keelywolfe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
keelywolfe) wrote2004-03-20 10:26 am
keelywolfe) wrote2004-03-20 10:26 am
Ficlet: White Poppies (Aragorn/Boromir)
White Poppies
by Keelywolfe
Aragorn/Boromir
NC-17
Notes: This is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
javelle's request ficlet, which was for smutty Aragorn/Boromir. ^_^ Ok, so I'm all weirdly angsty at the moment, it's not my fault! We haven't seen the sun in my state in weeks. *G*
~~*~~
"Do you ever wish you could forget who you are?"
It was so idly asked that for a moment, Aragorn didn’t look up. The small tear in the knee of his trousers was in serious danger of becoming a large hole if it wasn’t repaired, and while he was no tailor, he was wearily familiar with sewing a seam. But Boromir’s question drew his attention and he hesitated, needle poised as he considered.
"I..." For all its simplicity, it was a difficult question. He turned it over in his thoughts, examining every angle. He could hear the crackle of the fire, just on the other side of the tree he was leaning against. The Hobbits were already huddled beneath blankets; they were growing more accustomed to the pace but still eagerly sought their rest every evening. The sunlight was dwindling rapidly and soon it would be much too dark for sewing. It was Boromir’s face that held him from finishing, solemn and curious in front of him.
"Perhaps," Aragorn finally admitted. "But even if I did not remember, it wouldn’t change who I was." Boromir frowned and Aragorn wondered what he had hoped to hear. The man crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his own tree, eyes closed.
"That is true," Boromir’s tone was grudging. Aragorn fought the urge to comment further and returned instead to his sewing. Nothing he ever said seemed to please Boromir.
The last rays were finally sinking into dusk when he bit the end of the thread off and carefully tucked the precious needle back into its place in his pack. He shivered slightly, hastily tugging his pants over his bare legs. It was too chilly a night to sit with bare legs this far from the fire.
Hands caught his own at the tops of his thighs and he startled violently, hardly soothed by the warm palms against his chilled skin. Blinking, he looked down into Boromir’s night-darkened face, more surprised that he had come so close without him noticing.
"Nothing would change who you are, would it?" Boromir asked in low tones, and what was there to say to that? Nothing could change the manner of his birth. He had a dozen names he had answered to and all were his. Even if he were to fall into a field of white-petaled forgetfulness he could still only be himself. It was all he knew how to be.
The soft touch of a mouth on his bare skin stunned his thoughts into silence, Boromir nuzzling a gentle kiss against the exposed curve of his hip and he suddenly understood.
It was bound to happen, he told himself as he sank into Boromir’s arms and let him bear him down to the ground, his mouth as soft and damp against Aragorn’s throat as it had been against his hip. Could he blame Boromir for wanting this when in the space of only moments he learned that he wanted it as well?
He cupped Boromir’s head in his hands, learned the gentle curve of his skull with the tips of his fingers. The darkness engulfed them and it was a shame, any wish of brushing aside golden hair to see the loveliness of Boromir kissing his belly to remain only a wish. Strong hands slid under his hips, holding him up and away from the cold ground and it was all Aragorn could do to stifle his moan of appreciation at the hot, inviting touch of Boromir’s mouth as he took Aragorn inside it. Too briefly, only a taste of wet heat before Boromir pulled back.
"Be silent," he murmured against dampened skin. Aragorn nodded blindly, knotting one hand into his own hair and clenching tightly to keep from jerking Boromir back down. He went without encouragement, softly sucking and it was simply impossible that anyone could have such a skilled tongue. Aragorn couldn’t help but squirm, trying to arch into that knowing mouth but the arms wrapped around his hips tightened, holding him prisoner for this sweet torture.
He wished he could say something, whimper his need, cry out with the pleasure of it all, sounds catching at the base of his throat to be choked away to keep from frightening nervous Hobbits. Or worse, to interest curious ones.
Instead, he closed his eyes and bit his lip when it all became too much and he spilled his pleasure over Boromir’s stroking tongue, sinking into this gift, such as it was. Such a brief moment of forgetfulness.
Boromir’s mouth tasted like salt, his lips too-hot against Aragorn’s much colder ones. He helped Aragorn finish struggling into his pants, easily fastening them when Aragorn’s fingers would have fumbled.
He wanted to say something, knew that he should but exhaustion was tugging at him and Boromir’s arms were warm and comfortable, and asked nothing from him.
"Nothing would change what you are." Boromir murmured into his hair. He sounded so sad and Aragorn tried to struggle against sleep, wanting to say something although what, he did not know. A hand was rubbing soothing circles against his back and Aragorn finally surrendered, sliding into quiet oblivion of sleep.
