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May. 21st, 2003 09:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603omg, I can't believe I'm done with this (*sniff*)...
I love not having homework...I just get to writewritewrite...
Title: Trapped in Bree 21/21 Epilogue
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn
Rating: NC17
Summary: Frodo arrives in Bree alone. Trouble escalates when a warrior lures Frodo into an abusive relationship, preventing him from continuing on his quest.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
A/N: Done!! :-) omg, done 11 months after I started it! :-)
Epilogue
Aragorn’s urgent voice was low, nearly dangerous. “Come, Frodo! Faster or I’m going to drip all over your hand.”
“One moment! It tastes so sweet!”
Aragorn laughed softly. “Your tongue needs to move faster—I will not be able to hold it like this all day.”
“Aragorn, please. It’s my first time.” Frodo groaned in pleasure as he swallowed the sweetness, and it cooled his throat.
“What do you think of ice-cream?” Aragorn asked with a grin, pulling away the cone-shaped cookie that held inside it the most exquisitely delicious vanilla-flavored cream Frodo had ever tasted. They sat cross-legged, facing each other, on the goose feather coverlet. Aragorn had thought that a silk coverlet would be more appropriate for a king, but Frodo had insisted—if he was going to have to sleep in a bed onto which he needed a stepstool to climb, at least he wanted something familiar, and his mattress in Bag End had been made of goose feather. The windows of their chamber in a room high in the Citadel were open, letting in a lilac-scented spring breeze, and from where Frodo sat, he had a stunning view of the White City.
“I’ve never tasted anything like it,” Frodo said, licking cream from his lips. “Not even in the Shire, and hobbits know food far better than any of the Big People! How do they keep this so cold?”
“Deep down in the lowest parts of the Citadel, deeper than even the dungeons, we have cooling rooms. Some rooms are nearly kept cool enough to turn water to ice.”
“Oh,” Frodo said in awe. “Come, give me some more! Ice-cream you called it?”
Aragorn laughed and wiped Frodo’s sticky chin with a cloth. “I’m glad to see your appetite back.” He thrust the cone in front of Frodo again and laughed as Frodo eagerly lapped up more of the cold sweetness.
Finally, Aragorn sighed and climbed off the bed. “Regretfully, I must return to the hall. I still have men of the South who await my judgment.” Aragorn bent to steal a few licks of the ice-cream, and Frodo giggled to see the formerly grim ranger, now turned king, taking such pleasure in a luxurious treat.
“Don’t go,” Frodo grasped his wrist. “Stay with me instead.”
“You know I’d rather do that than do what I must.”
“You are the king. If you cannot do as you wish, who can?”
“I have enormous responsibility. You would not have me shirk, would you?”
Frodo gave Aragorn a side glance, his cheeks rosy with want. He hoped Aragorn would catch the hint. Despite that they had shared a bed for weeks now, Aragorn had barely touched him. Frodo did not know why Aragorn hesitated, but he intended to change it — and soon.
Aragorn kissed Frodo tenderly. “I must go.” His voice was firm, and Frodo reluctantly released his wrist. Aragorn handed Frodo the cone with the melting ice-cream with a gentle smile. “I promise I will return soon. Then we shall have a feast to attend to tonight.”
“I do not wish to go to another feast.”
“Alas, I must,” Aragorn said. “But you are not required to.”
Frodo watched him leave the room with a sigh of frustration.
***
Aragorn had been listening to a young man from Harad weaving a desperate story about how he had come to join the forces of Mordor. Aragorn tried to focus, as it was his duty to judge justly, but he was weary, and his mind wandered. He had condemned very few men, even those who had aligned themselves with Sauron during the war. His pity ran too deep.
He startled when Frodo entered the hall, striding across the chamber with sure steps, his chin lifted, Elvish cloak fluttering around his slender calves. His clear tenor voice rang out to the man from Harad: “Sir, you are exonerated from all possible wrongs done in the war. Go forth home now and make a new beginning.”
The young man gasped in relief, shocked by so easy a judgment. He looked at Aragorn questioningly, and Aragorn nodded. “The Ringbearer has spoken. Be gone.”
After the young man departed, Aragorn turned to Frodo. “What is this? I am far from finished. There are still three men waiting—“
Frodo’s cheeks were flushed. “Your feast begins in one hour. I will not wait until midnight, when you shall return to the room exhausted…and useless.”
