Under the cover of the night
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,462
Reviews:
7
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0
Currently Reading:
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Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,462
Reviews:
7
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Unwise decisions
Title: Under the cover of the night (3/?)
Author : Mimine (mimine101@hotmail.com)
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: Overall NC-17, this chapter PG-13
Summary: movieverse. Aragorn and Boromir set aside some of their differences.
Disclaimer: Not mine, Tolkien’s. Perhaps it’s better that way.
Archive: Just ask. I'm sure I won't say no.
Author’s Note : My gratitude to Roman who did a great job betareading this. All the mistakes are mine.
He has stayed under the blanket of his cloak longer than he usually does. Not that I have made a habit out of watching Boromir’s waking up routine, but I’m certain of it. Legolas stares at me and follows my gaze, which is still on the other man of our company. Boromir sits up abruptly and shakes sleep away. His hair catches the sunlight, gleaming gold in the warm morning. His muscular chest and sculpted back are d. Hd. He turns and smiles… my heartbeat quickens but the smile is not directed to me but to the two grinning hobbits who have just brought him his breakfast. He laughs and jokes with them as he quickly slips into his breeches under his cloak, then springs upright. He leaves us, walking briskly, presumably to answer a call of nature.
I cannot tear my eyes away from his retreating figure. The play of muscles on his back as he raises his hands to stretch. The curve of his buttocks, shifting under the soft material of his breeches. His is a manly beauty, not ethereal, elven like Arwen’s or… if I am to be honest since I have noticed it and lusted for it… Legolas’s. Not deceptively frail looking. Not feminine. Yet all I want to do is protect him. Hold him and make everything that’s bad in this world disappear for him.
I have heard of it. I have heard of men who refuse to take a wife but show interest only in others of their own sex. I’ve always thought them weak. There is no good to come out of a union between two males. It is pointless. Unnatural. Wrong. I can understand it when there are no females around, but men who engage in it even when there is an alternative have always held my contempt. And now I’m staring at Boromir like a love struck youngster and in my mind we’re at Minas Tirith enjoying each other on ry lry large, very comfortable bed. It is a little late in life for such a discovery about oneself.
I try to think of Arwen. Pure, sweet, devoted but not… this. His fire, his bravery, his wry sense of humour. His pain, his fear, his compassion, his… humanity. I’ve spent very long seeing myself as another of those Firstborns that I was raised by but my blood knows differently. My blood yearns for him as though he is the only lover I have ever known. It is a disconcerting feeling and I shake my head as if this simple action will deny it.
The sun has nearly set. We have just dragged the boats out of the water and are looking for a place to camp. I had tried to avoid staring at Boromir while we journeyed downriver. Even when his boat overcame mine for a little while, I did my best not to look at him at all. To the point that my boat ended up hitting his. Frodo and Samwise looked up to me in alarm. I could swear I heard soft, elven laughter from my right. I paddled faster and passed the small boat and its distracting passenger. Boromir’s eyes met mine for a moment when that happened. I looked away abruptly.
We’re sitting around our small fire now, eating our humble dinner and I cannot stop my gaze from landing on him. He stares back at me and lets a slight smile grace his lips. I nearly answer the smile but stop myself. This is not acceptable. Gandalf has left me the leader of this expedition. All my efforts must be directed at the success of the mission and not at romancing the only other man.
I turn to the others and we decide upon who will take first, second, third and fourth shifts. Once more the hobbits insist they also stand guard but we do not allow it. Only Frodo no longer puts up even that token resistance. He looks tired and soon retreats to be quickly joined by Samwise.
I wake up and from the position of the moon I can tell that it is too early. Boromir has taken first shift. I discern his form, sitting next to the remains of the fire. I get up and join him. I feel my heartbeat quicken as I get closer to him. It is too late to stop and retreat now. I have reached him and I have nothing to tell him.
“Your shift doesn’t start for a while now,” he says quietly.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
A brief flash of white in the dark makes me realise I’ve missed one of his rare smiles.
