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LOTR Fic: Concealment
Title: Concealment
Summary: When news reached Rohan of the death of Dol Amroth's ruling prince, Théodred rode for Gondor as quickly as his horse would carry him. Of course he would come; Boromir needed him.
Word Count: 3392 + Notes
Rating: Mature (for m/m erotic content)
Timeline: Mid-Third Age (bookverse)
------
Afterwards, Boromir observed that it had all been Théodred's doing. If anyone asked how the Steward's heir ended up face down in a large bed on the second floor of the Silver Fox, the crown prince of Rohan dozing beside him, while one of Dol Amroth's finest harlots nursed a mug of brandy on the balcony… well, it was Théodred's doing, simple as that.
Adrahil was more than a week dead before news of his passing even reached Rohan. Officially he came to offer Rohan's final respects to Adrahil and to offer friendship with the new prince Imrahil, but most of Meduseld guessed the real reason he had journeyed south. And that was not Rohan's politics.
When Théodred stood in the great hall of Imrahil's castle, he had to will himself to focus on the prince. Boromir stood on the dais to the left of the prince. Théodred did not need to look at the tunic to see the white tree embossed on the breast in the silver thread that matched Boromir's eyes. He wanted to run his fingers over the rich velvet like he had the last time they had been in Rohan. Théodred felt himself blush.
At last Imrahil bade Théodred good day and suggested that Boromir might make a good companion until dinner that evening. Théodred sighed to himself. He had not yet worked out how to get Boromir away from the court without raising suspicion. While their long friendship was no great secret, duty and distance kept them apart for years between meetings, and the revelation that the two shared a bed on occasion would surprise most of Gondor. If duty now gave them a reason to spend the afternoon together, that was a happy chance indeed.
Boromir led Théodred out the castle door and down a garden path. Even here, beyond the court's prying eyes, it was too great a risk just to hold hands openly. They walked side by side, and while Théodred occasionally let his fingers brush against Boromir's wrist, he knew better than to let them linger. He glanced at Boromir, unsettled by the lackluster quality that had settled in the other's eyes. "Boromir?" he asked tentatively.
Boromir looked over at Théodred. "I apologize. These last few weeks have been… most trying. Grandfather's death came as no surprise, of course, but even so…."
Théodred nodded. Boromir had told him once that Númenóreans of high line could choose when they would die. True, Boromir had been with Adrahil when he fell asleep for that last time, but Théodred remembered his own grandmother's death from lung sickness some years ago. Her long decline had not robbed the parting of all sorrow. Théodred hesitated a second before he took Boromir's hand in his own. He rubbed his thumb along Boromir's palm. "I wish you could have sent for me sooner," Théodred said.
Boromir closed his eyes and breathed deeply, a lock of hair that had fallen into his face fluttered in the breath. Théodred reached over to brush it out of his face and his finger traced Boromir's cheekbone. Boromir started to smile, but before it could reach his eyes he turned his head back toward the castle, as if he suddenly remembered where they were. He pulled his hand free. "Not here."
Théodred felt himself tense. He knew that Boromir felt no shame for their own sake and that he only worried about how impossible it would be to see each other if the true nature of their relationship was widely known, or known by Denethor at all. Yet Théodred's blood still raced through his veins. Boromir had needed him and he had not been there. And why? Because Boromir could not safely send for him. "Trolls' balls, Boromir!" Théodred hissed. He grabbed Boromir's arm and pulled him behind a high shrub.
Now they were out of sight of the castle. Théodred stepped closer to Boromir and kissed him deeply on the lips. At first Boromir stood stiff, not pushing Théodred away but certainly not welcoming the embrace, but then his shoulders relaxed and his lips parted. When Théodred drew back for breath, he saw that Boromir was breathing more heavily than before. He knew better than to hope one kiss could make him forget the last weeks, but was it enough to remind him how nice living could be? "I would have you right here," Théodred said in a low voice once his own breathing slowed a little. "Against the shrub, trousers at your knees. Now."
"Not if you would ever have me again!" Boromir protested.
"On the ground then." Théodred grinned lustily.
Boromir laughed, but he also looked nervously over his shoulder. "You and I are not the only ones who walk the grounds in the afternoon, and this grove is not as secluded as you seem to think."
"Damn elves." Théodred tried to keep his tone light but heard the slight growl under the words. And in truth, he was frustrated beyond words at the fleeting whisper of skin against skin, the furtive glances, and the coded words. He had done his duty by Rohan, and Boromir by Gondor, for three long years. Neither had once complained or even mentioned a journey to see the other. He was no barbarian; he knew of Ælfwine's treatise on love and marriage among the elves, knew the reasons why Gondorians did not think kindly of love between men. Yet he rejected them all as absurd. To be so close after so long, and still to be held at arm's length… it was maddening.
