Bonding by Numbers, multiple pairings, rated R (mild)
Title: Bonding by Numbers
Name: Claudia
Written for a hobbit_smut challenge
Rating: mild R
Pairing/s: Frodo/Aragorn, Sam/Boromir
Other pairing/s: Frodo/Sam, Merry/Pippin, Legolas/Gimli
Summary: After the Council of Elrond, Elrond has gotten tired of all the bickering among the fellowship. He has a plan to help the fellowship bond. Pippin has a better plan.
Notes: My attempt at silliness! Thank you, shirebound for the lovely beta!! <3
I was just as flabbergasted as the rest of the company when I heard the click of the key locking the rather small room from the outside. As Elrond’s angry footfalls faded, we nine - and what a sundry group we were, four hobbits, two of the Big Folk, a Dwarf, an Elf, and even Mr. Gandalf -- stared at one another in a rare moment of quiet. My mouth hung open in the way Ma used to call “fly catchin’”.
“Surely,” Boromir began with that contemptuous smile that was already beginning to dig under my skin, “Lord Elrond did not just lock us in this prison.”
I snorted. Leave it to one of the Big Folk to state the obvious. Though prison was hardly the way to describe this fancy room. Arched windows, framed by sea-green gauze material, looked over the valley. We could hear the gentle rush of a distant waterfall. Cushions and plush chairs were arranged in various corners amidst the marble statues of great Elves, most of which had perished in battle or passed over the Sea. I could quite get used to this -- that is, if I could just have a bit of earth between my toes and a cold mug of ale in hand.
“Humph.” Gandalf gathered his robes and settled in a corner, cradling his staff, which gave off flickering light. Judging from the cantankerous glint in the wizard’s eye, we were all likely to be turned into spotted toads before this was over.
“I wonder how long Elrond’ll keep us here,” Pippin whispered. “It’s nearly time for lunch and he didn’t leave us anything to eat.” I tried not to show my alarm, but he was right. Elves did not eat near as often as Hobbits, as few of the other races of Middle-earth it seemed did, and Elrond just might keep us in here without thought to lunch or tea or even dinner.
“The quest is a grave matter,” Elrond had said just before locking us up, and his eyes had been stern and black. “And any rifts within can mean disaster - and a second darkness. I hereby command that you work this out among one another before the end of the day.”
“He was quite…put out,” Gimli said, fingering his ax.
“Perhaps,” suggested Legolas, raising his brows, “it had something to do with your curse upon all Elvish folk?”
Gimli’s voice dropped to a growl. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have made a liar out of old Mr. Baggins by claiming my father was too fat to have fit in one of your wine barrels!”
“He is.”
“At least he didn’t let 13 prisoners escape under his nose.”
Legolas’ pale cheeks pinked just slightly. “And who ended up strung up by spiders and had to be saved by a hobbit?”
“Hey!” Merry broke in indignantly. “Just what do you mean by that, Sir Elf?”
“No offense intended,” Legolas said, bowing slightly. “To you at least.” He glared at Gimli.
Boromir laughed, and it wasn’t a pretty sound, as arrogance never was pretty. But I found myself staring against my will at his long legs.
“And which battles have you fought in, Master Halfling?” Boromir asked Merry.
Merry held his ground. “Have you ever battled any of the Nine?”
Boromir blanched. “No.”
“All right then.” Merry smiled in triumph. One point for us hobbits. I clapped him on the shoulder and glowered at Boromir, son of Gondor. Or was it son of Gander?
I snickered and turned to Frodo to share my little joke, but the stubborn Baggins was headed toward Strider, his heart right smack on his face for everyone to see.
An irritated sigh escaped through my teeth. “Drat it all,” I muttered to Pippin, keeping Frodo in my view. “Not again.” It was embarrassing in Bree, embarrassing on Weathertop, and I couldn’t believe he was going to try it again here, right in front of all of us who had pledged to get him safely to Mordor. There’s never been no doubt that Frodo’s the smartest hobbit in all the Shire, but what part of “already taken” could he not get through that dreamy head of his? I cringed as I watched him climb on the Ranger’s lap and slide a pale, graceful hand around the back of Strider’s thick neck. Drat, drat, drat. Strider wasn’t exactly pushing him away. In fact, he was looking down at him as if Frodo was the best thing since Elvish wine.
“Aragorn,” I heard Frodo say in a breathless voice as his fingers played with the laces to the Ranger’s tunic. “Say it once again.”
“Estel,” came Strider’s throaty answer, that foolish grin still plastered on his face.
“Once more.”
“Estel.”
I dragged Merry - he had some hobbit sense, it seemed - into the back corner. “Look here. We’ve got to do something about Mr. Frodo.”
Merry stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged, letting out a chortle. “Cousin Frodo knows what he wants.”
“But Strider’s bound to someone else,” I said, flushing. “Elrond’s daughter. He can’t go encouraging Mr. Frodo like that.” I clenched my fists. “If I was a warrior with muscular arms and a long sword…like that Boromir over there.” I glanced again at the Gondorian with the long limbs, and I licked my dry lips, trying to ignore the heat that crept up my cheeks. “Well, then I suppose I’d teach that Strider a thing or two about playing with Mr. Frodo’s affections.”
Merry looked at me, his mouth hanging open. “Why, Samwise Gamgee, I do believe you might be in the same fix as Frodo.”
I blushed deep red now. I knew exactly what Merry was getting at, that maybe just once I might want to ask Boromir about his Horn of Gondor, though of course I’d sooner dunk my head in hot coals than admit it.
“Well,” I said in a huff. “If you’re thinking I want something out of Mr. Frodo besides friendship, you’ve got another think coming. See, I’ve got Miss Rosie at home, and she’d not be having any of this nonsense.”
“All right,” Frodo’s lyrical voice came to us from across the room. “I will ask you but one more time and I promise we’ll move onto other topics.”
“Estel.” Strider had become lost in Frodo’s wide blue eyes, and his lean hand had crept up Frodo’s thigh, coming to rest just short of the bulge that even I could see from across the room. Drat that Ranger. And drat Frodo and his need to explore the Outside.
“I’ve had enough of that,” Boromir said, rising from his seat with an irritated sigh.
