Title: Snowfall
By Keelywolfe (keelywolfe@aol.com)
Author's webpage: http://www.ravenswing.com/~keelywolfe/
Rating: NC-17   
Archive: Sure

Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir

Feedback: Always appreciated and answered. 

Summary: Written for the Snowsex challenge issued by Pluto. Just a 
ficlet, some snow, some sex, and some issues.

Disclaimer: The characters within this story belong to the estate of 
J.R.R. Tolkien. I am borrowing them without permission, but I will wash 
them off before I return them. No money is being made from this.

**

The fire was burning low in the early morning hour, hardly more than a 
glimmer of red coals in the darkness. Snow was still falling, a 
scattering of tiny flakes settling on the blanket-draped mounds that 
surrounded what was left of the fire. The largest mound was closest, a 
pile of Hobbits buried together with only tufts of hair visible. Next 
was Gandalf, and he too was buried in his blankets, his hat pulled low 
on his head to offer whatever protection it could. 

Furthest from the fire were the Men, who slept warily and with their 
swords close at hand. Or sometimes, like now, not at all. 

Still wrapped in a shell of blankets, Boromir was leaning against an 
outcropping of rock and trying very hard to remain silent, a difficult 
task with Aragorn beneath the blankets, doing things with his tongue 
that Boromir had never before imagined. 

Biting his own tongue, Boromir clutched at Aragorn's shoulder, 
resisting the urge to grab the back of his head and simply push him 
down, to force him to stop this merciless teasing. A soft flicker of 
tongue, of fingertips, over the crown of his shaft had him hissing for 
breath and he arched up hard, once, Aragorn riding out his movements 
easily before pressing him insistently back down. 

Such a wicked mouth, he thought hazily, incredibly hot, and he had been 
with courtesans who were not so skilled as this. His hands had found 
their way into Aragorn's hair, clenching tightly, and he forced himself 
to relax, petting gently instead. 

It was not uncommon for soldiers to seek a little relief in the arms of 
their comrades; indeed, Boromir had done it before a time or two. But 
that was hardly more than a rough hand slipped inside the other's 
breeches and a few minutes of earnest stroking, certainly nothing like 
this. He would have been appalled at the very suggestion of more... was 
it only a week ago?

This was not something he would have ever considered doing with one of 
the men of the guard, but Aragorn had proven to be very... 
persuasive... when he wanted something. And he did want this; that was 
obvious. Never did he ask for the favor to be returned, never had he 
insisted on more than the touch of Boromir's hand and yet Boromir was 
finding he was tempted...though perhaps not this morning. The Hobbits 
would be stirring soon, as would Gandalf, and Boromir would as soon 
they finish this before that rather than after. 

A single flake of snow fell on the tip of his nose and Boromir tried to 
shake it away, reluctant the release his hold on Aragorn. There was a 
heady power in this, in knowing exactly whom this was on his knees 
before him, sucking gently, and then stronger, varied pressure that had 
Boromir sweating even in this chill, struggling to remain silent.

Legolas was sitting across from them, far enough away to be little more 
than a shadow. The Elf did not sleep, Boromir knew, and it had taken 
him some time to grow accustomed to that. A creature that did not sleep 
seemed terribly unnatural to him; it had made him wary and falling 
asleep himself had been difficult, knowing he was being watched. After 
a time it had become almost a comfort, though certainly not at this 
moment. 

The sharp edge of teeth against his skin drew a muffled cry from 
Boromir even as Aragorn lapped softly at the abused skin, easing the 
tiny pain. It was too much, too close, need almost a pulse within him 
and Boromir could stand it no longer. 

"Please, do not draw it out," he whispered, uncaring whether Legolas 
heard him or not, and suddenly he knew why Aragorn enjoyed this so. Any 
power he had thought to have was only deception, an illusion of 
dominance; it was Aragorn who truly held the reins in this ride, and 
finally Boromir let go, gasping and pushing upward as he spent himself 
into Aragorn's greedy mouth. 

Aragorn's touch gentled, soothing him as he shook with the aftermath of 
release, and after a moment he shifted upward until he was straddling 
Boromir. Hardly visible in the dimness, but Boromir raised a hand to 
Aragorn's cheek regardless, finding his lips by touch alone. His own 
mouth followed the path of his fingertips and he met Aragorn's lips 
with his own, the taste hot and bitter against his own cold lips. He 
felt Aragorn smile and knew without sight that there was triumph within 
it. 

So he would master me like this, Boromir thought, already reaching for 
the ties of Aragorn's breeches. Or perhaps not, and it was not long 
before Aragorn was choking on tiny sounds of his own, eager and nearly 
too loud in the soft hush caused by the snow. 

-finis-