Title: Corruption
Author: Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels@hotmail.com)
Rating: R
Pairing: Aragorn/Boromir
Warnings: BDSM. Quasi-noncon.
Setting: AU FOTR
Disclaimer: Tolkien is rolling over in his grave. I'm definitely going to hell for this.
No money, not owned, no mercy.
Dedication: For Luna, who wanted duress. I tried. And again to Luna for multiple
corrections. Any and all remaining mistakes are products of my own stubbornness.
Summery: Aragorn has a bad day. Boromir is made to pay. PWP.
The king was in a foul mood and had been all day. It had started, Boromir thought, with
the first report from the Northern border that the insurgents were acting up again,
refusing to give allegiance to Barad-âr. The day had gotten progressively worse, from
cold food for lunch (the cook had been tortured later; Boromir had seen to that) to the
growing imbecility of the courtiers. It had climaxed when the fire in the Great Hall was
kindled too late to adequately warm the chamber in time for dinner. Aragorn had stewed
through the entire meal and then curtly ordered Boromir to his chambers, dismissing
everyone else for the day.
Boromir followed Aragorn reluctantly through the Palace, past cold-faced guards and
cowering pages, until they reached Aragorn's private quarters. A guard opened the door
and the two stepped over the threshold. Aragorn began looking over everything,
performing his nightly security check. Boromir waited nervously by the door. He knew
what was coming and did not relish it.
But instead of the frontal assault which Boromir had expected, Aragorn merely walked
into his bedchamber, throwing a glance at Boromir ordering him to follow. Aragorn shed
his clothing and lay down on the bed, hands propping his head up, legs spread. He
glanced at Boromir for a long moment, causing the Steward to shift from foot to foot. It
wasn't that he did not enjoy sharing Aragorn's bed, though at times like this he wished
he had not let Aragorn ring him. 'I will not allow you to fade,' Aragorn had promised
with that fey look in his eye that only using the One Ring brought on. 'With this, you
will never age. You will never die. You will never betray me.' Which Boromir would never
have done anyway, no matter how harsh Aragorn could be in bed.
And harsh seemed to be the plan for tonight. Manacles appeared in Aragorn's hands and he
attached them absently to the chains that already were secured to the wall behind the
bed. Boromir wasn't sure, but he thought he saw the glint of sharpened steel lurking
under Aragorn's pillow. He stiffened and tried to stare straight ahead, tried to ignore
his King preparing for what promised to be a night of pain. He did not begrudge his use
as the King's whore, but this was looking as if it was going to test his limits. And
Boromir had had a bad day as well.
The leg chains were spread now, ready for him. Boromir hadn't seen them be moved. The
black blindfold and matching gag lay next to Aragorn, within arm's distance. The
little-used whip also lay near Aragorn. Pain, then. Lots of pain. Boromir winced in
anticipation. From the looks of Aragorn's preparation, he wouldn't be able to walk
tomorrow, possibly for the next week. Sword-play was out for the next month, if that
whip had as much metal on its tip as it looked. More fodder for rumors. Boromir couldn't
wait.
It seemed Aragorn was finished with the preparation. Boromir was relieved to see a
bottle of grease on the sidetable. At least Aragorn wasn't anticipating being that rough
tonight. He had once, Boromir remembered. Five nights before Aragorn's coronation, and
Boromir had hesitated in killing Denethor. In punishment, Aragorn had not prepared
himself as much as he could have. Boromir had had to see the healers after that. He did
not relish a repeat of that.
"Come here," Aragorn demanded.
Boromir surveyed the assorted toys with growing fear. Whatever Aragorn was planning, it
did not look pleasant. Well, damn it. He didn't have to put up with this. "No."
"You didn't seem to hear me correctly, Steward. That was an order, not a suggestion."
"And I said 'no'."
"If that's the way you want it...," Aragorn left the threat hanging in the air. "It's
going to happen either way, my dear. Were you willing, this might have been easier for
you, but since you seem to be resisting me tonight," Aragorn paused and his eyes began
to glow as he called on the power of the Ring. "Come. Here."
