Wednesday, September 28, 2016

A Frodo Baggins Lemon -- An Intermission

Character: Frodo Baggins

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings

OC: Melody, short black curly hair, tawny eyes

Inspiration: This was weirdly hard to write.  I hope Frodo is in character!  


He’s having another nightmare.  She almost doesn’t want to know what he is dreaming about, but it must be bad.  The way his expression melts into horror and grief says all that needs to be said.
He doesn’t have them as much these days, but every now and then Melody will wake up to Frodo writhing in the bed beside her.  Oftentimes he is clutching the blackened scar on his shoulder from where the Morgul blade pierced him.  His dreams of Weathertop are common, but not usually this intense.
“Frodo,” Melody whispers, placing a hand on his arm.  He flinches at the contact and she feels tears build in her eyes.  She feels so useless when he’s like this, lost in that sleepy nightmarish world.  She’s almost too afraid to touch, lest she incite some new, painful memory to add to the horrors.
“Frodo, wake up,” she says, a little louder.  She leans forward to brush his hair out of his eyes and kisses his forehead.  “Wake up,” she says again, as if she’s hoping that by ordering him, he will immediately obey.
He doesn’t, but after another moment, Frodo gasps and sits up, his eyes wide and frantic as he searches the room for traces of black robed Nazgul.  But all he sees is gentle sunlight streaming in from the open windows, and it seems to quell his racing thoughts.
Melody sighs and reaches for his hand.  He turns to her wordlessly, sees the disheveled look on her face, and sighs too.  A moment later he’s lying back down and bringing her against him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, and she shakes her head.
“Don’t apologize,” she tells him, kissing his chin.  “I just wish I could stop those dreams from ever reaching you at all.  It’s been years…yet they still hurt you.”
The dreams aren’t the only hurtful things.  Sometimes he gets this faraway look on his face and stares off into the distance, as if he is reliving some memory that makes him sad.  Sometimes he smiles when he does this, but there is still a trace of grief touching his eyes – a melancholy nostalgia that she cannot heal.  And some days he is in physical pain, and the scar aches so badly that she fears he might never be rid of its evil.  Those days are the worst of them all.
He rubs at the scar and she knows that today will be one of those days.  Which is why she hooks her legs over his and shuffles on top of him.
He looks up at her with surprised eyes, hesitance curling his gaze.  When she leans down to kiss him, the hesitance clears away, partially – he could never deny her his affections.  It is an impossibility that he can’t even consider.  So he kisses her back, and when her fingers start unbuttoning his nightshirt, Frodo pulls away to murmur, “Mel – “
“Shh,” she interrupts, pressing a kiss to the revealed skin of his chest.  She shifts against him and goes to lavish attention on his neck, kissing and nipping at the exposed flesh.  He doesn’t argue again; just lays there and wraps her up in his arms.
He’s never been good at denying her this, either.
“You’re very lucky that I know a way to get rid of nightmares,” Melody tells him with a cheeky grin.  Despite the serious atmosphere that had plagued them moments before, Frodo finds himself chuckling and letting her drag the sheets away from them.  She pulls his shirt away with a quick efficiency that he finds amusing, simply because of how determined her expression is.  He knows that she’s doing this for him and he feels his heart warm at the thought.  The rest of his body follows suit beneath the heated look she sends him.
He sits up, shuffling back into the pillows.  Melody draws away briefly to tug her nightdress off of her.  The clothing gets tossed over the mattress and disappears from his line of sight – not that he looks for it.  He’s a little preoccupied by the picture she makes as she sits above him, completely bare.
For a moment he just takes her in.  Her breasts are the perfect size (though perhaps he’s being biased), nipples taut from the chill of the morning, skin glowing in the beams of sunlight that shoot generously from the three round windows on the other side of the room.  She’s gorgeous in the sunlight and Frodo can’t help but wonder what on earth she’s doing with him.
