claudia603 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
claudia603) wrote2003-05-26 04:40 pm
claudia603) wrote2003-05-26 04:40 pm
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(*nervous sigh*)
Title: Blissful Nights 13/13
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Boromir
Rating: NC-17
Summary: In Rivendell, Boromir and Frodo cannot deny an instant attraction, but must work through many cultural differences.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Story notes: DONE!!! :-) Thank you all for your patience in waiting for this update and completion…it’s been a long haul and I’m trying very hard to be good and finish all my WIPs.
Also, there are a few possibly botched movie and/or book quotes in here.
Blissful Nights 13
In the moonlight, the Elvish writing, thin as gossamer thread, glimmered like mithril around the arch of the door to Boromir’s chamber. Frodo clutched a small vial, something Aragorn had given him, and with his free hand, he traced over the Elvish letters. He reckoned the time to be early morning, several hours before dawn. He heard naught but the beeps and chirps of gentle nocturnal creatures. He wiped his sweaty palms on his silk Elvish nightshirt and took a shuddering breath.
In the breezy corridor, statues of Elvish warriors gleamed under the pale moonlight, neither judging nor approving, only gazing in eternal serenity. The distant roar of the Bruinen was soothing, a lullaby for those with light hearts, but since the council, Frodo’s heart had been far from light, and sleep came rarely.
He shivered, hearing the echo of his own voice: “I will take the Ring to Mordor.”
Everyone had stared in stunned disbelief, but Boromir had turned away, his eyes downcast with grief. Yet he had come through and offered his sword and the might of Gondor to the quest. Frodo had held his gaze, straining to see any sign of the gentle adoration Boromir had once felt for him, but he had seen nothing but raw pain in the Man’s hazel eyes.
The Ring hung against Frodo’s pale chest like an icy weight, yet it anchored him, and he felt fierce protectiveness. If he had not volunteered, if someone else had claimed it, he would now feel empty, ripped apart inside. He wondered if he had volunteered out of selfless desire to do all he could for Middle earth…or if he had simply been unwilling to give up the Ring. He could not deny the relief that had shuddered through him when his fingers had once again curled around the Ring.
“I will take it.” The memory mocked him. “I will take the Ring to Mordor.”
A heavy silence had descended as everyone had turned to stare at the little halfling who had dared what nobody else could stop fighting long enough to do. Through the roaring fog in his ears, he had watched Aragorn blink and fix his eyes on him with new respect, and he had seen Gandalf square his jaw in resigned sorrow.
“You hold the fate of us all, little one,” Boromir had said, swallowing, as if he could barely stand to speak to Frodo. The deliberate condescension in Boromir’s words had stabbed Frodo, and his shoulder had throbbed in sympathy. As for the raw pain in the Gondorian’s voice, Frodo had nobody to blame but himself. He intended to do his best to make it up to Boromir tonight…if the Man would allow it.
Frodo turned the knob to Boromir’s chamber, holding his breath as a strange thrill sent shivers up his arms. Warriors slept lightly, trained to react with deadly force when sleep was invaded. Frodo continued to hold his breath as he crept across the room with hobbit-like stealth. His heart echoed so loudly in his ears that he marveled that the sleeping Man could not hear it.
He set the vial that he carried on the bedside table and placed both of his hands on the edge of the enormous bed. He heaved himself onto the bed but halted, frozen on his knees, when Boromir groaned and stirred. Only after Frodo heard steady breathing from the Man did he release his own breath. He crawled across the bed until he stared down at Boromir’s face, so peaceful in sleep. How he longed to brush the stray clump of hair from the Man’s cheek! His chest ached. Why had he so callously hurt this good Man, whose only fault was to carelessly give his heart to Frodo? There had been no need for Frodo to have told him about Aragorn.
The time Frodo had spent with Boromir had mostly been joyful. True, there had been tension, but the deep fondness that they had shared was a unique gift. That it had ended on such a discordant note caused Frodo’s heart to ache fiercely. He would do much for another chance to hold that same conversation. This time he would not mention Aragorn at all.
