Title: A Measure of Comfort Author (including email): The fair one. Lottie_83uk@yahoo.co.uk Pairing(s): Boromir/Aragorn( I did initially try to write some sappy hobbit slash, but the sons of Gondor had other ideas, and have continued to hijack me every time they feel like having some fun..........) Rating: NC 17 Summary: Grief lends Gondor’s sons a little quality time. Disclaimer: Obviously Tolkien’s, certainly not mine. Not making any money, just trying to brighten some lives. Warning: Vague S&M suggestion, nothing too heavy, but if your really not into that then I suggest you wait until I get around to writing some sweet hobbity slash! Authors Note: I am a med. student and this particular fic came to me one day when I was dissecting the muscles of the back. This may go a long way towards explaining the strange obsession this story has with that particular piece of anatomy! Other than that it can probably be explained by spending the wee small hours of the previous night watching the new extended version of the fellowship (absolute genius!) Oh by the way can anyone tell me where I can get a shirt the same as/or very much like the one Frodo wakes up in Rivendell wearing? Any thoughts to the Email address above. thanks. Enjoy! ~*~ Aragorn had sat long with the Lord and lady of Lothlorien, and he had found nothing of comfort in their council. Since Gandalf’s fall into darkness the burden of leadership had fallen upon him and he felt scarcely capable of fulfilling it. Finally he had been aloud to take his leave and had done so gladly, eager to be back to where he could watch over the ringbearer; and so feel some measure of control. Yet even this was beyond him. Hobbit’s could find sleep in the most terrible conditions, so it was no great surprise to find them deeply so when he reached the camp. They looked to be one being, so close were they huddled. All that was visible were hands, and curls and hairy toes. In sleep the little ones were the most peaceful creatures on middle earth, looking upon them one could almost believe all the events of the previous four days had never happened. Aragorn sighed, if only all troubles were that easy to shed. He could not see the elf, but that was to be expected. Legolas would be at council somewhere with the others of his race, and none of them would hear of him until dawn. The dwarf on the other hand was very easy to find, snoring loudly beneath the hollow of a massive tree root. That left only the warrior, though his eyes took in all details of the camps darkness no trace of the man of Gondor could he find. This grieved him, as it was his fellow man that he most wanted to find. For the first time since the fellowship had set out from Rivendell, he felt an overwhelming need to be near his fellow man, to hear him speak of those things which must eventually mean peace for them both. And perhaps share in the grieve that weighed so heavily upon his heart. So following this need, he struck out into the darkness. ~*~ Boromir sat alone somewhere in the darkness, knees drawn up to his chin and arms wrapped tightly about him. He had left their encampment and gone in search of somewhere in Lothlorien where he may find rest. Somewhere he may ride the incredible tide of grief that even now threatened to rise and drown him. He had failed; for all the fabled strength of men one of their number had passed into darkness, and they had been forced to flee like cowards. Slowly he drew his robe about him and attempted to sleep, but it was not to be. The darkness would not be still, it swirled about him full of whispers; and every time he closed his eyes he heard her voice, foretelling the doom of his people in a voice so fair it may well have been music. What he wanted now, had wanted since they came into the protection of the elves was to talk with the ranger. As a warrior Boromir was familiar with the notion of finding some consolation in the touch and council of his fellow men. It was this he wanted of Aragorn, and yet he had been unable to locate the man for some hours. Finally feeling more empty than he thought possible he had found this hiding place, and settled down to weep. ~*~ Aragorn found the warrior with little effort. He was huddled on the mossy ground in a darkened hollow created by the arch of three enormous tree roots. Sat prostrate as he was his cloak pulled tightly around his body. Aragorn paused a moment, caught by the incredible beauty of the arch of the mans back. Almost against his will he began to imagine what it would be like if fabric didn’t obscure his sight, if the full expanse of the warriors sun darkened skin was open to his gaze. His mind explored the notion of running his palms across that beautiful flesh, exploring the hard curve of his shoulder blade where it met the infinitely perfect line of his spine. Tracing every bump down in a delicious arc until his fingers met the