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lotr_sesa tale. Utter crackly crack.
Title: Blood Heat
Pairing: Aragorn/Frodo, Boromir/Merry/Pippin, Legolas/Sam, Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: R
Written for: Breon Briarwood
Warnings: slash, crack!fic
Disclaimer: This is a benign avocational fiction. And all that.
Author's note: This is based on a![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shirebound plotbunny. Yes, I cheated Gimli in this one, for which I feel bad. But I *cannot* write him, it just doesn't work! Argh!
By the time they reached the hollow where they'd camped the previous night, all four hobbits were near-insensible, so chilled they were barely shivering. Boromir and Aragorn each bore two, wrapped in spare cloaks and blankets, while Gimli cleared their path and Legolas warded their steps.
"Here, then." A wave and a woosh, and Gandalf lit the sort of fire Aragorn had wished and Boromir had argued for during their attempt on the Redhorn Pass. "Thaw them out, you three. Gimli, come with me." With that Gandalf left in a swirl of grey robes and loose snow.
Boromir sat heavily, laying Merry gently in his lap as he began unfastening Pippin's cloak. "Well, blood heat, then," he said, with one of his rare, brilliant smiles. Aragorn bit the inside of his cheek against the warmth of that smile and nodded, already unwinding Frodo from his sodden cloak; he paused a moment to look down into a face drawn with discomfort and nearly as pale as the snow.
Legolas, meanwhile, held Sam in one arm as with the other he lifted discarded clothes and laid them over rocks beside the fire. Between the three of them, they soon had the hobbits stripped to breeches and shirts, and their own outer layers peeled off; Aragorn bundled himself and a distressingly limp Frodo into as many cloaks and blankets as he could, and Boromir did the same with his double armful of hobbit, but Legolas wound his cloak and blanket round himself and Sam and walked away from the two men huddling near the fire.
"Legolas?" Aragorn called, and the elf replied, "The sky is clearing; I would see the stars," as he stopped at the mouth of the shelter, looking up. Aragorn cradled Frodo beneath his chin, feeling the cold cheek pressed to the hollow of his throat and praying that none of them caught cold or worse from this misadventure. Boromir's bulk, tufted with fur around his face, leaned warm against his side.
Aragorn tightened his arms a little around the hobbit pressed to his chest, willing his strength and warmth into Frodo. Slowly the cold cheek warmed against his flesh, slowly the fine small hands began to tremble and then to grasp and wind themselves into Aragorn's tunic. For awhile the crackle of the fire and the whistle of the wind were the only sounds; then, slowly, Merry and Pippin announced their recovery by murmuring, at first almost inaudibly, then louder and louder. "Bloody blasted cold," Aragorn heard in Merry's voice, and smiled to hear it; he smiled wider when he heard Boromir murmur, "shhh, you shall be warm soon, lie quiet", followed by not unexpected hobbity mumbles and a few oaths.
What was unexpected was the unmistakable smack of a kiss. Aragorn turned his head to see the back of Boromir's, one hand drawn up to his face, curls poking between his fingers; after a long moment, during which a small hand curved up around Boromir's corded neck into his beard and Aragorn's blood halted in his veins, Boromir lifted his head slightly and murmured, "better?"
"Now that's warm," Merry purred, and Boromir's cheek stretched in another of those smiles as he said, "well, then, return to your rest," and tucked the halfling back into the nest of blankets.
"What," Aragorn asked, as evenly as he might, "was that?"
Boromir's smile was wide as ever, the arch of his brows positively wicked. "Warmth," he replied, looking all the more amused when Aragorn's breath hissed between his teeth. "They are not children, Aragorn," Boromir continued, clearly restraining laughter, as he pointed with his chin. "The Ringbearer in your arms is my elder, and has made sure I know it. And each of these two have had more lovers than I."
"Even so!" Aragorn spluttered, belatedly realizing that his arms had tightened protectively round Frodo. "Even so---" there was something certainly wrong about it, wasn't there? The halflings needed their protection, not---
Before Aragorn could say more, a laugh bubbled up from beneath his chin.
