To Capture the Heart of a Warrior

The Long Dark

Pippin was lonely and frightened. He was lonely and frightened because he had been made to take watch after the Dead Dwarf Incident. He hadn’t meant to cause such a ruckus, but he had. It was a compete embarrassment. Not only that, but Gandalf had been rather harsh with him, which alone wouldn’t have bothered him so much, but then there had been that “knock your head against them, Peregrin Took, and if that does not shatter them…” incident. Maybe Gandalf was right. Maybe he was a fool.

He had put them all in danger for certain. He felt entirely guilty about it, too. Sometimes he did things without quite knowing why. He had begun to suspect his fairy blood in this matter. He did so many things that were not hobbit-like at all. Why had he been saddled with this? Why couldn’t he be more like good old Sam, or Merry? But he wasn’t. He was a fool and a freak and worse. And a very lonely and frightened foolish freak to top it all off. He wanted to cry, but didn’t. He had bought and paid for this punishment, and he would take it like a gentlehobbit. Besides, he wanted to make Boromir proud of him.

Now there was a subject to take his mind off his own misery. What was it about Boromir? At first, Pippin had liked him because he was well spoken, lordly and kind, but that wasn’t all of it. He was tall and strong and fair to look at with his rakish beard and his green opalescent eyes. He was big and brave and an accomplished Captain-General. He was dressed like a great prince, and seemed to the hobbit to be an altogether elegant and imposing figure. He moved with a catlike grace and was as strong as a bear. And he had been so good to Pippin. Any time Pippin had needed help or comfort, the big man had been so generous.

And then Pippin had realized that Boromir had a bit of a fascination for Pippin, had in fact fallen in love with him. At first Pippin had been tempted to reject Boromir, sure that the Man would press the matter. But when he hadn’t Pippin realized that Boromir was willing to put Pippin’s comfort ahead of his own happiness. Pippin hadn’t wanted to take that dive at first. But then Boromir had been so kind to him after Aragorn and Legolas had frightened him, and he had been such a perfect gentleman.

Pippin grinned to himself. ‘He caught you, Peregrin Took,’ Pippin thought, ‘by not trying to catch you. He let you catch yourself, and give yourself to him on your own terms. He could not have captured you better with a net and a cage.’

It was true. He had fallen in love with Boromir because Boromir had been so patient and gentlemanly, never pressing the issue, content to take what Pippin saw fit to give him. And he had even been content to take it if Pippin had given him nothing, content just to be near Pippin.

Pippin recalled how it had begun, with him waking in the night and just looking at Boromir’s sleeping face, how beautiful the Man was in sleep, and wanting to touch his face, to feel what his beard felt like. Was it coarse, or soft, like Gandalf’s? And then he’d been caught, and Boromir had looked into his eyes, looked into Pippin and something started deep in Pippin’s heart at that exact moment. Pippin had tried to resist it, but Boromir had just been too good, too sweet, and in his own way terribly innocent. He’d had a boyish and charming side no one saw, no one could possibly see but Pippin, because that part of Boromir the Man kept for his lovers. Or at least for Pippin. He could be so playful at times, a thing he never shared with anyone but Pippin.

Pippin’s reverie was cut short. Gandalf, unable to find rest, had risen. The wizard sat next to Pippin and put one arm gently around Pippin’s shoulder. Nothing more needed to be said. Pippin loved Gandalf dearly. Gandalf had always been a friend to the Tooks, and Pippin had grown up literally under Gandalf’s feet. Pippin leaned against the old wizard, looking up at him. Gandalf gave Pippin a smile and an affectionate squeeze. This meant so much to Pippin, because Gandalf was much like a grandfather to him.

“You love him very much, do you not, Master Took?” said Gandalf. “Your warrior means very much to you.”

“Aye; he means more to me than he should ever know.”

“Then you must take care of him,” said Gandalf, “for the ring will try to take him. It knows, Pippin, that he is desperate for his people. It knows that he fears his father. Boromir both loves and fears his father, Pippin. It is a terrible thing to love someone you know you can never fully trust. The ring knows this; it knows Boromir fears for his brother Faramir. It knows Boromir’s heart breaks for his brother’s sake. And it knows that Boromir loves you, Pippin. But it does not know you are a very special hobbit. It does not know that the magic of the Fae is along on this journey. If it did, we would stand no chance at all.”

“Then I am a liability to the Fellowship?”

“Oh, no, Pippin. You are an asset! Your fairy blood will play an important part. My heart tells me you have great deeds to do, and some may be done by no one else in all Middle Earth, for in no one else is the magic of Fae so strong, save in the people of Fae itself. But they care nothing for our realm, Pippin. They are not truly of this world, and so this is understandable. But the magic of Fae is strong in you, and you, at least, are part of our own realm. Boromir is blessed to have you. Do not think he doesn’t know this; he would sacrifice anything in his life, even his life itself for your sake. This is a mark of your worth, Pippin, for he does not make unnecessary sacrifices for anyone or anything save his brother and Gondor itself. He has sacrificed much already, though it is not my place to tell you what, or why. Look after him, Pippin. Never part from him if you can help it. He needs you. He needs you as he has never needed anything, not even his beloved brother, for your souls are twined together, by love and by magic. You are the only one that can help him, the only one that might save him, from himself and from the Ring and from the world itself.”