Without thinking, he kissed Boromir again. This time he nipped gently at Boromir's lips. Boromir's hands drifted down Théodred's back, resting on his hips. Théodred moaned into Boromir's mouth. He felt his groin grow heavier, and he knew that this would never satisfy him. Breaking the kiss, he punched his fist deep into the hedge and let out a string of Rohirric obscenities. Boromir sank back against the hedge, his face red. "You should not start what we cannot finish," he said.
"I would not lose you forever, even for this," Théodred said. "Another kiss like that and I will be hard indeed. Is there anyone here that you trust, like that cook in Minas Tirith?"
Boromir shook his head. "No, none. Unless… well, before I began to favor men, I used a discreet harlot on occasion, but I do not think she would take the risk of concealing my 'predilection' from Uncle and Father."
"Harlots." Théodred remembered the nihtwiffin, two sisters near Helm's Deep with neither family nor trade who often sold themselves to riders for bread. He had assumed that Gondor was too prudish for something like that. "Is it common, or at least acceptable, for an unmarried man to make use of them from time to time?" Boromir nodded. "Then I may have an idea. This harlot you speak of, would she hold her tongue if it meant no risk to her?" Boromir hesitated, but after a moment nodded again. "Then take me to her. I will explain"—Théodred cocked his head back towards the castle—"later."
Boromir led Théodred down the hill and along the road towards the Silver Fox. As they walked, Théodred reminded Boromir how Imrahil had asked him to accompany Théodred that afternoon. "I have been traveling from Rohan for weeks," Théodred said, "and campaigning in the field for some time before that. Is it so unbelievable that I might ask for more genteel companionship than a man can offer?"
Boromir opened his mouth to argue, but Théodred forestalled him. "Remember that in Dol Amroth, you alone know I prefer men to women. And by your own words, you are no stranger to that house. If you could buy a few hours with a harlot without scandal, why should we 'less principled' Northmen abstain?" Théodred looked around and, seeing no one around, he stepped closer to Boromir so his breath was warm on Boromir's ear. He whispered, "And once we are in her chambers—always assuming she is truly trustworthy—why should anyone else know who lies with whom?" Boromir shivered visibly and Théodred laughed. "'Tis a good plan, is it not?" Boromir nodded and quickened his pace.
Soon the carved ash sign marking the Silver Fox came into view, and Boromir and Théodred went inside. Boromir walked over to the podium and talked for a moment with the woman standing there. The woman called for the boy lounging by the bar, spoke to him for a moment, and sent him off through the kitchen door. She and Boromir walked back to Théodred. "It is all arranged," Boromir said.
"The house of the Silver Fox bids you welcome, lord," she said and curtsied. "I am her matron. Will you follow me?" She led them up the stairs to a room at the end of a hall. Ushering them in, she motioned for them to sit on the couch and asked, "Would you like a drink?"
Boromir looked at Théodred. "Ales?" he asked, and Théodred nodded. The matron poured the drinks and handed them to Boromir and Théodred. "Can I do aught else?" she asked.
Théodred smiled at her. "I am content, good lady, on the matter of food and drink. I am, however, eager to meet this Isilwen that Boromir has spoken so highly of."
"Of course," she said. "I sent word to her while we were still downstairs; she should be here soon." She left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Boromir frowned slightly. "That was not well done," he said.
Théodred took a sip of his ale and set the cup on the low table beside the couch. "We are here to buy her services, are we not?" he asked. "Why should I dally with the proprietress?"
"Because in Dol Amroth, and Gondor, women like the matron would not admit the truth of what they sell. It is why she always offers a drink, and why this room has more than just a bed. What happens between the sheets is almost incidental, at least to her thinking." Boromir grinned. "Though I will admit, 'tis good that she thinks you are so eager to be between Isilwen's thighs."
"You make me sound like a randy youth."
Boromir looked down at Théodred's pants. "It seems I am not so far wrong." He placed his hand over the crotch of Théodred's trousers, curling his fingers around the hardening length, and Théodred felt it twitch under the weight of Boromir's palms.
"Boromir…" he grunted. Just then, they heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Boromir pulled his hand out of Théodred's lap and Théodred crossed his legs quickly.
A moment later, Isilwen entered the room. She looked a little surprised at the sight of the two men, but her smile did not falter. "My lord Boromir. It has been years. I thought perhaps I had done something to displease you."
