More Threesome fic for the LOTR fans....
Jan. 17th, 2003 02:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keelywolfeWell, here is more of the LOTR threesome I was writing. More baths, more sex, more angst. The first bit is here if you missed it.
Untitled threesome-fic.
Legolas/Boromir, Legolas/Aragorn, Aragorn/Boromir, and anything between.
**
Though it had been in Rivendell for thousands of years, the Elves did not frequent the shrine to the shards of Narsil, except in moments of respect. Yet Aragorn had always been drawn to it, even in his childhood when he had hardly understood its significance, and though it was cooler in the shaded terrace and the light was often dimmed from the trees overhead, he found it a relaxing place to sit and read.
He was deeply absorbed in his book when a pair of boots appeared next to him, one foot tapping softly, and Aragorn followed them up to Legolas' expectant face. The Elf crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a stone pillar, shaking his head in mock dismay.
"Why do you come here to read, when there are seats aplenty out in the clean air and sunshine?"
"It is quiet here, I am comfortable, and I am less likely to be disturbed," he replied, pointedly, but Legolas only laughed and moved to crouch next to him.
"And I have ruined it for you," said Legolas, his mournful tone spoiled by the humor beneath it. He propped his chin on his hand, peering at the book in Aragorn's lap with distaste. "You missed the morning meal for this? I know you awoke early. I went to wake you myself only to find you had managed it on your own."
Aragorn ignored him, deliberately turning another page in his book. He'd managed to read only a few words before a distinctly Elvish head blocked his vision. He wanted a few impatient moments and when it appeared that Legolas intended to read the page in its entirety while he was upside down, he finally gave into the urge to cuff Legolas in the back of the head.
He yelped and rubbed his head, making far more of the injury than it could ever be. Before Aragorn could even tease him for his posturing, Legolas had knocked the book away and clambered into his lap. Pressed nearly nose-to-nose with the Man, Legolas said somberly, "I should have thought you would have needed your rest, after that vigorous washing last eventide."
"You think much of yourself," Aragorn snorted, straining to reach his book. With one hand, he managed to close it before the pages were bent and ruined, and he set it aside, conceding silently that his reading was finished for this day. Legolas waited until he was finished, his expression that of one who was greatly put upon as he propped his elbows against Aragorn's chest, ignoring the Man's grunt of discomfort as he rested his chin upon his folded hands.
"Do I, indeed?" asked Legolas, and he waggled his eyebrows comically. Aragorn could not help his laughter, bemused by Legolas' playful mood. It ended in a gasp when Legolas leaned forward swiftly and bit his ear, apparently not appreciating his humor. "You suffer from poor memory, my friend," Legolas whispered hotly, his mouth busily exploring. "Perhaps you are feeling your age?"
"Perhaps," he said, faintly, closing his eyes. He let his head drop back, resting against the stone pillar behind him and Legolas quickly took advantage of the newly accessible skin. "I would have thought after that bath even your appetites would be sated for a little while."
His retort was muffled against Aragorn's neck, but it was probably for the best. He did pause in his explorations long enough to murmur, "Boromir was a fine specimen of a Man, and more eager than I would have thought."
"Yes," said Aragorn, trying to still Legolas' hands before they unfastened his tunic. If another Elf were to come upon them like this, it would likely result in an evening of jest at their expense, but Elves were not the only beings in Rivendell at the moment, and he doubted Elrond would be pleased if they scandalized his guests. "By the by, I do thank you for that."
Legolas was still working at fastenings, slipping out of Aragorn's grasp as if it were but an illusion. "It was no great hardship," he said, laughingly, "And I would be no true friend if I did not offer my assistance where I might."
"And what will you do if he returns to the baths tonight?" Aragorn dared, softly, and Legolas stilled. He leaned back, a stray beam of sunlight shimmering through his hair as he moved, and looked at Aragorn oddly.
"I had not considered it," he admitted, his hands still absently stroking Aragorn's chest, plucking at lacing of his shirt though he did not pull them free.
