Icon Ficlet: Swordplay (A/B; PG-13)
Jun. 23rd, 2003 12:24 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
thedevilchicken.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
rugbytackleSorta silly little Aragorn/Boromir ficlet written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
milochka’s ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rugbytackle fic-based-on-someone’s-icon challenge, using cruisedirector’s ‘Let’s go play with our swords’ icon.
***
They know they're not supposed to be making too much noise, so when Aragorn turns to Boromir with that look in his eyes, they both grab their packs and only wander a little way, wrapping whatever sheets and clothing they won't mind ruining around their unsheathed swords. Aragorn grins wickedly and takes a playful swipe at Boromir, who deflects it with a spongy thwack. It's like the training swords they used when they were kids, decades apart at opposite ends of Arda. It doesn't matter that they didn't know each other then, because they know each other now.
They're both grinning hard and wondering if the pipeweed's gone to their heads when Aragorn thinks he hears something and in the moment he's distracted Boromir catches him full on the side of the head with the padded flat of his blade. With a surprised little yelp Aragorn stumbles, trips over a loose flagstone and ends up sprawled most unceremoniously across the floor. He turns onto his side and props his head on his hand, raising his eyebrows at Boromir with a look that quite clearly says 'you did that on purpose, and you're going to pay'.
Boromir just clamps his free hand down over his mouth to keep from bursting out in a gale of laughter. His shoulders still shake even so. Aragorn just smirks up at him from his place on the floor.
"So, are you going to help me up?"
Boromir somehow manages to get his snickering under control and, biting his lip, he removes his hand from his face and holds it out to Aragorn. Aragorn seizes his arm by the bracer, and suddenly, as Boromir looks down at him, as the wicked smile he knows so well spreads rapidly across his face, he knows what Aragorn's going to do next. He's expecting it, but that doesn't mean he can stop it when Aragorn's fingertips slide under the leather of his bracer and yank him down to the floor.
He twists and lands heavily on top of Aragorn, momentarily knocking the wind out of both of them. He dropped his sword and for a moment he was worried about the clatter of the hilt but it didn't come and he knows why - it landed on Aragorn's forearm, which explains the mock-glare Aragorn is currently shooting at him. Boromir just shrugs and presses a frivolous kiss to his forehead. Aragorn smirks and he knows he's forgiven.
He knows he should get up now, that the weight of his body pressing down on Aragorn is probably uncomfortable and anyone could walk in at any moment. But he doesn't move. Aragorn smirks up at him, his hand still on his bracer, and the smirk melts into a soft, if slightly confused, smile. He reaches up with his free hand and tucks back Boromir's loose hair behind his ear, his fingertips grazing his cheek as he does so. Their gazes lock. Boromir raises himself a little further on his hands as Aragorn's thighs spread beneath him. Their lips part just a fraction and they can hear each other's breath, staring into each other's faces, unsurprised by the hardness growing between them.
"Oh, oh, I'm sorry!" Both men turn quickly and spot Pippin in the doorway. "It's just... would you like some tea? We've just made it, Merry and me".
Boromir rolls off Aragorn and rises to his feet, scooping up his sword; Aragorn sits up and crosses his legs on the floor.
"Thank you, Pippin, but no", says Aragorn. "Boromir?"
"No, no, thanks".
Pippin, red-faced and awkward, scurries away. He'll no doubt tell Merry everything; Merry won't be surprised.
Boromir turns to Aragorn, who's playing with the loose cloth bound around his sword. Aragorn looks up and the heat there, in his eyes, brings a lump to Boromir's throat. Not to mention other places.
"So what do we do now?" he asks, fiddling with his bracers, still feeling Aragorn's body pinned under his own.
Aragorn smiles and nods to the next archway. "Let's go play with our swords", he says.
***
milochka’s rugbytackle fic-based-on-someone’s-icon challenge, using cruisedirector’s ‘Let’s go play with our swords’ icon. ***
They know they're not supposed to be making too much noise, so when Aragorn turns to Boromir with that look in his eyes, they both grab their packs and only wander a little way, wrapping whatever sheets and clothing they won't mind ruining around their unsheathed swords. Aragorn grins wickedly and takes a playful swipe at Boromir, who deflects it with a spongy thwack. It's like the training swords they used when they were kids, decades apart at opposite ends of Arda. It doesn't matter that they didn't know each other then, because they know each other now.
