claudia603 | (no subject)

This is for

lilybaggins, who is having a rough time now and who asked for pregnant!Frodo being examined by Aragorn. :-)

Title: Furtive Happenings
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/various
Rating: R
Summary: Post quest, Frodo just can’t get enough of the guards of the Citadel. And then...uh oh.
WARNING: mpreg
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.

Frodo stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The seed had not yet dried between his thighs, though it had cooled, and he could see his clothes crumpled in a messy pile within arm’s length. He shifted restlessly. The tall guard of the Citadel rested his arms casually around Frodo’s middle. Frodo’s bottom and back felt icy on the stone floor of the guardroom.

Frodo had become adept at picking out just the right guard each night, and the Man snoring beside him now was no exception. Sitting at a feast or at Aragorn’s side in some official matter or other, he would scan the eyes of any guards in the area until he saw a familiar hollow grief reflected there. Of course, it was even better if the guard was rough and lewd.

Sam had said just the other day, “Mr. Frodo, you’re bound to get hurt one of these days. Strider don’t know you’re doing it, and it’s just not right, just not right at all.”

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Frodo said with a half smile. “I cannot bear to be alone at night.”

“You know I would stay with you,” Sam said, and Frodo could not meet his eyes so filled with pain. “You’ve only to ask.”

“I know.” Frodo kissed Sam’s cheek. “But you cannot give me—“ He could not explain to Sam how when a guard, full of the unbridled lust of getting a night with the lovely Ringbearer, thrust his length into him, hurting him and yet subduing the deeper ugliness inside him, that poisonous residue from the Ring. So far no guard had turned him down. He had nearly lost count of just how many guards he had enjoyed – sometimes in the guardroom, at times against a wall in a dark stone alleyway, and once quick and hard in the Courtyard, barely out of sight of the other guards.

Frodo squirmed out of this guard’s embrace. The guard continued to snore, oblivious. Frodo wiped the guard’s seed from between his legs with his shirt and then dressed as quickly as he could. He slipped out of the room and ran down the corridor.

He got a nasty start when he rounded a corner and nearly crashed into Aragorn striding purposefully down the hall. Both froze in surprise.

“Frodo…” Aragorn said. “I had thought you’d long retired to bed. What…what brings you…?”

Frodo could think of nothing to tell the King. “Oh, I am sorry,” he finally said, flushing. “I couldn’t…well, I could not sleep.”

Aragorn stared at him, long and hard. Then he reached down and brushed a stray curl out of Frodo’s eye. “Come, Frodo. I shall walk you back to your quarters.”

***

Frodo was weary of dressing in stiff silk vests and velvet breeches, all of which felt uncomfortably tight over his slightly swollen abdomen, which he found odd indeed since he had barely eaten much of anything in the last few weeks. In fact, he had suffered from such vile nausea nearly every morning that he had taken to eating crackers before he even tried to climb out of bed. As a result, lately he had rarely been up to his usual nightly activities.

And now Aragorn had requested that he stand beside him in the courtyard to greet guests who came from near and far to bow before the new king.

After a time, Frodo’s feet ached terribly and the sun beat on him with nauseating glare. Sweat ran down his back, leaving him uncomfortably itchy. The nausea, which he thought had finished, seemed to be returning. It pooled in his abdomen, churning and swelling until Frodo had to swallow nearly continuously to keep from vomiting. Voices droned in slow motion, and a low buzzing filled his ears. He was about to tug on Aragorn’s sleeve and beg leave to sit for awhile, when a wave of dizziness sent him to his knees. He heard Aragorn exclaim and through his darkening vision, he saw a shadow of the King kneeling beside him before everything went dark.

***

When Frodo woke, he was in bed. A sweet, cool breeze came in through the open window and birds were chirping, but an irritating mumbling disturbed his peace. He dared to slit his eyes, just enough to see who was behind the mumbling. Gandalf and Aragorn stood at the foot of his bed, engaged in grim dialogue.

Aragorn’s voice was low and anxious. “…say this has happened before?”

Gandalf’s voice came out in a barely discernible mumble. “…thing…elves…rare, but it has happened…gift…Ring…”

“That is absurd, Mithrandir. I had been anxious about him, wandering around, engaging in…nightly activities with my guards, but I have said nothing, hoping it will pass--”

Frodo squeezed his eyes shut. They knew. They had known all along. His cheeks grew hot.