"Perhaps you should," Aragorn smiled crookedly at him and let his goading shine in his eyes, looking up at the Elf through his lashes. "My friend."
"Yes," Legolas said, and he slowly returned the smile. "Perhaps I should."
**
"Ah!" Boromir moaned, unable to stifle his cries as clever Elvish hands smoothed their way past his hips, delving into the warm hollow between them. Slim fingers circled and stroked, a mockery of assistance as they flirted in exactly the manner Boromir might have expected from an Elf before Legolas' surprisingly strong hand wrapped around his heavy cock, squeezing firmly. He cried out again, water splashing as his hands scrabbled for Legolas' shoulders, clinging to the Elf desperately.
This was not what he had expected to be doing this evening.
His day had been spent prowling through Rivendell in the hopes of finding something to entertain him. Hours spent in song and poetry did not appeal to him, though the Elves never seemed to tire of it. He thought it no wonder they spent their baths as they did, since it would seem Elves hardly slept, if at all.
His search had been getting desperate and he had been to the point of asking Lord Elrond if there was some chore he could do, be it as lowly as chopping wood, when he came across the young halflings at play.
They seemed hardly more than children and at times acted as such, talking to him with great boldness, as though they had known each other for years. The one called Pippin had been especially forward, eager for stories about great battles and of Gondor, and both subjects being dear to Boromir's heart, he had obliged them for several hours, until the Sun was making its descent and it was time for the evening meal.
His tales, it would seem, did not hold against their desire for food, though young Pippin had all but wrenched a promise from him to teach him something of sword fighting. It had been a pledge easily given, for such skills would be needed on their journey, and Boromir was relieved to think he would have a task to fill his time until they departed.
Aragorn and Legolas he had seen only in passing, seated far away from him at the tables, Aragorn next to the Lady Arwen, and Legolas with several Elves whom Boromir did not know. They did not attempt more than a brief nod in greeting and Boromir accepted that. If casual couplings were the way of things with Elves, then he would not consider the matter to be otherwise.
Still, looking at Legolas had brought the faintest of regrets to ache within him, that a single chance, though well spent, was already done with, and Boromir had kept his eyes on his plate, excusing himself as soon as the meal was concluded.
He had thought nothing of coming to the baths again this night, assuming that whatever curiosity or lunacy had prompted the Elf before had been satisfied, and the temptation of warm, soothing water was not one he tried to resist. Nevertheless, he had hardly arrived and slipped into the water before again his peace had been disturbed by the arrival of Man and Elf.
Uncertainty had made him greet them offhandedly and it had been returned in much the same manner, the pair of them chattering together in Elvish like gabbling birds. He would almost have guessed the night before to be nothing more than some foolish wisp of a dream, and yet, once they had joined him in the water, it had been hardly a moment of silence before Boromir had felt a wet hand trail lightly over the side of his face. Slim fingertips tested the feel of his beard, moving lower, and despite any misgivings he had, Boromir could not find it in him to refuse.
Certainly Elves had a talent at this, he thought hazily, and pride be damned, and damned again. Boromir surrendered this battle, outfoxed and outmaneuvered, and it seemed a wealth of wet, naked skin challenged him on all sides.
Boromir reached out, intent on filling his hands with sleek Elvish flesh and found his hands caught and trapped as surely as he himself was, held briefly by painfully tight fingers before Legolas released him, and he read the warning in that touch as clearly as if it had been written on parchment. He stunned himself by obeying it, far more used to giving orders than receiving them, yet who could bear to ignore one so decadent as this? If Legolas wished only to touch him, he was not about to begin refusing at this late hour.
Legolas' fingers glided back down between his legs in rhythmless motion, at once light and brutally unyielding and Boromir's groans were quickly becoming pathetic. Hardly worthy of a warrior yet he could not gather the strength to care. The Elf pressed closer still, skin smooth and naked, and hotter even than the water, the unnatural warmth of something not mortal.
"It seems you were correct," Legolas murmured into his ear, the first words he had spoken to Boromir since this had begun. "I have not been able to offend you. Shall I try harder?" And his grip tightened, his thumb circling the crown of Boromir's shaft, and the Man gasped, struggling not to spill himself from that alone.
