Cold Shoulder

FIC: Cold Shoulder
Author: Foofy
Type: FCS
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Description: Set immediately after the Fellowship fight the Watcher in the Lake. Aragorn and Boromir discover new ways to warm yourself when you’re wet and cold in a mine.


*********

They had been walking for ten minutes since the walls of Moria had crumbled behind them due to the weight of the creature in the lake; the pathetic remains of past furious battles had been left behind them, the only sounds the faint footfalls of their feet on the stone corridor.

It was very, very quiet.

And, as far as Boromir was concerned, bloody uncomfortable. Having waded up to his hips in the cold black waters of the lake, and the majority of his upper body having been splashed and generally drenched as well, his clothing was currently having issues with his skin. His leather breeches were alternating from sticking to chafing, then back again. Material that felt like it was made of heavy ice stuck to his body; his chain mail threatened rusting. His boots squelched quietly each step he took.

And there was no hope of a quick drying session either; the mines were cold and uninviting, no possibility of sun to help warm him up. The Gondorian could feel goose-bumps on every surface that could possibly have goose-bumps, his teeth were ground together to stop the chattering that he had a horrible feeling was coming next.

It was the feel of water between his toes that was beginning to win in the annoying stakes. The moisture moved with every step, making sure Boromir had no fears about forgetting it.

He glanced towards Aragorn, who had managed to get equally, if not slightly more drenched than himself. Aragorn appeared to be one of those men who couldn’t stand doing anything by half measures. If he was going to be a ranger, he was going to trot around in one set of clothing and carefully insist that his stubble never got entirely the way to a beard but was never seen clean shaven. If he was going to be King Of Gondor, he wasn’t going to show up until he could be the Kinglyist he could be. If he was going to fight a water monster and save a hobbit, he was going to get the wettest he could possibly be without actually drowning.

As usual, Aragorn wore his general discomfort as though it was a mild irritation on his calm outlook. His expression was one of concern, but was clearly aimed at the outside world. Not that the outside world didn’t deserve the concern, of course, just it would be nice to know that the ranger might also be cursing the fact that his leggings were sticking to his arse and his inner thighs were beginning to feel like they had met up with a dangerous cheese grater in a dark alley.

Boromir muttered an obscenity to himself, and pulled his cloak a little further over his body. Not that the bottom half of the cloak wasn’t just as drenched as the rest of him that was, but at least it made him feel a little better. And the fur. He had never realised exactly how bloody heavy fur was when soaked, and it was now threatening to seriously cause some problems in the weight department.

Marching steadily behind Pippin, Boromir idly considered exactly what was in his pack. Since good old Bill had been released to go back to Rivendell – or the nearest wolf’s stomach – the contents of their packs had been carefully reviewed. He knew he had another tunic hidden somewhere in the pack, and he had a sneaking suspicion a pair of light breeches also lay huddled up with his blanket and general other stuff. However, they were in the middle of goblin territory, so it seemed. Meeting many unknown foes in a light tunic and breeches was just asking to be turned into a good impression of a colander. At least he might get the satisfaction of making a few goblins bloody uncomfortable as well as him.

Boromir eyed Aragorn again grumpily. He knew it wasn’t the ranger’s fault. How could it be, indeed. However, it seemed bloody rude to be gracious in your discomfort. Men! Huh.

He shifted uncomfortably again, trying to get the right leg of his breeches to part company with his right thigh. The material was clinging on with leech-like determination. Sodding bastard thing-

“ You okay?”

Boromir glanced back in surprise at the low voice behind him. Aragorn’s concerned look had not vanished, but this time was aimed at him. The Gondorian nodded and tried to put rubbed and sore flesh to the back of his mind. It took the scenic route to get there.

“ I’m fine,”

The concerned look had now crafted itself to look doubtful. Boromir shook his head, accidentally flicking Aragorn with water. It was to the ranger’s credit that he actually noticed.

“ You’re wet.”

