Not Quite the End of All Things 1: King in Waiting

Not Quite The End Of All Things: 1 of 3: King In Waiting

Author: Squigglesquared

Rating: NC17

Pairings: Mainly Frodo/Aragorn, also Frodo/Sam, Sam/?, Merry/ Pippin (minor)

Warnings: Mild bondage, first time, graphic sex.

Summary: Aragorn begins Frodo’s healing process, set immediately after the Ring’s destruction, but more Movieverse than Bookverse (deeply condensed timeline and location)

Feedback: Yes Please. (Be nice, this is my first time!!)

Archive: If you like, but please tell me where

Author note: the first in a loose series of three. ‘The Long Road Home’, and ‘The Parlour Game’ follow.

Disclaimer: These guys are not mine, but, bugger it, I will have me wicked way with ‘em, then give ‘em back!!!!(Hur hur!) No money made etc. Sorry Mods: I own no part of the LOTR universe, neither stories nor characters and make no money from these tales.

******

1: King In Waiting

The tired remains of the Company of the Ring trudged wearily through the streets of Minas Tirith toward the Citadel.

Their hearts were heavy.

Merry and Pippin shared a pony. Merry’s arms were wrapped around Pippin’s shoulders, both wept.

Gimli, riding behind Legolas, sank his face into the elf’s back, he was howling with grief. Legolas’ eyes were misted.

Aragorn’s mouth was set into a grim line. Unshed tears pricked behind his eyes, a tenuous grasp on composure. His people were cheering, welcoming their new King. All he wanted to do at this moment was hide somewhere and weep.

They should have been cheering.

Sauron was defeated.

The biggest of battles for Middle-Earth had been won.
The Ring had been cast into the Fire. The evil was finally over.

In the streets, people shouted, flirted, partied, cheered, throwing flowers beneath the horse’s hooves, women saucily kissing the returning warriors for luck

But amongst the Company the mood was subdued.

Thoughts turned to Boromir, this should have been his moment of triumph, returning to his city. He would have given the cheering crowds what they sought.

None of the original company of the Ring could get the image of Mount Doom erupting out of their minds.

Poor Frodo and Sam. They had saved Middle Earth but had paid dearly.

Gandalf had summoned Gwaihir and others of the giant eagles to fly him over the ruin to see if he could at least try to find the bodies and bring them back and not leave them exposed on the mountain-side.

The giant birds swooped low over the fuming wreckage, and, spotting the hobbits lying on the rocks, flew down and retrieved them as gently as they could before flying back to the city.

As they approached the green outside the Citadel. People could be seen below running to the spot where they were to land. The birds laid down their charges carefully, and Gandalf thanked them with soft words before they once again took wing.

Gandalf went straight to Frodo and Sam, and, just as Aragorn and Pippin reached him, he looked up with a huge smile. “They’re alive, they are a little the worse for wear, but they are alive”. Aragorn and Pippin’s looks of consternation and fear turned to joy in an instant, and Pippin ran forward to hug Frodo. Gandalf put out a restraining hand, “Not so fast, young Peregrin, we do not know how injured they are yet”. Aragorn took charge, and, calling for stretcher bearers, made haste to the Houses of Healing to personally attend to the hobbits.

As he ran back into the building, he called for hot water and cloths to be brought that he may wash before entering the Houses. Splashing water over his tired face, he couldn’t help but grin widely to himself despite the bone-weariness. Frodo was alive, and not looking too bad for his ordeal. The relief that flowed over him at this thought made him laugh out loud. He wasn’t quite sure why he felt so delighted at Frodo’s return, there was a definite tremble deep in his gut, but he wasn’t going to examine that too closely. He was tired through and through, and any good news was bound to make a man feel a little light-headed.

There was much to be done over the next few days. He was to be invested as king, and word had reached him that a party from Rivendell were already on their way, and would arrive in a matter of a few days.

Arwen.

The thought hit him in the stomach like a hammer. Was he at last to be wed to the woman he had carried in his dreams these long years, after all the promises and pledges, the sighs and tears, the loneliness and long separations?
It was then that he realised that Arwen…. was not the person making his steps light and his heart almost sing.

Entering the Houses, he was directed to a corridor, off which ran several small treatment rooms. The hobbits had been bathed and put to bed, each in a small adjoining room in soft shirts, and low cots. An old healer woman was bent over Frodo attending to his hand and it's bloody half a finger. At Aragorn's approach she stepped back with a small bow.

Frodo was asleep. His face was ashen with a slight flush on his cheeks, and his breathing was slow and regular. Aragorn felt Frodo’s head and neck. A little warm, but not running a temperature.
It was then he noticed Frodo’s hand and that the fingertip of his left forefinger was missing. The wound was jagged and messy. What had happened up there on the mountain?. He had no doubt he would find out in the fullness of time, but right now, he could do no more than clean the wound and dress it. As he applied the salve, it must have stung somewhat, for Frodo murmured and groaned, muttering something quite unintelligible. “It’s all right little one, I’m just attending to your poor hand”, at this Frodo quieted, and once again slumbered.

Aragorn checked Frodo for other injuries, and was pleased to find, apart from a few gashes and scratches and the ugly weal around his neck that the ring’s chain had made, he seemed in remarkably good shape, considering his recent adventures. As he dabbed at a scratch above Frodo’s top lip, a little water went into his mouth, and Frodo spluttered, coughed, and opened his eyes. He blinked and tried to sit up staring wildly about him. “Whoa there, steady on, Frodo, can you hear me, it’s Aragorn, I’m just treating your outer hurts. You are in Minas Tirith and Sam is close by. You are both safe and going to be well”. At that Frodo calmed and subsided onto the bed, muttering, his eyes closing once more.

When Aragorn had finished his ministrations he said, “I’m going to call a healer to watch over you, but if you need me, just call. I will only be next door, but I must see to Sam now”. With that, he bent and kissed Frodo’s forehead, and looked down at him for a short while, a strained, slightly puzzled look on his face. He was about to walk away, when on a second thought, he stopped; looking quickly around, realising that he was on his own with the hobbit, leaned down again, and this time planted a quick kiss full on Frodo’s mouth, “I am so glad to see you Master Baggins, you cannot believe how much”. Frodo stirred, muttered and sank back into slumber. There was the faintest of smiles playing around his parted lips and the tiniest tip of his tongue was trying to lick them. “He felt that”, thought Aragorn grinning as he went into the next room.

Sam was also asleep when Aragorn entered, but opened his eyes when he heard the door. He looked woozy and disoriented, until he saw Aragorn. He tried to speak, but no voice came. Aragorn stood by the bed and checked Sam’s vital signs. His breathing was ragged. He must have breathed a hot fume or shouted himself hoarse, for his powers of speech seemed limited. He didn’t seem to be as torn about as Frodo, but Aragorn detected pain when he touched Sam’s shoulders and back, as if the hobbit had carried a great weight at some time and had put his upper back under much strain. Another mystery here, thought Aragorn, and once again wondered at the events leading to this.

Aragorn left the hobbits sleeping and went to find the healer. He asked that orderlies should make him up a cot, as he was going to personally tend to the hobbits, and blankets and pillows were found. He asked for a tea to be brewed for Sam’s throat, from whatever supplies the healers could spare. The healing staff were impressed that their future king was taking such an active role. It raised the morale of the weary healers, and allowed the hobbits’ attendants to obtain some much-needed rest. Some of the older healer women knew, however.

They knew that only the authentic king carried this kind of healing power in his hands. They knew and wondered amongst themselves.
Here was a true king for Gondor once more, when all had bethought the king’s line dead these several hundred years. Where had this king-in-waiting been all this time while Mordor was assailing their lands and darkness spreading from the East. If they did but know….

Aragorn made one last check on his patients, and climbed into bed, exhausted. But for all his weariness, he just couldn’t fall asleep right away, and lay, his hands behind his head, thinking over the day. There was a little bubble of joy in his heart, and when he cautiously examined it, his thoughts kept returning to those lips and that tiny tip of the tongue.
What was this? Why did he feel this way? He loved Arwen didn’t he? Yes, with all his heart, but……..

As he drowsed, more and more thoughts rose unbidden. He was crushing that soft mouth with his own, tasting that little tongue, running his hands up and down that small hard body, parting those thighs…….. Something else also rose unbidden, and his left hand crept under the covers. He now understood why, in front of the Black Gates, he had said, “For Frodo”. Before that last insane charge. Not “For Middle Earth”, not “For Arwen”, but Frodo.

He felt some embarrassment at what he was doing, but tried to be as quiet as he could. All the same, when he climaxed, he could not stop a low moan escaping. As his breathing quieted, he drifted finally off to sleep.

He awoke with a start. He thought he’d heard something, but all was silent. No, there it was again. He was fully alert now, ears straining. When the sound came again, he recognised it, a muffled sob, and it seemed to be coming from Frodo’s room. He quickly threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. Looking down, he remembered he had soiled his night-shirt, so swiftly climbed into breeches and shirt, and quietly padded to Frodo’s room. He tapped softly on the door. “Frodo”, he whispered. No reply, but the sound was coming from this room. Nothing loth, he opened the door and went in.

Frodo was awake and lying on his front. He was weeping hard into a pillow crammed over his face to minimise the sound.
“Frodo”, said Aragorn, now clearly concerned. He closed the door softly and went over to the bed, sitting on the edge. He extended a hand and gently touched a shaking shoulder, “Frodo, what ails you? Is there something I can do to help? Are you in pain?”. He turned the hobbit toward him, and took the damp pillow from his hands. Frodo looked into his face with wild eyes and an expression full of anguish, “Aragorn….. I failed….”, and with that his weeping commenced afresh. “I failed…failed”.
“How can you have failed little one, Sauron is no more, and you did this thing. You will be honoured throughout Middle Earth, and your name will be in many songs and tales”. He looked down, confused at the hobbit’s grief. Perhaps destroying the Ring was having this effect, it may take many years before it’s effects on the mind were eased, if at all. Elrond had spoken of such things to Aragorn and Gandalf before the Company left Rivendell. It’s most insidious effects were on the mind and heart. “No”, he wailed, “no-one understands, I wanted it….I claimed it for my own…at the last remove, I failed. If it hadn’t been for Gollum…. and Sam….”, Frodo wailed in utter dejection.

Aragorn tried to think of words of comfort, but this perhaps went beyond comfort. He watched Frodo weep and felt completely useless in the face of such grieving. His heart ached to see such sorrow. He did the only thing he could think of that might help, gathering the trembling hobbit in his arms, he held him as a mother might a small child, rocking him and stroking his hair, trying to calm him in low tones. “Let it all out Frodo, let it all out”, he murmured. After a while, Frodo’s sobs started to subside, and his head relaxed into Aragorn’s shoulder.

In a low monotone, between lurching sobs, Frodo began to relate all the things that had happened on the mountain, the whole story, leaving nothing out. “Sam carried me most of the way up that loathsome mountain. He brought me right to the heart of the fire, and I betrayed him and the whole of Middle Earth”.

“When the Ring went into the fire, I wanted to follow it. I couldn’t see any purpose to life without the ring. If it hadn’t been for Sam, I would have dropped off that cliff face gladly”. “Well I, for one, am pleased you did not”, Aragorn replied.

As Frodo’s cries quieted, Aragorn became all too aware of the weight of Frodo against him. He rubbed his cheek in Frodo’s hair, and surreptitiously allowed his lips to graze the matted curls. He was also aware of a tightness in his breeches, and the tremble in his lower gut had returned. He shifted his position on the bed a bit, mainly to ease the tightness, but also to steer Frodo away from discovering his excitement. He did not feel that this reaction to Frodo’s slender body was particularly appropriate right now!!.

They lay, Frodo in Aragorn’s arms, for some while, until Aragorn thought Frodo had dropped off to sleep. When Aragorn tried to untangle himself from Frodo to go back to his bed, Frodo moaned and slid his arm around Aragorn’s waist. Aragorn could barely contain himself. He breathed very deeply a few times, and, even though he didn’t want to do this, he unhooked Frodo’s arm from his middle, and lay the hobbit flat on the bed. He was about to cover him, when, looking down, he noticed Frodo was erect under his shirt. He stared. He could not help himself. Frodo was just so beautiful.

Aragorn reluctantly stood up, bunching a fist with a look of pure agony on his face, and covered Frodo. He knelt beside the bed, and taking Frodo’s head in his two hands, tipped it forward to kiss his brow. As his face descended, Frodo suddenly tipped his head right back, so the kiss landed on his mouth. Aragorn drew back in shock. Frodo’s eyes flew open, and Aragorn was pinned by the intensity of Frodo’s gaze. A look of….longing?……..desire?

Reluctantly he turned away, and rising, moved toward the door, “Goodnight Frodo”, he whispered. He had his hand on the doorhandle, when he heard a whispered, “Aragorn”, from behind him. He turned and looked back at Frodo over his shoulder, not daring to fully turn round, his own desire all too evident.

“Stay…”? the word held a question. Frodo’s huge eyes looked up at him through his upper lashes, he bit his bottom lip, he tried to smile.
Following that an entreaty, “Please…….”

There was a soft rustling behind him. This time he turned fully around. Frodo had moved over to one side of the small bed, and was holding the blankets open. This was too much for Aragorn. He crossed the floor in a few strides, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, sinking his face into his hands. His mind raced. He struggled with his thoughts, they threatened to overwhelm him, until he felt small hands on his shoulders gently pulling him backwards, until he was half lying, half sitting. A little face hovered over him, huge blue eyes boring into his. Small hands caressing his face, he closed his eyes, let his mouth relax and open slightly, and felt soft lips brushing his own, felt that little tongue explore his lips and dart into his mouth, until he could stand it no more. He pulled Frodo down on top of him hard, and answered Frodo’s questing tongue with his own.