“Do you have something more enlightening to say?” Strider asked politely, keeping his hand on Frodo’s thigh.
“False king,” Boromir muttered into his hand.
“Excuse me?” Strider’s gray eyes were unyielding.
“I said,” Boromir said, looking around the room, again with that contemptuous smile. “It is nothing.” He did have quite the dear twinkle to his eyes. And what huge hands! Gardening hands, if ever I’ve seen them. I might be able to teach him a thing or two about potatoes and cabbages, I could. “I do wonder if Lord Elrond has left us to starve.”
“Perhaps it would behoove you more to think about why you’ve been brought here to begin with,” Gandalf said, still glowering.
“If Lord Elrond had not allowed a Dwarf in the fellowship,” Legolas said, stroking the feather of a slender arrow, “I have no doubt we would be eating a feast and enjoying golden wine and sunshine.”
“All right,” Gimli said, bristling as he held his ax. “Let us end this right now! Elf against Dwarf, for the representatives of the Free Peoples to witness.”
Strider moved Frodo from his lap, dropping him rather unceremoniously on the cushion beside his chair, and jumped to his feet. Even Gandalf tensed a bit. “Stop this nonsense right now.”
Boromir shrugged. “I would rather witness this bloodshed between Dwarf and Elf than watch one who claims to be King, who plans to supplant my father, moon over a simpering halfling like a fanciful lass.”
Strider laughed, although his eyes remained steely. “Perhaps you are unaware that I am pledged to the most beautiful of Elfkind, the daughter of Lord Elrond himself. As for the Ringbearer?” He shrugged. “He came to me.”
This was too much, and seeing dear Frodo go pale, as if Strider had taken his hunting knife and stabbed him in his belly, I stormed toward both of the Big People, clenching my fists. “Take it back, I say, both of you!”
Boromir looked down at me in surprise, like one might a harmless puppy that suddenly attacks an intruder. I’d show him. I’d take that horn of Gander and shove it right up his--
“Hush, Sam,” Merry pulled me away until we were on the other side of the room. He whispered, “Pip and I have come up with a plan.”
But I wasn’t about to keep my voice down. “Did you hear them? The Old Gaffer always said no good never came out of dealing with the Big Folk, and there they go insulting Mr. Frodo-“
Frodo sank into a chair just behind us. “Never mind, Sam.” He looked weary and defeated. “They’ve spoken the truth. I’ve acted like a lovesick lass. I have humiliated myself irretrievably, I fear.” He released a plaintive sigh and looked wistfully toward Strider. “But if he had just moved his hand just a little further-“ He let his hand absentmindedly drift toward the bulge in his breeches.
“Mr. Frodo!” I said, scandalized, and grabbed his wrist.
“Fear not,” Merry said and nudged Pippin. “Go, now!” he whispered.
“I have an announcement!” Pippin called out. He had to repeat himself several times, as Legolas and Gimli were at it again, as were Boromir and Strider. My stomach started to sink until it couldn’t go no farther. I’d seen far too many of Pippin and Merry’s plans.
***
Somehow Pippin talked all of us into sitting on the floor in a circle. Even Gandalf had joined us. He grumbled and mumbled, but in the end, he could never resist the wheedling of a hobbit. Especially one as relentless as Mr. Pippin, who never took no for an answer, ever.
“Now,” Pippin said, once he had everyone’s attention. “In the Shire we have a game that we play at the local taverns.” He shrugged and smiled one of his charming smiles that always seemed to get to the lasses back home. “And sometimes at home, too. The game’s called Thirty-Three, and it involves ale, which alas, we don’t have.”
“I could use a tall ale right now,” Boromir muttered. I had to agree, but I’d cut out my tongue before I’d openly agree with him. Not after he insulted Frodo and all.
“But anyway…Merry and I.” Pippin turned redder than a ripe apple. “We have a different idea for our game, which is…rather shocking.” He cleared his throat. Everyone stared at him, but at least all the bickering had stopped. Frodo’s cheeks turned pink and he bit his lip. I shook my head, guessing this was not the first time he’d participated in this game. Queer things had always happened in Bag End, and especially when Merry and Pippin had come to visit.
“Well, get to your point, Peregrin Took!” Gandalf said in irritation.
Merry took over. “First of all. I’m going to start counting, starting with the number one. I can either say one number at a time (one), or two numbers at a time (one, two). After I say my number or numbers, I’ll shout out a direction, like ‘left’. If I’ve just said one number, then the person to my left goes next by saying the number or numbers that come next.”
“But,” Pippin added. “If Merry says two numbers instead of just one, then the direction goes opposite of that he’s just said. If he said left, then we’d go right.”
“I do not understand,” Legolas said, tilting his head in puzzlement.
“Pretty simple to me,” Gimli muttered. “But then Dwarves use our minds for things besides star-gazing.”
“This is foolishness,” Boromir said. I glared at him so hard that he turned away. If only I didn’t have this burning want to touch that stubble on his face. Funny I’d never felt that way about Strider, and gracious me, he had a whole forest on his face.
Legolas spoke to Gimli in hot anger. “Then you explain it! Although how could you appreciate the stars, when you’re stuck deep down in a cave groveling for gold?”
“Wait, wait!” Pippin said. “Allow us to demonstrate! Merry, you start.”
“All right then,” Merry said. “One, Left.”
Pippin, who was directly to Merry’s left, said, “Two, Left.”
Frodo, to Pippin’s left, added, “Two, Three, Left.”
“Four, right,” Pippin said.
Merry interrupted. “Now, do you see what’s happened so far? When just one number is spoken, the direction actually goes in the direction spoken. But Frodo gave TWO numbers, so the direction goes the opposite, so it went back to Pippin because he’s to Frodo’s right.”
“Five,” Frodo said, but cut himself off, covering his mouth in chagrin.
“Ha!” Merry broke in. “My cousin, you must face a penalty!”
Pippin jabbed his thumb at Merry. “Merry always gives the penalties.” He winked.
Boromir laughed. “We are not unfamiliar with games involving drink in Gondor. But you must have drink, or there is no amusement to the game. Aragorn, can you not call for Lord Elrond to have mercy on us and at least bring some wine?”