“ So are you.” Boromir responded grumpily. Aragorn frowned, then grabbed hold of Boromir’s arm and yanked him to a halt. It was just as well they were at the back, otherwise they were likely to have had a dwarf in the stomach by now. Boromir’s eyes were wide in surprise as warm fingers pressed themselves to the bottom of his neck, the lowest part of naked skin that was showing without the burrowing under clothes being required.

The warmth of the fingers on his cold skin was a shock to the system. The Gondorian suddenly realised exactly how daft he looked with a dazed expression on his face, Aragorn’s hand on the base of his throat, and moved away. Aragorn’s eyes had narrowed considerably, although it was hard to establish as the light source began to move further away.

“ You’re frozen.” Aragorn said finally, grimly. Boromir shrugged, and tried to move away.

” Yeah, well..,”

“ There’s no yeah well about it. We need to get you warm and dry.” Aragorn insisted. Boromir rolled his eyes, not that there was light for the full sarcastic effect to be taken into account.

“ I’m touched by your concern, however-“

“ No. No however. You march through these caves like that and you’re likely to fall ill.” Aragorn rested his hand briefly across Boromir’s forehead, then drew it away, satisfied. “ You’re one of our best fighters, Boromir,” he said softly. Boromir looked surprised, trying to stop the warm glow of satisfaction of the praise behind a wall of indifference. Aragorn seemed to sense the uncomfortable feeling as he laughed softly.

” And,” he added. “ You’re probably too bloody heavy to carry,”

“ Granted.” Boromir glanced towards the light and started walking towards it, Aragorn following close behind. “ But don’t go focusing all on me. You’re as wet as I am. Probably more so.”

“ Yes,” sighed Aragorn, and there was finally a hint of discomfort in his voice. “ I can’t say that I’m completely at ease with the situation.”

“ So what do you suggest? Stop? Here?” Boromir glanced around the sharp dark walls of the corridor and shuddered slightly. This merely encouraged his body to start trembling in cold, and it took a large portion of his willpower to seize control.

“ We need to stop soon. When it’s suitable. Light a fire and get ourselves back in a position where we might be useful.”

“ Probably leaving wet tracks at the moment.”

“ We probably are. And that disturbs me.”

“ There’s a lot of things that are disturbing me at the moment. I’d prefer not to add to them,” Boromir eyed the walls again. The walls, thankfully, did not eye him back.

“ Frodo would also be in this state, no doubt,” mused Aragorn after a while. “ His body is still recovering from the wound he received from the Wraiths. Something like this might have a bad affect.”

“ So we really need to stop to make sure the ring bearer is well.” Boromir was quick to jump on this bandwagon. After all, it sounded warm.

“ Exactly. It’s the only thing to do.”

They walked on together for a few more seconds in companionable silence. Aragorn gave a wink towards Boromir, and moved on to speak to Gandalf in the lead.

********

Half an hour later they were finally resting in one of the sets of small rooms that sporadically lead from the main path. Gimli and Legolas had managed to excel themselves in location of suitable firewood, the majority of which having been gleaned from damaged and broken mine equipment that had been cast aside. A small but sturdy fire was already warming the cold air, out of the vision of the main passage way that lead back to the corridor of Moria.

Those who had been soaked had already stripped to a suitable level, their clothes hanging nearby to attempt to dry them. Food had already been unwrapped to cook happily on the fire, the smell of cooking sausages filling the room. Merry and Pippin had shoved them on makeshift kebab sticks and poked them into the fire as though cooking marshmallows.

Boromir stood near the fire, arms folded, allowing the warm of the fire to seep through his cold skin. His breeches had protested about being parted from his skin, to the extent that he feared that they were almost permanently welded to him. However, finally, with much tugging and not a small amount of embarrassment and cursing under his breath, they finally came off. Thankfully, everyone was either concerned about Frodo – who had turned remarkably pale – scouting, cooking or something entirely different. Only Aragorn smiled to himself, before turning his attention back to the fire.

There were many ways that Boromir had hoped to go through Moria – most of them with the word “quickly” inserted in it – but standing around in his underwear was not one of them. He had considered stripping completely, but found the irritation was not quite strong enough to combat the discomfort that complete nudity would entail.