As they emerged from the kiss, both were breathing hard. Aragorn turned and lay full length on the bed, twisting his body so Frodo was half lying under him. Frodo smiled into his face. “I felt you kiss me earlier, you know”, his eyes lowered and opened again. “I thought you had, and I have been hard put to, to think of anything else since, you imp!!”, Aragorn replied, smiling. Frodo then did something he hadn’t done in ages and Aragorn had never heard him do before, he laughed, long and loud, pure joy filling the room. Aragorn began to join in, and soon the little room was filled with it.

Then, an urgent knock at the door, “Is everything all right Mr Frodo”, it was Sam’s voice. Their laughter must have awoken Sam. Frodo delicately placed his fingertips over Aragorn’s mouth to hush him, removing them just long enough to kiss him briefly again, and went to the door.

“Oh Sam – My Sam”, he embraced the other hobbit, standing as he was, looking sweetly sleepy and bemused, his hair all over the place and his eyes blinking. Sam repeated his question, his voice cracking,
“Is everything all right Mr Frodo”. Frodo cupped his hand under Sam’s chin and kissed him gently on the mouth, “Yes, my Samwise, everything is just fine. I was having a beautiful dream, and I laughed and seemed to awake more than myself”. He kissed Sam again and led him back to his room. “I’m quite all right, you know, but it was good of you to come and see. Aragorn is looking after both of us, we are in the best of hands”. He smiled down at Sam as he tucked him in. “Sweet dreams my Samwise”, he whispered, kissing him once again, recalling Gandalf’s homily, “heed no nightly noise”. He sat on the edge of the bed and held Sam tenderly until Sam’s breathing indicated that he was asleep, then, kissing him gently on the forehead, he rose, and crept from the room.

Back in his own room, Frodo yawned and closed the door. He looked over at the bed, and realised that Aragorn had fallen asleep. He stripped off the shirt he was wearing and pressed up close to Aragorn in the bed. Aragorn shifted and murmured something which Frodo could not catch, but he smiled all the same as he gazed down on the ranger’s features softened in sleep. The candlelight caught the highlights in Aragorn’s hair, the planes of his face, the white of his shirt. “Bless him”, thought Frodo, “He’s still dressed”. He blew out the candle, and , snuggling up and wrapping his good arm around Aragorn, he kissed his King softly on the cheek and was soon asleep.

Aragorn awoke sometime in the pre-dawn with a need to relieve himself. He slipped from the bed on silent feet, and, before leaving the room put a few chips on the fire. On his return, the fire was glowing enough to see by. He sought and found his pipe, loaded it and lit it from a glowing coal. He sat for a while in a nearby chair and contemplated the hobbit as he smoked.

Frodo’s breathing was deep and even, his lashes flickering on his cheeks. The fire cast a warm glow on his skin, and Aragorn smiled. When had he first realised that he’d desired Frodo ? Holding him on Weathertop? In Moria? When had the wish to serve and protect begun to deepen, strengthen?. When had admiration and, yes, respect, become something… larger. He remembered when he first met the hobbits, in fact in his general attitude toward them, he had regarded them as rather child-like, simple. But the fact that they took pleasure in simple things belied a fortitude and strength of character that had quite astonished him on this journey, each in his own way.

And then there was Frodo.

Aragorn allowed himself the luxury of a few more minutes contemplation, tapping his pipe out into the fireplace, and thinking, “I’ll sleep here in the chair”. He was alerted by a groan from the bed. Frodo murmured and moved, his head tossing about on the pillow, his good arm thrashing or grabbing at the air in front of him. Aragorn quickly rose and went to Frodo’s side. His hand brushed the hobbit’s forehead, no fever, likely as not just a bad dream, but Aragorn was alert just the same. He called softly, ”Frodo, Frodo, You are safe in bed. It is I, Aragorn, come back to me”, he gently chafed Frodo’s face, and shook a shoulder, until the muscles slackened and he opened his eyes. “Aragorn”, his expression was dazed and still a little wild. He tried to sit up and groaned, falling back on the pillows, “It’s all right Frodo”, Aragorn patted his arm and looked down at Frodo’s face, a slight sheen of sweat making it glow. A pair of beautiful blue eyes slowly opened wide, confusion knotting his brow, and sleep slurring his voice, and found Aragorn’s grey returning the gaze. “Hold me Aragorn, make the bad dreams seem smaller and less terrifying,…..please?”

Without a word, Aragorn climbed back into the bed. He was somewhat surprised to find Frodo completely naked beneath the covers, but curled his arms around the hobbit and pulled him close. “Mffmf mmff”, Aragorn relaxed his hold a little, “Pardon?”, “Not like this,” said Frodo, and tugged gently at Aragorn’s shirt with his good hand. “Little one, if I am naked with you, we will get no sleep!!”, he exhaled sharply. “I am tired now,” Frodo yawned. “But who knows what morning may bring”, he smiled sleepily. Aragorn hesitated a moment, and began to undress. He shuffled, not very gracefully, out of his breeches, trying to keep his raging erection hidden. Frodo covered them both with the blankets, and tucked himself firmly against Aragorn’s chest, threading Aragorn’s arm around himself, he made himself comfortable with a small sigh, placing his own arm across Aragorn’s chest.

Aragorn looked down at the curly dark head resting there, and let the arm Frodo was lying in land gently around Frodo’s shoulders. He was just bringing himself under control, when Frodo flung a leg over Aragorn’s lower belly, bumping his cock. Aragorn sighed, “This is not going to work for me, Frodo,” he mumbled into Frodo’s hair. “you are intoxicating. I will never sleep tonight for wanting you”, he whispered.

But Frodo’s increasing weight against his chest and a gentle snore told a different tale. Frodo was asleep. Aragorn rained a few kisses into Frodo’s hair, and pulled him tighter to his side. Wrapping his other arm firmly around the drowsing hobbit, he smiled into the dark, there were worse ways to pass a sleepless night, he thought, but, in a surprisingly short while, joined Frodo in deep slumber.

Frodo awoke from a most peaceful dream. He lay there in perfect comfort, never wanting these sensations to end. His left hand was stiff and sore, and he needed to relieve himself, but still he lay, with Aragorn’s body curled around his own and revelled in it. It was all he could do not to laugh out loud again at the last few hours’ turn of events. He felt safe, warm, cared for. He slid out of bed, grabbing the first garment to hand to cover himself and quietly left the room.

On his return, he slipped into Sam’s room. Sam awoke immediately when he heard the door. “Ssshh, Sam. It’s only me”, he came over to Sam’s bed and sat down, ruffling Sam’s sleepy head. “How are you feeling”?. “A bit groggy, but I’m starvin’ ‘ungry”, Sam replied. Frodo glanced at the sky outside, “May be another couple of hours til breakfast, Sam”, Frodo smoothed the hair on Sam’s brow, and looked down at his dear friend. “Go back to sleep Sam, and I will see you later on”. He bent to kiss his friend and Sam grabbed a handful of the shirt. “Where’s this from?”, he mumbled, “It’s miles too big for you”, Frodo looked down at himself and smiled, “It’s Aragorn’s “. “Oh yes, and why are you wearin’ Lord Aragorn’s shirt then?”, asked Sam with a smile, as comprehension dawned. Frodo couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes, and felt himself blush. “You weren’t ‘avin’ no nice dream when I ‘eard you laughin’ earlier, were you now?”. “No, Sam”, he paused, grinning, a faraway look stealing over his face, “The dream is real, better than some dreams I’ve had before”, he chuckled softly, ”though I’m still not sure if I believe it”. He kissed Sam’s forehead, “I will see you later, Sam, try to sleep. “ He was smiling as he left.

Sam grinned in the dark. When he thought on it, he wasn’t surprised at Frodo and Aragorn. In many ways, both had borne the worst parts in the Quest. In his own canny way, he had seen a small flame begin to ignite. The way Aragorn treated Frodo on Weathertop, the gentleness of the healing touch, there, and in Moria. After Gandalf’s fall, stopping Frodo from just marching away from the Company in the Dimrill Dale. The agony in Frodo’s face as he turned back at Aragorn’s call. The way Aragorn had held Frodo while he wept, for a moment, kneeling, a cheek rubbing dark curls, whispering what comfort he could into Frodo’s ear, til urgency had driven them to the Golden Wood.

Oh, he’d seen it all right.

The first night him and Frodo had spent away from the Company, Frodo’d told him of Aragorn resisting the Ring. Frodo had wept then, Sam holding him, he remembered Frodo’s teary words, “Not all Men are alike, Sam, and I now know that Aragorn is a King among men. Poor Boromir..”. His voice had faded to muffled sobs. They had made love that night amongst the rocks, urgent, grasping….terrified. Holding each other tight, as the wind howled about them……

Aragorn was lying on his back as Frodo entered , one arm across his chest, the other flung up over his head. He was snoring softly. Frodo shrugged off the shirt and slipped back into the warmth of the bed. Leaning up on one elbow, he regarded Aragorn as he slept. There was something about the tall lean ranger that Frodo had trusted instinctively, despite his cousin’s misgivings

When had he first started to feel like this, though?. When Aragorn grabbed him roughly out of the bar in Bree? Offering his sword and his life to protect Frodo in Rivendell? Seeing Aragorn’s genuine concern for him in Moria? (not to mention the amazed look when the mithril shirt was revealed)?. When Aragorn gently held him on those stony slopes after Gandalf’s fall.

Frodo knew when the feeling had deepened, however. It was when Aragorn had resisted up on Amon Hen, tears in his eyes, closing Frodo’s hand over the Ring, he smiled as he mused, carefully reaching over and removing a strand of hair from the corner of Aragorn’s mouth, he stroked the hair into place. His arm crept around Aragorn’s chest, he kissed him severally around the shoulders and chest, but getting no response other than a grunt, he smiled, and, giving up for the time being, curled up and once again slept.

A loud knock awoke them suddenly. “Lord Aragorn?”, a woman’s voice. “One moment, madam”, he scrambled out of bed, searching for clothing, “I will be with you presently, I am just attending our patient”. He grinned at Frodo as he slipped his shirt over his head, hopping into his breeches, and, sitting on the bed and turning, drew Frodo toward him in a swift embrace. He gently held the hobbit slightly away from him, and looked at him carefully. “You actually look so much better this morning. The colour is returning to your face, and some sparkle is in your eyes”. “And you are surprised by this, after last night ?”, queried Frodo, in a low voice, coyly looking up under his lashes, a small smile playing with a corner of his mouth.

Aragorn pulled Frodo toward him slowly, sliding one arm around the hobbit, and tilting Frodo’s face up with the other hand. Frodo’s eyes closed, his mouth opened slightly, a tiny sigh escaped. Aragorn regarded him for a split second before covering Frodo’s lips with his own. “Mmm, Frodo”, he breathed. He felt Frodo’s lips opening wider beneath his, a small tongue darting out. They kissed, long and deep, twining tongues and moans, soft murmurs and sweet breaths. Aragorn separated them, his breathing a little ragged. “Does that answer you, Master Holbytla?”, he grinned. Frodo, in reply simply laughed softly.

“I must go for a while”, said Aragorn, standing and straightening his shirt, “I have other patients than yourself, little one, and I must see to them”. “I would also like to move you and Sam to my own dwelling. I can keep an eye on you both. I will dress your hand for you though before I go”. At that, Aragorn rose and left the room. He returned a few moments later with fresh dressings, salve and a bowl of warm water and cloths. He carefully unwrapped the bandages, noticing Frodo’s wince as he pulled it away. He bathed, poulticed and re-wrapped the small hand. “There, that should do you for today. I am having better rooms made up for you this afternoon, and, if you are up to it, then the others are all longing to see you. There is also a big feast this evening to be held in our honour, if you have the strength” . Frodo thought a moment, ”I would very much like to see the others again, I have missed everyone so badly. As to the feast, I still seem to tire easily, and become overly emotional, so facing large numbers of people may be too much of an ordeal, but I shall rest as much as I can today, and I will see”.

Aragorn leaned over the bed and kissed Frodo on the forehead, “Rest now, little one. Breakfast is on it’s way. Try to eat and build up your strength, and I will see you in a short while”. He left the room. Frodo lay back against the pillows. He licked his top lip. He could still taste Aragorn there. The memory of the last kiss burned his mind. He could feel himself harden, his eyes closing as his good hand reached down.

Just then, a light tap on the door, “ Frodo”, Sam’s voice, “I’ve got you some breakfast”. Frodo groaned, “Hang on Sam”, he groped for his nightshirt, thought better of it, and simply pulled the bedclothes back over himself. “All right, Sam”, he called.
Sam entered bearing a tray stacked with all manner of morning time victuals. “I dunno what you fancied Frodo, so I asked fer a bit of everythin’ “. Frodo hadn’t paid much mind to food, but since it was right in front of him, he realised he was ravenous. “Gosh, Sam, I’ll never eat all this, but I’ll try if you help me”, he smiled at this dear friend. Sam put the tray down carefully, “Now, what d’you fancy for starters?”. “O I think some of this fruit, a little porridge, and perhaps a slice of toast. What’s in the pot, Sam, tea?”.

They tucked in with as much gusto as only two hobbits can muster, and Sam, secretly observing Frodo, was delighted to see him enjoying food again, They talked of this and that as they ate. “Aragorn wants to move us to better rooms, Sam, and says that the others wish to see us. I for one cannot wait. I believe we are to move this afternoon. There is a feast tonight, but I’m not sure I can face it just yet”, he sighed, “Oh Sam, so many people will want to hear our tales, and I am still somewhat tired”. “Don’t you worry Frodo, I won’t let anyone tire you over much. Let’s just see how you feel. How’s your ‘and doin’ ?” “Actually, still quite sore, but I’m getting better”, Frodo smiled.

