Title & Chapter Number: Everholt 1-3/?
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: Dalo's Archive
Fandom: Middle Earth
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Characters not mine. I'm just a guy who loves guys loving guys, filling in some gaps, with all due respect to Tolkien.
Warnings: Slash (duh), Angst. Homosexual relationships and acts. Nothing kinky, but definitely down and dirty at times (we're talkin' NC-17, folks). You gotta problem wit dat? Here's a tip: DON'T READ IT!!!
Betas: Elfscribe (Luv ya!)
Cast: Boromir/Théodred
Timeline: Third Age
Spoilers: None
Summary: Radagast takes it upon himself to heal Boromir's broken heart by encouraging the Gondorian to take a trip down memory lane.
Notes: This fic is part of the same story arc which began with "The Hand of the King," my first fic, and will continue with "The Heart of the King."
Chapter 1 – Lothlórien
I am called Radagast, the Brown, of the Istari. The road that led me to Boromir of Gondor was an odd and convoluted one, and not entirely relevant to the issue at hand. However, in an effort to set the scene appropriately, please accept these words as introduction.
My story began in late January of the year 3019, Third Age. The Fellowship had taken refuge in Lothlórien after the disastrous loss of Gandalf in Moria. I had been summoned by Celeborn to investigate a human's potential threat to the unfolding of Aragorn's destiny. Legolas of Mirkwood had warned the High Elf that Boromir might have less than noble intentions regarding the ranger who would be king.
Upon arrival, I gently touched Boromir's thoughts as he slept, unwilling to probe deeper without his permission. This cursory glimpse concerned me greatly, and I recruited Legolas in a mission to intervene in the plans of the Gondorian to have his way with Aragorn. I had not seen or heard anything specific to confirm suspicions that this was indeed his intent, but Celeborn and I agreed to err on the side of caution.
We arrived in a remote clearing on the western bank of the Anduin as Boromir lost himself in a moment of transcendent grief. I chose to appear to him as a strong and vital young man with long, flowing blond hair, as I had seen this image very clearly in Boromir's mind. I saw this man standing over Boromir, who was on his back on the ground. The stranger stood legs apart, with both hands on his hips, a salacious grin on his lips. Torchlight flickered across his tanned body, glinting off the sweat which clung to the hair on his muscled torso and arms. He spoke to Boromir, and I heard his deep, commanding voice saying, "If you feel the need to make excuses, Gondor, don't let me stop you." I could sense this was an actual memory and could feel Boromir's strong affection and desire for this man. So I assumed his form in hopes of receiving a friendly welcome.
I paused just outside of the clearing for a moment to remove my robes, and observed Boromir as he attacked the obviously confused ranger.
"Why do you turn from me?" Boromir demanded, straddling Aragorn's torso and pinning the man's arms above his head. "Was it something I said? Something I did? Why did you stop loving me?" he howled into the ranger's face.
"What are you raving about, Boromir?" asked Aragorn, struggling against the larger man's grasp. The Gondorian released Aragorn's wrists and grabbed the ranger's collar with both fists, hauling the man's upper body off the ground.
"Why did you not return to Everholt?" implored Boromir, holding Aragorn's face inches from his own.
"Boromir, I tell you I do not know what you're talking about," insisted Aragorn, attempting to push the man away. "It's me! It's Aragorn!"
This appeared to have some sort of effect on Boromir. He released Aragorn to drop back to the ground and looked down at the ranger with an expression of horror on his face.
I stepped into the clearing and spoke in the voice from his dream. "GONDOR!" I called.
Boromir's head snapped up and over to me. He tilted his head to one side quizzically, then shook his head as if to clear his vision.
"Gondor," I said sadly. "What are you doing?"
Boromir's eyes widened in apparent shock and obvious longing.
"Rohan?" asked the Gondorian in a voice strained with tentative hope. I opened my arms in invitation. Boromir rose to his feet and began to stumble towards me. "Rohan? Is it really you?" he asked incredulously, falling into my embrace. "I can't believe you're here!"
"Yes, Gondor," I replied quietly. "I'm here." I motioned to Legolas and watched the elf run to the aid of the stunned Aragorn. They both disappeared over the embankment, and I soon heard Gwaihir take flight, spiriting them away to their own private communion.