“I am not sure this is a good idea,” Frodo said softly, and I could not help but notice that he glanced at Strider. “Here.”
“Frodo,” Merry said, clearing his throat. “Turn to Sam and kiss his lips.”
My heart just about burst inside me, and my ears turned hot red. Though my heart belonged with my Rosie, plain and simple, I can’t lie and say I’ve never wondered what Frodo’s lips would feel like - so full and pink and moist.
Frodo did not seem bothered or shocked, only a little embarrassed to be doing this in front of the Big Folk. Gandalf muttered in obvious disapproval, but the others looked on in curious interest as Frodo placed his soft hands on my shoulders, smelling sweetly of pipeweed and soap, and gave me a soft peck on my lips. I glanced at Strider and found him grinning like a wolf. I nodded to him and smiled a mean smile.
“Gandalf,” Legolas said softly. “You never told us that hobbits were so… candid in their affections.”
“I want no part in this!” Gimli crossed his arms.
“Then do not make an error,” Merry said, raising his brows.
“You might as well, my good Dwarf,” Legolas said. “It is surely the only way anyone would willingly lay hands upon you.”
“I’ll lay my ax upon you!”
“Hush,” Strider interrupted, not taking his eyes off the hobbits. “Let us begin in earnest.”
“All right,” Merry said. “Ready? Here we go. One, right.”
There was a pause, and then Gandalf continued, “Oh, dear.” He cleared his throat. “Two, right.”
I caught a flicker of mischief in Strider’s eyes as he glanced at Boromir before saying, “Three, Four, left.”
A long silence fell. At least that’s what it felt like to me. Boromir looked at Gandalf, who stared forward with that annoyed glint in his eyes.
“Ah ha!” Merry broke in. “That was supposed to be you, Boromir. Strider said two numbers, which means the direction goes the opposite. You are to his right.”
Boromir chuckled. “Well, I am not yet accustomed to this game. What is my penalty?”
Merry rubbed his chin as if deep in thought. Then he said, “Frodo, go to Boromir and touch his…manhood.”
A collective shock rippled through the fellowship.
Frodo turned to Merry, flushing. “But this is Boromir’s penalty, not mine.”
“I know.” Merry crossed his arms and smirked, as I’d seen him do many a time when he was up to something.
This was unseemly -- and surely Frodo would have no part in it. However, Frodo no longer looked put out at all. And Boromir was too shocked to protest or do much of anything at all as Frodo strode across the circle, knelt, and glancing at Strider with a shy smile, slid his hand inside Boromir’s leggings. Boromir startled and grunted, and much to my utter annoyance, grew instantly hard. And though Merry had not stated this as part of the penalty, Frodo gave Boromir a chaste kiss on his cheek before returning to his seat. Later, I’d have to remember to ask him about the face stubble. Strider laughed, although his eyes followed Frodo. Frodo noted this and looked back at him, running his tongue over the palm that had encircled Boromir.
“Who starts now?” Gimli asked, clearing his throat after an awkward silence.
“Boromir, with Five,” Merry said.
“Five, right,” Boromir said.
“Six, seven, left,” Legolas said.
“Eight,” Gimli said, nodding in triumph. “Right.”
“Nine, ten, left,” I said.
“Eleven,” Gimli said. “Left.”
“I do believe you made an error, Master Dwarf,” Legolas said, unable to hide the glee in his voice.
“I did not,” the Dwarf said, bristling. “Am I not to Mr. Gamgee’s left?”
“I’m afraid Legolas is right. You have made an error,” Merry said. “Sam gave us two numbers, which means Frodo should have gone next, not you.”
“Merry,” Frodo whispered in dread, tugging at his sleeve. “Please no.”
Merry winked at him but focused back at Gimli. “Master Gimli, your penalty is to tell Legolas that you have been wrong about the Elves all this time and that you have held them in great esteem, particularly him. Then you shall kiss him.”
“You have gone too far!” Legolas leaped to his feet with the grace of a lynx.
“There shall be bright sunlight in Moria before I’d lower myself to such a deed!” Gimli said. Even I had to hide a chuckle. I was just grateful this hadn’t involved Frodo having to be anywhere near Gimli’s privates.
“All the same,” Gandalf said in surprising support of Merry, his eyes twinkling with mirth that he did not dare share, “I should suggest you do as the hobbit says or I will inform Lord Elrond when he returns to keep you in here an extra day.”
“Bother it, bother it!” Gimli said. Legolas scowled and knelt before him, his lips pursed.
Gimli took a deep breath. “I have been wrong.” He placed his hand over his breast as if he were speaking from his very soul. “I have always held the Elves in great esteem.” The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable and I just knew inside his head he was cursing the Elf with great spiders, Wargs, and Goblins, but we all leaned forward, watching with great eagerness. “Particularly you, my dear Legolas of Mirkwood.” He bowed slightly.
“All right,” Merry said, grinning. “Go on. The kiss.”
“Right,” Legolas said, taking a breath and closing his eyes like a child does when about to eat food he does not like.
Gimli leaned in, and there was a sickening smacking sound before they pulled apart and both shuddered. I had no idea that Dwarves were capable of turning such bright shades of red.
“Frodo’s supposed to bear all the penalties,” I heard Merry whisper to Pippin. “But Gimli? I just couldn’t do that to him. Gandalf had best not mess up, either.”
“Frodo would have done Gimli or Gandalf,” Pippin responded. “Frodo would have even done one of the Black Riders. Look at him, hard as a cucumber fresh from the earth.”
“You can kindly keep quiet,” Frodo said, and then he dropped his voice, although not low enough for my taste. “I do hope Aragorn muddles up his turn.”
“Eleven,” Gimli managed. “Left.”
“Twelve,” Legolas said. “Thirteen, Right.”
“Fourteen,” Boromir broke in. “Left.”
“Sixteen,” Strider said. We all waited for Strider to give direction, but he did not. Instead he looked straight across the circle at Frodo, his lips slightly upturned. I felt a dull rage at him, like a sheep farmer does the wolf -- if I were in charge of his penalty, I would force him to slide his tongue inside Gimli.
“Sixteen?” Merry said. “I do believe you’ve mixed up the order, Strider.”
Strider let out a sigh that was entirely too dramatic for my liking. “What shall my penalty be then?”
