Ficlet "Just Can't Sleep Alone" F/A PG-13 MPREG
This little ficcie is part of my MPREG series, and it's set after "Frodo's Revenge". :) Thanks to my lovely beta RavenWolf for the title suggestions (though I didn't use them, I'll keep them in mind for future reference).
"Just Can't Sleep Alone"
by BUNNY!
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn
Part: 1/1
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: MPREG, teensy bit o' angst
Disclaimer: LOTR not mine. No money. More's the pity.
Summary: Frodo can't sleep without Aragorn.
"Just Can't Sleep Alone"
Frodo tossed and turned irritably. He was tired. It
had been a long and frustrating day, but his mind was
wide-awake. He'd tried counting and naming all of the
Guards of the Citadel. It hadn't helped him sleep. Now
his restlessness had woken the babe he carried, and it
squirmed in protest of the disruption to its sleep.
Frodo put a calming hand to his belly, rubbing and
carressing where he felt the fluttering sensations of
the infant's motions.
"Hush now. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Go
back to sleep," he whispered. If the babe heard, it
gave no indication. The fluttering didn't ease.
Frodo sighed. Perhaps his lonliness for Aragorn kept
the baby restless. He *was* lonely. Yes, he was still
irritated at the Man for laughing at him earlier, but
the bed was too empty without him in it. He had to
admit, in the time he had been sharing a bed with
Aragorn, he'd become quite spoiled for sleeping alone.
Even if his lover did have a tendency to hoard the
coverlet.
The hobbit sat up. The way things looked, he would
still be awake come morn. Maybe a short walk would
settle both his mind and the still-wriggling baby.
Throwing back the blankets, he climbed (rather slowly)
out of bed and took his robe off the near-by chair.
Reconsidering, he cast it aside again and picked up
Aragorn's. The velvet cloth was thick and warm, and,
comfortingly, the Man's scent clung to the heavy
folds. Frodo bunched the sleeves up his arms and
clutched the fabric in his hands. The trick to wearing
Aragorn's shirts or robes was not to trip over the
hem.
Cautiously, he unlocked and opened the door. Stepping
into the next room, he halted, very nearly stumbling.
Aragorn slept upon the couch. He'd pulled a warm
blanket from an old oak chest in one corner of the
room. An arm pillowed his head.
Frodo didn't know why the sight of his lover surprised
him so. He should've expected him to sleep on the
couch (which, it must be mentioned, was a little too
short to be used thus for a Man of Aragorn's height),
where he could be woken at a call if help was needed.
Frodo simply stood watching him, listening to his
steady breathing. The irritation he'd previously felt
melted away, leaving him with a sense of longing. An
urge to wake Aragorn and bring him back to their bed,
to lay in the warmth of his arms through the dark of
night. Seeing Aragorn asleep always went straight to
his heart, because the former Ranger looked so young,
and his burdens didn't weigh upon him quite as heavily. He
wondered, not for the first time, what it would have
been like to meet Aragorn in his youth. How many happy
years they could've spent together, without fear and
pain and hunger and...the Ring.
With this thought, an entirely different longing filled
him. He wanted the gold in his hands again, to stroke
and adore. To hear its whisper in his mind, all of its
promises.
Frodo pushed that away. No, he didn't need that. The
Ring was gone, destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom,
and he was here, in Gondor, safe and well-fed and
well-loved. The one that loved him most even lay sleeping
before him.
Walking towards the sleeping Man as silently as
possible, Frodo pulled a slipping corner of the quilt
back over Aragorn's shoulder. Leaning down, he brushed
a light kiss upon the Man's brow. No, he couldn't wake
him. They would make up in the morning, after the sun
had arisen. Not before. The hobbit cursed his pride,
for it had resigned Aragorn to the couch this night. His
pride had left him restless and lonely, and it wouldn't let him
wake Aragorn.
Stepping away, Frodo went back to their room, and the
empty bed. He didn't really want to go for a walk now.
In fact, he felt rather tired.
Climbing into bed, one arm wrapped about with
Aragorn's robe, Frodo sighed. The babe had quieted
while he'd been out there with Aragorn, and now seemed
to sleep. Yawning, he decided the notion appealed to
him. Frodo dozed off, a picture of his dear Ranger
asleep, and looking oh, so young, still lingering in his
mind.