Boromir and I knelt on the ground as he embraced me tightly. I could not tell whether his tears were from grief or joy or both. I simply held him as he succumbed to his emotions.
After a time, I lifted the man into my arms and carried him to the blanket on the ground by the campfire where I knelt and deposited him against the trunk of a tree. He sat back and drew his forearm across his face, wiping the tears that still flowed, though not quite so heavily as before.
I noticed the empty wine bottles and immediately recognized the role that alcohol had played in this drama. Celeborn had warned me that Boromir had procured several bottles of wine. Fortunately, I had prepared for this eventuality. I moved to retrieve my robes, but Boromir grabbed my arm and stopped me.
"Where are you going?" he asked, fear returning to his eyes.
"I'm going to bring you something to help you feel better," I reassured him.
He answered with a small smile. "Did you bring a bottle of "Meril's Mysteries?" he asked.
I had heard of this vintage, a deliciously potent wine created by a small winery outside Esgaroth. It was rumored that the woman who ran the winery studied under the tutelage the elves of Mirkwood.
"No, Gondor," I replied. "Something better. I won't be a moment." Boromir relaxed a bit and allowed me to remove his hand from my arm. I moved to where I had disrobed and rummaged through the pockets until I found the crystal flask I sought. Quickly returning to Boromir, I offered it to him. "Here. Drink this."
He reached out and took the flask, holding it up to the firelight to examine the clear orange contents. "What is it?" he asked.
"It will help you relax," I told him.
He did not hesitate, but opened the flask and drank half the contents in several large gulps. Smacking his lips appreciatively, he took a deep breath and finished the elixir. He looked at me apologetically and said, "I'm sorry. Did you want some of that?"
I smiled and shook my head. "No, Gondor. That was all for you." He returned my smile and I was finding myself drawn to the genuine warmth of this misunderstood man's tortured heart. I had been told that Boromir was a brutish fellow, with an abrasive demeanor. But this was not an accurate description of the man sitting before me. What had happened to cause Boromir to hide behind such a fierce façade?
I sat on the blanket next to him. He reached over and pulled me to him, kissing me on the cheek, and then released me. "I still can't believe you're here," he said. "What brings you to Lothlórien?"
"To be honest, I don't know. Or, more to the point, I don't remember."
"You don't remember? What does that mean?"
"It means I seem to be having difficulties with my recall of many things. For example, I know you. But I don't know *how* I know you. I can't remember meeting you before, but I know that you and I are friends."
"Yes," he said, a confused expression on his face. "Very good friends. But you don't remember how we met?"
"No."
"Or how you came to Lothlórien tonight?"
"No."
"Very peculiar," he mused.
"You sound as if you do not believe me, Gondor."
"Well, it's not as if you've never given me reason to doubt your word, Rohan."
"I've lied to you before?" I asked.
"You don't remember any of it, do you?" He was slowly beginning to accept my elaborate, though well intentioned, ruse.
"Regretfully, no."
"I envy you, in a way," he said, "for our relationship was something that, no matter how hard I tried, I was unable to forget."
I turned and looked into his surprisingly warm grey eyes, wanting more than ever to help this poor soul to find some peace. Surely the man's tragic past afforded some traces of love and happiness. I was determined to help him rediscover them.
"Tell me, Gondor," I asked.
"Tell you what?"
"Tell me our story. How did we meet? Who were we to each other? What happened to us? What did I do to bring you such pain and distrust? Tell me everything."
He looked at me as if he were being asked to walk into the Balrog's lair. "You do not know what you ask, Rohan."
I placed my hand on his shoulder. "Please?" I implored. "This is very important."
He moved to sit facing me on the blanket. "In truth, our relationship began years before we met, although I did not know it at the time."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I discovered my brother, Faramir, in a stable loft with a young groomsman from Edoras. They were in a `compromising' position."
"What did you do?"
"I had the Rohir expelled from the city."
"Why did you do that?"
"Because I was afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
Boromir sighed. "As I observed them in the throes of passion, I became aroused."
He paused, apparently lost in a memory. But then he continued.
"For years I remained strident in my belief that the occurrence meant nothing. But the face of the young Rohan continued to haunt me. And then my father sent me on an ambassadorial mission to Firienwood, which bridged Gondor and Rohan. I was to meet King Théoden's ambassador to discuss the growing shadow of Mordor."
