eachdraidhean (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eachdraidhean) wrote2005-06-12 01:17 am
eachdraidhean) wrote2005-06-12 01:17 am
Sweet Meat
Title: Sweet Meat
Pairing: A/B
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Aragorn helps out in the kitchen.
Disclaimer: Characters and places not mine - they belong to J. R. R. Tolkien & New Line
Notes: Partly (amazingly!) bookverse (Staying in Rivendell for a while before the Fellowship sets out). Also posted to "Rugbytackle", "Sons of Gondor" and "Bean Squee".
Beta: not beta-ed
Feedback: Would love it!
Archive: Rugbytackle. Anyone else, just ask first
Third in a series of humour/smut, so if you want to know what's going on, probably best to read part one "Gondorian Muffins" and part two "Asparagus" !
Boromir is back in the kitchen this time and also in the larder!
Thanks again to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
milochka for the icon :)
And tomuck_a_luck for the original culinary inspiration ;)
Sweet Meat
The following morning, Rivendell was filled with a sweet spicy scent, which seemed to originate from the kitchen. Aragorn wasn't at all surprised when he walked through the door to find Boromir hard at work. His sleeves were rolled right up, and there were more smudges of what Aragorn assumed was flour on his arms.
As Aragorn approached, he turned and grinned at him.
“Morning.”
“Morning. Where did you get to last night? I looked for you.”
“Did you?”
“Boromir, we need to talk …”
“Give me a hand with these, and I’ll talk all you want. Later.”
Aragorn looked around the kitchen, realising that most available surfaces were covered in baking sheets with small dents in them. The dents had circles of pastry pressed into them, and some of these were filled with a colourful filling that he did not recognise. The spicy smell that had first alerted him to Boromir's presence in the kitchen was also intensifying.
“What are these?” He said, peering closely at the nearest sheet.
“Mince Pies.” Boromir answered as he sieved icing sugar onto a marble slab, and deftly rolled out a large lump of pastry until it was quite thin.
“Mince? Doesn’t look like mince to me.”
Boromir smiled that slightly exasperated smile he used a lot in the kitchen, usually when talking to Aragorn.
“Sweet mince, Aragorn. If you’re going to be King of Gondor, you really need to know a little more of her seasonal customs. Here, taste.”
He took a spoon, dipped it into the large bowl of filling, and held it out towards Aragorn. Aragorn approached the spoon with hesitation. He took a hold of Boromir's hand, and guided the spoon between his lips. He looked into Boromir's eyes as he tasted what was offered, and was overwhelmed by sensations.
The taste was sweet and spicy and warming, a plethora of single tastes mixed together, complementing each other so well. He could taste apricots and apples and berries and brandy. Boromir's emerald eyes held Aragorn's blue, his intense stare heating Aragorn up more than the warm kitchen had. He became acutely aware that he was still holding Boromir's hand, and let go, as Boromir pulled the spoon from his lips.
Boromir had not taken his eyes from Aragorn's. When he spoke, his voice was husky, causing a shiver to pass through Aragorn.
“I need your help.”
“My … my help?”
“Yes.”
Boromir took a deep breath, and leaned a little closer to Aragorn. Aragorn held his breath, willing Boromir to close the slim gap between them, as he had not yet the courage to do so.
Then Boromir moved away, so quickly Aragorn was left wondering where he had gone. Then a star made of metal was held in front of his face.
“I need you to cut out lids, and put one on each of the pies before they go in the oven.”
“Lids? Stars?”
“Yes. And the quicker you work, the quicker we can talk.”
He smiled at Aragorn, picked up the bowl of filling, and started spooning it into the waiting cases. He paused halfway through his task to open the oven and remove pies that were ready, and replaced them with ones that were waiting to be baked.
When he had finished with the filling, he helped Aragorn cover the rest of the pies with stars. It didn’t take long.
“Okay. Fifteen minutes before the next lot are ready.”
