Ring-Bound
'Wretched creature. We isss wretched, wicked,' the whiny voice of the ancient degenerate moaned to the darkness, stretching out each "s" while holding in his hands the Ring.
'Kssss!' the good hobbit hissed, 'the Ring, the Ring!'
'Yes… the Precious. We wants it, we wants it. All our very own,' the corrupted hobbit smiled. 'You iss… wanting its.' He made a guttural noise then, not unlike 'gollum.'
'No! no! the Ring is bad, nasty hobbit you is. You is done murder to gets it!' Sméagol hissed and moaned.
'We wants it. We needs it. Gollum, gollum!'
Gollum took his wiry fingers and playfully ran them down Sméagol's face, then ran them across his lips. Forcing Sméagol's mouth open – parting his lips and spreading his jaws apart with two fingers – Gollum placed the Ring firmly into Sméagol's mouth, and the bound hobbit groaned loudly as Gollum's knuckles ran along the roof of his mouth.
The Ring's pulse throbbed against Sméagol's jaws, and the fiery letters burnt his tongue.
Sméagol closed his eyes and shrieked. He saw flames, fiery circles, an eye. The Eye.
His heart was pounding, his breath short. As he drew in a breath from his nose, Gollum reached out and held it shut. He was asphyxiating on the Ring. A dark voice whispered across time and through Ages. The Ring is mine. We will meet again.
No. No, no, no.
NO!
Sméagol felt cold fingers grasp around his throat, Gollum's fingers, slowly squeezing. There were other cold fingers pulling at him, grabbing at his lungs, his heart. Tears slid down his face, burning his eyes.
Slow.
Squeeze
Slowing.
Heartbeats. Slowly.
Full stop.
Gollum reached into Sméagol's cold mouth and pulled out the Ring. It was still burning hot, sticky with saliva.
'Mine again, my love,' Gollum pulled the Ring over his finger.
Sméagol was dead.