(no subject)
I'm on the phone with danachan and we have decided that I should post some of those drabbles that I gave to folk in Boston... And guess what -- some of them are probably not real drabbles. I got very tired the last few that I wrote, so I stopped counting.
Here is the one I wrote for rubynye:
There was nothing like the drum of battle to harden a soldier nearly instantly. There was that desperate need to hold every moment, deep and tight, knowing that he could be slain at any moment. Beregond thrust into the halfling, not even looking into his young green eyes. There was little point, when both would fall into darkness, sooner rather than later. Instead he rode in the moment, savoring it, much like he had when he was young and had ridden his first horse.
When they finished, they fell into each other’s arms. Peregrin said nothing at all, but his smile was both frightened and gratified.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
For ithiliana:
Faramir held his sword at Frodo’s neck, and his groin swelled. Oh to have him here, against this cave wall, like a common harlot of the lower city levels. He could. He was the Captain and Frodo was his prisoner. Still holding the sword carefully at Frodo’s neck, Faramir kneeled so that they were nearly eye level. Frodo’s eyes pleaded, but Faramir took great pleasure in leaning into slightly parted lips and devouring them. Frodo gasped for breath, pushing against him, laughing.
“Oh, you are wicked,” Frodo said. “I do so love to play Ranger of Ithilien and Halfling prisoner.”
“Can we not take it a step further?” Faramir asked, painfully aware of the bulge in his leggings.
for aprilkat
Frodo stirred the soup in despair -- it simply had not thickened.
“What am I doing wrong?” he muttered aloud.
“What is the matter, lad?” Bilbo asked.
Frodo looked up in a panic. “I cannot get this to thicken and Faramir will be here at any moment.”
“Do not fret. There is plenty to eat. We have pound cake. Men are not picky about food.”
“But I wish to-“ Frodo blushed. “I wished to please him.”
Strong hands on his shoulders and a kiss on the back of his neck startled Frodo, and he turned to find Faramir, grinning. “You have pleased me. Very much so.”
For alchemilla
Outside Meduseld, Aragorn peered into the fading dim late winter light. Snow-capped mountains gleamed in the distance. Somewhere beyond those peaks-
Aragorn’s throat caught and he clenched his hands. That his sweet Frodo had to endure the wastelands - the burning, blistering land full of poison and hatred and a malicious eye that never slept.
Aragorn’s hand crept into his breeches and he took himself in hand, remembering a smaller but more insistent hand, a light giggle, and sweet blue eyes.
He stroked, picturing pink nipples, swollen from lustful bites, smooth skin marked with desperate fingers, and Frodo’s heavy, gasping breaths that Aragorn had to muffle so often from Hollin to Lorien.
For beruscats
“No.”
“Just this once.” Aragorn’s breath was hot and restrained in Frodo’s ear.
“No.”
“Frodo, please.” Something hard bumped between Frodo’s thighs.
“I won’t.” Frodo turned his head away from Aragorn’s lips, but Aragorn clasped his slender wrists, pinning Frodo to the bed.
“Just one. Tell me one.”
Frodo raised his brows and his lips turned up, eyes lit with mischief. “All right then. Beregond.”
“Beregond?” Aragorn took in a hissing breath, and his grip tightened. “You jest.”
“He was nervous before his judgment.”
Aragorn released a sigh. “Oh, Frodo.”
“You asked.”
“Was he as…did he give pleasure…”
“He was not you.”
For lorie945
“Sit.”
Eomer grabbed Frodo’s shoulder and pushed him down to the bed, his face merciless, like the warrior he was. A chilled fear curdled Frodo’s stomach. Eomer had found out, and he could say nothing to defend himself because it was true.
What would Eomer do? Banish him from the kingdom? Hurt him?
Eomer paced the room like a trapped animal before quietly asking, “Why?”
“I do not know,” Frodo admitted. “I can’t seem to help it.”
“It is not the first time-half my guards have tasted your flesh-“
Frodo unbuttoned his shirt, breathing hard. “Take me.”
For wymsie
Boromir ran his hand along the satin fabric. Frodo could not quite take in a deep breath, so pinched he was by the stays that shaped his dress.
“Fetching,” Boromir said with a salacious grin. “A regular tavern wench.”
Frodo hardened at his touch. “I’m sorry I spilled ale on you.” He rubbed against Boromir, his pale shoulders showing tantalizingly from the off-the-shoulder sleeves. Boromir slid his hands under the skirt.
