-----
The room Mornenêl had found for their trysting was cozy and warm, which was a good thing, for the first stirrings of winter were blowing in from the north outside; it was bitter cold, and Frodo's shoulder was throbbing. She had reserved a small study--Elrond's house had many such small rooms, perfect for reading or holding small gatherings, poetry reading being one popular use. If either of them was spotted entering or leaving, they could always say they were working on a song together.
The room had a long couch (long enough for a tall elf to lie back and stretch out their legs), a small table, and a few padded chairs. It had a fireplace too, and the heat emanating from the merry fire drew a contented sigh from Frodo as he stretched out his arms in front of it, waiting as Mornenêl laid a soft cotton blanket over the couch and curled up on it in a very simple dressing gown of pale blue.
"Your wound troubles you?" she asked in a silken voice. Frodo shivered despite the heat of the fire. Now that he was actually here, he was afraid to touch her. And yes, his shoulder pained him.
"I think it's the cold. I've noticed I'm more susceptible to it now. I'm a bit stiff too--hah--too much sitting and reading today. I wanted to take a walk with Merry and Pippin,but it hurt too much. Does it snow early here?" his tongue gave away his nervousness; it was easier to just chatter on, and avoid looking at her. His insides were tight--half the pain was probably thanks to stress, now that he thought about it. He tried taking a deep breath, but it only made him lightheaded.
"You need a good rubbing down of the area; that should warm you and help with the pain. Come, remove your shirt and sit down. I'll attend to you," Mornenêl said gently, and Frodo risked a glance at her. He was touched by the sudden concern in her face as she knelt down to help him with his shirt--he still needed help with dressing thanks to the stiffness and the bandage.
There was nothing sexual in her approach of him right now, for which he was grateful. With an almost motherly care, she had him sit down and began kneading his shoulder in her warm, soft hands, using a slow rhythmic altering in pressure which soon began to relax him and ease the knots of tension and pain.
He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning back against her as she moved down his back, pressing down on pinched nerves until they loosened, then to his other shoulder, up his neck, then back to the injured shoulder . . . by that point he was so relaxed Elrond and Turil could have burst through the door and he would have simply smiled at them.
Her touch was starting to do other things to him too--very nice, pleasant things which only began as little shivers of sensation down his spine and lead to warmth of another sort altogether. He shifted to brush back against her and smiled in delight at the feel of her velvet gown against his bare back. Her hands slowed their kneading, trailing lightly over his shoulders and down his chest as she leaned in close.
"What do you want to do next," she purred into his ear. He stifled a groan.
Despite his yearnings, he needed to see her, he needed to look into her eyes, see deep inside, to help him make his decision. He could still turn back now. He hadn't done anything wrong, not yet, not really.
Her eyes were filled with longing.
"Mornenêl," he forced himself to speak past the delightful languor she had brought to him, past the pounding of his heart, "Do you love me?"
It was an unfair question, but he needed the answer to continue; he would not compromise his morals for less. Especially after the look Sam had given him after promising his support.
She bowed over him, brushing her lips across his brow, her arms holding him close, then she drew away just enough to look deep into his eyes. "Yes. I love you, Frodo. You are the most dear thing to me in Middle Earth." Her eyes shown wetly by the light of the fire, but she smiled.
The last of the pain left his shoulder, and he was whole again, and the Ring was nothing more than a cheap trinket on an elven chain.
"I love you too," he finally allowed himself to say, and reached up his good arm to bring her head down, meeting her lips with his own.
---
(fade to blackout, as they say . . . ;) )
******
Story note: I was requested to carry on this scene in full NC-17 fashion as I so love to do; to keep this fiction firmly at a PG-13 rating, I will upload the missing love scene as a separate story. Look for "Unrequited Love: The missing scene" soon. :D And you won't miss *anything* of the plot by not reading it. )
The room Mornenêl had found for their trysting was cozy and warm, which was a good thing, for the first stirrings of winter were blowing in from the north outside; it was bitter cold, and Frodo's shoulder was throbbing. She had reserved a small study--Elrond's house had many such small rooms, perfect for reading or holding small gatherings, poetry reading being one popular use. If either of them was spotted entering or leaving, they could always say they were working on a song together.
The room had a long couch (long enough for a tall elf to lie back and stretch out their legs), a small table, and a few padded chairs. It had a fireplace too, and the heat emanating from the merry fire drew a contented sigh from Frodo as he stretched out his arms in front of it, waiting as Mornenêl laid a soft cotton blanket over the couch and curled up on it in a very simple dressing gown of pale blue.
"Your wound troubles you?" she asked in a silken voice. Frodo shivered despite the heat of the fire. Now that he was actually here, he was afraid to touch her. And yes, his shoulder pained him.
"I think it's the cold. I've noticed I'm more susceptible to it now. I'm a bit stiff too--hah--too much sitting and reading today. I wanted to take a walk with Merry and Pippin,but it hurt too much. Does it snow early here?" his tongue gave away his nervousness; it was easier to just chatter on, and avoid looking at her. His insides were tight--half the pain was probably thanks to stress, now that he thought about it. He tried taking a deep breath, but it only made him lightheaded.
"You need a good rubbing down of the area; that should warm you and help with the pain. Come, remove your shirt and sit down. I'll attend to you," Mornenêl said gently, and Frodo risked a glance at her. He was touched by the sudden concern in her face as she knelt down to help him with his shirt--he still needed help with dressing thanks to the stiffness and the bandage.
There was nothing sexual in her approach of him right now, for which he was grateful. With an almost motherly care, she had him sit down and began kneading his shoulder in her warm, soft hands, using a slow rhythmic altering in pressure which soon began to relax him and ease the knots of tension and pain.
He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning back against her as she moved down his back, pressing down on pinched nerves until they loosened, then to his other shoulder, up his neck, then back to the injured shoulder . . . by that point he was so relaxed Elrond and Turil could have burst through the door and he would have simply smiled at them.
Her touch was starting to do other things to him too--very nice, pleasant things which only began as little shivers of sensation down his spine and lead to warmth of another sort altogether. He shifted to brush back against her and smiled in delight at the feel of her velvet gown against his bare back. Her hands slowed their kneading, trailing lightly over his shoulders and down his chest as she leaned in close.
"What do you want to do next," she purred into his ear. He stifled a groan.
Despite his yearnings, he needed to see her, he needed to look into her eyes, see deep inside, to help him make his decision. He could still turn back now. He hadn't done anything wrong, not yet, not really.
Her eyes were filled with longing.
"Mornenêl," he forced himself to speak past the delightful languor she had brought to him, past the pounding of his heart, "Do you love me?"
It was an unfair question, but he needed the answer to continue; he would not compromise his morals for less. Especially after the look Sam had given him after promising his support.
She bowed over him, brushing her lips across his brow, her arms holding him close, then she drew away just enough to look deep into his eyes. "Yes. I love you, Frodo. You are the most dear thing to me in Middle Earth." Her eyes shown wetly by the light of the fire, but she smiled.
The last of the pain left his shoulder, and he was whole again, and the Ring was nothing more than a cheap trinket on an elven chain.
"I love you too," he finally allowed himself to say, and reached up his good arm to bring her head down, meeting her lips with his own.
---
(fade to blackout, as they say . . . ;) )
******
Story note: I was requested to carry on this scene in full NC-17 fashion as I so love to do; to keep this fiction firmly at a PG-13 rating, I will upload the missing love scene as a separate story. Look for "Unrequited Love: The missing scene" soon. :D And you won't miss *anything* of the plot by not reading it. )