Wind blew through the branches and fanned the campfire, causing it to rise and dance, tonguing the branches high above. With an inconspicuous wave of my hand, I calmed the fire, returning it to a soft, warm glow.
"If I would have known what awaited me in that forest, I would have sent another in my stead," Boromir said.
"I don't believe you," I replied, not entirely sure why.
Boromir looked up at me and then gave a sad smile. "You know me too well, Rohan. Of course I would have come. I would not trade our love for life itself."
The more Boromir spoke of his love, the more I wished to hear of it. "Please go on, Gondor. Tell me of our first meeting," I implored.
After a moment, he seemed to resolve whatever internal struggle he fought and dropped his head. "Very well." He took a deep breath and continued. "It all began one summer, fifteen years ago. . . ."
~*~*~*~
Chapter 2 - Everholt
The place was called Everholt. Apparently some Rohir king slew a boar there. I wasn't sure why such a simple act should merit a monument, but there it stood. The king's name had been Folca, and it had been almost 150 years since he had died as a result of a tusk wound received in the great battle.
I looked around and surveyed the memorial, which consisted of a small open plaza, several benches, and the stone slab immortalizing King Folca's bravery and sacrifice. It was very well kept, and felt untouched by time, as if the artisans had recently completed their work and vanished into the forest moments before I arrived.
I wiped at the sweat running into my eyes. It was mid-afternoon in the dead of summer and the humidity among the trees was fierce.
I heard movement behind me and turned, drawing my sword. The ring of steel on steel pierced the tranquility of the forest, startling birds into flight.
"Greetings from Rohan," said a figure standing in the entry archway.
"And from Gondor," I replied. "Your name, stranger?"
"I am Théodred, son of Théoden, the King of Rohan. And your name, stranger?"
I sheathed my sword as you entered the clearing. The filtered sunlight glinted off the blond hair flowing down and over your shoulders. Your eyes were as blue as the clear summer sky above us, and they captured me in an instant.
"I am Boromir, son of Denethor, the Steward of Gondor," I replied.
"Well met, Boromir, son of Denethor. Perhaps meeting here was not the wisest choice. However, humid shade is preferable to burning sunlight, I suppose."
I suddenly realized that I was alone with an attractive man. How had I let this happen? Over the years, I had developed a foolproof strategy: I never placed myself in harm's way, and I avoided any and all situations in which my secret could be detected. And yet there I was. Staring into the cool blue eyes of the Rohan emissary. You smiled and I was blinded.
"Yes. Well, let us turn to the matter at hand," I said, wishing to conclude our business and be gone from this place.
We each proceeded to produce documents outlining various deployment strategies. Sitting side by side on the stone bench, we perused the other's recommendations. The heat from your body called to me, taunting me to move closer. But I resisted with great effort. After reviewing the documents, we discussed the strengths and weaknesses of each. Your voice was deep and rich, and I found myself distracted by its galloping rhythms and resonant tones.
A hawk's cry pierced the air, breaking my reverie. The light was dimming, and I was anxious to leave before nightfall. I did not feel comfortable with the emotions that were being aroused.
"Let's take a break," you suggested. "I feel rather foul. Why don't you start a fire while I take a dip in the Mering Stream? I have food enough for us both, as well as a bottle of my father's finest wine."
At first I thought you were joking. I had no intention of lingering that long in the miserably humid forest.
"There's another clearing with a hearth not twenty paces due south. I'll meet you there shortly," you said.
"I really don't think . . ." I began, but you had not waited for a response and had disappeared into the trees. I hesitated for a moment, uncertain what to do. In the end, my hunger won out and I started to gather firewood.
By the time I had built a fire in the large stone hearth, you had returned from the stream. You were dressed only in trousers, and glistening with water droplets that clung to the fine layer of blond hair covering your broad chest and muscular arms.
"That felt fantastic," you said as you lowered your pack to the stone table and began to unload its contents. "Why don't you take a dip yourself, Gondor?"
"I don't think . . ." I began.
"Please, for my sake?" You had raised your eyebrows and tilted your head down so you looked at me through gloriously full blond eyelashes. The flames danced in those blue eyes, and my resistance faltered.
"I don't need to…" I began.
"Yes, Gondor. I'm sorry, but you do."
The strategist in me was sounding the retreat, but the animal in me was arguing otherwise. I needed a moment to collect my thoughts.
