Fic: Harmless Trinket
Title: Harmless Trinket
Fandom: The Hobbit (film, but it works for the book too)
Pairing: Bilbo/The Ring
Raiting: NC-17
Word Count: 2,500
Warnings: PWP. Can masturbation be dubcon?
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
Summary: Everything was topsy-turvy on this journey he'd undertaken, and so what if his masturbation habits had changed as well?
A/N: Really, Rotaryphones? You've come out of fandom retirement just to write some Bilbo/Ring porn for the holidays? Yes, yes I have. Because someone had to write it. You're welcome.
On AO3
Harmless Trinket
It was the longest Bilbo had ever worn the ring to date. Hours since his friends had been captured and jailed by the elves, hours of hiding and eavesdropping with only the ring and his wits for protection. It was a complete necessity, of course. In this dangerous place, he needed the ring to survive. But spending so much time with that token around his finger, plunged into that strange realm of shadow, filled Bilbo with a nervous energy he couldn't quite place. He only knew he didn't like it. There was a tingling at the base of his spine and a faint headache that grew more insistent as the minutes passed by. But the ring's distractions were drowned out by a constant sense of danger, and so he'd left it on.
Now it was nighttime, with the stars shining overhead and most of the elves in their beds. Bilbo, himself, was desperate for rest. There had been very little of it to be found in that horror called Mirkwood. He was so tired, he doubted he could make any coherent plans of escape until the morning, anyway. So he found himself a reasonable spot to sleep, in a dark corner of what seemed to be a forgotten cupboard, against a rough sack of something moldable. All told, it was one of the more comfortable beds he'd had since Rivendell.
But bone-weary as he was, he couldn't seem to pass into slumber. Not with this constant buzzing in his head. Now that he had nothing to distract himself from it, it seemed twice as strong, reverberating through his skin in a way that was almost feverish. For a few moments he fought against it, even considered sleeping without the ring on despite the danger. But then his oncoming headache passed into something different. It took time to get used to it, but as he lay there in the dark, the buzzing no longer felt as disorienting as it had been. No, it felt much better now. It made him feel almost warm and comforted, if a little fuzzy around the edges.
In fact, it was almost erotic, Bilbo thought as he rubbed a hand against his trousers.
As soon as those words ran through his thoughts, he pressed a little harder and tried to remember the last time he had relieved himself in that way. It had been in the Shire, to be certain. He'd had precious little time to himself since running out his door. But he had the time now. And there was no telling when he would have another opportunity. It took a very short while and very little argument for Bilbo to decide that, although he was tired, a quick and quiet bit of self pleasuring was just what he needed. Not to mention deserved.
He quickly lowered his trousers and pants, making sure to keep the fabric around his calves-he wasn't sure exactly how the ring's magic worked, but he doubted it would extend to discarded clothing. He then placed a light touch to his shaft with his right hand. Normally he would use his left, but sullying the ring like that...somehow, it seemed wrong. He gave himself a few light strokes before bringing the right hand to his mouth and spitting in his palm. He thought longingly of the bottle of oil in his bedside table at Bag’s End, but he supposed relying on saliva was just one more sacrifice he had to make on this journey. In any case, it did the trick: his hand slid along his cock, and he had to hold his breath to keep from hissing in delight.
With a slicked hand and closed eyes, Bilbo searched through his favorite fantasy material. That time, as a much younger Hobbit, when he caught a glimpse of Holly the barmaid’s white thigh. The handful of naughty etchings he hid under the mattress, procured, or so he was told, from a faraway land. He thought of undergarments and bare breasts. When that didn’t work, he even recalled the elves of Rivendell, stately and otherworldly, and dared to imagine what lay under their gowns. But to his mounting frustration, nothing seemed to do the trick. He was still buzzing with energy, his half-hardened cock sensitive to his touch, and yet nothing was fanning those embers of arousal into a full-fledged flame. With everything he’d been through recently, his usual fantasies felt dull and over-trodden.
Oh well. He gave it up as a lost cause and decided to try again for sleep. His hand slowed its stroking, his eyes opened-and the first thing his vision alighted on was the ring.
