The Gift

The Gift

Posted: May 12, 2006
Title: The Gift
Author: Númenora
Type: FCS
Characters: Boromir/Théodred, Éomer
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine...wish they were...can only dream!
Warnings: AU, M/M Slash, Angst, PWP (kinda). Un-betaed, but vigorously proofed.
Author's Notes: The AU world of this fic is the same as the one presented in my story 'Another's Guilt' but is set around five years earlier (it's not necessary to read that one). The One Ring and Sauron were destroyed during the Last Alliance and the High King Arathorn II is the leader of the United Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor of which Rohan is a part. Aragorn is his sole heir and Finduilas (Faramir/Boromir's mother) was his sister. The blood of Númenor is as strong as it ever was from the time of Elros (life-span around 500). Character's ages are as follows: Boromir and Éomer are 21 and Théodred is 19; Faramir is 6 years younger and Aragorn is 5 years younger (though neither will be speaking during the fic). Most of this background stuff is superfluous, but some helps to explain some references in the story. Written for morierblackleaf whose post featuring Jeff Palmer photography inspired me along with her 'hint-hint' & 'wink-wink!' Also for the lotrallslash Daily Drabble challenge: Prompts 'Mine' and 'Invitation.'

Thoughts and stressed words are italicized

Summary: It's Boromir's 21 st begetting day; but he is disappointed that his lover from Rohan is not coming. Will the gift Théodred sent make up for the Prince's absence?

*****

Boromir sipped his wine, savoring the flavor. Delicious, he thought as the rich Dorwinion vintage rolled across his tongue. Delicious, yes—but the other flavor lingering in his mouth was much more to his liking; a much headier essence that came from no bottle.

A laugh escaped as a brilliant smile lit up his handsome face. He'd thought that this would be the worst begetting day of his existence, but instead, it had turned into the best of his adult life. He didn't count the ones from childhood since they were of a different class—boyish games and sweet treats with pony rides and toys as gifts. But then again...

There were toys and then there were toys—lovely, warm and yielding. Yes—this was the best of all his begetting days of his remembrance. The day had started out disappointing as the group from Rohan arrived. The smile he'd been wearing melted away as he realized that of the Royal family, only Éomer was present. He had known for weeks that King Théoden and Éowyn weren't coming, but he had received word that Éomer and Théodred would be there for the celebration.

That morning just after dawn...

"Where is Théodred, Éomer?" Boromir tried to keep the bitter disappointment at bay, but Éomer's apologetic grimace and next words destroyed any hope that the Prince was only a few hours behind.

"I am sorry, Boromir; but last minute official business changed his plans. Cheer up, my Lord—he has sent you this grand gift to make up for his absence. He also asked me to ask you to come to Edoras as soon as your guests have departed so that he can beg your forgiveness...properly." A wickedly suggestive leer followed Éomer's explanation.

"I see," the Steward-prince said sadly. But he brightened slightly as his gaze fell upon the large crate housing his present from Théodred. "What is in this? The box is huge!" Boromir laughed as he circled it.

"It is a surprise, Boromir—for your eyes alone." The last was whispered lowly, followed by another wicked grin. "Théodred insisted."

"Very well, my Lord—I'll have it taken to my rooms to be dealt with right away." Boromir gestured to some of the citadel guards to direct the servants to his chambers.

"Nay, Boromir! Later—much later. It's what Théodred wanted." Then to the servants surrounding the crate, "Take care, for this is most fragile and precious."

Boromir thought that Éomer was behaving quite strangely, but perhaps he was just tired. "Very well, Éomer; I'll open it later after the feast. Why don't you and your people go get settled; your rooms are ready. Come—I'll escort you."

"That's very generous of you, Lord...But...I'd prefer to follow the servants to see to your...gift." It wasn't like Éomer to be so tied of tongue. If Boromir didn't know better, he'd think the 3 rd Marshal of the Mark up to no good.

