Title: A Touch in the Darkness 
Author: The fair one. Lottie_83uk@yahoo.co.uk 
Pairing(s): Boromir/Aragorn 
Rating: NC 17 
Summary: The long dark of Moria forces Boromir to reveal a long hidden 
fear.
Disclaimer: Obviously Tolkien’s, cirtainly not mine (tough god only 
knows i wish they were). I’m not making any money, and suing me would 
only result in the possession of some random lotr memorobilia and huge 
amounts on med student debts! 
Authors Note: For Mimi who is "a total sucker for submissive Boromir", 
hope you like this one.
A touch in the darkness

--*--

"Into this night I wander, it’s morning that I dread.
Another day of knowing of, the path I fear to tread.
Oh, into this sea of waking dreams I follow without pride.
For nothing stands between us here, & I won’t be denied.
And I would be the one to hold you down, kiss you so hard.
I’ll take your breath away.
And after I’d wipe away the tears, just close your eyes..........."
Possession (Sarah Mclachlan)
 
 
Aragorn shivered against the clammy darkness and looked about him. The 
pale light cast by Gandalf’s staff scarcely penetrated the terrible blackness 
of Moria’s depths, and coupled with the flickering glow from the fire it 
provided little comfort.

The dwarf and the wizard were already asleep and snoring softly. Legolas 
too appeared to be dozing, though with elves appearances were always 
deceptive, and he was too far away on the boundary of the light to be sure. 
the hobbits for their part were huddled miserably close to the fire. Aragorn 
could just hear the soft snuffles which betrayed Pippin’s weeping, and the 
soothing sounds Merry made in response.

That left only Boromir. The man of Gondor was hunched precariously 
close to the fires pitiful warmth, cloak drawn close around him; and head 
bowed so low only his tousled brown locks were truly visible. Aragorn 
studied the silent figure with interest; for Gondor’s son had fascinated him 
since their first meeting at Rivendell. Almost against his will the ranger 
sighed deeply, it seemed so long since they had all been at peace in that 
warm and safe place. yet even there, with no threat bearing down upon 
them Boromir’s strength and courage had been more than evident. 

Aragorn wondered at the mans nobility, the devotion to his people that had 
driven him to join the quest though his heart was so obviously in the 
defence of the white city. He personified hope for the race of men, a hope 
he thought had died when he himself had bowed beneath the fear of his 
tainted blood and turned from his destiny. Boromir he felt, would never 
have shied in the face of his duty; his stubborn pride had been all too 
evident at the council when he had smothered Legolas’s request that he 
must swear allegiance to his king. At this thought the ranger sighed again, 
what sort of man was he that he should demand respect from one such as 
Boromir? He shook himself, trying to order his thoughts; Gondor’s son 
was just a man, as he was. And yet he found so much to draw him.

As a warrior Boromir was beyond reproach; skilled with a sword and 
possessed of stamina to bathe any enemy force in blood. He had wit and 
cunning, yet also wisdom; a powerful and dangerous combination and 
truly worthy of one who would eventually command the armies of 
Gondor. Yet it was as a man that he fascinated Aragorn most. Physically 
so strong and well defined, his limbs long and clean. Muscled with an ease 
that made them lithe without appearing heavy. The skin of his body 
darkened by much riding outdoors, and the flesh of his large hands 
callused through wielding a sword. He wore the travel stiffened clothes as 
easily as though they were fine silks and furs, and in turn the leather and 
linen sat well upon his broad shoulders and hard thighs. But it was his 
eyes above all other features that obsessed Aragorn most. There was a 
tenderness in their rich brown depths that filled the ranger with an 
unaccountable longing and a hurt which spoke of some great pain buried 
deep in his warrior soul.

In short Boromir was a truly remarkable man; which is why it grieved 
Aragorn so, that since their departure from Rivendell no words had passed 
between them, save those which were necessary for the safety of the 
fellowship. On many occasions he had tried to engage his fellow man in 
speech, and on many occasions failed. Boromir becoming closed and wary 
when Aragorn approached. In a strange almost shameful way the ranger 
was jealous of the hobbits ease with the man. They, especially Pippin 
seemed able to raise that most rare of expressions, a smile on the warriors 
ruggedly handsome features. And in turn he bestowed upon them a deep 
affection, calling them ‘little ones’ and ruffling their curly hair.

Suddenly he was startled from his musing by a sensation of eyes upon 
him. Boromir had raised his head and was regarding him steadily by the 
fires fading light. For a moment the two men paused watching each other, 
then unnerved by the intensity of the gaze Aragorn averted his eyes.