Merry nudged Frodo before speaking. “Strider, you must take each of Frodo’s nipples into your mouth.”
“Mr. Merry!” I cried.
Frodo turned bright pink.
“You hush up,” Merry said. “You’ll get your turn - if you want it, that is.”
There was muttering and whispering, but Strider, shameless and still grinning, crawled across the circle to Frodo. He unbuttoned Frodo’s vest and shirt. Frodo held his gaze, licking those delectable lips of his - and they had been maddeningly soft -- as Strider took the pink nub of Frodo’s left nipple in his mouth. He seemed to relish the taste, and he paused, letting his tongue circle it several times. Frodo gasped, looking up at the ceiling. Strider moved on to the other nipple before letting his mouth travel up to Frodo’s neck where it clamped down hard on tender skin. He ended with a moist kiss to Frodo’s ear.
Frodo was still breathing hard when Strider swaggered back to his place. If my eyes had poison darts, Strider would be gasping his last breath right then.
“What happens when we get to thirty-three anyway?” I asked.
Merry shrugged, and Pippin flushed deep red. “I don’t know,” Merry said. “We’ve never gotten that far.”
“Sixteen, left,” Strider said smoothly, as if none of it had happened.
“Seventeen, eighteen, right,” Gandalf said.
“Nine-“ Strider began just as Merry finished, “Nineteen, left.”
Merry glanced at Strider. “Somebody has made a muddle of things for the second time in a row. Strider, I’m afraid this is going to be a rather harsh penalty.” He shook his head regretfully.
“He did that on purpose,” I said.
“Of that I have no doubt,” Boromir said.
“Oh, dear,” Gandalf muttered.
Merry said to Strider, “Take a look at Frodo’s breeches. Anyone not blind cannot have failed to realize that he has unrelieved…needs. I’m afraid your penalty will be to relieve Frodo with your…mouth.”
I looked around, my mouth wide open, waiting for someone to put a stop to this madness, but nobody did. Gimli let out a low growl, and blushed a bit, and maybe I’m the only one who noticed it, but he gave the Elf a sidelong glance. My thoughts about that were interrupted by Boromir actually winking at me. I looked away, and my ears caught fire.
“Fear not,” Frodo said to me, with a slow smile, misjudging the reason for my annoyance. “It shall not take long.”
And there was my Frodo, dignified heir to Bag End, Elf Friend, Ringbearer, and beloved cousin of Bilbo the Ring finder, dropping his breeches in front of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. He stood in front of Strider, fully aroused. Of course I had seen him fully unclothed before, but never in this state, and I had had no notion that the Bagginses were so…long. The others muttered among themselves, no doubt astounded by hobbity endowment. For a half a moment or so, I was actually rather proud of him.
Strider clutched Frodo’s hips, pushing his hands under Frodo’s shirt. He then positioned his lips over Frodo’s arousal and moved his lips as if he were licking the sweetest of those round lollipops we used to get at Yule when we were lads. Frodo shuddered and pulled at Strider’s hair. He thrust against the Man’s mouth, clearly not caring that so many were watching. For me, just watching Frodo shudder and moan with uncontrolled pleasure, made the room unbearably warm. I felt my own self harden as I imagined ample Gondorian lips over -
Stop that right now, Samwise Gamgee, I chastised myself and turned hotter still.
Just as I thought I might have to dunk my head outside the window or else pass out from the heat, Frodo collapsed into Strider’s arms, fully spent, and Strider soon had an armful of hobbit and quite the mouthful to swallow.
I had been awfully unobservant during all this, but I suddenly realized how quiet it had grown. Now as I looked around the room, I saw a few things of interest. Gimli’s hand had traveled to rest between Legolas’ legs, and the Elf had not removed it. Gandalf’s right hand had disappeared within the folds of his robes, and the glow at the top of his staff throbbed in the rhythm of stroking. Merry and Pippin had their hands down each other’s breeches.
Boromir’s eyes were right on me.
All thought of the game seemed to leave us all. Strider fell on his back, pulling Frodo on top of him. Frodo lost no time in devouring his lips with violent kisses.
“I’m surely bigger than you,” Gimli muttered to Legolas, moving a little closer.
“I should think not. Elves are known for size.”
“There’s but one way to find out.”
Boromir nodded to me, and beckoned me over with his hand. Shaking like a leaf, I walked right on over to him.
Merry and Pippin had locked lips, tearing at one another’s clothing, caring even less than Frodo and Strider who was watching. The whole thing seemed like one of those queer dreams I often had after eating too much rich food. Merry and Pippin acted as though they had been at each other like this for years - I flushed as the implication of what really had been going on in Bag End for a great many years while I wasn’t there hit me.
“I suppose the game’s over,” I said as Boromir clutched me into his lap. “I think Merry’s rather busy just now.”
“The game has only just begun,” Boromir said, nuzzling my ear with his lips. Frodo’s lips had been soft and moist, while Boromir’s were hard and insistent. I couldn’t tell just yet which I preferred, though it was obvious which flavor Strider liked just now. I actually felt sorry for him now -- he simply had no fighting chance against a hobbit that had already grown hard again.
And speaking of hard, something was poking into my bottom awfully hard just now, although perhaps Boromir was thinking the same thing about his own belly. Before we got carried away, I thought I’d like to touch that stubble on Boromir’s cheeks just once. I did, and it felt warm and rough, like the wood on the bench in Bag End’s garden.
***
Not a one of us was awake when Elrond finally unlocked the door. Even Gandalf startled awake at the sound of the key turning. I kept one eye open, peering over Boromir’s chest.
“So what do you think, Mithrandir?” Elrond asked, surveying the room. “Do you think the fellowship bonded at all today? I am much concerned.”
Gandalf leaned on his staff, his lips slightly upturned. “Yes…yes…” he said. “I think much bonding occurred in this room today.”
“And what of Gimli and Legolas?”
“They may not agree on length and size, but I do believe they have become quite attached to one another.” He paused. “The Ringbearer has been very influential in helping to bond this fellowship.”
“That does not surprise me,” Elrond said, nodding with a satisfied smile. “When they awaken, I am sure that the hobbits at least will be ready for a feast.”