He extended his good hand and brushed a stray curl from Sam’s cheek, “All thanks to you my Sam”, he cupped the hand under Sam’s chin, and gently brushed away a toast crumb from Sam’s mouth with his thumb. He drew Sam towards him, and kissed him full on the mouth. Sam resisted momentarily, then let his mouth relax. He hesitantly replied to Frodo’s insistent tongue, a small moan escaping. “Frodo”, he whispered, drawing away slightly, “Should we be doin’ this, I mean….?”. In reply Frodo lifted the breakfast tray, depositing it on the floor next to the bed, and patted the space next to him.

Sam moved slowly up the bed and leaned heavily against the headboard, closing his eyes. Frodo observed his friend closely. There were new lines etched into his face, a permanent frown line had appeared between his brows. As he watched, Frodo noticed tears emerging from under Sam’s sandy lashes. “Sam, oh my Sam”, he exclaimed, and gathered his friend to him, wrapping both arms about him. As Sam wept quietly in Frodo’s arms, Frodo once again cursed the wretched Ring and all the sorrow it had wrought.

Sam’s sobs eventually eased to shudders and shaking shoulders. He raised his tear-streaked face and looked at Frodo, “Isn’t nothin’ gonna be the same again, is it Frodo?”, he sniffled, “it’ll all change. Will I never see things in the same way again?”. “Likely not”, said Frodo softly, wiping at Sam’s face with his fingers. “They don’t tell of this in the songs, Sam. The battle is fought, the battle is won, and all go home to things exactly as they were before”. Frodo sighed wearily. “It’s not that the songs lie exactly”, he said in a low voice, “more that they only tell of the heroic stuff and not the anguish”. He absently stroked Sam’s hair, both hobbits were relaxed and thoughtful.

Aragorn knocked softly, and, getting no reply, opened Frodo’s door. At a glance he took in the two hobbits, Sam in Frodo’s arms, both asleep leaning against the headboard of the bed, the breakfast tray on the floor with nothing but crumbs and dirty plates and smiled, loth to disturb them, but their new rooms had been made ready, and now that his patients were out of physical danger, then these treatment rooms were needed for other casualties of the war.

He shook Frodo’s shoulder gently, “Frodo, Sam, Wake up. We need to move you now”. The hobbits stirred and opened their eyes. Aragorn smiled down at them, ”I am having you moved to the my quarters. The rooms are larger and much more comfortable, and as both of you are much improved, I’m sure you long to see your other friends again. Unfortunately I cannot allow visitors into the Houses, as I fear infection to battle injuries. But once you have settled, I will order a light lunch to be brought, and afterwards, if you are strong enough, you may see people as you wish”. Frodo asked, ”Where are our clothes, I need to dress?”. “It will be easier if we just move you like this”. Whereupon Aragorn reached down for Frodo, swiftly wrapping him in the sheet, and lifting him into his arms. “Aragorn”, Frodo protested, “I have the use of my legs!!”. “Yes, Master Hobbit, but you are still my patient, and I do not wish for either of you to over-tax yourselves”. His tone brooked no resistance , and Frodo, struggling slightly, released his arms from the sheet wound about him, and wrapped them around Aragorn’s neck. Aragorn called over his shoulder, “Sam, I will be back for you presently”, and holding Frodo close to his chest, he strode from the room.

Jogging gently against Aragorn, Frodo was carried out into chill sunlight, then back inside, climbing many stairs, until Aragorn nudged open a door with his hip, and exclaimed, “Here we are Frodo, what do you make of this?”. They were in a large cream-coloured room with tall windows, and a low wooden bed, at a perfect height for hobbits. Aragorn strode over to the bed, and, sitting, laid his charge slowly down. “This suite of rooms is adjacent to my own. I’ll put Sam in the room next door, and there is a bathroom between the two There is plenty of space here for two hobbits”.

Frodo’s arms were still about his neck. Aragorn felt an almost imperceptible pull, as Frodo’s face raised towards his. Aragorn’s arms once again tightened around Frodo as they kissed. The kiss became deeper, Aragorn’s breath coming hard and fast, his mouth opening wider. His body reflexively curled around Frodo, his hands moving over the smaller body. Frodo pulled away sharply, “No!, Aragorn”, he cried, “You need to bring Sam. I know you have things yet to do”, his breathing ragged. “Oh Frodo, you are right, but….but”, his voice lowered and growled slightly, ”Know this….Frodo…..I could eat you alive, and… sometime in the not too distant future….I intend to”. Frodo gasped and bit his lower lip, moving his head around until he could lick and nibble Aragorn’s earlobe, “I look forward to that day, with all that is in me”, he whispered.

At that, the man somewhat overcome, pulled them apart, one arm still about Frodo, the other scrubbing his face in an attempt to calm his ragged breath, “Oh Frodo”, he mumbled through his fingers, “You will be the undoing of me”. He dared a sidelong look at the hobbit’s face, Frodo wore a slight smile, the tip of his tongue at the corner of his mouth, his eyes dancing with desire and ….mirth?
“Frodo Baggins”, he said, a little sharp, “Are you making fun of me, does my discomfiture amuse you?”, retracting his other arm, and narrowing his eyes. At that Frodo could take no more and began to chuckle.
“Oh Aragorn, you should see your face, you are a picture and no mistake. Now, you’d better get Sam before he thinks the worst. And, by the way, was lunch not mentioned a short while ago?”, he said, grinning.

His voice dropped a tone or two, “Sam’s old Gaffer always said if a thing’s worth having, then it’s worth waiting for”. He leaned over and kissed Aragorn’s cheek, “Now go”. “Oh, and perhaps I could do with something to wear. Being dressed in nought but a sheet may be appealing to some…”, he let his voice trail away.

When Aragorn once more had possession of himself, he rose and going to a nearby closet, rummaged around for a while cursing softly, “Ah, here it is”, and pulled out a small nightshirt throwing it to Frodo
“It is sized for a lad”. Frodo had a little difficulty with the injured arm, but got the thing over his head. He modestly lowered the shirt before unwrapping himself from the sheet. He got into bed. Aragorn looked at him closely, he still seemed tired and somewhat drawn. “I think lunch sounds like an excellent idea, you and Sam rest up a bit, then see the others this afternoon, and then see how you feel about tonight”. With that he left.

Frodo lay back on the pillow thinking about Aragorn, and the passions of Men. They seemed to burn like fire being stoked by a bellows. Crackling , hot, sparks flying everywhere, consuming all with heat and flame. Hobbits, however, were like a well-banked grate, flickering and glowing, white heat at the core, and no dangerous sparks up the chimney!. He smiled inside and shivered slightly at the thought.

He must have dozed, as he started when he heard voices. He raised himself onto his elbows, and sat up, becoming aware of a delicious aroma. A light tap, and his door opened. A man in a white apron entered bearing a tray of victuals, followed closely by Aragorn and Sam, now wrapped in a dressing gown. The tray was placed at a low table and two short stools drawn up to it. The man bowed and exited.
“Here we are, eat now, then rest, for I cannot hold back those other two hobbits for much longer”, Aragorn laughed and left them to their meal.

After a hearty repast of thick soup, crusty bread, sliced roast meats, creamy mashed potatoes with strawberries to finish, both hobbits sat back stuffed to the gunwales. Sam reached into his dressing gown and produced two small pipes and a bag of pipe-weed with a flourish. “Ah ha!!”, he said, “Look what I got ‘ere then”. “Sam, you are a marvel”. They filled up their pipes and smoked for a while in companionable silence.

Sam spoke first, “So what is ‘appening with you and Aragorn, beggin’ your pardon askin’ like, but I was just wonderin’?”. “I’m not sure, Sam. He will keep his promise to the lady Arwen and I will go home. I do miss the Shire, and I do want to go home, but…at this very moment, I just do not know. Sam, does this bother you, I’m sorry, it’s just…”.

”Frodo”, Sam’s expression was serious, but a tiny smile turned up a lip, “You’ve earned this, both o’ yer. I’ve sort of known this might ‘appen for a while, beggin’ your pardon, sort of since Moria, if you don’t mind my sayin’”.

Frodo stared into the distance with a slight smile. “For now, though, I am in need of a nap, and I greatly wish to see the others later”. Sam stood up and leaned over Frodo, kissing him, “Then I’ll see you shortly, Frodo, sleep well”. He left, staggering slightly under the weight of the tray. Frodo lay on his back, staring at the ceiling , willing his thoughts to still. But despite himself, he felt his lashes droop, and he was soon asleep.

When his eyes first opened, he was only aware of a great white light. The late afternoon sun shone directly through his open window. He gradually realised that someone was seated at the foot of the bed. Looking very different from when they had last seen each other, but there was no mistaking that face, the smile, the twinkling eyes, Frodo gasped and blinked,
“Gandalf”…….

Gandalf meant to say or ask so many things, but when he saw Frodo awakening, after…. well…. everything, then all he could do was look at Frodo and laugh. A deep sonorous laugh, to which was in short order added a high clear hobbit laugh. Frodo’s doorhandle rattled, the door pushing open, and all of a burst, Pippin and Merry exploded into the room, seeing their cousin, took flying leaps up on to his bed, arms outstretched, gathering Frodo to them in hugs and kisses. Frodo realised, amidst his kinsmen’s excitement, that there were many tales to be told, many adventures alongside his own. Eventually, the whole tale would be told, but many stories would have to knit together first.

Gimli appeared at his door, roaring with his own triumphs, Legolas came next, coolly smiling. He had known of old of the tales foretold of Gandalf and the Balrog, and had, wrongly, remained silent on the stony slopes of the Dimrill Dale outside of Moria. He alone had known of Gandalf’s rebirth before it occurred, but would anyone have credited the vision?. It did seem a little fantastic.

Next came Aragorn. Frodo’s breath caught in his throat. Aragorn had bathed and dressed in a fine velvet coat over slender breeches. His hair was combed, his beard trimmed. Frodo could just breathe. “Aragorn”, he mouthed. They all looked on pleased and amused, particularly as Merry decided to demonstrate a particularly vivid bit of his tale by flinging himself sideways onto Frodo’s bed. Then
Sam appeared, looking sleepy and wonderful in the doorway. Frodo wanted to tear himself from his cousins and embrace his dear friend. For now, they made do with a long searching look.

Frodo knew that he was not the only one to have suffered and lost in all of this. He knew, in that instant, that every one of the people in that room had somehow helped him carry his burden, not actually bearing the Ring, but, each one had faced his own bitter trial. His heart grew heavy, he could feel the pricking of tears, he laid his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

Frodo allowed the voices around him to fade to a pleasing blur. Aragorn was the first to notice. He whispered to Gandalf, “I think my patient grows tired”. As if he had heard, Frodo said, “I am a little tired. The Ring may be in the fire, but it’s weight presses yet against me. I do not think that I am ready to face a feast. A simple supper here will more than suffice. Please convey my regrets”.
Aragorn needed no further spur. He gently rounded up the unruly hobbits, a dedicated dwarf, an unapologetic elf, and a recalcitrant wizard and bundled them from the room. “There will be time for more merriment, do not feel that it is wrong not to join in right away. You have to heal, little one”, Aragorn went back to the bed. His grey eyes scanning Frodo’s face, he could see the pain etched there, despite the hobbit’s efforts to be cheerful.

“Frodo, I want to re-bind your hand, then I must at least put in an appearance at tonight’s festivities. Duty calls, and the men will expect it”.

Frodo smiled sadly, as he looked into Aragorn’s eyes, “Aragorn, your life too will be different from now on. You will be King. Many people need you to guide and rule them, to heal your country and it’s hurts. In many ways I am lucky. I can just go home and be queer old Baggins, just as mad as my old uncle. I can drink in the Green Dragon, and wander the Shire once more looking for mushrooms. Here I am being waited on by a King, no less, while you have had barely any rest, and are to assume your new role as soon as can be arranged”.

“Do not pity me, Frodo. I have made my choices”. Frodo’s eyes widened, “No, no”, he stammered quickly, “You have not my pity. I would not presume to such a thing. But I do not envy you…I…I…”, his face crumpled, tears welling and falling, he drew his knees up under his chin, wrapped his arms about them, and sank his head down, weeping.

Aragorn sat down, silently folding the hobbit into his arms, his cheek resting on Frodo’s hair. His throat closed and, in spite of himself, tears came unbidden, they lay and wept quietly together.

Aragorn withdrew an arm and wiped the tears away with his knuckles, scrubbing at his eyes. He stroked Frodo’s hair and face as his cries stilled and his shoulders ceased to shake. When Frodo spoke, his voice was small and wavery, ”Aragorn?”, “Yes”, they moved a little so they could regard each other, “you bring such warmth and comfort with you. If it is not to impudent a thing to suggest”, here Frodo managed a watery smile, ”You are going to make a King such as has never been dreamed of in the songs and tales”, he hugged Aragorn hard to him, “And when I do finally go home…. I am going to miss that warmth so much”. He buried his face in Aragorn’s chest, taking a deep breath, drinking in the scent of the man. Aragorn’s hand lazily rubbed Frodo’s back. “I will miss you too, Frodo. Ah, if only we had met in different times. Who knows. Maybe we could have gone mushrooming together”, his voice assumed a dreamier tone, “I would find you very distracting, though, in those fields of tall corn” .

“Aragorn!!”. Frodo pretended to be shocked. “We would be a sight for sore eyes running from Farmer Maggot’s dogs with our breeches around our ankles”, he smiled shakily into Aragorn’s eyes.
“Frodo!”, it was Aragorn’s turn to feign shock, although the image he conjured brought a smile to Aragorn’s lips, not to mention a tightness to said breeches!