Boromir grabbed Aragorn's arm, and propelled him towards the open larder door. Once they were both inside, he closed the door behind them, and turned to Aragorn. The predatory grin on his face startled Aragorn, who was still coming to terms with the fact that Boromir had just locked them both in Elrond's larder.
“You want to talk in here?”
“Talk … oh yes, talk.”
Boromir's face was now so close to Aragorn's that he could taste his breath, sweet with mincemeat. Boromir opened his mouth, and Aragorn would later say that he honestly thought Boromir was about to say something, and then his lips were on Aragorn's. Soft and warm and demanding, Boromir kissed him, and he finally realised that this was what he had been waiting for since that first day in the kitchen and maybe even before that. He deepened the kiss, holding Boromir close. All too soon, Boromir moved his mouth, but only to lick and nibble on Aragorn's neck. Aragorn let out a soft moan, and this encouraged Boromir in his explorations. He unlaced the neck of Aragorn's shirt, and pulled it off over his head. Once he had Aragorn's bared chest before him, his mouth moved lower, discovering hard nipples nestling in soft dark hair.
Aragorn's head was thrown back, as his hands roamed through Boromir's hair. Then Boromir's mouth had reached his stomach, and he felt the lacings of his breeches being undone. His hands tightened in Boromir's hair, as Boromir pulled them down just enough to release Aragorn's cock from the confining fabric. Boromir stilled for a second, before darting his tongue out and tasting the soft skin before him. At that first touch, Aragorn yelped. Boromir chuckled softly.
“You may want to keep the noise down. Anyone could be out there.”
“Keep the noise down?” Aragorn hissed at his tormenter. “And how do you propose I do that when you’re … gnuh!”
Boromir took Aragorn's whole length down his throat in one smooth action. He stayed still for a moment, feeling the tension in Aragorn's hands as they gripped his hair. Then, slowly, started to move his mouth up and down, tongue licking flesh as he went. When he felt Aragorn starting to tense again, he pulled off until just the head of Aragorn's cock was in his mouth, and he sucked on it, teasing with his tongue. Again and again, he brought Aragorn to the brink, and then backed off, until he felt hands tremble in his hair and heard the words he was waiting for.
“Boromir, please …”
Boromir once more took him deep into his mouth, sucking and licking. Aragorn's hips were thrusting forward now with a rhythm of their own, so Boromir reached up, found a hard nipple, and pinched it, none too gently.
Aragorn howled, as his seed cascaded down Boromir's throat, his hands gripping Boromir's shoulders hard enough to bruise. Boromir took great delight in sucking Aragorn clean, before tucking him back in his breeches. He stood and looked into Aragorn's dazed eyes.
“We will talk, later. I promise.”
He kissed Aragorn deeply, turned towards the door, and then turned back.
“I promised Elrond they would be ready by midday.” He said apologetically.
He kissed him again, then opened the door just enough so he could slip out, and left Aragorn standing in the dim light, his shirt still caught around his wrists.
“Pippin!”
Hearing Boromir's voice outside in the kitchen, Aragorn decided it might be a good idea to at least put his shirt on in case someone opened the larder door.
Boromir's call brought the curly haired hobbit running into the kitchen.
“Can you give me a hand baking the rest of these?”
“No problem!”
Pippin was crossing the kitchen with two trays of pies when the larder door opened. He watched, amazed, as a dishevelled Aragorn emerged.
“Aragorn! What were you doing in the larder?”
Aragorn looked across at a grinning Boromir, who winked at him, and went back to easing mice pies onto plates.
“That's a good question, Pippin. What was I doing in the larder, Boromir?”
“Getting more icing sugar.”
“Ah, yes. More icing sugar.”
“Well, where is it?” Pippin asked.
“Where’s what?”
“The icing sugar.”
Aragorn looked at him as if he had suddenly started speaking Dwarvish.
“Pippin, I have no idea where it is.”
Ignoring a very puzzled look on the young hobbit's face, Aragorn left the kitchen to go in search of a soft bed to lie on, hoping no-one needed him to do anything sensible. Not at the moment. Then an idea formed. Boromir's bed would be as soft as his own, and then there was no way the Steward's son could avoid talking to him.