"We should sleep" Boromir’s voice soft in the cavernous darkness. 

Aragorn nodded and turned towards the hobbits but found to his surprise 
that he’d been so long lost in his thoughts that they had already settled, all 
sound of Pippins weeping silenced.

"There is little point in keeping watch" Boromir pointed out, "the darkness 
is too deep, not even the elf could hope to detect anything until it was 
upon us. We had best to catch what sleep we may, while it is still ours to 
be had."

Again Aragorn nodded and watched in silence as Boromir huddled down 
against his bedroll and appeared to fall instantly into an uneasy sleep. 
Alone now in the company he laid out his blankets besides his fellow man, 
and laid down to rest.

-------------

He felt his hand, palm down firmly against the flesh between his 
shoulders. Aragorn felt it keenly through the thin fabric of his tunic. 
Boromir’s palm was damp, he felt the heat of his body as if in fever; and 
felt the movement throughout his sleeping frame. A shudder, 
imperceptible had they not been touching, yet deep as if it wracked the 
warriors flesh to the bone.

Unnerved he turned to face him, astounded by the fear and vulnerability in 
a man from whom he’d known only strength. Aragorn found he almost 
welcomed this new emotion, a way through Boromir’s stony exterior. 

Gondor’s son was strength personified, more liable to induce blood than 
tears. Now this station was reversed, the warrior become vulnerable, the 
hunter, hunted. The ranger struggled to make sense of the darkness, 
watching in fascinated horror as Boromir writhed before him moaning in 
his sleep. He was evidently dreaming, an event of some violence, or else 
that induced a deep fear in his fellow man. Aragorn knew he must comfort 
him. Slowly he reached out a hand in the darkness and sought to stroak the 
fevered brow. Boromir recoiled as if he’d been struck, whimpering, tears 
rising between his tightly lidded eyes. without second thought the ranger 
reached out with powerful arms and clasped his fellow man to his chest, 
seeking to calm the violence of his movements. for a moment more he 
struggled against his captor and then almost as quickly became very still. 

Aragorn waited, listening only to the beating of his own heart and the 
ragged breathing of the man in his arms. Only when this sound had stilled 
did he release him, drawing back so he may observe the warriors face. To 
his dismay he found Boromir awake, starring at him through eyes still 
glossy with tears.

"You were dreaming" he stammered softly, trying to offer some 
explanation as to why the man of Gondor had awoken in the arms of his 
reluctant king. Boromir turned from him, rolling onto his side in the 
blackness.

"I do not dream" he whispered shakily. Aragorn altered his position so that 
they were touching, his chest against Boromir’s back. He reached out a 
hand to rest upon the mans trembling shoulder, but was instantly shrugged 
off. With a gently sigh he withdrew the touch.

"It would seem that you do"

"No" Boromir repeated, suddenly rising, drawing his cloak about him 
stroad off into the darkness. Scrambling to his feet Aragorn hurried to 
follow him.

-----------------

Boromir would have been easy to track, even for one without Aragorn’s 
ranger skills. He had scarcely gone ten feet into an anti chamber adjoining 
their campsite when his footsteps began to falter. Aragorn could hear the 
warriors breathing loud and erratic in the darkness. Then the footsteps 
stopped abruptly, followed by a muffled thud as Boromir collapsed 
heavily onto the cold Cavan floor. The ranger did not rush to his side, 
instead he walked deliberately slowly; warning the warrior of his 
approach, giving him opportunity to react.

"Aragorn?" Boromir’s voice was trembling. Aragorn frowned softly.

"Yes" he answered coming down to kneel besides the other man. Boromir 
was huddled in an almost foetal ball, arms wrapped firmly around his 
knees and head tucked low. The ranger wrapped a strong arm protectively 
about his shuddering shoulders.

"Tell me of your dreams son of Gondor" he whispered gently, lips almost 
against the other mans ear.

"Was that an order?" Boromir asked his voice muffled by his knees.

"And by what right do I claim such a thing?" 

"The right of a king" the warrior answered simply, raising his head to 
regard the ranger. Aragorn felt the intensity of his gaze even in the almost 
total blackness.

"You are twice the king I should ever be Boromir. You serve to defend 
your people, and all the peoples of middle earth against the forces of 
Mordor. Whereas I, I forsake my heritage and my people. Fearful of my 
blood and my emotions. I claim to love an elven queen, but do I truly? Or 
else do I simply shy from my own people because I fear my own 
mortality?"