"You may try," Boromir panted, the challenge in his voice weak even to his own ears.
The Elf's voice was warm and secretive in his ear, rich with humor, "Very well, then." His teeth scraped over Boromir's ear, lower, and he squirmed in ticklish discomfort as the Elf plucked lightly at his beard with his lips.
It was difficult, he decided dizzily, to decide what to feel, sensation chasing its own tail through his body as one hand or another, wrapped in the water's warmth, sought out any secret place of delight. He felt as little more than an animal ensnared in a trap, yet no trap could offer such as this, unless it were possible to die of pleasure.
Sounds were escaping him, harsh and deep and it would have embarrassed him at any other time, though now he would dare anyone to have a creature such as this writhing in their lap and remain silent.
Such was his need that Boromir did not think to protest as he found himself suddenly moved, the same roaming hands that had teased him so relentlessly sculpting him to kneel at the edge of the tub, shaping him so that he might rest his arms on the rim. He was more out of the water than in, cool air prickling his damp skin and Boromir took a shaky breath, forcing his muscle to relax even as Legolas trailed wet fingers over his back and lower in bold exploration.
So it was to be like this, then, on his knees before this Elf, this Legolas, and worse, though he could not see him Boromir knew that Aragorn was still there, perhaps watching calmly as he had before. It was both a wound to his pride and a challenge, to allow this.
Some of his men did these things frequently, he knew; with each other, or lovers who waited, patiently or otherwise for the strong hand and will of a warrior to satisfy whatever cravings they had, fierce couplings to combat fear in these dangerous times.
His own lovers had been few and far between, far too costly to risk an involvement with one of his men, and costlier still to bed any lady who could not be bought with a handful of coin. There would be no sons of his, despite his father's pleas. Enough that he spent his time wondering at when he would be forced to mourn his brother without worsening it by putting yet another into this same madness.
It came to him then that this was the first time he had been with anyone just to be and for whatever reason Legolas was doing this, Boromir would not say him nay, not yet.
After all, he still had yet to be offended.
Legolas was pressed closely to his back, one of his hands smoothing Boromir's wet hair away from his face so he might press his mouth there, and he seemed to have some fascination with ears, Boromir noted vaguely, his tongue roaming as though he would memorize every curve.
His other hand was low on Boromir's back, not unnoticed as it moved relentlessly downward, stroking softly, trying to reassure perhaps, and Boromir had hardly a moment to spare in annoyance that Legolas did not simply get on with it when finally he did. A single finger circled briefly before pressing firmly inside and Boromir's muscles contracted without his permission, earning him a breathy moan from the Elf to rustle the hair at the back of his neck, and Boromir could hear the smirk in Legolas' voice as he said, "I might have guessed you would do well in any form of battle.
His own retort fell from his thoughts, forgotten, as the Elf seemed to crook the finger inside him somehow, drowning protests as a startling flood of pleasure washed over him with the deliberate slide of the finger within him. Only a few soft strokes, each making delight jump and quiver beneath his skin, and Legolas was withdrawing, moving to kneel behind him, his hands warm and possessive on Boromir's hips.
"Ah, no, do not shy from me now," Legolas whispered as Boromir tensed against him, his voice hardly a breath. "Show an ignorant Elf the strength of Gondor." Boromir did not reply, although he took a breath and forced his muscles to relax, feeling the Elf smile against his shoulder before he moved.
The first touch of Legolas' shaft, barely even pressure against him, had Boromir resisting the urge to flinch. He tightened his grip on the edge of the tub, unmoving as the pressure increased persistently. Warm blurts of breath tickled against his ear as Legolas panted, trying to impose his will over that of Boromir's unintentional resistance, and great though it seemed, stubbornly unwilling, his body finally yielded the battle and Legolas slid forward, just barely inside.