Or kissing him … or touching him … or licking him …
Pairing: A/B
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Aragorn helps out in the kitchen.
Disclaimer: Characters and places not mine - they belong to J. R. R. Tolkien & New Line
Notes: Partly (amazingly!) bookverse (Staying in Rivendell for a while before the Fellowship sets out). Also posted to "Rugbytackle", "Sons of Gondor" and "Bean Squee".
Beta: not beta-ed
Feedback: Would love it!
Archive: Rugbytackle. Anyone else, just ask first
Third in a series of humour/smut, so if you want to know what's going on, probably best to read part one "Gondorian Muffins" and part two "Asparagus" !
Boromir is back in the kitchen this time and also in the larder!
Thanks again to
milochka for the icon :) And to
muck_a_luck for the original culinary inspiration ;) Sweet Meat
The following morning, Rivendell was filled with a sweet spicy scent, which seemed to originate from the kitchen. Aragorn wasn't at all surprised when he walked through the door to find Boromir hard at work. His sleeves were rolled right up, and there were more smudges of what Aragorn assumed was flour on his arms.
As Aragorn approached, he turned and grinned at him.
“Morning.”
“Morning. Where did you get to last night? I looked for you.”
“Did you?”
“Boromir, we need to talk …”
“Give me a hand with these, and I’ll talk all you want. Later.”
Aragorn looked around the kitchen, realising that most available surfaces were covered in baking sheets with small dents in them. The dents had circles of pastry pressed into them, and some of these were filled with a colourful filling that he did not recognise. The spicy smell that had first alerted him to Boromir's presence in the kitchen was also intensifying.
“What are these?” He said, peering closely at the nearest sheet.
“Mince Pies.” Boromir answered as he sieved icing sugar onto a marble slab, and deftly rolled out a large lump of pastry until it was quite thin.
“Mince? Doesn’t look like mince to me.”
Boromir smiled that slightly exasperated smile he used a lot in the kitchen, usually when talking to Aragorn.
“Sweet mince, Aragorn. If you’re going to be King of Gondor, you really need to know a little more of her seasonal customs. Here, taste.”
He took a spoon, dipped it into the large bowl of filling, and held it out towards Aragorn. Aragorn approached the spoon with hesitation. He took a hold of Boromir's hand, and guided the spoon between his lips. He looked into Boromir's eyes as he tasted what was offered, and was overwhelmed by sensations.
The taste was sweet and spicy and warming, a plethora of single tastes mixed together, complementing each other so well. He could taste apricots and apples and berries and brandy. Boromir's emerald eyes held Aragorn's blue, his intense stare heating Aragorn up more than the warm kitchen had. He became acutely aware that he was still holding Boromir's hand, and let go, as Boromir pulled the spoon from his lips.
Boromir had not taken his eyes from Aragorn's. When he spoke, his voice was husky, causing a shiver to pass through Aragorn.
“I need your help.”
“My … my help?”
“Yes.”
Boromir took a deep breath, and leaned a little closer to Aragorn. Aragorn held his breath, willing Boromir to close the slim gap between them, as he had not yet the courage to do so.
Then Boromir moved away, so quickly Aragorn was left wondering where he had gone. Then a star made of metal was held in front of his face.
“I need you to cut out lids, and put one on each of the pies before they go in the oven.”
“Lids? Stars?”
“Yes. And the quicker you work, the quicker we can talk.”
He smiled at Aragorn, picked up the bowl of filling, and started spooning it into the waiting cases. He paused halfway through his task to open the oven and remove pies that were ready, and replaced them with ones that were waiting to be baked.
When he had finished with the filling, he helped Aragorn cover the rest of the pies with stars. It didn’t take long.
“Okay. Fifteen minutes before the next lot are ready.”
Boromir grabbed Aragorn's arm, and propelled him towards the open larder door. Once they were both inside, he closed the door behind them, and turned to Aragorn. The predatory grin on his face startled Aragorn, who was still coming to terms with the fact that Boromir had just locked them both in Elrond's larder.
