Ringfest challenge fic
Jan. 8th, 2003 07:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Okay, here is the three-part story written for the Ringfest challenge. My pairing(S) are Frodo/Eomer and Frodo/Aragorn. My challenge was: After the Ring's been destroyed and all, there are many celebrations, my pairing gets smashed, impudent behavior abounds.
Title: Hobbit Pleasures 1/3
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn, Frodo/Eomer
Rating: NC-17
Summary: My challenge--Celebration after the quest! Everybody gets smashed, including your pairing. Imprudent behavior abounds.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them. Duh.
Hobbit Pleasures 1
Frodo had consumed too much wine. Warmth curled in his belly and his cheeks warmed. Each time he shifted on the velvet cushions that were piled high on his chair, the room tilted. He had not felt so giddy and free of pain and weariness in a long time — not since Rivendell.
“More wine?”
Eomer smiled down at him, tilting the carafe toward Frodo’s goblet. Frodo felt a stirring in his breeches as he marveled at the physique of the new king of Rohan. He closed his eyes, tingles surging through his body as he imagined lying against his bare, firm body on a huge body with silk sheets. His brawny arms, scarred from battle, were visible through a translucent shirt covered by a velvet tunic – very elven, Frodo noted with approval. He watched, breathless, the man’s simple act of tilting the carafe toward his wine glass. His hand was so big, so capable and strong. How many times had that same hand deftly wielded a sword that Frodo guessed was so heavy that a hobbit could barely hold it upright with both hands? Frodo glanced at Eomer’s groin with a smile. His sword might not be the only item that a hobbit would find cumbersome.
“A little more,” Frodo said, glancing back up at Eomer and flushing rosy pink. “Please.”
He resisted an urge to run his hand over Eomer’s firm upper arm. Eomer poured Frodo more wine and turned back to a man on his other side.
Across the table, Aragorn locked eyes with him, his lips curved up in a slight smile. Frodo returned the smile before taking several more gulps of wine. His cheeks burned, and he let out a small chortle.
Eomer looked down at him again, an amused smile quirking his lips. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Frodo needed to orchestrate a moment alone with the man…and the rest would fall into place. Men always fell for him…gazed at him with hunger. Even Aragorn. Frodo had always felt…no, he had known…that if the new King of Gondor was not already betrothed that he would have offered Frodo much more than his protection.
“Eomer.” Frodo said, at last laying his hand on Eomer’s firm arm. “I need a breath of fresh air. Would you care to accompany me?”
Eomer raised his eyebrows, looking surprised, pleasantly so, Frodo was pleased to note. Frodo tilted his head, a sweet smile on his pink, bow-shaped lips – the same smile that had won over Boromir in Lothlorien and his brother in Ithilien. Yes, men always fell hard for him, and though he did not quite understand it, he had come to like it.
“Certainly,” Eomer said, nodding and immediately rising from his seat. Frodo’s heart thudded pleasantly as Eomer stood, swaying on his feet. He chuckled a little. “I think I may have had more wine than is good for me.”
“That is not always bad,” Frodo said, staggering with dizziness as they walked out of the hall. He did not care who was noticing their departure, though he was certain Aragorn’s eyes were on him.
They left the wide hall and entered a cool, dark corridor that led for one of the many quiet balconies that looked over the White City.
Eomer looked down at Frodo. “It feels good to get away from all the noise. It was starting to get a little warm in there, was it not?” He dabbed at his forehead. “Though the wine is surely potent.”
“Yes,” Frodo said, taking the man’s hand in his. Eomer startled, but he did not pull his hand away.
“Where are we going, Frodo?”
“To be honest, I do not know,” Frodo said, laughing…and he stumbled a little. Eomer caught his shoulder. “I do not know my way around here. We may get lost in these empty corridors.”
“I should hope not,” Eomer said, winking. “I do not know you well enough yet, Frodo.”
Frodo stopped abruptly and pulled Eomer into a dark nook. “Do you wish to know me?”
Eomer’s smile faded as he looked down at Frodo. Frodo could nearly read his mind…knew the man was examining his tender white skin, full pink lips, and getting lost in his azure eyes. “Do you jest?”
Frodo did not answer, but he undid the button on his velvet breeches and let them fall around his ankles. Eomer gasped at the sight of the hobbit’s hardened shaft poking straight out. “Can you not see?”
The color drained from Eomer’s face and he staggered to one knee. He gazed downward as if hypnotized. His hand approached it curiously and wrapped around it. He slid his hand up and down it once. Frodo leaned against the stone wall and groaned in open pleasure, his head tilted upward, eyes half shut.
A brutal slap on his face jolted him into the wall. He stared at Eomer, covering his cheek, already feeling a trickle of blood from his nose. “What—“
Eomer’s face had twisted into disgust and he had climbed to his feet. “I did not think you were serious,” he said. “You halflings are unnatural.”
Frodo stared at him in shock as his member grew flaccid. Had Eomer not wanted…? Eomer had touched Frodo’s member. He had not pulled away when Frodo took his hand.
Eomer strode down the corridor, in the direction of the feast.
Frodo hastily pulled up his breeches and wiped blood from his nose. He had never been rejected. Never. Still cringing with humiliation, he ran through a quick mental list. In the Shire, there had been several lasses, though he had never made love to them in the true sense. He had not desired to become a father. In Rivendell, there had been Sam – dear, sweet Sam who had been so happy that Frodo had survived the stabbing. In Hollin, Legolas had showed him that there was nothing quite so skilled or cold as elven love. In Lothlorien, he had sought the strong arms of Boromir, and then the gentle love of Faramir in Ithilien. None of them had resisted.
Frodo rubbed the welt that was fast developing on his cheek and lifted his chin with determination. He would not go back to his sleeping quarters in shame. He was going back to the party…and he would sit in his seat, whether or not Eomer was still there. Later he could always snag Faramir or Sam for quick release.