How? he wondered for the thousandth time that week. How could something so simple be so beautiful?
Even in this darkened chamber, the ring seemed to glow with its own light that drew Bilbo in and in. He had never seen a piece of jewelry so quietly breathtaking, so flawless-especially wrapped around his skin. It filled him with a longing he couldn’t explain, and didn't want to explain. Because why should he have to defend himself? Who did he have to explain it to? Nobody, he thought to himself. The ring belonged to him, and no one else had to know about it. Bilbo was free to admire it without judgment, draw his own comfort from it, this perfect thing that belonged to him and him alone. It glittered and called to him, his small harmless trinket, his hard-earned token. Why shouldn’t he admire it? It was beautiful, and it was entirely, rightfully his.
Bilbo gasped a bit too loud as he went back to squeezing his cock, twisting his fingers at the head in just the right way. His arousal had fully sparked while staring at the ring, and Bilbo rode the unexpected wave of bliss, shifting his hips into a better angle and increasing the pressure. It had been so long since he'd done this and his touch felt so perfect. He worked at himself slowly, savoring the buildup as his body came alive. He stroked, and pulled, and kept his eyes focused on the gold band that was urging him onward.
It wasn’t until the saliva on his palm had dried out, not until he bought the palm back to his mouth to reapply spit, that he paused for a moment and fully considered what he was doing. He was getting off from staring at the ring. From thinking about the ring. There was no denying that. The shock of it cleared the buzzing in his head, and he recognized at once how bizarre that was, how completely unlike him. What in the world was he doing? For goodness sake, what was wrong with him?
But the moment of panic passed as quickly as it came. Bilbo stroked a fingertip against the ring as the buzzing in his thoughts resumed, and he reasoned that as long as it felt good, where was the harm? Who would have to know? Everything was topsy-turvy on this journey he'd undertaken, and so what if his masturbation habits had changed as well?
Besides, he thought, resuming the teasing strokes to his cock and lifting the ring closer to eye level, it wasn’t simply about the ring’s beauty. It was more than that. It was the ring’s gift of invisibility. The ring’s strength. He felt invinceable wearing it, like he could get away with anything, sneak anywhere, take whatever he liked. The ring, in its way, gave him power. More power than the dwarves. More power than the elves. More power than Gandalf, even.
He gasped at this last thought, silly and mistaken though it was, and had to bring his knuckles to his teeth to keep from crying out as his strokes found a steady quickened rhythm. This brought the ring right to his lips, the cool smooth surface feeling shamefully pleasant against chapped, heated skin.
Hardly aware of his actions, lost in a haze growing thicker by the moment, he pursed his lips to place a tiny but reverential kiss to the gold, then shivered at the jolt that ran through him. A kiss wasn't going to be enough. He wrapped his lips around the base of his finger as best he could, and when that wasn't enough, he shoved his entire finger in his mouth, nearly choking himself in the process. He sucked hard at the digit and the metal, starving for the taste of it, and whimpered as it rewarded him with sensation. He couldn't understand how it still felt so cool, trapped between his hot mouth and his burning skin, but it was perfect. Better than anything his tongue had ever felt. Better than anything he had ever felt.
He sucked at it for some time, eyes closed in pleasure, cock fully hard by now. But having the ring in his mouth meant he couldn't see it, couldn't feel it over the rest of his body. He reluctantly removed the finger with a wet pop, then ran the metal across his cheekbone before shoving it up under his shirt to rub along his belly, his chest. It grazed over one sensitive nipple, and he let out a choked whine. He knew he needed to be quiet, but he found he was quickly losing control over the noises that started low in his throat and pushed through his lips, the panting breaths, the sobs and half-moans. And there was something inside of him telling him it would be okay. He could let go, make noises, give in to what he was feeling, and the ring would keep him safe. The ring always kept him safe.
He pressed the metal against the other nipple, the sharp cold making him whimper before it dissolved into erotic heat spreading out through his body. He continued to explore under his shirt, then drove himself mad rubbing the ring against the bare skin of his exposed thighs. This way he could feel and see the ring all at once. He could lose as many senses to the ring as possible. He thought he might pass out from the fire burning through him at every caress to his leg and every pull to his cock. But it still wasn't enough. He needed so much more, and he knew how to get it.
