moldava: (Boromir_tongue by Elvenfair)
[personal profile] moldava
Vacation is good, vacation means I've managed to finish a ficlet I've been dragging along for ages.

Here it is with my best belated wishes for a wonderful 2007 *huggles all around*




Title: Tension
Author: [livejournal.com profile] moldava
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: R-ish
Disclaimer: they're not mine, regretfully
Archive: Rugbytackling


"You have a lot of tension loaded on your shoulders, warrior of Gondor," Aragorn murmurs, his voice a low whisper that has Boromir steeling himself to keep from leaning closer, close enough for the whispering lips to brush his ear. The ranger's half-gloved hand rests lightly on the Gondorian's shoulder, but he keenly feels its weight, and its insinuating warmth. "What are you planning to do about it, warrior of Gondor? Lifting that heavy sword of yours when your muscles are so tense might cause.. damage.."

"You are what is causing most of that tension, ranger. So what are you planning to do about it?" Boromir growls, the admission out before he can stop himself.

Silence hangs, thick and enveloping, filled with anticipation. Boromir can almost hear his heartbeat, racing as the silence lengthens, then stopping. Stopping when callused fingertips brush away his hair and hot lips touch his nape. A warm wet tongue starts tracing the knotted muscles in his shoulders and he bites his lip.

"Does this help?" Aragorn murmurs, the movement of his beard-lined lips sending shivers down Boromir's spine and making his nipples tighten.

"Maybe..." Boromir concedes reluctantly, grateful for the fact that the ranger cannot see his face right now.

"Good, that means your sword will strike true and strong tomorrow, because I know what needs to be done to ease that tension.." the ranger whispers as the tip of his tongue follows the line of Boromir's shoulderblade.

"What?" Boromir asks harshly, unable to resist hearing Aragorn's intentions spelled out in that soft, wicked whisper that seems to insinuate itself in every nerve of his body.

"I will use my tongue on you. Everywhere.."

"Everywhere? That can't be, you cannot mean everywhere," Boromir scoffs, the challenge in his words masking a hint of scared fascination.

"Everywhere..." Aragorn repeats, his whisper filled with promise.

***

Boromir's teeth sink into the flesh of his hand, but he knows that the ranger is somehow aware that he's doing this. And he knows that the sharp pain of the bite is not enough to hold back the sounds he's making. He can feel the ranger's lips curling in a smile, then his tongue is there again, thrusting inside him.

Nothing in his life has prepared him for this, has ever felt like this. The way the tongue breaches him and moves inside him is giving him excruciating pleasure. But, at the same time, makes him feel desperately empty, hungry for a different kind of invasion, for a fullness that is unknown to him. Yet.

His own voice sounds alien to him when he speaks, sounding as if it belongs to someone else, someone he has only just found.

"That tension you were talking about... it's getting worse, ranger... this is not helping tame it..." he whispers, whimpering when his words cause the exploring tongue to withdraw.

"It has to get worse before it can get better," the ranger murmurs, his breath hot on the damp skin of Boromir's cleft. "It must build until it cannot get any higher. Then, only then, will it reach its peak and release you.."

In the flickering light of the fire Boromir stares at the red half-moon his teeth have marked into his hand. He licks some seeping blood. It tastes coppery and sweetish, it tastes like giving in to something you have long wanted and long denied yourself.

Slowly he turns his head and locks eyes with the ranger.

"Take me there," he whispers.

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