*
Sam's first conscious sensation was of silken warmth and soft singing, long arms holding him to a firm chest as his bearer paced slowly to and fro. All in all, wrapped in silk and song, Sam was so comfortable he almost could have gone back to sleep.
Almost. "Frodo?" he croaked, his voice nearly useless, as he opened his eyes to starlight and Legolas' smile in the dimness. "He is well," Legolas reassured him. "Aragorn is tending him, as I am tending you. You must let me warm you, Samwise."
Sam wanted to see for himself, just to be sure, but he did trust Legolas, and he could barely move as it was, warmed enough now to know how cold he was. Settling Sam like a faunt into the crook of his arm, Legolas raised a hand to stroke his brow with the lightest of touches, fingertips sliding round to his cheek, below his eye, over his nose. "You do not feel fevered," Legolas went on, and Sam suddenly realized, for no good reason at all, that it was the elf who carried him, who held him wrapped as much in magic as in blankets.
Also for no good reason whatsoever, Sam felt himself harden at the thought, and well that certainly warmed his cheeks as they burned in a blush. Legolas smiled wider, teeth shining in the dimness. "Would you be warmer, Master Samwise?" Legolas asked, still walking gently back and forth, the motion soothing.
"No, sir, Mr. Legolas, this is, I'm fine---" Sam stammered, but Legolas stilled his babble with fingers to his lips, fingers that slid down over his chin and chest and oh mercy over the buttons of his trousers---
Sam gasped, and closed his eyes. This couldn't be proper---- but Legolas only smiled, deftly unbuttoning him with one hand, and pressed a long soft kiss to his brow. "Let me warm you," he said, and then he began again to sing, as his slender fingers stroked in time.
*
Frodo squirmed up, his curls catching on Aragorn's beard as he peered out. "So we live, and better yet," he observed, eyes as mischievous as Boromir's. "Are those my kinsmen with you, my Lord of Gondor?"
"Just so, Frodo of the Shire," Boromir said with a wink. Frodo clambered up a bit further, clutching Aragorn's tunic to steady himself, as he leaned over and actually bestowed a kiss on Boromir, and oh the sight! Aragorn had lived some time, and wandered far, but the sight of Boromir, rugged and golden, and Frodo, dark and pale and sweet, kissing each other, made the blood within him go from frozen to surging, till his skin prickled as if he sat naked over the fire, till he almost felt too hot within the cloak and blankets.
"Thank you for taking good care of them," Frodo murmured over Boromir's lips, and Aragorn did not know which of them he envied more; then Frodo turned to him, winding a hand in his hair, small soft mouth pressing and stroking over his, and Aragorn felt all his thought vanish in a pale flash of heat, far more intense than a campfire.
His reason returned, if not as soon as it ought, and he tilted Frodo away from himself as gently as he might to lay a hand on his brow. "You're not fevered," he said disbelievingly to the halfling, who laughed and wound both hands in his hair. "No, but I am chilled," Frodo replied merrily. "Please warm me, Aragorn. Please kiss me again."
It was madness, doubtless, and folly; perhaps they were all drunk on the delight of survival, but even so.... Aragorn heard a moan, and glanced over at Boromir, who was now kissing Pippin, the bundle in his arms shifting rhythmically. Aragorn noticed Pippin's trembling, his eyes quivering beneath their closed lids, and felt like a branch thrust into flame. Frodo's lips pressed to the corner of his mouth, and he turned his head to capture them, sucking hard on Frodo's lower lip as he plunged his tongue into the hot, sweet little mouth.
Frodo chuckled into the kiss, and wound his hands tighter in Aragorn's hair, and kissed quite firmly back.
*
Sam was seeing stars, and not those in the sky. He was warm all over, swathed in silken hair, his face pressed to a long finely muscled throat, and he still trembled. Legolas had played his body like a two-handed instrument, drawing out his wits and his gasps and his shivers, caressing away his fear for however brief the moment. Sam pressed his face to skin sleek as moonlight----an elf held him, an elf----and didn't know what fate had brought him to such wonders, but right now he was rather grateful for it, despite the blush that would doubtless never leave his face.
