Title: Pomegranate Smiles
Author: Ivory Bride
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, yadda yadda yadda. Hence the word fanfiction. The almighty god Tolkien created them. *bows* I just fiddle with their love lives.
Author's Notes: Yeah, yeah. I'm horrible about blending the line between PG- 13 and R. This is ...*very* suggestive, without actually doing anything. I love insinuations. They can be so fun...
~*~~
It's strange, really. How you can buy so many fruits in the middle of winter. They're shipped from warmer climates, true, but it seems a miracle that you can even see them while there's snow on the ground. They sit in their crates, set on a big wooden table and wait for a passing hobbit to glace by and purchase them.
Among these fruits, lays a pomegranate. Two of them, to be exact. Although not for long. A hobbit in a hurry runs past the table, knocking it, mistakenly. One of the pomegranates falls to the ground, splitting slightly on a rock, despite the tough skin. Red juice drips out the side and stains the pure snow, tinting it a pinkish red. It won't go to waste. A lucky animal will happen across it, chewing fussily at the seeds, which dye it's fur.
Of course the animal will run away once footsteps are heard. The footsteps of a sweet-faced, blonde hobbit, walking to the crate and picking up a luckier pomegranate. He smiles at the fruit, which rests into the palm of his hand, ripe and plump. His hands are soft and strong, with a golden tan from the sun. He turns it around in his palm, and smiles. Of course he wants to take it home with him. He wants to show it to someone else, who may enjoy it just as much as he would. So he does. He hands the merchant some coins and places the fruit gently in a bag, where it rests as he carries it home.
He walks into the house with a smile, calling a name as he enters. No one answers, but he knows where the missing one is. He heads to another room and places the pomegranate on the kitchen table. It sits there next to two apples and a loaf of bread, looking decorative and natural. Like it belongs there. The hobbit smiles and heads off to another room, taking a broom on the way out.
The pomegranate waits and after about an hour, another hobbit enters the room. He picks up the patient fruit. This hobbit's hands are unlike the first. They are pale, thin, and have a bonier grasp. There are tiny grooves in his fingers where a quill must rest all too often. He strokes a thumb over the pomegranate and smiles.
The hobbit carries his fruit to a cutting board and places it down on the wooden slab. It waits as he chooses a knife, carefully, from the selection on the counter. He chooses wisely then comes back to the fruit, holding it in place with one hand while the other holds the knife. It slices deftly through the poor pomegranate and two even halves fall to either side of it's blade.
The hobbit smiles and takes the right side in his hand, cradling it in one palm while picking out the seeds with the fingers of his other hand. He pops them into his mouth, lips puckering at the slight tartness, then smiling at the sweet juice underneath. He peels away a white, filmy barrier blocking one section from the next, and more red seeds are revealed. He smiles again, lips soft and red from the fruit. The juice of it trickles down his chin and stains his skin and shirt. He pays it no heed, finishing off the half slowly, and with a smile. His pale fingers have gained some artificial color from the fruit. The smiling hobbit picks up the other half of the pomegranate and delicately removes the seeds, eating the rest. He gazes out the window, mindlessly escaping into his imagination.
A noise from the other side of the room startles him back to life. He turns to see the sweet, blonde hobbit in the doorway, with his hands on his hips. He smiles and walks over to the pale, dark-haired one, shaking his head. The pale one looks guilty, but he's still smiling. He's also covered in pomegranate juice. He's much messier than one should be when eating a simple fruit.
A drip of red juice is about to fall from the side of his chin, but the blonde one doesn't let it. He kisses it off, instead. The dark haired one smiles. His eyes soften, and he chuckles to himself once his lover pulls away. He whispers soft words with a smile, inviting the blonde one for more. He accepts.
The lips of the two hobbits meet in a sweet, red kiss. They linger. They take their time. Their mouths open, softly, deepening the kiss, and they pull each other even closer than they had been. They both taste the fruit, now.
The dark haired one is the first to break the kiss. He can't contain himself any longer, and a grin bursts from his face. The other hobbit laughs, tilting his head back, slightly. He notices how that a lot of red is missing from his lover's lips. It stains his now, too. He decides to gather the rest of the color, kissing it from the pale hobbit's face. The pale hobbit giggles like a child and squirms, although not to get away, just in happiness from the kisses he receives. He lifts a hand and traces light circles on the blonde one's cheek. His fingers are still stained red. The blonde one notices, and gives a mischievous lopsided grin. They stop laughing and look into each other's eyes.
The blonde hobbit takes his lover's hand in his own and kisses each fingertip. Then, keeping eye contact with a very meaningful, suggestive look, he opens his mouth and takes the tip of the pale one's index finger into it. The pale one gasps. His lover suckles at the fingertip for a moment before taking more into his mouth, never breaking the gaze. He takes it in as far as he can, sucking it in and out. His lover gasps, eyes wide. The blonde hobbit pulls back, gently kissing the tip of his lover's finger, once his tongue is done with it.
The two dreamers stand very still, looking into each other's eyes in silence. The pale one can't take it any longer. He gives a small cry and pulls the blonde one into an embrace, kissing him desperately. The kiss is passionate and lustful, but short. The blonde one grins, mischievously and leans closer to his lover's ear, whispering softly. His lover's eyes widen, and he grins, then takes the other's hand and pulls him off in the direction of the bedroom.
The pomegranate sees all this, and its half-eaten shell lies forgotten on the cutting board. And to think, that it sparked all that! Such inspiration and insinuation from a tiny fruit. It is proud. If it could, it would probably be smiling.
