Days passed.

Pippin kept his mouth shut, though he felt queezy whenever he looked at Aragorn or Boromir, or whenever they looked at him.

They traveled quickly and slept only when necessary. They came to a small mountain and were forced to climb it. Remnants of long-forgotten travelers were scattered among the mountain's hesitant overgrown paths.

At the steepest points, Aragorn and Boromir and Legolas would carry the Hobbits on their backs, reaching up and placing them on the ledge above them as if they were mere baggage. Gimli struggled the most, though he would not admit it. His beard kept getting hung up on rocks and brambles, and his legs were too short to climb as easily as the others. Stubborness kept him from complaint.

...

Once afternoon Legolas scouted ahead while the rest of the Fellowship made a small fire and heated the lembas bread for lunch.

Frodo sat with his back against the rough, grainy wall. His head was tilted up, eyes gazing skyward at the dreary gray clouds which gathered above the mountain's peak. He had his hand up his shirt, fingers tracing the smoothe circle of the Ring unconciously. Sam sat beside him, offering him bits of bread every few seconds, but Frodo did not respond.

Merry sat with his knees tucked to his chest, wiggling his toes in front of the fire. He munched on a bruised apple, warming the delicate skin before every bite. Pippin was at his side. Having been distracting himself by watching a grasshopper, Pippin flinched when Aragorn said his name. He looked up anxiously only to see Aragorn handing him a flask of water. He took it, grinning shyly, staring at Aragorn's lips like a fool. Aragorn gave him an odd look before turning away.

Gimli had fallen asleep, his body pushed to its limits. He slumped over on himself, his back against a thin, leafless sapling. Boromir stood near the edge of the cliff, his arms folded over his chest. He stared off at the lands they had passed through just hours before. He felt Aragorn watching him and turned to see him coming towards him.

Boromir puffed out his chest as Aragorn came over to him. Their eyes met, and held.

"Perhaps we ought to scout ahead in the other direction," Aragorn said in a low voice.

Boromir said nothing.

"Say it," Aragorn ordered, his voice a tense whisper.

"Perhaps we ought to scout ahead in the other direction," Boromir said a bit loudly, his eyes glossy and dark as he stared deeply into Aragorn's.

"Yes, that is a good idea." Aragorn put in.

Frodo and Sam looked up. Merry stood and Pippin ducked his head, picking at the leather strap of the water flask.

"Both of you?" Merry asked shortly.

Pippin blushed.

"Two heads are better than one," Aragorn said seriously. He pointed at Gimli. "Wake the Dwarf," he told Boromir.

Boromir went to Gimli and kicked him in the foot. Gimli let out a grumbling yell and swung out with a massive fist, thudding into Boromir's thigh. Boromir winced and stepped back.

"Wake up," he told Gimli, kicking him again.

Gimli swore and scrambled to his feet.

"What? What?" He demanded, glaring at Boromir.

Boromir turned to Aragorn.

"Keep watch. Me and Boromir are scouting this way," Aragorn pointed the direction they would be heading.

"Alright, I guess. It's not like I was sleepin' or anything..." Gimli grunted, hefting his axe and resting it on his shoulder. He gave Boromir a warning look, which he ignored.

Aragorn gestured and Boromir lead the way.

They left the Hobbits with the Dwarf and picked their way through sharp rocks and thorns as they marched out a new path.

"What do you think, Boromir?" Aragorn asked after a few minutes of walking.

Boromir glanced at him, then studied the ground. "I believe Orcs have passed this way, but not in any recent times," he said, straightening up.

"Why do you think that?"

Boromir's shoulders went stiff. Aragorn was right beside him, speaking into his ear rather loudly.

"Well," he stooped down. "The grass is yellowed here. Perhaps they slept here, or used this spot for their excrements. The dirt is thin and dry, but this road is not often traveled; you can still see traces of Orc boot-prints if you look hard enough. And here's a bit of bone, possibly from their meals..." His voice faded and he raised his eyes to see Aragorn just staring at him.

Boromir stood up slowly.

"Is it safe?" Aragorn asked deliberately.