"Very well," I acquiesced. "Where is this stream?"
You smiled and pointed to the east. "Fifty paces in that direction. Here, take this torch."
I took the torch and lit it from the fire in the hearth. Then without looking back, I started walking in the indicated direction. It didn't take long for me to reach the stream, where I disrobed and waded into the water. The cool water felt exquisite on my hot skin, and I laid down in it in order to maximize its cooling effect.
It was just dinner, I thought. It wasn't as if you were trying to seduce me. This would be just two emissaries enjoying an ambassadorial dinner together. Nothing more.
I had to admit that I was looking forward to getting to know you better. I was intrigued by your confidence and self-assuredness. This was not the proud certainty of my father or other Gondorian warriors I knew. This was something different. *You* were different.
So I would stay. My decision made, I climbed out of the water and shook myself as dry as I could, then completed the task by using my shirt as a towel. When I was finished, I donned my trousers and returned to the clearing where you were preparing our dinner.
"There you are," you said cheerfully. "How do you feel?"
"Much better, thank you."
"Are you hungry?"
"Very," I replied.
"Good. It should be ready shortly. So while it cooks, why not tell me about yourself and your family."
I sat at the stone table and tried to decide where to begin.
"Well, there's my father Denethor, and my younger brother Faramir."
"Where's your mother?"
"She died when I was twelve," I replied softly.
You turned and looked at me, your eyes filled with compassion. "I'm sorry. I know what it's like to grow up without a mother. Mine died in childbirth."
"Marta, our cook, has been like a mother to me," I said. "But I'll never forget my mother's sweet smell, or the sound of her voice as she would sing me lullabies as a boy. Later I discovered that she really couldn't sing very well, but at the time I thought she had the most beautiful voice in all of Gondor." I could not believe I was sharing these memories. I hadn't talked about my mother to anyone for over fifteen years.
After a moment you turned back to the hearth and continued, "We've recently taken in my cousins, Éomer and Éowyn. Their mother and father both died two years ago, and my father has taken them into our house, calling them son and daughter."
"Does this bother you?" I asked.
"Perhaps a little. But not enough to engender any resentment towards my cousins. They're but children."
"Still, if I could rid myself of my little brother . . . ."
"You wouldn't," you said.
"You don't know my brother."
"What could he have possibly done that would merit such displeasure?"
I sat silent, unwilling to reveal that secret. You turned your head to look at me.
"Come now, Gondor. Tell me."
"Maybe later," I offered.
"Very well. But I'm holding you to that. Why don't you open the wine?"
I was torn. On the one hand, I really wanted a drink. On the other hand, a drink would lower my inhibitions, increasing the likelihood of inadvertently revealing my secret desire.
"Gondor? Don't you want some wine?"
Yes I did. I grabbed the bottle and uncorked it in the blink of an eye. I brought it to my lips and took a long drink.
"My father received it in trade last winter. A visitor from Esgaroth passed through our territory with several bottles."
I belched in response.
"Charming," you said with a playful grin. "Can you bring it over here?" you asked.
I rose and walked to you as I read the label. Meril's Mysteries of Mirkwood. Odd name for a wine, I thought. I extended the bottle to you.
The light of the fire danced across your tanned skin, the fine blond hair shining in the golden glow. You had tied your hair back away from your face, and I was struck by the strong lines of your jaw and neck. An impulse to kiss the base of your neck where it met the shoulder was not easy to subdue, but I wrestled it into submission just as you turned and looked straight into my eyes. Your fingers brushed against mine as I accepted the bottle from your hand, sending a bolt of lightening up my arm, down my chest and straight into my crotch. I felt my face color and disengaged myself, returning to the stone table.
You had returned to the cooking and were talking about your troops. As the Second Marshall of the Mark, you took great pride in the men who served under you. Although I was very interested in hearing more, I found myself capable of nothing else save watching the interplay of muscles in your back as you labored at the hearth. I watched your shoulder muscles ripple and stretch as you reached to your pack for something, I had no idea what. I pictured myself standing behind you, running my hands up and down your sides. Reaching around and running my fingers through the hair on your chest as I pulled myself tight against your back.
"Gondor?"
You stood before me, offering the bottle of wine with your hand and more with your eyes. I tore my eyes from yours and focused on the bottle, taking it from you. "Thank you," I said before taking a drink.