They regarded each other for a long moment. Their heads moved together, they kissed, soft, undemanding, full of affection.
Aragorn stood and stretched his back. Frodo saw weariness etched into every line of the man’s body, his tiredness plain to see. “Aragorn, do not over tax yourself at tonight’s feast. You need rest, just as I do. It would delight me to hold you again….as last night….when you are done…”. “Aragorn smiled widely, “Nothing would please me more, in fact, if I didn’t have to do this thing, then I would stretch out beside you right this moment, and, however devious your, erm, distractions, could sleep for a moon!”.

“I will not be gone long. I only have to take care of formalities, then I will return”. Just then, a light tap on the door. Aragorn strode over and opened it, leaving as Sam entered. “Frodo, were you thinkin’ of goin’ down for a spot of feastin’?”. “I don’t think so Sam, maybe another time, but I am not ready to be with large numbers of people as yet”. Sam looked a little crestfallen. “Sam, please, go if it what you wish. I will be provided with supper. I am well cared for…please Sam, do not stay on my account. In fact I wish to hear every detail from you, come the morning”, Frodo laughed.

Sam leaned over and kissed Frodo, “Will you be all right ‘ere on your own. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay, for I will, if you wish it”. “I know you would, Sam, and I don’t wish it. I want all the news, Sam, but I’m just not up to facing crowds yet. You be my messenger, and have some fun. You have worked harder than anyone to make sure that wretched Ring went into the fire, and you deserve some merriment”, Frodo smiled at his friend. “Go now, and tell me everything tomorrow”. Sam reluctantly left Frodo’s room.

Frodo mused on Sam. The hobbit was all things to Frodo, but even that was destined to end. Sam would marry his Rosie, Aragorn would marry Arwen, and all these good things would end. Frodo allowed himself a moment of self-pity. All the people dearest to him had a destiny….. What of him….what of him.

He felt bereft. He thought back to Rivendell when Arwen said as he lay feverish from the effects of the Morgul blade. “may the grace that is in me pass to you” He wasn’t sure he understood the gesture yet, but in time he may. For now, though, all he could see in front of him was, at best, curiosity to his trials, at worst, complete indifference, but always alone…alone. Dismally, he recalled the Lady Galadriel’s words in the Golden Wood, “To be a ring-bearer is to be alone”, With a small sigh, he once more allowed the tears to fall.

With a start, he realised Aragorn had entered. The tall, strong man, he realised, was incapable of doing anything about this inner turmoil that he experienced. With a sigh, he knew, that this was his pain, and his alone, it could be eased, but not assuaged. Not yet…..

He passively allowed Aragorn to tend to his wounds, leaning back against the head of the bed, wincing softly as the dressings were changed. Aragorn, ministering to his patient, became concerned at Frodo’s apathy. “Frodo”, he murmured, “What really ails you”, there was hesitation in his voice, “my love”, he breathed in barely a whisper. He surprised himself by that last utterance, but let out a long breath, closing his eyes. Whatever would come, would come… maybe.

Aragorn gathered up the dressing materials and rose, “Frodo”, his face was full of concern, “You will be all right here on your own ?”. In truth he was more worried than he let on. Had Sam rescued Frodo from the fire, only to lose him slowly to inner torment, possibly madness. Gandalf and he had questioned Sam closely as to the relationship they had had with Gollum. Frodo had believed in the redemptive power of kindness. Had even taken to calling Gollum, Smeagol, in the hope that Gollum would somehow, “come back”, only to be betrayed. He raised Frodo’s tear-stained face, and looked down at him, his expression unreadable. “If you need me, just call, and I have left instructions that I am to be fetched. Some supper will be brought to you presently. Try to rest”. Leaning down he kissed Frodo quickly, “You know, Frodo, you are in all our hearts. Come back to us, for you are dear to us all”.

After Aragorn left, Frodo’s mood began to pass. He realised that these waves of desolation would keep washing over him. Could he handle them? Would he go mad? Would the pain lessen?. He dried his face on a corner of the sheet, just as supper arrived. He wasn’t feeling hungry, but casting his eyes over the tray, he felt his stomach rumble. “My mind does not wish for food, but the body never lies”, he smiled grimly, lifting the lid of the first dish. Lamb chops. He found himself attacking supper with more energy than he realised he had. Whatever else could be said about Minas Tirith, the food was excellent. He uncovered a jug, and sniffed. Mead. He poured some and drank. This was no ordinary wine. This was something special. It had an almost immediate effect and he felt his heart begin to lift again. He smiled, maybe he wasn’t going mad after all. Maybe he just needed a supply of this delicious wine. He poured another. Maybe he was becoming just a wee bit tipsy.

A light tap on the door, and the manservant entered, “Has Sir finished with supper, perhaps I could take the tray?”. “Thank you, the food was delicious. As for this wine…”. “Ah, sir. That was sent up at Lord Aragorn’s request. I believe it is a blend of old Tokay, with the Elves draught, Miruvor”. He picked up the tray, “perhaps, sir, you would like a fire, or I could draw you a hot bath, the nights in these parts are chilly at this time of year”. What a capital idea, thought Frodo. “A bath would be a delight. I thank you”. The man left with the remains of supper, after Frodo had retained the wine jug, and he could soon hear the sound of running water. The man re-entered, “I think I will light you a fire too”, he said making for the hearth, and, kneeling, busied himself with kindling and tinder.

Frodo watched the man for a moment. “What is your name?,” he asked. “Andir, sir”. The man sat back on his heels and turned to Frodo. “I have served the stewards all my life. My brother Anborn serves with Lord Faramir in Ithilien”. Frodo said, his voice low, “I am grieved to hear of the death of Lord Denethor. It must have been hard for all”.
Andir sighed, “Lord Denethor’s mind had been turning for many years, sir, towards the end, he would issue strange orders at all times of day and night. He seemed to wear a cloak of despair about him, and when he learned of the death of Boromir, he finally became unhinged”. Pippin had briefly told the tale of Denethor’s end. “It is good for Gondor to have her King restored”, Andir continued, getting a healthy little blaze going. “Maybe…”, he mused softly, gazing into the flames, “Gondor may once again be great…”. He sniffed loudly and coughed. Rising to his feet, he mumbled, “Must tend to the bath, sir, I will be but a moment”.

Frodo was thoughtful as Andir left. There seemed to be so much to be done. Aragorn would have his work cut out to heal the ills of his country. Frodo smiled wanly, he supposed the idea of himself and Aragorn mushrooming together was to be no more than a dream, and the notion grew in his mind, that when he left here, it was doubtful he would see Aragorn again. A busy King had no time for idle travel beyond his borders, and Frodo knew that once he was home, he was unlikely to venture far again. He sighed deeply. Andir re-appeared, “Your bath is ready, sir, you may just need to add a little cold water”. “thank you Andir, and it’s Frodo, please…”. Andir smiled, “Will there be anything else, s-Frodo”, he stammered. “No, thank you kindly, I am deeply in your debt for the consideration you already show me”. Frodo smiled. “Goodnight Andir”. The man left. He’d never even heard of Hobbits til two nights ago, and he was beginning to see them as people he could very much come to admire.

As the door closed, Frodo poured himself another cup of wine, threw a couple of faggots onto the fire, and went into the steamy bathroom. He set the cup down carefully on the edge of the bath, and pulled his nightshirt off over his head. He swished a hand through the water. Perfect. Andir had thoughtfully provided a small step up to the bath, and Frodo climbed in. Aaaahhhh! that felt good. He sank beneath the water, and emerged spluttering and laughing, shaking his hair. He washed and scrubbed, taking generous swigs of wine, and humming snatches of Bilbo’s bath songs. He rinsed and lay back to soak. Between the heat of the water and the heady effects of the wine, Frodo felt himself becoming aroused. He closed his eyes. He thought of Aragorn kissing him, Aragorn’s hands on his body, his mouth, his cock. Frodo began to encircle, massage, tug at his erection. His strokes quickening, his breath high and panting, an image flashed through his mind of Aragorn taking his cock into his mouth, when, his back arching, he came into the water.

He relaxed, letting out a long breath. His cheeks were flushed, his curls were damp on his face, his lips parted in a slight smile, his hand still loosely held his cock. He drifted off to sleep
That was how Aragorn found him about two hours later.

The feast was in full swing. Much food and drink had been consumed. Musicians sang and played. There was dancing, a real feeling of hope and celebration amidst the ruin. In a corner Merry and Pippin were regaling a group of Gondorian soldiers with tales of Fangorn and Treebeard, of Isengard and Saruman. The men were agog.
Sam was sitting with Faramir, telling of Shelob. The ranger’s eyes were wide with horror.
Gimli was engaged in a drinking contest with the guards of the White Tree.
Gandalf was disporting himself, dancing with several of the prettier girls.
Aragorn surveyed the scene and smiled widely, his pipe between his teeth. Soon, the real work would have to begin, but for tonight…tonight…, his thoughts strayed to Frodo.

Earlier in the evening Sam had taken Aragorn to one side. The hobbit had been partaking of the particularly fine ale and his voice was a little slurred. But it was his words that nearly unhinged Aragorn, ”If you want Frodo on yer side, so to speak, pay attention to ‘is ‘ands and his toes. ‘e’ll melt like butter on ‘ot toast, if you don’t mind my sayin’. Whereupon he belched lasciviously and lurched into the crowd.

“Aragorn”, a low voice at his side snapped him out of his reverie. He turned, “Legolas, my old friend”, he patted the bench beside him, “come, sit by me”. Legolas sat. “I could see you were not in this room in your mind”. Legolas regarded his friend with a level gaze. “In fact I would go so far as to suggest that your thoughts are directed to a room close to your own, am I correct?”. Aragorn smiled and looked a little sheepish. He could feel a flush creeping over his neck. Legolas spared his blushes by casting his eye over the room. “You know, if you were to slip out now, your absence would not be noticed, I can see to things here for you”. He turned again to look Aragorn in the eye, an enigmatic smile pulling up his mouth at one corner. “Go, go to him”, his smile widened, “I mean go and see to your patient”. Aragorn rose, “I think I will”, he smiled down at Legolas, ”Thank you”. He clapped Legolas on the shoulder, and slipped quickly from the hall. Gandalf saw Aragorn leave and puzzled. Sam saw him leave and smiled. “Take care of ‘im,” he thought, “don’t hurt ’im”,.

He gazed intently at the sleeping Frodo. His breath caught in his throat. Tears rose unbidden to his eyes, and yet he smiled at the sheer beauty laid before him. The creamy colour of the skin. The dark lashes against the cheek. The little blue vein running over a hip. For a moment, he was quite overcome, but, getting a hold on himself, he forced his breath to slow. He looked around for a towel, and came to sit on the edge of the bath. He felt the water, almost cold. He noticed Frodo’s hand slack around his member, the half empty wine cup. Maybe he would not want…. Maybe he should just put the hobbit to bed and retire himself. As if Frodo could hear his thoughts, his eyes flew open. “Aragorn”, he said and sat up shivering, “Should you not be at the feast?”. “They will all get on quite well without me now, I have left Legolas taking care of things for me”. He stood and held the corners of the towel open against him, “And you should get out of that water, it is no longer warm”, gently, “come, stand up”. Frodo stood slowly, his gaze locked to Aragorn’s. Aragorn stepped forward and wrapped the towel around the still shivering hobbit, rubbing his back vigorously through the cloth.

He lifted Frodo against his chest and carried him into the bedroom, laying him before the fire. “Sit here and dry awhile. Your bandage is wet and I must re-bind your hand”. Aragorn left and returned quickly.
He re-bound Frodo’s finger, his hands trembling slightly, Sam’s words returning to him. He tied off the bandage. He looked at the small hand in his, the nails bitten to the quick, the scratches beginning to heal, and turned it over. He bent his head and kissed Frodo’s palm. He let the tip of his tongue flick the crevasses between the fingers, and heard a moan. Encouraged, he slipped the middle finger into his mouth and sucked it slowly, in and out, did the same to the others. He glanced up, Frodo’s head was thrown back, his eyes closed, his chest heaving. Moving over Frodo’s chest, his mouth next came to rest on his throat, taking tiny bites and sucks, now along the earlobe, the chin, a gentle but firm bite on that soft bottom lip, and his mouth covered Frodo’s.

As his own lips opened, Frodo’s arms went about Aragorn’s neck, burying a hand in his hair, pulling the man toward him. His tongue flicked out, licking the insides of Aragorn’s lips, quickly over the teeth, and deeper, searching. Aragorn groaned, his tongue tasting Frodo’s. One hand went around Frodo’s shoulders, the other began pulling at the towel. Frodo pulled away from the kiss, and shook his head. His arms slid down over Aragorn,s chest. His fingers began unbuttoning Aragorn’s tunic. His movements were a little awkward due to his bad hand. Aragorn reached up a hand to assist, only to be gently swatted away.

“Turn around”, Frodo quietly commanded, and tugged the sleeves from Aragorn’s arms. He threw the garment to one side. He placed his hands on the man’s shoulders and turned him around. “Now for the shirt”. He grinned wickedly. “You men! You love your buttons and laces”. As Frodo fumbled with the ties at the neck of Aragorn’s shirt, he felt the man’s hand close over his, stopping his actions. He looked up with concern into Aragorn’s face. The man’s voice was halting, “Frodo, I have never allowed myself to be undressed by another. I don’t know…”. Frodo laid his fingers over Aragorn’s mouth, “Ssshhh, raise your arms”, and deftly removed Aragorn’s shirt. Throwing the shirt onto the tunic, Frodo pushed Aragorn down til the man was stretched upon the rug. Moving to his feet, Frodo pulled off first one boot, then the other. He allowed himself a good long look up and down that tall lean body. Aragorn squirmed a little under the scrutiny. This had never happened to him before. Frodo’s hand fluttered lightly up and down Aragorn’s chest, stopping briefly at each nipple, just til it was erect, then passing on.