Boromir's legs moved as if of their own volition, moving the Steward closer to the bed,
and then on it in his customary kneeling position: hands and knees on the mattress, head
resting between his splayed hands, backside in the air. Control returned gradually to
Boromir but before he could begin shaking, Aragorn manacled his hands to the waiting
chains.
"Now, Steward, am I going to have to continue ordering you around, or are you going to
listen to me?"
"I don't want this."
A red handprint appeared on Boromir's bowed head. 'Strange,' he thought absently, head
ringing. 'I didn't see his hand move.'
"Boromir, why do you try me like this? I know you love me; I can see your thoughts. I
can see your desires. You want me."
"Not like this, my lord."
Another handprint. "What," Aragorn said with such chill in his voice that Boromir
shivered despite Aragorn's waning control over him, "have I told you about using that
title?"
"'Never in bed,'" Boromir recited and was rewarded by a pat on his head. Boromir
growled. "Please don't be condescending, Aragorn."
"How can I not be when my servant refuses to willingly do what I say?" Aragorn moved
down on the bed so that his erect cock was almost in line with Boromir's head. "Did you
think to listen to me before, my dear, when you asked me of my dreams? Did you think to
listen to what I was saying, or were you only focusing on getting out of that wilderness
and back to civilization at my side?" He shook his head and moved Boromir's head to just
above his crotch. "Suck me."
The chains rattled as Boromir uselessly tried to gain purchase on the bed and remove
himself from Aragorn's hands. He dared not open his mouth, lest Aragorn take the
opportunity. His feet slid over the silk bedsheets. Funny. He hadn't remembered dropping
his boots. And then pressure on his finger. 'NO! Not the ring, Aragorn', he wanted to
scream, but refused to give Aragorn the satisfaction. It always hurt when Aragorn
commanded him through it. As it seemed he was doing now, with such insistence that it
felt like his hand was catching fire. And then fingers over his nose and Boromir had to
open his mouth to gasp, had only a moment before Aragorn slammed his cock into Boromir's
open mouth.
"You bite, I make this even harder on you," Aragorn warned. Was that even possible,
Boromir wondered. He was already being forced into something he would have gladly
embraced had both of them been in better moods. And then Aragorn's hand was pushing his
head down, making him take his King's cock deep, as deep as possible. Boromir thanked
whichever Vala happened to be watching for all his practice doing this. At least
something they did tonight wouldn't hurt more than usual. And this wasn't too bad, just
like he was used to, except for the cuffs digging into his wrists and the fear of
manacles being applied to his feet as well. Being chained out like a wanton feast was
not something that the Steward of Gondor looked forward to. Not even in his
Aragorn-induced dreams.
"Stop trying to tune me out, my love. You're only going to make me angry."
Damn. Boromir had forgotten that Aragorn could read his mind at will. Focus, then. On
Aragorn's hands in his hair, stroking his unshaven cheek. On Aragorn's cock sliding
against the back of his throat, on Boromir's tongue doing a little dance around it of
its own accord. On Aragorn's legs, gently squeezing him between them. On Aragorn's chest
rising and falling rapidly, eyes shut, as he enjoyed Boromir's mouth. On the sour
feeling in the back of his throat as Aragorn's pre-cum was swallowed around his cock, as
Boromir brought him closer and closer. In any other situation, Boromir would have
enjoyed having this power over his king. Anything but this. Tears stung at his eyes as
Aragorn thrusted into him hard, yanking the chains without realizing it. Almost falling
as Aragorn came hard, breath panting, slurping air as Boromir fought to swallow every
drop. Aragorn would be mad if he didn't. Madder than he was now.
"That was wonderful, my dear," Aragorn said as he withdrew his spent penis from
Boromir's mouth. "Perhaps I should chain you more often."
Horror. "No. Please, no." His face was lifted by a surprisingly gentle hand and stroked.
"Please, Aragorn. Don't make me. Just...let's just sleep tonight. I-I can relax you.