I didn’t know about anyone else, but that afternoon had been hungry work to be sure.
END
Name: Claudia
Written for a hobbit_smut challenge
Rating: mild R
Pairing/s: Frodo/Aragorn, Sam/Boromir
Other pairing/s: Frodo/Sam, Merry/Pippin, Legolas/Gimli
Summary: After the Council of Elrond, Elrond has gotten tired of all the bickering among the fellowship. He has a plan to help the fellowship bond. Pippin has a better plan.
Notes: My attempt at silliness! Thank you, shirebound for the lovely beta!! <3
I was just as flabbergasted as the rest of the company when I heard the click of the key locking the rather small room from the outside. As Elrond’s angry footfalls faded, we nine - and what a sundry group we were, four hobbits, two of the Big Folk, a Dwarf, an Elf, and even Mr. Gandalf -- stared at one another in a rare moment of quiet. My mouth hung open in the way Ma used to call “fly catchin’”.
“Surely,” Boromir began with that contemptuous smile that was already beginning to dig under my skin, “Lord Elrond did not just lock us in this prison.”
I snorted. Leave it to one of the Big Folk to state the obvious. Though prison was hardly the way to describe this fancy room. Arched windows, framed by sea-green gauze material, looked over the valley. We could hear the gentle rush of a distant waterfall. Cushions and plush chairs were arranged in various corners amidst the marble statues of great Elves, most of which had perished in battle or passed over the Sea. I could quite get used to this -- that is, if I could just have a bit of earth between my toes and a cold mug of ale in hand.
“Humph.” Gandalf gathered his robes and settled in a corner, cradling his staff, which gave off flickering light. Judging from the cantankerous glint in the wizard’s eye, we were all likely to be turned into spotted toads before this was over.
“I wonder how long Elrond’ll keep us here,” Pippin whispered. “It’s nearly time for lunch and he didn’t leave us anything to eat.” I tried not to show my alarm, but he was right. Elves did not eat near as often as Hobbits, as few of the other races of Middle-earth it seemed did, and Elrond just might keep us in here without thought to lunch or tea or even dinner.
“The quest is a grave matter,” Elrond had said just before locking us up, and his eyes had been stern and black. “And any rifts within can mean disaster - and a second darkness. I hereby command that you work this out among one another before the end of the day.”
“He was quite…put out,” Gimli said, fingering his ax.
“Perhaps,” suggested Legolas, raising his brows, “it had something to do with your curse upon all Elvish folk?”
Gimli’s voice dropped to a growl. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have made a liar out of old Mr. Baggins by claiming my father was too fat to have fit in one of your wine barrels!”
“He is.”
“At least he didn’t let 13 prisoners escape under his nose.”
Legolas’ pale cheeks pinked just slightly. “And who ended up strung up by spiders and had to be saved by a hobbit?”
“Hey!” Merry broke in indignantly. “Just what do you mean by that, Sir Elf?”
“No offense intended,” Legolas said, bowing slightly. “To you at least.” He glared at Gimli.
Boromir laughed, and it wasn’t a pretty sound, as arrogance never was pretty. But I found myself staring against my will at his long legs.
“And which battles have you fought in, Master Halfling?” Boromir asked Merry.
Merry held his ground. “Have you ever battled any of the Nine?”
Boromir blanched. “No.”
“All right then.” Merry smiled in triumph. One point for us hobbits. I clapped him on the shoulder and glowered at Boromir, son of Gondor. Or was it son of Gander?
I snickered and turned to Frodo to share my little joke, but the stubborn Baggins was headed toward Strider, his heart right smack on his face for everyone to see.
An irritated sigh escaped through my teeth. “Drat it all,” I muttered to Pippin, keeping Frodo in my view. “Not again.” It was embarrassing in Bree, embarrassing on Weathertop, and I couldn’t believe he was going to try it again here, right in front of all of us who had pledged to get him safely to Mordor. There’s never been no doubt that Frodo’s the smartest hobbit in all the Shire, but what part of “already taken” could he not get through that dreamy head of his? I cringed as I watched him climb on the Ranger’s lap and slide a pale, graceful hand around the back of Strider’s thick neck. Drat, drat, drat. Strider wasn’t exactly pushing him away. In fact, he was looking down at him as if Frodo was the best thing since Elvish wine.
“Aragorn,” I heard Frodo say in a breathless voice as his fingers played with the laces to the Ranger’s tunic. “Say it once again.”
“Estel,” came Strider’s throaty answer, that foolish grin still plastered on his face.
“Once more.”
“Estel.”
I dragged Merry - he had some hobbit sense, it seemed - into the back corner. “Look here. We’ve got to do something about Mr. Frodo.”
Merry stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged, letting out a chortle. “Cousin Frodo knows what he wants.”
“But Strider’s bound to someone else,” I said, flushing. “Elrond’s daughter. He can’t go encouraging Mr. Frodo like that.” I clenched my fists. “If I was a warrior with muscular arms and a long sword…like that Boromir over there.” I glanced again at the Gondorian with the long limbs, and I licked my dry lips, trying to ignore the heat that crept up my cheeks. “Well, then I suppose I’d teach that Strider a thing or two about playing with Mr. Frodo’s affections.”
Merry looked at me, his mouth hanging open. “Why, Samwise Gamgee, I do believe you might be in the same fix as Frodo.”
I blushed deep red now. I knew exactly what Merry was getting at, that maybe just once I might want to ask Boromir about his Horn of Gondor, though of course I’d sooner dunk my head in hot coals than admit it.
“Well,” I said in a huff. “If you’re thinking I want something out of Mr. Frodo besides friendship, you’ve got another think coming. See, I’ve got Miss Rosie at home, and she’d not be having any of this nonsense.”
“All right,” Frodo’s lyrical voice came to us from across the room. “I will ask you but one more time and I promise we’ll move onto other topics.”
“Estel.” Strider had become lost in Frodo’s wide blue eyes, and his lean hand had crept up Frodo’s thigh, coming to rest just short of the bulge that even I could see from across the room. Drat that Ranger. And drat Frodo and his need to explore the Outside.
“I’ve had enough of that,” Boromir said, rising from his seat with an irritated sigh.
“Do you have something more enlightening to say?” Strider asked politely, keeping his hand on Frodo’s thigh.