Boromir could not help shuddering, closing his eyes tightly and such feeling! An invasion, yes, forcing and stretching its way within his protesting body, a deep slide of hot pain mingled with such amazing sensation. The Elf was making such noises, almost keening as he pushed inward suddenly, deeply, and even the burn of his sudden thrust could not dim Boromir's very masculine pride that it was he who was dragging these strangled sounds from Legolas. A little roll of his hips, another, and Legolas stilled, his hands trembling where they gripped Boromir.
"Ah, so tight!" Legolas moaned, "Hold a moment." Then proved his strength when Boromir did not obey, his hands gripping Boromir's hips and forcing them to stillness. "Hold, I said! Do not move or I shall be finished before you even begin."
"It would seem Elves are the ones in need of strength," Boromir gasped, fighting against Legolas' grip, and then gasped again when Legolas slapped his flank sharply, his wet hand stunningly loud against the taut skin.
"I will show you my strength, if that is what you want," he said, his tone almost grim but Boromir had no time to reply as Legolas pushed into him almost savagely, a brutal taking that had him biting his lips against screams. He could not have imagined such feeling, struggling to find the leverage against slippery tile to meet Legolas' movements, and had he but known it would be like this he might have attacked the Elf himself.
His hands were cramping from trying to hold on, and Boromir draped his arms over the edge instead, gripping tightly and he rested his head on them, only trying to accept Legolas' growing ferocity, straining for more, and more, and he opened his eyes, staring at the wall on the other side of the room blankly and seeing from the corner of his eye, Aragorn, much closer than he had expected.
There was nothing of his calm from the previous night evident in him now, his eyes dark and his breath coming rapidly, and there was dim pride in that as well, that this sight could affect Aragorn so. A particularly fierce thrust had Boromir crying out, stunned that such pleasure could come from the feeling of being torn apart, and he saw his cry reflected in Aragorn's eyes, a flare of arousal.
So there was power in this yet, though he might be on his knees, and Boromir stopped trying to bite back his cries and reveled in it instead, his eyes never leaving Aragorn's, even as the other man seemed to tremble, his knuckles white where he gripped the rim behind him.
Legolas had lapsed into his own language, words blurring and catching on a cry with each deep lunge. He released Boromir's hips, reaching around and stroking the Man almost frantically, and only then did Boromir again close his eyes, unable to resist the peak any longer, coming in hot bursts of ecstasy as Legolas reached his own summit, his voice rising above Boromir as he thrust hard a last time, shoving Boromir against the side of the tub as he shivered through his own pleasure.
Boromir's strength finally failed him, unable to support both his weight and Legolas', and Boromir slipped downward, nearly to his chin in the water before he was caught and hauled upward. He was hardly able to gasp as Legolas finally slipped away from him and the odd discomfort made him realize how very sore he was going to be feeling the next day. It had been well worth it, he decided, leaning against the warm body next to him, and it was only when he felt the scrape of a beard against his temple that he realized it was not Legolas who had grabbed hold of him.
Startled, he opened his eyes and saw Aragorn looking down at him, his eyes dark and unreadable. Words failed him, and he simply lay there in the curve of Aragorn's arms, still struggling to catch his breath.
Aragorn raised a hand to Boromir's cheek, tracing the curve of his chin with a strange thoughtfulness. He leaned closer, and it almost seemed Aragorn would kiss him, yet he hesitated, seeming to change his mind, setting Boromir away from him.
He watched in confusion as Aragorn climbed from the tub in almost unseemly haste, sparing not a look for either of them as he struggled into his clothing, fighting to pull cloth over wet skin and the moment he was barely decent, Aragorn walked swiftly from the room, leaving Legolas and Boromir alone.
"Did I hurt you?" The gentle question startled Boromir, and he turned to see Legolas looking at him with soft concern. He realized then that he was very sore indeed, and he did not resist when Legolas slipped closer and began to deftly wash him, scrubbing him everywhere until the worst of his aches had faded, though his thoughts were still in a whirlwind.
"Perhaps it was we who offended him?" Boromir asked, bewildered at Aragorn's sudden departure, and though Legolas' hands tightened briefly on his shoulders, he did not offer a comment. After a moment's hesitation, Boromir pulled away long enough to gather a handful of soap and began returning the favor, and neither of them spoke of Aragorn again.