"As you wish; do what you must and I'll come collect you for the noon meal. Aragorn and Faramir should be there as well; they both have lessons this morning with Mithrandir. I was supposed to, but I begged off since I knew you were arriving and it is my begetting day after all!" Boromir patted Éomer's shoulder and walked with him into the citadel.

The rest of the day was a blur; Boromir kept his spirits up as best he could, but he was terribly disappointed that his lover wasn't there for his special day. A man didn't turn 21 everyday after all. As Boromir dressed for his celebration, he would occasionally glance out at the huge box taking up a large portion of his sitting room; trying his best to guess what could be inside.

"Well, Théodred—it had better be spectacular!" He said to the absent Prince just before leaving to join the revelers in the Hall of Feasts.

He had a good time at the celebration whenever his thoughts didn't turn to Théodred. He danced and flirted with every Lord and Lady within his sight; many mothers pushing their of age daughters his way. He was the consummate gentleman and danced with every one of them whether they were fair or less than fair. He even danced with his little brother, making Faramir laugh like the boy he still was to Boromir.

The only annoyance came from Éomer; whenever Boromir would refill his wine or ale, Éomer would appear and admonish him to take care as the night was still young. He didn't drink half as much as he would have liked. Then it was time to open his presents. They had come from far and wide; most grand and others quite opulent. He appreciated them all, but couldn't help but wonder what was waiting for him upstairs.

As he stood to thank everyone for his gifts, he noticed Éomer slip from the Great Hall. He didn't have time to ponder it for long as King Arathorn stood to make a speech where he, too thanked the many guests and invited them to stay and revel as long as they wished. This marked the end of the celebration though the merry-making lasted well into the wee hours. Of course Faramir and Aragorn weren't allowed to stay up so late and Boromir, eager to open the gift from Théodred, walked his brother and cousin to their rooms; then he went to open his special gift.

As he entered his sitting room, he frowned deeply. The crate was open—lid and sides pulled apart with soft cushions strewn about.

"What?!" He exclaimed.

Then he noticed a long, wide red ribbon leading from inside of the box, trailing across the floor into his bedchamber. The door was slightly ajar and he could smell sandalwood wafting from inside. He smiled, for that was Théodred's favorite fragrance. Whatever the Prince had planned for him was through that door inside his room. Very carefully, he pushed open the door and the sight that greeted him stole his breath from him. The room was bathed in candlelight; thick tapers on nearly every flat surface and in the fireplace, surrounded by bowls of smoldering sandalwood incense. The canopy of his bed had been changed from the heavy green velvet that had always been there to one of the sheerest white silk he'd ever seen.

And there on his bed, just visible through the sheer curtains, was the slender, nearly hairless form of Théodred, 2 nd Marshal of the Riddermark—spread eagle, naked, blindfolded and bound. The red ribbon leading across the floor from the outer room was attached intimately to his body. Boromir's smile broadened so much that it made his face ached.

"So, lover—you could not make my celebration, huh? I should have known that you wouldn't disappoint me so. This is incredible; you are incredible, my love." Boromir breathed excitedly as he closed the door, throwing the bolt.

Ever since they'd become lovers, they'd shared their sexual fantasies with each other; Théodred would always think of exotic places for their liaisons—like the Glittering Caves of Helm's Deep. But Boromir would always imagine wickedly naughty things for them to do. His biggest fantasy of them all was being played out before him in his bed.

Théodred's arms were tied above his dark-blond head by satin ropes to the headboard. His eyes were covered and his mouth was gagged by a similar fabric as the canopy, but thicker. Only one of his feet was tethered to the footboard, leaving the other free to be moved to any position Boromir wished. Then there was the red ribbon. It was intricately wound around the Prince's engorged shaft and testicles in a crisscross design ending in a lovely bow that covered Théodred's entrance—a place that Boromir was intimately acquainted with.

