Boromir Week | Day 7: Freeform
Prompt filled for: @boromir-week
Title: Boromir’s NSFW Alphabet
This piece portrays Boromir as a passionate yet attentive lover: dominant and strong, but always deeply in tune with his partner’s pleasure and boundaries.
It’s not just about sex — it’s about desire, care, intimacy, and the quiet vulnerability that lies beneath all the steel and honor.
I came across a similar NSFW Alphabet for Boromir on AO3, and noticed that under Dirty Secret it mentioned multiple encounters with Aragorn. While I respect different interpretations, I personally don’t ship Aragorn/Boromir — and in my version, this pairing is not part of Boromir’s story. I follow a different take on his character, one that aligns with a different kind of intimacy, background, and emotional truth.
A = Aftercare (what he likes to do after sex)
Boromir is a mix of rugged strength and quiet tenderness. He doesn’t let go right away — he likes to hold his partner close, stroke her hair or back, often keeping one hand resting on her chest, as if to silently say, “Mine.”
He rarely talks in these moments, preferring the language of touch. But inside, his mind is a storm of questions:
“Did she enjoy it?”
“Was it too much?”
“Should I keep going?”
He loves the feeling of closeness — slow kisses that stretch on and on. At first deep and heated, then softer, gentler, until the final ones are barely brushes of lips, as if he can’t bear to break the connection. If the world allowed it, he could lie like that forever, holding her in silence.
He makes sure she’s comfortable: gets her something to drink, pulls the blanket over her if it’s cold.
But he doesn’t fall asleep easily — the habit of staying alert never quite leaves him, even in moments like this.
B = Body Part (favorite body part)
On himself: His chest and shoulders. He knows they’re broad and powerful — and he takes pride in that. He feels his strength most vividly when he’s holding his partner close, carrying them, or pinning them beneath him.
On his partner: Hands. He loves being touched, gripped, clawed at in the heat of passion. When his partner digs their nails into his skin or clutches him tightly, it drives him wild.
C = Cum
Boromir is a man who likes control. He’s not the type to finish quickly — he knows how to hold back, how to bring both himself and his partner to the edge and keep them there until the tension crests and crashes in perfect unison.
He prefers to finish inside. For him, it’s not just physical — it’s intimate, instinctual, almost sacred. The act speaks to legacy, to connection, to the raw closeness of shared breath and heat. He wants to feel her body taking him in fully, to be surrounded by that warmth even in the final moments.
If the moment calls for something else — if she asks, if they’re experimenting — he’ll finish on her belly or mound, but it’s never his first choice.
Firstly, he doesn’t like the mess. Seed on the skin feels misplaced to him, almost wrong. It belongs either within himself or within her — anything else feels like a disruption of the natural order.
Secondly, it distances him from the moment. Without that final deep joining, without her muscles clenching around him, it feels incomplete.
But what turns him on most isn’t the release itself — it’s her reaction. The way her body trembles, the sharp catch in her breath, the small involuntary sounds she makes when she feels him inside — that’s when he knows he has her fully, utterly, and completely.
D = Dirty Secret
He sometimes fantasizes about sex in partial armor — leaving on a few leather straps or a piece of his gear. The clash of steel and flesh, the primitive edge it adds, the way it highlights his strength — it all feeds something dark and primal inside him.
But he would never bring it up first. If his partner makes the move, hints at it, he’s more than willing — but he’ll never be the one to initiate.
E = Experience
He’s experienced, but not promiscuous. In Gondor, pre-marital relations — even for men — are frowned upon, and he’s not one for flings.
Still, he knows what he’s doing. He listens to his partner’s body, pays attention, and takes his time. He’s not spoiled, not jaded, but he’s attentive and intuitive.
And if his partner wants to explore something new — he’s open to learning, as long as it feels natural and doesn’t go against his instincts. His pleasure is rooted in giving, in closeness, and in mutual desire — not performance for the sake of novelty.
F = Favourite Position
Boromir loves positions that give him full control without sacrificing closeness. His favorites are the ones where he can see his partner’s face, read every reaction, and hold them close. The classic missionary — her body beneath his — or lying on their sides, where he can easily caress her and keep her pressed to him, are what he truly enjoys.