The End.
"Just Can't Sleep Alone"
by BUNNY!
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn
Part: 1/1
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: MPREG, teensy bit o' angst
Disclaimer: LOTR not mine. No money. More's the pity.
Summary: Frodo can't sleep without Aragorn.
"Just Can't Sleep Alone"
Frodo tossed and turned irritably. He was tired. It
had been a long and frustrating day, but his mind was
wide-awake. He'd tried counting and naming all of the
Guards of the Citadel. It hadn't helped him sleep. Now
his restlessness had woken the babe he carried, and it
squirmed in protest of the disruption to its sleep.
Frodo put a calming hand to his belly, rubbing and
carressing where he felt the fluttering sensations of
the infant's motions.
"Hush now. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Go
back to sleep," he whispered. If the babe heard, it
gave no indication. The fluttering didn't ease.
Frodo sighed. Perhaps his lonliness for Aragorn kept
the baby restless. He *was* lonely. Yes, he was still
irritated at the Man for laughing at him earlier, but
the bed was too empty without him in it. He had to
admit, in the time he had been sharing a bed with
Aragorn, he'd become quite spoiled for sleeping alone.
Even if his lover did have a tendency to hoard the
coverlet.
The hobbit sat up. The way things looked, he would
still be awake come morn. Maybe a short walk would
settle both his mind and the still-wriggling baby.
Throwing back the blankets, he climbed (rather slowly)
out of bed and took his robe off the near-by chair.
Reconsidering, he cast it aside again and picked up
Aragorn's. The velvet cloth was thick and warm, and,
comfortingly, the Man's scent clung to the heavy
folds. Frodo bunched the sleeves up his arms and
clutched the fabric in his hands. The trick to wearing
Aragorn's shirts or robes was not to trip over the
hem.
Cautiously, he unlocked and opened the door. Stepping
into the next room, he halted, very nearly stumbling.
Aragorn slept upon the couch. He'd pulled a warm
blanket from an old oak chest in one corner of the
room. An arm pillowed his head.
Frodo didn't know why the sight of his lover surprised
him so. He should've expected him to sleep on the
couch (which, it must be mentioned, was a little too
short to be used thus for a Man of Aragorn's height),
where he could be woken at a call if help was needed.
Frodo simply stood watching him, listening to his
steady breathing. The irritation he'd previously felt
melted away, leaving him with a sense of longing. An
urge to wake Aragorn and bring him back to their bed,
to lay in the warmth of his arms through the dark of
night. Seeing Aragorn asleep always went straight to
his heart, because the former Ranger looked so young,
and his burdens didn't weigh upon him quite as heavily. He
wondered, not for the first time, what it would have
been like to meet Aragorn in his youth. How many happy
years they could've spent together, without fear and
pain and hunger and...the Ring.
With this thought, an entirely different longing filled
him. He wanted the gold in his hands again, to stroke
and adore. To hear its whisper in his mind, all of its
promises.
Frodo pushed that away. No, he didn't need that. The
Ring was gone, destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom,
and he was here, in Gondor, safe and well-fed and
well-loved. The one that loved him most even lay sleeping
before him.
Walking towards the sleeping Man as silently as
possible, Frodo pulled a slipping corner of the quilt
back over Aragorn's shoulder. Leaning down, he brushed
a light kiss upon the Man's brow. No, he couldn't wake
him. They would make up in the morning, after the sun
had arisen. Not before. The hobbit cursed his pride,
for it had resigned Aragorn to the couch this night. His
pride had left him restless and lonely, and it wouldn't let him
wake Aragorn.
Stepping away, Frodo went back to their room, and the
empty bed. He didn't really want to go for a walk now.
In fact, he felt rather tired.
Climbing into bed, one arm wrapped about with
Aragorn's robe, Frodo sighed. The babe had quieted
while he'd been out there with Aragorn, and now seemed
to sleep. Yawning, he decided the notion appealed to
him. Frodo dozed off, a picture of his dear Ranger
asleep, and looking oh, so young, still lingering in his
mind.
The End.