"Never," Boromir said. "You are very skilled. But…" He glanced at the open door. "I would speak with you of something, before we begin."
Isilwen nodded her understanding. She closed the door and returned to the couch, sitting on its arm. "Milord, you should know by now that what is said and done within this house does not leave it. We are no gossips; if we were, we would drive off all our patrons within the year." She glanced at Théodred. "Who is your friend?"
Théodred started to answer, but Boromir gave him a pointed look. "He is Ælfwine, an ambassador from Rohan. I am accompanying him at the new prince's request." Théodred fought back a laugh at the joke; the name did sound vaguely Rohirric, and in truth secrecy might serve them well if Boromir had misjudged Isilwen's loyalties.
Isilwen asked no more questions. Théodred suspected that she recognized the name—one in her line of work must be familiar with his arguments—but Théodred was glad she did not pry unnecessarily. "Isilwen, when I stayed away all those years, it had nothing to do with you. When I first came to the Silver Fox I was a child, too enamored by the mindless comforts you offered to be overly particular. But in recent years I have found…" He glanced over at Théodred. "Isilwen, I am a lover of men. Of this man."
For a moment Isilwen considered what Boromir had said. The air seemed so thick that Théodred could barely breathe. Why should he trust this woman? He knew nothing of her save that Boromir had bedded her as a youth. But then she chuckled to herself and clapped Boromir on the knee. "Do you honestly think you are the only man afflicted so? Aí, if you could but see your face when you said that! So serious! You are not the only men who have come to me with such a request, nor even the first this month."
She looked over at Théodred, and her face grew more serious. "Now so much makes sense. Very well. You can use the room for as long as you like. I will lie with one or both of you, or I can leave you to yourself if you prefer. You need only pay the matron for my time, as if you had lain with me and not each other."
Boromir and Théodred exchanged looks. "As beautiful as you are, Isilwen—" Boromir began. Before he could finish, however, Isilwen placed a finger to his lips. "Say no more," she said. She pulled both men to their feet and pointed out a door beside the one leading to the hall. "Through there. I keep linseed oil in the table by the bed, if you desire it." She pushed them gently toward the door. "Now go!"
Once inside the bedroom, Théodred sat on the foot of the bed and watched Boromir undress. The boots were quickly off, as was the belt and tunic. Boromir let his trousers fall but his left foot caught in the fabric and he bent over to free himself, pulling his braies tight over his arse.
Théodred's breath caught in his chest. He walked over and stood behind Boromir. Pulling Boromir's hair to the side, he kissed the back of his neck. He loosened the lacings of Boromir's braies and reached inside, and Boromir gasped. Théodred wrapped his hand around Boromir; Boromir turned to kiss him but before he reached the other's lips his shoulders tensed and his head rolled back. "Mmm…" Boromir mumbled, and Théodred smiled to himself. So much for Gondorian eloquence! He let go of Boromir and pulled the braies off, and Boromir kicked them onto the growing pile of clothes.
Now it was Théodred's turn. Boromir loosened the lacings at his throat, letting his fingers flit across Théodred's chest. Soon Théodred's clothes joined Boromir's; Théodred lay on the bed and rolled onto his stomach, trying hard to relax.
A drawer opened, and Théodred heard Boromir rub his hands together. Soon slick fingers slid into him, pushing deep inside. Boromir tried to pull the fingers out, but Théodred grabbed his wrist. "Patience," Boromir chuckled. He knelt on the bed, his knees on either side of Théodred's. He placed his hands around Théodred's hips and pulled his back upwards so Théodred's knees were bent under him.
Then Boromir pulled Théodred's hips toward him, and Théodred felt Boromir fully sheathed within him. This felt right; he could not imagine anything else more perfect. He thanked whatever gods watched over Men that he had been born in Rohan, where they celebrated such love instead of concealing it. The sweet brush of Boromir against him, pushing in and pulling out of him.... Théodred knew he would sire an heir one day, for that was his duty, but it would always be only that for him. Only duty. Never this.
Boromir wrapped his hand around Théodred's length, now much harder than when Boromir had touched him before Isilwen came in. The feel of Boromir sliding in and out, and the warmth of his hand around Théodred, it was nearly too much. It was too much. Another thrust, and Théodred spent himself in Boromir's hand.
Now Boromir moved more quickly within him, in and out. He let go of Théodred's softening erection and placed his now-sticky hand on Théodred's hip, pulling them together with more force, until at last Théodred felt Boromir shudder within him. He collapsed against Théodred's back and lay there, breathing hard against Théodred's neck.
