Happy late b-day, Trianne!
Jul. 15th, 2004 12:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Title: Grope
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Boromir
Rating: R
Summary: Frodo and Boromir seek warmth in Moria.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of it.
This is a birthday ficlet for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
trianne!!! Well, it's not Frodo/Sam on quest, but it is rather "old school" I think...
Frodo has never warmed since the company entered the cold dark of Moria. He shivered in Boromir’s arms as the Man stumbled through the entrance framed with Elvish starlight, away from the Watcher and into the most solid dark that Frodo has ever known. As exhausting as the trek down narrow, treacherous passages and up crumbling steps, he cannot sleep this first night. He does not think he will be able to until they leave this cursed place that makes Aragorn so uneasy. He begins to drift off, but always he starts when he sees the glow of yellow eyes. At other times he thinks he discerns a hiss that doesn’t belong to any of his companions.
Now Boromir is on watch. Frodo listens to the staggered breaths and sighs of his companions. He thinks he can match breath to companion – his hearing has become unnaturally sharp.
Boromir has taken to smoking a pipe on watch, and through the impenetrable darkness, Frodo sees the comforting orange gleam of pipeweed set afire. Frodo blames his younger cousins, who introduced the hapless Gondorian to pipeweed during the chilly march through Hollin.
Frodo waits for the glow to fade before he slips out of his bedroll, careful not to disturb Sam’s slumber. Still shivering, he takes off his cloak, as well as his jacket, weskit, braces, and finally, breeches. Only clad in his shirt, he pads stealthily across the cold stone, careful not to bump into any of his companions.
He follows Boromir’s rough breaths and the lingering scent of pipeweed.
From behind, he slides his arms around Boromir’s thick neck and plants a light kiss to his ear.
“Your feet may be silent,” Boromir whispers. “But I heard your panting as you approached. I could have shot you in the dark.”
Frodo inches around and straddles Boromir’s lap, wriggling his bare bottom against the Man’s tunic. He puts his hands behind Boromir’s neck again and stretches to kiss the Man on the lips. “But then…you would miss out on this.” He takes Boromir’s hand in his and places it on his growing arousal. “And this.” He arches his back as he presses into Boromir, leaning into the Man’s greedy grasp. Boromir lets out a grunt, and Frodo’s eyes widen in alarm. He looks toward where he knows Gandalf and Aragorn sleep, the two in the company most likely to wake at any errant sound. Aragorn’s breathing remains steady, and Gandalf does not stir. Frodo releases a relaxed breath. “Quickly,” he says.
Boromir’s free hand slips under Frodo’s shirt and over his chest, pausing to lightly pinch his hardening nipples. He releases Frodo’s arousal with his other hand and unbuttons his breeches. Frodo eagerly pulls Boromir’s arousal out, stroking and pressing it against his own stiffness.
“We must find something to ease my way…” Boromir whispers. “I cannot bear this for too much longer…”
“Hush.” Frodo pushes against Boromir’s hard chest. They grind together, their mouths clamped shut against wayward gasps, mindful of the echoes. Boromir’s hands are everywhere at once, spreading warmth as they stroke up and down Frodo’s thighs, over his chest and across his back. He bends and clamps down on Frodo’s mouth with moist, eager lips. Their grinding quickens, and a pleasurable gasp escapes Frodo’s lip, abruptly cut off by another fierce kiss. Frodo comes just before Boromir, and as he does, he muffles his panting by pulling at the skin of Boromir’s neck with his mouth. Boromir comes just after, biting Frodo’s shirt at the shoulder to keep from crying out, and clutching Frodo’s back with strength sure to leave marks.
Frodo rests in Boromir’s powerful arms, mindful of the sticky wet between them, for a long time as their breathing calms and slows. He dozes now, and he wishes that they were in a comfortable bed somewhere safe so that they could snuggle in each other’s arms all morning.
“It is almost Aragorn’s watch,” Boromir says at last, kissing Frodo’s brow.
“Umm,” Frodo murmurs, lifting his head and stealing another kiss. “Tomorrow I shall be on last watch.”
Frodo senses Boromir’s smile and knows that at last he has found warmth in the cold dark of Moria.
