Boromir sat as though frozen, unable to tear his eyes from Aragorn thrusting into the channel of his own fist and even looking away gave him no peace, his soft sighs and murmurs of pleasure were inescapable.

Oh, you make Aragorn SO slinky! Guh. But slinky in a strong, male, take-no-prisoners way. Just... wow. *envious*

the dream found itself changed yet again, the withered appearance of both made radiant by a flash of gold and Boromir smiled in his sleep and did not let himself see the crimson flow beneath it.

*sniffle* Poor Boromir. That boy is all about the sad. I love love Boromir-pain and I nubs you for writing this. :) Thanks!