Wiping his nose until it was free of blood, he padded back to the party. Eomer startled visibly and flushed when the hobbit climbed back on his chair. Aragorn stared at his face in concern.
“What has happened to your face, Frodo?”
Frodo watched Eomer’s shoulders tense as he answered, “Oh, I was so foolish, Aragorn. I was running…and I’ve had a little too much wine…I tripped and fell flat on my face. I’m always falling.”
“Oh,” Aragorn said, still looking concerned. “Your cheek is swelling, Frodo. I should get you a cold compress.”
“Oh, dear me, no,” Frodo said. “Please…I do not want to be a bother.”
He tilted his head, giving him a sweet smile that so far had been resisted by only one.
TBC
Title: Hobbit Pleasures 2/3
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Eomer, Frodo/Aragorn
Rating: NC-17
Summary: My challenge--Celebration after the quest! Everybody gets smashed, including your pairing. Imprudent behavior abounds.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Hobbit Pleasures 2
Aragorn led Frodo out of the feasting hall. Frodo leaned against him, muffling his dizzy laughter in his hands. Once they reached the dark corridor, Frodo whispered, “But you are a great king; you have servants to do as you bid, you surely would not abandon the celebration feast to tend to a poor hobbit.”
“I would do anything for you, Ringbearer,” Aragorn said with a kind smile. “Anything you ask of me is yours.”
“Anything?” Frodo asked, breath catching in his throat. The opportunity was unfolding before him. He wobbled, and he clutched Aragorn’s arm for balance.
Aragorn gave him a sidelong glance. “What do you have in mind?”
Frodo took his hand. “Come!”
“Where are we going? Your face needs attention--”
Earlier that day, Frodo had searched for and found Eomer’s quarters. He had anticipated spending the evening there…and there was no reason why his plans should change. His cheek throbbed, a vicious reminder that he should not feel guilty about what he was about to do.
He was behaving in the most undignified manner for the Ringbearer. But why not? When was the last time he had thoroughly enjoyed himself? He intended to tonight. After the grim days in Mordor, throat parched, body battered, during which time he had written himself off as dead, he deserved a night of carefree pleasure. He laughed merrily, swaying dizzily against Aragorn, who grabbed him before he fell.
“You have overindulged,” Aragorn said with a chuckle, but he, too, wobbled and leaned against Frodo. His full weight caused Frodo’s weak knees to collapse, and he toppled to the floor with Aragorn fully on top of him. This was what he wanted – Aragorn on top of him -- but this was the wrong place. Too weak to move, Frodo laughed uncontrollably, and Aragorn joined him – the Ringbearer and King, clutching each other like tweenagers and laughing while tears streamed down their faces.
“We must get up,” Frodo finally said, struggling to crawl from under Aragorn’s weight.
“Yes.” Aragorn nodded, trying to look serious but erupting into new laughter instead. “This… is… not dignified.”
He fell back on the hobbit, who gasped under the Man’s weight.
“The King of Gondor crushing the Ringbearer to death is hardly dignified,” Frodo said, pushing Aragorn’s chest until the king finally rolled off of him with a heavy sigh. They struggled to their feet and continued down the corridor. Leaning against each other, they made it up the winding stairs and down many corridors. Frodo led Aragorn into a large chamber.
“This is the Lord Eomer’s quarters,” Aragorn whispered.
Frodo’s nimble hobbit fingers worked on the laces on Aragorn’s tunic.
“What are you doing?” Aragorn collapsed to his knees in front of the hobbit, his jaw trembling.
Frodo leaned forward and kissed Aragorn. Aragorn pulled back, flushed and flustered. “Frodo…you’ve had too much wine.”
“Come, Aragorn,” Frodo said in a husky voice. “Will you have me? I know you’re betrothed, but…just one night, I promise.”
“Frodo, we must stop…” Aragorn’s voice held little conviction, and his protest stopped altogether when Frodo’s hand settled over the bulge in his leggings. Frodo felt the king harden under his touch, and he remained helplessly on his knees as Frodo unbuttoned his silk shirt.
“Would you have me?” Frodo repeated, his cheeks flushed, his hair mussed.
“I would…” Aragorn said in a husky voice. His hand brushed over Frodo’s soft bruised cheek, and Frodo seized his wrist, pulling him toward the bed. Aragorn allowed himself to be pulled while using his other limbs to crawl. Once they reached the huge bed, Frodo fumbled with the button on his own breeches and wriggled out of them.
Aragorn climbed on the bed and crouched over him. “But do you not want…we can first take…some enjoyment…?”
Frodo yanked Aragorn’s leggings down, revealing the man’s completely hardened shaft. Aragorn fell on Frodo, but this time, his arms tightened around Frodo like steel and the hobbit felt Aragorn’s rough whiskery face on his chest as the king nibbled on Frodo’s soft neck.
“Now,” Frodo said, thrusting his hips into Aragorn’s.
“In the Lord Eomer’s bed?” Aragorn questioned as his hands slid under Frodo’s shirt. Frodo did not answer. He bit at Aragorn’s lips until Aragorn responded with his own crushing kiss.
“Please…” Frodo said, wriggling his hips against Aragorn.
“Do we have…something to ease my way?” Aragorn asked.
Frodo smiled slowly. “Yes.” He fumbled in his vest pocket until he pulled out a slab of yellow goo.
“What…?”
“Melting butter,” Frodo giggled. “From the feast.”
Aragorn wrapped his hand around Frodo’s, smearing the grease on his own hand with a grin.
“Clever, my friend. Clever.”
Aragorn’s slick hand slipped over Frodo’s buttock before his finger slid in the hobbit’s puckered backside. A second finger twisted in, and Frodo gasped and arched his back. His member shuddered with immediate need. Aragorn grasped it with his free hand, sliding his sweaty palm up and down its length. Frodo moaned loudly, writhing against Eomer’s sheets.
