Arranged Marriage chapter 8
Dec. 31st, 2007 12:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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trianne and alchemilla...
Title: Arranged Marriage 8
Rating: R
Pairing: F/A, Frodo/Other
Summary: Frodo to be married to Aragorn? What could lead to this!
Warnings: AU, way AU, Frodo doesn’t even have the Ring, Aragorn is a bitter Ranger who dislikes hobbits…at first.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make nothing.
Previous Parts:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7
Title: Arranged Marriage 8
Rating: PG13
Pairing: F/A
Summary: Frodo to be married to Aragorn? What could lead to this!
Warnings: AU, way AU, Frodo doesn’t even have the Ring, Aragorn is a bitter Ranger who dislikes hobbits…at first.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make nothing.
Frodo was lonely. A few weeks, even a few months of loneliness he had been able to handle. During Strider’s short visits, it was not that it eased Frodo’s loneliness, but the energy it took to stay on top of things and to not irritate the Ranger was enough to keep his mind occupied.
It was certainly not that Frodo wanted Strider home. Strider was a surly bother, and he criticized everything Frodo did. And so often, he stared at Frodo with those dark, suspicious eyes that made Frodo squirm with discomfort. Not once since the wedding night had Strider touched Frodo again or gave any indication that they were bound by marriage. Still, there was always this tension just under the surface, a blossoming of something that could almost be, if only Strider could forget that he didn’t like hobbits.
But Strider was home very rarely, and Frodo, while more aloof and hermit-like than many hobbits, was still a hobbit and living in such isolation did not suit him at all. Strider had not pushed for him to take a job again since the ugly incident with Mr. Rushlight’s laundry, but at times Frodo wandered into Bree and into the Prancing Pony. In general, the local hobbits wanted nothing to do with him. They were polite, but they turned away from him soon after he joined them and then made excuses to go elsewhere. The local men of Bree were not much better. After all, they mistrusted Rangers and they therefore mistrusted a hobbit from the Shire who had taken up with such a Ranger, especially under the scandalous circumstances. To them, Frodo was no gentlehobbit, whatever his upbringing in the Shire might have been.
So Frodo came to the Prancing Pony and often struck up conversations with traveling folk. Sometimes they were dwarves and mostly they were men who were mercenary warriors or wanderers of other sorts. These men were more hardened than the Bree folk, but they longed for conversation and company. Frodo began very much to enjoy these interactions. He had never been harmed by men so he had no reason to fear them, and the men seemed charmed and glad of his company.
Butterbur pulled him aside one night. “Now, I don’t mean to get into your business, young sir, but I’d be careful taking up with these strange men.”
Frodo flushed. “I’m not taking up with them, sir.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean nothing by it, see, but you don’t know where they’ve been or where they’re going. They could rob you and slit your throat and be gone by morn.”
“Thank you, Mr. Butterbur, but I can take care of myself, thank you. At least they are friendly. I am lonely and I’ve no friends in Bree.”
Butterbur looked more sympathetic. “I’m sorry. We’re rather suspicious of outsiders, and you taking up with that Ranger, whether or no it was your fault…And you’d better hope your Ranger isn’t a jealous sort.”
Frodo laughed, no longer bothering to correct Butterbur on calling Strider “your“ Ranger. “I imagine he’d not care one bit what I do with my time.”
Frodo returned to the table where he had settled in with Maron, who hailed from far to the South.
“The air is much colder this far south,” Maron said. “It is good to be near a hearth.” He smiled at Frodo in a warm manner.
“How long will you be in Bree?”
“Just long enough to get through the winter before continuing farther north. A week, perhaps a month.”
Frodo nodded. “Butterbur’s rooms are comfortable at least.”
“They are. So they seem. I’ve only just arrived. And you’re the first Halfling I’ve seen. I couldn‘t hardly believe my eyes when I saw you. In my land, Halflings are but legend.”
“There are many of us Halflings here in Bree, although I’m the only one from the Shire.”
“The Shire?”
“That is where hobbits, as we call ourselves, live.”
They ate together and Frodo drank several ales. It felt comfortable that this man was being so friendly to him, touching him at odd times to punctuate points and sometimes putting his arm around him in affection. When his hand found Frodo’s knee and stayed there, Frodo’s stomach flopped pleasantly and his groin warmed. He did not shrink away but his cheeks heated.
I’m married, but it’s not a real marriage, is it? I’ve a right to pleasure. I’ve a right to know how it really feels to be loved and adored.
“Would you like to go up to my room?” Maron asked. “We could share more private conversation there.”
Frodo paused for a moment. He tried to imagine what Strider would think. He would probably be scornful but indifferent. He nodded. “Yes, let’s go.”
Maron looked happy, as if he had struck gold, and Frodo pretended to leave. It would never do to have everyone in Bree talking about his leaving with a strange man. Not that he cared one bit if it got back to Strider.
Frodo knocked on the door of Maron’s room, and Maron opened the door. He had stripped himself of his shirt and was sitting on the edge of the bed. His shoulders were broad, his arms muscular and powerful.