He was already half out of his mind with euphoria when, with trembling anticipation, he finally took his cock in his ringed hand. Nothing that came before could compare to it. It was an onslaught of bliss, flames that licked him head to toe, like he was being yanked from this world into an alternate plane of lust. He shouted, outright shouted. Or at least, it seemed to him that he shouted, but he couldn't hear it over the pound of blood in his ears. He wasn't sure he even believed in an external world anymore. It was only his body, his cock, and his ring, his precious ring.
He watched the gold slide against his shaft, couldn't take his eyes off of it even if he tried. This was it. This was all he needed from now on. If there was a reality that existed beyond this moment, it didn't matter. He could abandon the dwarves, slit elvish throats on his way out the door. He could steal any treasure he desired on his way back home and live like a king under his hill. He didn't need anyone else. He only needed this. This moment, this pleasure. His ring.
He cupped the head of his cock so that the ring was resting on the very tip, and brought his other hand back to the shaft to continue stroking. It made it easier to stare directly into the glow as he built towards a climax. The ring seemed to be the source point of all joy, shooting down through his cock, his balls, lighting up every nerve, sinking deep into his brain and taking hold. He felt he no longer existed, he sense of self blurred. His vision was blurred as well. He could no longer make out the sharp edges of the ring, just the golden brightness of it surrounding him on all sides. There was light everywhere. It coalesced into angry red scratches, like burning letters etched deep into the metal, that also seemed etched into his eyelids if he tried to close them. He fancied he could read the made-up writing. He imagined it pouring from his lips in a low mutter, a chant he didn't understand, but in his mind the only words he heard were, my precious ring. My precious ring. My precious ring. And the only thing he felt was pure ecstasy.
When he finally came, when the fire finally engulfed him, it shuddered through his whole being. He was shaking and shouting and crying. He couldn't stop, he had no control, no choice but to ride the almost painful bliss that took hold and squeezed him dry. He was dying. No, he would live forever. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but this moment, and the ring. The Ring.
* * *
A silent minute passed. Bilbo lay on the floor, empty and exhausted. Then he shivered. He was cold, very cold. And he was curled in on himself, wet with sweat and come.
Pushing through his sluggish thoughts, he noticed that the ring was still on his finger, pressed tightly against his chest in his shaking hands. The ring. Oh, the gods help him, what had he done?
Bilbo yanked the ring from his finger, and nearly wept as he was pulled back into the real world and out of the shadows. For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick. He turned over onto his hands and knees, but he merely retched before losing the energy and flopping onto his back. He felt awful, like he was dying. But as the nausea passed away, he couldn't quite remember why. That is, he knew why...but the last few minutes didn't seem real. They were more like a fevered dream, a nightmare hallucination. And they became less real as more time passed. Had he really done those things? Had those thoughts? Did he really find a band of gold metal so erotic?
It had to have been just a moment's insanity, he decided, the memories growing ever fuzzier and more distant. Brought on by lack of sleep and hunger. One last side effect from that poisonous forest, perhaps. And maybe he shouldn't have worn the ring for such an extended period of time. Maybe.
He was starting to drift to sleep, his body and mind equally exhausted from their various torments. Barely conscious, he reached to place the ring back on his finger-then jerked awake and stopped himself. Perhaps...perhaps he would risk sleeping here without the ring's protection. It would be okay for one night, surely. He would cover himself and be careful. But a bit of rest from the ring couldn't hurt. And if he needed to, in the morning-yes, the morning, he thought. He could put the ring back on in the morning. If he needed to. As long as it helped him devise a plan for his friends' escape.
Setting his friends free was his last thought before dropping off into sleep, his harmless trinket still clutched to his chest.
Okay, now that I've gotten that little bit of porn out of the way, how is everyone? So pumped about Sherlock season 3? I haven't been active in fandom for some time now, but I may be logging back on in January just to hear the reactions and the chatter. :) Until then, happy holidays, all.