Trembling, Aragorn removed his fingers from Frodo’s hole and gently eased in his hardened member.
“Does it hurt?” he whispered, trembling with need. “Too big?”
“No,” Frodo gasped. “Push hard!”
“I’ll hurt you.”
“No…no…done this…many times.”
Aragorn grinned. “Unruly hobbit!” He clutched Frodo’s arms, still courteous enough to try to keep his full weight from crushing the hobbit.
“More!” Frodo gasped. “Harder!”
Aragorn’s grip on Frodo’s arms tightened as he thrust. Frodo arched his back, lips parted, moaning without care of who might hear.
Frodo’s pleasure crested, and his shout echoed in Lord Eomer’s chamber. Aragorn quickly followed with a violent thrust, and he collapsed on Frodo, shuddering, kissing the hobbit all over his neck and cheeks and lips.
Eomer’s tangled sheets were sticky wet.
After Frodo caught his breath, he allowed his hand to roam the man’s body, circling over his back, his sides, his buttocks. Aragorn groaned and wriggled hard against Frodo’s groin again.
“This time slow,” Frodo whispered, parting his lips, allowing Aragorn to explore him with a determined tongue.
Aragorn unbuttoned Frodo’s vest and shirt, revealing a smooth white chest with dark nipples. Aragorn’s tongue moved down Frodo’s neck and to each nipple.
“Sweet, Frodo, sweet.”
Frodo felt himself hardened again.
“I’ve wanted this,” Aragorn whispered. “I’ve denied myself…since I met you. I could love you…that was the danger.”
A huge clatter caused the lovers to startle, and they turned to find Eomer in his doorway. “Oh,” he groaned. He saw Aragorn and bowed. “My Lord.”
“Good evening, Lord Eomer,” Aragorn said, pulling away from Frodo.
Eomer could not speak. He stared at the Man and hobbit, each half undressed, their members long and hard, the hobbit’s not much smaller than the man’s.
Title: Hobbit Pleasures 3/3
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Eomer
Rating: NC-17
Summary: My challenge--Celebration after the quest! Everybody gets smashed, including your pairing. Imprudent behavior abounds.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Thanks for all your feedback!! This was fun!
Hobbit Pleasures 3
After an awkward silence in which the two men and hobbit stared at each other, Aragorn finally stirred, moving a few wayward curls from Frodo’s brow.
“Lord Eomer, we thank you for the use of your bed…if you like, you might join us…that is, if Frodo is willing.”
Aragorn winked at Frodo, and the hobbit flushed. Had he been so obvious about his need for Eomer during the feast?
Eomer stared at Frodo, swallowing nervously. “If you will it, my Lord.” Frodo could not read the Man’s expression. His face was not twisted with fear or repulsion as it had been earlier. He seemed stunned, as if he had been badly injured but had not yet begun to feel the pain.
Part of Frodo enjoyed the discomfort on the Man’s face, and his groin throbbed with anticipation of rubbing himself against his rough skin. He let out a shuddering sigh. Aragorn had been wonderful…beyond expectation, but it was Eomer that he had wanted since the coronation when he had seen him, his golden hair tied behind him, his eyes crinkled with carefree joy.
Aragorn climbed out of bed and pulled up his leggings. He turned sharply to Eomer. “Is it true you struck the Ringbearer?”
“Aragorn,” Frodo said, flushing furiously that Aragorn had perceived even more of the situation between himself and Eomer. “No…it is all right…”
“I did,” Eomer said stiffly, his blue eyes darkening. “Though I regret it.” He met Frodo’s gaze.
“It is all right,” Frodo said, shivering when a sudden cool breeze from the open window tickled his bare skin. “Please…” he patted the bed beside him. “Only if you wish.”
“Our wine is very potent,” Aragorn said to Eomer under his breath as he buttoned his silk shirt and reached for his tunic. “Far too much for a hobbit.”
Frodo laughed. “It seems it is too much for the King of Gondor as well. And where are you going?”
“I must get back to the feast,” Aragorn said, smoothing his clothing. His lips quirked into a wry smile. “And I will speak to my advisors about building a special dungeon for impudent, lustful hobbits, even if they have saved Middle earth.” He smiled wickedly at Eomer. “I trust that you will now find a better use for Frodo than to test the strength of your fist?”
Frodo giggled. “Aragorn, do not speak about me as if I am a thing to be passed from one to the next!”
Eomer turned to Aragorn, his eyes wide with trepidation. “My lord…I’ve never…I have never done this with a halfling. You will leave me alone with him?”
“I must warn you…he is insatiable,” Aragorn said, his lips twitching, casting a merry glance at Frodo. “You are wise to fear him. Good night to you both.” The door clicked behind Aragorn as he left.
Eomer and Frodo stared at each other, breathing hard, neither certain of the next move. Frodo barely felt the shivers over his mostly bare skin.
Eomer released a quivering sigh as he unclasped his cloak, letting it fall to the ground. He climbed into the bed, still fully dressed, and lay beside Frodo without touching him. He flexed his fingers, clearly nervous of what to do next.
Frodo scooted closer to him and laid a small hand on Eomer’s chest. He looked up at Eomer, his azure eyes clear with desire. “My shirt is not all the way unbuttoned.”
Eomer smiled in relief of a starting point, though his fingers trembled as he unbuttoned each remaining button of Frodo’s shirt, letting his coarse fingers drift over Frodo’s chest and belly. He closed his eyes, as if in pain. “Your skin is so soft…like a maiden. And your eyes…I understand now why I was so frightened earlier. I am very sorry I struck you. There is no excuse.”