Aragorn continued through gritted teeth, “But you say he is with child? Impossible. I will not believe it.”

This time Frodo heard Gandalf’s voice loud and clear. “I sense a second song inside him. And he shows all the signs. Examine him, Estel. You shall see for yourself.”

Frodo opened his eyes then, his heart thudding through his ears. With child? Surely they jested – they were playing some kind of cruel joke with him, getting back at him for his nightly activities, as Aragorn had so delicately put it.

Gandalf and Aragorn startled when they saw that Frodo was awake.

“I heard what you said,” Frodo said after an awkward silence. Aragorn let out a sigh, closing his eyes. Frodo ran his fingers over his bare belly, which was slightly rounded. The nausea, the weakness, the utter fatigue as of late – all the signs he remembered from his childhood in Brandy Hall where it always seemed some aunt or cousin was expecting.

“How…how could this happen?” he finally asked, his heart still thudding in his ears.

Gandalf turned a stern glance to him. “I expect you know best, Frodo.”

Frodo clenched his jaw. “I’ve a right to see whom I will, when I will.”

“We are not judging you,” Aragorn said gently. “Now pull down your breeches. I must see for myself.”

Frodo’s breeches were already unbuttoned. Either Gandalf or Aragorn had kindly done so after he had fainted, he gathered. Now he pushed his breeches down. During his trysts with the guards he had become quite the expert at wriggling out of his breeches quickly and with little fuss. His expertise on the matter did not go unnoticed by Aragorn and Gandalf, who exchanged a glance.

Aragorn rested his hands on Frodo’s abdomen, singing a soft tune through his teeth, closing his eyes as if he could sense what was inside. He moved his hands, pressing and prodding, still singing. Frodo’s abdomen warmed and he shifted his legs, hoping that he would not harden in front of his friends. His cheeks turned hot again as he looked at Aragorn’s ruggedly handsome face. Though he was King now, there was still so much of the Ranger in him. His face was still grizzled, his movements feral, and the gleam in his eyes dangerous and watchful.

Aragorn’s hand crept lower, and it slid under him, to his bottom and a finger probed.

Frodo bit back a gasp and closed his eyes, imagining a furtive tryst with the King, far from prying eyes. Perhaps in the throne room after dark, Aragorn would push Frodo up against one of the statues of ancient kings, gasping in harsh need -- it would be quick and desperate, and they would both bite back their cries of pleasure. Aragorn would need him so much, his fingers and mouth would leave bruises.

No more of my guards, my Frodo, he would say. Only me from now on. Only me.

And after pressing Frodo back against the statue again, devouring his mouth with a rough kiss on Frodo’s already swollen lips, he would stride away, his footsteps echoing in the throne room.

Frodo realized he was breathing in heavy gasps and that he had become hard. Aragorn and Gandalf pretended not to notice, though Aragorn’s cheeks had deepened in color. His finger slid out, and he removed his hand.

“You may pull your breeches back up,” Aragorn said without meeting his eyes. He turned to Gandalf. “You are right. He is indeed with child. His body is already changing in such a way as to support it.”

“Do not speak about me as if I am not in the room,” Frodo said, dizzy with the thought of bearing a child. He could remember all too clearly the horrible screams and moans that had come out of many a childbirth bed in Brandy Hall. “What am I to do? How will I bear it?”

“You will have the best possible care,” Aragorn said with a gentle smile. “Fear not. We will deliver a healthy child.” His smile faded somewhat and he cleared his throat. “Do you…Frodo, do you know who…” He swallowed again, looking away.

“I do not know who the father is,” Frodo said clearly. “It could be one of at least thirty men.”

Gandalf muttered and shook his head, mumbling something about “incorrigible Bagginses.”

Aragorn flushed, but then he managed a thin smile. “Then it matters not. He or she shall be a part of the fellowship.”

Gandalf smiled and brushed a curl out of Frodo’s eye. “You can learn all there is to know about hobbits in a month, and yet after a hundred years they can still surprise you.”

They were interrupted by a knock, and Sam’s voice. “Sir? Can I come in?”

Frodo and Aragorn looked at each other, like prey cornered by a predator.

“I think giving birth will be the least of your worries, my hobbit,” Gandalf said.

Frodo took a deep breath. “Come in.”

END