~~~
‘Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve.
Ask not of me where he doth dwell-so many bones there lie
On the white shores and dark shores under the stormy sky;"
~ Legolas’ lament for Boromir in The Two Towers
~
"So it is true.."
With those few words from Boromir of Gondor, my fate was sealed. He talked of how the Ring could be used to defeat Mordor, and then he was derisive of Aragorn when Aragorn said, "You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."
He laughed that irritating, superior laugh and answered, "And what would a ranger know of this matter?"
I sprang up from my seat, furious at this crude human. "This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."
I wanted to kill him so bad at that moment.
He smirked at that. "Aragorn? This... is Isildur's heir?"
And I rose to his baiting. "And heir to the throne of Gondor."
Aragorn bade me sit. Things got way out of hand then with me and the dwarves and that Man shouting at each other. Finally, the little halfling, Frodo Baggins, spoke up and said he would take the Ring to Mordor. Elrond smiled and Gandalf said he would help young Baggins. Aragorn pledged his sword; I, my bow; and Gimli, his axe. Then that stupid man said if this is what the council decided, he would see it done. See it done indeed! As if none of us could do this without him. I just glared. The halfling’s little friends somehow managed to attach themselves to us too.
I hated him. He was a brute. I hated him so much.
In almost three thousand years, I had never felt so undone by anyone. My heart pounded in my chest, my face was flushed, I was breathless, and the ache in my groin was unbelievable. Especially to me. He was despicable.
Yet, no elf had ever made me ache to taste, to see and touch naked skin, to give myself. This man did though. He made me want… everything. I didn’t know what to do. His green eyes followed me even when he was out of my sight. At Elrond’s table, I felt his eyes on me. I refused to look at him. Infernal Man! I went to my room as soon as I could leave the table without being noticed.
He must have followed me. He banged on my door not ten minutes after I arrived in my room.
"Elf! Let me in! I want to talk to you."
I opened the door. He pushed his way inside.
"Who do you think YOU are?" he demanded, standing so close I could smell his body.
I stood up tall, mustering all my elven haughtiness. "I am Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil."
"You look like the Ranger’s little elf to me."
"You are a fool, Boromir of Gondor. I am no one’s ‘little elf.’" I shoved him out my door and barred it to him.
I was too restless to sleep that night so I stood, looking out at the beautiful home of Elrond. I tried to calm myself, tried to think of beauty. All I could think of was green eyes and his scent, the scent of sweat and smoke and virility. I cursed myself for a fool. I got up and unlocked the door. I stepped out into the hallway. I didn’t see him anywhere. I went back into my room and closed the door, but I made sure that it wasn’t bolted this time.
I sat on the bed and waited. He came back through the door like a storm. His eyes were blazing as he stopped and looked at me. I stood. He took a step then hesitated. I didn’t. I grabbed him and pulled him into my arms, kissing him, forcing my tongue into his mouth, grinding my arousal against his. He pulled back from the kiss and inhaled sharply.
"What the …? Do you think that is what I want?" He had the nerve to act surprised. I just kissed him again and began to work the fastenings on his clothes. I had his breeches down in minutes, his cock free. I took it into my hand and handled him roughly. He opened his mouth to protest, but the sound died in his throat as I slid to my knees.
His scent was almost overpowering, assaulting me as I slid my mouth over him. I wanted to roll in it like an animal, to mark myself with him. He looked down at me. His face was a study in lust. Pure and simple lust. I sucked him fast and hard, running my hand up and down him in rhythm with my mouth. He put his hands in my hair, pulling my head closer, fucking my mouth. He made sounds, sounds that made my insides quiver and fire burn my skin. I was so hard that I felt like I was going to explode right there. Instead he did, screaming my name as his semen hit the back of my throat and filled my mouth. I swallowed and swallowed, eagerly and hungrily. I felt his knees begin to buckle and reached for his hands to steady him. When he was spent, I stood and backed him toward my bed. His leggings were around his knees so he was awkward. I pushed him onto the bed and yanked the leggings off.
I unfastened my own leggings and slid them off, along with my tunic. My hands were shaking so hard that the small buttons were hard to manage. And his stare didn’t help things. He looked at me with a mixture of lust and rage. And maybe a bit of fear that he was trying to hide from me.
I reached into my pack and found a vial of sweet oil. His eyes widened when he saw it. I could have comforted him and said I wouldn’t hurt him, but I knew that I was going to hurt him and I knew he would only be angry if I said it, so I just poured some oil into my hand and lifted his legs up so I could rub it on him and inside him. He gasped but never said a word. I rubbed some on myself too. A soft moan escaped my mouth as my slick, warm hand stroked the oil on. My eyes never left him as I moved into position to enter him. I replaced my fingers with the head of my cock.
He was tight, tighter than anyone I’d ever had. I went slowly, in small gentle movements at first.. He didn’t say anything, just watched me, his eyes never leaving mine. When I was sheathed inside him, I slid my hand down to touch him. He was hard again, and I took him in my oil slick hand as I began to move in and out of him. I did not move gently then. I couldn’t. He was quiet except for the grunts as I thrust hard into him. I wanted to lose myself in him. I wanted to please him, and at the same time, to hurt him. I was finally slamming into him hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. He didn’t acknowledge them, but they were there nonetheless.
I came inside him and at the same time, he came in my hand and on his belly. I shouted his name, collapsing onto him. I moved down his body, cleaning his semen from my hand and from his belly and his cock with my tongue. He watched wordlessly. He turned his head away when I started to kiss him. I kissed his face instead. He pushed me away and got up, retrieving his clothing from the floor. I watched him, confused.
"Elf, I didn’t—I—this is not---." He moved back to where I sat on the bed and stood in front of me. He put a hand on my face. His hand was rough, a warrior’s hand, like my own. I kissed his palm and looked up into those green eyes, willing him to understand.
"This is what it is, Boromir. I ask nothing from you. You have pleased me more than anyone in a long time, and I hope I have given you some pleasure also." I stood and pulled him into my arms again, kissing him as hungrily as if we had not yet loved each other. We spent the night in my bed, hands and mouths exploring, learning. He was sweet and greedy, and both of us were exhausted before the night was over.
He left before the morning light.
We spent the next several months in Rivendell. We spent many nights together. He always submitted himself to my pleasure, trusting me to see that he too was satisfied. I did not let him down. I lived for his rare smiles and even rarer endearments. I found that my time with him was the only time that mattered to me.
**
Boromir and I were close throughout the journey. He kept himself aloof from me during the days, but he came to me at night. He was too proud for the others to know. And I don’t think he ever loved me. But I loved him. I loved him like I did no other, this smelly, crude human. I loved him so much that when he died, I could not tell him good-bye. When we put him in the boat, I took the golden buckle from my quiver and fastened it to his cloak. I may as well have put my heart with him.
‘Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve.
Ask not of me where he doth dwell-so many bones there lie
On the white shores and dark shores under the stormy sky;’
I do miss him so.
~end~