You were already returning to the hearth. "Drink up. The night may be cold."
The night? I had not even thought that far. Had I lost all sense of reason? Where was my strategy? Where was my preparedness? How could I have forgotten myself so completely? I took another long drink to steady my nerves. The wine was very calming and I closed my eyes, taking a deep relaxing breath. This was no ordinary wine. As my body surrendered to its spell, the wine soothed my heart as well as my nerves. For fifteen years, the clenched fist in my chest had kept everyone at an arm's distance, allowing no one close enough to touch the deep wound to my soul. But as the wine touched it, I felt the fist begin to relax. It both thrilled and frightened me.
The dinner was surprisingly delicious. You were quite talented in the culinary arts, given the facilities available.
"Do you do this often?" I asked as you were spooning a large portion onto my plate. Your hand hesitated in midserve for just a moment.
"Do I do what often?"
"Cook. Here."
"Oh." You appeared slightly relieved. "Yes, actually. This is one of my favorite places in the Mark."
"I can understand why," I agreed. The air had cooled somewhat since sunset, and a night breeze had lifted the humidity, making the clearing quite comfortable.
The rest of dinner was spent in conversation about our respective homes, the news from abroad, and the rumours of war. I was so engaged by your intellect and humor that I had been able to forget how attractive I found you.
After dinner, you sent me off to the stream with an armful of dishes for washing while you retrieved the bedrolls from the horses. I was grateful for the respite. Being in your presence was indeed thrilling, but it also aroused anxieties and fears I dared not face. I focused on the dishes and the cold water, trying to wash the image of your face from my mind. And I thought I had been successful.
My arms full of clean dishes, I returned to the clearing. You had laid out the bedrolls next to each other under the protective canopy of a nearby tree. I was immediately reminded why I had been reluctant to remain at Everholt. You had unrolled several maps and now stood leaning on the table, studying the documents. The fire from the hearth caused your bare torso to glow in flames of gold and brown and red, shadows casting the highly defined muscles into sharp relief.
My grip slipped on both my resolve and the dishes, causing you to look up at me.
"Now that wasn't horribly unpleasant, was it?" you asked, flashing that disarming smile of yours.
I gathered myself and carried the dishes to the edge of the stone hearth. "Not at all," I said, struggling to sound calm and composed. "It was the least I could do in return for your generous and delicious meal."
"Spoken like a true diplomat."
Having deposited the dishes, I turned and looked at you. Your powerful chest and the muscular arms exuded strength and masculinity, while the blond hair covering your body gave a wild animal taste to an already powerful elixir. I was torn between crossing the distance between us to feel your body in my arms and gathering my belongings to run away. I stood there frozen in uncertainty.
"I have a confession to make," you said.
"Yes?" I was experiencing both apprehension and curiosity at once. It left me feeling slightly confused but excited.
You reached into your pack and withdrew a bottle. "I took more than one bottle of Meril's Mysteries from Father's wine cellar," you said, flashing a roguish smile.
I felt my whole body relax, and you apparently noticed.
"What did you think I was going to say?" you asked with a laugh. "Come here, Gondor. I have something to show you."
My body had apparently chosen to resolve the dilemma for me, for I found myself walking to the table without my mind's expressed approval.
"Here. Sit down." you gestured to the bench. I complied, unable to resist. You began to explain the maps as you proceeded to open the second bottle of wine. I did the best I could to concentrate on the documents before me, but was finding it difficult with you standing so close to me. I was aware of every movement you were making, watching your bare torso and limbs as they struggled to remove the secure cork from the bottle, then as the wine was poured into two glasses.
You handed me one of the glasses and raised your own in a toast.
"To the safety and prosperity of Gondor," you said. I stood, raised my glass in response and drank to the toast. I then lifted my glass in a toast of my own.
"To the noble prince of Rohan, whose hospitality this evening has been extraordinary and beyond the call of duty." I then drank the remainder of the glass in honor of my new companion. You had raised your glass when I had begun my toast, and now held it there still. You looked at me, your head tilted slightly to one side, as if somewhat surprised.
"Thank you, Gondor." You then drank to the toast, your eyes never leaving mine. Perhaps it was the firelight, but I thought that I detected a blush in your face. You refilled my glass and then your own. "Now, back to business," you said.
