Title: On the March Author: Emma Keigh E-mail: emmakeigh@ithilas.com Rating: NC-17 Characters: Boromir, Legolas Pairings: Boromir/Legolas Category: PWP, first time Status: New, complete Date: 27 March 2004 Archive: The Library of Moria and where posted; elsewhere please ask first Series: refers to events in “A Wedding Gift” Website: http://www.ithilas.com/chezemma Summary: Boromir and Legolas become acquainted in the early days of the Fellowship. Disclaimer: The characters and melieux from The Lord of the RIngs are the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema (AOL). I only play with them from time to time for my own amusement and without compensation. No harm; no foul; no profit. Anything or anyone new, however, is mine (left-overs again!). Feedback will be cherished. Warning: This story contains explicit scenes of sex between consenting adult males of different species. If you are under age or don't care for this, LEAVE NOW. Beta-read by Nikki Memmott. Thanks, merci beaucoup, tapadh leibh, gracias, danke, grazie, spazebo, arigato, obrigado. *italics* **bold** ON THE MARCH a Boromir/Legolas story **Eriador, 3019 of the Third Age.** “My brother is an archer, too.” Legolas looked up from his task of refletching several of his stock of arrows. Though he still had a plentiful supply, he always repaired arrows immediately, lest they be needed and not ready. He made two more turns with the fine thread that held the feathers to the shaft, knotted it and bit off the end, then laid the arrow aside. “But you don’t carry a bow, Lord Boromir,” he commented. He still barely knew the Gondorian captain, and felt it best to speak formally. The two had bandied words at Elrond’s council, but had kept to themselves in the intervening weeks while preparations were made for their journey. Though Mithrandir had vouched for the man’s integrity, the Elf prince still wondered at the strength of his character. He had no doubt the sturdily- built man could and would help defend and protect the ringbearer, but would be able to withstand the constant call of the Ring and of Sauron himself? “No,” Boromir answered, and crouched low to be on eye level with the Elf. “I always preferred to do my fighting in close.” “You do not hunt, then?” Legolas carefully sorted his undamaged arrows from the newly repaired shafts and replaced them in his quiver. He and Aragorn had been keeping the company in meat so far; a third hunter would be an advantage as the journey continued. “I am not as skilled in woodcraft as Aragorn,” Boromir admitted. “But I manage.” “I have no doubt,” the Elf responded politely. He had never looked closely at the Man from Gondor before, and only now realized that his eyes were the color of jade, not blue as Aragorn’s, nor brown as the Dwarf’s. He was fair-skinned, too, if you discounted the dirt and grime accumulated over the fortnight they’d spent in the wild. What truly interested the Elf, though, was the solid bulk of the Man’s body -- broader by far than any Elf, broader even then the few men, Aragorn included, that Legolas knew. With a quick glance his eyes took in the rest of Boromir’s form, knees spread apart as he balanced on his toes, elbows on his thighs, and a glimpse of fabric stretched tightly across an intriguingly rounded crotch. “Please,” he said invitingly, “sit down. We have walked far today; you must be weary.” He moved his quiver to his left, leaving no obstacles between them. He watched as Boromir shifted his weight, first leaning forward, his knees still bent, then turning his body to rest on one hip on the hard-packed earth. He straightened his legs out and leaned back on his elbow. This was the first time Legolas had found himself alone with Boromir. The Wizard and the Ranger were off scouting the route for the next day’s march, the Halflings were busy cooking an evening meal for the Company, and the Dwarf had wandered off in search of firewood muttering something about food for his axe. “I have lived all my life in the White City,” Boromir explained. “Hunting was never more than recreation for us.” He picked at the sparse grass that still grew in the dead of winter, then twisted his head around to look at the Elf again. “Have you ever been to Minas Tirith?” “Once,” Legolas answered, “long ago I represented my father at a wedding.” He thought for a moment, then went on. “I believe it was your parents who were wed.” “You hardly look old enough to have been there; it was over forty years ago.” A rosy blush colored the golden skin of the Elf’s cheeks. “You are not so old,” he commented. Feeling bold, he reached to touch the Man’s hair. “I see no grey in your hair.” He let his fingers linger, then trailed across Boromir’s cheek. “No lines on your face.” He looked steadily into the green eyes and continued, “Nor dimness in your eyes. His hand was captured in Boromir’s, and his fingertips drawn to the man’s lips. “I have heard tales of your kind,” he said after brushing a kiss across the pads of the long fingers, “that you lay with one another without regard to gender.” Elven sexuality must be a constant source of rumor and gossip in Gondor, Legolas mused before answering. “Some prefer one sex over the other; some are less discriminating.” He could smell the Man’s earthy