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Title: Heartbound.
Chapter Five
Author: dark
Email: dark.malignity@gmail.com
Pairing: Boromir/ Elladan, Boromir/ Elrohir.
Rating: PG
Summary: Boromir's appearance in Imladris complicates the twins'
lives, especially when he cannot tell the identical twins apart. AU,
pre-fellowship.
Warning: Slash (male/ male pairings)

Disclaimer: All Elfies and places (and the one Man) belong to Tolkien.
I am merely borrowing them for my own (and others') amusement. = D
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Chapter Five

It was so difficult to act nonchalant at breakfast, Elrohir thought,
especially when the object of his desire sat within his line of sight.
Although Boromir did not count himself among the privileged few to
dine at the lord's table with the Peredhil Sons and other high ranking
Imladris Elves, the Man was important enough to be seated within the
inner ring of the dining hall; close enough to the great fire for
warmth, and close enough to engage in conversation with those at the
head table.

The Elf had strove to seek the Man out the moment he had entered the
great hall, only to have been transfixed by Boromir's exciting,
foreign eyes. The Man was beautiful… but in a very odd way. He was
coarse and chunky, his body so unlike Elrohir's own supple and lithe
form. His arms and upper torso bulged like an overripe fruit, and yet
there was a hardness there, a solidness, like a sculpture of mithril.
Yet for all his bulk, the man was surprisingly agile. He was not
graceful-- to the Elf, no Man had ever appeared graceful-- and yet,
Boromir moved like a well-oiled shadow; sleek and deadly, with
sculpted mithril beneath his skin.

Although it was true that Boromir was by no means the first Man
Elrohir had seen, Lord Boromir seemed so much more the Man than anyone
else. There was something else in the Man's blood. There was cold,
hard metal flowing through those veins. Even his Man-brother Estel
paled in comparison. Estel was noble. Estel was brave. Estel was
tough. And yet, Estel had been raised among Elves. He loved and
respected his Man-brother, but there was something thrilling and
dangerous and so terribly masculine about the warrior of Gondor.

Boromir was a Man in a way that Estel was not. The Gondorian might not
be half as good a fighter as an Elf was, or half as clean as an Elf
was, or even half as beautiful as an Elf was, but somehow, Elrohir did
not mind it in the least. For the young Imldris Elf, the Man was,
quite frankly, an exotic fantasy.

And he owned him. He *owned* that terrible, sensuous, exotic creature.
He had Lord Boromir all to himself.

Closing his eyes, Elrohir let his thoughts dwell upon the happenings
that past night. They had stayed in the gardens for awhile, both
silent, both awkward, until at length Boromir had volunteered to walk
Elrohir to his rooms. This the Elf had accepted immediately, but
before they parted, the Man had asked for one final kiss for the
night.

Even now at the breakfast table, Elrohir felt a blush stain his cheeks
at the memory of so thrilling an encounter. The Man was delicious, so
tempting that Elrohir simply could not get enough of him. They had
kissed chastely once, twice, then three times more, with each kiss
getting harder and hungrier until Elrohir trembled with need.

In the end, Boromir had released him, stepped back, and bowed low.
"Forgive me, my Lord Elrohir," he had breathed, his voice thick with
lust. "I must beg my leave." And although Elrohir had whimpered for
him to stay awhile longer, the Man had refused, "For if I stayed any
longer, my lord, I fear I may be too sorely tempted to ravish you on
the spot."

And Boromir had left, and Elrohir had stood outside his door,
trembling with unsated desire. He wanted Boromir. He wanted him in the
flesh, wanted to lie with him the way he had laid with so many others
before him, but perhaps his Elven youth and his honorable reputation
had projected a false image of chastity. Perhaps to the Man, Elrohir
appeared virginal.

Perhaps.

Perhaps after breakfast, Elrohir could give Boromir a private tour of
Imladris. Perhaps, he could even show Boromir the inner reaches of
Imladris normally inaccessible to general visitors. Perhaps he could
even prove Boromir wrong. Yes, today he would allow Boromir to explore
his new territory to his heart's content.

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Boromir could not help the gasp of wonder that escaped his lips.
Everything he had seen in Imladris was so beautiful, but nothing could
compare to the grandeur and majesty of what appeared to be Lord
Elrond's personal library. "By the Gods," he breathed reverently. "So
this is where the lore master of Middle Earth spends his days… Roh,
are you absolutely certain I am allowed here? It feels as if I am
trespassing. Are you sure Lord Elrond will not mind?"