Frodo carefully peeled the coverlet from Boromir’s broad chest. Boromir was wearing a loose, Elven nightshirt, much in the same style as the one Frodo wore. Frodo lifted the shirt, grinning as he realized that like himself, Boromir was not wearing undergarments. Boromir’s limp member lay before him, within tantalizing reach. When Boromir stirred again, Frodo was jolted from his delighted daze. Boromir’s sleep was clearly becoming more restless and it was only a matter of time before he woke. Frodo closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh of contentment, as he slid his hands over Boromir’s member, feeling himself harden in response. Boromir groaned but still did not wake. Frodo licked his hands and stroked the Man’s member, which quivered into wakefulness in Frodo’s hands.
“Frodo,” Boromir muttered into his pillow, and Frodo’s cheeks grew warm. At any moment Boromir would wake to find it was not a dream. Frodo rubbed more insistently, concentrating on moving his hands as quickly as possible. How he longed for the confidence to take Boromir into his mouth! However, he thought the Man was most likely too big and it would only cause Frodo to gag in an embarrassing manner.
Before Frodo could cry out, strong hands slammed into his shoulders and was flipped onto his back, hands gripping his upper arms like vices. Boromir hovered over him, fully awake and glaring fiercely. Something unyielding dug into Frodo’s thigh.
“How dare you…” Boromir’s voice trembled with rage, and Frodo’s heart pattered in alarm that he may have pushed it too far with this warrior. “I thought made it clear I did not wish to bed you--not on these terms.”
Frodo did not dare struggle against Boromir’s harsh grip, and for several seconds, neither of them spoke and there was only the sound of ragged breaths coming from both of them.
Finally Frodo said, “There do not need to be terms.”
Boromir released a frustrated sigh. “If I am not worthy of you coming with me to Minas Tirith, then I am not worthy for you to bed.”
“You know I could not live in Minas Tirith—“
“I would treat you with love and devotion. You would want for nothing…” Boromir shook his head in despair. “Instead, you choose to go on this mission to your death…and the death of us all.” Boromir paused, and a strange gleam came into his eyes. “May I not see it for a moment? I had but a glance in the council…”
Frodo’s heart grew cold, and he suddenly felt foolish for putting himself into this potentially dangerous position. He was an unworthy bearer of the Ring if it could be snatched from him in Elrond’s very house.
“It is best that it stay hidden.”
“As you wish,” Boromir said, and his eyes were suddenly gentle and full of pain, the frightening gleam gone. “But I beg you, Frodo--give the Ring to one better able to bear it, one who is used to such hardships. Give it up and come with me. Do not go to your death.”
Frodo wriggled in Boromir’s grip, his chest filling with hot anger. Boromir continued to underestimate him. He had the nerve to ask Frodo to live with him in Minas Tirith when it was obvious that he would treat Frodo as little more than a pet to be coddled and protected!
Frodo gazed into his eyes, his cheeks rosy splotches. “Whether you think I am worthy or not, I am going to Mordor. I do not know whether I go to my death or not. If you truly love me as you claim, you will not try to stop me. Let us not make promises neither of us may be able to keep.”
“How can you—“ Boromir began, but stopped when he saw the fury in Frodo’s eyes.
Frodo continued, his voice softening as he took pity on the Man, who spoke so only out of desperate love that he deemed unrequited. “We will be traveling many long leagues together, and much can happen over so much distance and time. Our feelings may deepen or we may grow to hate one another. But now, in this haven of rest, we have time before we set off on our journey, and that means soft beds and good food and Elvish wine. Come, Boromir.” Frodo pressed up against Boromir’s hardness. “Let us use it to our advantage. Let us take some enjoyment while we can.”
Boromir relaxed on top of Frodo, resting his arms on either side of Frodo’s head, letting his fingers play with dark curls.
Suddenly Boromir’s head collapsed on Frodo’s chest, and he wept. Frodo could barely breathe from the Man’s shuddering weight fully on him, but he wrapped his arms around Boromir’s neck.
“What is it?” Frodo whispered, kissing the top of Boromir’s head. “What is it?”
“I love you, Frodo.” Boromir said in a voice choked with tears. “I know you do not return it, but I cannot help it. I forgive you everything. Whatever you say, whatever you do, I cannot stay angry with you, and I would do anything not to lose you.” He kissed Frodo’s cheek and smoothed curls from the hobbit’s brow. “As you wish…Let us take enjoyment with no promises. My heart breaks at the hardship you will surely endure on this perilous road you have chosen. But I swear it, Frodo--No harm shall come to you while I stand. I will protect you with all I have to give.”
“Boromir,” Frodo whispered, thoroughly moved by the Man’s words, and he kissed Boromir’s wet, grizzled cheek.