scent, and felt his own body respond. “And... and which are you?” Boromir’s voice was husky and low, catching in his throat. Leaning forward, Legolas cupped the Man’s unshaven jaw in his hand, then brushed a soft kiss across the Man’s lips. “I lie with males,” he said unabashedly, his gaze holding steady with Boromir’s. The green eyes widened at his words, the dark centers dilating. Legolas knew that was a sure sign of arousal, as if the sudden wave of musk that filled the air around them was not enough of a signal. He breathed deeply, drinking in the aphrodisiac aroma, and pressed another kiss to the waiting lips. This, though, was no tentative, inviting kiss; it was a deep, probing exploration of the Man’s mouth as the Elf thrust his tongue past the slightly parted lips. He pushed forward, rolling Boromir to his back on the ground, pinning him with his slightly built but strong body. Legolas was half afraid Boromir would push him away, but instead the Man wrapped his arms around the Elf’s torso, returning the kiss with an urgency that surprised him. “I hoped that would be your answer.” Boromir rolled back to his side, still holding Legolas to him, then pushed himself up on his elbows to hover over the Elf, his chest heaving in deep, panting breaths. Legolas snaked a hand between their bodies and cupped the growing bulge in Boromir’s trousers. He felt the hardening flesh through the garment, then squeezed lightly, and Boromir gasped. “Lie with me, Lord Boromir,” the Elf invited. “Let us find a more private spot and share the night.” “The others...” Boromir began. “... are not invited,” Legolas finished. Effortlessly he rose to his feet, and extended a hand to Boromir. “There is a hot spring in the glen the other side of those woods,” he said, indicating a nearby copse of trees with a tilt of his head. “The others will believe I asked you to keep watch while I bathed.” Taking the Elf’s hand, Boromir stood, and brushed the grass and dust from his clothes. “Come, my friend,” Legolas encouraged him, and they set off for the nearby glen and the privacy it afforded. The glen Legolas led Boromir to was little more than a clearing in the trees with a small pond at one end. Water bubbled up from underground, warmer than the air, for a thin cloud of steam hung over the clear water. A slight smell of sulfur came from the water, but the odor dissipated quickly in the gentle breeze. The Elf spread his cloak at the base of an ancient oak tree and bid Boromir join him. The sun was setting as they settled on the ground, leaving them in the gloaming of the day. Boromir gazed to the west as the sun lowered, and sighed as it slid beneath the horizon. “You are sad?” Legolas asked. The more he learned of this Man of the South, the less he understood. He was so different from Aragorn or the other Rangers Legolas knew, and he yearned to learn more of him and his ways. “It’s as though the loss of the sun’s light casts a shadow on my heart,” he answered, then turned to look intently into the Elf’s indigo eyes. “But you are a beacon of light in the darkness, and I am drawn to you.” Legolas held out his arms and welcomed Boromir into his embrace. He pressed a kiss to the broad forehead and stroked the loose-hanging strands of hair. “Then I shall be yours for the night, Lord Boromir. Whatever you wish of me, you have only to ask.” The Man’s large hand, calloused by years of sword practice, stroked the Elf’s smooth cheek, a long, lingering caress along the jawline. He tilted his head to bring their lips together, and moaned when Legolas opened to him, drawing in his tongue, melting against his larger form. Guiding Boromir’s hands to the clasps of his tunic, Legolas encouraged the Man to undress him. One by one Boromir unfastened the metal hooks that held closed the grey -- or was it silver? -- tunic down the front of the Elf’s body. Each opened clasp revealed another hand’s breadth of smooth, perfect skin, the chest marked only by the twin circles of rosy nipples set over well-developed pectoral muscles. With the tunic hanging open, Boromir ran the flats of both hands over the strong shoulders, pushing the silken garment to fall from the Elf’s body. “I have never seen anyone so beautiful,” the Man muttered under his breath. “You are perfect.” “I am only an Elf,” Legolas replied simply. He ran his fingers through Boromir’s beard and down to the fastenings of the Man’s clothes. “I find our differences exciting,” he said, wondering if the coarse hair on the Man’s face extended to his body. Methodically he removed the Gondorian clothing layer by layer until Boromir was bared from the waist up. He leaned in for another kiss, flowing into the Man’s arms, molding himself against the broad chest with its covering of fine, sandy hair. They sank to the ground, lying in each other’s arms, as the kiss continued, moving from a soft, inviting caress to a deep, passionate joining. They tasted one another, tongues sliding back and forth from one mouth to the other, their hands learning textures unfamiliar to each of them. Legolas lay back, his breath deep and fast. “What shall be your pleasure, my Lord Boromir?” His tongue darted to lick his lips, swollen and reddened, his eyes dark with desire. Boromir seemed unsure, hesitant, though