“I think you’re not the only one,” he says.
I frown. “I don’t understand…” I start to say then see him place his finger on his lips. I stay quiet and I hear it too. Muffled cries. Very close to the sound of someone in pain. Coming from the two small bundles which contain our hobbit companions.
“That is…” I feel my ears burn. I realise what it is. I’ve heard it before but it was in Moria and I’d really thought that Frodo was weeping and Samwise was trying to comfort him. But Meriadoc and Peregrin are cousins! I swallow hard.
First watch. That is why I’ve hardly ever heard it. I never take first watch. I remember how I’d thought that Boromir must see the hobbits as children. Yet he must have known all this time… I feel like such an idiot.
“Had you not realised that we got our hobbits in pairs?” he says with wonder.
“I do not… concern myself with such things,” I say slowly. The hobbit cries from Merry and Pippin’s bundle reach a crescendo. A little further away the bundle containing Frodo and Sam is moving rhythmically. Our Ringbearer and his gardener are a lot quieter.
“Apparently, our heavy breathing yesterday is hardly new to the Fellowship,” he mocks me gently. “You could say it was a matter of time. I wonder whether Legolas and Gimli might get any ideas.”
I shudder at the image. “Dwarves frown upon these things. Gimli does hold an elf dear in his heart but it is a female one. Anything else would be unthinkable for a dwarf.” My mind goes back to what Legolas said yesterday. I was wondering when this would happen. Did everyone know apart from me?
“Was… yesterday, something you would be willing to repeat, Boromir?” I challenge him.
“Not while either of us is supposed to be standing guard.”
“Perhaps a certain person who was standing guard wouldn’t have been distracted had another certain someone not started snivelling.”
He shrugs in the darkness. “So, it is all my fault. I start to weep in the throes of a horrible nightmare and then I’m accosted by an amorous Ranger pretending to be comforting me…”
“Accosted! That is not how I remember it!” I hiss, a chuckle threatening to ruin my mock indignation.
“What choice did I have but to give in?” Boromir’s impersonation of a maid who’s been tricked into surrendering her virtue is nothing if not amusing.
“I must say that you were unexpectedly… receptive,” I say lightly.
“Oh, what else could I do? I could hardly presume to mount my future King.”
Heat coils in my middle at the mention of last night’s activities. His mocking tone hurts my pride, however. My legacy is not something I take lightly. I thought Boromir had accepted me as his rightful King, he’d given me that impression in Lothlorien, at least but his jest makes me choose my next words with care.
“And how about you? Does it take a King to mount you? I wonder who you’ve deemed worthy enough, before. There is a shortage of kings in Gondor but that was no virgin I had yesterday.”
He is very still for a moment, his eyes shining hard in the darkness. “No, not a King. Even the lowliest of soldiers can have me, if he wants. I’m their Captain by day and their whore by night. Yet each and every one of them would give his life for me. Do you think that one day you’ll be able to say the same, Aragorn?”
His brittle tone unnerves me. “I have no desire to be anyone’s whore,” I reply brusquely.
He laughs at that. It is a mocking laughter which fills my chest with a dull ache. I suppose that’s where I keep my pride. He reaches and trails his index finger down my face. “Then it is a role I will gladly assume again, my Ranger,” he says softly. “Join me after your watch is over.”
A look up on the silver disc of the moon tells me that my shift has started. Boromir gets up and goes to his sleeping corner where he drops unceremoniously. I gear up my ears to hear his soft snore but it doesn’t come. He stays awake for my entire shift. I go to wake up Legolas, unflinching at the sight of his glassy open eyes. The hobbits and Boromir said they couldn’t bear to look at him when he’s asleep for he reminded them too strongly of a corpse. It is not an unusual sight to me.
Wordlessly, Legolas assumes his position by the fire. I drop in my sleeping place. I still can’t hear the light snore from where Boromir lies. Still awake. Still waiting for me. I wrap my cloak firmly around me trying to stop thinking how warm he is and how much better the rest of my night would be if I spent it in his arms. I turn my back to him. After all, I do not come from a line of men famous for their wise decisions.