Aragorn raised his eyebrows. “Useless?” Frodo let out a large, plaintive sigh, and Aragorn grasped Frodo’s shoulders. “What is so urgent?”
A small hand slid inside the back of Aragorn’s velvet leggings and over his buttocks. Huge blue eyes looked up, burning with want, and Aragorn immediately hardened. For countless nights since Frodo had shared his bed, Aragorn had used his hands for relief after the hobbit had fallen asleep. He had longed to touch Frodo, but he was afraid. What if it was still too soon? He feared intimacy would bring the horror of Bree back to Frodo, though it almost seemed absurd after all the hobbit had endured since then. Yet, it seemed a valid point to consider. After all, while Frodo had been recovering in the Houses of Healing, Faramir had told Aragorn about the day he and his men had captured Frodo and Sam in Ithilien.
“In truth I had to deliver a blow to his head to knock him out of consciousness,” Faramir had said, shaking his head in regret. “It is not my style to hurt one so much weaker than myself unnecessarily, much less slay, as my father commanded, but Frodo fought us like a wild thing with no regard for himself, kicking and fighting and yelling loud enough to bring all the orcs of Mordor upon us. I worried not only that his shouts would attract the enemy, but that he would do harm to himself. I cannot understand it, my lord. I had made it clear that I would not harm him, that I merely wanted to question him, but as soon as my men touched him…In truth, I do not know what caused him to panic.”
Aragorn knew, and it was this knowledge that kept his hands from Frodo, even now.
While on the quest, there had never been a private moment, but they had managed gropes and fumbling kisses in the dark, fully clothed, with the risk of discovery ever over them. In Lorien, both had grieved too deeply for Gandalf, and Aragorn had not felt comfortable seeking Frodo’s companionship under the constant watch of the elves, so many close in kin to Arwen. Then, too soon after departing Lorien, they had been brutally separated. Aragorn had spent the remainder of the war half believing his dear one to have perished in the harsh land of Mordor. When Frodo had been brought back, battered, burned, ribs jutting through his stretched skin, but alive, it had been more than Aragorn had dared to hope for.
Aragorn grasped Frodo’s wrist and pulled the pale hand from inside his leggings. “Not here,” he said, his breath coming out in pants. “We’ll go back to our room.”
“Why not here?” Frodo pushed Aragorn back toward his throne.
“We shall be discovered,” Aragorn said, eyeing the entrance to the hall.
“Aragorn, you’re as hard as a rock. Just sit. You’ll never make it back to our room. Better here than in a stairwell…”
Aragorn allowed himself to be pushed into his throne, and he watched in a daze as Frodo unclasped his braces and let his breeches fall to the floor. The hobbit stepped out of them, leaving them at the base of the throne.
“The guards, Frodo…” Aragorn whispered, though his lips were numb.
“You are king,” Frodo said with a mischievous smile. “They will not dare talk.”
“I must command their respect.”
“Respect is highly overrated.” Frodo tugged at Aragorn’s hips, and Aragorn rose his bottom enough for Frodo to yank his leggings down. A furious buzzing surged through his body, and he no longer wished to protest. As Frodo had pointed out, he was so hard that he might explode at the slightest touch. Frodo crawled on his bare legs, making him shiver with want, and wrapped his cloak around the two of them. “There,” he said, his breath catching as their hardened members rubbed against each other. “Now, even if your guards come, they will not find us so easy to discover. Remember, it is an Elven cloak. It protected Sam and I in Mordor a time or two.”
Aragorn did not answer, but he clasped Frodo tightly to him. His hands roamed the hobbit’s smooth skin, causing Frodo to thrust maddeningly against him. Aragorn’s hands had nearly reached Frodo’s member. If he did not do something to ease the throb in his groin, he would go mad.
“May I…?”
Frodo lifted his chin, his blue eyes glittering dangerously as he looked up from the shadow of his hood. “If you do not, I shall go home to the Shire and king or not, I will see to it that you never see me again. Understand?”
Aragorn nodded, swallowing. Frodo’s stern countenance caused new shivers of delight through him, and he dipped two of his fingers into Frodo’s hole. Frodo writhed, gasping loudly.
“Is this all right?” Aragorn asked in concern, pulling out his fingers immediately. He could not tell whether Frodo was gasping in fear or pleasure.
“Aragorn,” Frodo gasped, curling his hand around Aragorn’s hardness, causing bolts of hot pleasure. “Do not bother with the fingers.”