"M-Master Legolas," Sam stammered, and Legolas tilted his head back to gently smile down into his eyes. "Thank you," Sam managed before he had to squeeze his eyes closed, unable to bear the brilliance of Legolas' gaze. "Thank you, sir, but, but..."
Legolas saved Sam from his struggle between curiosity and impertinence. "Because you needed to be warmed, Sam."
"But I, I must seem awful plain to you."
"Samwise." Legolas' amused tone, the fingertip gently tapping his nose, were almost reminiscent of Frodo. "Fairness comes in many forms, my halfling friend. But you should rest." Drawing Sam's head to his shoulder again, somehow not at all as if he were a faunt, Legolas took up the soft song from before, and Sam let the silvery flow of music course through him as he closed his eyes.
*
Aragorn no longer held Frodo, who clung to him with arms and legs; his hands were busy elsewhere, one each within his breeches and Frodo's, and Frodo was writhing into his touch, pulsating in his hold and grinding against his chest as he ravished Aragorn's mouth. Was this the same creature who'd been so pale and limp and cold? Aragorn could hardly credit the change, not that he was left much wit to consider it, with the lithe small frame and deep, encompassing kisses consuming all his attention.
To say nothing of the moans murmured over his mouth; meanwhile, Merry and Pippin, and Boromir, were all sighing and cooing to each other, and completely enclosed in the cloak bundle. Aragorn listened to Boromir's breathy groans and wondered just what two halflings might do with a Man. Considering the one in his arms, the tender hard member pulsing in his fingers, the sweet mouth he couldn't drink his fill of, Aragorn was not at all sure he could have survived two of them.
Frodo's small teeth sank into Aragorn's bottom lip; his member twitched in his hand so that he had to squeeze it firmly to push back his peak. Beside him one of the younger hobbits--- Pippin, it sounded like ---whimpered up into a muffled wail, and Boromir laughed, quiet and deep and joyful; Frodo groaned a laugh, thrusting more insistently into Aragorn's hold, before his body went rigid as he bit down on Aragorn's lip, sharp sweet pain, as he spilled jerkily over Aragorn's fist.
Then he slumped, and Aragorn released himself to catch Frodo with one hand behind his shoulders, as Frodo clung to him and laughed breathlessly and kissed him with trembling lips. "Thank you for warming me," he murmured, breath cool on Aragorn's damp mouth, over the throbbing bite. "I owe you a peak." His voice was charmingly lewd, but already dying down to a whisper, as he yawned and his head lolled back against Aragorn's shoulder. Dazed with wonder as he had not been in many a year, Aragorn watched Frodo's face relax from a smile to sleep; as he let Frodo down into his lap he marveled at the balfling and struggled to tamp down his roused desire.
Hearing another deep chuckle, he turned to look at Boromir, who was quite obviously cradling two limp forms beneath the blankets, and looking down at them tenderly; when he raised his head, the arch of his eyebrow was once more amused. "The selfish creatures fell asleep on me," he said cheerfully. "But I suppose even if they're thawed they still must recover."
Aragorn nodded as dumbly as if he were still a stunned youth, then found his voice and cleared his throat. "And time is short for it. They should rest, and so should we."
Boromir tilted his head, in a way that made the firelight glint off his hair and in his eyes, in a way that did nothing to dampen the fires set in Aragorn by Frodo's pleasure. "I think we could spare a few minutes for a walk, once we have settled the little ones; would you come with me?"
Aragorn opened his mouth to refuse. They all needed sleep. Boromir looked at him from a face fair and strong; his mantle lay draped over broad shoulders. "Yes, I will come with you," Aragorn said.
*
By the time Gandalf and Gimli returned, the four hobbits, dressed again in their dried clothes, lay snuggled in a pile by the fire, with Legolas sitting beside them, singing softly with his hands on Sam and Frodo's heads. Gimli took one look at them and snorted and prepared his bedroll, while Gandalf looked around for the two Men. Before he could ask, Legolas said, "they took a walk, and should be back soon."
"A walk?" Gandalf shook his head. "And what were they thinking, to do so?"
