archet

Wow, it's been a while since I've updated with fic. I've been struggling for a while with writing, but am happy to have produced some A/B, even if it is pretty short!

Title: Sun, Snow and Spring
Author: Archet
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: R
Summary: Aragorn looks for the sun, and finds the spring.
Notes: contains miraculously-undead!Boromir
Feedback: welcomed and appreciated
Archive: Rugbytackle and my LJ only

~*~

The dawn arrives cold and grey, leaden clouds banked thickly in the east, rimmed with sterling silver light as the Sun rises from behind the mountains, seeking a pathway through the winter blockade. Aragorn tugs his cloak tighter around his body, feeling the frost in his bones, sensing that any moment the dulled clouds will part with their harvest of snow. The city below holds itself still, pale in the thin light, as if waiting with him.

“Why does the King stand alone in the cold, when he might take warmth with company so easily?”

A smile, as sudden as the snowflakes that float in the clear air, curves Aragorn’s lips. It deepens as he turns and takes in the vision of Boromir, lingering just inside doorway of the balcony. Half-long hair still mussed from bed carelessly tucked behind his ears, Boromir peers out from the warmth of the bed chamber, blinking sleepily. The firelight from the hearth behind him lines his form and he shines richly in the winter washed-out morning.

Grinning Aragorn snares one of Boromir hands, causing the fur-trimmed blanket wrapped around him to slip and bare one strong pale shoulder to the cold. Aragorn pulls him out onto the balcony proper, arm snaking about Boromir’s waist, pulling him close. “Then do you offer your company?”

Boromir’s laugh, brightness in the grey morning, warms Aragorn, a blush of pleasure over his skin. “I do, yet only if certain conditions are met.”

Snowflakes settle against Boromir’s dark blond hair, his cheeks, and his generous clever lips, vanishing quickly against his warmth.

“And what conditions must be gained, so that I might enjoy you . . . and your company.”

Boromir’s grin touches Aragorn; sends heat spreading low in his belly even as Boromir complains. “You are a most tedious man, ‘tis far too cold to speak of such things out here. Faramir always loved the winter snows, but I have never cared for it. Come inside, it’s barely dawn. What are you doing out there, anyway, shoeless and freezing through?”

Drawing a finger down Boromir’s cheek, Aragorn hides a smile at the prodding censure, and neglects to point out that Boromir is just as shoeless as himself . . . and shivering, which is something Aragorn must set right. He looks into eyes as green and warm as the promise of a new Spring.

“I was only looking for the sun,” Aragorn says, hands going to Boromir hips and backing him back into the welcome warmth of the bed chamber.

“And did you find it?” Boromir asks, even as he releases his blanket and is pressed naked down onto the bed by Aragorn’s chilly hands.

Shaking his head, Aragorn lets his lips hover over Boromir’s for a moment. “What does it matter, when I have you?”

Even as Aragorn takes Boromir’s mouth, covering Boromir’s shivering form with his own, he remembers to draw his forgotten cloak up over their tangling bodies. The Sun must fend for herself. Aragorn will spend this day warming his Spring.