Aragorn lifted Frodo, positioning him over his maddeningly stiff shaft.
“Easy, Frodo,” Aragorn said as Frodo pressed down on his shoulders, wriggling madly.
“Pull me down,” Frodo said through gritted teeth. “Why do you just sit there?”
“I do not want to hurt you,” Aragorn said. “You are not accustomed—“
“Aragorn, I have waited for this for months upon horrid months,” Frodo said, his eyes blazing. “Please show me now how it is meant to feel when one is not taken by force.”
Aragorn tugged at Frodo’s hips, pulling him down slowly. Frodo wrapped his arms around Aragorn’s neck, biting his lips, squeezing his eyes closed.
“Are you hurt?” Aragorn whispered, his throat filling unpleasantly.
“Hush! Keep pushing me down.”
Finally Frodo let out a pleasured gasp and opened his eyes again. “Yes,” he breathed, rocking in rhythm over Aragorn’s hardness. “This is how it should be. Move, Aragorn! Faster…faster!”
Now that Aragorn knew for certain that he was no longer hurting Frodo, he began to once again relish the bubbling itch that surged through him. He thrust upward, grunting, no longer caring whether all the Guards of the Citadel came to view them. Their grunts and pants echoed in the hall, and as Aragorn burst and gave his final thrust, he looked into the stony eyes of the former kings that lined the hall. None of them had been so fortuitous.
For many long moments, Frodo sat limp upon Aragorn’s lap, his hairy feet wrapped around Aragorn’s legs, leaning his head against Aragorn’s chest. Their combined wet stickiness pooled in Aragorn’s lap.
At last, Frodo lifted his head from Aragorn’s chest, letting out a sleepy sigh.
“I should very much like more of that ice-cream…if that can be arranged.”
Aragorn looked down at the dear face, now flushed and sweaty, blue eyes shining with adoration and trust. Aragorn let his lips drop on the sweaty brow, kissing, thanking the Valar for granting him this. How it could be that neither Frodo’s experience in Bree nor the Ring nor all he had faced in protecting the Ring had not ripped away his hobbit-like innocence and joy of life, Aragorn did not know. But he was grateful, and he vowed to protect that miracle and make it his utmost duty to make the remainder of Frodo’s days full of love and comfort.
END
I love not having homework...I just get to writewritewrite...
Title: Trapped in Bree 21/21 Epilogue
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn
Rating: NC17
Summary: Frodo arrives in Bree alone. Trouble escalates when a warrior lures Frodo into an abusive relationship, preventing him from continuing on his quest.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
A/N: Done!! :-) omg, done 11 months after I started it! :-)
Epilogue
Aragorn’s urgent voice was low, nearly dangerous. “Come, Frodo! Faster or I’m going to drip all over your hand.”
“One moment! It tastes so sweet!”
Aragorn laughed softly. “Your tongue needs to move faster—I will not be able to hold it like this all day.”
“Aragorn, please. It’s my first time.” Frodo groaned in pleasure as he swallowed the sweetness, and it cooled his throat.
“What do you think of ice-cream?” Aragorn asked with a grin, pulling away the cone-shaped cookie that held inside it the most exquisitely delicious vanilla-flavored cream Frodo had ever tasted. They sat cross-legged, facing each other, on the goose feather coverlet. Aragorn had thought that a silk coverlet would be more appropriate for a king, but Frodo had insisted—if he was going to have to sleep in a bed onto which he needed a stepstool to climb, at least he wanted something familiar, and his mattress in Bag End had been made of goose feather. The windows of their chamber in a room high in the Citadel were open, letting in a lilac-scented spring breeze, and from where Frodo sat, he had a stunning view of the White City.
“I’ve never tasted anything like it,” Frodo said, licking cream from his lips. “Not even in the Shire, and hobbits know food far better than any of the Big People! How do they keep this so cold?”
“Deep down in the lowest parts of the Citadel, deeper than even the dungeons, we have cooling rooms. Some rooms are nearly kept cool enough to turn water to ice.”
“Oh,” Frodo said in awe. “Come, give me some more! Ice-cream you called it?”
Aragorn laughed and wiped Frodo’s sticky chin with a cloth. “I’m glad to see your appetite back.” He thrust the cone in front of Frodo again and laughed as Frodo eagerly lapped up more of the cold sweetness.
