To Capture the Heart of a Warrior

Chapter seven: Flames of Passion, Wings of Love






Aragorn laughed softly, listening to the two lovers in their little trysting-place.

“Quiet, Aragorn, I’m listening.” said Legolas.

“Ssh, so am I…”

Legolas’ ears may have been tuned into the goings-on between Pippin and Boromir, but his hands were otherwise occupied. The elf had found he had, like Pippin, a taste for Men. Perhaps it was their inborn need to dominate and possess, but whatever it was, he had not discovered nearly enough just yet. He stretched his catlike body alongside Aragorn’s lean form, wrapping his legs around the ranger’s long shanks and pressed himself tightly against what he found there. What he found there seemed to be interested in both what Legolas was doing as well as eavesdropping on the Man and his small lover…

Pippin sat at Boromir’s feet still. Boromir’s trousers lay like a puddle underneath the halfling. Pippin was smiling indulgently at Boromir now. The feral look in his eyes had vanished now, and Boromir found once more the face of the sweet and innocent little hobbit he had first fallen so hard for. His feet fascinated Pippin. He took one of Boromir’s feet in his lap and began to massage it. Boromir groaned with pleasure; not sexual pleasure this time, but the pleasure one can feel only when a loved one is giving one special attention. It was nice to feel a little bit spoiled by his hobbit.

“They’re so soft, like a baby’s feet.” Pippin marveled. “And they’re big, too. Most Men have rather small feet for the size of their bodies, but yours are so big!” He took Boromir’s other foot in his lap and massaged that one, too.

“That feels wonderful, sweet one. You know what they say about the size of Men’s feet, don’t you?”

After everything that Pippin had done to him over the last hours, Boromir was astonished to see Pippin was still capable of blushing. Apparently Pippin had heard of the correlation between the size of a Man’s feet and the size of other attributes.

“That’s right, my sweet, Men with big feet…wear big boots!” Boromir grinned. Pippin giggled, looking so damnably adorable that Boromir sat up and pulled his Little One into his lap.

“Oh, Pippin, my Little One…how did I ever manage without you, I wonder.”

“Oh, you managed just fine. Trust me, I should know, from what I’m learning from you. Learning about you, too.” He looked up at Boromir and tipped his head back in that way that demanded a kiss from his warrior. Boromir held him firmly and gently kissed his darling one.

“Now, about this ‘boy’ business…and about that slapping me on my hip. You know you have you pay for that, now.” He felt Pippin tremble in anticipation. Pippin, looking up at Boromir, gulped and nodded.

Pippin had the distinct feeling that something was about to happen, and quickly. He wasn’t disappointed. Boromir gathered the little body to him and kissed him more deeply and a little roughly. Once again, Pippin felt a thrill coil up inside him. Boromir had that wolf-like look on his face again. He lifted the halfling from his lap and laid him on his back, then took Pippin’s legs and pushed them up against the halfling’s chest, spreading them wide. Boromir lowered himself carefully, and Pippin could feel that more than Boromir’s feet were quite large. Boromir gave a push, and he was suddenly inside Pippin once more, filling him entirely.

Boromir grasped Pippin’s wrists in one hand and pinned them over the hobbit’s head. He managed to hold his weight off Pippin on his knees and one elbow as he produced the abandoned eagle’s feather. Boromir raised his upper body, and drew the feather down Pippin’s sides, making the hobbit squirm beneath him. The squirming must have been wonderful, because Boromir grunted and his eyes closed tightly for a moment. Again the feather danced down Pippin’s sides, and now Pippin began to mew like a kitten.
The feather danced around first one nipple, then the other, until they were taut, hard little nubs. Boromir trailed the feather down Pippin’s belly, swirling around the little navel, then let the feather crawl ever so slowly lower and lower. At last he touched on his target: Pippin’s now-rigid member. The hobbit moaned and gasped. He tried to move, but when he did, Boromir withdrew the feather and gave Pippin’s behind a slap.

“No you don’t!” scolded Boromir, “Turn about, little hobbit, is fair play.”

The feather returned, and Pippin gasped. Unable to move, he began to tremble uncontrollably. Boromir swirled the feather around and around, up and down. Pippin almost forgot how to breathe. He was only aware of breathing now because he began to whimper and pant like a puppy. Why wasn’t Boromir moving inside him? This was torture, sweet and hot, yes, but torture.

“Oh, Boromir, you’re killing me.”

“And you asked for it!” Boromir taunted. The feather swirled, around and around and up and down.

“Oh, no, I’m going to die, I just know it!” Pippin cried.

“It does feel that way, doesn’t it? Tell me, what you did to me…how many Men have you done that to?”

“Must you question me now?” Pippin gasped. “I can hardly think just now…oh, Boromir, this is making me go mad!”

“Must I? No, but I want to. You need obedience lessons of your own. Now tell me, how many Men have you done that to?”

“None, Boromir, none! You were the first…”

“Well then, that’s good to know. I told you I’m jealous. Now, tell me, why did you want to do that?”

“Please, Boromir, must you?”

“I told you already. I want to know. Now, tell me, Little One, Why? Why me?”

“It…it has to do with trust. I wanted to know how much you trust me.”

“And did I pass the test?”

“Yes. Yes, oh, yes. You did, you passed the test.”

