Disclaimers: Tolkien owns the characters, John Donne owns most of the plot.
Story notes: Well, there really isn't much time for baths on a quest...
Frodo curled round Sam to sleep again as they had done every night since leaving Rivendell. Asleep like lovers, Sam's fingers curled in his hair, but… That was the problem. The 'but'. They were not lovers. Frodo wasn't even sure what Sam wanted, but every night they curled up together. Sam had started it, the first night out of Rivendell, wordlessly gathering him up in his arms and falling asleep like that. Did that mean anything more than a protective gesture? Frodo sighed, and scratched, since it had been a long time since any of them could bathe and he was feeling distinctly… infested.
"Don't scratch, Frodo, you'll only make it worse."
// Alright for him to say that, elves don't get fleas. // Frodo had been unsuccessfully trying to think of a way to train some of his fleas to bite Legolas to teach him a lesson. He could hear the others bedding down for the night, Legolas standing on watch. The itching was very annoying, and he squirmed to try and scratch them without being obvious. Too late he realised that this was having the secondary effect of rubbing him up against Sam in a very inappropriate way, made worse by the fact that some parts of his anatomy were insisting that this was very appropriate, and could he carry on please?
Frodo gasped, in shock and lust, and then froze, staring at Sam's chest. Then his thought processes decided to betray him. // What are you waiting for? You know he's not asleep, and if he can't feel that pressed against his leg, well… Did we mention the fact that he's made no attempt to move away? Go on. Kiss him. Go on, go on, go on, go on, go on go on, GO ON! // Frodo always got worried when his thought processes took on an Irish accent. However, they were both logical and persuasive, so he kissed Sam.
To his surprise Sam responded, deepening the kiss and holding Frodo closer to him. Then they kept kissing each other, breaking off only to shift their positions on the hard ground slightly. Frodo stroked the back of Sam's neck, then moved his hand down to caress the bulge in his breeches. Sam though pulled away.
"Sam...?" he whispered.
"Frodo... no. It's not right." He hissed back.
"And kissing is? Sam, please..."
"No Frodo. Just no." Sam winced as a flea bit him over the collarbone painfully. Frodo looked at it thoughtfully.
"That's probably one of my fleas, biting you after biting me." He ran a finger down Sam's neck. "So in that flea our blood is mingled." He began to kiss along Sam's jawline, eliciting a small gurgle from Sam. "But that's not seen as any sin or shame, as it sits there all swelled up with our blood." Frodo's hand wandered downwards but was batted away. "Alas, more than we would do."
Frodo drew back to look at Sam's expression, still caught in the fight between lust and duty. Frodo changed tack slightly. "So this is our marriage bed, and the flea has taken our most solemn vows for us, mingling our bloods and binding us to each other, so no-one could begrudge us that" Frodo had his cheek pressed up against Sam's. Sam raised his hand to crush the flea, but Frodo held it and kissed it. "Would you kill three lives in one, love?"
Sam looked Frodo in the eye and crushed the flea with his fingernail. Frodo realised he was losing, and kissed Sam passionately once more. Frodo then barely drew back from him, a hair's breadth between their lips. "You murder that flea so easily, with no qualms that it's not right…" Frodo had already begun to unbutton Sam's breeches "it took so little to do that", Frodo continued to unbutton, "yet you would deny me this?" Frodo slid his hand inside and kissed Sam as they moaned together.
Over at the other side of the camp, Legolas, blessed with elven hearing had resorted to biting on his hand to stop his hysterics from waking the Fellowship. After all, if he did wake them up and had to explain what he had been laughing about they'd never believe him. Seduction by fleas… this was why everyone was sailing to the west, the other races were weird.
Author note: The 'Seduction-by-flea' is taken from John Donne's poem 'The Flea', which is a lot of fun and worth reading; there's a text here: http://lardcave.net/tig/hsc/2eng-donne-flea-comments.html
Story notes: Well, there really isn't much time for baths on a quest...
Frodo curled round Sam to sleep again as they had done every night since leaving Rivendell. Asleep like lovers, Sam's fingers curled in his hair, but… That was the problem. The 'but'. They were not lovers. Frodo wasn't even sure what Sam wanted, but every night they curled up together. Sam had started it, the first night out of Rivendell, wordlessly gathering him up in his arms and falling asleep like that. Did that mean anything more than a protective gesture? Frodo sighed, and scratched, since it had been a long time since any of them could bathe and he was feeling distinctly… infested.
"Don't scratch, Frodo, you'll only make it worse."
// Alright for him to say that, elves don't get fleas. // Frodo had been unsuccessfully trying to think of a way to train some of his fleas to bite Legolas to teach him a lesson. He could hear the others bedding down for the night, Legolas standing on watch. The itching was very annoying, and he squirmed to try and scratch them without being obvious. Too late he realised that this was having the secondary effect of rubbing him up against Sam in a very inappropriate way, made worse by the fact that some parts of his anatomy were insisting that this was very appropriate, and could he carry on please?
Frodo gasped, in shock and lust, and then froze, staring at Sam's chest. Then his thought processes decided to betray him. // What are you waiting for? You know he's not asleep, and if he can't feel that pressed against his leg, well… Did we mention the fact that he's made no attempt to move away? Go on. Kiss him. Go on, go on, go on, go on, go on go on, GO ON! // Frodo always got worried when his thought processes took on an Irish accent. However, they were both logical and persuasive, so he kissed Sam.
To his surprise Sam responded, deepening the kiss and holding Frodo closer to him. Then they kept kissing each other, breaking off only to shift their positions on the hard ground slightly. Frodo stroked the back of Sam's neck, then moved his hand down to caress the bulge in his breeches. Sam though pulled away.
"Sam...?" he whispered.
"Frodo... no. It's not right." He hissed back.
"And kissing is? Sam, please..."
"No Frodo. Just no." Sam winced as a flea bit him over the collarbone painfully. Frodo looked at it thoughtfully.
"That's probably one of my fleas, biting you after biting me." He ran a finger down Sam's neck. "So in that flea our blood is mingled." He began to kiss along Sam's jawline, eliciting a small gurgle from Sam. "But that's not seen as any sin or shame, as it sits there all swelled up with our blood." Frodo's hand wandered downwards but was batted away. "Alas, more than we would do."
Frodo drew back to look at Sam's expression, still caught in the fight between lust and duty. Frodo changed tack slightly. "So this is our marriage bed, and the flea has taken our most solemn vows for us, mingling our bloods and binding us to each other, so no-one could begrudge us that" Frodo had his cheek pressed up against Sam's. Sam raised his hand to crush the flea, but Frodo held it and kissed it. "Would you kill three lives in one, love?"
Sam looked Frodo in the eye and crushed the flea with his fingernail. Frodo realised he was losing, and kissed Sam passionately once more. Frodo then barely drew back from him, a hair's breadth between their lips. "You murder that flea so easily, with no qualms that it's not right…" Frodo had already begun to unbutton Sam's breeches "it took so little to do that", Frodo continued to unbutton, "yet you would deny me this?" Frodo slid his hand inside and kissed Sam as they moaned together.
Over at the other side of the camp, Legolas, blessed with elven hearing had resorted to biting on his hand to stop his hysterics from waking the Fellowship. After all, if he did wake them up and had to explain what he had been laughing about they'd never believe him. Seduction by fleas… this was why everyone was sailing to the west, the other races were weird.
Author note: The 'Seduction-by-flea' is taken from John Donne's poem 'The Flea', which is a lot of fun and worth reading; there's a text here: http://lardcave.net/tig/hsc/2eng-donne-flea-comments.html