downy soft skin of his buttocks. Aragorn just stifled a moan as in his imagination his fingers became replaced with his tongue, tasting, probing, exploring... “Aragorn?” The sound of the man's voice pulled him abruptly out of his musings and, his semi erect cock rapidly softened as the arousing images retreated. “Yes” “What are you doing here, ranger?” Aragorn skirted the hollow until he was able to come down on the moss face to face with his kinsman. “You were missed at camp.” “The others were sleeping, it is only you that could have missed me.” Boromir pointed out, his head coming up to fix Aragorn with a hard stare. “Even within Lothlorien we cannot be wholly safe, there’s none of us that should wander alone” “Is that the only reason you sought me?” the warrior was angry, Aragorn could practically sense the heat of his rage; yet beneath that most primitive emotion his eyes swam with the grief they all felt. “No,” he answered gently, “I came to offer you peace” he reached out a hand to stroke the warriors arm, but Boromir recoiled instantly. “And what peace may you offer me?” “The comfort of knowing you do not suffer alone. Do not carry the burden of death when it not yours alone to bare. Weep with me son of Gondor” This time the soothing gesture was not shunned and Boromir’s eyes dropped to watch Aragorn’s fingers stroak across the back of his own strong hand. “And what then?” Boromir asked catching Aragorn’s hand, and clasping it tightly in his own. “If we weep now, when does it end?” the furfer of his emotion drew them together until both men were breathing the same hot, still night air. “Already are we so heavy with grief that we can scarcely breathe, what are we to do when the quest brings us pain that cannot be overcome. Will you weep with me then?” With what seemed like incredible clarity Aragorn bent and caught Boromir’s lips in a lingeringly soft kiss. “If you ask it of me, I should weep with you forever” “And what of tonight” Boromir asked recapturing the kiss, and sighing as Aragorn’s tongue pressed hard against his own. “Tonight we shall take comfort as only men at arms weary with sorrow can,” he drew back to lock his gaze with his fellow man, eyes intense with emotion. “And how may that be?” Boromir asked, a wicked smile playing about his lips. As answer Aragorn pressed himself upon the warrior, carrying them both down into the bed of moss with the force of their combined weight. Then there were no words. The man of Gondor submitted beneath his reluctant king, moaning as his mouth was ravaged thoroughly and without mercy; Aragorn’s tongue sweeping along the silken line of his lips. Then leaving his mouth to trace a fiery line down his throat, hearing the ranger growl as his lips were teased by the course hair of his beard. Boromir heard the familiar sound of iron on leather as Aragorn relieved his knife from it’s sheath. Then with consummate tenderness he began to cut the warriors clothing, pressing down hard enough to flay the fabric; dragging the tip along the exposed flesh close enough to graze. Boromir writhed beneath the blade, the sensation was as a finger dragged softly down his chest and he arched against it; eager for the feeling. Aragorn pressed him down hard, but not in time to prevent the blade drawing blood. Boromir hissed in pain and Aragorn smiled, bending he pressed his lips to the wound; catching the crimson bead as it welled up against the warriors chest. Methodically he cleaved the flesh with his tongue, renewing the fire rising in Boromir’s lions. Aragorn brandished the knife seductively at eye level. “I’d advise you to be still son of Gondor” he warned with a growl “your britches seem rather tight, and you stand to lose far more than blood if you move this time.” And with that he resumed his cutting of Boromir’s clothes, snapping the laces that confined the mans straining cock. The warrior gasped again as Aragorn’s hand closed around his swollen flesh, and began a firm, rhythmic stroking. Boromir could not stifle a moan as the tension began to build in his abdomen, an insistent rising heat and he bucked against the blissful ring of the rangers fingers. Yet just as the pleasure threatened to carry him away Aragorn released him, and Boromir sobbed at the loss. “Shh. Patience my sweet warrior. It would not do to have the bliss over and the grief return all too soon.” Boromir felt his kings weight come up his body again, and he was engulfed in a hail of passionate kisses. Aragorn whispering in elvish, words that were so soothing though he could have no knowledge of their meaning. He struggled to lose the ties of the rangers britches, desperate to bring such pleasure to his fellow man as had been brought to him. He was rewarded with a deep sigh as he felt the mans length hot and hard in his palm. Without hesitation he slid down beneath his king until he was able to take the straining flesh