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Ficlet: Aragorn/Boromir
I've had a few people ask me if I'm leaving the A/B fandom and I just want to say, absolutely not! I may play in another fandom occasionally but A/B, VigBean are my first loves. *g* This is a very spur of the moment fic and was inspired, oddly enough, by the Backstreet Boys' new song 'Incomplete', a very A/B tune if I ever heard one...this is not a song fic.
Title: House of Memory
Author: Archet
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: Mature –don’t read if under 18 years.
Summary: One summer afternoon Aragorn gets lost in memories.
Disclaimer: these characters are not mine, I did not create them I only made this ficlet.
Feedback: most welcome and appreciated!
I'm awake but my world is half asleep
I pray for this heart to be unbroken
But without you all I'm going to be is incomplete.
- Incomplete, Backstreet Boys
~*~
Aragorn looked out upon the lands, lush beneath the summer sun, and wanted to sink down onto the green grass and just sleep as he had done when a Ranger and roaming the wilds. The wind rose around him, sifting though his hair, lifted it from his neck. The trees stirred upon the breeze, their leaves rustling, whispering in his ears. He closed his eyes, gloved fingers tightening on his horse’s reins and thought of another time, another place where no crown sat upon his head. He thought of a memory that he held deep inside his heart. A place built of moonlight, of green eyes and warm skin, of dark blond hair twined between his fingers, a house of memory where he would gladly spend the rest of forever.
Aragorn sat upon his horse in the sun dappled shade at the edge of the forest and could not find it in himself to turn his mount back toward Minis Tirith. He did not often find a chance to venture out alone, and something told him as time wore on his chances would dwindle even more. He must take what he could, and with that thought in mind he dismounted, led his horse deeper into the shade of an oak, looping the reins around one low hanging branch. He shed his cloak, his sword belt and gloves. He pulled at the laces of his tunic until they lay loose and undone at the hollow of his throat.
Aragorn circled the tree, leaving his mount behind and walked to the edge of the shade, where the cool shadow gave way to the brilliant summer sunlight. He stepped past the shade’s border and into the sunlit warmth, walked through ankle tall green grass and let the memories grow loud in his mind. Laughter, too rarely heard, soft, whispered words given to him during a night he’d never forget, words dearer to him than his own life. Aragorn wondered if he walked far enough, long enough, if he might somehow find that night, now years passed, again. He wondered if he might find it, and thought that if he did he would hold to it and never leave from it.
He walked aimlessly, barely seeing the way before him and it was the memory of his own name on another’s lips that stopped him. Aragorn. The remembered voice called out in his mind as clear as the daylight in which he stood. Aragorn, yes, I should not want this, but I do, please...
He stopped, closed his eyes and sank to his knees on the grass, head bowed and it was so easy to get lost in the past. The sun’s rays fell warm over his shoulders and suddenly he wanted to feel it upon his face. He turned and lay down upon the thick grass and kept his eyes closed. The sunlight was warm on his face, his lips, and the memory called out to him. Aragorn, tell me what you want.
You, Boromir, always you...
Could a man drown in memories? If so, then Aragorn wished to. Wanted to be flooded with them and taken down. Perhaps he already was. On his back beneath the sun he traced the lines of the leather vambrace on his left forearm with his fingers. The pattern was as familiar to him as his own hand, and he remembered the first time he’d touched them, so long ago now.
You can ask me, Boromir. Ask and I will give you all I can.
You. I want you. If only for this one night.
For this night, Boromir. For this night and always...
It was impossible not to let his hand travel down his body. Not to remember, not to feel those lips and hands upon him even though they were now so lost to him. Aragorn gasped as he took his cock in hand, already aroused and sensitive.
By Eru! Aragorn, I need you, I want you.
I’m here, I’m not letting go. I’m not letting go.
Aragorn cried out as he came, release spilling over his fingers, streaking across his belly. He lay on the grass, panted, and did not want to open his eyes for he knew the brilliant green gaze that watched him in his memory would not be there to soothe him. The wind rustled in the trees, whispered in his ears. Aragorn breathed deep and finally opened his eyes, blinking against the afternoon brightness, so different from the moonlight in his memory.
The wind sighed against his heated skin. He wiped his hand on the grass, sank his fingers down through it and into the cool, moist soil hidden beneath. He tilted his head back and let the sun warm his neck, let the quiet afternoon wash over him. He lay still and did not weep for what was lost for he believed, he had to, that one day far from now he would find again the one he’d lost.
He must return to the city soon, but now, for this one afternoon Aragorn lived in another time, another place.
I’m here, I’m not letting go.