"This Lord Elrond you are talking about is *my father*," Elrohir
grinned. "Besides, this is more like the family space than his own
private space. When we were children Dan and I would spend hours
playing hide-and-seek among the bookshelves." Elrohir chuckled at the
memory.

"Every time we got too loud, Adaren would grab us both by the ears and
drag us outside, but we would always run in again the moment his back
was turned," Elrohir continued. "Even now we spend most of our free
time here. Ada is always busy, and Dan and I amuse ourselves in the
corner. Ada has given up trying to keep us in check. He merely raises
an eyebrow now and then when we train indoors. And yes, we *do* train
indoors occasionally. Even Arwen comes here to read, and sometimes she
brings her sewing along for when she gets bored."

"How is it that sometimes you call him 'Adaren' and sometimes you call
him 'Ada'?"

"Perhaps it is because my little boy is still a child at heart, is
that right penneth?" Elrond teased lightly from the doorway. Elrohir
yelped in surprise.

"Adaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…." he whined, just as Elladan emerged, laughing,
from behind a pile of books. "Why do you love to embarrass me in front
of my friends!"

"And why should he not? Everyone knows Adaren calls you that because
you let him!" Elladan grinned.

"See that, Boromir, my own son does not allow me to address him as
anything other than 'ion-nen' from the day he reached his majority,"
Elrond scolded his sons playfully. "And this one," he continued,
gesturing to Elladan, "refuses to call me Ada anymore."

"Of *course* I don't!" Elladan cried, tossing his hair backwards.
"Only babies like Arwen call their fathers 'Ada'!"

"Ooh!" Arwen gasped indignantly as she rushed out from behind a
bookcase. "I am most certainly *not* a baby! I am a full-grown elf,
and you know that! Dan, you take that back!"

"Shan't!" he replied, sticking his tongue out cheekily. "Baby!"

"Dan!" she cried helplessly, then stomped her foot in frustration
before turning large, pleading eyes to her father. "Ada…." she whined
pitifully. It was a trick she often used to her advantage, secure in
the knowledge that not many could resist her innocent, child-like
charm. It worked especially well on Elrond, who could never deny his
little angel anything, especially since she bore such a striking
resemblance to his departed wife.

"Alright, that's enough, Dan," he chided smilingly. "What children you
still are! And in the presence of visitors too. What would Gondor
think, seeing you behave this way? What impression of the House of
Imladris would we be giving our guests, that it's lord cannot even
control his own children?"

At the mention of his title, Boromir bowed low. "Gondor thinks highly
of your House, my lord, and is charmed by the strength of affection
you show each other. I almost envy you the warmth and banter of your
family hearth," he said, remembering the quiet stillness of his own
house. "They say you can judge a man's character by the hearth he
keeps, and yours, my lord, must be one of the very finest."


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"Gondor thinks highly of your House, my lord," Elrohir parroted,
waving his hands mockingly. Dinner was long past, but still Elrohir
delighted in teasing the Man. "You are such a horrible suck up!"

Boromir sighed indulgently. "Stop it, Roh, the phrase sounds
absolutely vulgar on your tongue. You really should not say things
like that. 'Suck up' indeed. Baseness does not become you… *penneth*,"
he teased, echoing Lord Elrond's jest, then chuckled when Elrohir
glared at him. "Besides, I can hardly recommend myself to the son by
displeasing the father, can I?"

"Oh really?" Elrohir crooned.

"Yes, really."

"Well there are many other ways to recommend yourself to this son, my
Lord Boromir," he raised his eyebrow suggestively and leaned in so
close that his breath ghosted against Boromir's lips. "Many, many
ways…" he whispered, then straightened and continued his stroll down
the empty hallways.

"Walk me back, Boromir," he called out lightly, his innocent gaze both
beguiling and frustrating the Man. Like his sister, Elrohir knew full
well how to make use of the naive, child-like features that fortune
had blessed him with. Stifling a false yawn, he stretched and blinked
sleepily, then turned large, cushy eyes to his lover. "I think I am
about ready for bed tonight."

When at last they reached his rooms, Elrohir smiled and lowered his
head modestly, then blushed when Boromir bowed and kissed his hand.
When the Man kissed him on the mouth, he kept his lips tightly sealed,
blocking his lover's questing tongue even as he arched into the kiss.
He felt Boromir's grip tighten, felt the Man pressing harder against
him and smiled to himself. Boromir was falling for the bait.

Feeling it was time to push the Man further, he twined his hands
through his lover's hair and mewled softly. The effect was
instantaneous; Boromir flared up against him, and it took all the
Elf's self-control to bite back the gasp of yearning at having the
Man's heat pressed so suddenly and so firmly against him.