It’s no secret that the other Hobbits in Hobbiton think he’s very odd and unnatural – and that’s only a small portion of the Shire.  Yet for some reason he’s lucky enough to be able to wake up next to her every morning, to share meals with her, to love her.  Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.
Melody tsks and leans in, laying her hands on either side of his face.  “There’ll be no dark thoughts this morning, Frodo Baggins.  Not on my watch.”  The stern look she sends him makes him chuckle again.
How she can read him so easily, he’ll never know, but he doesn’t have time answer anyhow – when she leans forward even more to kiss him, Frodo loses all coherent thought.
He can feel her breasts pillow against him and it sends a sharp curl of desire through him.  He feels himself harden from that simple touch alone and kisses her back with an eagerness that makes her moan.  The little sound of pleasure makes his desire all the worse, especially when Melody suddenly grinds down against his half hard length.  He feels her slide over him, wet with her own arousal, and every trace of dark brooding thoughts leave him.
“Mmm…that’s better,” she whispers, nipping at his lip.  She pulls it into her mouth and sucks gently at him before sliding her tongue over his.  Frodo wraps his hands around her, stroking them up and down her bare form as she rocks softly against him, keening every now and then.  And with every soft shift, his patience wears thin.
“Mel…” he groans, head falling back.  His eyes dart down to their lower bodies, the way she glides over his length, coating him with her arousal.  He’s already aching for her and he’s a little surprised about that.  But she had the startling ability to make him want her in the most inconvenient moments, and his surprise doesn’t extend very far.  His control is already churning with reckless passion and it’s all he can think about, all he can feel as she kisses over his shoulder and leans down to take his length into her hand.
“Mel,” he groans again, this time full of a different kind of surprise, because he hadn’t expected her to be so forward and yet – yet – “Mmm…” he murmurs, head falling back and eyes closing as she pumps him through her fingers.
It feels so good that he can’t remember what had gotten them into this situation in the first place.  His eyes flutter open after a few moments because he needs to watch her, he can’t explain it but he needs to see her hand against him.  And the pleasure that shoots through him at the sight is well worth it, because he’s never known anything quite as arousing.
Her fingers drift over him, curling up the underside and tracing the visible veins that edge just beneath the surface.  Her touch is gentle but firm, sometimes feathery light and other times not so gentle at all.  But it’s all perfect and Frodo looks up to catch her eye, which is directed at his face.  She gives him a small smile and he groans again before saying, “I need you.”
Such a simple set of words, but so profound that it takes her breath away.  And funny, too, because Frodo really does need her – not only right now, but in every other way imaginable.  He couldn’t picture his life without her in it.  Without her soft smiles and her cheeky words and the way she eats just as much as him and might actually rival his ‘odd unnatural curiosity’.  She is always there to give him everything he needs and right now is no different. 
She doesn’t hesitate as she guides him inside her and wriggles her hips down to his.  Frodo watches every move she makes with sharp eyes, and when he’s hilted inside her, he tugs her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her as she starts to rock into him.
She buries her head into his shoulder and moans, tangling her fingers into his curly hair as she feels him breach her inner walls.  There’s an easy naturalness to their lovemaking that seems to transcend every other emotion, and she thinks that she’s never complete unless he’s inside her. 
He tugs her head back to kiss her, mouth melding with hers as his hips rock upward to meet hers.  Their hands are everywhere – skimming down flesh and clutching shoulders as if to ground each other somehow.  Frodo doesn’t think it works; each thrust has him spiraling further from reality and deeper into the calm satiation of his own internal dialogue.
“Frodo,” she moans, muffled against his lips.  At this point they aren’t even really kissing, just exchanging air as their mouths brush together.  It’s beautifully intimate in a way she can’t describe and isn’t sure she wants to.  So instead she turns all her attention on him and the way he’s making her feel and the way she wants him to feel, too – high like there’s no nightmarish memories holding him down.