Boromir took the cue and his lips fell on Frodo’s soft neck, kissing with rough earnest, slowly moving upward until he captured the hobbit’s lips. His kiss was fiery, full of passion repressed for far too long. Frodo was anchored in place by his lips, and he liked the feeling. His hardness throbbed against Boromir’s weight.
“Boromir, hurry, please,” Frodo whispered, struggling to pull Boromir’s nightshirt from his chest. Boromir paused in his kissing only long enough to pull off the shirt and fling it carelessly over the side of the bed. He fell atop Frodo again, and his downy hair rubbed against Frodo’s pale chest, causing tingles of pleasure to rip through Frodo. Rough large hands caressed Frodo’s sides and hips and ran over his buttocks.
Frodo gasped, thrusting his chest up. Boromir captured the hobbit’s soft neck again, gently nipping and then kissing gently, moving up over Frodo’s flushed cheek. Frodo’s small hands roamed the expanse of Boromir’s back, thrilled by the rippling muscle under the skin. Boromir’s tongue flickered over Frodo’s ear.
“I never noticed how sharp that point is,” Boromir laughed gently.
Frodo felt something solid digging between his thighs and he pushed up against it, sending sweet reverberations through him. Strong hands kneaded his buttocks.
“Frodo…” Boromir said, panting, his eager face dripping with sweat. “I know you’ve never done this.”
Frodo thrust frantically against him. “No, but I am ready.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. I…”
“Oil,” Frodo gasped. “The vial on the table –“ Frodo waved vaguely toward the bedside table.
Boromir laughed as he reached across the bed to where Frodo had earlier set the vial. “You planned this well, halfling.”
“Indeed,” Frodo answered with a playful smile.
The vial clutched in his hands, Boromir slid down Frodo’s body until he took the hobbit into his mouth. Frodo groaned pitifully as Boromir’s tongue danced around it and he sucked deliciously. Frodo shoved his hips up into the wet warmth, crying out, and as he did so, an insistent finger slid into the cleft in his bottom. He squirmed against it, feeling both discomfort and a building explosion inside him at the same time, and just before he knew he was going to burst, Boromir released him from his mouth, mischievously sliding back up to knead Frodo’s buttocks, his finger still twisting inside the cleft.
“Boromir, please,” Frodo panted, rubbing his bottom desperately against Boromir’s hand. “I cannot bear this.”
“Then I will have you now, Frodo.”
A second thick finger suddenly slid inside Frodo, and both twisted and turned inside him sending pricks of blinding pain mixed with vibrations of the sweetest sensation Frodo had ever experienced. “Relax, Frodo, you are still too tight. You must relax.”
Frodo had never felt anything like it. Everything became foggy except for this twisting, as if Boromir were stirring all the bliss inside him like a cake mix, exaggerating all sensation.
“Help me,” Boromir said, putting the vial in Frodo’s hands. Frodo blindly opened the vial, a gift from Aragorn, though he would never tell Boromir this, and shuddered as the cool oil spilled over his hands. He rubbed Boromir’s stiff shaft, taking great pleasure in the Man’s labored gasps.
“Are you ready now?” Boromir whispered.
“Yes, yes,” Frodo said, closing his eyes.
“If it hurts, you must tell me and I will pull out. You have my word.”
Something thick and unyielding slid into him, just a little, and Frodo gasped at the pinpricks of pain that filled his hole. Under the surface of the pain, Frodo felt the beginnings of pleasure beyond his wildest imaginings. If only the Man could fit fully inside him!
“Am I hurting you?”
“No, no,” Frodo lied.
Boromir slid further inside, and this time Frodo couldn’t help but cry out.
“I cannot do this,” Boromir said in a hoarse voice, pulling out completely, but not without some disappointment. “I will not hurt you to gratify my pleasure. There are other ways.”
“Boromir, you must try again! Please! It will get better.”
Boromir tried once again to slide into Frodo, gripping the hobbit’s slender shoulders as if he feared he was going to break him. “It goes in with greater ease this time,” Boromir said. “Are you in pain?”
“No,” Frodo said. It was again a lie, but he would not have Boromir pull out now, not when he knew it was going to give him unheard pleasure if they could both but be patient.
The tearing pain at last gave way to bright vibrations that sent sparkling lights in Frodo’s vision. The vibrations grew stronger until Frodo’s heart beat so fast he could barely breathe and he barely felt Boromir’s now uncontrolled thrusts.