“False king,” Boromir muttered into his hand.
“Excuse me?” Strider’s gray eyes were unyielding.
“I said,” Boromir said, looking around the room, again with that contemptuous smile. “It is nothing.” He did have quite the dear twinkle to his eyes. And what huge hands! Gardening hands, if ever I’ve seen them. I might be able to teach him a thing or two about potatoes and cabbages, I could. “I do wonder if Lord Elrond has left us to starve.”
“Perhaps it would behoove you more to think about why you’ve been brought here to begin with,” Gandalf said, still glowering.
“If Lord Elrond had not allowed a Dwarf in the fellowship,” Legolas said, stroking the feather of a slender arrow, “I have no doubt we would be eating a feast and enjoying golden wine and sunshine.”
“All right,” Gimli said, bristling as he held his ax. “Let us end this right now! Elf against Dwarf, for the representatives of the Free Peoples to witness.”
Strider moved Frodo from his lap, dropping him rather unceremoniously on the cushion beside his chair, and jumped to his feet. Even Gandalf tensed a bit. “Stop this nonsense right now.”
Boromir shrugged. “I would rather witness this bloodshed between Dwarf and Elf than watch one who claims to be King, who plans to supplant my father, moon over a simpering halfling like a fanciful lass.”
Strider laughed, although his eyes remained steely. “Perhaps you are unaware that I am pledged to the most beautiful of Elfkind, the daughter of Lord Elrond himself. As for the Ringbearer?” He shrugged. “He came to me.”
This was too much, and seeing dear Frodo go pale, as if Strider had taken his hunting knife and stabbed him in his belly, I stormed toward both of the Big People, clenching my fists. “Take it back, I say, both of you!”
Boromir looked down at me in surprise, like one might a harmless puppy that suddenly attacks an intruder. I’d show him. I’d take that horn of Gander and shove it right up his--
“Hush, Sam,” Merry pulled me away until we were on the other side of the room. He whispered, “Pip and I have come up with a plan.”
But I wasn’t about to keep my voice down. “Did you hear them? The Old Gaffer always said no good never came out of dealing with the Big Folk, and there they go insulting Mr. Frodo-“
Frodo sank into a chair just behind us. “Never mind, Sam.” He looked weary and defeated. “They’ve spoken the truth. I’ve acted like a lovesick lass. I have humiliated myself irretrievably, I fear.” He released a plaintive sigh and looked wistfully toward Strider. “But if he had just moved his hand just a little further-“ He let his hand absentmindedly drift toward the bulge in his breeches.
“Mr. Frodo!” I said, scandalized, and grabbed his wrist.
“Fear not,” Merry said and nudged Pippin. “Go, now!” he whispered.
“I have an announcement!” Pippin called out. He had to repeat himself several times, as Legolas and Gimli were at it again, as were Boromir and Strider. My stomach started to sink until it couldn’t go no farther. I’d seen far too many of Pippin and Merry’s plans.
***
Somehow Pippin talked all of us into sitting on the floor in a circle. Even Gandalf had joined us. He grumbled and mumbled, but in the end, he could never resist the wheedling of a hobbit. Especially one as relentless as Mr. Pippin, who never took no for an answer, ever.
“Now,” Pippin said, once he had everyone’s attention. “In the Shire we have a game that we play at the local taverns.” He shrugged and smiled one of his charming smiles that always seemed to get to the lasses back home. “And sometimes at home, too. The game’s called Thirty-Three, and it involves ale, which alas, we don’t have.”
“I could use a tall ale right now,” Boromir muttered. I had to agree, but I’d cut out my tongue before I’d openly agree with him. Not after he insulted Frodo and all.
“But anyway…Merry and I.” Pippin turned redder than a ripe apple. “We have a different idea for our game, which is…rather shocking.” He cleared his throat. Everyone stared at him, but at least all the bickering had stopped. Frodo’s cheeks turned pink and he bit his lip. I shook my head, guessing this was not the first time he’d participated in this game. Queer things had always happened in Bag End, and especially when Merry and Pippin had come to visit.
“Well, get to your point, Peregrin Took!” Gandalf said in irritation.
Merry took over. “First of all. I’m going to start counting, starting with the number one. I can either say one number at a time (one), or two numbers at a time (one, two). After I say my number or numbers, I’ll shout out a direction, like ‘left’. If I’ve just said one number, then the person to my left goes next by saying the number or numbers that come next.”
“But,” Pippin added. “If Merry says two numbers instead of just one, then the direction goes opposite of that he’s just said. If he said left, then we’d go right.”
“I do not understand,” Legolas said, tilting his head in puzzlement.
“Pretty simple to me,” Gimli muttered. “But then Dwarves use our minds for things besides star-gazing.”
“This is foolishness,” Boromir said. I glared at him so hard that he turned away. If only I didn’t have this burning want to touch that stubble on his face. Funny I’d never felt that way about Strider, and gracious me, he had a whole forest on his face.
Legolas spoke to Gimli in hot anger. “Then you explain it! Although how could you appreciate the stars, when you’re stuck deep down in a cave groveling for gold?”
“Wait, wait!” Pippin said. “Allow us to demonstrate! Merry, you start.”
“All right then,” Merry said. “One, Left.”
Pippin, who was directly to Merry’s left, said, “Two, Left.”
Frodo, to Pippin’s left, added, “Two, Three, Left.”
“Four, right,” Pippin said.
Merry interrupted. “Now, do you see what’s happened so far? When just one number is spoken, the direction actually goes in the direction spoken. But Frodo gave TWO numbers, so the direction goes the opposite, so it went back to Pippin because he’s to Frodo’s right.”
“Five,” Frodo said, but cut himself off, covering his mouth in chagrin.
“Ha!” Merry broke in. “My cousin, you must face a penalty!”
Pippin jabbed his thumb at Merry. “Merry always gives the penalties.” He winked.
Boromir laughed. “We are not unfamiliar with games involving drink in Gondor. But you must have drink, or there is no amusement to the game. Aragorn, can you not call for Lord Elrond to have mercy on us and at least bring some wine?”
“I am not sure this is a good idea,” Frodo said softly, and I could not help but notice that he glanced at Strider. “Here.”