He massaged Frodo’s shoulders, and Frodo shrugged into his touch, craving the abrasion over his soft skin. His body still throbbed from Aragorn’s skillful touch. Frodo worked on the lacing to Eomer’s velvet tunic, plunging his hands over Eomer’s firm chest, brushing over downy blond hair. He bent into the man’s chest, allowing his tongue to dart over the Man’s erect nipples, breathing in the smell of leather and horses. Eomer’s arm encircled Frodo’s back, drawing the hobbit roughly to him, tilting Frodo’s chin before plunging his mouth over the hobbit’s.
Frodo quivered violently, rubbing against Eomer in a wild attempt to rid his body of the maddening itch that the Man’s touch caused him. In the past, Frodo was always the one in control, and when he released it, it was deliberate, a ploy to give his partner pleasure. He fondly remembered how Faramir’s hot gasps had echoed through the caves of Henneth Annun, unable to bear the pleasure of Frodo shuddering and moaning beneath him.
Eomer’s hand slid up Frodo’s side and over his delicate neck, behind his pointy ear, through his curls.
Frodo undid the clasp to Eomer’s leggings and peeled them down as he had to Aragorn less than an hour earlier. With both of his small hands, he grasped Eomer’s large member, which was quickly hardening. Eomer pressed his large hands on Frodo’s shoulders and forced him on his back. He rolled his massive body over Frodo’s, grinding his member into Frodo’s, inducing gasps from the hobbit’s parted lips.
“You…need not…worry…I’m open,” Frodo gasped. “I am ready.”
“You will not take control so easily,” Eomer said. He had already smeared the remaining butter over his member and was now sliding his greasy hands up and down Frodo’s. Frodo bucked into Eomer’s grasp, crying out. Every time he thought he was about to climax, Eomer would pull his hands away, chuckling.
“Eomer, please,” Frodo moaned, trying to grab the Man’s hands. Eomer stumbled off the bed and pulled up his leggings.
“What are you doing?” Frodo asked, alarmed. “You must finish what you’ve started!”
“Get dressed,” Eomer said. “We’re going elsewhere.”
“You are not thinking clearly!” Frodo said, two rosy splotches forming on his cheeks. “Please! You must finish!”
“Get dressed, halfling,” Eomer said as if Frodo were a soldier under his command. Frodo glared at the Man as he rolled off the huge bed and groped for his breeches that he had flung to the ground earlier, pulling them over his painful bulge. Still gasping with frustrated need, he ran his fingers through his curls and buttoned up his shirt.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, but Eomer did not answer. He only gripped Frodo’s shoulder and walked him out of his chamber and down the corridor, down the winding stone steps that Frodo and Aragorn had earlier struggled up in their drunken daze.
“Where—“
“Hush!”
Finally, Eomer led Frodo outside, into a dark courtyard with a fountain in its center. There, wordlessly, Eomer peeled off his clothing again. Frodo looked around in alarm. Anybody could come at any moment! Still, he was not new to taking pleasure in precarious situations…and the idea aroused him even more.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m taking a bath,” Eomer said. He was fully undressed, apparently unconcerned with the possibility of anyone seeing him.
“A…bath?” Frodo asked, smiling nervously. He unbuttoned his vest and dropped it before unclasping his breeches again.
“Come!” Eomer grabbed Frodo’s arm before he could take off his shirt and lifted the hobbit into the fountain. Frodo had expected the water to be unbearably cold, but it was warm and frothy.
“Anybody could come,” Frodo said, laughing. Eomer splashed water on the hobbit’s face and kissed his wet lips as he sat down in the shallow water, pulling Frodo onto his lap. While sitting on Eomer’s lap, the water reached Frodo’s chest, and he gasped pleasantly as Eomer’s slick hands were suddenly everywhere at once, up and down Frodo’s hips, over his arousal, inside his buttocks. Frodo unbuttoned his shirt, now soaked, and leaned his bare chest against Eomer’s solid, hairy one. Eomer grasped Frodo’s hips and set him directly over his arousal.
“Are you ready?” he whispered. Frodo nodded, barely able to control himself. Underwater, his own arousal brushed against Eomer’s wet firm stomach, taking his breath away with sensation.
“Eomer…” Frodo groaned, leaning his head back, parting his lips. Eomer took advantage of the easy opening to plunge his tongue inside the hobbit’s mouth while pulling Frodo’s hips down over his hardness. Frodo gasped as Eomer filled him, nearly breaking him apart for a few uncomfortable seconds before Eomer’s member hit the spot that sent quivers of sweet sensation through him.
“Move, halfling,” Eomer gasped, gripping Frodo’s hips and trying to force him up and down. Frodo wrapped his slick arms around Eomer’s neck while moving up and down on Eomer. Each gasp of pleasure from Eomer sent sweet vibrations through his own body. He did not care if Aragorn’s entire guard caught them. He felt himself cresting, and he grabbed Eomer close, as if trying to merge with him, feeling the Man’s muscles rippling against his own soft skin.
Eomer had now begun to crest, and his arms circled Frodo’s back with bruising strength, his breaths echoing through the courtyard as he roughly kissed Frodo’s neck, ear, and lips.
They finished at the same time, bucking violently against each other until finally, Frodo’s body went limp, and he sagged against Eomer, resting his head on the Man’s chest until he could catch his breath.
“That was wonderful,” he finally said, kissing Eomer’s prickly cheek.
“Halflings…are…the best,” Eomer said, kissing the top of Frodo’s head. “So…so tight, so sweet.”
Frodo paused a moment before tilting his head and giving the man a sweet smile. “Does this mean we can do this again? Perhaps tomorrow…or later tonight?”
Eomer looked at Frodo in surprise. Then he chuckled. “Frodo, I am unmarried and I have no sweetheart. As far as I’m concerned, you are always welcome to my bed…though Aragorn was right. You are insatiable.”
“All right,” Frodo said as he climbed out of Eomer’s embrace and stepped out of the fountain. “I will go home and change my wet shirt. I will meet you in your room in an hour.”