**
More to come.
Untitled threesome-fic.
Legolas/Boromir, Legolas/Aragorn, Aragorn/Boromir, and anything between.
**
Though it had been in Rivendell for thousands of years, the Elves did not frequent the shrine to the shards of Narsil, except in moments of respect. Yet Aragorn had always been drawn to it, even in his childhood when he had hardly understood its significance, and though it was cooler in the shaded terrace and the light was often dimmed from the trees overhead, he found it a relaxing place to sit and read.
He was deeply absorbed in his book when a pair of boots appeared next to him, one foot tapping softly, and Aragorn followed them up to Legolas' expectant face. The Elf crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a stone pillar, shaking his head in mock dismay.
"Why do you come here to read, when there are seats aplenty out in the clean air and sunshine?"
"It is quiet here, I am comfortable, and I am less likely to be disturbed," he replied, pointedly, but Legolas only laughed and moved to crouch next to him.
"And I have ruined it for you," said Legolas, his mournful tone spoiled by the humor beneath it. He propped his chin on his hand, peering at the book in Aragorn's lap with distaste. "You missed the morning meal for this? I know you awoke early. I went to wake you myself only to find you had managed it on your own."
Aragorn ignored him, deliberately turning another page in his book. He'd managed to read only a few words before a distinctly Elvish head blocked his vision. He wanted a few impatient moments and when it appeared that Legolas intended to read the page in its entirety while he was upside down, he finally gave into the urge to cuff Legolas in the back of the head.
He yelped and rubbed his head, making far more of the injury than it could ever be. Before Aragorn could even tease him for his posturing, Legolas had knocked the book away and clambered into his lap. Pressed nearly nose-to-nose with the Man, Legolas said somberly, "I should have thought you would have needed your rest, after that vigorous washing last eventide."
"You think much of yourself," Aragorn snorted, straining to reach his book. With one hand, he managed to close it before the pages were bent and ruined, and he set it aside, conceding silently that his reading was finished for this day. Legolas waited until he was finished, his expression that of one who was greatly put upon as he propped his elbows against Aragorn's chest, ignoring the Man's grunt of discomfort as he rested his chin upon his folded hands.
"Do I, indeed?" asked Legolas, and he waggled his eyebrows comically. Aragorn could not help his laughter, bemused by Legolas' playful mood. It ended in a gasp when Legolas leaned forward swiftly and bit his ear, apparently not appreciating his humor. "You suffer from poor memory, my friend," Legolas whispered hotly, his mouth busily exploring. "Perhaps you are feeling your age?"
"Perhaps," he said, faintly, closing his eyes. He let his head drop back, resting against the stone pillar behind him and Legolas quickly took advantage of the newly accessible skin. "I would have thought after that bath even your appetites would be sated for a little while."
His retort was muffled against Aragorn's neck, but it was probably for the best. He did pause in his explorations long enough to murmur, "Boromir was a fine specimen of a Man, and more eager than I would have thought."
"Yes," said Aragorn, trying to still Legolas' hands before they unfastened his tunic. If another Elf were to come upon them like this, it would likely result in an evening of jest at their expense, but Elves were not the only beings in Rivendell at the moment, and he doubted Elrond would be pleased if they scandalized his guests. "By the by, I do thank you for that."
Legolas was still working at fastenings, slipping out of Aragorn's grasp as if it were but an illusion. "It was no great hardship," he said, laughingly, "And I would be no true friend if I did not offer my assistance where I might."
"And what will you do if he returns to the baths tonight?" Aragorn dared, softly, and Legolas stilled. He leaned back, a stray beam of sunlight shimmering through his hair as he moved, and looked at Aragorn oddly.
"I had not considered it," he admitted, his hands still absently stroking Aragorn's chest, plucking at lacing of his shirt though he did not pull them free.
"Perhaps you should," Aragorn smiled crookedly at him and let his goading shine in his eyes, looking up at the Elf through his lashes. "My friend."