TBC
Author : Mimine (mimine101@hotmail.com)
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: Overall NC-17, this chapter PG-13
Summary: movieverse. Aragorn and Boromir set aside some of their differences.
Disclaimer: Not mine, Tolkien’s. Perhaps it’s better that way.
Archive: Just ask. I'm sure I won't say no.
Author’s Note : My gratitude to Roman who did a great job betareading this. All the mistakes are mine.
He has stayed under the blanket of his cloak longer than he usually does. Not that I have made a habit out of watching Boromir’s waking up routine, but I’m certain of it. Legolas stares at me and follows my gaze, which is still on the other man of our company. Boromir sits up abruptly and shakes sleep away. His hair catches the sunlight, gleaming gold in the warm morning. His muscular chest and sculpted back are d. Hd. He turns and smiles… my heartbeat quickens but the smile is not directed to me but to the two grinning hobbits who have just brought him his breakfast. He laughs and jokes with them as he quickly slips into his breeches under his cloak, then springs upright. He leaves us, walking briskly, presumably to answer a call of nature.
I cannot tear my eyes away from his retreating figure. The play of muscles on his back as he raises his hands to stretch. The curve of his buttocks, shifting under the soft material of his breeches. His is a manly beauty, not ethereal, elven like Arwen’s or… if I am to be honest since I have noticed it and lusted for it… Legolas’s. Not deceptively frail looking. Not feminine. Yet all I want to do is protect him. Hold him and make everything that’s bad in this world disappear for him.
I have heard of it. I have heard of men who refuse to take a wife but show interest only in others of their own sex. I’ve always thought them weak. There is no good to come out of a union between two males. It is pointless. Unnatural. Wrong. I can understand it when there are no females around, but men who engage in it even when there is an alternative have always held my contempt. And now I’m staring at Boromir like a love struck youngster and in my mind we’re at Minas Tirith enjoying each other on ry lry large, very comfortable bed. It is a little late in life for such a discovery about oneself.
I try to think of Arwen. Pure, sweet, devoted but not… this. His fire, his bravery, his wry sense of humour. His pain, his fear, his compassion, his… humanity. I’ve spent very long seeing myself as another of those Firstborns that I was raised by but my blood knows differently. My blood yearns for him as though he is the only lover I have ever known. It is a disconcerting feeling and I shake my head as if this simple action will deny it.
The sun has nearly set. We have just dragged the boats out of the water and are looking for a place to camp. I had tried to avoid staring at Boromir while we journeyed downriver. Even when his boat overcame mine for a little while, I did my best not to look at him at all. To the point that my boat ended up hitting his. Frodo and Samwise looked up to me in alarm. I could swear I heard soft, elven laughter from my right. I paddled faster and passed the small boat and its distracting passenger. Boromir’s eyes met mine for a moment when that happened. I looked away abruptly.
We’re sitting around our small fire now, eating our humble dinner and I cannot stop my gaze from landing on him. He stares back at me and lets a slight smile grace his lips. I nearly answer the smile but stop myself. This is not acceptable. Gandalf has left me the leader of this expedition. All my efforts must be directed at the success of the mission and not at romancing the only other man.
I turn to the others and we decide upon who will take first, second, third and fourth shifts. Once more the hobbits insist they also stand guard but we do not allow it. Only Frodo no longer puts up even that token resistance. He looks tired and soon retreats to be quickly joined by Samwise.
I wake up and from the position of the moon I can tell that it is too early. Boromir has taken first shift. I discern his form, sitting next to the remains of the fire. I get up and join him. I feel my heartbeat quicken as I get closer to him. It is too late to stop and retreat now. I have reached him and I have nothing to tell him.
“Your shift doesn’t start for a while now,” he says quietly.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
A brief flash of white in the dark makes me realise I’ve missed one of his rare smiles.
“I think you’re not the only one,” he says.