he, too, was gasping for breath, his chest heaving. His gaze raked over the Elf’s form, and he lightly ran his fingertips over the smooth chest and ribs. He cupped the curve of a hip, still covered with snug leggings, and trailed his hand down a long, lean thigh. “I would make you mine,” he said, his voice husky and low. “Then I shall be yours,” Legolas confirmed, drawing Boromir back to his mouth for another searing kiss. The tightness in his leggings grew into an uncomfortable constriction, and he raised his hips to press his arousal against Boromir’s body. The Man’s large fingers pulled at the laces of Legolas’s leggings, miraculously avoiding knotting them further. Once loosened, the Elf’s remaining garment was quickly pushed away, releasing his sex, revealing his full form to Boromir for the first time. Boromir hurriedly pushed himself away from Legolas, pulling his belt loose and shoving away his trousers, freeing his own erection. His gaze immediately drawn to the Man’s groin, Legolas nearly gasped at his first sight of Boromir’s organ. It was far thicker and longer than he expected, rising from a nest of golden brown curls. A drop of pearly fluid collected at the dark slit in the mushroom-shaped crown, enticing the Elf’s attentions. As he shifted position to bring his mouth closer to the Man’s groin, he said, “Tell me if this does not please you.” Without waiting for a response, he caught the swelling droplet on his tongue and reverently kissed the velvety skin before taking the throbbing organ into his mouth. The Man’s flavor was much like his scent, earthy and sweet, the taste and aroma of musk becoming stronger as he slid his lips down the shaft, letting the sensitive crown fill his throat. A low moan was the only audible response from Boromir, but he threaded his fingers into the fine blond hair, holding the Elf’s head in place while he thrust forward with his hips. Legolas took all of him, his tongue lapping over the large vein on the underside of the shaft. He felt Boromir’s pulse quicken, and eased back before the Man lost all control. “We need not hurry so,” he said, releasing the straining erection. He lay back again, offering himself once more. Boromir kicked his feet free of his trousers and stretched his nude body alongside Legolas. His hands roved over the Elf’s flesh, from shoulder to hip, tweaking nipples into hardened nubs, finding a ticklish spot under the ribs. He watched Legolas respond, smiling as the Elf writhed and bucked under his hands. Finally he wrapped one hand around the base of the swollen shaft, sliding his fist up and down the column of hard flesh, fondling the heavy glands in their soft-skinned sac. Legolas lost all sense of time -- all that existed was the circle of Boromir’s hand pumping his organ, and the incessant fondling, both gentle and rough at the same time as his gonads were gently squeezed then caressed by the Man’s large, strong hand. He felt the beginning of his completion, a tightening deep in his groin, and he let the waves of pleasure wash over him. His hands gripped the cloak beneath them as suddenly every muscle in his body tensed, and his seed poured forth. “I would take you now,” Boromir said, his voice nearly a growl. Still gasping for breath, Legolas pulled his knees to his chest, presenting his most intimate entrance to the Man. His fingers slickened with the Elf’s seed, Boromir slid one finger past the guarding sphincter, then another, stretching the opening. With his other hand he covered his turgid member with the thick fluid, then positioned himself between the Elf’s lean thighs. Their eyes met as the tip of Boromir’s organ first touched the readied portal. “I am yours, Lord Boromir,” Legolas reiterated, then cried out as the thick phallus broached him. Though some would call it pain, Legolas perceived the sensations as pleasure, for he knew well the ecstasy that would follow. Slowly, Boromir pushed deeply into the Elf’s body, the hot, tight channel welcoming him. Once sheathed to the hilt, he pulled back and thrust again, each time brushing past the hidden gland, each thrust sending another wave of searing pleasure through the Elf’s entire body. Legolas begged Boromir to move faster and harder, but the only words he could utter were in Elvish, meaningless sounds to the Man. Releasing his hold on his knees, the Elf wrapped his long legs around Boromir’s body, and together they moved to a powerful climax. Though the sun had set, the moon and stars lit the night, and it was under their silvery glow that the Man and the Elf lay in each other’s arms. Once the moon had passed its zenith, Legolas roused Boromir from his slumber with soft, gentle kisses. Wordlessly they bathed each other in the spring, then dressed and returned to the camp. The other members of the Fellowship slept soundly, save for Aragorn, who sat upon a rocky outcropping, keeping watch. He acknowledged the return of the Elf and the Gondorian, then turned back to his duty. THE END Notes: 1] This story refers to events in “A Wedding Gift” which can be read at http://www.ithilas.com/chezemma/lotr/fqf/gift.html. 2] J.R.R. Tolkien is god; Peter Jackson is his prophet. © 2004 Emma Keigh 2,535 words 6 On the March-read.doc Last printed 3/16/2004 2:18 AM