves such as the one Boromir now faced. Arwen noticed the differing emotions in the man and decided to cut this little exploration short.

“I’d suggest you re-examine your priorities, boy,” the she-elf stared at him coldly. “Do not annoy me. There is a lot I can do to you.”

Boromir stared at her, sullen. His eyes flickered towards the bathing chambers. Arwen smiled a cold thin smile.

“Oh, and don’t believe that he will be able to save you. We have an arrangement, Aragorn and I. After all, what would be fairer than me asking for a few hours with you in exchange for his nightly sessions?” the she-elf’s voice was sweet, her smile growing even wider at Boromir’s frozen expression. A few hours could be lethal.

“He would notice if you harmed me,” Boromir’s voice was steady. Arwen shrugged, unconcerned.

“Only if you told him. And you wouldn’t be that foolish,” Arwen trailed her fingers up Boromir’s arm. “There are many things that do not leave marks, pet,”

Boromir shivered and moved away. However, the elf was relentless, her eyes fixed on the Gondorian, enjoying his nervousness and uncertainty hidden behind his constant shield of bluster and arrogance.

“Aragorn still hesitates to take on his rightful position of king, dear one,” the she-elf continued softly, confident that she had his full attention. “You will change his mind. By whatever means possible,”

Boromir eyed her. He already had a good idea what Aragorn’s thoughts were on the matter, most of them still being extreme reluctance and irritancy. Not Gandalf nor Elrond had been able to change Aragorn’s feelings towards it, and the weight of time had been on their side.

“And what if he doesn’t listen to me?” he said slowly.

“He will. You will ensure it,” Arwen’s voice was confident. “Use your knowledge of Gondor to entice him. Use your body. I would say use your intelligence, but then we really would be stretching your limitations, wouldn’t we.” Her eyes fixed on him in amusement. Boromir scowled at her, but contained his annoyance, conscious of their respective positions. Arwen patted him again, deliberately slowly, emphasising her power before leaving her seat and standing.

“Good boy. I expect excellent reports from you later.”

“Otherwise..?” Boromir’s eyes were steady on her. Arwen shrugged lightly, beginning to make her way to the door.

“Well,” she paused to glance back to Boromir, giving him a winning smile. “that would be interesting to see, wouldn’t it?”

The rooms where Haldir had agreed to meet were thankfully further away from Aragorn’s chambers than the original plans. Arwen covered the distance swiftly, occasionally pausing to nod an acknowledgement to one of the Rivendell elves whom she passed. She smiled grimly to herself. The joy of leaving these lands would be too great to even contemplate. The benefits where everyone knew your plans, your background, was far too highly rated indeed.

“How did it go?“ Arwen drifted into the agreed room, scanning the surrounding briefly before returning her gaze back onto the aloof figure of Haldir, who was sat calmly in one of the chairs. Haldir’s expression didn’t change although Arwen was suddenly aware of a sense of satisfaction from the elf that signified exactly how the mission went before Haldir even spoke.

“Perfectly,” the elf uncrossed his legs and stood up gracefully, confirming Arwen’s suspicions. However, now was not the time to consider Haldir’s arrogance. There were bigger things at play.

“Where is the dagger?“ asked Arwen briskly, then paused at the even more satisfied expression that faced her. Haldir smiled delicately and rocked onto the balls of his feet briefly before moving back.

“I’m glad to say I did a little better than that,“ he said easily. Arwen’s eyes narrowed.

“And what does that mean, pray?“

In answer, Haldir wandered towards the door and gently pushed it open. Arwen studied him further then moved in order to be able to see clearly into the adjoining room. There was a moment of silence as Arwen studied the occupant, then slowly looked back at Haldir.

“You appear to have obtained the younger son of the Steward of Gondor. One explanation immediately springs to mind. Kindly provide me with another,“

“You wished for leverage,“ Haldir was unrepentant. Arwen stared at him silently.

“You cannot kidnap a Captain of Gondor without consequences,“ the she-elf’s voice was deadly. Haldir raised an eyebrow delicately.

“You cannot use him?“ he asked innocently.

“I did not say that. I merely expressed concern,“ Arwen looked back at the young man in irritation, who was watching them warily. A bright silver chain was attached to his ankle.

“We have him now,” replied Haldir, who cared not for political differences. “He is unharmed.”

Arwen walked forward, her sharp eyes on the human who seemed unable to look away, a mouse to a snake. She stood over him, arms folded, her eyes clearly showing her displeasure.

“What does he know?“ she queried over her shoulder towards Haldir. The elf shook his head.