END
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Boromir
Rating: R
Summary: Frodo and Boromir seek warmth in Moria.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of it.
This is a birthday ficlet for
trianne!!! Well, it's not Frodo/Sam on quest, but it is rather "old school" I think...Frodo has never warmed since the company entered the cold dark of Moria. He shivered in Boromir’s arms as the Man stumbled through the entrance framed with Elvish starlight, away from the Watcher and into the most solid dark that Frodo has ever known. As exhausting as the trek down narrow, treacherous passages and up crumbling steps, he cannot sleep this first night. He does not think he will be able to until they leave this cursed place that makes Aragorn so uneasy. He begins to drift off, but always he starts when he sees the glow of yellow eyes. At other times he thinks he discerns a hiss that doesn’t belong to any of his companions.
Now Boromir is on watch. Frodo listens to the staggered breaths and sighs of his companions. He thinks he can match breath to companion – his hearing has become unnaturally sharp.
Boromir has taken to smoking a pipe on watch, and through the impenetrable darkness, Frodo sees the comforting orange gleam of pipeweed set afire. Frodo blames his younger cousins, who introduced the hapless Gondorian to pipeweed during the chilly march through Hollin.
Frodo waits for the glow to fade before he slips out of his bedroll, careful not to disturb Sam’s slumber. Still shivering, he takes off his cloak, as well as his jacket, weskit, braces, and finally, breeches. Only clad in his shirt, he pads stealthily across the cold stone, careful not to bump into any of his companions.
He follows Boromir’s rough breaths and the lingering scent of pipeweed.
From behind, he slides his arms around Boromir’s thick neck and plants a light kiss to his ear.
“Your feet may be silent,” Boromir whispers. “But I heard your panting as you approached. I could have shot you in the dark.”
Frodo inches around and straddles Boromir’s lap, wriggling his bare bottom against the Man’s tunic. He puts his hands behind Boromir’s neck again and stretches to kiss the Man on the lips. “But then…you would miss out on this.” He takes Boromir’s hand in his and places it on his growing arousal. “And this.” He arches his back as he presses into Boromir, leaning into the Man’s greedy grasp. Boromir lets out a grunt, and Frodo’s eyes widen in alarm. He looks toward where he knows Gandalf and Aragorn sleep, the two in the company most likely to wake at any errant sound. Aragorn’s breathing remains steady, and Gandalf does not stir. Frodo releases a relaxed breath. “Quickly,” he says.
Boromir’s free hand slips under Frodo’s shirt and over his chest, pausing to lightly pinch his hardening nipples. He releases Frodo’s arousal with his other hand and unbuttons his breeches. Frodo eagerly pulls Boromir’s arousal out, stroking and pressing it against his own stiffness.
“We must find something to ease my way…” Boromir whispers. “I cannot bear this for too much longer…”
“Hush.” Frodo pushes against Boromir’s hard chest. They grind together, their mouths clamped shut against wayward gasps, mindful of the echoes. Boromir’s hands are everywhere at once, spreading warmth as they stroke up and down Frodo’s thighs, over his chest and across his back. He bends and clamps down on Frodo’s mouth with moist, eager lips. Their grinding quickens, and a pleasurable gasp escapes Frodo’s lip, abruptly cut off by another fierce kiss. Frodo comes just before Boromir, and as he does, he muffles his panting by pulling at the skin of Boromir’s neck with his mouth. Boromir comes just after, biting Frodo’s shirt at the shoulder to keep from crying out, and clutching Frodo’s back with strength sure to leave marks.
Frodo rests in Boromir’s powerful arms, mindful of the sticky wet between them, for a long time as their breathing calms and slows. He dozes now, and he wishes that they were in a comfortable bed somewhere safe so that they could snuggle in each other’s arms all morning.
“It is almost Aragorn’s watch,” Boromir says at last, kissing Frodo’s brow.
“Umm,” Frodo murmurs, lifting his head and stealing another kiss. “Tomorrow I shall be on last watch.”
Frodo senses Boromir’s smile and knows that at last he has found warmth in the cold dark of Moria.
END