Any drink that he'd consumed fled his system and desire flooded him making Boromir very hard. He allowed himself only a few moments more to gaze upon the loveliness before him. Then he slowly undressed, his movements making his clothes rustle; the noise reaching Théodred, causing his head to turn towards the sounds. Boromir grew more excited as he listened to Théodred's heavy breathing; he knew that the younger man was nervous, but was just as excited as he.

"Don't worry, my love—I will be with you shortly." This as he removed the last piece of his under things.

When he was completely naked, the older man climbed onto the bed, the dip turning the bound male slightly to him. Boromir's large hand caressed Théodred's face, the thumb moving across his right cheekbone. It then moved across the gag to stroke luscious red lips cruelly separated by the tight cloth. Boromir kissed that mouth, his tongue following the path of his thumb. The contrast between the soft, warmth of Théodred's lips and the damp silkiness of the cloth was very arousing; Boromir could not remember being this hard before, his cock leaking copious amounts against his and Théodred's bodies.

As he continued to kiss his captive lover, their tongues meeting as best they could around the gag, Boromir's hands moved to tangle into Théodred's thick tresses, forcing his head back as he deepened the kiss. His and the Prince's moans reverberated around the room. Then Boromir wrenched his mouth from the kiss-swollen lips to latched onto Théodred's exposed throat; lips and tongue sucking hungrily as teeth nipped and marked him as Boromir's. Suddenly it wasn't enough to taste him. He wanted to be inside in him, everywhere at once.

"This has to go," he said of the gag. "As lovely as you are with this thing, I want to hear you moan and cry out and I want to hear my name when I take you. Your screams of pleasure will be my anthem, my beautiful Théodred." He untied the cloth throwing it across the room beyond the bed.

He watched in fascination as Théodred licked his lips; then the Steward-prince captured the mouth once again, sucking Théodred's tongue into his hot cavern as his fingers grazed over the taut flesh of the Prince's chest—grabbing and twisting the hard dusky nipples. Théodred arched his body, trying to both escape the exquisite torture and beg for more at the same time. Leaving the other's mouth, the older man latched his onto the left nub, sinking his teeth in, nearly drawing blood.

"Aahh! Boromir—do you seek to destroy me!" Théodred's first words were as music to Boromir.

"I seek to love you—to own you—to brand you as mine!" He feasted as Théodred writhed in ecstasy, pulling against his bonds, his left leg wrapping around his tormenting lover.

Boromir lifted his head to look up at his lover, the keening noises and the leg pulling him closer conveying the Prince's needs louder than any words could. "Eager are we?" He chuckled at his sightless love.

"I need you, Boromir! Please take me and then you can play with me all night at your leisure," Théodred begged.

"My, what a demanding present you are!" Boromir teased, but the huskiness of his voice betrayed his desire—he wanted to take Théodred as much as the other wanted to be taken.

Kissing Théodred deeply once more, Boromir moved away, crawling across the large bed to the side table. Preparing to open the drawer, he smiled as he saw the assortment of oils lining the top.

"You've thought of everything, dearest love." He took the one closest to him, thinking that he will examine the others more closely later.

He pulled the ribbon, loosening the bow, and then he unwound the rest from around Théodred's arousal. He carefully laid it aside for later use. Taking the tumescence in hand, Boromir swirled his tongue around the purplish head, gathering the emissions there, savoring the taste. He loved Théodred's taste—sweet and savory all at once. His tongue trailed down the generous length to swirl around the rounded orbs at the base, gathering them briefly into his talented mouth before it ventured lower.

Théodred's body froze as he waited; he could feel the heat from Boromir's mouth—hear the man breathing as he inhaled the Prince's scent. Then he felt it. The rough, wet organ that was his lover's tongue, touching him intimately as he'd done many times before, of which Théodred never growing tired. Théodred's legs opened wider, wantonly giving Boromir access to his secret place that only he knew.

"I could eat you all night—and I just might! But first I will bury my length into your depth so far you will taste me on your tongue!" He promised, giving one last lick to the tight opening.