Eomer shook his head and chuckled. “Insatiable. Insatiable indeed.”
The End
Title: Hobbit Pleasures 1/3
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn, Frodo/Eomer
Rating: NC-17
Summary: My challenge--Celebration after the quest! Everybody gets smashed, including your pairing. Imprudent behavior abounds.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them. Duh.
Hobbit Pleasures 1
Frodo had consumed too much wine. Warmth curled in his belly and his cheeks warmed. Each time he shifted on the velvet cushions that were piled high on his chair, the room tilted. He had not felt so giddy and free of pain and weariness in a long time — not since Rivendell.
“More wine?”
Eomer smiled down at him, tilting the carafe toward Frodo’s goblet. Frodo felt a stirring in his breeches as he marveled at the physique of the new king of Rohan. He closed his eyes, tingles surging through his body as he imagined lying against his bare, firm body on a huge body with silk sheets. His brawny arms, scarred from battle, were visible through a translucent shirt covered by a velvet tunic – very elven, Frodo noted with approval. He watched, breathless, the man’s simple act of tilting the carafe toward his wine glass. His hand was so big, so capable and strong. How many times had that same hand deftly wielded a sword that Frodo guessed was so heavy that a hobbit could barely hold it upright with both hands? Frodo glanced at Eomer’s groin with a smile. His sword might not be the only item that a hobbit would find cumbersome.
“A little more,” Frodo said, glancing back up at Eomer and flushing rosy pink. “Please.”
He resisted an urge to run his hand over Eomer’s firm upper arm. Eomer poured Frodo more wine and turned back to a man on his other side.
Across the table, Aragorn locked eyes with him, his lips curved up in a slight smile. Frodo returned the smile before taking several more gulps of wine. His cheeks burned, and he let out a small chortle.
Eomer looked down at him again, an amused smile quirking his lips. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Frodo needed to orchestrate a moment alone with the man…and the rest would fall into place. Men always fell for him…gazed at him with hunger. Even Aragorn. Frodo had always felt…no, he had known…that if the new King of Gondor was not already betrothed that he would have offered Frodo much more than his protection.
“Eomer.” Frodo said, at last laying his hand on Eomer’s firm arm. “I need a breath of fresh air. Would you care to accompany me?”
Eomer raised his eyebrows, looking surprised, pleasantly so, Frodo was pleased to note. Frodo tilted his head, a sweet smile on his pink, bow-shaped lips – the same smile that had won over Boromir in Lothlorien and his brother in Ithilien. Yes, men always fell hard for him, and though he did not quite understand it, he had come to like it.
“Certainly,” Eomer said, nodding and immediately rising from his seat. Frodo’s heart thudded pleasantly as Eomer stood, swaying on his feet. He chuckled a little. “I think I may have had more wine than is good for me.”
“That is not always bad,” Frodo said, staggering with dizziness as they walked out of the hall. He did not care who was noticing their departure, though he was certain Aragorn’s eyes were on him.
They left the wide hall and entered a cool, dark corridor that led for one of the many quiet balconies that looked over the White City.
Eomer looked down at Frodo. “It feels good to get away from all the noise. It was starting to get a little warm in there, was it not?” He dabbed at his forehead. “Though the wine is surely potent.”
“Yes,” Frodo said, taking the man’s hand in his. Eomer startled, but he did not pull his hand away.
“Where are we going, Frodo?”
“To be honest, I do not know,” Frodo said, laughing…and he stumbled a little. Eomer caught his shoulder. “I do not know my way around here. We may get lost in these empty corridors.”
“I should hope not,” Eomer said, winking. “I do not know you well enough yet, Frodo.”
Frodo stopped abruptly and pulled Eomer into a dark nook. “Do you wish to know me?”
Eomer’s smile faded as he looked down at Frodo. Frodo could nearly read his mind…knew the man was examining his tender white skin, full pink lips, and getting lost in his azure eyes. “Do you jest?”
Frodo did not answer, but he undid the button on his velvet breeches and let them fall around his ankles. Eomer gasped at the sight of the hobbit’s hardened shaft poking straight out. “Can you not see?”
The color drained from Eomer’s face and he staggered to one knee. He gazed downward as if hypnotized. His hand approached it curiously and wrapped around it. He slid his hand up and down it once. Frodo leaned against the stone wall and groaned in open pleasure, his head tilted upward, eyes half shut.
A brutal slap on his face jolted him into the wall. He stared at Eomer, covering his cheek, already feeling a trickle of blood from his nose. “What—“
Eomer’s face had twisted into disgust and he had climbed to his feet. “I did not think you were serious,” he said. “You halflings are unnatural.”
Frodo stared at him in shock as his member grew flaccid. Had Eomer not wanted…? Eomer had touched Frodo’s member. He had not pulled away when Frodo took his hand.
Eomer strode down the corridor, in the direction of the feast.
Frodo hastily pulled up his breeches and wiped blood from his nose. He had never been rejected. Never. Still cringing with humiliation, he ran through a quick mental list. In the Shire, there had been several lasses, though he had never made love to them in the true sense. He had not desired to become a father. In Rivendell, there had been Sam – dear, sweet Sam who had been so happy that Frodo had survived the stabbing. In Hollin, Legolas had showed him that there was nothing quite so skilled or cold as elven love. In Lothlorien, he had sought the strong arms of Boromir, and then the gentle love of Faramir in Ithilien. None of them had resisted.
Frodo rubbed the welt that was fast developing on his cheek and lifted his chin with determination. He would not go back to his sleeping quarters in shame. He was going back to the party…and he would sit in his seat, whether or not Eomer was still there. Later he could always snag Faramir or Sam for quick release.
Wiping his nose until it was free of blood, he padded back to the party. Eomer startled visibly and flushed when the hobbit climbed back on his chair. Aragorn stared at his face in concern.