Please, don't use those...things on me. They," Boromir felt the first tear drop and
wished he had control of his hands so he could wipe it away. "They *hurt*."
"That's the point of them, my dear. And why would I not use them, after spending all
that time preparing them? Time you spent day-dreaming. Time you spent thinking of
something other than me. I don't like that, Boromir. I don't like that at all."
Boromir swallowed hard, the sour taste of Aragorn's come still on his tongue. "I'm
sorry, Aragorn. I didn't mean to anger you." Please. Please don't do this.
"But you did anger me," and with that, Aragorn rose from the bed, hand pressed against
Boromir's back to keep him from moving. "I like you like this, so ready for me. I'd keep
you like this forever, but it does not suit my purposes tonight. Extend your legs,
Boromir."
The whip had disappeared from Boromir's limited view and he shivered in anticipation.
Aragorn had whipped him only twice before, and always it was over almost as soon as it
had begun. This time, though, he didn't think Aragorn would be so merciful. "Make me."
"Not smart, my dear. Do. It."
And then Boromir was flat on his stomach, arms chained before him, legs chained behind
him, spread and displaying him for all who cared to look. Somehow his clothes had been
removed as well, and Boromir felt his fear grow. Never had Aragorn done this when
Boromir wasn't aroused. Never had Aragorn done this in true anger. And then the whip
licked against his lower back, and began tracing upwards.
"Now, you have a choice. I can hit your back. I can hit your ass. I can hit your legs.
Either way, you won't be moving for a long time. Maybe I'll keep you like this forever;
I like this view of you. So submissive, though I can feel you keeping your anger in
check. Such a perfect sight, though I would have you willing."
"Then make me."
The whip slapped against his ass and Boromir screamed. "Don't tempt me, Boromir. I am
already on the edge of doing so. And you will not speak. You will not make any noise
whatsoever. Do you understand me?"
Panting from the pain and the tears which he refused to let fall, Boromir gathered the
strength to form words. "Stop. Please, Aragorn, stop!" Another crack. Another scream of
pain. "Oh, my god! Aragorn - please! Please, my love, stop! I don't want this!"
"I," Aragorn said and let the whip fall with all the strength of Gondor's dark king
behind it, "don't care. Answer me. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, I understand you," the last word was punctured with another scream as the whip hit
once again. Boromir wondered through the haze of pain how he must look. Was his ass
swelling with welts or was Aragorn somehow keeping it down long enough to criss-cross it
first and then watch his handiwork blossom? Somehow it seemed important.
"Good," the whip fell once more, but this time the pain was lighter. "And, Steward, if
you don't, I'm going to gag you. And then I'm going to blindfold you, turn you over onto
your soon-to-be-sore back, and whip your chest. And you won't be able to see where I'll
strike next."
Boromir managed to keep his tongue, but he couldn't stop the voice in his mind from
wailing about this, begging Aragorn not to do this, not to mark him like that. And he
knew Aragorn heard. Heard and didn't care, which hurt more than the whip striking his
back again, again, again. Boromir wondered how much of this he could take before passing
out into the wonder of unconsciousness. He wondered how much he could take before
Aragorn would let him do so.
Six. Seven. Eight. Losing count and starting again to stop himself from crying out.
Three. Four. Five. Pause. And then a tongue, licking at the welts, licking at the
wounds, at the blood that swelled in some places. Tasting. Probing. Knowing hands over
his body, stroking, relaxing him, moving south. Boromir groaned. It was too soon.
Aragorn couldn't be hard already, could he? Damn the Ring. And received a slap across a
welt for his thought.
"You're going to enjoy this." Dark promises, always kept, Boromir knew. Didn't matter
that he had already bitten his tongue bloody, didn't matter that all he could think of
was the pain on his back, his ass, his thighs. Didn't matter, any of it. Because Aragorn
promised that he was going to make him enjoy this, and so it would happen. Even if it
was more a threat than a promise. Even if Boromir still didn't want this. Even if all
Boromir wanted was to curl up and not hurt anymore, curl up with Aragorn and just sleep.