“No matter,” he said in a growl. “I shall take my payment.”
Here is the one I wrote for rubynye:
There was nothing like the drum of battle to harden a soldier nearly instantly. There was that desperate need to hold every moment, deep and tight, knowing that he could be slain at any moment. Beregond thrust into the halfling, not even looking into his young green eyes. There was little point, when both would fall into darkness, sooner rather than later. Instead he rode in the moment, savoring it, much like he had when he was young and had ridden his first horse.
When they finished, they fell into each other’s arms. Peregrin said nothing at all, but his smile was both frightened and gratified.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
For ithiliana:
Faramir held his sword at Frodo’s neck, and his groin swelled. Oh to have him here, against this cave wall, like a common harlot of the lower city levels. He could. He was the Captain and Frodo was his prisoner. Still holding the sword carefully at Frodo’s neck, Faramir kneeled so that they were nearly eye level. Frodo’s eyes pleaded, but Faramir took great pleasure in leaning into slightly parted lips and devouring them. Frodo gasped for breath, pushing against him, laughing.
“Oh, you are wicked,” Frodo said. “I do so love to play Ranger of Ithilien and Halfling prisoner.”
“Can we not take it a step further?” Faramir asked, painfully aware of the bulge in his leggings.
for aprilkat
Frodo stirred the soup in despair -- it simply had not thickened.
“What am I doing wrong?” he muttered aloud.
“What is the matter, lad?” Bilbo asked.
Frodo looked up in a panic. “I cannot get this to thicken and Faramir will be here at any moment.”
“Do not fret. There is plenty to eat. We have pound cake. Men are not picky about food.”
“But I wish to-“ Frodo blushed. “I wished to please him.”
Strong hands on his shoulders and a kiss on the back of his neck startled Frodo, and he turned to find Faramir, grinning. “You have pleased me. Very much so.”
For alchemilla
Outside Meduseld, Aragorn peered into the fading dim late winter light. Snow-capped mountains gleamed in the distance. Somewhere beyond those peaks-
Aragorn’s throat caught and he clenched his hands. That his sweet Frodo had to endure the wastelands - the burning, blistering land full of poison and hatred and a malicious eye that never slept.
Aragorn’s hand crept into his breeches and he took himself in hand, remembering a smaller but more insistent hand, a light giggle, and sweet blue eyes.
He stroked, picturing pink nipples, swollen from lustful bites, smooth skin marked with desperate fingers, and Frodo’s heavy, gasping breaths that Aragorn had to muffle so often from Hollin to Lorien.
For beruscats
“No.”
“Just this once.” Aragorn’s breath was hot and restrained in Frodo’s ear.
“No.”
“Frodo, please.” Something hard bumped between Frodo’s thighs.
“I won’t.” Frodo turned his head away from Aragorn’s lips, but Aragorn clasped his slender wrists, pinning Frodo to the bed.
“Just one. Tell me one.”
Frodo raised his brows and his lips turned up, eyes lit with mischief. “All right then. Beregond.”
“Beregond?” Aragorn took in a hissing breath, and his grip tightened. “You jest.”
“He was nervous before his judgment.”
Aragorn released a sigh. “Oh, Frodo.”
“You asked.”
“Was he as…did he give pleasure…”
“He was not you.”
For lorie945
“Sit.”
Eomer grabbed Frodo’s shoulder and pushed him down to the bed, his face merciless, like the warrior he was. A chilled fear curdled Frodo’s stomach. Eomer had found out, and he could say nothing to defend himself because it was true.
What would Eomer do? Banish him from the kingdom? Hurt him?
Eomer paced the room like a trapped animal before quietly asking, “Why?”
“I do not know,” Frodo admitted. “I can’t seem to help it.”
“It is not the first time-half my guards have tasted your flesh-“
Frodo unbuttoned his shirt, breathing hard. “Take me.”
For wymsie
Boromir ran his hand along the satin fabric. Frodo could not quite take in a deep breath, so pinched he was by the stays that shaped his dress.
“Fetching,” Boromir said with a salacious grin. “A regular tavern wench.”
Frodo hardened at his touch. “I’m sorry I spilled ale on you.” He rubbed against Boromir, his pale shoulders showing tantalizingly from the off-the-shoulder sleeves. Boromir slid his hands under the skirt.
“No matter,” he said in a growl. “I shall take my payment.”