-finis-
by Keelywolfe
Aragorn/Boromir
NC-17
Notes: This is
javelle's request ficlet, which was for smutty Aragorn/Boromir. ^_^ Ok, so I'm all weirdly angsty at the moment, it's not my fault! We haven't seen the sun in my state in weeks. *G*~~*~~
"Do you ever wish you could forget who you are?"
It was so idly asked that for a moment, Aragorn didn’t look up. The small tear in the knee of his trousers was in serious danger of becoming a large hole if it wasn’t repaired, and while he was no tailor, he was wearily familiar with sewing a seam. But Boromir’s question drew his attention and he hesitated, needle poised as he considered.
"I..." For all its simplicity, it was a difficult question. He turned it over in his thoughts, examining every angle. He could hear the crackle of the fire, just on the other side of the tree he was leaning against. The Hobbits were already huddled beneath blankets; they were growing more accustomed to the pace but still eagerly sought their rest every evening. The sunlight was dwindling rapidly and soon it would be much too dark for sewing. It was Boromir’s face that held him from finishing, solemn and curious in front of him.
"Perhaps," Aragorn finally admitted. "But even if I did not remember, it wouldn’t change who I was." Boromir frowned and Aragorn wondered what he had hoped to hear. The man crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his own tree, eyes closed.
"That is true," Boromir’s tone was grudging. Aragorn fought the urge to comment further and returned instead to his sewing. Nothing he ever said seemed to please Boromir.
The last rays were finally sinking into dusk when he bit the end of the thread off and carefully tucked the precious needle back into its place in his pack. He shivered slightly, hastily tugging his pants over his bare legs. It was too chilly a night to sit with bare legs this far from the fire.
Hands caught his own at the tops of his thighs and he startled violently, hardly soothed by the warm palms against his chilled skin. Blinking, he looked down into Boromir’s night-darkened face, more surprised that he had come so close without him noticing.
"Nothing would change who you are, would it?" Boromir asked in low tones, and what was there to say to that? Nothing could change the manner of his birth. He had a dozen names he had answered to and all were his. Even if he were to fall into a field of white-petaled forgetfulness he could still only be himself. It was all he knew how to be.
The soft touch of a mouth on his bare skin stunned his thoughts into silence, Boromir nuzzling a gentle kiss against the exposed curve of his hip and he suddenly understood.
It was bound to happen, he told himself as he sank into Boromir’s arms and let him bear him down to the ground, his mouth as soft and damp against Aragorn’s throat as it had been against his hip. Could he blame Boromir for wanting this when in the space of only moments he learned that he wanted it as well?
He cupped Boromir’s head in his hands, learned the gentle curve of his skull with the tips of his fingers. The darkness engulfed them and it was a shame, any wish of brushing aside golden hair to see the loveliness of Boromir kissing his belly to remain only a wish. Strong hands slid under his hips, holding him up and away from the cold ground and it was all Aragorn could do to stifle his moan of appreciation at the hot, inviting touch of Boromir’s mouth as he took Aragorn inside it. Too briefly, only a taste of wet heat before Boromir pulled back.
"Be silent," he murmured against dampened skin. Aragorn nodded blindly, knotting one hand into his own hair and clenching tightly to keep from jerking Boromir back down. He went without encouragement, softly sucking and it was simply impossible that anyone could have such a skilled tongue. Aragorn couldn’t help but squirm, trying to arch into that knowing mouth but the arms wrapped around his hips tightened, holding him prisoner for this sweet torture.
He wished he could say something, whimper his need, cry out with the pleasure of it all, sounds catching at the base of his throat to be choked away to keep from frightening nervous Hobbits. Or worse, to interest curious ones.
Instead, he closed his eyes and bit his lip when it all became too much and he spilled his pleasure over Boromir’s stroking tongue, sinking into this gift, such as it was. Such a brief moment of forgetfulness.
Boromir’s mouth tasted like salt, his lips too-hot against Aragorn’s much colder ones. He helped Aragorn finish struggling into his pants, easily fastening them when Aragorn’s fingers would have fumbled.
He wanted to say something, knew that he should but exhaustion was tugging at him and Boromir’s arms were warm and comfortable, and asked nothing from him.
"Nothing would change what you are." Boromir murmured into his hair. He sounded so sad and Aragorn tried to struggle against sleep, wanting to say something although what, he did not know. A hand was rubbing soothing circles against his back and Aragorn finally surrendered, sliding into quiet oblivion of sleep.
-finis-
no subject
Poor Boromir, and by extension, poor Aragorn.
Thank you muchly for the ficlet. I hope that your muses are speaking with you again?
no subject
You're very welcome! Yes, they are, in an unexpected fandom but heck, I'll take what I can get. *G*