They finished at the same time, clutching each other with bruising force, crying out each other’s names, not caring at that moment if all of Elrond’s household heard them.
Panting heavily, Boromir rolled his weight from Frodo, clutching the hobbit tightly to his chest. Frodo’s body still shuddered with reverberations, though he would probably be sore later. It was worth it. He sighed, thinking there could not possibly be anything more blissful than what Boromir had just given him.
“Thank you, Frodo,” Boromir said. “I can perish in happiness even if this is all you offer me.”
“I will offer more than this,” Frodo said with a slow smile. “But let us not speak of perishing in this fair house, not with such a dark road before us.”
Boromir kissed Frodo’s brow. “You must come to my city, even if only for a short while. You will need rest before your venture into Mordor, if go you must.”
“Go I must,” Frodo said, nuzzling against Boromir’s neck. “But do not look so crestfallen. If I am not slain during this quest, I believe it will be my fate to see your city.”
Boromir cupped Frodo’s chin in his hands. “You carry a heavy burden, Frodo. But I believe…” Boromir sighed heavily and looked away for a moment. ”This is difficult for me to admit…” His hands slid behind Frodo’s head, fingers tangling into dark curls, and he cradled the hobbit’s head to his chest. “I have little confidence in this desperate course the council of the wise has decided, to send a halfling—one dear to me--blindly to his death into Mordor. But if any wisdom is to be found in this choice…” Boromir swallowed. “It is that you are the halfling. You have strength in you to rival any of the best warriors in Gondor. I have seen you survive a stabbing from a Morgul blade and I have never heard of such a feat before.” Frodo’s cheeks warmed and his heart lifted as Boromir continued. “I know I have said unkind things to you that seem to contradict this, but that is only because I love you and only wish you to be safe.”
“Thank you, Boromir,” Frodo said, snuggling against the solid chest. He was still firm in his belief that there should still be no promises between them. He looked forward and saw nothing but darkness and fire on his road. But…if he did not look too far ahead, if he yielded to the muscled arms wrapped tightly around him, he could see nights of silk sheets, heady wine, lavender oil, and most of all, a Man who loved him so much that he was willing to embark with him on a perilous quest just to make certain that his hobbit remained safe.
END
Title: Blissful Nights 13/13
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Boromir
Rating: NC-17
Summary: In Rivendell, Boromir and Frodo cannot deny an instant attraction, but must work through many cultural differences.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Story notes: DONE!!! :-) Thank you all for your patience in waiting for this update and completion…it’s been a long haul and I’m trying very hard to be good and finish all my WIPs.
Also, there are a few possibly botched movie and/or book quotes in here.
Blissful Nights 13
In the moonlight, the Elvish writing, thin as gossamer thread, glimmered like mithril around the arch of the door to Boromir’s chamber. Frodo clutched a small vial, something Aragorn had given him, and with his free hand, he traced over the Elvish letters. He reckoned the time to be early morning, several hours before dawn. He heard naught but the beeps and chirps of gentle nocturnal creatures. He wiped his sweaty palms on his silk Elvish nightshirt and took a shuddering breath.
In the breezy corridor, statues of Elvish warriors gleamed under the pale moonlight, neither judging nor approving, only gazing in eternal serenity. The distant roar of the Bruinen was soothing, a lullaby for those with light hearts, but since the council, Frodo’s heart had been far from light, and sleep came rarely.
He shivered, hearing the echo of his own voice: “I will take the Ring to Mordor.”
Everyone had stared in stunned disbelief, but Boromir had turned away, his eyes downcast with grief. Yet he had come through and offered his sword and the might of Gondor to the quest. Frodo had held his gaze, straining to see any sign of the gentle adoration Boromir had once felt for him, but he had seen nothing but raw pain in the Man’s hazel eyes.
The Ring hung against Frodo’s pale chest like an icy weight, yet it anchored him, and he felt fierce protectiveness. If he had not volunteered, if someone else had claimed it, he would now feel empty, ripped apart inside. He wondered if he had volunteered out of selfless desire to do all he could for Middle earth…or if he had simply been unwilling to give up the Ring. He could not deny the relief that had shuddered through him when his fingers had once again curled around the Ring.
“I will take it.” The memory mocked him. “I will take the Ring to Mordor.”