When he had recovered a little, Boromir pulled himself free of Théodred and fell deep into the mattress. Théodred slid his knees out from under him and laid on his stomach. He turned his head and smiled at Boromir. "You should have sent for me earlier," he said. "You should not have gone through these last weeks alone."
Boromir sighed, but he did not argue. "Perhaps. But 'should' is the domain of the philosophers. For myself, I am just glad to have you now."
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Some time later, Théodred awoke from the nap he had not realized he had taken. He blinked his eyes in the harsh light streaming through the window and saw Boromir lying beside him on his side, his fingers tracing the bruises already developing along Théodred's hips. "Good morning, princess," he said with a lilt in his voice. Then more seriously he added, "I did not realize you were so tired."
"You try journeying all the way from Rohan, playing diplomat at full court, and being screwed thoroughly by an over-zealous Gondorian, all in a single day."
Boromir laughed at that. "You are no great joy when you first wake, I take it." He kissed the tattoo of a horse's head on the inside of Théodred's wrist. "Still, I think I will keep you."
Théodred scowled, but that was more to cover his own smile. Boromir seemed in genuinely good spirits, and while Théodred did not expect the moment to last, he also wouldn't trade it for all the horses in Rohan. That didn't mean Boromir had to know he could be so cheeky, though.
Boromir walked across the room and pulled the curtains more widely open. Théodred groaned more loudly and buried his head in the pillows. "You should wake," Boromir said. "We really should go soon."
Théodred threw the pillow at Boromir and cautiously opened his eyes. The sun shining through the window was more red than yellow, and he guessed they had a little more than an hour before they would be missed at dinner. He got up and began fumbling through the pile of clothes for his braies.
"Wait," Boromir said. Théodred gave Boromir a confused look but, instead of explaining, Boromir ran into the other room and returned with a canister of cream. "Isilwen brought this in while you slept. She thought you might need it."
Théodred unscrewed the top and ran his finger through the oily cream. "What is it?" he asked.
"An apothecary in Pelargir developed it several years ago," Boromir explained. "He calls it concealer. You use it to cover bruises and other small injuries that you do not wish to show to the whole world." His eyes lingered on the marks along Théodred's side and arse.
Théodred frowned. "After all this, you still wish for me to deny my affection for you? I have no desire to hide such marks from the world. You may have to—"
"And so must you, if you do not wish to risk being found out. Isilwen's discretion I trust, but do you intend to forego the bath-houses your whole visit? Even I would walk a pace back from you." Boromir gave Théodred his warmest smile, and Théodred felt his frown fade. Boromir was right, much as Théodred was loath to admit it. He still hated the idea of hiding such marks, but he could not see how he had much choice.
"There are some benefits…" Boromir said. He dipped his fingers into the canister and began to spread the cream on the Rohir's hip. Théodred felt a shiver travel down his back when Boromir's fingers brushed against the sensitive skin between his legs, and he moaned gently into the sheets. "And I promise you," Boromir said, "when I come to Rohan next, I will give you bruises to be proud of."
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Note:
This was written for annmarwalk at the request of Celandine Brandybuck. I hope she, and you, enjoy it. Cel requested Boromir/Théodred, with the prompt "technology", and the piece I intended to write was essentially the first paragraph and the end section (after the row of asterisks). But my muse would not let me rest until I worked out just how they got there. Hence the lack of "teeny" in this "teeny!fic."
Ælfwine's "treatise on love and marriage among the elves" is Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, an essay by JRRT in HoMe X. Many authors trying to write extra-marital sex among elves or the elf-influenced Dúnedain are as frustrated by it as Théodred. ;-) My revenge is to give Ælfwine himself a bit of a hard time in my fiction.
I imagine the concealer Isilwen provides Boromir and Théodred to be similar to what we have in modern times. It's not a far jump that the "bruises and other small injuries that you do not wish to show to the whole world" could refer to domestic violence. I want to be perfectly clear: family abuse in all its forms is horrible either in Middle-earth or our own world. I condemn it in the strongest of terms. Willingly-endured bruising like what Boromir does to Théodred here is something completely different. I hate that Théodred would have to hide that, but in LACE-influenced Gondor I think he probably would.
The cook in Minas Tirith referenced here is Mag, a character of annmarwalk's who allows Boromir and Théodred to see each other in her house. See Favor and From the Twin Worlds of Sodomy and Knitting. I hope she does not mind that I borrowed the incident.
Thank you to Agape4Gondor for the beta. I appreciate it! And thank you all for reading.