~*~~
Author: Ivory Bride
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, yadda yadda yadda. Hence the word fanfiction. The almighty god Tolkien created them. *bows* I just fiddle with their love lives.
Author's Notes: Yeah, yeah. I'm horrible about blending the line between PG- 13 and R. This is ...*very* suggestive, without actually doing anything. I love insinuations. They can be so fun...
~*~~
It's strange, really. How you can buy so many fruits in the middle of winter. They're shipped from warmer climates, true, but it seems a miracle that you can even see them while there's snow on the ground. They sit in their crates, set on a big wooden table and wait for a passing hobbit to glace by and purchase them.
Among these fruits, lays a pomegranate. Two of them, to be exact. Although not for long. A hobbit in a hurry runs past the table, knocking it, mistakenly. One of the pomegranates falls to the ground, splitting slightly on a rock, despite the tough skin. Red juice drips out the side and stains the pure snow, tinting it a pinkish red. It won't go to waste. A lucky animal will happen across it, chewing fussily at the seeds, which dye it's fur.
Of course the animal will run away once footsteps are heard. The footsteps of a sweet-faced, blonde hobbit, walking to the crate and picking up a luckier pomegranate. He smiles at the fruit, which rests into the palm of his hand, ripe and plump. His hands are soft and strong, with a golden tan from the sun. He turns it around in his palm, and smiles. Of course he wants to take it home with him. He wants to show it to someone else, who may enjoy it just as much as he would. So he does. He hands the merchant some coins and places the fruit gently in a bag, where it rests as he carries it home.
He walks into the house with a smile, calling a name as he enters. No one answers, but he knows where the missing one is. He heads to another room and places the pomegranate on the kitchen table. It sits there next to two apples and a loaf of bread, looking decorative and natural. Like it belongs there. The hobbit smiles and heads off to another room, taking a broom on the way out.
The pomegranate waits and after about an hour, another hobbit enters the room. He picks up the patient fruit. This hobbit's hands are unlike the first. They are pale, thin, and have a bonier grasp. There are tiny grooves in his fingers where a quill must rest all too often. He strokes a thumb over the pomegranate and smiles.
The hobbit carries his fruit to a cutting board and places it down on the wooden slab. It waits as he chooses a knife, carefully, from the selection on the counter. He chooses wisely then comes back to the fruit, holding it in place with one hand while the other holds the knife. It slices deftly through the poor pomegranate and two even halves fall to either side of it's blade.
The hobbit smiles and takes the right side in his hand, cradling it in one palm while picking out the seeds with the fingers of his other hand. He pops them into his mouth, lips puckering at the slight tartness, then smiling at the sweet juice underneath. He peels away a white, filmy barrier blocking one section from the next, and more red seeds are revealed. He smiles again, lips soft and red from the fruit. The juice of it trickles down his chin and stains his skin and shirt. He pays it no heed, finishing off the half slowly, and with a smile. His pale fingers have gained some artificial color from the fruit. The smiling hobbit picks up the other half of the pomegranate and delicately removes the seeds, eating the rest. He gazes out the window, mindlessly escaping into his imagination.
A noise from the other side of the room startles him back to life. He turns to see the sweet, blonde hobbit in the doorway, with his hands on his hips. He smiles and walks over to the pale, dark-haired one, shaking his head. The pale one looks guilty, but he's still smiling. He's also covered in pomegranate juice. He's much messier than one should be when eating a simple fruit.
A drip of red juice is about to fall from the side of his chin, but the blonde one doesn't let it. He kisses it off, instead. The dark haired one smiles. His eyes soften, and he chuckles to himself once his lover pulls away. He whispers soft words with a smile, inviting the blonde one for more. He accepts.
The lips of the two hobbits meet in a sweet, red kiss. They linger. They take their time. Their mouths open, softly, deepening the kiss, and they pull each other even closer than they had been. They both taste the fruit, now.
The dark haired one is the first to break the kiss. He can't contain himself any longer, and a grin bursts from his face. The other hobbit laughs, tilting his head back, slightly. He notices how that a lot of red is missing from his lover's lips. It stains his now, too. He decides to gather the rest of the color, kissing it from the pale hobbit's face. The pale hobbit giggles like a child and squirms, although not to get away, just in happiness from the kisses he receives. He lifts a hand and traces light circles on the blonde one's cheek. His fingers are still stained red. The blonde one notices, and gives a mischievous lopsided grin. They stop laughing and look into each other's eyes.
The blonde hobbit takes his lover's hand in his own and kisses each fingertip. Then, keeping eye contact with a very meaningful, suggestive look, he opens his mouth and takes the tip of the pale one's index finger into it. The pale one gasps. His lover suckles at the fingertip for a moment before taking more into his mouth, never breaking the gaze. He takes it in as far as he can, sucking it in and out. His lover gasps, eyes wide. The blonde hobbit pulls back, gently kissing the tip of his lover's finger, once his tongue is done with it.
The two dreamers stand very still, looking into each other's eyes in silence. The pale one can't take it any longer. He gives a small cry and pulls the blonde one into an embrace, kissing him desperately. The kiss is passionate and lustful, but short. The blonde one grins, mischievously and leans closer to his lover's ear, whispering softly. His lover's eyes widen, and he grins, then takes the other's hand and pulls him off in the direction of the bedroom.
The pomegranate sees all this, and its half-eaten shell lies forgotten on the cutting board. And to think, that it sparked all that! Such inspiration and insinuation from a tiny fruit. It is proud. If it could, it would probably be smiling.
~*~~