They're both grinning hard and wondering if the pipeweed's gone to their heads when Aragorn thinks he hears something and in the moment he's distracted Boromir catches him full on the side of the head with the padded flat of his blade. With a surprised little yelp Aragorn stumbles, trips over a loose flagstone and ends up sprawled most unceremoniously across the floor. He turns onto his side and props his head on his hand, raising his eyebrows at Boromir with a look that quite clearly says 'you did that on purpose, and you're going to pay'.
Boromir just clamps his free hand down over his mouth to keep from bursting out in a gale of laughter. His shoulders still shake even so. Aragorn just smirks up at him from his place on the floor.
"So, are you going to help me up?"
Boromir somehow manages to get his snickering under control and, biting his lip, he removes his hand from his face and holds it out to Aragorn. Aragorn seizes his arm by the bracer, and suddenly, as Boromir looks down at him, as the wicked smile he knows so well spreads rapidly across his face, he knows what Aragorn's going to do next. He's expecting it, but that doesn't mean he can stop it when Aragorn's fingertips slide under the leather of his bracer and yank him down to the floor.
He twists and lands heavily on top of Aragorn, momentarily knocking the wind out of both of them. He dropped his sword and for a moment he was worried about the clatter of the hilt but it didn't come and he knows why - it landed on Aragorn's forearm, which explains the mock-glare Aragorn is currently shooting at him. Boromir just shrugs and presses a frivolous kiss to his forehead. Aragorn smirks and he knows he's forgiven.
He knows he should get up now, that the weight of his body pressing down on Aragorn is probably uncomfortable and anyone could walk in at any moment. But he doesn't move. Aragorn smirks up at him, his hand still on his bracer, and the smirk melts into a soft, if slightly confused, smile. He reaches up with his free hand and tucks back Boromir's loose hair behind his ear, his fingertips grazing his cheek as he does so. Their gazes lock. Boromir raises himself a little further on his hands as Aragorn's thighs spread beneath him. Their lips part just a fraction and they can hear each other's breath, staring into each other's faces, unsurprised by the hardness growing between them.
"Oh, oh, I'm sorry!" Both men turn quickly and spot Pippin in the doorway. "It's just... would you like some tea? We've just made it, Merry and me".
Boromir rolls off Aragorn and rises to his feet, scooping up his sword; Aragorn sits up and crosses his legs on the floor.
"Thank you, Pippin, but no", says Aragorn. "Boromir?"
"No, no, thanks".
Pippin, red-faced and awkward, scurries away. He'll no doubt tell Merry everything; Merry won't be surprised.
Boromir turns to Aragorn, who's playing with the loose cloth bound around his sword. Aragorn looks up and the heat there, in his eyes, brings a lump to Boromir's throat. Not to mention other places.
"So what do we do now?" he asks, fiddling with his bracers, still feeling Aragorn's body pinned under his own.
Aragorn smiles and nods to the next archway. "Let's go play with our swords", he says.
***
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no subject
Date: 2003-06-23 04:24 am (UTC)It doesn't matter that they didn't know each other then, because they know each other now.
He reaches up with his free hand and tucks back Boromir's loose hair behind his ear, his fingertips grazing his cheek as he does so. Their gazes lock.
Absolutely great!
no subject
Date: 2003-06-23 08:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-23 06:11 am (UTC)Thanks for posting this, I needed to see them so happy and carefree with each other... it made my day! *rereads fic* :)
no subject
Date: 2003-06-23 08:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-23 06:49 am (UTC)And the gentle tension at the end is wonderful... especially when Pippin breaks it.
What a lovely find for a morning!
~Kris
no subject
Date: 2003-06-23 08:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-23 07:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-23 08:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-23 07:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-23 08:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-23 03:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-23 12:43 pm (UTC)This is lovely -- so sweet, so playful, so much fun (especially considering it's AraBoro). And a great use of the challenge and
tucks back Boromir's loose hair behind his ear
*sighs* *clutches heart* I just LOVE that line/image...