Summary: When news reached Rohan of the death of Dol Amroth's ruling prince, Théodred rode for Gondor as quickly as his horse would carry him. Of course he would come; Boromir needed him.
Word Count: 3392 + Notes
Rating: Mature (for m/m erotic content)
Timeline: Mid-Third Age (bookverse)
------
Afterwards, Boromir observed that it had all been Théodred's doing. If anyone asked how the Steward's heir ended up face down in a large bed on the second floor of the Silver Fox, the crown prince of Rohan dozing beside him, while one of Dol Amroth's finest harlots nursed a mug of brandy on the balcony… well, it was Théodred's doing, simple as that.
Adrahil was more than a week dead before news of his passing even reached Rohan. Officially he came to offer Rohan's final respects to Adrahil and to offer friendship with the new prince Imrahil, but most of Meduseld guessed the real reason he had journeyed south. And that was not Rohan's politics.
When Théodred stood in the great hall of Imrahil's castle, he had to will himself to focus on the prince. Boromir stood on the dais to the left of the prince. Théodred did not need to look at the tunic to see the white tree embossed on the breast in the silver thread that matched Boromir's eyes. He wanted to run his fingers over the rich velvet like he had the last time they had been in Rohan. Théodred felt himself blush.
At last Imrahil bade Théodred good day and suggested that Boromir might make a good companion until dinner that evening. Théodred sighed to himself. He had not yet worked out how to get Boromir away from the court without raising suspicion. While their long friendship was no great secret, duty and distance kept them apart for years between meetings, and the revelation that the two shared a bed on occasion would surprise most of Gondor. If duty now gave them a reason to spend the afternoon together, that was a happy chance indeed.
Boromir led Théodred out the castle door and down a garden path. Even here, beyond the court's prying eyes, it was too great a risk just to hold hands openly. They walked side by side, and while Théodred occasionally let his fingers brush against Boromir's wrist, he knew better than to let them linger. He glanced at Boromir, unsettled by the lackluster quality that had settled in the other's eyes. "Boromir?" he asked tentatively.
Boromir looked over at Théodred. "I apologize. These last few weeks have been… most trying. Grandfather's death came as no surprise, of course, but even so…."
Théodred nodded. Boromir had told him once that Númenóreans of high line could choose when they would die. True, Boromir had been with Adrahil when he fell asleep for that last time, but Théodred remembered his own grandmother's death from lung sickness some years ago. Her long decline had not robbed the parting of all sorrow. Théodred hesitated a second before he took Boromir's hand in his own. He rubbed his thumb along Boromir's palm. "I wish you could have sent for me sooner," Théodred said.
Boromir closed his eyes and breathed deeply, a lock of hair that had fallen into his face fluttered in the breath. Théodred reached over to brush it out of his face and his finger traced Boromir's cheekbone. Boromir started to smile, but before it could reach his eyes he turned his head back toward the castle, as if he suddenly remembered where they were. He pulled his hand free. "Not here."
Théodred felt himself tense. He knew that Boromir felt no shame for their own sake and that he only worried about how impossible it would be to see each other if the true nature of their relationship was widely known, or known by Denethor at all. Yet Théodred's blood still raced through his veins. Boromir had needed him and he had not been there. And why? Because Boromir could not safely send for him. "Trolls' balls, Boromir!" Théodred hissed. He grabbed Boromir's arm and pulled him behind a high shrub.
Now they were out of sight of the castle. Théodred stepped closer to Boromir and kissed him deeply on the lips. At first Boromir stood stiff, not pushing Théodred away but certainly not welcoming the embrace, but then his shoulders relaxed and his lips parted. When Théodred drew back for breath, he saw that Boromir was breathing more heavily than before. He knew better than to hope one kiss could make him forget the last weeks, but was it enough to remind him how nice living could be? "I would have you right here," Théodred said in a low voice once his own breathing slowed a little. "Against the shrub, trousers at your knees. Now."
"Not if you would ever have me again!" Boromir protested.
"On the ground then." Théodred grinned lustily.
Boromir laughed, but he also looked nervously over his shoulder. "You and I are not the only ones who walk the grounds in the afternoon, and this grove is not as secluded as you seem to think."
"Damn elves." Théodred tried to keep his tone light but heard the slight growl under the words. And in truth, he was frustrated beyond words at the fleeting whisper of skin against skin, the furtive glances, and the coded words. He had done his duty by Rohan, and Boromir by Gondor, for three long years. Neither had once complained or even mentioned a journey to see the other. He was no barbarian; he knew of Ælfwine's treatise on love and marriage among the elves, knew the reasons why Gondorians did not think kindly of love between men. Yet he rejected them all as absurd. To be so close after so long, and still to be held at arm's length… it was maddening.