between his lips. Slowly the warrior serviced his king, slicking his length, wrapping his tongue around the swollen weeping head; drinking each pearly drop as it formed. Boromir felt the rangers thighs tremble beneath his hands, around them the air was heavy with the sound of their breathing, hard, desperate panting; alive with arousal and want. Just as he felt Aragorn tense the man pulled his weeping flesh from his kinsman’s mouth. Boromir struggled to reclaim it but his king was stronger, pressing him down; his hand stroked up to his face. The son of Gondor was lost to sensation, the whispers of the night disappeared as Aragorn pressed his fingers at the boundary of Boromir’s mouth. He claimed them hungrily, tasting his fellow man; slicking his skin with the length of his tongue. Yet this was simply a prelude to the bliss as the rangers hands came down, he felt them on his abdomen the tightening on his thighs. Aragorn positioned himself there, pushing the warriors knees up and back; exposing the sight of his desire. The finger entered him with agonising slowness, pressing at the tight boundary to his body. Boromir could not hide the hiss at the tender intrusion to his sensitive flesh. Aragorn paused looking down at his kinsman with concerned eyes. “there will be no pain” he whispered “I will cause you no hurt. Do I stop?” “no, please, by the lady no.” Boromir begged his voice deep and breathy. With infinite care Aragorn slipped another finger inside, stretching, preparing the velvety flesh for what was to follow. Boromir arched against the movement, impaling himself deeper; desperate to draw his king in deeply. Greedy for the sensation, drowning out the pain. Again the ranger withdrew his touch, and again Boromir ached for the loss. “ready?” he asked, though the loss upon the warriors face told him all he needed to know. In a heartbeat Aragorn’s cock replaced his fingers, swollen head pressing at his entrance gaining entry, filling him, stretching until his flesh felt aflame. Boromir cried out, though his words meant nothing, Aragorn’s lips were on his kissing; his hands feverish on the length of his cock. “yonothing beyond the bliss, the last four days flashed before him. A strange tableau of emotion and image. And still nothing mattered. He was real again in Aragorn’s arms, found where he had been lost. Aching in each moment when manhood was withdrawn, flooded with relief as he felt his lover slam home again. This man was his king and he felt it as keenly as he felt his flesh within him. “whatever you ask of me” he gasped “it is yours” the words were terrifying in their intensity, his nerves ragged. “I ask nothing son of Gondor, except your allegiance in this moment” was the rangers answer. Boromir felt himself torn by the power of the ecstasy, and for the first time in many years his heart was both full and light. He had no care for the darkness, no care for the grief.. The men of Gondor were here together, strong in their coupling, Aragorn buried deep inside him, Boromir entwined about him with such depth that they could never be parted. “I am yours” he gasped “you have everything” and with that he let the bliss come, the climax eclipsing everything; carrying him away into the heady darkness. Aragorn’s thrusts intensified, rocking deeper into the tight silken confines of his lovers body. As Boromir came the confines of his flesh tightened about the rangers already desperate flesh. Gondor’s king watched his subject pass out beneath him, felt the intense heat of his seed splash against his abdomen; and gave in to the sensation. With a last shuddering gasp he filled the powerful warrior body with the sum of all his emotion. He placed a final kiss upon his lovers swollen lips, before collapsing sated upon the warriors trembling body. ~*~ In the moments after, all was stillness as both men waited for their nerves to desensitise enough to allow movement. “Do you feel ready to continue the quest?” Aragorn asked softly, planting a kiss on the warriors damp forehead. “I still sense darkness where I knew the future. Yet I will go on. If the men of Gondor stand together, then there may be hope yet” Aragorn smiled and clasped Boromir’s hand in his own. “there is always hope son of Gondor. We will live yet to be called home to the city of the white towers, and there we will be free to continue our comfort as steward and king” “that is a noble dream, but we must yet face the impending darkness and all the dangers it may present.” “That is true Boromir, but I promise you this. No sword shall touch you, unless it be mine.” ~*~ As Gondor’s sons slumbered in each others arms, held safe in the bowers of Lothlorien. A shinning vision watched from the branches above their resting place. “yes, hope still remains while the company is true”. And the sweet sound of Galadriels laughter rang out in the darkness. The End Any good? Let me know.