I sat down with a small measure of relief, as my head was beginning to spin a bit from the pilfered alcohol. Mysteries of Mirkwood indeed. I prided myself on my strong constitution, but this vintage was curiously potent. My nervous apprehension was being soothed by the wine, and a peaceful calm was slowly descending upon me.
You continued your description of the Riddermark's forces. You stood behind me, looking over my right shoulder as you listed the number of knights that were currently active as well as other riders who could be summoned at a moment's notice. As you described the forces of the Westfold, you leaned forward to point to Helm's Deep, reaching across my chest with your right hand while placing your other hand on my bare left shoulder.
My heart jumped in my chest at the contact. I sat completely still, fearing that the smallest movement might prompt you to remove your hand. The hair on your stomach brushed lightly against the exposed skin of my back and the heat from your torso felt like fire against my senses. I resisted the impulse to lean back against your muscular body, but not easily.
I need not have worried, for you did not remove your hand. You continued to point to the map, each gesture bringing our bodies into further contact. Had it not been for the wine's calming influence, I would have bolted from the scene. But that night I was beginning to enjoy the thrill of being so close to someone so handsome.
"So what is your opinion, Gondor?" you asked. I unfortunately had not been listening.
"I'm sorry, what?"
You stepped one leg over the bench and sat facing me, straddling the bench, your knee touching my outer thigh. I glanced at your knee and then looked at your face.
"You have not been listening, Gondor," you accused with a sly smile.
"I apologize, Rohan. Your father's wine has dulled my ability to focus. On the maps," I stammered, aware that my excuse was not a very convincing one.
"Then let us put them aside for the night." You gathered the maps, rolling them up and storing them in their case. "Enough about armies and war. These things sully the beauty of the night. Don't you agree?"
"Beauty. Yes," I replied. You were pouring more wine for us both.
"So I ask you again. What could your brother possibly have done that would merit your displeasure?"
I stiffened, the revisited question taking me by surprise.
"Come, now. Gondor. You deflected the question earlier, but have not the luxury now, for I will discuss nothing else until you confess."
I had no doubt you would be true to your threat. But how was I to tell you, a man I had known for mere hours, a secret I had kept from everyone else for the last five years?
"It is not important," I said. "Suffice it to say that I did not approve of certain choices he had made. I have since come to realize that my judgment may not have been entirely objective."
After a pause, you gave a small laugh. "Please, Gondor. Don't overwhelm me with all the details. I'm just a lowly horselover. I could never understand the complexities of intricate family interactions."
"I intended no such implication. It is only because my story would paint me in a less than flattering light."
"And why would you care about painting a flattering self-portrait for me?" you asked.
Flustered by your probing questions, I rose to my feet and shakily began to search for my shirt. "You know, I really need to be going. I just remembered that Marta had told me she was preparing a very special breakfast for me tomorrow morning, and I'd hate to disappoint her by not being there." I knew it was more than a full day's ride to reach Minas Tirith, but I was desperate for an excuse. I glanced over to find you watching me with an amused smile on your face. I continued my search of the clearing. "If she should find out that I missed her very special breakfast because I was sleeping in some forest with a handsome man from Rohan, she would have my hide furled like a flag from the city gates. Have you seen my shirt?" I asked, stopping next to you.
You seemed distracted. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"Have you seen my shirt? I can't remember where I put it after I bathed." You were silent. "Well?"
"Did you just call me `handsome?'" you asked, your eyes dancing.
Trapped.
I could not believe that I had been so careless. What now? Confess or deny? Confess or deny? Confess or deny? In battle, such an immediate decision would have proved no challenge whatsoever. However, that night, in that clearing, with you, I was paralyzed with indecision.
You rose from the bench, lifting your leg over it to stand facing me. You stood very close, your face mere inches from mine.
"Well, Gondor?"
I swallowed and replied, barely more than a whisper.
"Yes, I did."
You raised your hand and placed it lightly in the center of my chest. I gasped, but did not back away or remove the hand from my body, however. Instead I waited. For what seemed like days.
Finally, you slowly closed the distance between us, and kissed me softly on the lips. A whimper escaped me as years of fantasy crossed the threshold into reality. You pulled away slightly and looked into my eyes. We gazed into each other's souls for a long moment, and then could contain our passion no longer.