Without thinking, he kissed Boromir again. This time he nipped gently at Boromir's lips. Boromir's hands drifted down Théodred's back, resting on his hips. Théodred moaned into Boromir's mouth. He felt his groin grow heavier, and he knew that this would never satisfy him. Breaking the kiss, he punched his fist deep into the hedge and let out a string of Rohirric obscenities. Boromir sank back against the hedge, his face red. "You should not start what we cannot finish," he said.
"I would not lose you forever, even for this," Théodred said. "Another kiss like that and I will be hard indeed. Is there anyone here that you trust, like that cook in Minas Tirith?"
Boromir shook his head. "No, none. Unless… well, before I began to favor men, I used a discreet harlot on occasion, but I do not think she would take the risk of concealing my 'predilection' from Uncle and Father."
"Harlots." Théodred remembered the nihtwiffin, two sisters near Helm's Deep with neither family nor trade who often sold themselves to riders for bread. He had assumed that Gondor was too prudish for something like that. "Is it common, or at least acceptable, for an unmarried man to make use of them from time to time?" Boromir nodded. "Then I may have an idea. This harlot you speak of, would she hold her tongue if it meant no risk to her?" Boromir hesitated, but after a moment nodded again. "Then take me to her. I will explain"—Théodred cocked his head back towards the castle—"later."
Boromir led Théodred down the hill and along the road towards the Silver Fox. As they walked, Théodred reminded Boromir how Imrahil had asked him to accompany Théodred that afternoon. "I have been traveling from Rohan for weeks," Théodred said, "and campaigning in the field for some time before that. Is it so unbelievable that I might ask for more genteel companionship than a man can offer?"
Boromir opened his mouth to argue, but Théodred forestalled him. "Remember that in Dol Amroth, you alone know I prefer men to women. And by your own words, you are no stranger to that house. If you could buy a few hours with a harlot without scandal, why should we 'less principled' Northmen abstain?" Théodred looked around and, seeing no one around, he stepped closer to Boromir so his breath was warm on Boromir's ear. He whispered, "And once we are in her chambers—always assuming she is truly trustworthy—why should anyone else know who lies with whom?" Boromir shivered visibly and Théodred laughed. "'Tis a good plan, is it not?" Boromir nodded and quickened his pace.
Soon the carved ash sign marking the Silver Fox came into view, and Boromir and Théodred went inside. Boromir walked over to the podium and talked for a moment with the woman standing there. The woman called for the boy lounging by the bar, spoke to him for a moment, and sent him off through the kitchen door. She and Boromir walked back to Théodred. "It is all arranged," Boromir said.
"The house of the Silver Fox bids you welcome, lord," she said and curtsied. "I am her matron. Will you follow me?" She led them up the stairs to a room at the end of a hall. Ushering them in, she motioned for them to sit on the couch and asked, "Would you like a drink?"
Boromir looked at Théodred. "Ales?" he asked, and Théodred nodded. The matron poured the drinks and handed them to Boromir and Théodred. "Can I do aught else?" she asked.
Théodred smiled at her. "I am content, good lady, on the matter of food and drink. I am, however, eager to meet this Isilwen that Boromir has spoken so highly of."
"Of course," she said. "I sent word to her while we were still downstairs; she should be here soon." She left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Boromir frowned slightly. "That was not well done," he said.
Théodred took a sip of his ale and set the cup on the low table beside the couch. "We are here to buy her services, are we not?" he asked. "Why should I dally with the proprietress?"
"Because in Dol Amroth, and Gondor, women like the matron would not admit the truth of what they sell. It is why she always offers a drink, and why this room has more than just a bed. What happens between the sheets is almost incidental, at least to her thinking." Boromir grinned. "Though I will admit, 'tis good that she thinks you are so eager to be between Isilwen's thighs."
"You make me sound like a randy youth."
Boromir looked down at Théodred's pants. "It seems I am not so far wrong." He placed his hand over the crotch of Théodred's trousers, curling his fingers around the hardening length, and Théodred felt it twitch under the weight of Boromir's palms.
"Boromir…" he grunted. Just then, they heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Boromir pulled his hand out of Théodred's lap and Théodred crossed his legs quickly.
A moment later, Isilwen entered the room. She looked a little surprised at the sight of the two men, but her smile did not falter. "My lord Boromir. It has been years. I thought perhaps I had done something to displease you."
