Chapter 11 Title: Enigma Variation
Chapter rating: R (sexual situations)
Frodo stopped dead in his tracks as they reached the Physician's Office door and pulled Iris to his side. "Would you like to be my wife?"
"Oh, do stop teasing me like that, Frodo Baggins," Iris pushed him aside and opened the front door. "You should know better than to ask that sort of question to an unmarried spinster. You sound like a fifteen year old with a crush rather than a fifty year old confirmed bachelor."
"I am fifty-two, soon to be fifty-three, thank you very much, Miss Proudfoot," he replied, following her into the office and pulling the little door shut. The physician's offices were warm and bright as the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the dusty front windows. All inside was quiet and still.
"Well, you still act like you are fifteen," Iris said as she drew the curtains closed inside the waiting room and started down the hallway. "I appreciate the commissioning of the new dress, but really! You better not be seen anywhere near me wearing that matching vest. I would be so embarrassed! Only children are dressed in matching outfits, and mostly twins and mostly against their will. Whatever got into your mind?"
Frodo put out his hand and stopped Iris as she entered the long center hallway leading back towards her private residence. "You," he said.
"What?" she turned to face him, confused.
"You are in my mind," he softy said as his right hand caressed her face in the dusky air. "I think about you constantly. I love you, you know." Her back was against the hallway wall and she gazed into his smoky eyes. Frodo had been contemplating getting Iris alone all afternoon after their good- will walk through the Hobbiton business district.
She looked so lovely and calm; so reassuring and stable. Exactly what he wanted and needed. Someone to counterbalance the remembered pain and torment of the Ring. Someone who could bring peace and harmony to his mind. Someone to fill the void left by the destruction of that cursed Ring.
He leaned forward to kiss her, and was surprised when she turned her face to one side, deftly avoiding his lips.
"Iris, is something wrong?" he asked, quite perplexed.
"Frodo," she almost whispered, "I'm sorry." She was blushing and looked away from his eyes and down towards his chest. "I'm sorry. I .. I've had some time to think about things after going out to the Wyncots. And, well .. I don't think I can afford to fall in love with a patient." He could see the tears beginning to form in her eyes.
"Iris," he said, his voice husky with longing, "it is far too late for that." He tipped her chin up so that she was again looking into his deep blue eyes. They smoldered with desire. Her own body exposed the lie of her words. Frodo could see the pupils in her green, green eyes enlarge with her own desire. Her lips were full and ripe, slightly parted as she struggled to control her suddenly ragged breathing.
Iris could feel his desire and need as Frodo pressed his hips against hers, pinning her to the wall. She could feel his body against hers, a hard reminder of pleasures to be given and received. She could not control her own reactions. She was emotionally unprepared and allowed him to kiss her this time as her arms unconsciously slid around his waist to caress his back and buttocks, pulling him closer.
He had his right hand in her curly hair as the kiss deepened. Iris was dimly aware of his left hand against the small of her back, his graceful fingers urging her hips and stomach to crush against his. His tongue teased her swollen lips open, eager to taste her mouth and encourage her own tongue into action. His insistent mouth closed over her lower lip and sucked it lightly. Iris sighed and could not suppress the urge to grind her body against his.
She tilted her head up towards the ceiling as Frodo kissed and nibbled down from her mouth to her gleaming throat. His right hand had moved from her brown hair to lightly caressing her left breast, his thumb gently rubbing against her aroused nipple. It was all so sensuous, the kisses and caresses coming in waves. He was going to engulf her; consume her; like a wildfire consuming a parched pasture, or like the swollen Brandywine consuming its banks after a deluge.
Suddenly Iris was afraid. Afraid of Frodo - of his passion and his need and his desire to consume her. She really didn't know this hobbit of the legends and stories. She had not known him before the Ring; before the Quest; before his injuries. Iris could not suppress a slight shudder.
Frodo hesitated, sensing a change in her passion. He could see the slight panic in her eyes. She could hide nothing from him. He was very good at reading people, and he clearly saw fear where no fear should be.
He cleared his suddenly tight throat, himself now afraid of what he might hear. "Iris, what is wrong?" He hated asking the question, fearing its answer, but they had reached an impasse.
"Oh, Frodo," she said as she cupped his face in her hand, "I'm so sorry. But, I . I . Oh stars, how can I say this? I really don't know you. You're not like other hobbits I've met."
