"Nadorhuan! Lie tela? Kiruva amin ndu!"** Rumil spat again at his captor, growling in the back of his throat with an anger unbound, even as tears washed down his face. Rumil's reverting back to Elvish and obviously insulting him, drove Boromir's hand to let the leather mark the elf's skin again, and again.
The Man of Gondor knew he should stop the beating when the leather of his belt made the first deep cut in the fair skin of the Lothien elf, but the sight of the blood and the cries from his captive's lips had excited him beyond rational thoughts. As Rumil hung, twisting against the tree with every lash that fell on his back, thighs and ass, the elf kept his lips tightly sealed, refusing to mutter one more word of Westron for Boromir. Only when the glare in Rumil's eyes started to falter, did Boromir know he had won. � A moment later and the elf cried out in the tongue of Men, "I give. Please, no more!"
Another lash fell and cut Rumil deep across his left buttock, the crimson drips staining the leather as it was dropped to the ground. The whips pain was replaced by another as Boromir pushed himself against the dangling elf, quickly freeing his engorged hardness and lifted the weakened elf's legs over his hips. Rumil caught the idea of what was happening too late and his struggle only served to further impale him on the Man's length. Icy blue eyes closed and tears fell like winter rain as the two were joined by the rough thrusts. The Sylvan elf had no strength left to keep his wails inside and they pelted Boromir's ear each time the thrust lifted him. In one finally lunge, Rumil was held aloft and with a triumphant bellow, Boromir released his pent up frustrations and let them burn the inside of the elf's ravaged passage. The elf trembled and with great disgust, found himself reacting and spilling himself over his tormentor's belly. Smiling at that, Boromir slide from his prize, gave Rumil a flat handed slap to his ass and backed away laughing.
The laughing ceased when, looking over his quarry who was now covered in stripes of red, Boromir came into reasoning and knew he had done evil that if found out, his life would be forfeit, Fellowship or no. The elf must have caught some hint of the panic Boromir now held, for his head came up and his eyes narrowed but there was an undeniable smile on his parched lips.
"DON'T YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT!" screamed the Man, making fists with his hands at his sides at the elf. He paced back and forth over the fallen golden leaves, stroking his beard. He could kill the elf, but this was the brother of Haldir and would definitely be missed. The day wore on in hours and still Rumil hung in the tree, his eyes closed as delirium slipped into his mind. When the moans started falling from his fevered lips, it broke Boromir's concentration. He stomped to the tree, ready to once more slap some sense into the elf, but as he drew nigh, he could see just how bad off Rumil had become. Sweat covered the pale skin and the wounds, though the blood had dried, needed tending or would soon fester. Scowling and groaning the whole time, Boromir cut the elf's bounds and tossed him like a sack of potato's over his shoulder.
"I seem to recall the river was that way. I'll get you cleaned up and then you and I are going to have a talk. And right now I don't care if its in ORC!" .
TO BE CONTINUED