"Yes," Legolas said, and he slowly returned the smile. "Perhaps I should."
**
"Ah!" Boromir moaned, unable to stifle his cries as clever Elvish hands smoothed their way past his hips, delving into the warm hollow between them. Slim fingers circled and stroked, a mockery of assistance as they flirted in exactly the manner Boromir might have expected from an Elf before Legolas' surprisingly strong hand wrapped around his heavy cock, squeezing firmly. He cried out again, water splashing as his hands scrabbled for Legolas' shoulders, clinging to the Elf desperately.
This was not what he had expected to be doing this evening.
His day had been spent prowling through Rivendell in the hopes of finding something to entertain him. Hours spent in song and poetry did not appeal to him, though the Elves never seemed to tire of it. He thought it no wonder they spent their baths as they did, since it would seem Elves hardly slept, if at all.
His search had been getting desperate and he had been to the point of asking Lord Elrond if there was some chore he could do, be it as lowly as chopping wood, when he came across the young halflings at play.
They seemed hardly more than children and at times acted as such, talking to him with great boldness, as though they had known each other for years. The one called Pippin had been especially forward, eager for stories about great battles and of Gondor, and both subjects being dear to Boromir's heart, he had obliged them for several hours, until the Sun was making its descent and it was time for the evening meal.
His tales, it would seem, did not hold against their desire for food, though young Pippin had all but wrenched a promise from him to teach him something of sword fighting. It had been a pledge easily given, for such skills would be needed on their journey, and Boromir was relieved to think he would have a task to fill his time until they departed.
Aragorn and Legolas he had seen only in passing, seated far away from him at the tables, Aragorn next to the Lady Arwen, and Legolas with several Elves whom Boromir did not know. They did not attempt more than a brief nod in greeting and Boromir accepted that. If casual couplings were the way of things with Elves, then he would not consider the matter to be otherwise.
Still, looking at Legolas had brought the faintest of regrets to ache within him, that a single chance, though well spent, was already done with, and Boromir had kept his eyes on his plate, excusing himself as soon as the meal was concluded.
He had thought nothing of coming to the baths again this night, assuming that whatever curiosity or lunacy had prompted the Elf before had been satisfied, and the temptation of warm, soothing water was not one he tried to resist. Nevertheless, he had hardly arrived and slipped into the water before again his peace had been disturbed by the arrival of Man and Elf.
Uncertainty had made him greet them offhandedly and it had been returned in much the same manner, the pair of them chattering together in Elvish like gabbling birds. He would almost have guessed the night before to be nothing more than some foolish wisp of a dream, and yet, once they had joined him in the water, it had been hardly a moment of silence before Boromir had felt a wet hand trail lightly over the side of his face. Slim fingertips tested the feel of his beard, moving lower, and despite any misgivings he had, Boromir could not find it in him to refuse.
Certainly Elves had a talent at this, he thought hazily, and pride be damned, and damned again. Boromir surrendered this battle, outfoxed and outmaneuvered, and it seemed a wealth of wet, naked skin challenged him on all sides.
Boromir reached out, intent on filling his hands with sleek Elvish flesh and found his hands caught and trapped as surely as he himself was, held briefly by painfully tight fingers before Legolas released him, and he read the warning in that touch as clearly as if it had been written on parchment. He stunned himself by obeying it, far more used to giving orders than receiving them, yet who could bear to ignore one so decadent as this? If Legolas wished only to touch him, he was not about to begin refusing at this late hour.
Legolas' fingers glided back down between his legs in rhythmless motion, at once light and brutally unyielding and Boromir's groans were quickly becoming pathetic. Hardly worthy of a warrior yet he could not gather the strength to care. The Elf pressed closer still, skin smooth and naked, and hotter even than the water, the unnatural warmth of something not mortal.
"It seems you were correct," Legolas murmured into his ear, the first words he had spoken to Boromir since this had begun. "I have not been able to offend you. Shall I try harder?" And his grip tightened, his thumb circling the crown of Boromir's shaft, and the Man gasped, struggling not to spill himself from that alone.