He turned away in embarrassment. "Damn," he whispered, "it always comes to this."
"Oh, Frodo, please," she pleaded, reaching out a hand to him. "That didn't come out the way I meant it."
"Well, how did you mean it?" Frodo sadly said. He took her hands in his, and they both noticed the missing ring finger of his right hand. "I am not like other hobbits. I cannot help my nature, Iris. I was different before going on the Quest, and I am certainly changed as a result of it." He looked at her, wanting her to understand. Willing the silence and space between them to collapse into understanding and acceptance.
"You are afraid of me, aren't you?" he quietly said, softly stroking her hand. "Everyone in the Shire is afraid of me, except Sam and Merry and Pippin. Oh, the people in the Shire are all polite, but they do not invite me to tea, or to meet their daughters, or over for social engagements. People are afraid of what they do not understand and I am an enigma to them."
"Then help me understand," she pleaded. Iris brought his maimed hand up to her lips, and gently kissed the stump where his ring finger used to reside. "I shan't be afraid if you help me understand."
Frodo hesitated for an instant, then led her into the examination room. He closed the door to the hallway and opened up all the curtains to let in as much light as possible. The room was flooded with the golden sunlight of late afternoon. Iris was unsure as to what Frodo was going to do as he began to disrobe. She flushed with embarrassment as he stripped, placed his clothes on the examination table, and stood in front of her totally nude and completely vulnerable. He had even taken off the small white gem he wore on a thin silver chain, something she had never seen him do. She had seen him naked before, of course. Either as part of a medical examination, or during one of their few intimate encounters. But this was different. This was total honesty, it was brutal, and it was directed at himself. It shamed Iris to the core.
"Come and see," he beckoned, "my history is written on my body. I try to hide the hideous scars from others, so that they are not made uncomfortable in seeing me. That is why I wear long sleeved shirts and vests even in summer. Why I keep my hair long. Why I avoid shaking hands. But I shall not hide myself from you. I will explain each and every scar, each and every step to and from Mordor, so that you might understand."
Iris felt a tear trickle down her cheek, but she ignored it. Frodo appeared as an injured ivory statue, enveloped in the golden light, his arms held out slightly away from his sides, inviting her to examine and question. He slowly turned around, revealing scars she knew quite well and some she had never noticed before. He was beautiful, and he was flawed. She removed her own clothing and joined him in the light.
"Forgive me," she said. "I doubted my heart." She stepped into his outstretched arms, enfolding him in her own. His arms closed about her body, and they stood locked in a tender and finally tension-free embrace. She nuzzled his neck and tenderly kissed the cold white scar on his left shoulder. He closed his eyes, sighed, and moved his left hand to stroke her buttocks and back, moving his supple fingers all along her backside, sending chills running across the tiny hairs of her arms.
She again saw the smoke and fire in his eyes; the longing and the need to consume. But this time she was unafraid. She closed her eyes and drew his mouth down to hers in a passionate kiss. This time she was the aggressor. This time it was her tongue searching out the sweet depths of his mouth.
Frodo casually swept his clothes off the examination table, reached out his hand, and brought Iris over. Time had no meaning as they made love in the afternoon sunshine. The memories of hardships and pain were momentarily forgotten, lost in the mists of pleasure. They ended up in a tangle of limbs, utterly spent from the sudden release of built-up emotions. Frodo became dimly aware that he was lying atop Iris, with his full weight bearing down upon her. He started to move, but she protested.
"No. Please stay," came the silky, husky voice from underneath him. "I love to feel your weight on me."
Frodo settled back down, but carefully shifted some of his weight onto his forearms. He nuzzled aside some of the rich brown curls and kissed the back of her neck. He lightly slid a finger down her side from shoulder to her thigh, causing Iris to shiver with sudden goose bumps. She laughed slightly.
"Ah, good," Frodo chuckled. "I see you are ticklish."
"Maybe later, Mister Baggins, but definitely not now," came the reply. "I am far too relaxed to be tickled."
"That sounds like a challenge," he whispered into her ear, finally rolling away from her. He had forgotten they were on a small examination table, and almost rolled off completely. Luckily, he caught himself before loosing his balance.
Iris giggled as she flipped over to face him. She reached up and brought his face to hers for a luxurious kiss. "Mister Baggins, you have such wonderful lips," she whispered.
"And you, Miss Proudfoot, have the most luscious bottom I have ever had the privilege to admire," he grinned.