Then, kissing and nibbling, even biting, along Aragorn’s chest and stomach, he gripped the laces of Aragorn’s leggings between his teeth. He looked up with a small feral smile, and pulled one lace then the other. He could see Aragorn’s cock straining at the fabric. He loosened the laces, and, looking into Aragorn’s eyes all the while, placed a hand on each of Aragorn’s hips, said ”Lift up”, and peeled the leggings away.

He gasped at Aragorn’s size. His feet and hands misled!. Frodo realised this was another difference between hobbits and men. His smile broadened. Oh my, he thought, how can I accommodate this. ”I will find a way”, he murmured mysteriously, as he removed Aragorn’s breeches over each foot.

His mouth was dry as he regarded Aragorn in all his …all his….loveliness. A strong chest, a light scattering of hair, taut stomach, long legs. There were scars, but these just attested to the man’s bravery, the role he had played.

Aragorn’s voice interrupted Frodo’s musings, ”Have you seen all you want to, little one, will you let me see you”.
“I suspect I will never see enough of you Aragorn, but yes, you may see all you wish”. With that, he divested himself of his towel. Looking hard into Aragorn’s eyes, he whispered, “Do you like what you see?”.

“So much. Let me touch you, let me taste you”, Aragorn clutched Frodo to him, mumbling into his hair. He lifted Frodo’s face to his, “Frodo, I want you ”. His mouth pressed onto Frodo’s . Frodo’s reply was lost in the heat. Frodo nipped hard at Aragorn’s lips and tongue, causing the man to draw sharp breaths. “I want you too…. Strider, and I mean to have you”. Aragorn drew back a little, his face red, a light sheen of sweat on his brow. The hobbit’s seductive voice was starting to turn him on beyond reason. “You will, will you, so what, pray, do you make of this?”. Aragorn’s mouth started to lick and suck, along his jaw, back over the throat, over chest and stomach, reluctantly bypassing Frodo’s cock. Along his thighs, knees, calves, ankles, down to his softly furred feet. “A little bird whispered into my ear, that you find this…..interesting”. Aragorn took a clean toe into his mouth and sucked hard. Frodo’s mouth widened, his eyes closed, he gasped, a hand clutching Aragorn’s hair. “Please… yes. Aragorn” He writhed. Aragorn stroked the instep and kissed it, brushing the curls with his lips, now kissing and sucking each toe in turn, and licking the delicate skin between them. Frodo’s hands balled into fists, gripping the rug.

His amazement knew no bounds. Where once he had bethought hobbits gluttons, now he knew them, they were sensualists. Frodo’s small mews and cries of delight spurred him on, his desire mounting.

“Please… Aragorn…Stop…,”Frodo gasped, “I ….cannot…. last…. while you do this”. Aragorn paused, peering into Frodo’s face. Raw desire was writ large. “I want you now, Aragorn”, he panted.
Aragorn gently laid Frodo’s foot in his lap, as he regarded the hobbit. They each held the other’s gaze, need making their stare burn, their lips parted.
Aragorn felt something take hold of his cock. He started, and looked down. Frodo’s dexterous toes gently wrapped round half the shaft and began to move. He placed his other foot across Aragorn’s thigh, and turning it on to it’s side, let his toes complete the circle around Aragorn’s cock, gripping gently, and moving up and down. Aragorn smiled widely, closing his eyes and giving in to the sensations.

He was fully hard now. He lifted Frodo’s feet and placed them on the ground. He crawled alongside Frodo and lay down, pulling the hobbit toward him. They kissed, long, deep, urgent. Aragorn’s hand ran down Frodo’s back and clamped a buttock. Frodo flung his leg over Aragorn’s waist and pulled the man yet closer. He could feel Aragorn’s cock against his inner thigh, his own pressing into Aragorn’s belly, he moaned into the man’s mouth

The mood was broken by a knock at the door. Aragorn and Frodo froze, looks of alarm replacing lust. “Frodo”, it was Sam. “Not…not now Sam”, Frodo called back. Sam’s voice slurring a bit replied, “I just thought you might be needin’ a bit o’ this. I’ll leave it outside your door ‘ere, and bid you goodnight” , he hiccuped and padded away.

They looked at each other, puzzled, then light dawned in Frodo’s face. He disentangled himself from Aragorn’s arms, kissed his nose, stood, and pattered over to the door. Opening it quietly, he peered out to each side, no-one about. He opened it wider, an arm snaking out, hand feeling the floor. His fingers closed around a small cold metal tin. He smiled, and closed the door. “Bless you Sam, you are amazing”. Aragorn raised onto one elbow, “What… “, he began. “We can have some real fun now,” Frodo giggled.

He detoured to the bed removing the pillows, and came back before the fire. Laying the pillows down, he knelt, their thighs touching, and held the tin up. “This, Aragorn, is the one and only object that went to Mordor AND back. This is more precious than the Ring”. He unscrewed the lid carefully. A pot of cream, a dull gold colour, the most exquisite scent wafting from it. Aragorn looked, frankly, baffled. Frodo laid his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder, and pressed gently, “Lie down”, he murmured, passing the man a pillow for his head, “and relax. Sam makes this stuff himself, it’s a cream that turns to oil on contact with skin, and it is incredible”

He parted Aragorn’s legs, there was the faintest resistance, he knelt between them. Frodo smiled, wondering. He scooped a little of the cream into his hand, warming it between his palms, until he felt it liquify, then leaning over Aragorn’s cock he drizzled a thin line along his length, dripping a little over his balls, his thighs. Laying his hands flat, Frodo began to massage the oil into Aragorn’s legs, kissing and sucking as he went. He ran his hands over Aragorn’s hips, and felt Aragorn draw a sharp breath. A deep heat was flooding his body, where Frodo’s hands had been. This was truly wondrous, “What is in this Frodo?”. “I know not. It is edible, and mainly used to spice food. But I suspect that almost as much is used this way”, he grinned.

He took Aragorn’s cock in both hands, and using his thumbs, massaged the oil in little circles, slowly easing the foreskin back as the tip emerged. Aragorn hardened. Frodo felt a deep shudder run through the man beneath him, he looked up. Aragorn’s head was thrown back into the pillow, his eyes closed tight. Frodo paused a moment, Aragorn raised his head, “What is it, little one”

Frodo grinned, “I want you to watch….watch all that I am doing to you”. Aragorn nodded slightly, and bunched the pillow to increase his view. Frodo dipped a finger into the pot again, and looking into Aragorn’s eyes, ran the tip around his lips, and sucked the finger into his mouth. He lowered his head, and raised Aragorn’s cock to his lips, “Keep watching”, he murmured, he took Aragorn’s cock between his lips, and swirled his tongue about the tip. The feeling was so intense, Aragorn cried aloud, felt his hips push upward, “Gods! Frodo!, I’ll not last another minute like this, I swear…I want….”. “Hush, now, I don’t want you to come yet”. He retreated a little, licking a pearly drop of come as he did so, running his tongue along his upper lip. “Mmm, delicious”. “You tease”, Aragorn growled, grasping for the hobbit.

“Oh, no you don’t”, Frodo twisted just beyond reach, “I’m not done with you yet” Lazily massaging Aragorn’s member with one hand, the other closed around his balls, giving a soft squeeze. His index finger began to probe further back. “Open a little wider”, as his oily finger found the small hole, and pushed a little.

Definite resistance.

Frodo looked up, a bit alarmed. “Are you all right with this Aragorn?”, his brow furrowed with concern. He tried to read Aragorn’s face, was the man, anxious, even a little scared?. Aragorn nodded slowly, “Yes, it’s just… I mean…”. Frodo tilted his head to one side. “Aragorn, you haven’t done it this way before, have you?”. An almost imperceptible shake of the head, “No”, he whispered. Frodo rose to his knees and reached for Aragorn’s face, “Trust me, I will not hurt you. You risked your life for me many times. Let me give you this….please”.

Aragorn looked into Frodo’s eyes, he thought he might drown there, he nodded his assent, Frodo outlined Aragorn’s lips with his thumb, “You will not regret this, I promise”, he said sitting back on his heels. He dipped into the tin again, making both hands good and slippery. He lifted Aragorn’s legs apart, so his feet rested flat, and began to sensually apply oil to cock, balls and arse. Once again, he pushed with a finger, “Take a deep breath, Aragorn, I need to make you ready for me”, Frodo murmured, and slid the finger in. He saw Aragorn’s gut contract, then gradually relax. He slowly pushed the finger in and out, until he could sense that tension was turning to enjoyment. “I’m going to try another one”.

He slowly withdrew the single finger, and pushed two partway in, meeting a little resistance. Aragorn remembered to breathe. “That’s it”, encouraged Frodo, as both fingers slid in up to the hilt just touching a hardness deep inside. Aragorn jumped a bit, sweat broke on his brow, he gasped and panted heavily. “I think I just found your sweet spot”, Frodo smiled, his own cock rising in response to Aragorn’s mounting excitement. Frodo withdrew his fingers, and oiled himself. He felt the familiar warmth creep over him, his cock stiffened. He wanted to plunge himself mercilessly into Aragorn, but entered, slowly to begin with, bit at a time, til he was all the way in.

He glanced up. Aragorn was smiling, his eyes were closed, his cock hard between them. Frodo pushed, Aragorn groaned. He pushed a little harder. “Hold me …Strider…hold me tight”. Aragorn’s arms clutched the hobbit to his belly. Frodo slid a hand between them, grasping Aragorn’s straining cock, and stroking him with a smooth rhythm. He began to move in and out of Aragorn’s oiled heat in time with his hand, watching the play of passion on Aragorn’s face. He could sense Aragorn was close to the edge, he wanted to make the man cry out loud, and increased the intensity and speed of his thrusts.

He felt Aragorn’s hands clutch his buttocks pulling him in deeper, “Harder”, he murmured, “Harder, please… Oh Frodo… don’t stop…don’t…Oh Gods!!….yeeesssss!!”. With a cry, his back arching, his mouth wide, he came in waves into Frodo’s hand. Frodo lost all control, biting his lip , and, clutching Aragorn’s hips, grinding his hot oiled cock into him, he plunged into Aragorn, feeling waves of passion carry him, all reason gone. He gave in with a shout, ”Strider…Strider!”, feeling the waves burst within him, throwing his head back and coming powerfully inside his lover.

For a few moments, all that could be heard was ragged panting. Frodo could feel Aragorn’s heart beating, as he lay his head down, closing his eyes. After a brief rest, he raised up slightly, and withdrew himself from Aragorn. The man winced a little, “Oh, no, I’ve hurt you”, Frodo’s voice was small. Aragorn pulled Frodo up and looked into his eyes. He smiled, “No Frodo, you have just deflowered me. There is always a little pain the first time, is there not?” Frodo looked down, a little abashed, “I suppose so”, he smiled. “Look at me Frodo”, Aragorn’s voice was gentle. Frodo looked up. “That was truly wonderful. Thank you”. Frodo saw tears in Aragorn’s eyes, and pulled the man to him, planting little kisses on his eyelids, his nose, his mouth. “Why the tears, Strider?”, his voice soft. “Because… because you unnerve me, you amaze me, you make me laugh, and you are wonderful, and I want to be with you, and I cannot keep my hands off you, you are in my thoughts, you haunt my dreams and I’m going to miss you so much, I….I…oh what’s the use!!”. He threw his hands in the air and shrugged, looking forlorn. Frodo held his arms open, Aragorn moved into them with a sigh, his head resting on Frodo’s breast. He put his arms around the hobbit, held him tight.

“Strider”, Frodo murmured, “If you were a free agent, I would readily stay with you, but you are not”. Frodo stroked the man’s hair, and kissed the top of his head. “I think we just need to follow Gandalf’s advice, and make the best use of the time we have. I would love to roam the Shire with you, live with you at Bag End…”, his voice drifted off. He felt Aragorn’s weight increase against his shoulder. “Strider, Strider.. don’t fall asleep here”, he shook Aragorn gently. “Mmm, what…?”. “Sorry Frodo, I dozed off”. “Take me to bed, Strider”. He stood, feeling a little wobbly, holding his hand out. Aragorn took it and got to his feet. He looked down. “We’re filthy” surveying his body covered in oil and come. Frodo tugged Aragorn’s hand, laughing. “Come on to bed, and we can bathe in the morning”. Aragorn laughed, picking Frodo up in his arms and carrying him to bed. He laid him down and sat, cringing slightly as he swung his legs round and lay down. “Oh dear, we will have to rub something on that in the morning, or you will not sit on a horse for a while”, Frodo chuckled. “Stop it, you tease”, Frodo could hear the smile in Aragorn’s voice, “The very thought… you imp…I have no more energy tonight Master Baggins”. He yawned. “Now kiss me goodnight….lover”. The kiss was tender…loving. “Good night, sweet Strider”, he turned over, his back curving into Aragorn’s belly and chest. Aragorn laid his cheek in Frodo’s curls, holding the hobbit to him. “Goodnight…my love”, his voice barely a whisper, “Sweet dreams, my little one”. In moments, both slept soundly.

Aragorn awoke first. He gazed in wonderment at the small body clasped in his arms. Memories of the night before flooded his mind. He let out a soft moan, sinking his lips to Frodo’s neck.
Frodo remained asleep. Aragorn felt the press of his bladder. With a regretful sigh, he untangled himself from the sleeping hobbit, and went into the bathroom. As he relieved himself, he could have sworn he heard Sam giggle from the adjoining room. Followed by a throaty laugh. Not a hobbit laugh. Aragorn’s eyebrow raised, and he once again marveled at hobbit sensuality.