A heavy silence had descended as everyone had turned to stare at the little halfling who had dared what nobody else could stop fighting long enough to do. Through the roaring fog in his ears, he had watched Aragorn blink and fix his eyes on him with new respect, and he had seen Gandalf square his jaw in resigned sorrow.
“You hold the fate of us all, little one,” Boromir had said, swallowing, as if he could barely stand to speak to Frodo. The deliberate condescension in Boromir’s words had stabbed Frodo, and his shoulder had throbbed in sympathy. As for the raw pain in the Gondorian’s voice, Frodo had nobody to blame but himself. He intended to do his best to make it up to Boromir tonight…if the Man would allow it.
Frodo turned the knob to Boromir’s chamber, holding his breath as a strange thrill sent shivers up his arms. Warriors slept lightly, trained to react with deadly force when sleep was invaded. Frodo continued to hold his breath as he crept across the room with hobbit-like stealth. His heart echoed so loudly in his ears that he marveled that the sleeping Man could not hear it.
He set the vial that he carried on the bedside table and placed both of his hands on the edge of the enormous bed. He heaved himself onto the bed but halted, frozen on his knees, when Boromir groaned and stirred. Only after Frodo heard steady breathing from the Man did he release his own breath. He crawled across the bed until he stared down at Boromir’s face, so peaceful in sleep. How he longed to brush the stray clump of hair from the Man’s cheek! His chest ached. Why had he so callously hurt this good Man, whose only fault was to carelessly give his heart to Frodo? There had been no need for Frodo to have told him about Aragorn.
The time Frodo had spent with Boromir had mostly been joyful. True, there had been tension, but the deep fondness that they had shared was a unique gift. That it had ended on such a discordant note caused Frodo’s heart to ache fiercely. He would do much for another chance to hold that same conversation. This time he would not mention Aragorn at all.
Frodo carefully peeled the coverlet from Boromir’s broad chest. Boromir was wearing a loose, Elven nightshirt, much in the same style as the one Frodo wore. Frodo lifted the shirt, grinning as he realized that like himself, Boromir was not wearing undergarments. Boromir’s limp member lay before him, within tantalizing reach. When Boromir stirred again, Frodo was jolted from his delighted daze. Boromir’s sleep was clearly becoming more restless and it was only a matter of time before he woke. Frodo closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh of contentment, as he slid his hands over Boromir’s member, feeling himself harden in response. Boromir groaned but still did not wake. Frodo licked his hands and stroked the Man’s member, which quivered into wakefulness in Frodo’s hands.
“Frodo,” Boromir muttered into his pillow, and Frodo’s cheeks grew warm. At any moment Boromir would wake to find it was not a dream. Frodo rubbed more insistently, concentrating on moving his hands as quickly as possible. How he longed for the confidence to take Boromir into his mouth! However, he thought the Man was most likely too big and it would only cause Frodo to gag in an embarrassing manner.
Before Frodo could cry out, strong hands slammed into his shoulders and was flipped onto his back, hands gripping his upper arms like vices. Boromir hovered over him, fully awake and glaring fiercely. Something unyielding dug into Frodo’s thigh.
“How dare you…” Boromir’s voice trembled with rage, and Frodo’s heart pattered in alarm that he may have pushed it too far with this warrior. “I thought made it clear I did not wish to bed you--not on these terms.”
Frodo did not dare struggle against Boromir’s harsh grip, and for several seconds, neither of them spoke and there was only the sound of ragged breaths coming from both of them.
Finally Frodo said, “There do not need to be terms.”
Boromir released a frustrated sigh. “If I am not worthy of you coming with me to Minas Tirith, then I am not worthy for you to bed.”
“You know I could not live in Minas Tirith—“
“I would treat you with love and devotion. You would want for nothing…” Boromir shook his head in despair. “Instead, you choose to go on this mission to your death…and the death of us all.” Boromir paused, and a strange gleam came into his eyes. “May I not see it for a moment? I had but a glance in the council…”
Frodo’s heart grew cold, and he suddenly felt foolish for putting himself into this potentially dangerous position. He was an unworthy bearer of the Ring if it could be snatched from him in Elrond’s very house.
“It is best that it stay hidden.”
“As you wish,” Boromir said, and his eyes were suddenly gentle and full of pain, the frightening gleam gone. “But I beg you, Frodo--give the Ring to one better able to bear it, one who is used to such hardships. Give it up and come with me. Do not go to your death.”