“I would do anything for him.” Pippin said.

“I’m sure you would. I am equally sure you will.” Gandalf said, “And so you must. Go find yourself a corner and get some sleep. I cannot, and it is useless for us to both lose sleep. Go to your Boromir. I think he needs you.”

Pippin stood on his toes and gave Gandalf a peck on the cheek. The old wizard barked with laughter and ruffled Pippin’s hair, then gave him a pat on the head and sent him off to bed. Pippin had to feel about for Boromir, and in the end found him not by touch, but by smell. The smell of sandalwood and leather and the unique, musky smell of Boromir told Pippin he had found his love. Boromir was dreaming, and not pleasant dreams from the soft sounds he was making. Pippin crawled beneath the blankets and snuggled into his Man, and Boromir, in his sleep, circled Pippin with one arm, pulling him close. He hugged Pippin so hard it was difficult to breathe. Pippin stroked Boromir’s face with a soft “Ssh, acushla, you’re alright, I’m here, I’m just right here. No more bad dreams.”

Boromir opened his eyes. In the dim light of Gandalf’s staff, Pippin could see those opalescent eyes and the halfling fell into them. “Oh, thou art beautiful, oh my love.” he said. “Thy strength binds me to thee as beauty is bound to the rose.” Pippin thought, ‘Oh, my sleepy boy, how sweet you look! How beautiful my love is, how strong. He touches me and I melt. He has a kind of magic all his own.’

Pippin tipped his head back to elicit and collect a kiss. It worked. It always worked. Any time he wanted a kiss, all he had to do was tip his head back. Boromir traced a finger across Pippin’s cheek and kissed him again. Suddenly Pippin felt he had to unbuckle Boromir’s leathers and surcote, could not, in fact, do it quickly enough to suit him. Boromir began to fumble at Pippin’s trousers, having a little trouble because he was sleepy, but soon the big hand had unbuttoned the little breeches and was inside. A second hand reached around and slipped into the little trousers in back. Boromir’s tongue crept softly into Pippin’s mouth and one finger crept inside Pippin. Boromir pushed Pippin onto his back and slipped the little breeches off, then bent over Pippin and took him into his mouth. Soon one finger was joined by another, and then there was three fingers, and then off came the trousers altogether. Pippin was too impatient to look for the little jar of ointment, so he used his mouth to wet Boromir, then grasped the swollen member, parting his legs, pulling Boromir to make him climb on top. This was Pippin’s favorite position.

He liked having the solid weight and size on him, pressing him into the stony floor. He guided Boromir inside and wrapped his legs around Boromir’s waist. It always hurt just a little to take Boromir inside him, just at first, but that was part of the thrill to Pippin, knowing it would hurt a little. Then suddenly the pain just disappearing to be replaced with a desire to be filled completely, as only a Man can do, especially one as big as Boromir. Pippin felt one big hand reach underneath him to grasp him and pull him tight and immobilize him so that his Man might take control. The control was part of the thrill, too, being held helpless against his lover, who would mount him as he pleased. It thrilled Pippin to lie helpless beneath his lover, knowing every sensation was totally out of his control. It drove him mad with desire. He liked it when Boromir would draw out his pleasure, make him beg for release, make him talk dirty so that he blushed even while he burned with unbridled lust, begged for release in whispered obscenities, the words pried out of him against his will, in spite of his blushing.

And then came his favorite and most loved thing, Boromir making him beg to come, then not letting him come until commanded to do so. Just hearing him say the words made Pippin ready to ignite, just thinking about it made him insane with lust…

“Give it to me, give me what is mine, now!” Boromir growled soft and low, thrusting into Pippin hard and deep, holding back his own fulfillment, waiting until Pippin was writhing helplessly, arching his body, waiting for that command, “Give it to me! It is mine, mine! Give it to me now!”

And Pippin’s body would obey without a pause, doing his lover’s bidding independent of Pippin, himself, suddenly burning, pounding, pulverizing Pippin’s soul, the climax almost brutal in its power, leaving him too weak to even lift his head. And then his lover would take him yet again, this time with all the tenderness and love in the world. Gentle rocking, a soothing touch, a comforting embrace, a reaching deep in the heart, into the soul, making Pippin respond in spite of his exhaustion. Making him come yet again in spite of the fact that he had only just been drained dry of passion. Boromir’s juices would pool beneath his small behind, an indictment of raging passion and deepest love.

Though the long dark of Moria was unbroken to the eye, their souls lit this dreadful place like a thousand torches. Then, afterwards, there would be Boromir tenderly holding him, murmuring words of love, kissing him gently and tenderly and with such gratitude that it broke Pippin’s heart every single time.

Yes, he had caught himself and given himself to Boromir, and he knew without a doubt that he would never be free again. He was equally sure he didn’t want to be free again. He had captured the heart of his warrior, and in the long dark of Moria, their love lit up the entire world for them.

To Be Continued