How he wished he had got to know the inhabitants of the Shire, he could have shared in their simple tastes for the fine things in life, instead of guarding the Shire from a distance. He grinned, realising, at last, Gandalf’s reasons for his fondness for frequent Shire visits. “Of course, Gandalf and Bilbo. And I thought it was just the pipe-weed”, he chuckled. He had a momentary pang of regret, though, when he remembered, the hobbit he had been particularly assigned to watch over was Frodo, during his 18 years as unwitting custodian of the Ring. If only he had known. If only…..

He went back to bed, wrapping Frodo in his arms again. The hobbit stirred, his eyes half-opening, “Mmm, Strider, I must go…”, he mumbled, tumbling out of bed, staggering into the next room. His stream hit the bowl with a hiss, he too, stood, remembering the previous night. He smiled, shivering slightly. On the edge of his hearing, he heard a low moan, a caught breath, a murmured, “Oh Sam, yesss, like that”. Frodo could not place the voice, he knew he recognised it from somewhere. But he was pleased that Sam was not alone.

He had woken up a bit. Looking down at himself, still smeared with the residue of the previous night, he thought, “Hmm, I need to bathe”. He was stepping over to the bath on the cold tiles, when he spotted something curious. On one side of the room, was a relatively empty area, bare tiled walls and floor, and a very strange thing. Depending from the ceiling a little way, was a circular metallic plate with many holes in it. Below this, on the floor, the tiles dipped slightly to a drain opening . High up on the side wall, some sort of operating contraption. He padded over to inspect this. Drat! Too high up the wall. He couldn’t reach. He remembered the set of steps at the side of the bath, his curiosity mounting, and fetched them, placing them by the wall.

He climbed up and examined this thing. There was a disc of metal with markings around the outside, and a handle protruded from the centre. He grasped the handle and tried pulling it toward him. Nothing. He tried pulling it downwards. Still nothing. He tried pushing the handle upward. A trickling sound behind him. Water was coming out of the metal disc in the ceiling, he pushed the handle around a little further. More water. Less. Less water. Emboldened, he pushed further. The water was like a personal waterfall!! Frodo liked this. He hopped off the steps, picked up the bar of soap from the edge of the bath, and dived under the stream.

And leapt out immediately!.

It was freezing cold. It had looked so inviting. He bit his lip and thought. Going back up the little step, he examined the disc behind the handle. He realised with a flash, that the markings were figures, set against a symbol carved into the wall. Grasping the disc with both hands, he tried to turn it. It turned easily. Turning back to the water, he jumped off the step and ran back under it.

And leapt out immediately!.

It was now too hot. This was fun. He had never seen anything like this before. He moved the disc just a little this time. Stepped over to the running water, and cautiously extended a hand into it. Perfect!

He eased under, letting the water soak him, hair and all. This was amazing. He held his arms high and turned, laughing, this way and that. He tried to wash under the stream, but the flow was too great. He worked out you soaped outside the stream, and rinsed inside. Most of all, he just liked to stand, the water falling on his head. He arched his neck a little letting the water spray his body, delighting in the sensations. His mind wandered to Aragorn, as he rinsed the soap from his body…..it would be very pleasant to share this……

A voice from the doorway made him start and turn round. “So, you figured out how this thing works. I have not had the time yet”, Aragorn smiled. Frodo gazed at his naked lover nonchalantly leaning on the doorframe. His heart jumped at the sight. “Come on in, the water’s lovely”, he extended both hands towards him.

Aragorn needed no further encouragement. He walked over, gazing, in not a little wonderment, at the contraption under which Frodo stood, not to mention the clean, wet hobbit himself. His fingertips gingerly tested the water. Frodo pulled him under. Aragorn felt the water falling, revelling in it, turning his face upwards, closing his eyes, and letting it soak his hair. “I know not yet where this device comes from, but it is truly wonderful”. He turned, Frodo was almost at his eye level. He glanced down. The little steps. “I cannot believe you, Frodo, you know more about my house than I do myself”, he laughed softly. “I have an enquiring mind”. Frodo murmured. “Not all hobbits are obsessed with the size of their pumpkins, you know”

He brandished a bar of soap and a washcloth. “Now to get you clean too”. He soaped the cloth generously, applying it to Aragorn’s face and body, paying particular attention to the come and oil, and, when that was cleaned, his belly, cock and balls, his arse was still a little tender, and Frodo smiled. He was amazed that Strider had never been taken. With his own kind, it was a rite of passage.

You were taken first, usually by someone a little older, then you decided on your way, Taken or taker. But often, a little of both. One or the other indeed!! Frodo’s smile widened. His touches to Aragorn’s behind elicited small winces He dared his little finger into Aragorn’s passage. The little replying grunt was more than worth it. He risked his middle finger. “Frodo”, the tone held a touch of desperation.

He withdrew, watching his lover’s face the while. Frodo draped his arms about Aragorn’s neck, pulling the man down to him for a soft watery kiss, that deepened, both moaning, as the warm water fell about them. Frodo laced, first one leg, then, with a small jump, the other, about Aragorn’s waist, without breaking the kiss.

They emerged, breathing hard, needing air. Frodo turned his face upward into the stream, his lips parted, shaking water from his curls. Aragorn leaned in and ravished Frodo’s throat. Frodo cried out, and held tighter. He curled his face into Aragorn’s neck with a sigh, nibbling an earlobe. “Take me to bed, Strider”, his voice hoarse with desire, “I want you….so much…I want to….I want you… inside… if we can…please….can we try…?”

Aragorn nearly came undone at the thought. He gazed at Frodo, “I will almost certainly hurt you Frodo, and I have no desire to hurt”. Frodo’s gaze lowered, then raised. “What is pain, when administered by the loved in the act of loving?. We still have some of Sam’s magic salve”. He smiled, a lascivious smile, his tongue tracing the shape of his lips.

Aragorn carried him from the shower, the water still running off them both, into the bedroom, Frodo’s legs still wrapped around him. He could feel his erection against Frodo’s arse, Frodo’s against his belly. He was becoming slightly unhinged. He had never known desire like this. His knees threatened to buckle. He laid Frodo on the bed, lying beside him, and kissing him, urgency building.

“Sam’s salve, it is by the fire”. Aragorn went in search, erection painfully bobbing against his belly, retrieved the tin of magic, sliding alongside Frodo on the bed. Taking a generous scoop, he held it in his palm for a few moments, the creamy consistency melting to oil, gazing at the writhing body beneath him. He almost lost his reason, trailing the melted oil over his lover. Hands massaging, rubbing, fluttering under rib bones, too thin, over heaving belly, “Ssshhh, little one, not so fast, let us take time”.

Thinking again. Taking Frodo into his mouth, ‘ a little one first, then we will see’, an evil grin, drawing Frodo’s cock in toward his throat. Frodo strained against him, back arching, the feeling of being in Aragorn’s surprisingly soft mouth, being totally consumed, a hand around his balls, a sudden thick finger probing a soft place, entering, and Frodo came, gasping, gushing….

Frodo lay, limp, Aragorn’s mouth around him. Cock softening, his eyes slowly opened. Aragorn looked into deep pools of blue. “Frodo…. I want…..”.
A slight nod, “I know, Strider. Now let me put my arms about you, now my legs”, and was wrapped around his lover, ”now this”, and they kissed, hard, urgent, transfixing, eyes locked on the other. Frodo could taste himself in his lover’s mouth. This spurred desires he had never thought …never dreamed… “Oh, Frodo, I want you, you cannot begin to fathom how much”. A cerulean stare, hard, provocative, voice hoarse with desire, “Oh, I think I do. Pass me the salve. I will oil myself, I would like you to watch”. He dipped three fingers into the pot. Pulling away slightly, he balled his fist, feeling the oil run through his fingers. He dripped it on to his freshening erection, sighing as the warmth slithered down…

Aragorn’s eyes glazed over, breath coming hard and fast, as Frodo massaged the warm oil into his balls, cock, and two fingers sliding lower to his tight hole, slipping one, then the other in. He slid them in and out a few times, never taking his eyes from his lover.

He licked his lips, “Your turn. Make me ready for you”.

At that Aragorn covered Frodo’s mouth with his own, moaning deeply, A hand moved slowly over Frodo’s belly, rubbing the oil , feeling the melting warmth as he went. Gently grasping Frodo’s cock, he lazily pumped, smiling at the tiny nips to his lower lip, his thumb traced the tip, finding wetness, massaging it in, a gasp. Frodo’s tongue now thrashing wildly against his own, hips rising, thighs opening. A small hand gripping his, pushing it lower…”Strider….take me…make me yours.. I want…I want you…”, murmured into the kiss.

Aragorn clasped Frodo to him, his hand sliding under Frodo’s backside, a slippery middle finger exploring the valley between firm cheeks, finding the tight pucker, he felt Frodo rise onto him, and pushed. He broke the kiss, gazing into Frodo’s face, a slight wince. He ventured further. Frodo’s breath caught, he relaxed, one more push…he was all the way in.

A slight rotation of the finger, feeling the hardness, stroking softly, Frodo’s hips rising, sweat sheening chest, and belly. Aragorn slowly withdrew, and pushed in, stroking the little spot, out, then in. Frodo relaxed around him. Withdrawing once more, he watched Frodo closely as he pushed in a second finger, alongside the first
Saw the grimace, the teeth clench, heard the sharp indrawn breath, hesitated.

Blue eyes slowly opened beneath his, breathing slowing, a nod, a whispered “Yes”.

Further in, then further. Riding his lover’s breathing, timing carefully, watching tension turn to a smile, a shaky giggle as both fingers were home. “Oh, Strider, move in me, love me”. Aragorn could feel himself dissolve. His kiss was fierce, demanding, “I do..I do”. His movements were slow to begin with, an urgency quickening his thrusts. Frodo riding his hand, head tossing. A cry, “Strider!”, his voice lowered, trembling, “I want more…I want… you….now…”

They smiled shyly into each other’s eyes. Such raging want nearly overcoming both.

Aragorn untangled himself. Frodo leaned up on his elbows, spreading his legs wide as Aragorn knelt between them. He sat on his heels. They gazed, a long gaze. “Let me oil you, my lover”, Frodo’s voice dusky, hoarse. He sat up, another dollop of salve, warmed between the palms, lovingly applied, eyes holding, Aragorn’s narrowing a little, his tongue on his top lip. Frodo dipped his head, taking the tip of Aragorn’s cock into his mouth. Sucking hard, as deep as he could go. A hand in his hair, gently lifting, “No, my love…not that way”. Frodo looked up, once again meeting blue-grey, now swimming with want.

Frodo slowly arched backward, eyes locked to Aragorn’s, arms reaching over his head. He grabbed a pillow, raising his hips and tucking it underneath. Once again, slower this time, stare intensifying, he raised his arms, he writhed, back arching just a little, licking his lips. “Fill me, Strider, make me yours…..”.

Aragorn, despite himself, felt a slow flush rise. Never had he known such wantonness, such desire, such….., he sighed, felt small hands pulling him, an urgent mouth opening beneath his, tongues, even teeth, deeper, both moaning, little cries from Frodo. He drank deeply of his lover’s mouth, coming up for air gasping, pink, grinning. Frodo said nothing. He did not need to, his eyes saying all for him.

Aragorn leaned slightly forward, supporting himself on one elbow. His other hand grasped his cock, rubbing it slowly along the cleft between Frodo’s buttocks. Frodo opened his legs a little wider, lifting his feet off the bed. The tip of Aragorn’s cock found the waiting hole, nudging, teasing, a little push. The tip was inside. Aragorn gasped, Frodo’s face screwed up, white-hot pain shot up his back, his gut contracted, he could not hold back a cry. “My love, is this too much for you/”, a shake of damp curls, ”No”. Quick high gasps. Aragorn massaged Frodo’s trembling belly, “Relax, my love, take deep breaths” Gut relaxing, a small nod. Another small push. Lips parted, eyes half closed, a breathed, “Fill me”. Aragorn fought hard to keep possession of himself. He paused again, waiting for his love, a smile, then another push, a little more, Frodo barely nodded, carefully now, then touching a hardness deep within.

Frodo’s whole body contracted, a loud shout, “Strider!”, sweat sheening, head rolling as he arced upward. Aragorn moaned, withdrew a little, then a cautious thrust. The look of pain again, then a slow lazy smile, a relaxation around his length. He ventured another, felt small hands reaching, pulling him down, mouth eagerly seeking out a nipple, both bodies gently rocking together. Frodo gradually relaxing, accommodating, enjoying. He was utterly filled. Aragorn began to move inside him. His neck arched, delirious with lust, he could just whisper, “Take me”. Aragorn nodded, “Yes, my love, oh, yes”, moving with more urgency, watching his lover, his face…. suffused with want. His cock now massaging that sweet hardness deep inside, beads of sweat running into his hair, that look of total abandon beneath him

Aragorn could take no more..”I want you, Frodo…I have to…”, his strokes quickened, harder, deeper. Frodo’s hands gripped Aragorn’s hips, grinding against him, pulling the man deeper in, his own hips rising and falling, his own cock hard, straining between oiled bellies.
Aragorn thrust hard against Frodo’s cheeks, he could feel a tightness in his balls, he was close… closer…. desire mounting.
Frodo’s fingers dug in, his body bucked, his eyes closing. Aragorn’s cock plunging to his inner depths, he felt himself begin to unravel, felt his breathing go from gasps to moans.