“Ever done this before?” He asked Frodo.
“Yes.”
“I mean with one of my kind.”
Frodo laughed. “Indeed.” He was already started to grow hard. This would be interesting. “Do you know how to give pleasure to a halfling?”
Maron chuckled. “I don’t know how good I am at it, but I’ll aim to try!”
Frodo nodded. “That’s good enough for me.”
With trembling hands he unbuttoned his weskit.
“Let’s take it slow and easy-like,” Maron said. “Come on up here.” He patted the bed next to him. Frodo, trembling with excitement, allowed Maron to help him up to the bed, which was blissfully enormous. Maron clutched Frodo’s cheeks and gave him a rough kiss on the mouth.
“Ah, yes, you’re nice,” he said.
As he kissed Frodo again, he groped at Frodo’s shirt, tugging it out of his breeches and stroking and rubbing the skin of his back and sides and belly. Frodo gasped with yearning. He found himself desperately wishing that the eager, groping hands belonged to Strider and that Strider was taking him care and love. That quickened his heart, and his cock hardened. Maron slid the braces off his shoulders and tugged at Frodo’s breeches, struggling to untie them and push them down over Frodo’s hips.
Frodo let Maron take him with quick, rough need. Once inside Frodo, Maron turned into a grunting animal, totally absorbed in taking his own pleasure, pounding into Frodo. Frodo had forgotten how badly it hurt at first, and he cried out, and Maron covered his mouth, hushing him, which would have angered Frodo but he himself was riding the crest, building with pleasure born of pain. They came to climax together, clutching each other, gasping, panting, until Maron fell on him like a dead weight.
At last, Maron rolled off him. “Can you stay?” he asked, kissing Frodo’s bare shoulder.
“I’ve nowhere else to be now,” Frodo said.
The next morning, Frodo woke up in the room alone. He knew that Maron had not left for the day, but Frodo was so sore. And he wondered how in daylight he would manage to leave the inn without Butterbur and others noticing him. He was more sore than after that first night with Aragorn after the wedding. And his shirt was torn.
Frodo sneaked out of the side door, and ran smack into Nob.
“Good morning, Nob,” Frodo said.
“You’re here early. Having an early ale?” Nob asked with a wink.
Frodo’s heart sank. He had thought he would not care if Aragorn found out or not. But now the idea of Aragorn finding out made him ill. He had almost seen a decent side to Aragorn, a less harsh side and now… He did not really think that Aragorn would care, did he?
Go on to next part
trianne and alchemilla...Title: Arranged Marriage 8
Rating: R
Pairing: F/A, Frodo/Other
Summary: Frodo to be married to Aragorn? What could lead to this!
Warnings: AU, way AU, Frodo doesn’t even have the Ring, Aragorn is a bitter Ranger who dislikes hobbits…at first.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make nothing.
Previous Parts:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7
Title: Arranged Marriage 8
Rating: PG13
Pairing: F/A
Summary: Frodo to be married to Aragorn? What could lead to this!
Warnings: AU, way AU, Frodo doesn’t even have the Ring, Aragorn is a bitter Ranger who dislikes hobbits…at first.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make nothing.
Frodo was lonely. A few weeks, even a few months of loneliness he had been able to handle. During Strider’s short visits, it was not that it eased Frodo’s loneliness, but the energy it took to stay on top of things and to not irritate the Ranger was enough to keep his mind occupied.
It was certainly not that Frodo wanted Strider home. Strider was a surly bother, and he criticized everything Frodo did. And so often, he stared at Frodo with those dark, suspicious eyes that made Frodo squirm with discomfort. Not once since the wedding night had Strider touched Frodo again or gave any indication that they were bound by marriage. Still, there was always this tension just under the surface, a blossoming of something that could almost be, if only Strider could forget that he didn’t like hobbits.
But Strider was home very rarely, and Frodo, while more aloof and hermit-like than many hobbits, was still a hobbit and living in such isolation did not suit him at all. Strider had not pushed for him to take a job again since the ugly incident with Mr. Rushlight’s laundry, but at times Frodo wandered into Bree and into the Prancing Pony. In general, the local hobbits wanted nothing to do with him. They were polite, but they turned away from him soon after he joined them and then made excuses to go elsewhere. The local men of Bree were not much better. After all, they mistrusted Rangers and they therefore mistrusted a hobbit from the Shire who had taken up with such a Ranger, especially under the scandalous circumstances. To them, Frodo was no gentlehobbit, whatever his upbringing in the Shire might have been.
So Frodo came to the Prancing Pony and often struck up conversations with traveling folk. Sometimes they were dwarves and mostly they were men who were mercenary warriors or wanderers of other sorts. These men were more hardened than the Bree folk, but they longed for conversation and company. Frodo began very much to enjoy these interactions. He had never been harmed by men so he had no reason to fear them, and the men seemed charmed and glad of his company.