I frown. “I don’t understand…” I start to say then see him place his finger on his lips. I stay quiet and I hear it too. Muffled cries. Very close to the sound of someone in pain. Coming from the two small bundles which contain our hobbit companions.
“That is…” I feel my ears burn. I realise what it is. I’ve heard it before but it was in Moria and I’d really thought that Frodo was weeping and Samwise was trying to comfort him. But Meriadoc and Peregrin are cousins! I swallow hard.
First watch. That is why I’ve hardly ever heard it. I never take first watch. I remember how I’d thought that Boromir must see the hobbits as children. Yet he must have known all this time… I feel like such an idiot.
“Had you not realised that we got our hobbits in pairs?” he says with wonder.
“I do not… concern myself with such things,” I say slowly. The hobbit cries from Merry and Pippin’s bundle reach a crescendo. A little further away the bundle containing Frodo and Sam is moving rhythmically. Our Ringbearer and his gardener are a lot quieter.
“Apparently, our heavy breathing yesterday is hardly new to the Fellowship,” he mocks me gently. “You could say it was a matter of time. I wonder whether Legolas and Gimli might get any ideas.”
I shudder at the image. “Dwarves frown upon these things. Gimli does hold an elf dear in his heart but it is a female one. Anything else would be unthinkable for a dwarf.” My mind goes back to what Legolas said yesterday. I was wondering when this would happen. Did everyone know apart from me?
“Was… yesterday, something you would be willing to repeat, Boromir?” I challenge him.
“Not while either of us is supposed to be standing guard.”
“Perhaps a certain person who was standing guard wouldn’t have been distracted had another certain someone not started snivelling.”
He shrugs in the darkness. “So, it is all my fault. I start to weep in the throes of a horrible nightmare and then I’m accosted by an amorous Ranger pretending to be comforting me…”
“Accosted! That is not how I remember it!” I hiss, a chuckle threatening to ruin my mock indignation.
“What choice did I have but to give in?” Boromir’s impersonation of a maid who’s been tricked into surrendering her virtue is nothing if not amusing.
“I must say that you were unexpectedly… receptive,” I say lightly.
“Oh, what else could I do? I could hardly presume to mount my future King.”
Heat coils in my middle at the mention of last night’s activities. His mocking tone hurts my pride, however. My legacy is not something I take lightly. I thought Boromir had accepted me as his rightful King, he’d given me that impression in Lothlorien, at least but his jest makes me choose my next words with care.
“And how about you? Does it take a King to mount you? I wonder who you’ve deemed worthy enough, before. There is a shortage of kings in Gondor but that was no virgin I had yesterday.”
He is very still for a moment, his eyes shining hard in the darkness. “No, not a King. Even the lowliest of soldiers can have me, if he wants. I’m their Captain by day and their whore by night. Yet each and every one of them would give his life for me. Do you think that one day you’ll be able to say the same, Aragorn?”
His brittle tone unnerves me. “I have no desire to be anyone’s whore,” I reply brusquely.
He laughs at that. It is a mocking laughter which fills my chest with a dull ache. I suppose that’s where I keep my pride. He reaches and trails his index finger down my face. “Then it is a role I will gladly assume again, my Ranger,” he says softly. “Join me after your watch is over.”
A look up on the silver disc of the moon tells me that my shift has started. Boromir gets up and goes to his sleeping corner where he drops unceremoniously. I gear up my ears to hear his soft snore but it doesn’t come. He stays awake for my entire shift. I go to wake up Legolas, unflinching at the sight of his glassy open eyes. The hobbits and Boromir said they couldn’t bear to look at him when he’s asleep for he reminded them too strongly of a corpse. It is not an unusual sight to me.
Wordlessly, Legolas assumes his position by the fire. I drop in my sleeping place. I still can’t hear the light snore from where Boromir lies. Still awake. Still waiting for me. I wrap my cloak firmly around me trying to stop thinking how warm he is and how much better the rest of my night would be if I spent it in his arms. I turn my back to him. After all, I do not come from a line of men famous for their wise decisions.
TBC