“What has happened to your face, Frodo?”
Frodo watched Eomer’s shoulders tense as he answered, “Oh, I was so foolish, Aragorn. I was running…and I’ve had a little too much wine…I tripped and fell flat on my face. I’m always falling.”
“Oh,” Aragorn said, still looking concerned. “Your cheek is swelling, Frodo. I should get you a cold compress.”
“Oh, dear me, no,” Frodo said. “Please…I do not want to be a bother.”
He tilted his head, giving him a sweet smile that so far had been resisted by only one.
TBC
Title: Hobbit Pleasures 2/3
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Eomer, Frodo/Aragorn
Rating: NC-17
Summary: My challenge--Celebration after the quest! Everybody gets smashed, including your pairing. Imprudent behavior abounds.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Hobbit Pleasures 2
Aragorn led Frodo out of the feasting hall. Frodo leaned against him, muffling his dizzy laughter in his hands. Once they reached the dark corridor, Frodo whispered, “But you are a great king; you have servants to do as you bid, you surely would not abandon the celebration feast to tend to a poor hobbit.”
“I would do anything for you, Ringbearer,” Aragorn said with a kind smile. “Anything you ask of me is yours.”
“Anything?” Frodo asked, breath catching in his throat. The opportunity was unfolding before him. He wobbled, and he clutched Aragorn’s arm for balance.
Aragorn gave him a sidelong glance. “What do you have in mind?”
Frodo took his hand. “Come!”
“Where are we going? Your face needs attention--”
Earlier that day, Frodo had searched for and found Eomer’s quarters. He had anticipated spending the evening there…and there was no reason why his plans should change. His cheek throbbed, a vicious reminder that he should not feel guilty about what he was about to do.
He was behaving in the most undignified manner for the Ringbearer. But why not? When was the last time he had thoroughly enjoyed himself? He intended to tonight. After the grim days in Mordor, throat parched, body battered, during which time he had written himself off as dead, he deserved a night of carefree pleasure. He laughed merrily, swaying dizzily against Aragorn, who grabbed him before he fell.
“You have overindulged,” Aragorn said with a chuckle, but he, too, wobbled and leaned against Frodo. His full weight caused Frodo’s weak knees to collapse, and he toppled to the floor with Aragorn fully on top of him. This was what he wanted – Aragorn on top of him -- but this was the wrong place. Too weak to move, Frodo laughed uncontrollably, and Aragorn joined him – the Ringbearer and King, clutching each other like tweenagers and laughing while tears streamed down their faces.
“We must get up,” Frodo finally said, struggling to crawl from under Aragorn’s weight.
“Yes.” Aragorn nodded, trying to look serious but erupting into new laughter instead. “This… is… not dignified.”
He fell back on the hobbit, who gasped under the Man’s weight.
“The King of Gondor crushing the Ringbearer to death is hardly dignified,” Frodo said, pushing Aragorn’s chest until the king finally rolled off of him with a heavy sigh. They struggled to their feet and continued down the corridor. Leaning against each other, they made it up the winding stairs and down many corridors. Frodo led Aragorn into a large chamber.
“This is the Lord Eomer’s quarters,” Aragorn whispered.
Frodo’s nimble hobbit fingers worked on the laces on Aragorn’s tunic.
“What are you doing?” Aragorn collapsed to his knees in front of the hobbit, his jaw trembling.
Frodo leaned forward and kissed Aragorn. Aragorn pulled back, flushed and flustered. “Frodo…you’ve had too much wine.”
“Come, Aragorn,” Frodo said in a husky voice. “Will you have me? I know you’re betrothed, but…just one night, I promise.”
“Frodo, we must stop…” Aragorn’s voice held little conviction, and his protest stopped altogether when Frodo’s hand settled over the bulge in his leggings. Frodo felt the king harden under his touch, and he remained helplessly on his knees as Frodo unbuttoned his silk shirt.
“Would you have me?” Frodo repeated, his cheeks flushed, his hair mussed.
“I would…” Aragorn said in a husky voice. His hand brushed over Frodo’s soft bruised cheek, and Frodo seized his wrist, pulling him toward the bed. Aragorn allowed himself to be pulled while using his other limbs to crawl. Once they reached the huge bed, Frodo fumbled with the button on his own breeches and wriggled out of them.
Aragorn climbed on the bed and crouched over him. “But do you not want…we can first take…some enjoyment…?”
Frodo yanked Aragorn’s leggings down, revealing the man’s completely hardened shaft. Aragorn fell on Frodo, but this time, his arms tightened around Frodo like steel and the hobbit felt Aragorn’s rough whiskery face on his chest as the king nibbled on Frodo’s soft neck.
“Now,” Frodo said, thrusting his hips into Aragorn’s.
“In the Lord Eomer’s bed?” Aragorn questioned as his hands slid under Frodo’s shirt. Frodo did not answer. He bit at Aragorn’s lips until Aragorn responded with his own crushing kiss.
“Please…” Frodo said, wriggling his hips against Aragorn.
“Do we have…something to ease my way?” Aragorn asked.
Frodo smiled slowly. “Yes.” He fumbled in his vest pocket until he pulled out a slab of yellow goo.
“What…?”
“Melting butter,” Frodo giggled. “From the feast.”
Aragorn wrapped his hand around Frodo’s, smearing the grease on his own hand with a grin.
“Clever, my friend. Clever.”
Aragorn’s slick hand slipped over Frodo’s buttock before his finger slid in the hobbit’s puckered backside. A second finger twisted in, and Frodo gasped and arched his back. His member shuddered with immediate need. Aragorn grasped it with his free hand, sliding his sweaty palm up and down its length. Frodo moaned loudly, writhing against Eomer’s sheets.
