Going South, Day Nine: Practice

by Sasjah Miller
Icon graciously provided by X

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"You didn't ask, Aragorn."

Boromir grinned lazily as he lay pinned under Aragorn's strong body, one hand deliciously stretched over his head, the other playfully pushing back against the other man's weight, their fingers entwined, locked together.

Aragorn gazed down bemusedly at his lover; his grey eyes a wordless question.

"I didn't ask /what/, Boromir?"

"You didn't ask whether you had my permission to put your mouth on me."

Boromir was smiling broadly now at Aragorn's expression of bewildered puzzlement, which only slowly changed in understanding.

"You mean that time in the reeds when I saved you from a horrible death by blood poisoning? I thought you were fooling me."

Aragorn tried to kiss the man who lay beneath him then, but Boromir pushed him back, turning his head sideways so that the kiss missed its aim and Aragorn felt the coarse grass tickle his lips; nice, but nowhere near as nice as feeling Boromir's soft lips against his own.

"Ask me, Aragorn. Ask for my permission and I may just give it to you. Even a king must sometimes ask permission, be subservient to his people."

He was laughing out loud now as Aragorn tried to kiss him once more but failed every time, making him curse softly and mutter under his breath.

"I don't need your permission, man of Gondor. You're mine, and mine to do with as I please. Subservience, you said? We'll see about /that/."

He rolled his entire body on top of Boromir, one leg pushing up in between Boromir's legs, the other resting on its knee beside his lover's hips. He pressed down Boromir's hands above his head, flat on the ground, taking revenge on the offensive grass in the process.

"Permission I should ask, you claim?"

He bent down and kissed Boromir's brow, the soft warm skin feeling so much better than the winter grass against his lips.

"Subservience I should give to you, you say?"

He kissed the tip of Boromir's nose and his cheeks, licked the strong jaw line, feeling the soft stubble rasp against his tongue. But Boromir did not give in so easily and he brought up his legs smoothly, pushing Aragorn up, as he pulled his hands back from above his head and brought them before him, between them, shoving Aragorn away from him. Sitting up in one fluid movement, he pushed a mock-stunned Aragorn backwards, until his lover lay against the trunk of a large birch tree. Boromir pulled the other man's hands behind the trunk, holding them there captive with his strong grip. He straddled his lover, a ferocious smile playing around his lips, his eyes shining with passion and glee.

"Let me teach you the meaning of those words, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, for Elrond's much prized education appears to have been sorely lacking. Growing up in Rivendell seems to have disgraced you with too much Elvish arrogance. I will surely have to remedy this before I take you home with me to Minas Tirith. There are some lessons that will have to be learned by you, future king of Gondor. And I will be the one who will teach them to you."

Aragorn looked up at Boromir, mirth lighting up his face.

"So the Steward's son will be my teacher now? And what exactly will the curriculum entail? For I may not wish to learn all that you have to teach to me."

"Rest assured that my lessons will be beneficial to us both," Boromir replied, seemingly unperturbed by Aragorn's challenge. Instead, he moved into a slightly more comfortable position and a definitely more uncomfortable one for the man he was straddling.

"So, we start with lesson one, Aragorn," he began. "When you ask for permission, you say: 'May I kiss you,' before you do this," and he leaned in and captured Aragorn's mouth with his own, feeling his lover inhale hotly, sharply, underneath him as his lips pressed firmly against Aragorn's, his tongue slipping into familiar warmth and wetness until he chose to let Aragorn come up for air again. He grinned as he saw his lover already slightly out of breath, eyes starting to glaze over with the passion that was rising within him.

"Lesson two, son of Arathorn: it's very rude to not ask permission before doing this."

Boromir's lips moved downward, his tongue grazing over the other man's throat, finding the hollow where the shining gem lay resting, licking the soft warm indent that cradled it, until Aragorn started to writhe underneath him, trying, but not very hard, to free himself from Boromir's grip. Boromir looked up again, his face as stern and serious as he could muster.

"And now lesson three, Elendil's heir: when in Gondor we speak of subservience we speak of things like this."

Boromir let go of his lover's hands then, and he let his own hands slide possessively over Aragorn's breeches, feeling him already hard and wanting against his hot and burning palms. He unfastened the other man's breeches quickly and expertly, and he took Aragorn into his mouth until Aragorn moaned and thrashed against him, begging and pleading incoherently.

"Please, Boromir, please, I need to Please, I beg you."

Then Boromir paused for just a short while and he looked up at his lover lying there flushed and panting and completely at his mercy.

"It would seem that you have mastered the most important lesson of all, all by yourself, Aragorn - that sometimes even a king needs to say 'please' before he gets what he wants." He smiled and then Boromir finally rewarded Aragorn for his lessons well learned.

The End

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