Fandom: The Hobbit (film, but it works for the book too)
Pairing: Bilbo/The Ring
Raiting: NC-17
Word Count: 2,500
Warnings: PWP. Can masturbation be dubcon?
Disclaimer: I don't own it.
Summary: Everything was topsy-turvy on this journey he'd undertaken, and so what if his masturbation habits had changed as well?
A/N: Really, Rotaryphones? You've come out of fandom retirement just to write some Bilbo/Ring porn for the holidays? Yes, yes I have. Because someone had to write it. You're welcome.
On AO3
Harmless Trinket
It was the longest Bilbo had ever worn the ring to date. Hours since his friends had been captured and jailed by the elves, hours of hiding and eavesdropping with only the ring and his wits for protection. It was a complete necessity, of course. In this dangerous place, he needed the ring to survive. But spending so much time with that token around his finger, plunged into that strange realm of shadow, filled Bilbo with a nervous energy he couldn't quite place. He only knew he didn't like it. There was a tingling at the base of his spine and a faint headache that grew more insistent as the minutes passed by. But the ring's distractions were drowned out by a constant sense of danger, and so he'd left it on.
Now it was nighttime, with the stars shining overhead and most of the elves in their beds. Bilbo, himself, was desperate for rest. There had been very little of it to be found in that horror called Mirkwood. He was so tired, he doubted he could make any coherent plans of escape until the morning, anyway. So he found himself a reasonable spot to sleep, in a dark corner of what seemed to be a forgotten cupboard, against a rough sack of something moldable. All told, it was one of the more comfortable beds he'd had since Rivendell.
But bone-weary as he was, he couldn't seem to pass into slumber. Not with this constant buzzing in his head. Now that he had nothing to distract himself from it, it seemed twice as strong, reverberating through his skin in a way that was almost feverish. For a few moments he fought against it, even considered sleeping without the ring on despite the danger. But then his oncoming headache passed into something different. It took time to get used to it, but as he lay there in the dark, the buzzing no longer felt as disorienting as it had been. No, it felt much better now. It made him feel almost warm and comforted, if a little fuzzy around the edges.
In fact, it was almost erotic, Bilbo thought as he rubbed a hand against his trousers.
As soon as those words ran through his thoughts, he pressed a little harder and tried to remember the last time he had relieved himself in that way. It had been in the Shire, to be certain. He'd had precious little time to himself since running out his door. But he had the time now. And there was no telling when he would have another opportunity. It took a very short while and very little argument for Bilbo to decide that, although he was tired, a quick and quiet bit of self pleasuring was just what he needed. Not to mention deserved.
He quickly lowered his trousers and pants, making sure to keep the fabric around his calves-he wasn't sure exactly how the ring's magic worked, but he doubted it would extend to discarded clothing. He then placed a light touch to his shaft with his right hand. Normally he would use his left, but sullying the ring like that...somehow, it seemed wrong. He gave himself a few light strokes before bringing the right hand to his mouth and spitting in his palm. He thought longingly of the bottle of oil in his bedside table at Bag’s End, but he supposed relying on saliva was just one more sacrifice he had to make on this journey. In any case, it did the trick: his hand slid along his cock, and he had to hold his breath to keep from hissing in delight.
With a slicked hand and closed eyes, Bilbo searched through his favorite fantasy material. That time, as a much younger Hobbit, when he caught a glimpse of Holly the barmaid’s white thigh. The handful of naughty etchings he hid under the mattress, procured, or so he was told, from a faraway land. He thought of undergarments and bare breasts. When that didn’t work, he even recalled the elves of Rivendell, stately and otherworldly, and dared to imagine what lay under their gowns. But to his mounting frustration, nothing seemed to do the trick. He was still buzzing with energy, his half-hardened cock sensitive to his touch, and yet nothing was fanning those embers of arousal into a full-fledged flame. With everything he’d been through recently, his usual fantasies felt dull and over-trodden.
Oh well. He gave it up as a lost cause and decided to try again for sleep. His hand slowed its stroking, his eyes opened-and the first thing his vision alighted on was the ring.