This discomfort had obviously not bothered Aragorn, although Boromir noted the fact that the ranger made sure that the shadows were vaguely in his favour, his hands conveniently warming themselves in front of his groin. Boromir managed to draw his gaze away from studying the other man’s hard, lean – if scarred – body, and focus a little bit more on the fire and the sausages. Now was not the time. What was he saying? Now was never the time! The man was either royalty or a fraud. Neither of which allowed the elder son of the Steward of Gondor the considerations of ….

His thoughts were interrupted as Aragorn moved closer to him. The hobbits were chattering together in the lowest voices that they could, which were not entirely that low. Gandalf was watching the Halflings idly from his perch on one of the low rocks, his staff in one hand; the wizard was obviously recovering his own strength, the light seemingly a steady drain on his magical batteries.

“ You do realise you’d be a lot more comfortable if all of you had access to the fire.” The ranger murmured as he stood beside him. Boromir hesitated. The clothing was becoming warm, but this seemed to be merely heating the water rather than drying the fabric out. However, the prospect of standing naked beside Aragorn with nothing to cover any potential embarrassment other than what he could block with his hands…

“ I’ll be fine.”

“ You say that a lot, don’t you?” mused Aragorn in amusement.

“ Happens to be true,” protested Boromir. Aragorn shrugged, and looked into the fire again.

“ I believe we’re planning to stay here for a bit. Rest up fully, then continue through.”

Boromir glanced towards him, surprised that the ranger was discussing what they were doing. Normally they just followed his and Gandalf’s lead.

“ How safe is it?”

” As safe as we’re likely to get here.” Aragorn nodded towards the door. “ We’re not that far into the mines themselves, and Gandalf believes that the goblins would have retreated to the deeper shafts of the living quarters once victory had been achieved. Sleep whilst we can,”

Boromir nodded in understanding. Aragorn eyed him thoughtfully. The Gondorian almost jumped as the ranger laid his hand on his bicep gently.

“ You’re still quite cold,” Aragorn remarked, a slight frown on his face.

“ Well, that’s natural isn’t it? I’m pretty much naked in a cave.”

Aragorn sighed in mock patience, and lifted one of Boromir’s hands to rest it on his own chest. Boromir stared at it almost hypnotised, before Aragorn released it.

“ See?” The ranger shook his head.

“ You were much wetter than I was! How did you get that warm so quickly?” The Gondorian asked in astonishment.

Aragorn shrugged. “ Good circulation?”

“ Bloody amazing circulation. You’re a human hot water bottle.”

“ Possibly.” The ranger had a slight smile on his face. There was a shared silence again, which was broken only by a small hobbit argument about the fate of a sausage. Frodo was almost deathly quiet, staring into the fire as though dazzled, his hand automatically curled around the ring as though trying to defend it. Aragorn watched him for a few moments.

“ Frodo,” he said. The hobbit looked up. “ Perhaps you should try and get some rest,”

“ After the last sausage,” interjected Sam, who was always keen to feed up Mr Frodo at any suitable moment. Aragorn rolled his eyes in surrender.

“ Fine. Then get some rest. All of you,” he added towards the other hobbits. There was a minor mutiny of well meaning mutterings at this, but eventually bed rolls were unrolled, pans and packs were put away ready for any emergency exit, and small curly topped heads were the only things that could be seen outside of the blankets.

Aragorn watched them for a few minutes, then glanced towards Boromir.

“ You should get some rest too. No, don’t tell me..,” Aragorn grinned slightly. “ .. you’re fine, right?”

“ Right.”

Aragorn’s eyes fell on the scraps of material that were still hanging valiantly to Boromir’s hips thoughtfully, as though the owner was fighting his urge to test exactly how cold and wet said material actually was. Boromir sighed.

“ Okay, they’re still slightly damp,” he admitted finally.

“ I didn’t say anything.” Aragorn had turned back to the fire. “ If you like the feel of cold clammy material next to your skin, that’s your business….,” he remarked idly. Boromir shot him a look, then groaned to himself and finally removed the offending material. Aragorn allowed himself a slightly smug smile.