Frodo stopped dead in his tracks as they reached the Physician's Office door and pulled Iris to his side. "Would you like to be my wife?"
"Oh, do stop teasing me like that, Frodo Baggins," Iris pushed him aside and opened the front door. "You should know better than to ask that sort of question to an unmarried spinster. You sound like a fifteen year old with a crush rather than a fifty year old confirmed bachelor."
"I am fifty-two, soon to be fifty-three, thank you very much, Miss Proudfoot," he replied, following her into the office and pulling the little door shut. The physician's offices were warm and bright as the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the dusty front windows. All inside was quiet and still.
"Well, you still act like you are fifteen," Iris said as she drew the curtains closed inside the waiting room and started down the hallway. "I appreciate the commissioning of the new dress, but really! You better not be seen anywhere near me wearing that matching vest. I would be so embarrassed! Only children are dressed in matching outfits, and mostly twins and mostly against their will. Whatever got into your mind?"
Frodo put out his hand and stopped Iris as she entered the long center hallway leading back towards her private residence. "You," he said.
"What?" she turned to face him, confused.
"You are in my mind," he softy said as his right hand caressed her face in the dusky air. "I think about you constantly. I love you, you know." Her back was against the hallway wall and she gazed into his smoky eyes. Frodo had been contemplating getting Iris alone all afternoon after their good- will walk through the Hobbiton business district.
She looked so lovely and calm; so reassuring and stable. Exactly what he wanted and needed. Someone to counterbalance the remembered pain and torment of the Ring. Someone who could bring peace and harmony to his mind. Someone to fill the void left by the destruction of that cursed Ring.
He leaned forward to kiss her, and was surprised when she turned her face to one side, deftly avoiding his lips.
"Iris, is something wrong?" he asked, quite perplexed.
"Frodo," she almost whispered, "I'm sorry." She was blushing and looked away from his eyes and down towards his chest. "I'm sorry. I .. I've had some time to think about things after going out to the Wyncots. And, well .. I don't think I can afford to fall in love with a patient." He could see the tears beginning to form in her eyes.
"Iris," he said, his voice husky with longing, "it is far too late for that." He tipped her chin up so that she was again looking into his deep blue eyes. They smoldered with desire. Her own body exposed the lie of her words. Frodo could see the pupils in her green, green eyes enlarge with her own desire. Her lips were full and ripe, slightly parted as she struggled to control her suddenly ragged breathing.
Iris could feel his desire and need as Frodo pressed his hips against hers, pinning her to the wall. She could feel his body against hers, a hard reminder of pleasures to be given and received. She could not control her own reactions. She was emotionally unprepared and allowed him to kiss her this time as her arms unconsciously slid around his waist to caress his back and buttocks, pulling him closer.
He had his right hand in her curly hair as the kiss deepened. Iris was dimly aware of his left hand against the small of her back, his graceful fingers urging her hips and stomach to crush against his. His tongue teased her swollen lips open, eager to taste her mouth and encourage her own tongue into action. His insistent mouth closed over her lower lip and sucked it lightly. Iris sighed and could not suppress the urge to grind her body against his.
She tilted her head up towards the ceiling as Frodo kissed and nibbled down from her mouth to her gleaming throat. His right hand had moved from her brown hair to lightly caressing her left breast, his thumb gently rubbing against her aroused nipple. It was all so sensuous, the kisses and caresses coming in waves. He was going to engulf her; consume her; like a wildfire consuming a parched pasture, or like the swollen Brandywine consuming its banks after a deluge.
Suddenly Iris was afraid. Afraid of Frodo - of his passion and his need and his desire to consume her. She really didn't know this hobbit of the legends and stories. She had not known him before the Ring; before the Quest; before his injuries. Iris could not suppress a slight shudder.
Frodo hesitated, sensing a change in her passion. He could see the slight panic in her eyes. She could hide nothing from him. He was very good at reading people, and he clearly saw fear where no fear should be.
He cleared his suddenly tight throat, himself now afraid of what he might hear. "Iris, what is wrong?" He hated asking the question, fearing its answer, but they had reached an impasse.
"Oh, Frodo," she said as she cupped his face in her hand, "I'm so sorry. But, I . I . Oh stars, how can I say this? I really don't know you. You're not like other hobbits I've met."
He turned away in embarrassment. "Damn," he whispered, "it always comes to this."