We came together in a soul-searing kiss that I will remember for the rest of my days. Muscular arms and torsos intertwined, stroking and groping in a dance of passion. Mouths explored skin, hands explored hair. We drank from each other's passion as if dying from thirst.
I broke our kiss, gasping for air. I pressed our foreheads together, holding your head between my hands, my fingers threading through your golden locks.
"Gondor? you asked, your hands on my hips. "Why do you stop yourself?"
"I wish merely to catch my breath."
"Are you certain that's all?"
I did not reply. You backed away, hooking your hand over the top of my breeches. I allowed myself to be slowly drawn by the crotch towards the bedrolls. You embraced me, turning us around so I was now being pushed rather than pulled. A swift sweep of the leg, and you had deposited me neatly in the center of the two bedrolls that had been laid together to create one large one. I could not believe that I had missed that detail earlier. It had to be the wine.
"One less bottle of wine and I would be up and after your throat. You do realize that, don't you?" I asked, staring up at the god before me. You stood legs apart, with both hands on your hips, a salacious grin on your lips. The light from the torches flickered across your tanned body, glinting off the sweat which clung to the hair on your muscled torso and arms.
"If you feel the need to make excuses, Gondor, don't let me stop you." You removed your hands from your hips and slowly began to undo the fastenings on your breeches. I watched silently, hypnotized by the slow revelation of the man who was leading me into a new world. I could not believe that I was actually going to experience my forbidden fantasy. And with a breathtaking man whom I had known less than a day. Things like this did not happen to me.
You teased me by slowly peeling away the front of your breeches until the base of your manhood was barely visible. I looked up into your face, silently asking to see more. My wish was granted and I soon was staring at you in all your naked splendor. I recognized that the gods had blessed you with a substantial gift. It hung down your thigh and I wanted to touch it. To feel it grow under my fingers.
You knelt at my feet and crawled on all fours up my body, dragging your chest along my torso until we were eye to eye. "Now," you said, "it is your turn." You lowered yourself and kissed my mouth, then slowly began to retreat back down my body, kissing my neck and shoulders, trailing your tongue down my chest and stomach, at which point, you sat up on your knees and began to undo the fastenings of my breeches. I watched, still struggling with the fact that this was happening.
You finished your task and wrestled the breeches down and off my legs and feet, tossing them aside. Although this very situation was one I had worked so hard to avoid for the last five years, I felt no compulsion to fight it any longer. I had already passed the point of no return when I kissed you, and the pragmatist in me insisted that since I had already made the choice, I should take full advantage of the situation and enjoy it to its fullest potential. The hidden romantic in me marveled at the fact that the most captivating man I had ever met in my life desired me and was about to make love to me. The animal in me simply wanted your body. And my growing erection was clear indication of that fact.
You had moved between my legs and were appraising my endowment. "The similarities between us increase, Gondor." You looked up into my eyes. "We have both been similarly blessed." Your attention then returned to my now fully erect member. You extended your tongue and were moving to lick it.
"What are you doing?" I asked with a mixture of confusion and alarm.
You froze and looked up at me. "What do you mean?" you asked.
"What were you going to do?"
You gave a small laugh. "Is it possible, Gondor, that no one has ever pleasured you this way?"
"With their mouth? No," I replied. I felt a little embarrassed, my naiveté having betrayed me. Although my reputation was one of prowess, the truth was less glorious. The number of women I had lain with could be counted on both hands, and none had ever made such an offer. I had few friends, and none with whom I could discuss such matters. And my father…well, Denethor was not partial to giving fatherly advice. I briefly wondered if my younger brother could not have enlightened me about such things, had I not been such a monster.
"How is this possible?" you asked incredulously.
"Do you speak merely to hear the sound of your own voice, Rohan?"
Your eyes and smile both widened, and then narrowed to an expression of amused determination. Without warning and never taking your eyes from mine, you descended on my engorged cock, swallowing to take the entire length down your throat, burying your nose in my crotch hair.
My body exploded in pleasure. My back arched, pushing my hips against your face. My head jerked back. My eyes rolled back in my head. My mouth opened, an animal roar raging from deep in my chest. My fists slammed onto the bedroll at my sides. I came very near to losing consciousness, but maintained what control still remained.
You slowly rose up my shaft until only the head remained in your mouth. You ran your tongue and lips over the sensitive skin, throwing my body into spasms, my head flailing from side to side. I finally could take it no longer. I took your head in both hands, pulling you from my crotch. You looked up at me through golden eyelashes.