“Nothing,“

Arwen glanced to him. “Nothing overheard?“

“We have spoken in Sindarin throughout,“

“Ah.“ Arwen crouched by Faramir. “then it will rely on whether he can comprehend,“ She gently pushed a strand of hair behind the human’s ear, smiling coldly at Faramir’s curious look at her. Her eyes narrowed briefly as she concentrated all her power on reading the young man in front of her; looking through the outside shield of fear and caution to the man within.

“Watch him carefully,“ she instructed, standing back up. Haldir rolled his eyes.

“He has calmed down. We have had no problems with him,“ The elf decided against commenting about Faramir’s earlier lapse. Since that point, the man had attempted to please his captors at every point he could, obeying any instruction thrown at him with a loyal obedience that Haldir found appealing. His own lovers could learn a trick or two from this little model prisoner, who had obviously managed to comprehend how completely powerless he actually was.

In fact, Haldir had grudgingly accepted that this particular human seemed to be more intelligent than the usual creatures that they encountered within the woods. He also had a quite delightful submissive expression that would have been entirely irresistible had the young man been elven. But he wasn’t. And that was that as far as Haldir was concerned.

“He lies to you,“ Arwen said, her voice sure and completely confidence in her assessment. Haldir snorted softly, but said nothing, folding his arms.

“Make sure he is subdued and restrained.“ Arwen ignored Haldir’s look of stubbornness and made her way towards the door. Haldir looked back at the human who gave him a beseeching look, a whipped puppy. Deciding that this order could wait for at least another five minutes, Haldir followed Arwen from the room and shut the door sharply behind him.

“You have not said how your side of things are going,“ the Lórien elf stared at her. Arwen raised an eyebrow.

“True.“ She agreed. Haldir sighed heavily and pointedly.

“Shall I shall await your report later?“ he remarked dryly. Arwen nodded.

“That would be for the best, I feel. After all,” she smiled back at him. “I would hate to give you the wrong impression. Tasks are still being fulfilled. But never fear, sweet Haldir. I will keep you informed. You have my word.“

The meeting was over and Aragorn was once again free to relax. The ring bearer grew stronger each day, and soon it would be time for the Fellowship to continue.

In the meantime, there were plenty of activities to be engaged in. He wandered towards his chambers, considering whether to spend the time practising his fighting or simply being with Boromir whilst they had the chance. A slight smile crossed his lips at the thought of the Gondorian; Arwen had been so right to encourage his feelings towards other men, feelings that he had desperately fought down since his teenage years whilst swimming naked with the young male elves of the land. And Boromir invoked more feelings than any elf he had met, bar possibly Legolas with his cool and aloof expression and gloriously smooth and pale body.

However, where Legolas was perfection, Boromir was all raw passion and lust, seemingly knowing all of Aragorn’s secret longings and desires and performing them for him enthusiastically. Just the look of desire flash through Boromir’s deep green eyes could cause Aragorn to harden; there had been more than one occasion where the ranger had resisted the urge to throw the Gondorian across the nearest hard surface and take him there and then.

Indeed, this particular situation had not passed Boromir’s attention either. The Gondorian had found a great level of amusement in tormenting him, often smiling and murmuring suggestions to him in the most inappropriate of places. A quick phrase before Aragorn had been due to speak to his foster father had resulted in the quickest meeting ever, and Elrond assuming that the chair Aragorn sat on was made of the hardest wood known to Rivendell. That particular little amusement had cost Boromir some of his dignity later that night as Aragorn had hoisted him across his lap and walloped him several times on the backside. It had led to one of the most passionate nights that Aragorn had ever encountered.

Aragorn still had not managed to work out what Arwen’s motivations were for Boromir’s presence; the she-elf did not appear to be fond of the man she had chosen to share her betrothed’s bed, and she, a previously jealous creature, apparently had managed to consider these passionate scenes suitable. More often than not Arwen sat in with them during their lovemaking, sitting quietly in one of the chairs and watching them intently. Boromir never seemed to mind this, and often whispered jokes about hoping his erection was stiff enough for her, or at the right angle.

Perhaps it was to ensure that he himself did not stray, strange as it might seem, Aragon mused as he walked back to the room. Despite their many years together, he had never slept with her, never once given in to the urges his willpower and several hundred cold showers had managed to suppress. Only at the point of their marriage would the urges be recognised and allowed, and he was already at bursting point as it was. On occasion she had encouraged him whilst he stroked himself, and the memory of the satisfied look that crossed her face as he ejaculated would always manage to get him hard immediately. Arwen enjoyed having the power over him that made him weak as a kitten, not least because it tended to cause him to agree to whatever she desired.