Trembling, Aragorn removed his fingers from Frodo’s hole and gently eased in his hardened member.
“Does it hurt?” he whispered, trembling with need. “Too big?”
“No,” Frodo gasped. “Push hard!”
“I’ll hurt you.”
“No…no…done this…many times.”
Aragorn grinned. “Unruly hobbit!” He clutched Frodo’s arms, still courteous enough to try to keep his full weight from crushing the hobbit.
“More!” Frodo gasped. “Harder!”
Aragorn’s grip on Frodo’s arms tightened as he thrust. Frodo arched his back, lips parted, moaning without care of who might hear.
Frodo’s pleasure crested, and his shout echoed in Lord Eomer’s chamber. Aragorn quickly followed with a violent thrust, and he collapsed on Frodo, shuddering, kissing the hobbit all over his neck and cheeks and lips.
Eomer’s tangled sheets were sticky wet.
After Frodo caught his breath, he allowed his hand to roam the man’s body, circling over his back, his sides, his buttocks. Aragorn groaned and wriggled hard against Frodo’s groin again.
“This time slow,” Frodo whispered, parting his lips, allowing Aragorn to explore him with a determined tongue.
Aragorn unbuttoned Frodo’s vest and shirt, revealing a smooth white chest with dark nipples. Aragorn’s tongue moved down Frodo’s neck and to each nipple.
“Sweet, Frodo, sweet.”
Frodo felt himself hardened again.
“I’ve wanted this,” Aragorn whispered. “I’ve denied myself…since I met you. I could love you…that was the danger.”
A huge clatter caused the lovers to startle, and they turned to find Eomer in his doorway. “Oh,” he groaned. He saw Aragorn and bowed. “My Lord.”
“Good evening, Lord Eomer,” Aragorn said, pulling away from Frodo.
Eomer could not speak. He stared at the Man and hobbit, each half undressed, their members long and hard, the hobbit’s not much smaller than the man’s.
Title: Hobbit Pleasures 3/3
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Eomer
Rating: NC-17
Summary: My challenge--Celebration after the quest! Everybody gets smashed, including your pairing. Imprudent behavior abounds.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Thanks for all your feedback!! This was fun!
Hobbit Pleasures 3
After an awkward silence in which the two men and hobbit stared at each other, Aragorn finally stirred, moving a few wayward curls from Frodo’s brow.
“Lord Eomer, we thank you for the use of your bed…if you like, you might join us…that is, if Frodo is willing.”
Aragorn winked at Frodo, and the hobbit flushed. Had he been so obvious about his need for Eomer during the feast?
Eomer stared at Frodo, swallowing nervously. “If you will it, my Lord.” Frodo could not read the Man’s expression. His face was not twisted with fear or repulsion as it had been earlier. He seemed stunned, as if he had been badly injured but had not yet begun to feel the pain.
Part of Frodo enjoyed the discomfort on the Man’s face, and his groin throbbed with anticipation of rubbing himself against his rough skin. He let out a shuddering sigh. Aragorn had been wonderful…beyond expectation, but it was Eomer that he had wanted since the coronation when he had seen him, his golden hair tied behind him, his eyes crinkled with carefree joy.
Aragorn climbed out of bed and pulled up his leggings. He turned sharply to Eomer. “Is it true you struck the Ringbearer?”
“Aragorn,” Frodo said, flushing furiously that Aragorn had perceived even more of the situation between himself and Eomer. “No…it is all right…”
“I did,” Eomer said stiffly, his blue eyes darkening. “Though I regret it.” He met Frodo’s gaze.
“It is all right,” Frodo said, shivering when a sudden cool breeze from the open window tickled his bare skin. “Please…” he patted the bed beside him. “Only if you wish.”
“Our wine is very potent,” Aragorn said to Eomer under his breath as he buttoned his silk shirt and reached for his tunic. “Far too much for a hobbit.”
Frodo laughed. “It seems it is too much for the King of Gondor as well. And where are you going?”
“I must get back to the feast,” Aragorn said, smoothing his clothing. His lips quirked into a wry smile. “And I will speak to my advisors about building a special dungeon for impudent, lustful hobbits, even if they have saved Middle earth.” He smiled wickedly at Eomer. “I trust that you will now find a better use for Frodo than to test the strength of your fist?”
Frodo giggled. “Aragorn, do not speak about me as if I am a thing to be passed from one to the next!”
Eomer turned to Aragorn, his eyes wide with trepidation. “My lord…I’ve never…I have never done this with a halfling. You will leave me alone with him?”
“I must warn you…he is insatiable,” Aragorn said, his lips twitching, casting a merry glance at Frodo. “You are wise to fear him. Good night to you both.” The door clicked behind Aragorn as he left.
Eomer and Frodo stared at each other, breathing hard, neither certain of the next move. Frodo barely felt the shivers over his mostly bare skin.
Eomer released a quivering sigh as he unclasped his cloak, letting it fall to the ground. He climbed into the bed, still fully dressed, and lay beside Frodo without touching him. He flexed his fingers, clearly nervous of what to do next.
Frodo scooted closer to him and laid a small hand on Eomer’s chest. He looked up at Eomer, his azure eyes clear with desire. “My shirt is not all the way unbuttoned.”
Eomer smiled in relief of a starting point, though his fingers trembled as he unbuttoned each remaining button of Frodo’s shirt, letting his coarse fingers drift over Frodo’s chest and belly. He closed his eyes, as if in pain. “Your skin is so soft…like a maiden. And your eyes…I understand now why I was so frightened earlier. I am very sorry I struck you. There is no excuse.”
He massaged Frodo’s shoulders, and Frodo shrugged into his touch, craving the abrasion over his soft skin. His body still throbbed from Aragorn’s skillful touch. Frodo worked on the lacing to Eomer’s velvet tunic, plunging his hands over Eomer’s firm chest, brushing over downy blond hair. He bent into the man’s chest, allowing his tongue to dart over the Man’s erect nipples, breathing in the smell of leather and horses. Eomer’s arm encircled Frodo’s back, drawing the hobbit roughly to him, tilting Frodo’s chin before plunging his mouth over the hobbit’s.