"Oh, Frodo, please," she pleaded, reaching out a hand to him. "That didn't come out the way I meant it."
"Well, how did you mean it?" Frodo sadly said. He took her hands in his, and they both noticed the missing ring finger of his right hand. "I am not like other hobbits. I cannot help my nature, Iris. I was different before going on the Quest, and I am certainly changed as a result of it." He looked at her, wanting her to understand. Willing the silence and space between them to collapse into understanding and acceptance.
"You are afraid of me, aren't you?" he quietly said, softly stroking her hand. "Everyone in the Shire is afraid of me, except Sam and Merry and Pippin. Oh, the people in the Shire are all polite, but they do not invite me to tea, or to meet their daughters, or over for social engagements. People are afraid of what they do not understand and I am an enigma to them."
"Then help me understand," she pleaded. Iris brought his maimed hand up to her lips, and gently kissed the stump where his ring finger used to reside. "I shan't be afraid if you help me understand."
Frodo hesitated for an instant, then led her into the examination room. He closed the door to the hallway and opened up all the curtains to let in as much light as possible. The room was flooded with the golden sunlight of late afternoon. Iris was unsure as to what Frodo was going to do as he began to disrobe. She flushed with embarrassment as he stripped, placed his clothes on the examination table, and stood in front of her totally nude and completely vulnerable. He had even taken off the small white gem he wore on a thin silver chain, something she had never seen him do. She had seen him naked before, of course. Either as part of a medical examination, or during one of their few intimate encounters. But this was different. This was total honesty, it was brutal, and it was directed at himself. It shamed Iris to the core.
"Come and see," he beckoned, "my history is written on my body. I try to hide the hideous scars from others, so that they are not made uncomfortable in seeing me. That is why I wear long sleeved shirts and vests even in summer. Why I keep my hair long. Why I avoid shaking hands. But I shall not hide myself from you. I will explain each and every scar, each and every step to and from Mordor, so that you might understand."
Iris felt a tear trickle down her cheek, but she ignored it. Frodo appeared as an injured ivory statue, enveloped in the golden light, his arms held out slightly away from his sides, inviting her to examine and question. He slowly turned around, revealing scars she knew quite well and some she had never noticed before. He was beautiful, and he was flawed. She removed her own clothing and joined him in the light.
"Forgive me," she said. "I doubted my heart." She stepped into his outstretched arms, enfolding him in her own. His arms closed about her body, and they stood locked in a tender and finally tension-free embrace. She nuzzled his neck and tenderly kissed the cold white scar on his left shoulder. He closed his eyes, sighed, and moved his left hand to stroke her buttocks and back, moving his supple fingers all along her backside, sending chills running across the tiny hairs of her arms.
She again saw the smoke and fire in his eyes; the longing and the need to consume. But this time she was unafraid. She closed her eyes and drew his mouth down to hers in a passionate kiss. This time she was the aggressor. This time it was her tongue searching out the sweet depths of his mouth.
Frodo casually swept his clothes off the examination table, reached out his hand, and brought Iris over. Time had no meaning as they made love in the afternoon sunshine. The memories of hardships and pain were momentarily forgotten, lost in the mists of pleasure. They ended up in a tangle of limbs, utterly spent from the sudden release of built-up emotions. Frodo became dimly aware that he was lying atop Iris, with his full weight bearing down upon her. He started to move, but she protested.
"No. Please stay," came the silky, husky voice from underneath him. "I love to feel your weight on me."
Frodo settled back down, but carefully shifted some of his weight onto his forearms. He nuzzled aside some of the rich brown curls and kissed the back of her neck. He lightly slid a finger down her side from shoulder to her thigh, causing Iris to shiver with sudden goose bumps. She laughed slightly.
"Ah, good," Frodo chuckled. "I see you are ticklish."
"Maybe later, Mister Baggins, but definitely not now," came the reply. "I am far too relaxed to be tickled."
"That sounds like a challenge," he whispered into her ear, finally rolling away from her. He had forgotten they were on a small examination table, and almost rolled off completely. Luckily, he caught himself before loosing his balance.
Iris giggled as she flipped over to face him. She reached up and brought his face to hers for a luxurious kiss. "Mister Baggins, you have such wonderful lips," she whispered.
"And you, Miss Proudfoot, have the most luscious bottom I have ever had the privilege to admire," he grinned.