Butterbur pulled him aside one night. “Now, I don’t mean to get into your business, young sir, but I’d be careful taking up with these strange men.”
Frodo flushed. “I’m not taking up with them, sir.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean nothing by it, see, but you don’t know where they’ve been or where they’re going. They could rob you and slit your throat and be gone by morn.”
“Thank you, Mr. Butterbur, but I can take care of myself, thank you. At least they are friendly. I am lonely and I’ve no friends in Bree.”
Butterbur looked more sympathetic. “I’m sorry. We’re rather suspicious of outsiders, and you taking up with that Ranger, whether or no it was your fault…And you’d better hope your Ranger isn’t a jealous sort.”
Frodo laughed, no longer bothering to correct Butterbur on calling Strider “your“ Ranger. “I imagine he’d not care one bit what I do with my time.”
Frodo returned to the table where he had settled in with Maron, who hailed from far to the South.
“The air is much colder this far south,” Maron said. “It is good to be near a hearth.” He smiled at Frodo in a warm manner.
“How long will you be in Bree?”
“Just long enough to get through the winter before continuing farther north. A week, perhaps a month.”
Frodo nodded. “Butterbur’s rooms are comfortable at least.”
“They are. So they seem. I’ve only just arrived. And you’re the first Halfling I’ve seen. I couldn‘t hardly believe my eyes when I saw you. In my land, Halflings are but legend.”
“There are many of us Halflings here in Bree, although I’m the only one from the Shire.”
“The Shire?”
“That is where hobbits, as we call ourselves, live.”
They ate together and Frodo drank several ales. It felt comfortable that this man was being so friendly to him, touching him at odd times to punctuate points and sometimes putting his arm around him in affection. When his hand found Frodo’s knee and stayed there, Frodo’s stomach flopped pleasantly and his groin warmed. He did not shrink away but his cheeks heated.
I’m married, but it’s not a real marriage, is it? I’ve a right to pleasure. I’ve a right to know how it really feels to be loved and adored.
“Would you like to go up to my room?” Maron asked. “We could share more private conversation there.”
Frodo paused for a moment. He tried to imagine what Strider would think. He would probably be scornful but indifferent. He nodded. “Yes, let’s go.”
Maron looked happy, as if he had struck gold, and Frodo pretended to leave. It would never do to have everyone in Bree talking about his leaving with a strange man. Not that he cared one bit if it got back to Strider.
Frodo knocked on the door of Maron’s room, and Maron opened the door. He had stripped himself of his shirt and was sitting on the edge of the bed. His shoulders were broad, his arms muscular and powerful.
“Ever done this before?” He asked Frodo.
“Yes.”
“I mean with one of my kind.”
Frodo laughed. “Indeed.” He was already started to grow hard. This would be interesting. “Do you know how to give pleasure to a halfling?”
Maron chuckled. “I don’t know how good I am at it, but I’ll aim to try!”
Frodo nodded. “That’s good enough for me.”
With trembling hands he unbuttoned his weskit.
“Let’s take it slow and easy-like,” Maron said. “Come on up here.” He patted the bed next to him. Frodo, trembling with excitement, allowed Maron to help him up to the bed, which was blissfully enormous. Maron clutched Frodo’s cheeks and gave him a rough kiss on the mouth.
“Ah, yes, you’re nice,” he said.
As he kissed Frodo again, he groped at Frodo’s shirt, tugging it out of his breeches and stroking and rubbing the skin of his back and sides and belly. Frodo gasped with yearning. He found himself desperately wishing that the eager, groping hands belonged to Strider and that Strider was taking him care and love. That quickened his heart, and his cock hardened. Maron slid the braces off his shoulders and tugged at Frodo’s breeches, struggling to untie them and push them down over Frodo’s hips.
Frodo let Maron take him with quick, rough need. Once inside Frodo, Maron turned into a grunting animal, totally absorbed in taking his own pleasure, pounding into Frodo. Frodo had forgotten how badly it hurt at first, and he cried out, and Maron covered his mouth, hushing him, which would have angered Frodo but he himself was riding the crest, building with pleasure born of pain. They came to climax together, clutching each other, gasping, panting, until Maron fell on him like a dead weight.
At last, Maron rolled off him. “Can you stay?” he asked, kissing Frodo’s bare shoulder.
“I’ve nowhere else to be now,” Frodo said.
The next morning, Frodo woke up in the room alone. He knew that Maron had not left for the day, but Frodo was so sore. And he wondered how in daylight he would manage to leave the inn without Butterbur and others noticing him. He was more sore than after that first night with Aragorn after the wedding. And his shirt was torn.
Frodo sneaked out of the side door, and ran smack into Nob.
“Good morning, Nob,” Frodo said.
“You’re here early. Having an early ale?” Nob asked with a wink.
Frodo’s heart sank. He had thought he would not care if Aragorn found out or not. But now the idea of Aragorn finding out made him ill. He had almost seen a decent side to Aragorn, a less harsh side and now… He did not really think that Aragorn would care, did he?
Go on to next part