She thinks she’s succeeding when he suddenly groans loudly and clutches her waist with tight fingers, pulling her down into a thrust that makes the edges of her vision fade.  She keeps that pace, bucking hard with every downward spin of her hips, taking him deeper and deeper and watching him closely for any sign of his unfolding finish.
It comes not long after, when she grinds down against him and circles her hips in an almost teasing fashion.  Frodo’s expression tightens at the feeling and he groans again, this time sounding breathless with need.  She knows he’s close, knows it like she intrinsically knows her own name or the color of the sky at dawn or when it’s time to sit down for tea – all inconsequential things really, in the face of all this beautiful desire.
“Frodo, touch me,” she moans, nibbling at his ear.  She wants to come with him, wants their orgasms to meld together. 
The low tumble of her words have him groaning again, and at first he doesn’t know what she’s asking because he’s so caught up in what he’s feeling.  But when she takes his hand from its place around her waist and moves it between her legs, his confusion flies away.
He touches her, firmly circling her nub with his thumb and watching with an awed expression as she reacts to him.
“Mmm, that’s right, keep going – Frodo!” she gasps.  Her hips shake forward more forcefully, bucking into him with a raw passion that has him gasping her name.  His orgasm unfurls inside him that the sight and feel of her, and when he feels her inner walls contracting around him it’s the final straw.
He spills himself into her with a moan, grappling with her hips and pulling her down hard against him, bucking his own up and meeting her halfway in a firm, almost bruising thrust.  And all the while he keeps coaxing her forward, fingers splaying out against the top of her clit as her own orgasm rather catches her off guard.
It comes so suddenly that she cries out, eyes watering at the wild, uncontrollable sensation.  Her movements turn unabashedly fierce, as if she can’t possibly help herself.  It’s wonderful, beautiful – watching her come is the best part of making love to her and he doesn’t look away from her face as she murmurs his name again and again.
A few more thrusts and she quiets down, still gasping but not as ferociously.  Her chest heaves and she curls forward to rest her face against his shoulder.  And he brings her close, still buried inside her even as their bodies slowly still.
She gently drifts back into reality as he combs his fingers through her hair.  With a tired, bleary chuckle, Melody breathes, “That was wonderful.”
Frodo laughs too, because while he agrees with her, he’s not sure he’d use that particular word to describe what they’ve just done.  She gives him a giddy smile and kisses his shoulder.
“I like your methods,” he murmurs to her, lips brushing over her temple.  She giggles.
“Does it still ache?” she wonders quietly, at once looking a touch more serious.  She touches the wound on his shoulder and leans down to kiss that, too, just for good measure.
If their lovemaking hadn’t made him feel well-loved, that little action certainly does, and Frodo sighs out in gentle happiness when he realizes that his old wound doesn’t ache anymore.  She’s healed him, at least for today, and he’s more grateful for it than he can say.
“Can’t even feel it,” he mumbles sleepily, and shuffles them down, rolling onto her side and reaching for their blankets.
As he pulls them over them, Melody jokes, “Back to bed?  What will our judgmental neighbors say?” 
He gives a little smirk and pulls her against him, tangling their legs together before he whispers, “I don’t think I really care what they say, do you?”
The look he’s giving her makes her toes curl.  She bites her lip and smiles.
“…I don’t think I do, either,” she murmurs to him, and leans in to kiss him.
Frodo groans against her lips and breathes, “Good.” 
And it’s all very good – so good in fact that they completely miss elevenses and are thirty minutes late for lunch.

~~~


5 comments:

  1. *leaves for ten seconds*

    *returns*

    me: THE FRODO BAGGINS ONE IS UP???

    I MUST DEVOUR

    me after reading story: *ded because too much perfection*

    ReplyDelete
  2. I think a sam smut would be a delightful follow up to this little treat.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. No way! Sam I weird! Do one with Pippin!

      Delete
  3. I really, really, really loved this

    ReplyDelete