Legolas shrugged slightly. "You know more of Men than I, Mithrandir," he replied, before resuming his soft wordless song.
lotr_sesa tale. Utter crackly crack.Title: Blood Heat
Pairing: Aragorn/Frodo, Boromir/Merry/Pippin, Legolas/Sam, Aragorn/Boromir
Rating: R
Written for: Breon Briarwood
Warnings: slash, crack!fic
Disclaimer: This is a benign avocational fiction. And all that.
Author's note: This is based on a
shirebound plotbunny. Yes, I cheated Gimli in this one, for which I feel bad. But I *cannot* write him, it just doesn't work! Argh!By the time they reached the hollow where they'd camped the previous night, all four hobbits were near-insensible, so chilled they were barely shivering. Boromir and Aragorn each bore two, wrapped in spare cloaks and blankets, while Gimli cleared their path and Legolas warded their steps.
"Here, then." A wave and a woosh, and Gandalf lit the sort of fire Aragorn had wished and Boromir had argued for during their attempt on the Redhorn Pass. "Thaw them out, you three. Gimli, come with me." With that Gandalf left in a swirl of grey robes and loose snow.
Boromir sat heavily, laying Merry gently in his lap as he began unfastening Pippin's cloak. "Well, blood heat, then," he said, with one of his rare, brilliant smiles. Aragorn bit the inside of his cheek against the warmth of that smile and nodded, already unwinding Frodo from his sodden cloak; he paused a moment to look down into a face drawn with discomfort and nearly as pale as the snow.
Legolas, meanwhile, held Sam in one arm as with the other he lifted discarded clothes and laid them over rocks beside the fire. Between the three of them, they soon had the hobbits stripped to breeches and shirts, and their own outer layers peeled off; Aragorn bundled himself and a distressingly limp Frodo into as many cloaks and blankets as he could, and Boromir did the same with his double armful of hobbit, but Legolas wound his cloak and blanket round himself and Sam and walked away from the two men huddling near the fire.
"Legolas?" Aragorn called, and the elf replied, "The sky is clearing; I would see the stars," as he stopped at the mouth of the shelter, looking up. Aragorn cradled Frodo beneath his chin, feeling the cold cheek pressed to the hollow of his throat and praying that none of them caught cold or worse from this misadventure. Boromir's bulk, tufted with fur around his face, leaned warm against his side.
Aragorn tightened his arms a little around the hobbit pressed to his chest, willing his strength and warmth into Frodo. Slowly the cold cheek warmed against his flesh, slowly the fine small hands began to tremble and then to grasp and wind themselves into Aragorn's tunic. For awhile the crackle of the fire and the whistle of the wind were the only sounds; then, slowly, Merry and Pippin announced their recovery by murmuring, at first almost inaudibly, then louder and louder. "Bloody blasted cold," Aragorn heard in Merry's voice, and smiled to hear it; he smiled wider when he heard Boromir murmur, "shhh, you shall be warm soon, lie quiet", followed by not unexpected hobbity mumbles and a few oaths.
What was unexpected was the unmistakable smack of a kiss. Aragorn turned his head to see the back of Boromir's, one hand drawn up to his face, curls poking between his fingers; after a long moment, during which a small hand curved up around Boromir's corded neck into his beard and Aragorn's blood halted in his veins, Boromir lifted his head slightly and murmured, "better?"
"Now that's warm," Merry purred, and Boromir's cheek stretched in another of those smiles as he said, "well, then, return to your rest," and tucked the halfling back into the nest of blankets.
"What," Aragorn asked, as evenly as he might, "was that?"
Boromir's smile was wide as ever, the arch of his brows positively wicked. "Warmth," he replied, looking all the more amused when Aragorn's breath hissed between his teeth. "They are not children, Aragorn," Boromir continued, clearly restraining laughter, as he pointed with his chin. "The Ringbearer in your arms is my elder, and has made sure I know it. And each of these two have had more lovers than I."
"Even so!" Aragorn spluttered, belatedly realizing that his arms had tightened protectively round Frodo. "Even so---" there was something certainly wrong about it, wasn't there? The halflings needed their protection, not---
Before Aragorn could say more, a laugh bubbled up from beneath his chin.