"Never," Boromir said. "You are very skilled. But…" He glanced at the open door. "I would speak with you of something, before we begin."
Isilwen nodded her understanding. She closed the door and returned to the couch, sitting on its arm. "Milord, you should know by now that what is said and done within this house does not leave it. We are no gossips; if we were, we would drive off all our patrons within the year." She glanced at Théodred. "Who is your friend?"
Théodred started to answer, but Boromir gave him a pointed look. "He is Ælfwine, an ambassador from Rohan. I am accompanying him at the new prince's request." Théodred fought back a laugh at the joke; the name did sound vaguely Rohirric, and in truth secrecy might serve them well if Boromir had misjudged Isilwen's loyalties.
Isilwen asked no more questions. Théodred suspected that she recognized the name—one in her line of work must be familiar with his arguments—but Théodred was glad she did not pry unnecessarily. "Isilwen, when I stayed away all those years, it had nothing to do with you. When I first came to the Silver Fox I was a child, too enamored by the mindless comforts you offered to be overly particular. But in recent years I have found…" He glanced over at Théodred. "Isilwen, I am a lover of men. Of this man."
For a moment Isilwen considered what Boromir had said. The air seemed so thick that Théodred could barely breathe. Why should he trust this woman? He knew nothing of her save that Boromir had bedded her as a youth. But then she chuckled to herself and clapped Boromir on the knee. "Do you honestly think you are the only man afflicted so? Aí, if you could but see your face when you said that! So serious! You are not the only men who have come to me with such a request, nor even the first this month."
She looked over at Théodred, and her face grew more serious. "Now so much makes sense. Very well. You can use the room for as long as you like. I will lie with one or both of you, or I can leave you to yourself if you prefer. You need only pay the matron for my time, as if you had lain with me and not each other."
Boromir and Théodred exchanged looks. "As beautiful as you are, Isilwen—" Boromir began. Before he could finish, however, Isilwen placed a finger to his lips. "Say no more," she said. She pulled both men to their feet and pointed out a door beside the one leading to the hall. "Through there. I keep linseed oil in the table by the bed, if you desire it." She pushed them gently toward the door. "Now go!"
Once inside the bedroom, Théodred sat on the foot of the bed and watched Boromir undress. The boots were quickly off, as was the belt and tunic. Boromir let his trousers fall but his left foot caught in the fabric and he bent over to free himself, pulling his braies tight over his arse.
Théodred's breath caught in his chest. He walked over and stood behind Boromir. Pulling Boromir's hair to the side, he kissed the back of his neck. He loosened the lacings of Boromir's braies and reached inside, and Boromir gasped. Théodred wrapped his hand around Boromir; Boromir turned to kiss him but before he reached the other's lips his shoulders tensed and his head rolled back. "Mmm…" Boromir mumbled, and Théodred smiled to himself. So much for Gondorian eloquence! He let go of Boromir and pulled the braies off, and Boromir kicked them onto the growing pile of clothes.
Now it was Théodred's turn. Boromir loosened the lacings at his throat, letting his fingers flit across Théodred's chest. Soon Théodred's clothes joined Boromir's; Théodred lay on the bed and rolled onto his stomach, trying hard to relax.
A drawer opened, and Théodred heard Boromir rub his hands together. Soon slick fingers slid into him, pushing deep inside. Boromir tried to pull the fingers out, but Théodred grabbed his wrist. "Patience," Boromir chuckled. He knelt on the bed, his knees on either side of Théodred's. He placed his hands around Théodred's hips and pulled his back upwards so Théodred's knees were bent under him.
Then Boromir pulled Théodred's hips toward him, and Théodred felt Boromir fully sheathed within him. This felt right; he could not imagine anything else more perfect. He thanked whatever gods watched over Men that he had been born in Rohan, where they celebrated such love instead of concealing it. The sweet brush of Boromir against him, pushing in and pulling out of him.... Théodred knew he would sire an heir one day, for that was his duty, but it would always be only that for him. Only duty. Never this.
Boromir wrapped his hand around Théodred's length, now much harder than when Boromir had touched him before Isilwen came in. The feel of Boromir sliding in and out, and the warmth of his hand around Théodred, it was nearly too much. It was too much. Another thrust, and Théodred spent himself in Boromir's hand.
Now Boromir moved more quickly within him, in and out. He let go of Théodred's softening erection and placed his now-sticky hand on Théodred's hip, pulling them together with more force, until at last Théodred felt Boromir shudder within him. He collapsed against Théodred's back and lay there, breathing hard against Théodred's neck.