But it’s not just about eye contact. For him, being able to kiss is essential. Kissing is the thread that ties the whole act together — deep, slow, lingering kisses that pull him into the moment and keep him there. Without them, the intimacy feels broken.
That’s why he absolutely refuses any position that takes that closeness away — especially doggy style. Taking a woman from behind, like some brothel whore? Unthinkable to him. Even if she enjoys it, even if it’s brought up again and again — his answer will always be a quiet but firm “no.”
When she’s on top, it’s mostly for her. He likes watching her move, watching the pleasure take over her face — but it’s not ideal for him. He rarely reaches climax that way. It’s more about prolonging the moment, letting her lead, and giving her all the space she needs to enjoy herself. He loves seeing her unrestrained, feeling her take control — but deep down, he’ll always prefer to be the one setting the rhythm.
G = Goofy
Boromir is generally serious in bed — just as he is in life. But with trust and comfort, he can loosen up. If they get tangled in clothing, someone stumbles, or a dramatic strip turns awkward — he doesn’t freeze or get flustered. Instead, he might huff a short laugh under his breath and press on with even more enthusiasm, like the messiness excites him.
But there’s one thing he can’t joke about — losing his erection. Even if it’s brief and he recovers quickly, the simple fact that his body betrayed him gnaws at him. He may continue, but he won’t be relaxed. His expression tightens, his movements sharpen — like he’s trying to wrest control of the moment back from himself.
If the problem lingers but the desire remains, his hands turn desperate — gripping her thighs, her waist, her back with almost obsessive heat, like he’s pleading with his body to respond. He’ll run his palms over her skin, breathe her in like she’s the answer — and try again. But even if he succeeds, there will be a flicker of self-directed frustration in his eyes.
If she’s able to gently reassure him, he might calm down. If not — he’ll carry that moment with him through the rest of the night.
H = Hair (Hi @emmathefanficgal , we talked about this letter earlier, and I promised to share my take on it — so here it is! 😅)
Thanks to his Númenórean blood, Boromir’s facial hair grows a little differently — barely anything on his cheeks, but his beard is thick, dark, and well-kept. He takes pride in it, believes a man should look groomed. After all, who wants the sting of post-shave stubble? A neat beard is far better than irritating scratch.
His arms and legs are naturally hairy — as expected from a man of his world. His pubic hair is also untouched. Grooming down there isn’t something he even considers — in his culture, and in his sense of masculinity, that would be unnecessary at best.
As for his chest? Barely any hair at all. A few light strands, maybe, but that’s it. He doesn’t think much of it — his body is what it is, and he sees no reason to change it.
He’s a man of a harsh world, where function comes before vanity — and his attitude toward body hair reflects that.
I = Intimacy
Boromir is a sensual lover, but he expresses emotion through action, not words. His affection is felt in the way he holds his partner — how long he keeps her close after, how deeply he kisses her, as if trying to steal a piece of her breath and keep it for himself.
He rarely speaks sweet nothings, but his gestures say everything. A slow trace of his fingers along her skin. The way he goes still just to listen to her heartbeat. How he buries his nose in her hair and breathes in like he’s trying to memorize her with every sense.
He’s especially tender when it comes to her comfort. If he senses tension, he’ll pause to slide a pillow under her head or support her gently. He treats her like something delicate, almost sacred — with a carefulness you wouldn’t expect from a warrior his size. Don’t let such beauty break, the thought flickers through his mind more often than he’d admit.
J = Jack Off
Boromir is a man of action, not fantasy. Masturbation isn’t a ritual or habit for him — it’s a release, something natural. If he has a partner, he’ll always choose her over his own hand. But if the desire builds and there’s no one to share it with, he won’t deny himself.
Most often, it happens in moments of extreme tension — after battle, on the road, when exhaustion and adrenaline blur into hunger. It’s physical, instinctual — his body’s way of shedding the weight of stress.
Sometimes it helps him reset. When something frustrates him, when his temper flares — this simple act brings him back to himself. But it’s never about fantasy or indulgence. Just need, met quietly.
Power & Control
Boromir needs to lead — to feel that he’s guiding the rhythm. But it’s not about dominance through force. What excites him is knowing she gives in out of trust, not fear. He craves the way she clings to him, how her nails dig into his skin, how her body yields and responds to his. Her reaction fuels him like nothing else.
