A Brief Stop Along the Way

By Linda C.

Fandom: The Lord of the Ring

Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn, Legalos

Rating: High end R.

Warnings: m/m

Spoilers: Fellowship of the Ring

Disclaimers: they are owned by Tolkien, their creator, and borrowed by Peter Jackson.

Feedback: dragokatzof10@aol.com

AN: Can you tell I was watching the Starz Lord of the Rings Weekend?

Summary: Frodo needs comforting.


A Brief Stop Along the Way
By Linda C.
======

Aragorn watched as Frodo slipped back under the overhead stairway, body shaking slightly, eyes averted. He had seen him leave, walking away to gather his thoughts. The silver-sheened head of Galadriel had followed him at a discrete distance, the Lady herself being followed by large brown eyes. When he heard no cry for help or distress, he let his guard relax a little, waiting. He sat watching, quietly, as Frodo gathered himself together, then motioned him over with a wave.

"I saw - something. It scared me, Aragorn, like nothing has frightened me since we left the Shire. I don't know what to do. I feel like a small mouse in a large cat's grasp. There is no escape, anywhere I turn, there is not a way out of this." He stood, a forlorn figure, caught in his own destiny, unable to reverse or overturn his decision to carry the Ring to its final destruction. Too young for this burden.

Aragorn opened his arms, Frodo folding himself into them, burying himself against the warm, broad chest, where he had wanted to be for much of the journey. He felt safe with this man, as he had from when he had known him as Strider, the Ranger, in the Prancing Pony. He lay still, breathing in the smell of salt and musk on the dark clothing, the fresh skin from the bath in the stream, the light aroma that was Aragorn himself, recognizable to Frodo instantly now, even in the dark. He stirred as a hand came up to stroke along his back, down his spine, cupping his buttocks in one large palm. Soft breath wafted over his ear, speaking nonsense words of comfort, meant not for speech but for ease, for love.

His body responded to the gentle touch, the words, the smell of the man he adored. New sensations swept through him, his youth betraying him in the quickness of his arousal, his aching hardness pressing against the hard stomach under it, knowing Aragorn could feel it, smell him, know what he wanted more than anything. But he was scared. He looked up, Aragorn meeting his gaze with compassion and the beginning of a matching heat.

"Have you - ever?" Whispered softly into the shell of an ear. A little shake of the curly head gave him the answer. "Then I will go slow, my little one. And give you pleasure to ease your way."

Hands slid under the mithril shirt, callused fingertips tweaking a tiny nipple until it peaked. Stroked down the lightly muscled chest to the taut belly, strained and tight with tension. Little whimpers escaped the tightly clenched jaw through the pinched lips. The Hobbit strained upward, almost fighting the arms around him. Fear washed over him, its scent wafting upwards to Aragorn's sensitive nostrils, flaring as the scent of arousal combined with it, slowing his petting.

"Shhh, little one. I will take care of you. Be easy and relax for me. You need this, my child, you need to let these emotions out of your body, into mine that can absorb them, clean them away and give you peace."

He bent his head, tipping up Frodo's chin, seeing the expressive eyes search his own, then close as the pink rosebud mouth opened to admit him. Tongue sweeping, tasting, licking, the body in his arms molding to his own large form, agile hands finding their way under his layers of clothing to touch, stroke, caress. Learning a body other than his own, the Hobbit soon gasped for breath, back straining as a large hand found its way into his loose trousers, caressing his hard leaking sex. No one had ever touched him there.

The small organ fitting into the palm of his hand perfectly, warm fluid gliding over the tips of his fingers, slick and wet. A soft moan of pleasure, a head pressed back against his chest, pants coming from the arched throat, so soft under his lips. Frodo writhed under the cloak, hidden by it and the darkness, not caring at this point, but Aragorn did. No one would see Frodo like this, only him. Hobbits had pride.

His hand tightened, pulling harder, the other sliding around to slip down the sweat-slickened crease, a fingertip entering the tight puckered flesh, his mouth swallowing the gasp that followed. "Easy, just one finger, my sweet one. Not going to hurt, just make you feel good." The legs spreading, the lift of the hips urged him on, finger sliding deeper, searching for and finding the nub of flesh it sought. Rubbing lightly, nail flicking against the hard nub, small hands digging into his arms, and he knew Frodo was close to climax. His first by anyone's hand. The balls tightened as he withdrew his finger, rubbing them in their sac, pressing on the perineum, feeling the teeth sink into his bottom lip. One last pull on the hard sex and Frodo came, back almost cracking as it arched and flexed, his hips bucking into the tight fist around him, milking him, the other cupping the back of his head.

A cry of release, muffled by Aragorn's mouth, tongue filling the open one under his, taking the cry, making it his. The little one relaxed in his arms, body pliant and sated. Eyes closed, a sweet breath drifted over his mouth as sleep claimed his Hobbit at last.

His own sex lay thick and throbbing against his thigh, unfulfilled. A small price to pay to have this precious Hobbit lie sleeping in his arms. He glanced down, still in awe that such a small body carried such a heavy burden. And he was so strong and brave, so like a warrior in his ferocity to fulfil his mission.

He felt eyes on him; glancing sideways, he met the ice blue of Legalos' orbs, shining with tears unshed. A quick nod, a motion, and the Elf joined them. A soft kiss pressed to Aragorn's mouth, sweet and gentle. He tipped his head, looking deeply into the eyes of his beloved.

"Forgive me?"

"I see nothing you need forgiven for, my brave one. Nothing."

A quick flip of the dark cloak and Legalos slid into his lover's arm, secure and warm, his hand reaching out to stroke over the dark curls nestled into the broad chest. One last kiss, one last exchange of breath, one last loving look, before he closed his own eyes and joined Frodo in sleep. Aragorn settled back against the wall, both his precious burdens safe for yet another night.


End