*
Sam's first conscious sensation was of silken warmth and soft singing, long arms holding him to a firm chest as his bearer paced slowly to and fro. All in all, wrapped in silk and song, Sam was so comfortable he almost could have gone back to sleep.
Almost. "Frodo?" he croaked, his voice nearly useless, as he opened his eyes to starlight and Legolas' smile in the dimness. "He is well," Legolas reassured him. "Aragorn is tending him, as I am tending you. You must let me warm you, Samwise."
Sam wanted to see for himself, just to be sure, but he did trust Legolas, and he could barely move as it was, warmed enough now to know how cold he was. Settling Sam like a faunt into the crook of his arm, Legolas raised a hand to stroke his brow with the lightest of touches, fingertips sliding round to his cheek, below his eye, over his nose. "You do not feel fevered," Legolas went on, and Sam suddenly realized, for no good reason at all, that it was the elf who carried him, who held him wrapped as much in magic as in blankets.
Also for no good reason whatsoever, Sam felt himself harden at the thought, and well that certainly warmed his cheeks as they burned in a blush. Legolas smiled wider, teeth shining in the dimness. "Would you be warmer, Master Samwise?" Legolas asked, still walking gently back and forth, the motion soothing.
"No, sir, Mr. Legolas, this is, I'm fine---" Sam stammered, but Legolas stilled his babble with fingers to his lips, fingers that slid down over his chin and chest and oh mercy over the buttons of his trousers---
Sam gasped, and closed his eyes. This couldn't be proper---- but Legolas only smiled, deftly unbuttoning him with one hand, and pressed a long soft kiss to his brow. "Let me warm you," he said, and then he began again to sing, as his slender fingers stroked in time.
*
Frodo squirmed up, his curls catching on Aragorn's beard as he peered out. "So we live, and better yet," he observed, eyes as mischievous as Boromir's. "Are those my kinsmen with you, my Lord of Gondor?"
"Just so, Frodo of the Shire," Boromir said with a wink. Frodo clambered up a bit further, clutching Aragorn's tunic to steady himself, as he leaned over and actually bestowed a kiss on Boromir, and oh the sight! Aragorn had lived some time, and wandered far, but the sight of Boromir, rugged and golden, and Frodo, dark and pale and sweet, kissing each other, made the blood within him go from frozen to surging, till his skin prickled as if he sat naked over the fire, till he almost felt too hot within the cloak and blankets.
"Thank you for taking good care of them," Frodo murmured over Boromir's lips, and Aragorn did not know which of them he envied more; then Frodo turned to him, winding a hand in his hair, small soft mouth pressing and stroking over his, and Aragorn felt all his thought vanish in a pale flash of heat, far more intense than a campfire.
His reason returned, if not as soon as it ought, and he tilted Frodo away from himself as gently as he might to lay a hand on his brow. "You're not fevered," he said disbelievingly to the halfling, who laughed and wound both hands in his hair. "No, but I am chilled," Frodo replied merrily. "Please warm me, Aragorn. Please kiss me again."
It was madness, doubtless, and folly; perhaps they were all drunk on the delight of survival, but even so.... Aragorn heard a moan, and glanced over at Boromir, who was now kissing Pippin, the bundle in his arms shifting rhythmically. Aragorn noticed Pippin's trembling, his eyes quivering beneath their closed lids, and felt like a branch thrust into flame. Frodo's lips pressed to the corner of his mouth, and he turned his head to capture them, sucking hard on Frodo's lower lip as he plunged his tongue into the hot, sweet little mouth.
Frodo chuckled into the kiss, and wound his hands tighter in Aragorn's hair, and kissed quite firmly back.
*
Sam was seeing stars, and not those in the sky. He was warm all over, swathed in silken hair, his face pressed to a long finely muscled throat, and he still trembled. Legolas had played his body like a two-handed instrument, drawing out his wits and his gasps and his shivers, caressing away his fear for however brief the moment. Sam pressed his face to skin sleek as moonlight----an elf held him, an elf----and didn't know what fate had brought him to such wonders, but right now he was rather grateful for it, despite the blush that would doubtless never leave his face.