When he had recovered a little, Boromir pulled himself free of Théodred and fell deep into the mattress. Théodred slid his knees out from under him and laid on his stomach. He turned his head and smiled at Boromir. "You should have sent for me earlier," he said. "You should not have gone through these last weeks alone."
Boromir sighed, but he did not argue. "Perhaps. But 'should' is the domain of the philosophers. For myself, I am just glad to have you now."
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Some time later, Théodred awoke from the nap he had not realized he had taken. He blinked his eyes in the harsh light streaming through the window and saw Boromir lying beside him on his side, his fingers tracing the bruises already developing along Théodred's hips. "Good morning, princess," he said with a lilt in his voice. Then more seriously he added, "I did not realize you were so tired."
"You try journeying all the way from Rohan, playing diplomat at full court, and being screwed thoroughly by an over-zealous Gondorian, all in a single day."
Boromir laughed at that. "You are no great joy when you first wake, I take it." He kissed the tattoo of a horse's head on the inside of Théodred's wrist. "Still, I think I will keep you."
Théodred scowled, but that was more to cover his own smile. Boromir seemed in genuinely good spirits, and while Théodred did not expect the moment to last, he also wouldn't trade it for all the horses in Rohan. That didn't mean Boromir had to know he could be so cheeky, though.
Boromir walked across the room and pulled the curtains more widely open. Théodred groaned more loudly and buried his head in the pillows. "You should wake," Boromir said. "We really should go soon."
Théodred threw the pillow at Boromir and cautiously opened his eyes. The sun shining through the window was more red than yellow, and he guessed they had a little more than an hour before they would be missed at dinner. He got up and began fumbling through the pile of clothes for his braies.
"Wait," Boromir said. Théodred gave Boromir a confused look but, instead of explaining, Boromir ran into the other room and returned with a canister of cream. "Isilwen brought this in while you slept. She thought you might need it."
Théodred unscrewed the top and ran his finger through the oily cream. "What is it?" he asked.
"An apothecary in Pelargir developed it several years ago," Boromir explained. "He calls it concealer. You use it to cover bruises and other small injuries that you do not wish to show to the whole world." His eyes lingered on the marks along Théodred's side and arse.
Théodred frowned. "After all this, you still wish for me to deny my affection for you? I have no desire to hide such marks from the world. You may have to—"
"And so must you, if you do not wish to risk being found out. Isilwen's discretion I trust, but do you intend to forego the bath-houses your whole visit? Even I would walk a pace back from you." Boromir gave Théodred his warmest smile, and Théodred felt his frown fade. Boromir was right, much as Théodred was loath to admit it. He still hated the idea of hiding such marks, but he could not see how he had much choice.
"There are some benefits…" Boromir said. He dipped his fingers into the canister and began to spread the cream on the Rohir's hip. Théodred felt a shiver travel down his back when Boromir's fingers brushed against the sensitive skin between his legs, and he moaned gently into the sheets. "And I promise you," Boromir said, "when I come to Rohan next, I will give you bruises to be proud of."
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Note:
This was written for annmarwalk at the request of Celandine Brandybuck. I hope she, and you, enjoy it. Cel requested Boromir/Théodred, with the prompt "technology", and the piece I intended to write was essentially the first paragraph and the end section (after the row of asterisks). But my muse would not let me rest until I worked out just how they got there. Hence the lack of "teeny" in this "teeny!fic."
Ælfwine's "treatise on love and marriage among the elves" is Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, an essay by JRRT in HoMe X. Many authors trying to write extra-marital sex among elves or the elf-influenced Dúnedain are as frustrated by it as Théodred. ;-) My revenge is to give Ælfwine himself a bit of a hard time in my fiction.
I imagine the concealer Isilwen provides Boromir and Théodred to be similar to what we have in modern times. It's not a far jump that the "bruises and other small injuries that you do not wish to show to the whole world" could refer to domestic violence. I want to be perfectly clear: family abuse in all its forms is horrible either in Middle-earth or our own world. I condemn it in the strongest of terms. Willingly-endured bruising like what Boromir does to Théodred here is something completely different. I hate that Théodred would have to hide that, but in LACE-influenced Gondor I think he probably would.
The cook in Minas Tirith referenced here is Mag, a character of annmarwalk's who allows Boromir and Théodred to see each other in her house. See Favor and From the Twin Worlds of Sodomy and Knitting. I hope she does not mind that I borrowed the incident.
Thank you to Agape4Gondor for the beta. I appreciate it! And thank you all for reading.