Title: House of Memory
Author: Archet
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: Mature –don’t read if under 18 years.
Summary: One summer afternoon Aragorn gets lost in memories.
Disclaimer: these characters are not mine, I did not create them I only made this ficlet.
Feedback: most welcome and appreciated!
I'm awake but my world is half asleep
I pray for this heart to be unbroken
But without you all I'm going to be is incomplete.
- Incomplete, Backstreet Boys
~*~
Aragorn looked out upon the lands, lush beneath the summer sun, and wanted to sink down onto the green grass and just sleep as he had done when a Ranger and roaming the wilds. The wind rose around him, sifting though his hair, lifted it from his neck. The trees stirred upon the breeze, their leaves rustling, whispering in his ears. He closed his eyes, gloved fingers tightening on his horse’s reins and thought of another time, another place where no crown sat upon his head. He thought of a memory that he held deep inside his heart. A place built of moonlight, of green eyes and warm skin, of dark blond hair twined between his fingers, a house of memory where he would gladly spend the rest of forever.
Aragorn sat upon his horse in the sun dappled shade at the edge of the forest and could not find it in himself to turn his mount back toward Minis Tirith. He did not often find a chance to venture out alone, and something told him as time wore on his chances would dwindle even more. He must take what he could, and with that thought in mind he dismounted, led his horse deeper into the shade of an oak, looping the reins around one low hanging branch. He shed his cloak, his sword belt and gloves. He pulled at the laces of his tunic until they lay loose and undone at the hollow of his throat.
Aragorn circled the tree, leaving his mount behind and walked to the edge of the shade, where the cool shadow gave way to the brilliant summer sunlight. He stepped past the shade’s border and into the sunlit warmth, walked through ankle tall green grass and let the memories grow loud in his mind. Laughter, too rarely heard, soft, whispered words given to him during a night he’d never forget, words dearer to him than his own life. Aragorn wondered if he walked far enough, long enough, if he might somehow find that night, now years passed, again. He wondered if he might find it, and thought that if he did he would hold to it and never leave from it.
He walked aimlessly, barely seeing the way before him and it was the memory of his own name on another’s lips that stopped him. Aragorn. The remembered voice called out in his mind as clear as the daylight in which he stood. Aragorn, yes, I should not want this, but I do, please...
He stopped, closed his eyes and sank to his knees on the grass, head bowed and it was so easy to get lost in the past. The sun’s rays fell warm over his shoulders and suddenly he wanted to feel it upon his face. He turned and lay down upon the thick grass and kept his eyes closed. The sunlight was warm on his face, his lips, and the memory called out to him. Aragorn, tell me what you want.
You, Boromir, always you...
Could a man drown in memories? If so, then Aragorn wished to. Wanted to be flooded with them and taken down. Perhaps he already was. On his back beneath the sun he traced the lines of the leather vambrace on his left forearm with his fingers. The pattern was as familiar to him as his own hand, and he remembered the first time he’d touched them, so long ago now.
You can ask me, Boromir. Ask and I will give you all I can.
You. I want you. If only for this one night.
For this night, Boromir. For this night and always...
It was impossible not to let his hand travel down his body. Not to remember, not to feel those lips and hands upon him even though they were now so lost to him. Aragorn gasped as he took his cock in hand, already aroused and sensitive.
By Eru! Aragorn, I need you, I want you.
I’m here, I’m not letting go. I’m not letting go.
Aragorn cried out as he came, release spilling over his fingers, streaking across his belly. He lay on the grass, panted, and did not want to open his eyes for he knew the brilliant green gaze that watched him in his memory would not be there to soothe him. The wind rustled in the trees, whispered in his ears. Aragorn breathed deep and finally opened his eyes, blinking against the afternoon brightness, so different from the moonlight in his memory.
The wind sighed against his heated skin. He wiped his hand on the grass, sank his fingers down through it and into the cool, moist soil hidden beneath. He tilted his head back and let the sun warm his neck, let the quiet afternoon wash over him. He lay still and did not weep for what was lost for he believed, he had to, that one day far from now he would find again the one he’d lost.
He must return to the city soon, but now, for this one afternoon Aragorn lived in another time, another place.
I’m here, I’m not letting go.
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May I friend you?
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Beautiful--thank you!
~Kris
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The world without Boromir, always remember me of fragility of life, and unpredictability of live.
The story is simply beautifful.
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Congratulations on your MOME nominaton!
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He must return to the city soon, but now, for this one afternoon Aragorn lived in another time, another place.
Thank you, and congratulations on your nomination :)
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so lovely!
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