“Then, why, Little One, do I sense you still resist me just a bit? That you are holding something back from me.”

“Boromir, must you? Please! Can we not speak of this later?”

“Now or later, my sweet, you shall tell me. If you don’t, then we’ll just have to keep doing this until you do.”

“I…I’ll tell you, I promise, I do!”

“If I finish it, you’ll tell me?”

“Yes, oh, yes!”

Boromir stared down into those brilliant green eyes for the longest time. His eyes, once more, seemed to see right through Pippin. The halfling shivered with the intensity of it, feeling as though not one thing went unseen by those piercing eyes. At last, Boromir seemed satisfied with what he found. “Alright, then. I’ll finish it. I hope you’re ready for it.”

‘Ready for it?’ thought Pippin, ‘Oh, my, what did he mean by that?’

Pippin didn’t have to wait long for an answer. Boromir laid the feather aside. His hand now free, he reached beneath Pippin and cupped the little round behind firmly, pulling Pippin tightly against him. The wolf-like expression was back now, and again Pippin felt a thrill race through him and coil inside him.

Boromir took him. That was the only way Pippin could think of it, being taken. The warrior seemed to be using his body to claim Pippin completely. He released Pippin’s wrists and wrapped this arm underneath Pippin’s shoulders, grasping him tightly. He grasped Pippin tightly because he was thrusting so hard into the little body underneath him that the force threatened to slide Pippin right out from underneath his lover.

“Is this what you wanted?” Boromir growled. “Is it? Tell me.”

“Y-yes, yes!”

“You like this, don’t you? Tell me.”

“Yes, yes, I love it, oh how I love it…your strength, your desire, your hunger to possess me…oh, Boromir, I can’t wait, love, I can’t!”

“Then don’t.” Boromir replied, giving Pippin a number of particularly skilled thrusts. It was too much for Pippin. His climax hit the halfling hard. Caught in the net of passion, Pippin combusted beneath Boromir. His small hands scrabbled and clutched at Boromir’s shoulders. His little body arched helplessly. The pleasure pounded inside Pippin; his climax was almost brutal.

As he lay, eyes shut with weakness and his entire being as limp as a rag, he felt Boromir grasp him and roll over, as was his habit, but instead of laying back so Pippin could lie on top of him, he sat up, cradling Pippin in his lap. Pippin’s arms hung limply around Boromir’s neck, and he let himself be caressed, petted and kissed. It felt as though Boromir was comforting his halfling after so violent a storm of passion. Boromir began to rock Pippin as he held him so tenderly in his brawny arms, and Pippin realized Boromir hadn’t completed the act for himself. He was still quite hard inside his halfing.

“Now I’m going to finish this the way I want to.” Boromir said, gently, tenderly kissing Pippin’s face, then his mouth.

When Pippin could finally speak, all he could say was, “I can’t, oh, Boromir, I can’t go again, I just can’t…”

“Yes, you can.” answered Boromir, his voice lovingly tender, “you can and you will.” He continued the gentle rocking, so slowly, so gently, so tenderly. He had pounded Pippin down with his last act, and now with this one, he would raise the hobbit back up. “I gave you what you wanted, my sweet. Now I must give you what you need. You said you didn’t want to be just mounted, like a ram mounts a ewe, you said you wanted love. And now you shall have it.”

It seemed to Pippin it took a little while for him to come around enough to respond, and indeed he had thought he couldn’t, that he had nothing left. But Boromir could somehow push him beyond his previous experiences with lovers. Slowly but surely, he began to meet passion with passion, but this wasn’t the frantic, heated coupling they had enjoyed earlier.

Oh, no, this was entirely different. This was true lovemaking. This was the blending of body with soul, soul with heart. Pippin found it humbling; this deepest kind of love, and so moving his eyes misted over. Boromir’s gazes and embraces and kisses were unspeakably tender, almost sacred.

As for Boromir, his own experience was perfectly mirrored. The physical pleasure alone was unbearable, the emotions amplified it, and as he reached completion, the feeling was so intense that he suddenly felt quite weightless, as though he were floating. It felt so much as if he were floating that he wondered if this love wasn’t driving him mad. As he looked into Pippin’s eyes, he saw, not the likeness of little green flames, but eyes which actually burned, like wheels of flame, so real he was sure that to touch them would be to draw blisters. And the oddest thing of all, the thing that made him doubt his sanity, was a vision, a vision of flames, green flames that made up wings on his halfling’s back, wings that lifted them both right off the ground. Then, as they floated, the wings wrapped themselves around Boromir, causing a cool, green, eldritch flame to dance across his skin from head to toe. He felt the purest ecstasy he had ever felt, so complete he had no room for any other thought or emotion. The ecstasy surrounded him, filled him, ran around him like a powerful current. He was weightless, floating with his love in his arms in the airs above the ground. Surely this love had driven him mad, for this was not possible.

But he ceased to doubt his sanity quite suddenly. And this happened because, as the act of purest love was completed, he felt himself suddenly drop and hit the stony ground beneath him quite jarringly. This was a complete shock to Boromir.

Still gasping for breath, he asked, “What happened? What the devil just happened, Pippin? What magic is this, what enchantment did this thing?”

But Pippin didn’t answer. He didn’t answer, because he had fainted in Boromir’s arms.


To Be Continued