Frodo’s eyes flicked open, looking up into Aragorn’s face. He wanted to see….to watch…his pleasure. Feeling the thrusts hardening, saw the man’s eyes close, mouth widen, moved his hands around tightly gripping Aragorn’s arse, pulling him yet further in, need sweeping over him in waves, his own passion building. He felt a warm oiled hand squeeze between them, grasping his hardness, pulling, stroking, thumb massaging the tip. He groaned, he was so close…so close. Tiny cries with each thrust, each stroke, intense heat, rhythm increasing, melding together, past the point of no return, fire in their eyes, blood singing. A last, desperate, deep thrust. Aragorn tensed every fibre, head thrown back “Frodo, my love” coming hard and hot, groaning with each wave, filling Frodo with his hot release.

“Take me with you,” Frodo was panting hard. The strokes on his member quickened, he strained into Aragorn’s hand, filled, opened, utterly lost to passion. “I am yours..yours Strider…love me…take me …”. He felt himself tense around the fullness inside him. Surely this much pleasure…too much…too much. “Strider”, screamed, arched hard, “Yesssss. Ohhhh….Yesss”, and wave after wave of heat and stickiness spread between them.

Ragged breathing the only sound for a long moment. Aragorn slowly collapsed, twisting slightly to one side. Frodo’s arms moved around the man’s waist. His face was pressed against a nipple. His tongue sought it out in a leisurely way, not arousing, just wanting, wanting…to stay here forever, laid beneath his lover…no….more than that….his thoughts clouded……his beloved.

They lay. Frodo making lazy circles with his fingers on Aragorn’s back. Aragorn’s fingers in his hair, stroking his face, gazing into each other’s eyes. Aragorn raised up slightly. Easing his now flaccid cock out. Felt Frodo wince.

Frodo glanced down, he hurt, just a little. Aragorn gathered Frodo to him, sweat ,oil and come slicking their hot bodies together. Holding each other tight, their breathing slowing, languorous kisses, little touches, sighs. “Let us go back under that waterfall and clean ourselves. Then we can lie awhile. We can hold…. We can…until your day claims you”, Frodo’s lower lip trembled.

Aragorn scooped Frodo into his arms, kissing him, carrying him, arms too full of drowsy hobbit to operate the lever. Frodo did the honours, they stepped beneath the gushing water, both marveling at this wonderful contraption. Each gently soaped the other, eye contact rarely breaking, issuing gentle commands, Frodo wincing in obvious pain as Aragorn washed his behind, but smiling all the same, obeyed with shy smiles, deep pink cheeks. Aragorn stepped out, finding the biggest towel he could, draped it around his shoulders, Frodo in his arms, he wrapped it around the two of them and carried them back to bed. “We need salve, and I need to re-bind your hand”.

This time, instead of apathy, total relaxation. He turned Frodo over, gently spreading him, felt the hobbit wince. “You are a little abraded, my love, but not torn. You will mend, but for now, I’m afraid, this will sting”, as he applied salve As soon as he was done, Frodo sleepily reached for his lover, almost blindly pulling Aragorn toward him, his hand dry once more, his backside smarting slightly from Aragorn’s medicinal salve, his kisses deep, calm, relaxed. His hand brushed hair from Aragorn’s face.

Aragorn gazed and gazed, transfixed, knowledge and respect grew each day…., no…., each hour, knowing Frodo. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. He tried to hide wet eyes, but Frodo knew better. He put his arms around Aragorn’s neck. “What troubles you, Strider”

“Frodo”, he said softly, “we have at best today and tonight. I am dreading our time coming to an end. I…I”, his face crumpled.
Frodo held him, “Strider, we both know what is in store for you. Since Rivendell, I have known. Do not weep for……you will …. this memory will be swallowed by others, bigger…deeper than this. I know that tomorrow is your investiture….you re to be crowned….married”.
“Frodo, I will never forget you. Do you not understand?”
“I do, and, perhaps I do not”

“I love you, little one”, he unwound an arm, grasping the little hand in his own, laying both over his heart. “I am afraid… that I will never see you again, but while we both shall live, there will always be a place for you in here, my love”, soft tears fell.
Frodo held his lover’s face, he could feel his own eyes misting, He looked hard into Aragorn’s eyes. “The thought of never seeing you again grieves me too, Strider, but what is, is. There is nothing either of us can do about this. Please”, his glare softened, “let us have whatever time we have left. Let our memories be good ones” He kissed Aragorn tenderly, his tongue shy, timid, until sucked gently into his lover’s mouth, twining slower, drowsier, sleepier. Man and hobbit slept, mouths locked together, breathing into each other.

He awoke alone in the big bed, turning over bringing back a memory of the previous night, he smiled as he winced, hugging a pillow to him. A tap on the door, a tousled dark blond head appearing, a smile. Sam.
Frodo smiled at his friend’s entrance, smiled even more, as, Sam, sitting on the edge of the bed, squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, a sharp indrawn breath over gritted teeth. “My Sam. What ails you, my love?”. Sam looked down, shaking his head, a grin playing with his lips.
Frodo’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Perhaps more than just I enjoyed a Man last night. When I arose in the early dawn, I could not help but hear….”, his eyebrow arched. Sam blushed deep crimson and looked down again. Frodo lifted Sam’s chin. Sam reluctantly met Frodo’s eyes. “Frodo, I will tell you in all good time, but for now…”, his look a little defiant.
“Sam, is there something that you think I will disapprove of?”
Sam nodded, keeping quiet.
Frodo thought for a moment, smiling at his friend’s obvious discomfiture, “All right, Sam, keep your secrets, for now”, he laughed softly, pulling Sam to him. They kissed. Languorous, deep, breath quickening. Frodo pulled away laughing. “What I need, right now, my Sam, more than anything, is a hearty breakfast”. Sam could not help but agree. Frodo dressed. In the night sometime, new clothes had been laid out. They fit him perfectly. The two hobbits gingerly stepped out, chuckling, to find sustenance.

In the large dining hall, men helped themselves to victuals. Sam and Frodo loaded plates, spotted Merry and Pippin and had a lively, laughing breakfast, regaled with tales as they ate.
Clearing their plates away, all four stepped outside to smoke, and explore a bit, but when they got to the wall outside the Citadel, the view that gave onto Mordor, the shattered country, fumes still rising, poison still belching from the ground, Frodo felt a strange clutching feeling in his chest, a now familiar sorrow beginning to wash over him. He sank onto a bench and began to sob.
His three friends gathered him to them. They all held him tight, while he wept.

The council that Aragorn was in broke up. They drifted down the steps, and into the plaza before the Citadel. Aragorn paused on the steps. He had seen the Hobbits clustered close together. He hung back awhile. The other council members filed past him as he stood. He could see Frodo’s shoulders shake. He knew Frodo wept. He wanted to run, fold Frodo in his arms, lift him from that cold rampart. A voice beside him. “Hobbits!. A very fetching race, do you not think?” He glanced in the voice’s direction. Faramir.

Aragorn regarded the other man sidelong. Faramir’s eyes rested on the cluster of Hobbits. Burning.

They moved on, unseen by the four.

Frodo’s sobs eventually subsided to the occasional gasp. Heaving shoulders quieted. He felt a little embarrassed out here in full view being fiercely held by his three best friends, his body crying out for another. Sam felt Frodo move in his arms. “We ought to get you back indoors Frodo”. He stood, lifting Frodo against him. Merry and Pippin also stood ready to catch Frodo, should he fall. Sam smiled, “I’ll be all right.. I’ll get us back to our rooms. I will see you in a short while”. Merry and Pippin each kissed Frodo, murmuring softly, beyond Sam’s hearing. They left, their eyes wishing Sam and Frodo to good dreams, peace. They knew that, whatever Frodo and Aragorn had, the stronger bond would always be Frodo and Sam.

Sam guided Frodo back to their rooms. Frodo did his best to hide his despair, but once beyond the closed door of Sam’s room, he gave vent, convulsed with sobs. Sam could do no more than hold him tight, letting his love cry himself out, feeling his own eyes fill and overflow, slow fat tears falling.

Eventually Frodo looked up, brushing tears from Sam’s face with his fingers, tracing the outline of Sam's lips with his thumb, pulled Sam towards him.
A deep kiss, full of pain and longing. “Love me Sam”, a tremulous murmur.
He did.
Even though both were sore, they found a way. Tenderly, passionately, with a few winces and giggles, Sam made love to his Frodo, holding back until Frodo peaked, before seeking his own gentle release.

Aragorn found them a little later, asleep, twined in each other’s arms, naked, mouths close together, as if just pulling away from, or descending into, a kiss. He closed the door as quietly as he could.

Frodo awakened at the sound. He gazed upon a sleeping Sam. His love for Aragorn burned white hot, but this love…this love.. was a light for him in dark places, when the despair threatened to overwhelm, brighter even than the Lady’s precious Glass. He grinned widely, pulling his sleeping Sam to him, kissing neck, shoulders, getting no more than a sleepy snore. He too, slept again.

A tap on the door woke both of them, they struggled to regain cast-off clothing, battling into breeches and shirt. Frodo called out, “Please enter”, Andir came in bearing a tray of luscious provender. A delicious smell rising. The Hobbits looked at each other. Mushrooms. Andir noted the flushed faces, the rapid breaths, he put it down to the Hobbits obvious love of food….Even the dark slender one. Andir’s breath caught as he thought, liked to eat. He took extra care to lay the table just so. To lay the food out… to present the perfect meal to Sir, no, he had asked him to call him otherwise…to Frodo. He bowed from the room, senses reeling, not daring to show his face.

Sam pondered the man’s reaction. Frodo seemed to be having this effect on all manner of folk, his pure, natural way of dealing with people, his unforced graciousness, his beautiful blue eyes, swimming with tears and anguish, were enough to make the stoutest heart melt, the strongest of arms want to enfold, protect.

They fed themselves, and each other, bread dipped in sauces, a morsel of chicken shared, devoured, strawberries, using the meal to stoke each other’s fire, ignite a blaze, then they would return to others, their flames fanned.

Frodo breathed into Sam’s mouth, “I hope he appreciates this, appreciates you, something like the way I do”. Sam could do naught but nod. “I think so Frodo, in fact I know so!”!, Frodo smiled. “I hope that this mysterious lover, whoever he might be, loves you with half the passion….”.

Frodo’s voice tailed away, kissing his loved one full on the mouth. Sam a little torn between his two lovers. Looking at his Frodo, there was no contest, really, but just now, their other lovers rose to mind. They kissed, imagining,,, thinking …of them.

Frodo of Aragorn, Sam..Sam thought of red-gold hair, an earthy laugh, that voice. Even when they had been interrogated, it seemed like years ago now, that voice burned in Sam’s mind, the way that the man had eventually capitulated, allowing them on their way. Oh he would have been a better protector than his brother, his will was stronger, his resolve steelier, even while his fighting instinct was weaker. Sam knew his Frodo would not approve, but Sam thought he had the measure of the Man now, and there was something that Pippin had mentioned in passing, at breakfast. Something of the deep cruelty of the Man’s father. Something of the Man’s own tenderness….

As Sam appeared to doze, Frodo crept to his own room.

A little while later, as darkness fell upon the land, a knock at Sam’s door. He welcomed the Man with open arms, sinking together into the soft carpet, hot mouths meeting, kisses burning. Sam’s mouth searing the Man’s flesh.

As they came up for air, a low voice, “You Hobbits are a most interesting race, I never realised such passion dwelt….”, faded to silence under another heated kiss.

Frodo opened the tall windows, and wandered onto the balcony, looking West into the setting Sun. At least from here, he could not witness the fuming reek of Mordor. He leaned out over the sill, spotting Merry and Pippin far below him, beyond hailing distance. When they weren’t staggering, they held each other up, laughing. They had obviously been drinking. Frodo saw Merry draw Pippin into a dark corner of the street, hold him close, kiss him hard. They emerged from the shadows, Pippin leaning into Merry, they lurched out of sight, giggling.

He felt, rather than heard, a presence behind him. He hesitated, still looking into the street below. Felt strong hands on his shoulders, a passionate kiss to the neck, his head lolling back, finding a shoulder to fall onto, tentative lips finding his own, a sweet tongue searching for his. Giving himself up, a feeling of surrender, as his mouth opened to his lover’s kiss.

Aragorn gathered the Hobbit to him. “Tonight, little one, is the last night we can spend together…”, Frodo hushed him, “I know… I always knew our time together would be brief. But tonight rolls before us unfilled…”, he smiled into the King’s, no… the ranger’s eyes. These was Aragorn’s last hours in Middle Earth as just plain Aragorn or ….. Strider.
Frodo was determined he enjoyed every one.
Already, his people called him Elessar, the once and future king, but to Frodo, holding the warm body to him, for one more night, this Man was still…. his Strider.

Aragorn sank his head into his hands. Frodo held him, feeling a little of the weight on the Man’s shoulders. If his own destiny was unsought, he knew Aragorn’s was. He knew the Man never wanted to be King, yet his destiny had led him, inexorably to this pass.

Frodo’s grip tightened. He felt waves of pain and uncertainty wash over his lover. In truth, he knew not what to do to assuage this. He knew, in that instant, he could no more heal Aragorn’s pain, than Aragorn, his own. That eased the tension Frodo felt.

Frodo relaxed, feeling it just drain away. He knew what he must do, a smile playing with his lips. Tugging on the Man’s hand, he led him gently to the bed, serenely commanding Aragorn to lie down.

“I think tonight that you have had your fill of people seeking guidance from you, I sense your weariness and perhaps…just perhaps your willingness, for a while, to be guided, instructed…. Led….”