He couldn't keep back a choked sob at that. Curl up with Aragorn and sleep.
"Hush, my love, we'll do that soon. But first I'm going to enter you. First I'm going to
make you scream in pleasure. Then I'll make your pain go away. Shh, love, don't cry. I
promise I won't be angry when I'm done. And isn't that a good thing, to be able to rid
your King of anger? I could have killed a man and relaxed instead. Isn't this way
better?"
'I would rather you killed a man,' Boromir could not let himself say. He didn't trust
his voice, he didn't trust Aragorn's reaction to that.
"Shh, my love, don't cry. I hate it when you do that. You look so vulnerable like that,
even though I know you're not. You're my strong one, the anchor that keeps me tied to
this middle-earth. You're my tower in this ocean of troubles. I love you, my Boromir,
and I'm never letting you go. I'll fight Mandos himself for you, even if right now I
know you don't want me to. Even if right now you only want me to stop. Because you gave
yourself to me, and you're mine. Mine, my love, and I'm never giving you up."
Words that at any other time would never have failed to calm him made him only more
anxious. Was Aragorn serious? What did Aragorn truly mean when he said love? "I'm your
whore, Aragorn, and you use me as such."
"And you usually enjoy it."
"Not tonight."
Aragorn seemed to hear everything Boromir dared not even think. "Hush, my love. Soon you
will. And then I will let you sleep, let you wrap yourself around me. I'll take away
your pain and tend to your beautiful wounds." Butterfly kisses between his wounds, down
his back, cleaning off the drying blood. Gentle hands massaging his ass, spreading it
gently. Hot breath blowing on the welts, mixing with the pain.
"Do you...do you have to do this, Aragorn?"
"Yes." And then slicked fingers working their way inside him, and when oh when had
Aragorn had the time to have done that and probing and pushing and touching and oh!
Boromir arched off the bed into Aragorn's hand. "Better?"
"Damn you!"
"I'll take that as a yes." Aragorn's other hand had taken advantage of Boromir's
position to sneak under him and began to stroke his cock into excitement. "Now close
your eyes and forget about everything but my cock, and my hands, and my voice in your
head."
Sounded easy enough, and the fingers probing inside him promised good things if he
complied. Protests forgotten, Boromir allowed himself to be lulled into tranquility.
Maybe this wouldn't be so horrible as he had thought.
"Now, I want you to relax, my love. This is going to hurt if you don't, and I think I've
hurt you enough for one night. You have twenty marks in all and I think that's quite
enough. You've held up bravely, my dear. Time for your reward." Third finger. Fourth
finger. A relaxing presence in his mind. And then Aragorn was inside him fully for the
second time that night. Filled him, and filling him, in and out so slightly that Boromir
didn't notice it at first. And then Aragorn quickened his pace, sliding and slipping,
and always, always, touching that wonderful spot. Minutes like this, pure bliss, who
cared about the low ache in his back, just Aragorn in him like he should be. "Come for
me," and Boromir couldn't refuse, spilling his seed onto Aragorn's waiting hand, feeling
Aragorn climax inside him.
And then Aragorn was unlocking the restraints, rubbing at the growing bruises. Washing
the wounds, applying medicines Boromir hadn't known Aragorn kept in his quarters, all
the while stroking his back, assuring him everything would be fine. Keeping him in that
pleasant Aragorn-inducing haze.
"I didn't want to," he insisted thickly, knowing that Aragorn heard him no matter how
low his whisper was from his sore throat, or how much his lungs ached to speak after so
much screaming.
There was no pause in the ministrations as Aragorn replied. "I know, my love. But I like
to see you defy me, weak though it was. You're not some mindless savant like some of
those who try to serve me. I like to see you struggle, all the while knowing you're
going to lose. I like to see you give in. I like to see you fall apart because of me." A
kiss on his head as skillful hands finished binding his wounds. "Now sleep. No one will
disturb you for days."
Boromir held out for a kiss on his lips, first of the night, before allowing the
suggestion to take hold. He slipped into unconsciousness with his king's name on his
lips.