"M-Master Legolas," Sam stammered, and Legolas tilted his head back to gently smile down into his eyes. "Thank you," Sam managed before he had to squeeze his eyes closed, unable to bear the brilliance of Legolas' gaze. "Thank you, sir, but, but..."
Legolas saved Sam from his struggle between curiosity and impertinence. "Because you needed to be warmed, Sam."
"But I, I must seem awful plain to you."
"Samwise." Legolas' amused tone, the fingertip gently tapping his nose, were almost reminiscent of Frodo. "Fairness comes in many forms, my halfling friend. But you should rest." Drawing Sam's head to his shoulder again, somehow not at all as if he were a faunt, Legolas took up the soft song from before, and Sam let the silvery flow of music course through him as he closed his eyes.
*
Aragorn no longer held Frodo, who clung to him with arms and legs; his hands were busy elsewhere, one each within his breeches and Frodo's, and Frodo was writhing into his touch, pulsating in his hold and grinding against his chest as he ravished Aragorn's mouth. Was this the same creature who'd been so pale and limp and cold? Aragorn could hardly credit the change, not that he was left much wit to consider it, with the lithe small frame and deep, encompassing kisses consuming all his attention.
To say nothing of the moans murmured over his mouth; meanwhile, Merry and Pippin, and Boromir, were all sighing and cooing to each other, and completely enclosed in the cloak bundle. Aragorn listened to Boromir's breathy groans and wondered just what two halflings might do with a Man. Considering the one in his arms, the tender hard member pulsing in his fingers, the sweet mouth he couldn't drink his fill of, Aragorn was not at all sure he could have survived two of them.
Frodo's small teeth sank into Aragorn's bottom lip; his member twitched in his hand so that he had to squeeze it firmly to push back his peak. Beside him one of the younger hobbits--- Pippin, it sounded like ---whimpered up into a muffled wail, and Boromir laughed, quiet and deep and joyful; Frodo groaned a laugh, thrusting more insistently into Aragorn's hold, before his body went rigid as he bit down on Aragorn's lip, sharp sweet pain, as he spilled jerkily over Aragorn's fist.
Then he slumped, and Aragorn released himself to catch Frodo with one hand behind his shoulders, as Frodo clung to him and laughed breathlessly and kissed him with trembling lips. "Thank you for warming me," he murmured, breath cool on Aragorn's damp mouth, over the throbbing bite. "I owe you a peak." His voice was charmingly lewd, but already dying down to a whisper, as he yawned and his head lolled back against Aragorn's shoulder. Dazed with wonder as he had not been in many a year, Aragorn watched Frodo's face relax from a smile to sleep; as he let Frodo down into his lap he marveled at the balfling and struggled to tamp down his roused desire.
Hearing another deep chuckle, he turned to look at Boromir, who was quite obviously cradling two limp forms beneath the blankets, and looking down at them tenderly; when he raised his head, the arch of his eyebrow was once more amused. "The selfish creatures fell asleep on me," he said cheerfully. "But I suppose even if they're thawed they still must recover."
Aragorn nodded as dumbly as if he were still a stunned youth, then found his voice and cleared his throat. "And time is short for it. They should rest, and so should we."
Boromir tilted his head, in a way that made the firelight glint off his hair and in his eyes, in a way that did nothing to dampen the fires set in Aragorn by Frodo's pleasure. "I think we could spare a few minutes for a walk, once we have settled the little ones; would you come with me?"
Aragorn opened his mouth to refuse. They all needed sleep. Boromir looked at him from a face fair and strong; his mantle lay draped over broad shoulders. "Yes, I will come with you," Aragorn said.
*
By the time Gandalf and Gimli returned, the four hobbits, dressed again in their dried clothes, lay snuggled in a pile by the fire, with Legolas sitting beside them, singing softly with his hands on Sam and Frodo's heads. Gimli took one look at them and snorted and prepared his bedroll, while Gandalf looked around for the two Men. Before he could ask, Legolas said, "they took a walk, and should be back soon."
"A walk?" Gandalf shook his head. "And what were they thinking, to do so?"
Legolas shrugged slightly. "You know more of Men than I, Mithrandir," he replied, before resuming his soft wordless song.