“Frodo,” Merry said, clearing his throat. “Turn to Sam and kiss his lips.”
My heart just about burst inside me, and my ears turned hot red. Though my heart belonged with my Rosie, plain and simple, I can’t lie and say I’ve never wondered what Frodo’s lips would feel like - so full and pink and moist.
Frodo did not seem bothered or shocked, only a little embarrassed to be doing this in front of the Big Folk. Gandalf muttered in obvious disapproval, but the others looked on in curious interest as Frodo placed his soft hands on my shoulders, smelling sweetly of pipeweed and soap, and gave me a soft peck on my lips. I glanced at Strider and found him grinning like a wolf. I nodded to him and smiled a mean smile.
“Gandalf,” Legolas said softly. “You never told us that hobbits were so… candid in their affections.”
“I want no part in this!” Gimli crossed his arms.
“Then do not make an error,” Merry said, raising his brows.
“You might as well, my good Dwarf,” Legolas said. “It is surely the only way anyone would willingly lay hands upon you.”
“I’ll lay my ax upon you!”
“Hush,” Strider interrupted, not taking his eyes off the hobbits. “Let us begin in earnest.”
“All right,” Merry said. “Ready? Here we go. One, right.”
There was a pause, and then Gandalf continued, “Oh, dear.” He cleared his throat. “Two, right.”
I caught a flicker of mischief in Strider’s eyes as he glanced at Boromir before saying, “Three, Four, left.”
A long silence fell. At least that’s what it felt like to me. Boromir looked at Gandalf, who stared forward with that annoyed glint in his eyes.
“Ah ha!” Merry broke in. “That was supposed to be you, Boromir. Strider said two numbers, which means the direction goes the opposite. You are to his right.”
Boromir chuckled. “Well, I am not yet accustomed to this game. What is my penalty?”
Merry rubbed his chin as if deep in thought. Then he said, “Frodo, go to Boromir and touch his…manhood.”
A collective shock rippled through the fellowship.
Frodo turned to Merry, flushing. “But this is Boromir’s penalty, not mine.”
“I know.” Merry crossed his arms and smirked, as I’d seen him do many a time when he was up to something.
This was unseemly -- and surely Frodo would have no part in it. However, Frodo no longer looked put out at all. And Boromir was too shocked to protest or do much of anything at all as Frodo strode across the circle, knelt, and glancing at Strider with a shy smile, slid his hand inside Boromir’s leggings. Boromir startled and grunted, and much to my utter annoyance, grew instantly hard. And though Merry had not stated this as part of the penalty, Frodo gave Boromir a chaste kiss on his cheek before returning to his seat. Later, I’d have to remember to ask him about the face stubble. Strider laughed, although his eyes followed Frodo. Frodo noted this and looked back at him, running his tongue over the palm that had encircled Boromir.
“Who starts now?” Gimli asked, clearing his throat after an awkward silence.
“Boromir, with Five,” Merry said.
“Five, right,” Boromir said.
“Six, seven, left,” Legolas said.
“Eight,” Gimli said, nodding in triumph. “Right.”
“Nine, ten, left,” I said.
“Eleven,” Gimli said. “Left.”
“I do believe you made an error, Master Dwarf,” Legolas said, unable to hide the glee in his voice.
“I did not,” the Dwarf said, bristling. “Am I not to Mr. Gamgee’s left?”
“I’m afraid Legolas is right. You have made an error,” Merry said. “Sam gave us two numbers, which means Frodo should have gone next, not you.”
“Merry,” Frodo whispered in dread, tugging at his sleeve. “Please no.”
Merry winked at him but focused back at Gimli. “Master Gimli, your penalty is to tell Legolas that you have been wrong about the Elves all this time and that you have held them in great esteem, particularly him. Then you shall kiss him.”
“You have gone too far!” Legolas leaped to his feet with the grace of a lynx.
“There shall be bright sunlight in Moria before I’d lower myself to such a deed!” Gimli said. Even I had to hide a chuckle. I was just grateful this hadn’t involved Frodo having to be anywhere near Gimli’s privates.
“All the same,” Gandalf said in surprising support of Merry, his eyes twinkling with mirth that he did not dare share, “I should suggest you do as the hobbit says or I will inform Lord Elrond when he returns to keep you in here an extra day.”
“Bother it, bother it!” Gimli said. Legolas scowled and knelt before him, his lips pursed.
Gimli took a deep breath. “I have been wrong.” He placed his hand over his breast as if he were speaking from his very soul. “I have always held the Elves in great esteem.” The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable and I just knew inside his head he was cursing the Elf with great spiders, Wargs, and Goblins, but we all leaned forward, watching with great eagerness. “Particularly you, my dear Legolas of Mirkwood.” He bowed slightly.
“All right,” Merry said, grinning. “Go on. The kiss.”
“Right,” Legolas said, taking a breath and closing his eyes like a child does when about to eat food he does not like.
Gimli leaned in, and there was a sickening smacking sound before they pulled apart and both shuddered. I had no idea that Dwarves were capable of turning such bright shades of red.
“Frodo’s supposed to bear all the penalties,” I heard Merry whisper to Pippin. “But Gimli? I just couldn’t do that to him. Gandalf had best not mess up, either.”
“Frodo would have done Gimli or Gandalf,” Pippin responded. “Frodo would have even done one of the Black Riders. Look at him, hard as a cucumber fresh from the earth.”
“You can kindly keep quiet,” Frodo said, and then he dropped his voice, although not low enough for my taste. “I do hope Aragorn muddles up his turn.”
“Eleven,” Gimli managed. “Left.”
“Twelve,” Legolas said. “Thirteen, Right.”
“Fourteen,” Boromir broke in. “Left.”
“Sixteen,” Strider said. We all waited for Strider to give direction, but he did not. Instead he looked straight across the circle at Frodo, his lips slightly upturned. I felt a dull rage at him, like a sheep farmer does the wolf -- if I were in charge of his penalty, I would force him to slide his tongue inside Gimli.
“Sixteen?” Merry said. “I do believe you’ve mixed up the order, Strider.”
Strider let out a sigh that was entirely too dramatic for my liking. “What shall my penalty be then?”