"You may try," Boromir panted, the challenge in his voice weak even to his own ears.
The Elf's voice was warm and secretive in his ear, rich with humor, "Very well, then." His teeth scraped over Boromir's ear, lower, and he squirmed in ticklish discomfort as the Elf plucked lightly at his beard with his lips.
It was difficult, he decided dizzily, to decide what to feel, sensation chasing its own tail through his body as one hand or another, wrapped in the water's warmth, sought out any secret place of delight. He felt as little more than an animal ensnared in a trap, yet no trap could offer such as this, unless it were possible to die of pleasure.
Sounds were escaping him, harsh and deep and it would have embarrassed him at any other time, though now he would dare anyone to have a creature such as this writhing in their lap and remain silent.
Such was his need that Boromir did not think to protest as he found himself suddenly moved, the same roaming hands that had teased him so relentlessly sculpting him to kneel at the edge of the tub, shaping him so that he might rest his arms on the rim. He was more out of the water than in, cool air prickling his damp skin and Boromir took a shaky breath, forcing his muscle to relax even as Legolas trailed wet fingers over his back and lower in bold exploration.
So it was to be like this, then, on his knees before this Elf, this Legolas, and worse, though he could not see him Boromir knew that Aragorn was still there, perhaps watching calmly as he had before. It was both a wound to his pride and a challenge, to allow this.
Some of his men did these things frequently, he knew; with each other, or lovers who waited, patiently or otherwise for the strong hand and will of a warrior to satisfy whatever cravings they had, fierce couplings to combat fear in these dangerous times.
His own lovers had been few and far between, far too costly to risk an involvement with one of his men, and costlier still to bed any lady who could not be bought with a handful of coin. There would be no sons of his, despite his father's pleas. Enough that he spent his time wondering at when he would be forced to mourn his brother without worsening it by putting yet another into this same madness.
It came to him then that this was the first time he had been with anyone just to be and for whatever reason Legolas was doing this, Boromir would not say him nay, not yet.
After all, he still had yet to be offended.
Legolas was pressed closely to his back, one of his hands smoothing Boromir's wet hair away from his face so he might press his mouth there, and he seemed to have some fascination with ears, Boromir noted vaguely, his tongue roaming as though he would memorize every curve.
His other hand was low on Boromir's back, not unnoticed as it moved relentlessly downward, stroking softly, trying to reassure perhaps, and Boromir had hardly a moment to spare in annoyance that Legolas did not simply get on with it when finally he did. A single finger circled briefly before pressing firmly inside and Boromir's muscles contracted without his permission, earning him a breathy moan from the Elf to rustle the hair at the back of his neck, and Boromir could hear the smirk in Legolas' voice as he said, "I might have guessed you would do well in any form of battle.
His own retort fell from his thoughts, forgotten, as the Elf seemed to crook the finger inside him somehow, drowning protests as a startling flood of pleasure washed over him with the deliberate slide of the finger within him. Only a few soft strokes, each making delight jump and quiver beneath his skin, and Legolas was withdrawing, moving to kneel behind him, his hands warm and possessive on Boromir's hips.
"Ah, no, do not shy from me now," Legolas whispered as Boromir tensed against him, his voice hardly a breath. "Show an ignorant Elf the strength of Gondor." Boromir did not reply, although he took a breath and forced his muscles to relax, feeling the Elf smile against his shoulder before he moved.
The first touch of Legolas' shaft, barely even pressure against him, had Boromir resisting the urge to flinch. He tightened his grip on the edge of the tub, unmoving as the pressure increased persistently. Warm blurts of breath tickled against his ear as Legolas panted, trying to impose his will over that of Boromir's unintentional resistance, and great though it seemed, stubbornly unwilling, his body finally yielded the battle and Legolas slid forward, just barely inside.
Boromir could not help shuddering, closing his eyes tightly and such feeling! An invasion, yes, forcing and stretching its way within his protesting body, a deep slide of hot pain mingled with such amazing sensation. The Elf was making such noises, almost keening as he pushed inward suddenly, deeply, and even the burn of his sudden thrust could not dim Boromir's very masculine pride that it was he who was dragging these strangled sounds from Legolas. A little roll of his hips, another, and Legolas stilled, his hands trembling where they gripped Boromir.