Scent
Scent stirs something primal in him. Not perfumes — her. Her natural warmth, the faintest musk of her skin after a bath or sleep. That quiet, misty scent makes his blood rush. He buries his face in her neck, her hair, inhaling as if he could burn the memory into his lungs.
Boots & Riding Gear
Her riding boots drive him mad. Soft, high leather hugging her calves — the way they shape her legs, hinting at strength and grace. And because he most often sees them when she’s in the saddle, that image becomes inescapably tied to his desire.
When she’s on horseback, in those boots, wearing her riding cloak with slits at the sides — he’s undone. He imagines her wearing only those boots and that cloak, no skirt beneath. If she came to him like that, he wouldn’t speak. He’d just look. Let the need consume him. Then take her — wordlessly, urgently.
Climax Touch
At the height of release, his instinct is always the same — bury his face in her neck and breathe her in. It’s reflexive. He needs that closeness, her warmth, her scent in his lungs.
He also loves interlacing their fingers — feeling her squeeze his hand, sensing her pleasure through her grip. That single touch makes it all feel deeper, as if what they’re sharing goes beyond just flesh — into something sacred.
L = Location
Boromir is a man used to the hardships of travel, but when it comes to intimacy, he values comfort. He prefers a bed: soft, warm, and reliable. There, nothing distracts him. He can fully focus on his partner, knowing they’re safe, undisturbed.
Yet there’s something primal in him, a wild call that sometimes makes him yearn for something different. He’s drawn to places where he can feel nature around them — by a fire on a chilly night, in a forest, a tent, or even a stable, where the smell of wood and warm hay mingles with their breath. The feeling of cool air, the scent of rain, the crackle of fire — it heightens everything.
Still, that’s more fantasy than habit. Finding a place that can accommodate his size and give them privacy isn’t easy. Sure, he’d try sex outdoors if the moment was right. But if he could choose, nothing beats her bed. Her bed isn’t just about comfort — it’s about trust, peace, belonging. There, he can let go of war, duty, and all thoughts of tomorrow. There, he feels at home.
M = Motivation
His biggest trigger is the need to protect — and to possess. Seeing his partner reach for him, seeking his warmth, his strength, ignites a deep, primal desire.
But the real switch is the idea of claiming. If he so much as thinks about leaving a mark, about making her the mother of his children — he hardens instantly. That thought alone is enough to undo him, even if things were only meant to stay playful.
N = NO
Doggy style. Not just a position to him, but a symbol — one he rejects. It turns the woman into something used, faceless. He needs to see her, touch her, feel the full intimacy of the moment.
Humiliation. He won’t tolerate it — not toward himself, and never toward his partner. He can dominate, yes, but only if it comes with trust, not degradation. And he would never allow himself to be treated with disrespect in turn.
Faking it. If he senses she’s pretending — fake moans, forced responses, doing things just to please him — the fire dies instantly. He picks up on dishonesty fast, and it ruins everything for him.
Public play. A hard no. Sex is too personal for him to turn it into performance. The thought of someone hearing or seeing them doesn’t excite him — it repels him. He wants total focus on his partner, without fear or shame.
Receiving oral. A blowjob, to him, feels degrading — for her. He won’t accept it, won’t ask for it. He sees it as dirty and undignified.
And yet… kissing her between her thighs? That, to him, is sacred. Somehow, he doesn’t see it the same way. Perhaps it’s a contradiction, but it’s real — in his mind, those acts are worlds apart.
Here, Boromir has no doubts or restrictions. He loves to kiss, to feel skin under his lips, to trail his tongue along sensitive places while watching how his partner reacts. To him, it’s not just foreplay — it’s another way to fully connect, to give her pleasure, to witness her trust bloom under his hands.
The first time he kissed her lower lips, he hadn’t expected to enjoy it this much. He’s utterly captivated by her response — how she softens under his touch, lets him lift and part her thighs, accepting him fully. To him, it’s not just an act of desire, but of devotion.
He’s intuitive — he can sense what she wants, and often teases, slowing down intentionally until she’s writhing beneath him, begging for more. And in that moment, he locks eyes with her, as if reading every flicker of emotion, absorbing her pleasure until she unravels completely.