"I cannot believe you fear anything ranger" Boromir said, shifting in the 
darkness so they were face to face; Aragorn could feel the heat of his 
breath on his chilled flesh.

"Before tonight I would have said the same of you" Aragorn’s voice 
sounded strange to him, the closeness of the warriors body was almost 
intoxicating; he felt his cock begin to throb against the tight confines of 
his leather britches. Suddenly he wanted to know of the mans nightime 
terrors, wanted to feel a connection deeper then simple brotherhood.

"Tell me of your dreams" he asked again, his lips agonisingly close to 
Boromir’s. There was a lengthy pause, the silence heavy. Boromir felt the 
strength of the hand upon his arm, and shifted closer craving the contact 
with another body; the reassuring presence of anothers heat. Slowly he 
licked his lips and prepared to confide to his king that which he’d never 
told another soul.

"I am fearful of the darkness" he waited, expecting the laughter equal to 
the shame he felt; but it didn’t come.

"In such times as these such a fear does not seem so childish Boromir. 
Even I grow anxious of the impending darkness. Yet I feel there is some 
deeper cause for your pain, some event in the past from which you cannot 
run?" Emboldened by the emotional depth of their talk Aragorn reached 
out to draw his fellow man into his embrace, to his surprise Boromir came 
into them without complaint. With his fellow man pressed so close 
Aragorn began to comprehend the true nature of his fascination with 
Gondor’s son; he desired him. He could feel the strength of the mans flesh 
through his tunic, the ripple of every muscle as he shifted against his own. 
The throb of his pulse beneath the sun darkened skin, and as he began to 
speak the delicious rumble of his voice communicated through their 
touching bodies.

"When we were young my brother and I used to play in the cellars beneath 
the city of Gondor. In my youth the dark held no fear for me, Faramir and 
I would play at the day when Gondor would be under our rule; 
commanding the imaginary armies of the white city." he paused a quiet 
chuckle running through him. Aragorn smiled to hear it, finally receiving 
the intimacy he was so jealous of in the other members of the fellowship.

"But one day after much feasting on the victory of a battle my father came 
to our chambers." Aragorn felt the shudder in the other man and 
instinctively clasped him tighter.

"He was drunk, praising me; promising the day when the white city would 
be mine and mine alone. I could see Faramir in the corner, I shall never 
forget the expression on his face. When my father had gone I sought to 
appease my brother, but his rage would not be calmed easily. The next day 
while we were at play he lead me deeper into the cellars than we had ever 
ventured before" here he paused again the tremors practically wracking his 
warrior frame. "and there he left me, imprisoned behind several huge 
casks of finest Gondorian wine. I spent all night there in the darkness, 
listening the rats and feeling all manner of unseen creatures crawl upon 
my body. By the time my brother came to release me I was sobbing, I 
don’t believe he ever relieved his sense of guilt. Yet any time spent in the 
darkness since as always inspired the nightmares."

Aragorn sighed and gently stroked the side of the mans face, Boromir’s 
skin was surprisingly soft and hot beneath his fingertips. Then suddenly 
Boromir caught those fingers in his mouth, sucking them hard into the hot 
wet recess of his mouth. The ranger felt his reserve crumble, moving he 
caught the warrior beneath him; crushing the prostrate body beneath his 
own. Drawing a breath he swept down to capture the mans lips, questing 
at the boundary of his mouth demanding entry. Boromir submitted beneath 
his king, their tongues duelling; the slick flesh exploring the confines of 
the others mouth. Aragorn’s hands were about Boromir’s body, exploring, 
touching, revelling in every inch of the body beneath him. The linen of 
Boromir’s britches felt slick beneath his hands, and the evidence of the 
mans arousal showed plainly through. The ranger pressed his nose against 
the still clothed erection, revelling in the scent of his fellow mortal. Then 
he was kissing him again, hard, insistent, practically bruising the tender 
lips. Boromir’s hands were in his hair, drawing the man down upon him; 
grinding their arousal between two hot bodies. The tresses of Aragorn’s 
hair were surprisingly soft against his skin, but caught up with the dirt of 
many days travel which rubbed against his flesh. Far from being 
uncomfortable the sensation was all the more arousing. the form of 
Boromir’s body was perfect, it’s planes smooth and flowing, defined only 
by the curves and dips that characterised the warriors powerful frame. 