Slowly, teasingly, he untangled himself and stepped back, modestly
keeping his eyes averted. "Will you like to come in?" he said shyly,
wringing his hands as he turned large, anxious eyes on his lover, then
turned away and blushed furiously before disappearing into the
relative darkness of his room.

Curious, Boromir followed, then gasped at the sight that greeted him.
As the son of the steward, Boromir had always thought his own space
grand and majestic, but it was nothing compared to the elaborate
intricacies of the Elves. Compared to Elrohir's private sanctuary,
Boromir's own rooms looked as unintimate and impersonal as the
soldier's barracks; everything from the oils that lined the dresser to
the candles that adorned the walls reminded him of Elrohir. The stones
themselves reverberated his presence. It was as if Elrohir and the
room were one, that the Elf had spent so much time here that his very
essence was embedded within the space itself.

Seeing Boromir's stunned look, Elrohir snuggled into his chest and
kissed him gently. "I'm older than I look, Boromir," he whispered. "I
outlive you by several lifetimes. I am nowhere near as innocent or
young as you like to think I am," he grinned and kissed the Man again,
stroking the Man's bristly chin and rekindling the other's burning
heat. Once again, he waited for Boromir to react to him, waited until
the Man wrapped his arms around him and pressed him greedily against
himself before he stepped slowly back.

Slowly, sensually, he undid the ties of his outer robe and let it fall
from his shoulders so that he stood in nothing but his leggings and
his thin linen undershirt. Smiling softly, he came up to Boromir and
kissed him adoringly.

"Penneth," he chuckled softly. "Boromir, *you* are the little one, not
I." He kissed Boromir again, lingeringly this time, giving his lover
the leisure to do as he liked. Very gently, he guided the Man's hand
beneath his shirt, then hissed as the rough, callused fingers caressed
the sensitive skin of his stomach.

Closing his eyes, he yielded to the sensation of Boromir's hands
exploring his upper body, waiting in anticipation as the Man mapped
him by touch alone. When the questing hands brushed suddenly against
his taught nipples, and Elrohir could not help but gasp at the
unexpected burst of pleasure. Boromir smiled.

"You like that," he stated. Elrohir nodded, his only other reply being
to arch further into his touch. "I like that you like that," he
crooned, planting soft kisses down the Elf's neck to complement his
hand's smooth caress.

Everything was perfect. It was just as Elrohir had planned. And yet...
and yet...

"Do you fear me, Boromir?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper. He
could feel Boromir's need mirroring his own, felt it in the Man's
touch and the Man's kisses, saw it in his lust-darkened eyes and
labored breaths. And yet he sensed the other's hesitance as well, a
formidable wall between them even as they danced in pleasure against
the other's touch. "Do you fear what I have to offer?"

"No," Boromir rasped, his voice harsh with desire. "I want you. I need you."

"Then have me," he whispered tenderly. "Please?"

"No," Boromir breathed, then broke away. Taking a deep breath, he
rubbed his face and slumped heavily against the nearest wall. "I dare
not."

"But why?" Elrohir blinked in honest surprise, then frowned in
confusion. Suddenly weary, he sat down on the bed and hugged himself.
"I do not understand, my lord," he said softly, sadly, his inferiority
complex settling in again. "Am I... so unattractive to you?"

"No!" Boromir gasped, shocked. "Gods, no, nothing of the sort," he
said, sitting down next to Elrohir and taking both Elrohir's hands in
his. "Only…" he trailed off, not knowing how to start. "I feel like I
am in a dream," he breathed. "And everything is magic. It has to be
magic. It cannot possibly be real."

He remained silent for awhile, composing his thoughts, then released
Elrohir's hands with a shudder. "I feel that I must be living in a
dream. And I'm afraid, Roh. I am so afraid of breaking the illusion. I
want to live like this forever, and I am so afraid that I am going to
wake up."

Elrohir raised his fingers to his lips, stunned speechless by such
high praise from the visiting lord, before pressing his other hand to
his chest to still the wild fluttering of his heart. Then, still
silent, he reached for Boromir's hand and clasped it in both of his
before pressing it to his chest.

"Feel this," he whispered and kissed Boromir tremblingly. "It is
real," he continued. "And it is my heart… beating for you." Blinking
back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, he brought each
of Boromir's hands to his lips and kissed the palms of both hands. "I
am real," he said again, more confidently this time, and gazed
adoringly into Boromir's eyes. "And I love you, Boromir," he smiled.
"I love you."