keelywolfe

A little ficlet for those of you with minds as dirty as mine. You asked for it.

Aragorn/Boromir, hints of NC-17, blah, blah.

Leather
by keely

He likes the feel of leather, tanned smooth as glass and cool at the first touch.

An old fascination indeed, one he had noted years before. An odd shiver that went through him at a garment trimmed in suede; a peculiar habit of his to pull the reins of his horse through his fingertips, time and time again as he rode.

The smell, musky and deep, filling the air as one unfolded a pelt. Gamier when it was wet, a fall in a river or a rainstorm tormented him with the heavy stink of his own clothing for days and if he was alone every few hours he would stop and give himself relief so that walking was easier.

Bitter to taste, gritted between the teeth to muffle cries, his hands grasping the thin cords binding his wrists and he would be grateful for the gag, the heavy taste at the back of his throat an equal reward to it preventing him from begging for more, for harder, words that could not spill from him tangling in his mind with the flavor of leather.

Cool on skin, hands clasped in leather sliding between his legs, gauntlets rough against his inner thighs and even smooth leather caught sensitive skin at first, a sharp burn of friction until it dampened, wetted by arousal. Grasping and pulling, forcing him to stifle his cries anew against a shoulder that was leather-clad as well, and he deliberately bit down, knowing the marks would be embedded permanently for him to see whenever he wished.

All of it had been renewed in him by a pair of plain black gloves and the first time he'd had a chance to see them closely. The tip of one finger between the other man's teeth and when he began to pull it free, Aragorn had stopped him.

"Leave them on."

-finis-