“ Happy?”

“ Delighted,” confirmed Aragorn.

“ Good.”

There was another short pause. Boromir had shut his eyes lazily at the delicious warmth that was now offered to his hips, feeling himself continue to dry, resisting the urge to turn round and warm his back and buttocks for fear of losing whatever dignity you could have left once you were fully naked and vulnerable to whatever came through those doors.

Aragorn finally stepped back from the fire and retrieved his pack. He glanced towards the Gondorian.

” Legolas has offered to go on watch for most of tonight,” he said. “ So whenever you want to go to sleep, do so. You will not have to go on watch,”

The ranger was busy unrolling his sleeping gear as he spoke with practised hands, managing to slide inside in no doubt a record speed time. Boromir watched him for a bit, then glanced towards the hobbits. Apart from the odd mumble, the hobbits had all apparently managed to get to sleep as soon as their heads had hit the pillow substitute. Gandalf appeared to be dozing in the corner, but the shadows were not willing to give Boromir a full view of that.

Having made sure that the fire was not likely to go down any time soon, the Gondorian retrieved his own pack and made his mini camp nearby, eyes resting thoughtfully on Aragorn before sliding into the blankets. Having already stood around naked by the fire, changing into the light breeches seemed pretty damn pointless and he couldn’t find the energy to start rummaging. He adjusted his position, sighed quietly to himself, and shut his eyes.

Ten minutes later he started wishing he had bothered to unpack the clothing. The cold had crept up on him, but it seemed set in his bones and was bloody persistent. He rolled up tighter, trying to find any scrap of additional warmth available. Additional warmth appeared to have run out of stock. Bastards. Boromir glanced towards his cloak, which was still drying by the fire, but even from this distance he could see the dark marks which showed the moisture still present. Such a heavy item took centuries to dry.

He shuffled slightly closer to the fire, trying to make sure he didn’t disturb the hobbits who had all curled up like a bundle of puppies. However, the fire seemed to be fine to warm up anything that wasn’t touching the ground; he could feel the cold creep up through the bedroll as though he was sleeping on ice. Obviously a distinct lack of insulation there.

Boromir growled softly through his teeth, and rolled onto his stomach, stopping as he caught sight of the ranger idly watching him from his position. Breaking the eye contact, the Gondorian shifted positions again and curled up in a foetal position to try and pretend to his body that most of it wasn’t cold. He could feel the ache in his bones already.

He managed not to shout aloud at the sudden hand on his shoulder, but rolled backwards suddenly, causing Aragorn to take a step backwards in alarm.

“ Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,”

“ I’m not startled.” Boromir lied, moving his arm back to a more casual position from where it had automatically grabbed for a sword hilt that was not where it normally was. Aragorn looked at him.

“ You look cold still,”

“ You’ve been studying me have you?” Boromir shifted himself to sit upright, the blanket pooling around his waist.

“ As it happens. You’re hard to miss,”

“ Hope the goblins don’t have the same opinion.”

Aragorn made an exasperated sigh. “ I’m trying to help,” He crouched down beside him. Boromir eyed him warily.

“ You are?” he said suspiciously.

” Your suspicion is touching,” replied Aragorn dryly. “ Yes, I am. You need more warmth, yes? Then we can combine our heat,”

Boromir looked at him. “ Which means…?” he asked slowly.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow to illustrate exactly how thick certain Gondorians were being, and shoved his bedroll next to Boromir’s. He met surprised eyes with an extremely casual one of his own.

“ You did say I was the equivalent of a hot water bottle,” he pointed out.

“ Yeah, but …,” Boromir looked flustered, and not a small amount of embarrassment. “ Okay,”

“ Good. Now shush otherwise you’ll wake the hobbits,”

Boromir shushed. Aragorn shifted himself into the bed roll and pressed against the slightly stiff body of his Steward, who hesitated for a few more painful seconds before throwing caution to the winds and pressing back. Aragorn’s warmth was incredible, and managed to increase as the ranger put his arm across Boromir and pulled him even closer, until the curve of Boromir’s backside nestled against him, his back against Aragorn’s chest. Two sets of blankets added to the heat equation.