Finally, Aragorn sighed and climbed off the bed. “Regretfully, I must return to the hall. I still have men of the South who await my judgment.” Aragorn bent to steal a few licks of the ice-cream, and Frodo giggled to see the formerly grim ranger, now turned king, taking such pleasure in a luxurious treat.
“Don’t go,” Frodo grasped his wrist. “Stay with me instead.”
“You know I’d rather do that than do what I must.”
“You are the king. If you cannot do as you wish, who can?”
“I have enormous responsibility. You would not have me shirk, would you?”
Frodo gave Aragorn a side glance, his cheeks rosy with want. He hoped Aragorn would catch the hint. Despite that they had shared a bed for weeks now, Aragorn had barely touched him. Frodo did not know why Aragorn hesitated, but he intended to change it — and soon.
Aragorn kissed Frodo tenderly. “I must go.” His voice was firm, and Frodo reluctantly released his wrist. Aragorn handed Frodo the cone with the melting ice-cream with a gentle smile. “I promise I will return soon. Then we shall have a feast to attend to tonight.”
“I do not wish to go to another feast.”
“Alas, I must,” Aragorn said. “But you are not required to.”
Frodo watched him leave the room with a sigh of frustration.
***
Aragorn had been listening to a young man from Harad weaving a desperate story about how he had come to join the forces of Mordor. Aragorn tried to focus, as it was his duty to judge justly, but he was weary, and his mind wandered. He had condemned very few men, even those who had aligned themselves with Sauron during the war. His pity ran too deep.
He startled when Frodo entered the hall, striding across the chamber with sure steps, his chin lifted, Elvish cloak fluttering around his slender calves. His clear tenor voice rang out to the man from Harad: “Sir, you are exonerated from all possible wrongs done in the war. Go forth home now and make a new beginning.”
The young man gasped in relief, shocked by so easy a judgment. He looked at Aragorn questioningly, and Aragorn nodded. “The Ringbearer has spoken. Be gone.”
After the young man departed, Aragorn turned to Frodo. “What is this? I am far from finished. There are still three men waiting—“
Frodo’s cheeks were flushed. “Your feast begins in one hour. I will not wait until midnight, when you shall return to the room exhausted…and useless.”
Aragorn raised his eyebrows. “Useless?” Frodo let out a large, plaintive sigh, and Aragorn grasped Frodo’s shoulders. “What is so urgent?”
A small hand slid inside the back of Aragorn’s velvet leggings and over his buttocks. Huge blue eyes looked up, burning with want, and Aragorn immediately hardened. For countless nights since Frodo had shared his bed, Aragorn had used his hands for relief after the hobbit had fallen asleep. He had longed to touch Frodo, but he was afraid. What if it was still too soon? He feared intimacy would bring the horror of Bree back to Frodo, though it almost seemed absurd after all the hobbit had endured since then. Yet, it seemed a valid point to consider. After all, while Frodo had been recovering in the Houses of Healing, Faramir had told Aragorn about the day he and his men had captured Frodo and Sam in Ithilien.
“In truth I had to deliver a blow to his head to knock him out of consciousness,” Faramir had said, shaking his head in regret. “It is not my style to hurt one so much weaker than myself unnecessarily, much less slay, as my father commanded, but Frodo fought us like a wild thing with no regard for himself, kicking and fighting and yelling loud enough to bring all the orcs of Mordor upon us. I worried not only that his shouts would attract the enemy, but that he would do harm to himself. I cannot understand it, my lord. I had made it clear that I would not harm him, that I merely wanted to question him, but as soon as my men touched him…In truth, I do not know what caused him to panic.”
Aragorn knew, and it was this knowledge that kept his hands from Frodo, even now.
While on the quest, there had never been a private moment, but they had managed gropes and fumbling kisses in the dark, fully clothed, with the risk of discovery ever over them. In Lorien, both had grieved too deeply for Gandalf, and Aragorn had not felt comfortable seeking Frodo’s companionship under the constant watch of the elves, so many close in kin to Arwen. Then, too soon after departing Lorien, they had been brutally separated. Aragorn had spent the remainder of the war half believing his dear one to have perished in the harsh land of Mordor. When Frodo had been brought back, battered, burned, ribs jutting through his stretched skin, but alive, it had been more than Aragorn had dared to hope for.
Aragorn grasped Frodo’s wrist and pulled the pale hand from inside his leggings. “Not here,” he said, his breath coming out in pants. “We’ll go back to our room.”
“Why not here?” Frodo pushed Aragorn back toward his throne.