Frodo wriggled in Boromir’s grip, his chest filling with hot anger. Boromir continued to underestimate him. He had the nerve to ask Frodo to live with him in Minas Tirith when it was obvious that he would treat Frodo as little more than a pet to be coddled and protected!
Frodo gazed into his eyes, his cheeks rosy splotches. “Whether you think I am worthy or not, I am going to Mordor. I do not know whether I go to my death or not. If you truly love me as you claim, you will not try to stop me. Let us not make promises neither of us may be able to keep.”
“How can you—“ Boromir began, but stopped when he saw the fury in Frodo’s eyes.
Frodo continued, his voice softening as he took pity on the Man, who spoke so only out of desperate love that he deemed unrequited. “We will be traveling many long leagues together, and much can happen over so much distance and time. Our feelings may deepen or we may grow to hate one another. But now, in this haven of rest, we have time before we set off on our journey, and that means soft beds and good food and Elvish wine. Come, Boromir.” Frodo pressed up against Boromir’s hardness. “Let us use it to our advantage. Let us take some enjoyment while we can.”
Boromir relaxed on top of Frodo, resting his arms on either side of Frodo’s head, letting his fingers play with dark curls.
Suddenly Boromir’s head collapsed on Frodo’s chest, and he wept. Frodo could barely breathe from the Man’s shuddering weight fully on him, but he wrapped his arms around Boromir’s neck.
“What is it?” Frodo whispered, kissing the top of Boromir’s head. “What is it?”
“I love you, Frodo.” Boromir said in a voice choked with tears. “I know you do not return it, but I cannot help it. I forgive you everything. Whatever you say, whatever you do, I cannot stay angry with you, and I would do anything not to lose you.” He kissed Frodo’s cheek and smoothed curls from the hobbit’s brow. “As you wish…Let us take enjoyment with no promises. My heart breaks at the hardship you will surely endure on this perilous road you have chosen. But I swear it, Frodo--No harm shall come to you while I stand. I will protect you with all I have to give.”
“Boromir,” Frodo whispered, thoroughly moved by the Man’s words, and he kissed Boromir’s wet, grizzled cheek.
Boromir took the cue and his lips fell on Frodo’s soft neck, kissing with rough earnest, slowly moving upward until he captured the hobbit’s lips. His kiss was fiery, full of passion repressed for far too long. Frodo was anchored in place by his lips, and he liked the feeling. His hardness throbbed against Boromir’s weight.
“Boromir, hurry, please,” Frodo whispered, struggling to pull Boromir’s nightshirt from his chest. Boromir paused in his kissing only long enough to pull off the shirt and fling it carelessly over the side of the bed. He fell atop Frodo again, and his downy hair rubbed against Frodo’s pale chest, causing tingles of pleasure to rip through Frodo. Rough large hands caressed Frodo’s sides and hips and ran over his buttocks.
Frodo gasped, thrusting his chest up. Boromir captured the hobbit’s soft neck again, gently nipping and then kissing gently, moving up over Frodo’s flushed cheek. Frodo’s small hands roamed the expanse of Boromir’s back, thrilled by the rippling muscle under the skin. Boromir’s tongue flickered over Frodo’s ear.
“I never noticed how sharp that point is,” Boromir laughed gently.
Frodo felt something solid digging between his thighs and he pushed up against it, sending sweet reverberations through him. Strong hands kneaded his buttocks.
“Frodo…” Boromir said, panting, his eager face dripping with sweat. “I know you’ve never done this.”
Frodo thrust frantically against him. “No, but I am ready.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. I…”
“Oil,” Frodo gasped. “The vial on the table –“ Frodo waved vaguely toward the bedside table.
Boromir laughed as he reached across the bed to where Frodo had earlier set the vial. “You planned this well, halfling.”
“Indeed,” Frodo answered with a playful smile.
The vial clutched in his hands, Boromir slid down Frodo’s body until he took the hobbit into his mouth. Frodo groaned pitifully as Boromir’s tongue danced around it and he sucked deliciously. Frodo shoved his hips up into the wet warmth, crying out, and as he did so, an insistent finger slid into the cleft in his bottom. He squirmed against it, feeling both discomfort and a building explosion inside him at the same time, and just before he knew he was going to burst, Boromir released him from his mouth, mischievously sliding back up to knead Frodo’s buttocks, his finger still twisting inside the cleft.