Aragorn fingers explored his chest through the fabric of his tunic, the 
mans nipples made hard by his caress, pressing against his palm. The 
rangers hands were beneath the fabric, fingers exploring, pushing it up so 
his lips had acsess to the flesh of his body. Boromir gasped as he butterfly 
kissed to his navel, his mouth barely brushing his skin. His fingertips 
quested at the waistband of his britches, the nails gently grazing, exploring 
the whisps of hair directing his touch downwards. With seemingly no 
effort he slipped the bindings of the leather, using both hands, palms 
outspread to open them fully. Boromir’s straining cock lept to attention, 
finally freeded of it’s confines. Aragorn looked up at him, and the warrior 
could just make out the glint of his eyes dark and glassy, his breath panted 
out between full welt lips. Then Boromir surrendered to the darkness as 
his king engulfed the head of his swollen cock. Aragorn wrapped his lips 
around the mans straining flesh, tasting the bitterness of the pearly drops 
leaking onto his tongue. Gondor’s son arched against him, thrusting his 
length deep into the welcoming recess of the smooth wet mouth. The 
rangers skills were exquisite, driving him insane in an instant; gasping in 
two. He was moaning, straining, craving the rough flesh that so readily 
devoured his own. Boromir struggled to catch the image of his king 
between his thighs, brand it upon his memory forever; but it was not to be. 
The darkness was too complete, shadows that would not yield the divine 
sight; and so he surrendered to the sensation. Aragorn seemed eveywhere. 

His lips light upon his tip, then the harsh rasp of throat on length; and the 
warrior was insane, all control spiralled as with one gasping breath the 
ranger took him fully. And with that incredibly moment he surrendered to 
the heat in his body and came, his king swallowing every delicate droplet. 
Boromir sighed, sated and breathless; the weight of the other man almost 
painful in it’s heat.

Then Aragorn was Against him again, the evidence of his arousal trapped 
and burning between their bodies, released almost effortlessly from the 
rangers britches.

"Still afraid of shadows son of Gondor?" the rangers voice was low, almost 
silky.

"You serve your people well" he answered, the words barley coming to his 
swollen lips.

There was silence a moment, an intensity through which Aragorn’s rough 
fingertips brushed his face; inflaming already sensitive nerves.

"I want to take you" The reluctant king of men was not asking permission, 
mearly informing his subject of what was to come.

Boromir gasped as strong wet fingers quested at the intimate entry of his 
body, pushing inside, stretching, stroking, filling him with such exquisite 
pain that it was almost breath taking. Then all too quickly the fingers were 
withdrawn, Boromir unable to prevent a sob escaping him at the loss. Yet 
the sobs were soon moans as Aragorn replaced the gentle fingers with his 
aching length. At first the pain was blinding, Boromir only vaguely aware 
of the rangers hand upon his face, reading emotion with his fingertips.

"I would not course pain" he gasped, giving the warrior opportunity to end 
it, take his king from his body; and ache for the loss forever.

"I am yours" Boromir answered, pressing his hips to meet Aragorn’s 
thrust. "I am your willing servant, as you are my king" They were rocking 
together now, Boromir meeting each thrust with renewed passion; driving 
Aragorn deeper. Mingling pain and pleasure until all were one.

"You would never be servant to any master" Aragorn sighed, clasping the 
fellow man hard against the muscle of his chest.

"Only to you" came he response. They were as one now, so entwined that 
Aragorn could scarcely determine where his own flesh ended and his 
lovers began. Gondor’s son was inflaming, with every thrust into the hot, 
tight recess of the others body Isildur’s heir knew it would end all too 
soon. With a wordless cry he let the heat come, filling the deliciously 
warm flesh, with his own impatient seed. Just as he lapsed into blissful 

unconsciousness he felt the dampness against his abdomen, evidence of 
his powerful lovers second blissful climax.

______

What seemed like ages later Aragorn released his sated lover from the 
pressure of his weigh. Rolling he took him in his arms, drawing their 
cloaks about them, suddenly very aware of the clammy cold of the mines. 

Boromir was trembling, his flesh too excused to maintain it’s stillness. 

The ranger clasped him still tighter, and though he could not see the mans 
face in the darkness, bent to kiss the damp locks at Boromir’s temple. 

Pressing his lips against a receptive ear, Aragorn began to whisper; words 
that Boromir would recall with startling clarity until his dying day.

"I promise you. That as long as it remains within my power, you shall 
never go into the darkness alone."

__*__

End
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