Boromir spent the next minute trying to recover his heart-rate and general willpower.

“ You okay?” murmured Aragorn. “ You seem somewhat tense,”

The Gondorian, who hadn’t moved a muscle, managed to get his jaw to work. “ Really?”

“ Yeah,” Aragorn shifted slightly, his hand running up to start massaging Boromir’s shoulder. Boromir could almost feel the frown as the ranger worked out exactly how stiff certain muscles actually were. “ Look, if you’re not comfortable…,”

“ I’m comfortable!”

“ And I’m unconvinced,” replied Aragorn dryly, his hand still working on Boromir’s shoulder. Every single touch was echoed with a throb to the groin, until it all started to blend into each other. The soldier shifted uncomfortably, then realised he had accidentally rubbed himself against Aragorn’s crotch. Boromir flushed bright red and froze. The ranger, for his part, didn’t seem to notice at all. His hand was still working, kneading, managing to find erogenous zones that Boromir never realised he owned.

Boromir shivered involuntarily as the hand drifted slightly lower, the more in-depth side of the kneading suddenly being overthrown by a movement towards nails being raked over his now incredibly sensitive skin. All of Boromir’s concentration was focused entirely on that one hand, the nails against his skin, across his back and along his side, burrowing under the blanket. And there it rested, innocent yet threatening unknown futures, sitting on the brow of his hip.

Boromir suddenly remembered he had to breathe and let out his breath in a shaky gasp. Aragorn pressed forward a little further, crotch firmly resting against Boromir, and suddenly the Gondorian’s attention found a new focus to attend to. There was no mistaking that particular source of burning heat that was currently pressed against his backside, although he was dearly hoping he was mistaking the size of said heat. It was like the hilt of a sword. And a double handed one at that.

After a minute of very little happening, Boromir suddenly realised the torture had not entirely finished. Now itching for some type of continuation, the sudden lack of anything was becoming more and more difficult to bear. Risking possible future promotions and bonuses, Boromir moved against him once more, hesitantly, giving the occasional nudge and praying that he wasn’t imagining things.

The hand moved again to smooth over Boromir’s chest, pulling him back. Boromir relaxed slightly more as he felt Aragorn’s breath on the back of his neck, his lips slowly pressing to the now incredibly heated skin; with slow, laborious licks, Aragorn’s tongue worked its way down Boromir’s neck and started to work on the area his hand had already relaxed.

“ Should we be doing this in front of the hobbits?” murmured Boromir. The tongue paused.

“ They’re on the opposite side of the fire. It’ll ruin their night vision, and they’re fast asleep anyway.” The responding whisper was in his ear. “ Unless you don’t-“

“ I do,” Boromir didn’t even bother to listen to the rest of the statement and rubbed back against him again. The whisper transformed into a low amused growl, the hand drifting from chest downwards. The Gondorian trembled as Aragorn brushed over his painfully hard erection, a hiss escaping from his lips. He felt the ranger move against him, the first indication that Aragorn too was getting increasingly frustrated but attempting to hold himself back.

Moving forward slightly, Boromir captured the hand and moved it backwards, Aragorn taking the hint. The ranger slid his hand over the rise of his hip, cupping his buttocks and running his finger along the crack. Boromir shuddered, his hand moving to stroke himself slowly as Aragorn gently teased. He glanced over his shoulder as the ranger suddenly moved back, leaving an unwelcome gap of cold air; there was a faint sound of rummaging.

Aragorn was soon back, nestling against him once more and laying a kiss on his shoulder. Boromir could feel the ranger’s hesitation, and nudged backwards again more insistently. Aragorn growled again, nipping on his neck whilst his hand made a welcome return, the finger running once again along the crack before slowly probing further. Boromir felt a shudder to his toes as Aragorn’s finger flickered against his entrance, circling lightly then carefully breaching the tight ring of muscle.