"Ah, so tight!" Legolas moaned, "Hold a moment." Then proved his strength when Boromir did not obey, his hands gripping Boromir's hips and forcing them to stillness. "Hold, I said! Do not move or I shall be finished before you even begin."
"It would seem Elves are the ones in need of strength," Boromir gasped, fighting against Legolas' grip, and then gasped again when Legolas slapped his flank sharply, his wet hand stunningly loud against the taut skin.
"I will show you my strength, if that is what you want," he said, his tone almost grim but Boromir had no time to reply as Legolas pushed into him almost savagely, a brutal taking that had him biting his lips against screams. He could not have imagined such feeling, struggling to find the leverage against slippery tile to meet Legolas' movements, and had he but known it would be like this he might have attacked the Elf himself.
His hands were cramping from trying to hold on, and Boromir draped his arms over the edge instead, gripping tightly and he rested his head on them, only trying to accept Legolas' growing ferocity, straining for more, and more, and he opened his eyes, staring at the wall on the other side of the room blankly and seeing from the corner of his eye, Aragorn, much closer than he had expected.
There was nothing of his calm from the previous night evident in him now, his eyes dark and his breath coming rapidly, and there was dim pride in that as well, that this sight could affect Aragorn so. A particularly fierce thrust had Boromir crying out, stunned that such pleasure could come from the feeling of being torn apart, and he saw his cry reflected in Aragorn's eyes, a flare of arousal.
So there was power in this yet, though he might be on his knees, and Boromir stopped trying to bite back his cries and reveled in it instead, his eyes never leaving Aragorn's, even as the other man seemed to tremble, his knuckles white where he gripped the rim behind him.
Legolas had lapsed into his own language, words blurring and catching on a cry with each deep lunge. He released Boromir's hips, reaching around and stroking the Man almost frantically, and only then did Boromir again close his eyes, unable to resist the peak any longer, coming in hot bursts of ecstasy as Legolas reached his own summit, his voice rising above Boromir as he thrust hard a last time, shoving Boromir against the side of the tub as he shivered through his own pleasure.
Boromir's strength finally failed him, unable to support both his weight and Legolas', and Boromir slipped downward, nearly to his chin in the water before he was caught and hauled upward. He was hardly able to gasp as Legolas finally slipped away from him and the odd discomfort made him realize how very sore he was going to be feeling the next day. It had been well worth it, he decided, leaning against the warm body next to him, and it was only when he felt the scrape of a beard against his temple that he realized it was not Legolas who had grabbed hold of him.
Startled, he opened his eyes and saw Aragorn looking down at him, his eyes dark and unreadable. Words failed him, and he simply lay there in the curve of Aragorn's arms, still struggling to catch his breath.
Aragorn raised a hand to Boromir's cheek, tracing the curve of his chin with a strange thoughtfulness. He leaned closer, and it almost seemed Aragorn would kiss him, yet he hesitated, seeming to change his mind, setting Boromir away from him.
He watched in confusion as Aragorn climbed from the tub in almost unseemly haste, sparing not a look for either of them as he struggled into his clothing, fighting to pull cloth over wet skin and the moment he was barely decent, Aragorn walked swiftly from the room, leaving Legolas and Boromir alone.
"Did I hurt you?" The gentle question startled Boromir, and he turned to see Legolas looking at him with soft concern. He realized then that he was very sore indeed, and he did not resist when Legolas slipped closer and began to deftly wash him, scrubbing him everywhere until the worst of his aches had faded, though his thoughts were still in a whirlwind.
"Perhaps it was we who offended him?" Boromir asked, bewildered at Aragorn's sudden departure, and though Legolas' hands tightened briefly on his shoulders, he did not offer a comment. After a moment's hesitation, Boromir pulled away long enough to gather a handful of soap and began returning the favor, and neither of them spoke of Aragorn again.
**
More to come.