“You want to talk in here?”
“Talk … oh yes, talk.”
Boromir's face was now so close to Aragorn's that he could taste his breath, sweet with mincemeat. Boromir opened his mouth, and Aragorn would later say that he honestly thought Boromir was about to say something, and then his lips were on Aragorn's. Soft and warm and demanding, Boromir kissed him, and he finally realised that this was what he had been waiting for since that first day in the kitchen and maybe even before that. He deepened the kiss, holding Boromir close. All too soon, Boromir moved his mouth, but only to lick and nibble on Aragorn's neck. Aragorn let out a soft moan, and this encouraged Boromir in his explorations. He unlaced the neck of Aragorn's shirt, and pulled it off over his head. Once he had Aragorn's bared chest before him, his mouth moved lower, discovering hard nipples nestling in soft dark hair.
Aragorn's head was thrown back, as his hands roamed through Boromir's hair. Then Boromir's mouth had reached his stomach, and he felt the lacings of his breeches being undone. His hands tightened in Boromir's hair, as Boromir pulled them down just enough to release Aragorn's cock from the confining fabric. Boromir stilled for a second, before darting his tongue out and tasting the soft skin before him. At that first touch, Aragorn yelped. Boromir chuckled softly.
“You may want to keep the noise down. Anyone could be out there.”
“Keep the noise down?” Aragorn hissed at his tormenter. “And how do you propose I do that when you’re … gnuh!”
Boromir took Aragorn's whole length down his throat in one smooth action. He stayed still for a moment, feeling the tension in Aragorn's hands as they gripped his hair. Then, slowly, started to move his mouth up and down, tongue licking flesh as he went. When he felt Aragorn starting to tense again, he pulled off until just the head of Aragorn's cock was in his mouth, and he sucked on it, teasing with his tongue. Again and again, he brought Aragorn to the brink, and then backed off, until he felt hands tremble in his hair and heard the words he was waiting for.
“Boromir, please …”
Boromir once more took him deep into his mouth, sucking and licking. Aragorn's hips were thrusting forward now with a rhythm of their own, so Boromir reached up, found a hard nipple, and pinched it, none too gently.
Aragorn howled, as his seed cascaded down Boromir's throat, his hands gripping Boromir's shoulders hard enough to bruise. Boromir took great delight in sucking Aragorn clean, before tucking him back in his breeches. He stood and looked into Aragorn's dazed eyes.
“We will talk, later. I promise.”
He kissed Aragorn deeply, turned towards the door, and then turned back.
“I promised Elrond they would be ready by midday.” He said apologetically.
He kissed him again, then opened the door just enough so he could slip out, and left Aragorn standing in the dim light, his shirt still caught around his wrists.
“Pippin!”
Hearing Boromir's voice outside in the kitchen, Aragorn decided it might be a good idea to at least put his shirt on in case someone opened the larder door.
Boromir's call brought the curly haired hobbit running into the kitchen.
“Can you give me a hand baking the rest of these?”
“No problem!”
Pippin was crossing the kitchen with two trays of pies when the larder door opened. He watched, amazed, as a dishevelled Aragorn emerged.
“Aragorn! What were you doing in the larder?”
Aragorn looked across at a grinning Boromir, who winked at him, and went back to easing mice pies onto plates.
“That's a good question, Pippin. What was I doing in the larder, Boromir?”
“Getting more icing sugar.”
“Ah, yes. More icing sugar.”
“Well, where is it?” Pippin asked.
“Where’s what?”
“The icing sugar.”
Aragorn looked at him as if he had suddenly started speaking Dwarvish.
“Pippin, I have no idea where it is.”
Ignoring a very puzzled look on the young hobbit's face, Aragorn left the kitchen to go in search of a soft bed to lie on, hoping no-one needed him to do anything sensible. Not at the moment. Then an idea formed. Boromir's bed would be as soft as his own, and then there was no way the Steward's son could avoid talking to him.
Or kissing him … or touching him … or licking him …
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