Frodo quivered violently, rubbing against Eomer in a wild attempt to rid his body of the maddening itch that the Man’s touch caused him. In the past, Frodo was always the one in control, and when he released it, it was deliberate, a ploy to give his partner pleasure. He fondly remembered how Faramir’s hot gasps had echoed through the caves of Henneth Annun, unable to bear the pleasure of Frodo shuddering and moaning beneath him.
Eomer’s hand slid up Frodo’s side and over his delicate neck, behind his pointy ear, through his curls.
Frodo undid the clasp to Eomer’s leggings and peeled them down as he had to Aragorn less than an hour earlier. With both of his small hands, he grasped Eomer’s large member, which was quickly hardening. Eomer pressed his large hands on Frodo’s shoulders and forced him on his back. He rolled his massive body over Frodo’s, grinding his member into Frodo’s, inducing gasps from the hobbit’s parted lips.
“You…need not…worry…I’m open,” Frodo gasped. “I am ready.”
“You will not take control so easily,” Eomer said. He had already smeared the remaining butter over his member and was now sliding his greasy hands up and down Frodo’s. Frodo bucked into Eomer’s grasp, crying out. Every time he thought he was about to climax, Eomer would pull his hands away, chuckling.
“Eomer, please,” Frodo moaned, trying to grab the Man’s hands. Eomer stumbled off the bed and pulled up his leggings.
“What are you doing?” Frodo asked, alarmed. “You must finish what you’ve started!”
“Get dressed,” Eomer said. “We’re going elsewhere.”
“You are not thinking clearly!” Frodo said, two rosy splotches forming on his cheeks. “Please! You must finish!”
“Get dressed, halfling,” Eomer said as if Frodo were a soldier under his command. Frodo glared at the Man as he rolled off the huge bed and groped for his breeches that he had flung to the ground earlier, pulling them over his painful bulge. Still gasping with frustrated need, he ran his fingers through his curls and buttoned up his shirt.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, but Eomer did not answer. He only gripped Frodo’s shoulder and walked him out of his chamber and down the corridor, down the winding stone steps that Frodo and Aragorn had earlier struggled up in their drunken daze.
“Where—“
“Hush!”
Finally, Eomer led Frodo outside, into a dark courtyard with a fountain in its center. There, wordlessly, Eomer peeled off his clothing again. Frodo looked around in alarm. Anybody could come at any moment! Still, he was not new to taking pleasure in precarious situations…and the idea aroused him even more.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m taking a bath,” Eomer said. He was fully undressed, apparently unconcerned with the possibility of anyone seeing him.
“A…bath?” Frodo asked, smiling nervously. He unbuttoned his vest and dropped it before unclasping his breeches again.
“Come!” Eomer grabbed Frodo’s arm before he could take off his shirt and lifted the hobbit into the fountain. Frodo had expected the water to be unbearably cold, but it was warm and frothy.
“Anybody could come,” Frodo said, laughing. Eomer splashed water on the hobbit’s face and kissed his wet lips as he sat down in the shallow water, pulling Frodo onto his lap. While sitting on Eomer’s lap, the water reached Frodo’s chest, and he gasped pleasantly as Eomer’s slick hands were suddenly everywhere at once, up and down Frodo’s hips, over his arousal, inside his buttocks. Frodo unbuttoned his shirt, now soaked, and leaned his bare chest against Eomer’s solid, hairy one. Eomer grasped Frodo’s hips and set him directly over his arousal.
“Are you ready?” he whispered. Frodo nodded, barely able to control himself. Underwater, his own arousal brushed against Eomer’s wet firm stomach, taking his breath away with sensation.
“Eomer…” Frodo groaned, leaning his head back, parting his lips. Eomer took advantage of the easy opening to plunge his tongue inside the hobbit’s mouth while pulling Frodo’s hips down over his hardness. Frodo gasped as Eomer filled him, nearly breaking him apart for a few uncomfortable seconds before Eomer’s member hit the spot that sent quivers of sweet sensation through him.
“Move, halfling,” Eomer gasped, gripping Frodo’s hips and trying to force him up and down. Frodo wrapped his slick arms around Eomer’s neck while moving up and down on Eomer. Each gasp of pleasure from Eomer sent sweet vibrations through his own body. He did not care if Aragorn’s entire guard caught them. He felt himself cresting, and he grabbed Eomer close, as if trying to merge with him, feeling the Man’s muscles rippling against his own soft skin.
Eomer had now begun to crest, and his arms circled Frodo’s back with bruising strength, his breaths echoing through the courtyard as he roughly kissed Frodo’s neck, ear, and lips.
They finished at the same time, bucking violently against each other until finally, Frodo’s body went limp, and he sagged against Eomer, resting his head on the Man’s chest until he could catch his breath.
“That was wonderful,” he finally said, kissing Eomer’s prickly cheek.
“Halflings…are…the best,” Eomer said, kissing the top of Frodo’s head. “So…so tight, so sweet.”
Frodo paused a moment before tilting his head and giving the man a sweet smile. “Does this mean we can do this again? Perhaps tomorrow…or later tonight?”
Eomer looked at Frodo in surprise. Then he chuckled. “Frodo, I am unmarried and I have no sweetheart. As far as I’m concerned, you are always welcome to my bed…though Aragorn was right. You are insatiable.”
“All right,” Frodo said as he climbed out of Eomer’s embrace and stepped out of the fountain. “I will go home and change my wet shirt. I will meet you in your room in an hour.”
Eomer shook his head and chuckled. “Insatiable. Insatiable indeed.”
The End