Merry nudged Frodo before speaking. “Strider, you must take each of Frodo’s nipples into your mouth.”
“Mr. Merry!” I cried.
Frodo turned bright pink.
“You hush up,” Merry said. “You’ll get your turn - if you want it, that is.”
There was muttering and whispering, but Strider, shameless and still grinning, crawled across the circle to Frodo. He unbuttoned Frodo’s vest and shirt. Frodo held his gaze, licking those delectable lips of his - and they had been maddeningly soft -- as Strider took the pink nub of Frodo’s left nipple in his mouth. He seemed to relish the taste, and he paused, letting his tongue circle it several times. Frodo gasped, looking up at the ceiling. Strider moved on to the other nipple before letting his mouth travel up to Frodo’s neck where it clamped down hard on tender skin. He ended with a moist kiss to Frodo’s ear.
Frodo was still breathing hard when Strider swaggered back to his place. If my eyes had poison darts, Strider would be gasping his last breath right then.
“What happens when we get to thirty-three anyway?” I asked.
Merry shrugged, and Pippin flushed deep red. “I don’t know,” Merry said. “We’ve never gotten that far.”
“Sixteen, left,” Strider said smoothly, as if none of it had happened.
“Seventeen, eighteen, right,” Gandalf said.
“Nine-“ Strider began just as Merry finished, “Nineteen, left.”
Merry glanced at Strider. “Somebody has made a muddle of things for the second time in a row. Strider, I’m afraid this is going to be a rather harsh penalty.” He shook his head regretfully.
“He did that on purpose,” I said.
“Of that I have no doubt,” Boromir said.
“Oh, dear,” Gandalf muttered.
Merry said to Strider, “Take a look at Frodo’s breeches. Anyone not blind cannot have failed to realize that he has unrelieved…needs. I’m afraid your penalty will be to relieve Frodo with your…mouth.”
I looked around, my mouth wide open, waiting for someone to put a stop to this madness, but nobody did. Gimli let out a low growl, and blushed a bit, and maybe I’m the only one who noticed it, but he gave the Elf a sidelong glance. My thoughts about that were interrupted by Boromir actually winking at me. I looked away, and my ears caught fire.
“Fear not,” Frodo said to me, with a slow smile, misjudging the reason for my annoyance. “It shall not take long.”
And there was my Frodo, dignified heir to Bag End, Elf Friend, Ringbearer, and beloved cousin of Bilbo the Ring finder, dropping his breeches in front of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. He stood in front of Strider, fully aroused. Of course I had seen him fully unclothed before, but never in this state, and I had had no notion that the Bagginses were so…long. The others muttered among themselves, no doubt astounded by hobbity endowment. For a half a moment or so, I was actually rather proud of him.
Strider clutched Frodo’s hips, pushing his hands under Frodo’s shirt. He then positioned his lips over Frodo’s arousal and moved his lips as if he were licking the sweetest of those round lollipops we used to get at Yule when we were lads. Frodo shuddered and pulled at Strider’s hair. He thrust against the Man’s mouth, clearly not caring that so many were watching. For me, just watching Frodo shudder and moan with uncontrolled pleasure, made the room unbearably warm. I felt my own self harden as I imagined ample Gondorian lips over -
Stop that right now, Samwise Gamgee, I chastised myself and turned hotter still.
Just as I thought I might have to dunk my head outside the window or else pass out from the heat, Frodo collapsed into Strider’s arms, fully spent, and Strider soon had an armful of hobbit and quite the mouthful to swallow.
I had been awfully unobservant during all this, but I suddenly realized how quiet it had grown. Now as I looked around the room, I saw a few things of interest. Gimli’s hand had traveled to rest between Legolas’ legs, and the Elf had not removed it. Gandalf’s right hand had disappeared within the folds of his robes, and the glow at the top of his staff throbbed in the rhythm of stroking. Merry and Pippin had their hands down each other’s breeches.
Boromir’s eyes were right on me.
All thought of the game seemed to leave us all. Strider fell on his back, pulling Frodo on top of him. Frodo lost no time in devouring his lips with violent kisses.
“I’m surely bigger than you,” Gimli muttered to Legolas, moving a little closer.
“I should think not. Elves are known for size.”
“There’s but one way to find out.”
Boromir nodded to me, and beckoned me over with his hand. Shaking like a leaf, I walked right on over to him.
Merry and Pippin had locked lips, tearing at one another’s clothing, caring even less than Frodo and Strider who was watching. The whole thing seemed like one of those queer dreams I often had after eating too much rich food. Merry and Pippin acted as though they had been at each other like this for years - I flushed as the implication of what really had been going on in Bag End for a great many years while I wasn’t there hit me.
“I suppose the game’s over,” I said as Boromir clutched me into his lap. “I think Merry’s rather busy just now.”
“The game has only just begun,” Boromir said, nuzzling my ear with his lips. Frodo’s lips had been soft and moist, while Boromir’s were hard and insistent. I couldn’t tell just yet which I preferred, though it was obvious which flavor Strider liked just now. I actually felt sorry for him now -- he simply had no fighting chance against a hobbit that had already grown hard again.
And speaking of hard, something was poking into my bottom awfully hard just now, although perhaps Boromir was thinking the same thing about his own belly. Before we got carried away, I thought I’d like to touch that stubble on Boromir’s cheeks just once. I did, and it felt warm and rough, like the wood on the bench in Bag End’s garden.
***
Not a one of us was awake when Elrond finally unlocked the door. Even Gandalf startled awake at the sound of the key turning. I kept one eye open, peering over Boromir’s chest.
“So what do you think, Mithrandir?” Elrond asked, surveying the room. “Do you think the fellowship bonded at all today? I am much concerned.”
Gandalf leaned on his staff, his lips slightly upturned. “Yes…yes…” he said. “I think much bonding occurred in this room today.”
“And what of Gimli and Legolas?”
“They may not agree on length and size, but I do believe they have become quite attached to one another.” He paused. “The Ringbearer has been very influential in helping to bond this fellowship.”
“That does not surprise me,” Elrond said, nodding with a satisfied smile. “When they awaken, I am sure that the hobbits at least will be ready for a feast.”
I didn’t know about anyone else, but that afternoon had been hungry work to be sure.
END