“Boromir, please,” Frodo panted, rubbing his bottom desperately against Boromir’s hand. “I cannot bear this.”
“Then I will have you now, Frodo.”
A second thick finger suddenly slid inside Frodo, and both twisted and turned inside him sending pricks of blinding pain mixed with vibrations of the sweetest sensation Frodo had ever experienced. “Relax, Frodo, you are still too tight. You must relax.”
Frodo had never felt anything like it. Everything became foggy except for this twisting, as if Boromir were stirring all the bliss inside him like a cake mix, exaggerating all sensation.
“Help me,” Boromir said, putting the vial in Frodo’s hands. Frodo blindly opened the vial, a gift from Aragorn, though he would never tell Boromir this, and shuddered as the cool oil spilled over his hands. He rubbed Boromir’s stiff shaft, taking great pleasure in the Man’s labored gasps.
“Are you ready now?” Boromir whispered.
“Yes, yes,” Frodo said, closing his eyes.
“If it hurts, you must tell me and I will pull out. You have my word.”
Something thick and unyielding slid into him, just a little, and Frodo gasped at the pinpricks of pain that filled his hole. Under the surface of the pain, Frodo felt the beginnings of pleasure beyond his wildest imaginings. If only the Man could fit fully inside him!
“Am I hurting you?”
“No, no,” Frodo lied.
Boromir slid further inside, and this time Frodo couldn’t help but cry out.
“I cannot do this,” Boromir said in a hoarse voice, pulling out completely, but not without some disappointment. “I will not hurt you to gratify my pleasure. There are other ways.”
“Boromir, you must try again! Please! It will get better.”
Boromir tried once again to slide into Frodo, gripping the hobbit’s slender shoulders as if he feared he was going to break him. “It goes in with greater ease this time,” Boromir said. “Are you in pain?”
“No,” Frodo said. It was again a lie, but he would not have Boromir pull out now, not when he knew it was going to give him unheard pleasure if they could both but be patient.
The tearing pain at last gave way to bright vibrations that sent sparkling lights in Frodo’s vision. The vibrations grew stronger until Frodo’s heart beat so fast he could barely breathe and he barely felt Boromir’s now uncontrolled thrusts.
They finished at the same time, clutching each other with bruising force, crying out each other’s names, not caring at that moment if all of Elrond’s household heard them.
Panting heavily, Boromir rolled his weight from Frodo, clutching the hobbit tightly to his chest. Frodo’s body still shuddered with reverberations, though he would probably be sore later. It was worth it. He sighed, thinking there could not possibly be anything more blissful than what Boromir had just given him.
“Thank you, Frodo,” Boromir said. “I can perish in happiness even if this is all you offer me.”
“I will offer more than this,” Frodo said with a slow smile. “But let us not speak of perishing in this fair house, not with such a dark road before us.”
Boromir kissed Frodo’s brow. “You must come to my city, even if only for a short while. You will need rest before your venture into Mordor, if go you must.”
“Go I must,” Frodo said, nuzzling against Boromir’s neck. “But do not look so crestfallen. If I am not slain during this quest, I believe it will be my fate to see your city.”
Boromir cupped Frodo’s chin in his hands. “You carry a heavy burden, Frodo. But I believe…” Boromir sighed heavily and looked away for a moment. ”This is difficult for me to admit…” His hands slid behind Frodo’s head, fingers tangling into dark curls, and he cradled the hobbit’s head to his chest. “I have little confidence in this desperate course the council of the wise has decided, to send a halfling—one dear to me--blindly to his death into Mordor. But if any wisdom is to be found in this choice…” Boromir swallowed. “It is that you are the halfling. You have strength in you to rival any of the best warriors in Gondor. I have seen you survive a stabbing from a Morgul blade and I have never heard of such a feat before.” Frodo’s cheeks warmed and his heart lifted as Boromir continued. “I know I have said unkind things to you that seem to contradict this, but that is only because I love you and only wish you to be safe.”
“Thank you, Boromir,” Frodo said, snuggling against the solid chest. He was still firm in his belief that there should still be no promises between them. He looked forward and saw nothing but darkness and fire on his road. But…if he did not look too far ahead, if he yielded to the muscled arms wrapped tightly around him, he could see nights of silk sheets, heady wine, lavender oil, and most of all, a Man who loved him so much that he was willing to embark with him on a perilous quest just to make certain that his hobbit remained safe.
END