Retrieving the bottle of oil, Boromir quickly coated his fingers before pushing first one, then two and finally three fingers inside of his eager lover. He moved quickly, but efficiently—knowing how much preparing Théodred needed from much practice. When he was certain that Théodred was loosened enough, Boromir poured more the oil onto his palm (capping the bottle again); then he coated his thick organ's considerable length before plunging himself inside of the bound Prince's hot channel, fully seating himself with one stroke.

Théodred screamed in pain and delight, his body coming off of the bed as far as his bonds would permit. He'd barely caught his breath before Boromir started to pound his body mercilessly, pushing Théodred's body into the firm mattress. As Théodred's screams grew louder, Boromir seriously considered gagging him again, but opted for shutting him up with a hard kiss, his tongue forcing its way down the Prince's throat.

Théodred's leg wrapped around Boromir's waist again, pulling him closer, encouraging the Steward-prince to move deeper inside. Boromir didn't really need any coaxing, but appreciated Théodred's enthusiasm, pounding him harder and deeper, hitting his sweet spot over and over again. Théodred was always amazed at Boromir's stamina; the man could continue like this forever it seemed. Perhaps it was his undiminished Númenórean blood. Whatever it was, the Rohirric heir was grateful.

Sweat poured off both males and their grunts and moans competed as they neared their peak. Théodred rose to meet every thrust from his lover, his arms pulling on the bonds. "Please, Boromir—I want to touch you...and...and see...you!"

"Very...well my...love." The Gondoran reached up to the head board and quickly loosened the rope from one of the rounds leaving the other end attached Théodred's wrist.

As soon as his hand was free, Théodred ripped the blindfold off and entwined his fingers in Boromir's damp blond hair. They stared into each other's eyes before locking mouths again. Boromir continued his almost violent thrusts into Théodred as he met Boromir's powerful plunges. Knowing that Théodred would need to come soon, Boromir reached between their bodies and wrapped his fingers around his lover's erection; moving his hand up and the shaft.

Théodred's body froze once more and he caught his breath as he reached his peak, hot fluids escaping his body to coat his stomach and Boromir's hand. As he screamed his release down Boromir's throat, his grasping channel squeezed Boromir's cock almost painfully, sending pleasure along the pounding staff. As Théodred's tremors began to subside, Boromir continued to move inside of him for several more thrusts until he too found his release, flooding his lover with his hot seed, searing his own flesh within the tight space.

As their passion ebbed, Boromir collapsed on top of Théodred, the Prince relishing in the familiar weight of the Steward-prince—their long separation nearly unbearable. Since their burning passion had been sated for the moment, they kissed each other in welcome—not having had time before that moment.

"I've missed you," they both intoned at the same time, causing them both to laugh. Caressing Théodred's face again, Boromir then untied the remaining wrist.

Both hands free, Théodred touched every part of his lover he could reach—the two of them kissing again. Then a yawn from Boromir coaxed another laugh from them. "I still want you," the Gondoran said seriously.

"And I you. There is time and I'm not going anywhere," the 3 rd Marshal said looking at his still bound foot.

Another laugh, "I am glad, for I have many plans for you, gift—wicked and delightful! Let us rest for you will need all of your strength."

Boromir had been true to his word. When Théodred awoke, he found that he was once again blind, bound and gagged; his cock and sacs once again entwined in ribbon. Boromir was licking him from head to toe it seemed—that evil, beloved tongue torturing and delighting him all at once. Boromir first took Théodred slowly and then fast and hard all night long, making him scream and beg from behind his gag.

Now, here Boromir stood in the wee hours just before dawn sipping his wine, pondering what he would do next with his lover. Since the festivities were more than likely still going on, or just recently ceased, there would be no formal breakfast or luncheon planned. No one would be expected before tea, around 4 in the afternoon.

So he walked over to the bed and climbed atop next to Théodred. As his lover slept, he thought once more, a huge grin on his handsome face: This has been the best begetting day ever.

"Thank you, my love."

*****

THE END

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