The ranger pushed open the door to the chamber, and glanced inside. Boromir had managed to get the blankets back on the bed where they belonged, and was curiously absent from the main chamber. His gaze took in the Gondorian’s clothes still on the chair where he had left them. Aragorn shrugged to himself and investigated the bathing chambers, which proved successful.

Boromir glanced over to him lazily from the bathtub as he entered, sliding down into the waters briefly to soak his hair before sitting up. Aragorn smiled to himself and wandered behind him, his hands resting on Boromir’s wet shoulders and beginning to massage them, his fingers rubbing and easing the tension out. Boromir sighed contentedly and rested against him, his eyes half closing.

“How did the meeting go?” he asked. Aragorn smiled and began to tease Boromir’s skin with the tips of his fingernails, enjoying the shiver through the strong body.

“As well as can be expected. Frodo is getting stronger each day. Gandalf believes we will be able to go within a week,” Aragorn turned his attention back to the muscles between the shoulder blades, gently rubbing.

“And what do you think?” Boromir relaxed even further.

“I will be happy to finally begin this journey, I think. However, there’s certain factors I will miss,” Aragorn kissed the back of Boromir’s neck. “We will not be able to be obvious whilst with the Fellowship, for a start,”

“Afraid we will scare off the hobbits?” Boromir grinned. Aragorn gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“Behave.”

“Sorry, sire,” Boromir’s expression was cheekily meek. Aragorn frowned at him.

“And don’t call me sire either. I’ve told you that before,” There was another slap on the shoulder, harder. Boromir sulked slightly.

“Why not? You are my liege. No matter how hard you hit my shoulder, you will still be that,”

“Hmmmm,” Aragorn went back to massaging Boromir’s shoulders. “Well, stop calling me it. I will not be happy, and you can take that as a warning, love.”

Boromir pondered whether to push it any further. However, Aragorn’s tone was one that had a definite streak of iron through it. Better to continue when his influence was stronger. Shifting away slightly so Aragorn’s hands fell from him, Boromir got out the bath and stretched slightly, purposefully allowing Aragorn to watch him. Beads of water ran down his back and pooled on the floor underneath his feet. He could hear Aragorn’s breath hitch behind him, the soft footfalls before the firm grip on his waist, Aragorn pressing himself against the firm muscle of his backside in a manner that left no doubt to the ranger’s wishes.

Boromir glanced over his shoulder. “You ready again?” he teased. “Trying to kill me, sire?”

He jerked forward at the hard stinging slap on his right buttock, a surprised yelp issuing from his lips. The Gondorian glanced back uncertainly, only to meet Aragorn’s steady gaze.

“I told you already. Stop it.” The ranger gave Boromir a little shove to encourage him to the bed. Boromir gave him his best victimised expression, then padded obediently towards the bed, running possibilities of the best course of action through his mind. His buttock throbbed from where the ranger had struck him, Aragorn apparently managing to have an incredible aim even that close.

Jumping onto the bed and scooting to lie on his stomach, Boromir turned to watch Aragorn strip off his clothing in a casual manner. The ranger surveyed his lover lazily, knowing he had the rest of the day to enjoy whatever he felt like doing.

Boromir watched him thoughtfully. “You going to do anything or are you just going to stand there?” he queried after a sizable pause.

“Bloody impatient bastard,” replied Aragorn cheerfully.

“Damn right.” Boromir yawned widely and pointedly, grinning back at Aragorn. The ranger rolled his eyes and wandered over to the bed, running his hand down the length of Boromir’s body and giving him a friendly pat on the rear.

“So, what? You want it hard and fast again?”

“You mean there’s a different way?” Boromir feigned mock surprise, then shook his head. “I’m willing to do whatever you want, Aragorn. “

Aragorn continued to trail his hand over Boromir’s back; now his hand was on him it seemed extremely reluctant to depart from the velvet softness of the younger man’s skin. Boromir was still slightly damp from the bath, although most of the moisture had apparently escaped to the bed. Boromir’s hair was dark and mostly slicked back, apart from one or two peaks which stuck up in interesting angles and made him look younger than ever, the darker hair colouration only serving to bring out the startling green-grey of his eyes.

The Gondorian had gone quiet, simply enjoying the gentle touch of Aragorn’s hands over his body with the occasionally satisfied sigh and brief tremble as a hand graced a ticklish spot.