This one’s trickier. Boromir believes oral sex — on him — is degrading and dirty for her. But deep down, that belief is more inherited than self-formed. Something heard, seen, or impressed upon him earlier, not something he’s really thought through.
This block in his head may not be permanent. With enough trust, affection, and clear desire from his partner — if she wants it, not out of duty but out of joy — it could shake his foundations. He doesn’t get turned on by the act itself so much as by her eagerness to be close to him in that way. If he sees her enjoying it? That could undo him entirely.
However, even in such a case, there’s one unbreakable rule: only after bathing. Boromir is pragmatic. No matter how passionate he may be, he won’t consider oral without absolute cleanliness. If the moment isn’t right, the thought makes him more awkward than aroused.
He’s not the type to rush headlong into passion. Boromir always starts slow — almost lazily — as if waiting, letting her adjust, feel him fully. His initial thrusts are gentle, exploratory, letting her set the rhythm. If she moves faster, he follows. But he never hurries.
As arousal builds, so does his intensity. His movements grow stronger, more deliberate — but still controlled. He tunes into every reaction, every shift in her breath or muscles. Sometimes he’ll slow down again on purpose, drawing out the moment, edging her until she’s nearly begging for release.
But when his own climax nears, his control starts to fray. His thrusts become quick, shallow, body taut with tension. His rhythm falls apart — no longer smooth or measured, but raw and driven by pure need.
When he comes, he continues to move — slow, deep thrusts — drawing out the feeling. Then he stills, staying inside her for several long seconds. He wants to feel her around him, clenching, pulsing, warm. It’s in that stillness he finally lets go — no battles, no duty, no fear. Just her. Her breath, her warmth. And the sense that, for a moment, he belongs wholly to something beyond himself.
If there are no other options and it’s the only release available, Boromir won’t refuse. But in his ideal world, intimacy should be done “with care, purpose, and depth” — not rushed, but slowly, so he can truly savor his partner.
Ideally, he prefers to be fed, rested, and unhurried. Rushing kills the beauty of the act for him, so he always favors long, deliberate moments of connection over quick flings.
He’s used to taking risks on the battlefield, but in bed, he’s rather conservative. Stepping outside the familiar isn’t something he actively seeks — he finds deep satisfaction in intimacy itself and the trust that comes with it.
He rarely initiates experiments himself, simply because he doesn’t feel the need. However, if his partner brings it up, he won’t dismiss it. He’ll listen carefully, think it through, and if it feels right, he’ll try — but only with full seriousness and intention.
Boromir has impressive stamina — he can hold back for a long time, carefully controlling the pace, taking his partner right to the edge before letting himself go.
If he feels he’s close to climax while his partner isn’t there yet, he’ll stop rather than finish too early. In such moments, they might lie together while he shakes, gripping at random parts of her body, trying to steady himself and not fall into the abyss of release too soon.
These touches aren’t soft, like afterglow caresses — they’re frantic, needy, as if he’s trying to anchor himself. He especially tends to grope her breasts or stroke her mound, as if trying to resist, even though each touch makes it harder to hold on.
He’s not particularly interested in toys — he prefers using his hands, his body, and raw passion. Of course, in Middle-earth, the concept of toys is practically nonexistent, but he’s discovered he really enjoys sex with a blindfold — it heightens sensation, turning the moment into something more intense and immersive.
Immobilization also excites him, but never with force — more like pinning her wrists or gently restricting movement, just enough for her to surrender to the moment.
He absolutely refuses anything that causes pain. Spanking, hitting, harsh punishments — these are hard nos. The idea of violence, even in play, repels him. If his partner asked for such things, he’d decline firmly but kindly.
He can tease intentionally, especially if he’s in a playful or dominant mood — slowing down just to hear her beg, drawing out the tension until she’s trembling. He enjoys the buildup, not to be cruel, but to make the eventual release that much more powerful.
At the same time, he loves when she turns the tables — when she teases him until he loses all control. After such nights, his partner might find bruises from his grip or dark marks from his mouth — and he never quite knows how to feel about them. Part of him feels guilty, but another part is secretly thrilled. They’re proof of just how deeply the moment took him — and that thought excites him all over again.