How? he wondered for the thousandth time that week. How could something so simple be so beautiful?
Even in this darkened chamber, the ring seemed to glow with its own light that drew Bilbo in and in. He had never seen a piece of jewelry so quietly breathtaking, so flawless-especially wrapped around his skin. It filled him with a longing he couldn’t explain, and didn't want to explain. Because why should he have to defend himself? Who did he have to explain it to? Nobody, he thought to himself. The ring belonged to him, and no one else had to know about it. Bilbo was free to admire it without judgment, draw his own comfort from it, this perfect thing that belonged to him and him alone. It glittered and called to him, his small harmless trinket, his hard-earned token. Why shouldn’t he admire it? It was beautiful, and it was entirely, rightfully his.
Bilbo gasped a bit too loud as he went back to squeezing his cock, twisting his fingers at the head in just the right way. His arousal had fully sparked while staring at the ring, and Bilbo rode the unexpected wave of bliss, shifting his hips into a better angle and increasing the pressure. It had been so long since he'd done this and his touch felt so perfect. He worked at himself slowly, savoring the buildup as his body came alive. He stroked, and pulled, and kept his eyes focused on the gold band that was urging him onward.
It wasn’t until the saliva on his palm had dried out, not until he bought the palm back to his mouth to reapply spit, that he paused for a moment and fully considered what he was doing. He was getting off from staring at the ring. From thinking about the ring. There was no denying that. The shock of it cleared the buzzing in his head, and he recognized at once how bizarre that was, how completely unlike him. What in the world was he doing? For goodness sake, what was wrong with him?
But the moment of panic passed as quickly as it came. Bilbo stroked a fingertip against the ring as the buzzing in his thoughts resumed, and he reasoned that as long as it felt good, where was the harm? Who would have to know? Everything was topsy-turvy on this journey he'd undertaken, and so what if his masturbation habits had changed as well?
Besides, he thought, resuming the teasing strokes to his cock and lifting the ring closer to eye level, it wasn’t simply about the ring’s beauty. It was more than that. It was the ring’s gift of invisibility. The ring’s strength. He felt invinceable wearing it, like he could get away with anything, sneak anywhere, take whatever he liked. The ring, in its way, gave him power. More power than the dwarves. More power than the elves. More power than Gandalf, even.
He gasped at this last thought, silly and mistaken though it was, and had to bring his knuckles to his teeth to keep from crying out as his strokes found a steady quickened rhythm. This brought the ring right to his lips, the cool smooth surface feeling shamefully pleasant against chapped, heated skin.
Hardly aware of his actions, lost in a haze growing thicker by the moment, he pursed his lips to place a tiny but reverential kiss to the gold, then shivered at the jolt that ran through him. A kiss wasn't going to be enough. He wrapped his lips around the base of his finger as best he could, and when that wasn't enough, he shoved his entire finger in his mouth, nearly choking himself in the process. He sucked hard at the digit and the metal, starving for the taste of it, and whimpered as it rewarded him with sensation. He couldn't understand how it still felt so cool, trapped between his hot mouth and his burning skin, but it was perfect. Better than anything his tongue had ever felt. Better than anything he had ever felt.
He sucked at it for some time, eyes closed in pleasure, cock fully hard by now. But having the ring in his mouth meant he couldn't see it, couldn't feel it over the rest of his body. He reluctantly removed the finger with a wet pop, then ran the metal across his cheekbone before shoving it up under his shirt to rub along his belly, his chest. It grazed over one sensitive nipple, and he let out a choked whine. He knew he needed to be quiet, but he found he was quickly losing control over the noises that started low in his throat and pushed through his lips, the panting breaths, the sobs and half-moans. And there was something inside of him telling him it would be okay. He could let go, make noises, give in to what he was feeling, and the ring would keep him safe. The ring always kept him safe.
He pressed the metal against the other nipple, the sharp cold making him whimper before it dissolved into erotic heat spreading out through his body. He continued to explore under his shirt, then drove himself mad rubbing the ring against the bare skin of his exposed thighs. This way he could feel and see the ring all at once. He could lose as many senses to the ring as possible. He thought he might pass out from the fire burning through him at every caress to his leg and every pull to his cock. But it still wasn't enough. He needed so much more, and he knew how to get it.