“So I couldn’t tempt you with slow and easy?” purred Aragorn, paying more attention to the ticklish spots. Boromir shivered again, shifting slightly to try and move Aragorn’s touch to safer areas. He failed. The ranger stepped up the gentle attack.

“I don’t do slow,” grumbled Boromir.

“But I do,” reminded Aragorn.

“Yes, si- uh, Aragorn.” Boromir managed to stop himself before the sentence was finished, conscious of the hard stare aimed at him. The ranger stared at him a moment longer, his hand stilling, then finally continued. Boromir sighed to himself. If he couldn’t even say sire without Aragorn getting uptight, the chances were that a full blown out discussion was definitely out. Or at least a sensible one anyway. The future was looking loud and argumentative already.

The bed dipped slightly as the ranger moved onto it, straddling Boromir’s lower half and sitting on his thighs gently, the majority of the weight still held by his own legs. He began to gently massage the Gondorian’s back in earnest, pushing his thumbs into hard muscle and easing out the tension and the knots. Boromir sighed again contentedly and rested his head on his folded arms, feeling Aragorn kneed his way between his shoulder blades. It felt deliciously and dangerously good.

There was also a real danger of Boromir falling asleep after such a thorough massage.

A little nudge upwards with his legs silently showed Boromir’s impatience to speed things along. Aragorn swatted at him, and continued with his caresses.

“You can’t have everything you want in life, Boromir,” he said sternly. “Occasionally, just occasionally, you have to do what someone else wants,”

Boromir said nothing to this, trying hard not to think of the task he was set to do. Whilst he was otherwise concentrating, there was the briefest pop of a lid and suddenly Boromir almost arched off the bed as a finger was suddenly pushed into him and began to explore his passage without a by-your-leave.

“What happened to patience?!” he panted, suddenly focusing on the single digit currently inside him, circling happily. Aragorn shrugged.

“I got bored,”

Boromir groaned, allowing his head to fall back down onto his arms and relaxing his body once again at the now familiar invasion. His own erection was pressed hard against the bed, his body occasionally making a circular motion to try and get a little friction without Aragorn noticing. He noticed. Suddenly a little more weight was applied.

“You’re going to crush me,” complained Boromir lightly, reluctantly giving up with his subtle bid for relief.

“At some point,” agreed Aragorn.

“That wasn’t entirely what I meant. Anyway-” Boromir had to stop at the insertion of another finger, this one greedier than the last, seemingly intent on exploring every inch that it could reach. The younger man whimpered as Aragorn gently scissoring his fingers inside him, pushing back onto them as Aragorn hesitated, not certain whether it was a good whimper or bad.

Leaning up Boromir’s body, his fingers still working, Aragorn nuzzled the man’s neck, pushing aside his auburn hair and trailing his tongue across Boromir’s ear lobe.

“First of all I’m going to touch you,” murmured Aragorn in the lightest of whispers, a manner he had developed from the elves, knowing how turned on Boromir got by hearing his plans. “Just enough to get you squirming, trying to get more contact, begging me to continue. And then,” he paused to trace his tongue over Boromir’s ear delicately. “I’m going to lick you, slowly, open you up further. And you won’t be allowed to move or speak, just focus on what I’m doing to you.”

He smiled to himself at Boromir’s light noise of approval, the faintest shift of the hips underneath Aragorn’s body as the Gondorian subconsciously ground his groin into the bed, seeking relief.

“And then,” he murmured again, his fingers gently flickering over Boromir’s entrance in a frustrating but incredibly good way. “just at the point where you’re begging me to take you, to allow you to come,” Aragorn kissed Boromir’s neck, feeling the man tremble underneath him. “I’ll show a little mercy.”

“How about a little mercy now?” groaned the younger man. Aragorn cocked his head to one side as though actually considering this.

“No.” he said finally and cheerfully, finger slowing its movements even further. Boromir groaned in response, his eyes shut, breathing already hard and irregular. Aragorn’s weight was pressed firmly upon him, fighting Boromir’s attempts to speed things up with an annoying success rate. Finally, the Gondorian gave up, sighing in submission.

The ranger shifted his weight, sliding down to rest between the man’s legs. He could still feel the tremble of the younger man, could just see how Boromir’s hand was curled up, clutching the bedding whilst trying so hard to behave. Aragorn smiled to himself again and gently moved into position, Boromir suddenly completely still, his breath becoming short and fast as he waited for the move he knew was coming.

Anticipation. one of the sadly ignored seduction techniques, thought Aragorn to himself. Although it worked much better on a human than an elf. Elves had the patience to withstand it. Men didn’t even come close.