"Is there something wrong, Gondor?" you asked, feigning innocence.
I gasped to catch my breath and was unable to respond. But I moved my hand to pat your cheek to indicate my approval. You smiled, and then turned your head to take my thumb into your mouth. I moaned and threw my head back again, closing my eyes to enjoy the sensation of your tongue swirling around my thumb, your lips moving up to the tip and then down to the base.
I sensed you moving. I looked down to see you reach under the bedroll and retrieve a small vial, which you opened and poured into your hand. You released my thumb from your lips and smiled, then returned your attention to my erection. You rubbed your hands together to warm the oil, and then gripped my cock with both hands, sliding them from tip to base and then back again until it was well lubricated. My body quivered under your hands.
Then you stood up, placing your feet on each side of my waist. I looked up as you applied the remaining oil to your own erection, thrusting your hips into your hand as I watched from below.
"Are you ready, Gondor?"
"Yes, Rohan. I am more than ready."
You gazed down at me with what appeared to be genuine warmth and affection but did not reply. You crouched down, one hand on your bended knee, the other reaching to grasp my member, guiding it into your lowering form.
I watched as you found your target and removed your hand to place it on your knee. I could feel your opening kissing the tip of my manhood and longed to thrust my hips up, burying myself inside you. But I feared what that would do to you and did not wish to harm you. On the other hand, it was your idea and choice. I decided to let you take the lead, for you appeared to be somewhat experienced in these matters.
Your eyes were squeezed shut as you gently rocked back and forth on your feet, your knees pulled up to your chest. Each time you would rock back, you would push yourself onto me a bit more. When you had taken in the head of my rod, you paused and repositioned yourself. Then, in one smooth motion, you lowered yourself onto my crotch. I had never felt such joy as that which washed over me as my cock slid into you. We both groaned loudly in unison as we merged.
I reached down and placed my hands on your hips to help steady you. You slowly raised yourself up until I was almost released and then lowered yourself again, just as slowly. I moaned as I watched you make love to me. You rose and fell, over and over, each time taking me all the way inside of you.
Then you leaned back, placing your hands on the ground. You began to thrust your hips, raising and lowering yourself onto me with each thrust. The image of your powerful torso rising and falling was one that would be burned into my memory and would sustain me through many lonely nights. I took your member in my hand, marveling at the feel of another man's cock for the first time. I timed my strokes to meet the thrusts of your hips, thrilling at the sounds this action drew from you.
Your pace was increasing as I began to sense the familiar warmth of my own impending orgasm. I returned my hands to your hips and began thrusting my own hips up to meet your descent. You readjusted your weight onto one hand and reached down with your other to stroke your own member as our thrusts reached a fevered pitch. Your head was thrown back, but then you raised it to look into my eyes.
We both were grunting and groaning, but the volume and pitch both increased as your eyes widened and I felt your muscles tighten around my cock. With a shout, you shot your seed arcing into the air. It descended and splattered onto my face and chest, sending me over the edge into orgasm. I thrust my cock deep inside you and released my own seed with a roar. Our bodies shook and quaked, both of us making sounds of animalistic euphoria.
You pushed off with your hand and launched yourself forward onto my chest, where you laid your head as we both caught our breath. My erection was softening and slipped from you as I reached up and wrapped my arms around you.
How was it possible? I had only known you for a few short hours. And yet I loved you completely. I felt tears of joy spill from my eyes into my hair. I leaned forward and kissed the blond head on my chest.
I felt like a new man. Life for me began that summer night in Everholt.
You reached down and pushed yourself up and off my chest. I grabbed both of your arms. "Where are you going?" I asked.
"I'm going to clean up by taking a dip in the stream. I'll be right back." You bent down and kissed me, and then rose to your feet. Looking down at me, you said, "That was fantastic, Gondor."
"I concur, Rohan," I replied, grinning from ear to ear. "Now hurry back."
You took off at a run, and I watched your muscled body retreat into the trees. I turned over onto my side, and promptly fell asleep.
~*~*~*~
Chapter 3 – Lothlórien
I was pleased by the smile that brightened Boromir's face.
"Well, from the sound of things, our first meeting went well," I commented.
"Yes, so it would seem," Boromir agreed. "However, the next morning was quite different."
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