“We shall be discovered,” Aragorn said, eyeing the entrance to the hall.
“Aragorn, you’re as hard as a rock. Just sit. You’ll never make it back to our room. Better here than in a stairwell…”
Aragorn allowed himself to be pushed into his throne, and he watched in a daze as Frodo unclasped his braces and let his breeches fall to the floor. The hobbit stepped out of them, leaving them at the base of the throne.
“The guards, Frodo…” Aragorn whispered, though his lips were numb.
“You are king,” Frodo said with a mischievous smile. “They will not dare talk.”
“I must command their respect.”
“Respect is highly overrated.” Frodo tugged at Aragorn’s hips, and Aragorn rose his bottom enough for Frodo to yank his leggings down. A furious buzzing surged through his body, and he no longer wished to protest. As Frodo had pointed out, he was so hard that he might explode at the slightest touch. Frodo crawled on his bare legs, making him shiver with want, and wrapped his cloak around the two of them. “There,” he said, his breath catching as their hardened members rubbed against each other. “Now, even if your guards come, they will not find us so easy to discover. Remember, it is an Elven cloak. It protected Sam and I in Mordor a time or two.”
Aragorn did not answer, but he clasped Frodo tightly to him. His hands roamed the hobbit’s smooth skin, causing Frodo to thrust maddeningly against him. Aragorn’s hands had nearly reached Frodo’s member. If he did not do something to ease the throb in his groin, he would go mad.
“May I…?”
Frodo lifted his chin, his blue eyes glittering dangerously as he looked up from the shadow of his hood. “If you do not, I shall go home to the Shire and king or not, I will see to it that you never see me again. Understand?”
Aragorn nodded, swallowing. Frodo’s stern countenance caused new shivers of delight through him, and he dipped two of his fingers into Frodo’s hole. Frodo writhed, gasping loudly.
“Is this all right?” Aragorn asked in concern, pulling out his fingers immediately. He could not tell whether Frodo was gasping in fear or pleasure.
“Aragorn,” Frodo gasped, curling his hand around Aragorn’s hardness, causing bolts of hot pleasure. “Do not bother with the fingers.”
Aragorn lifted Frodo, positioning him over his maddeningly stiff shaft.
“Easy, Frodo,” Aragorn said as Frodo pressed down on his shoulders, wriggling madly.
“Pull me down,” Frodo said through gritted teeth. “Why do you just sit there?”
“I do not want to hurt you,” Aragorn said. “You are not accustomed—“
“Aragorn, I have waited for this for months upon horrid months,” Frodo said, his eyes blazing. “Please show me now how it is meant to feel when one is not taken by force.”
Aragorn tugged at Frodo’s hips, pulling him down slowly. Frodo wrapped his arms around Aragorn’s neck, biting his lips, squeezing his eyes closed.
“Are you hurt?” Aragorn whispered, his throat filling unpleasantly.
“Hush! Keep pushing me down.”
Finally Frodo let out a pleasured gasp and opened his eyes again. “Yes,” he breathed, rocking in rhythm over Aragorn’s hardness. “This is how it should be. Move, Aragorn! Faster…faster!”
Now that Aragorn knew for certain that he was no longer hurting Frodo, he began to once again relish the bubbling itch that surged through him. He thrust upward, grunting, no longer caring whether all the Guards of the Citadel came to view them. Their grunts and pants echoed in the hall, and as Aragorn burst and gave his final thrust, he looked into the stony eyes of the former kings that lined the hall. None of them had been so fortuitous.
For many long moments, Frodo sat limp upon Aragorn’s lap, his hairy feet wrapped around Aragorn’s legs, leaning his head against Aragorn’s chest. Their combined wet stickiness pooled in Aragorn’s lap.
At last, Frodo lifted his head from Aragorn’s chest, letting out a sleepy sigh.
“I should very much like more of that ice-cream…if that can be arranged.”
Aragorn looked down at the dear face, now flushed and sweaty, blue eyes shining with adoration and trust. Aragorn let his lips drop on the sweaty brow, kissing, thanking the Valar for granting him this. How it could be that neither Frodo’s experience in Bree nor the Ring nor all he had faced in protecting the Ring had not ripped away his hobbit-like innocence and joy of life, Aragorn did not know. But he was grateful, and he vowed to protect that miracle and make it his utmost duty to make the remainder of Frodo’s days full of love and comfort.
END