The Gondorian took a deep indrawn breath, pushing against him as Aragorn explored further, his mouth still gently kissing Boromir’s shoulder whilst he played. Boromir groaned softly as a second finger joined the first, gently stretching, circling inside him. By the Valar but he felt slightly out of practise. There were many things that were expected from the elder son of the Steward of Gondor, and being fucked definitely wasn’t one of them. Boromir could only faintly remember the last time he had been taken, during a drinking session with two of his closest friends; it had been short, painful, noisy, and left him walking oddly for about two days. He had had to lie to his father about a muscle strain in his calf, and simply glare at Faramir when there had been a cheerful query.

Aragorn was on to the third finger now, his kisses having large pauses between them as the ranger concentrated, his own eagerness clear by the change in his breathing. Boromir nudged backwards again, then pulled forward to release the fingers from him and shaking his hips at him once in invitation.

“ You are sure?” Aragorn’s question almost seemed timid.

“ Yes.” Boromir suddenly realised Aragorn needed more confirmation. “ Please,” he added. Aragorn rested his lips on Boromir’s shoulder once again, then seemed to snap out of whatever daze he was occupying and gently pushed Boromir onto his stomach, moving behind him and carefully positioning himself over the Gondorian’s naked form. Boromir had already found a section of blanket to curl into his fist, having realised that any cries would have to be seriously stifled.

He felt the burn as soon as Aragorn started pushing into him, the pain yet satisfaction increasing as the ranger slid more and more of his length into Boromir. Boromir allowed himself a whimper and pressed his face to the bedroll, trying to keep the groans and occasional yelps inside. Once fully sheathed, Aragorn waited for Boromir to adjust to the invasion; Boromir knew Aragorn could feel him shaking underneath, the almost sob-breaths for air, the sweat on the skin and tried to calm himself down. This, of course, was easily thought than done.

Through his heavy breathing he could feel Aragorn lying over him, soothing him with his hands, murmuring something foreign and presumably elvish in his ear in the manner of one soothing a startled horse. The trembling soothed slowly, the gentle elvish whispers continuing in his ear. At Boromir’s nudge backwards, Aragorn started to move, gently, but building in strength as Boromir met his strokes bravely and his own self control started to fray at the edges.

Boromir had buried himself in the blanket, fighting the increasing desire to groan, to release some of the tension verbally. His lip was already bitten badly holding his cries in, the blanket holding valiantly against being ripped to pieces. By the odd noises from Aragorn, it seemed that the ranger too was having difficulties; he could feel the power that the ranger was suppressing and shoved backwards hard, trying to meet this. A further gasp emerged from Aragorn, in a manner that suggested that the ranger had been holding his breath for as much as he could.

Raising his hips and sliding his hand slightly underneath his body, Boromir began to stroke himself in time with Aragorn’s thrusts, his hand occasionally getting thudded onto the floor in a way that promised bruises the next morning. A moan that was more a whimper escaped his lips, feeling his completion grow inside him until it was taking up almost the entirety of his mind. Aragorn raked his nails across the smooth plain of Boromir’s left buttock and thrust in harder, timing it almost exactly with Boromir’s touch. That was all he needed to reach the edge; shuddering around Aragorn, the Gondorian bit his lip yet again as he swallowed his cries. He could hear a soft groan from the ranger as he too exploded, Boromir’s strong muscles having caused a hitch in Aragorn’s willpower, and his heavy body rest against his own.

And then it was just the sounds of soft panting in the air, Aragorn sliding slightly off Boromir to ensure the man had enough oxygen, his arm still wrapped around him protectively. Boromir could feel stickiness on the back of his thigh and buttocks from where Aragorn’s hip rested against him, their heartbeats going nineteen to the dozen.

Aragorn nuzzled his neck slightly, almost possessively. Boromir smiled into the darkness and leant backwards against him, encouraging.

“ That was ..,” a happy sigh inserted here spelt out exactly what that was. “ You okay?”

“ I’m good,” assured Boromir in a low voice. He could hear Aragorn yawn behind him, and spoon up closer behind him.

Moments later, he too was asleep, the coldness having been entirely forgotten.

END