Boromir doesn’t stay silent, but he’s not loud either. His sounds are deep, restrained rumbles — heavy breathing, low, almost vibrating groans that only escape him at the height of tension. Sometimes, he’ll hold his breath for a few seconds before letting out a harsh, controlled exhale, as if trying to keep himself in check.
He’s not fond of loud moaning from his partner — it feels theatrical, artificial, too over-the-top. But soft, suppressed sounds — especially when she tries not to make a sound — drive him insane. If he feels her tense beneath him, biting her lip to stay quiet, he’ll slow down even more, going deeper, savoring every twitch and tremble until she simply can’t keep silent anymore.
When he nears climax, his breathing becomes ragged, his chest heaving — and sometimes, at the peak, a single, torn groan breaks free. Not a moan, not a cry, but a sharp, low exhale filled with the raw power of release.
W = Wild Card (Random headcanon)
After a battle, his adrenaline spikes so high he becomes ravenous and insatiable.
He might barge into his partner’s chambers without waiting for the right moment — unwashed, still slick with sweat, the scent of steel and blood clinging to his skin. Or he might grab her right there in the armory, driven by nothing but primal need.
Normally, he’s the master of control — taught from boyhood to restrain his voice, his strength, his emotions. Especially sound. Any creak of a bedframe, rustling curtain, or distant footstep puts him on edge. Even in perfect safety, his senses are tuned to listen — always translating noise into threat or no threat.
He doesn’t “lose himself” easily.
She comes first. He only takes when he’s sure he can give.
But… there are exceptions.
When she pushes him — slowly, deliberately, with that smile of hers. When she arches her back just so, pretending not to know what it does to him. When she moans — just once — in that particular way that breaks something inside him.
Sometimes he’s held back too long.
And then — to hell with caution.
He grabs her tighter. His hands become possessive.
If she’s angled wrong — he’ll fix it. With his hands. With force. He’ll place her where she needs to be.
He might mutter an apology, half-laughing, half-pleading: “Just… I need this. Say I’ve earned it — please.”
Silence. Heat. He buries his face in her neck, breathing hard, holding her like she’s the only solid thing in a burning world.
She is his peace.
And his madness.
All at once.
Let’s just say… Boromir does not disappoint. Everything is proportional to his broad, powerful frame — not a giant, but that perfect balance between impressive and comfortable.
He’s not the kind to overwhelm with sheer size, but far from average. At rest, there’s not much difference — but once things get going, his presence and strength become impossible to ignore.
Boromir’s libido is moderate — but when he desires someone, it becomes an obsession. He knows how to keep control, but the desire doesn’t fade; it simmers, building slowly until it consumes him from the inside out.
Sometimes, it strikes at the worst possible times. He might be sitting in a council, listening to talks of war strategy, but his thoughts are nowhere near Gondor’s politics. Frustration brews — because right now, his priorities lie elsewhere.
When is he most in the mood?
🔹 Midday — this is his peak energy. If he could choose the perfect time, it would be during the day. Responsibilities often get in the way, but if there’s a rare break? A quickie becomes a very appealing option.
🔹 Evening — when there’s no rush, when the world is quiet. If neither of them is too tired, it’s the perfect way to end the day — slow, unhurried, deeply present.
🔹 Morning — he’s not opposed, especially if she initiates. But he hates getting up early. If there are duties ahead, it’s hard to balance sex and proper rest. So he’s on board… as long as morning starts late and there’s no need to hurry.
Boromir never falls asleep right away — not even after the most intense night. He stays close, running his fingers along her skin, savoring every moment. He kisses her for a long time, touches her gently, soaking in the closeness until he’s finally at peace.
But before he allows himself to drift off, his sense of order kicks in. First, the mess — clothes that were tossed aside get folded, any obvious signs of their night are quietly cleaned up. Not immediately, of course — only after he’s had his fill of cuddles and kisses. Then comes water — a quick wash, a freshened face, the need to feel clean before rest. And finally, a mental checklist: is everything ready for tomorrow?
By the time he’s done with his routine, she’s usually fast asleep. He’ll gently tuck her in, slide into bed beside her, and wrap himself around her.
And may the Valar help him if he wakes her.
Because if she opens her eyes, she’ll start biting, licking, demanding attention — and he’ll be too far gone to stop her.