His breath was warm on Boromir’s skin, the feel of which was making the warrior ruin all the results of the previous massage, tension back in force. The ranger could feel the muscles under his hand, taut and waiting. He grinned again and leant forward, lapping at the man gently.

The reaction was electric; Boromir’s back arched at the contact, all the more delicious for being made to wait, the Gondorian managing to bite back any curses towards it. Aragorn continued to tease him with the very tip of his tongue, circling, flickering, never breaching the muscle. Boromir groaned aloud at the gentle torment, his body shaking already.

“Aragorn.,” he complained after too long waiting. Aragorn’s tongue immediately slowed, grey-blue eyes surveying Boromir’s back in interest, seeing what the younger man would do. Boromir cursed himself and shut up again, a low growl in his throat. After a few moments, the ranger gently pushed inside of him with his tongue as reward. Boromir clenched the bedding tighter in his fist, swearing under his breath, trying to stop his immediate response of pushing Aragorn deeper into him.

Tongue delving deeper, Aragorn began in earnest, his hands gripping Boromir’s flanks harder as he focused on his task. The younger man writhed underneath him, trying to encourage him as much as possible without accidentally shaking him off, whimpering his frustrations softly as Aragorn gently tongued fucked him.

“Aragorn… please..,” gasped Boromir.

Get on with it, thought Aragorn dryly, who was well aware of how his lover thought by now. Resisting giving his lover a quick slap on the buttock for that little breach of etiquette, Aragorn released him suddenly, moving back. Boromir immediately went quiet, waiting eagerly, knowing that any interruption or demand would simply drag things out.

However, Aragorn was not in the mood to drag things out either. His own erection ached with a passion and a steady throb burned in his groin to the extent that it was difficult to distinguish whether it was pain or pleasure. He positioned himself against Boromir, running his nails lightly across delicate skin, before plunging into him.

Boromir gasped loudly, arching his back once more and pushing back on him, rising to the challenge that his king had set. Aragorn allowed him a moment to adjust to the feeling before beginning to move again, growing in speed and power steadily, hearing the steady slap of skin on skin intermixed by Boromir’s groans. He could feel the Gondorian’s influence, trying to get him to speed up already. The younger man seemed to have a thing for it, and it normally took all of Aragorn’s willpower to get to a position he was happy with.

Aragorn pulled Boromir closer to him, trying to adjust the angle, conscious of Boromir already stroking himself roughly in time with Aragorn’s thrusts. A shocked cry told him he had managed to hit the right spot, Boromir almost sobbing his pleasure. With a smug smile, Aragorn repeated his action, scratching his nails across Boromir’s right buttock hard in time with it. Overloaded with sensation, the younger man cried out again; Aragorn felt the tale-tale sign of muscles clenching, Boromir shaking underneath him violently, as the younger man came, collapsing spent on the bed. It was too much for his own willpower to overcome, Aragorn immediately following the same way as his lover, coming with a loud and strong cry.

Falling to one side of his lover, Aragorn looked at him fondly and tiredly, a hand running through Boromir’s hair as they both tried to catch up on the air they had missed. The Gondorian had a satisfied and sleepy expression on his face, immediately nuzzling up to Aragorn, his gentle kisses working their way up his neck.

“You,” said Aragorn affectionately. “have a surprising level of volume when you put your mind to it. An elf would never reach that sort of capacity for noise.”

“I’m not an elf,” yawned Boromir, eying the relaxed expression of his lover thoughtfully. “And neither are you,” he added after a pause. “Thankfully,”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at him, lazily reclining back against the bed and pulling Boromir closer. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he queried casually. “You wouldn’t like me if I was an elf? Is that it?”

“No.” Boromir hesitated again, and pushed forwards, knowing that the advantage would slip away without forward progress. “I just don’t think Gondor is ready for an elven king,” He tried this in the most casual tone he possessed.

He could feel Aragorn stiffen in his arms.

“After all, you will be claiming your throne soon, and I thought.,” Boromir trailed off uncertainly.

“You thought, did you?” Aragorn’s tone was almost pure ice. “How much of this have you considered?”

Boromir could feel the hostile posture and felt entirely helpless. He longed to withdraw, could feel the losing battle, but Arwen expected progress. She wanted reports. So he pressed on with a sinking heart.

“It’s in your blood, Aragorn. Surely it is calling out to you? Gondor needs its king,”

And it was at this point that Aragorn’s patience fully snapped.

¹ Italics indicate elvish

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/and-all-because. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!