Boromir's eyes widened and his heart beat quickened as he caught Aragorn's secret meaning. A nervousness flushed over his expression but he gulped it down. He looked around for any signs of life, strained his ears for any sign of eavesdroppers, and concluded they were alone.

"I believe so, my Lord." Boromir said, his lip trembling.

"Good." Aragorn took his buckle off, tossing his sword to the grass, followed by his armor.

Is this a trap? Boromir wondered. What does he want from me? Why does he... Torment me so?

Aragorn stood before Boromir, naked apart from his underwear. He set his boots beside his sword sheath and stared at Boromir with heat.

"Come here," Aragorn commanded.

Boromir went to him, his body shaking, his eyes moist. He stood a foot away from Aragorn silently, swallowing down his fear.

Aragorn put his hand on Boromir's shoulder and pushed on him. "Down," he ordered. Boromir sank to his knees, sweat pooling along the back of his neck. His nose was inches away from Aragorn's crotch. He could smell his desire. He could feel his own.

Aragorn's hands fell down to his underwear, and Boromir tilted his head to stare up at Aragorn's face. Aragorn didn't look him in the eye. He pulled his dick out of the open, tickling it a little with his thumb before letting it hang. Boromir averted his eyes. He was embaressed. He felt like he was violating Gondor. He felt like he was violating the King.

"Take it," Aragorn said, pushing his hips forward. Boromir turned his head away, his stomach contorting. He took a deep breath and raised his trembling hands, reaching for Aragorn's swollen cock.

"Not with your hands," Aragorn added suddenly.

Boromir looked up sharply. This time he caught Aragorn's eye.

"M-my Lord, I-"

"Did I tell you to speak?" Aragorn demanded angrily, his hand snatching onto Boromir's hair. Tears filled his eyes but Boromir said nothing else. He parted his lips, and Aragorn thrust his penis inside.

...

"Merry." Pippin leaned in close to Merry's ear, speaking quickly in a hushed tone.

"What is it?" Merry asked, stabbing a stick into the weak fire.

"I have to tell you something," Pippin whispered urgently.

"Okay, what?" Merry asked, growing irritated.

"It's about Aragorn and Boromir," Pippin went on.

"Just spit it out, will you, Pip?" Merry sighed.

"What about them?" Sam asked, sitting down by the fire.

"No, it's nothing, I-" Pippin hesitated.

"Please, Pippin, just tell us." Merry shook his head as if shamed by Pippin's behavior.

"Well," Pippin relented. "I don't want them knowing I told you, so keep it quiet, will you?" Pippin pleaded.

"Of course, Pippin," Merry said thinly.

"Yeah." Sam bobbed his head in agreement.

Pippin glanced around nervously. Gimli was asleep again, and it seemed like Frodo was as well. All was silent.

"Okay, so yesterday out by the cave... I saw Aragorn and Boromir together." Pippin wrung his hands together like a nervous old maid, his eyes twitchy and wide, flinching at imagined sounds.

"And?" Merry prodded.

"And- and they were... Kissing."

"What?" Merry cried.

"No way!" Sam spat. "You had to be seeing things." Sam didn't believe it.

"It's true, I saw them-" Pippin insisted.

"They wouldn't've done that," Sam retorted.

"Yeah, Pip. They practically hate each other," Merry put in.

"Then what are they doing now then, huh?" Pippin snapped. "Legolas can find a path on his own. They didn't need to go off like that."

Sam and Merry looked at each other.

Sam shook his head. "I still don't think-"

"What's going on?" Frodo asked. He was standing three feet away, though from his expression he appeared much further. His eyes were dark and ringed with gray from lack of sleep. He took a shaky step towards Sam, repeating his question.

"Nothing, Mr. Frodo," Sam said quickly, jumping up to help Frodo sit back down. "Pippin just thought he'd seen something, but he was wrong."

"Oh," Frodo said, sagging back to the ground.

Sam gave Pippin a dirty look over his shoulder.

"Everything's alright, Mr. Frodo," Sam said calmly, patting him on the back.

Merry punched Pippin in the shoulder. Pippin grunted and rubbed the spot. He knew what he had seen. He was mad they didn't believe him, but he would make sure they did.