He was already half out of his mind with euphoria when, with trembling anticipation, he finally took his cock in his ringed hand. Nothing that came before could compare to it. It was an onslaught of bliss, flames that licked him head to toe, like he was being yanked from this world into an alternate plane of lust. He shouted, outright shouted. Or at least, it seemed to him that he shouted, but he couldn't hear it over the pound of blood in his ears. He wasn't sure he even believed in an external world anymore. It was only his body, his cock, and his ring, his precious ring.
He watched the gold slide against his shaft, couldn't take his eyes off of it even if he tried. This was it. This was all he needed from now on. If there was a reality that existed beyond this moment, it didn't matter. He could abandon the dwarves, slit elvish throats on his way out the door. He could steal any treasure he desired on his way back home and live like a king under his hill. He didn't need anyone else. He only needed this. This moment, this pleasure. His ring.
He cupped the head of his cock so that the ring was resting on the very tip, and brought his other hand back to the shaft to continue stroking. It made it easier to stare directly into the glow as he built towards a climax. The ring seemed to be the source point of all joy, shooting down through his cock, his balls, lighting up every nerve, sinking deep into his brain and taking hold. He felt he no longer existed, he sense of self blurred. His vision was blurred as well. He could no longer make out the sharp edges of the ring, just the golden brightness of it surrounding him on all sides. There was light everywhere. It coalesced into angry red scratches, like burning letters etched deep into the metal, that also seemed etched into his eyelids if he tried to close them. He fancied he could read the made-up writing. He imagined it pouring from his lips in a low mutter, a chant he didn't understand, but in his mind the only words he heard were, my precious ring. My precious ring. My precious ring. And the only thing he felt was pure ecstasy.
When he finally came, when the fire finally engulfed him, it shuddered through his whole being. He was shaking and shouting and crying. He couldn't stop, he had no control, no choice but to ride the almost painful bliss that took hold and squeezed him dry. He was dying. No, he would live forever. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but this moment, and the ring. The Ring.
* * *
A silent minute passed. Bilbo lay on the floor, empty and exhausted. Then he shivered. He was cold, very cold. And he was curled in on himself, wet with sweat and come.
Pushing through his sluggish thoughts, he noticed that the ring was still on his finger, pressed tightly against his chest in his shaking hands. The ring. Oh, the gods help him, what had he done?
Bilbo yanked the ring from his finger, and nearly wept as he was pulled back into the real world and out of the shadows. For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick. He turned over onto his hands and knees, but he merely retched before losing the energy and flopping onto his back. He felt awful, like he was dying. But as the nausea passed away, he couldn't quite remember why. That is, he knew why...but the last few minutes didn't seem real. They were more like a fevered dream, a nightmare hallucination. And they became less real as more time passed. Had he really done those things? Had those thoughts? Did he really find a band of gold metal so erotic?
It had to have been just a moment's insanity, he decided, the memories growing ever fuzzier and more distant. Brought on by lack of sleep and hunger. One last side effect from that poisonous forest, perhaps. And maybe he shouldn't have worn the ring for such an extended period of time. Maybe.
He was starting to drift to sleep, his body and mind equally exhausted from their various torments. Barely conscious, he reached to place the ring back on his finger-then jerked awake and stopped himself. Perhaps...perhaps he would risk sleeping here without the ring's protection. It would be okay for one night, surely. He would cover himself and be careful. But a bit of rest from the ring couldn't hurt. And if he needed to, in the morning-yes, the morning, he thought. He could put the ring back on in the morning. If he needed to. As long as it helped him devise a plan for his friends' escape.
Setting his friends free was his last thought before dropping off into sleep, his harmless trinket still clutched to his chest.
Okay, now that I've gotten that little bit of porn out of the way, how is everyone? So pumped about Sherlock season 3? I haven't been active in fandom for some time now, but I may be logging back on in January just to hear the reactions and the chatter. :) Until then, happy holidays, all.