Aragorn looked at Frodo, wariness filling his gaze. “What exactly do you mean by that, Master Baggins?”. Frodo smiled, wickedly, “I mean you look like a Man who needs to shrug off all care for a while”. Frodo’s lashes batted over deep blue eyes, “that is all”.

“Frodo, as short a time as I have known you, I know this is not ‘all’, as you claim”. Aragorn could feel a chuckle build in his belly.

With a deep blush, and a smile that had a lot of tongue around the lips, Frodo removed Aragorn’s clothes. Aragorn could feel himself melt into the bed. He reached up hands to assist. Frodo grasped them, kissing the battered knuckles, and laid them on the covers. He removed Aragorn’s leggings, sighing as a recent memory promised to overtake him. No! Not tonight. And anyway, Frodo smiled inwardly, he wasn’t sure he could do it ‘that’ way round so soon after last time….

Aragorn’s hands found Frodo’s hips, began teasing shirt from leggings. Frodo swatted away eager hands once more. With a deft movement, he straddled Aragorn’s hips, and looked down sternly, but with a hint of humour at the Man prostrate and naked beneath him. Frodo grasped his lover’s wrists and raised them over his head. Aragorn’s gaze became a question. Frodo tried unsuccessfully to suppress a whimper, an idea forming.

Frodo leapt nimbly from the bed. He knew what he sought. He found it, his cheeks reddening, even as he came back to bed, brandishing his prize. His dressing gown cord. Aragorn’s eyes moved into a frown. “What….?”
Frodo did not let him finish. With a flourish, he raised Aragorn’s left arm above the Man’s head, and with a deft move secured it with the sash to the bed head. Before Aragorn knew what was happening, his other arm had joined the first, tied snugly to the wood.

The gleam in Frodo’s eyes was nothing short of feral.

Aragorn squirmed a little in his bonds. This excited Frodo all the more.

Aragorn was not at all sure about this current situation, but he trusted Frodo, he tried to convey that trust in a look. Frodo read it perfectly.

“You are mine to command now”. Frodo’s words were guttural, hoarse. “I want you to open yourself to me, no reluctance, no holding back”. Frodo’s stare, level, controlled, albeit barely. “I want you to give yourself up to me”. He leaned over his captive, “But if you really do not wish this…”, his resolve faltered a little. He did not lose eye contact.

Aragorn bit his lower lip, a mass of emotions washing over his face, followed by a slow flush. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, closed his eyes, a couple of deep breaths, opened them, Frodo’s huge blue eyes inches from his own, nodded quickly, the tiniest flicker of a smile.

“If you’re sure…?”.

Frodo’s mouth closed over Aragorn’s, not waiting for a spoken reply. The arching of the Man to his lover gave all the answer Frodo needed. He took Aragorn’s mouth a little roughly, causing his lover’s eyes to flick open momentarily, before closing them again on a moan.

As he came up for air, Frodo murmured, “I want you to keep your eyes open, my love”. Aragorn complied, a shy smile on his lips, his eyes glittered in the low light, a sheen on his body starting to glow.

“Frodo, what is this game we play?”, he gasped, “I have never known one to bind another…in pleasure..like this, although I will own…”, he swallowed again, reddening, grinning like a young maid on her first night.

“In the Shire we are fond of play”. Frodo’s voice was sultry. His mouth was an inch from Aragorn’s, “We play everywhere from the pub to the parlour. Aaah Strider, would that we had met in another time”. Frodo’s hot tongue ravaged Aragorn’s mouth once more. Aragorn was powerless to do aught but submit.

Frodo moved a little, drizzling wet kisses over stubbled jaw, to that soft place under an ear, nipping the lobe, running his tongue along the edge, a delicious sound from his lover.

In one swift move, Frodo straddled Aragorn’s belly. His hands undoing his shirt, slowly, their gazes holding, letting it drift down along his arms, revealing tautened pale tan nipples, cream skin, scars from their recent ordeals. Aragorn gasped as the firelight glanced off that alabaster luminescence.

Frodo extended his hands to Aragorn, well, just his thumbs. He pressed first one then the other into Aragorn’s mouth. “Wet them, good and proper”. He backed off a little and toyed each wetted thumb around his nipples, stiffening them to peaks. Aragorn’s eyes narrowed, though the gaze still held. Frodo lowered his stiff nub to Aragorn’s chest, rubbing heat and wetness into Aragorn’s nipple. Aragorn was taken slightly aback, he gasped. “Gods Frodo”. His eyes could not help but close. “No Strider”, an admonishment, “Try to keep your eyes open. I sense that men do not use their powers of sight enough”.

With that, he hopped once more from the bed. Aragorn’s eyes opened wide. “Watch me, my love”. Frodo’s command was gentle, his gaze not breaking. He slid both hands between his legs. Aragorn could see the bulge….Frodo began to caress himself through the fabric. He slowly removed his breeches, his eyes never once leaving his lover’s.

As his underclouts dropped to the floor, he took a hold of himself, his eyes narrowing, his tongue snaking between reddened lips. A cracked voice that Aragorn barely recognised as his own, “Come to me Frodo, make me…yours…please”.

Frodo looked slightly stunned, the future King of Middle Earth was lying there, begging, well, maybe not, but certainly asking, no, definitely begging.

Frodo allowed a smile to spread over his lips, take his eyes, allow them to mist, he swallowed. A voice he barely knew as his. “Oh Yes”. His gaze suddenly intensified. Aragorn did all he could to hold that fire in his own eyes, he gave in, letting it consume, letting it burn into him. A plaint, “Frodo, I have never allowed anyone…”.

“Oh, yes, like you never allowed anyone to undress you before!!”. Frodo moved closer, but Strider couldn’t grab him. Frodo giggled at Aragorn’s discomfiture, regarding the full length of the Man displayed before him. Frodo licked his lips. He had been at the mercy of so many forces in the last few months, he rejoiced a little, at having someone at his own mercy. This was perhaps a selfish attitude to take, but right now, the future King stretched before him, willingly bound, no less, nearly caused his undoing.

His voice contracting around desire, “Yes I will take you, my love, but in my way”. Aragorn in his present position, could do nought but nod, wordlessly.

Frodo grinned, “I am going to loosen your bonds, but only for a moment. I want you to turn over for me, then I will re-tie them”

Aragorn duly did as he was bid, luxuriating in the feeling of someone else taking over. He grinned widely as his face pressed into the pillow, as Frodo re-did his bonds, as Frodo just, took over.

Aragorn relinquished himself, the letting-go a delight, it was so fresh, so new, so… unexpected.

His hips gently lifted, a pillow placed beneath.

Hot kisses along his spine, from neck to…to…not stopping…beyond the tailbone, over muscular cheeks, a heated wetness at the top of the cleft, deft hands spreading him, hot tongue continuing it’s journey.

Frodo pushed Aragorn’s thighs gently apart, lowering his mouth still further. A gasp, an entreaty, as mouth met sensitivity, tongue slowly probing, pushing, entering. Earning Frodo a gasp for his ministrations.

Frodo lifted away, spreading a little salve on his hands, a hand replacing mouth, oily finger gently pushing in. Hips raising, trying to make the finger enter deeper, feeling the Man’s body almost vibrate under him. He pulled out slightly, middle finger joining first, thrusting deep, feeling tightness, heat about them, spreading, opening, widening. A withdrawal, three fingers now. Moving in him, stroking that small hard place. Aragorn was beside himself.

“I think you are quite ready for me”, Frodo murmured.

He slowly lowered himself to his love, feeling the heat between them. He grasped at a last handful of Sam’s salve, oiling, wetting himself, he slid effortlessly into his lover, his Strider open enough to receive him. His love inflamed beneath him. “Take me Frodo”, barely a murmur beneath his hungry thrusts.

A hot hand, reaching around the Man, finding his throbbing hardness, holding, massaging, stroking. They were close to the edge, delirium threatened, thrusts deepening. Frodo felt a tightening around his length, a building tension in the Man beneath.

He barely held his peak, til his lover had filled his hand, then like a hot cascade, erupting, filling, taking….

Their breaths loud and ragged, moans turning to gasps, and slowing, both gradually calming. Frodo untied his love. Aragorn slowly turned over, his shoulders a little sore, felt his arms snake about his lover. Breaths hot, mingling, silence for a while.

Aragorn pulled his Frodo to eye height. his voice slowing to a breathless kiss. Aragorn’s tone a little incredulous, ”I have never allowed anyone to have me like this”. He tried to speak again. Words failed him. Frodo looked long into his eyes. Sometimes he answered, sometimes not. But when the real Strider appeared, Frodo’s eyes misted. He clung a little then, “Was I good enough, did I do..”..his urgent entreaties dissolved with kisses. “Oh, my Frodo, words cannot say..”, kisses raining into his hair

“I want to remember us like this”, Frodo said, melting into a kiss. “My Strider, smiling up at me, replete?”. A question coloured his tone. Aragorn nodded, slowly, his cheeks flushing, answering the kiss above him.

Amongst the ruins of the bed, they slept, closer than close. Around dawn they awoke, and made love again, gently, sleepily with hands and mouths, all urgency gone. They lay a while talking into the rapidly advancing day. As the first light crept over the sill into the room, Aragorn reluctantly untangled himself, dressed quickly and made to leave.

On an impulse he threw himself down again next to Frodo, gathering him up. “I have to go now, there is a pre-investiture ceremony that I must attend”. He sighed deeply. “The next time you see me, I will be a King with a Queen at my side, but Frodo, know this, I will never forget you or the time we have spent…”. Frodo hushed him, “Nor I, but our destinies await, and we must go to them…with love and open arms”. Aragorn looked a little abashed at the wisdom in Frodo’s eyes, and nodded. “You are right of course…”. Frodo cut him off with a kiss. “Goodbye, my Strider, you will become Elessar, the beloved king, but only this I ask of you”, Aragorn’s brow furrowed slightly, “Anything, just ask it”, Frodo’s smile spread, a dimple appearing, he nuzzled Aragorn’s ear, murmured, “Now and again, just think of us in those fields of tall corn in the Shire”, he laughed softly.

They laughed together then, Aragorn flushing to his roots. They kissed again, then Aragorn left.

Frodo gathered Aragorn’s pillow to him, smelling the Man, so recently gone. In spite of his wisdom, his acceptance of their lot, the knowledge that he could no more alter destiny, than grow another foot in height, Frodo felt his eyes fill and sobbed into the pillow clutched tight to his chest. As his cries softened, he fell asleep again, dreaming of Bag End, Autumn sun streaming through the kitchen windows, and Sam, bringing an armful of late season chrysanthemums into the house.

The first gentle knock failed to wake him, the second, louder, cutting into the dream. His eyes opened in a fog of sleep, “Yess, Whoisit?”. The door opened, Sam entered, bearing an armful of clothes. Frodo tried to focus and smiled foggily, “Thought they were chrysanths from me garden”, he mumbled. Sam looked a bit puzzled. “Just a dream I had”. Frodo’s head was clearing, he smiled at Sam. “What have you there then?”.

“We have to go down to the ceremonies now, Frodo, I have some clothes for you”. Frodo looked down at as much of himself as was visible, and giggled. “I think I need a bath first”. Sam also giggled, “I’ll turn on that waterfall thing in the bathroom”. He left.

Frodo thought about wrapping a sheet around himself, but the bedding was as mucky as he was. He smiled, guiltily balling up the soiled sheets. Sam’s voice from the bathroom, “The water’s just about right now, Frodo”.

Frodo ambled into the bathroom naked, feeling strangely at peace with the world. His breath caught at the sight before him.

Sam, naked under the waterfall, head tilted into the flow, fingers running through amber curls.. Frodo found himself leaning in the doorway, not sure if his legs would hold him, much like he had seen Aragorn one, two days earlier? Now he knew the reason for the mock-nonchalant lean!!! His senses clouded, he whispered, “Sam?”.

Sam in reply, simply held a hand out. As soon as Frodo had the use of his legs, he joined Sam. They luxuriated together in the personal waterfall, laughing and washing each other of the residue of the previous night. Sam needing as much of a wash as Frodo. They laughed, each into the other’s eyes, catching close for a long kiss, that grew longer, intense, sensual.

Over the edge of that tall bath, they made love. Urgent, silent, filled with passion, until, coming, they both cried the other’s name.

Later, much later that afternoon, almost when the sun was due to set. Aragorn was now King. Elrond’s party had arrived, and Arwen had shyly presented the result of many hours patient toil, the new Banner of Gondor, the White Tree, and the Seven Stars once more resplendent.

Aragorn and his Queen processed through the crowd, folk bowing, and having Kingly bows directed as he went. Faramir and Eowyn, their eyes sparkling, hands discreetly joined, their heads inclining, an avenue opened. The four hobbits were before him.

Their bodies started to contract into an unfamiliar shape. They began a bow. Merry looked toward the future princess of Ithilien, his eyes misting. Pippin was smiling, but a lump rose in his throat, he noticed the discreet hand-holding. Sam’s eyes were also directed at, unbeknownst to him, the same Man to whom Pippin’s eyes strayed. And Frodo, he had eyes for only one. As King and Queen neared, Frodo felt his head starting to dip. Aragorn’s look was like fire, “My friends, You bow to no-one”.

One and all, everyone on the green in front of the Citadel dropped to their knees. The hobbits looked a little confused, trying out tentative smiles, as they stood up. Next last to descend, Arwen knelt, lowering her eyes. Last of all, Aragorn lifted his eyes to Frodo, tears sat above the lower lashes, ready to spill. Frodo mouthed, “Tall corn”, winked and grinned, as Aragorn’s face quickly lowered to hide the flush and the wide smile!!!


Finis

Continued in “The Long Road Home”, thereafter in “The Parlour Game”


written July 2005