Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings or any related material. Didn't we go through this? No? Lawyer? What lawyer? That's why I ended up in jail? Copyright infringement? What's that? Oh... By the way, I borrowed a line from an absolutely fantastic fic, Histories Asunder. Go read it (after you read this!) Sorry, Amanda, but I did give you a shameless plug for it!
Warning: Non-consensual sexual situations (for some reason, this sounds better than rape.)
Author's Note: This was my first attempt at writing sex or anything with a higher rating that PG-13. It was originally posted on Library of Moria and Adult in November 2003. I worked really hard on this, so I'd like to know what you think. All reviews and comments are welcome. Enjoy!
Claimed
by: Allaya Cooks, aka Aruraya
The Ring would give me power. I know it as well and as clear as I know of my love for my dear Sam. My faithful Sam, trudging tirelessly beside me, stopping to rest only when he was sure that I was cared for. And even with all that I have, I want more than I could ever ask of him. Already he has done so much. It would not be fair to tell him how often have I looked upon his sleeping face, bathed by moonlight, and felt lost in a desire that I once felt only for the Ring. The Ring understands my plight, the sorrow of unrequited love. It helps me as a friend would, shows me that I don't have to be so lonely, that it doesn't always have to be like this. It shows me a love of a kind I thought I could never have with my Sam, and all I have to do is slip it on and claim its power for my own. If I wanted, I could make him love me.
It is the high point of the day. The sun twinkles merrily, unforgivably cheerful and bright as Sam and I happen upon a little pool. It is ensconced in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by tall, green trees. The air is full of mist, and the warm vapor settles on our faces and clings to our clothes, making them heavy, damp, and uncomfortable. Though I am in no mood to see it, the clearing is a lovely place. Sam and I walk towards the small pool and I gaze into it, entranced. Water has always had the power to charm me.
The pool is not too deep, about waist high, and so clear I can see all the way to the smooth rocks at the bottom. Sam kneels and cautiously puts a hand into the water. "Warm," he says. He swishes his hands around in the calm water. "Very warm." He carefully brings a drop to his tongue, and makes a face. "Doesn't taste too great, but I bet it'd be perfect for a bath."
Sam turns to smile at me, and the Ring whispers. "Would you like a bath, Mr. Frodo?" he asks. "I have a bit of soap, if I'm not mistaken."
I sigh, and shrug off my cloak. "Why not?" I say wearily. "I'm sure I could use one." Sam hands me a small piece of soap and a rag and I turn away to get undressed. The thought of being naked in front of him, away from even the meager cover of water, is too much to bear right then. I quickly undress, dropping my weskit and my shirt onto my cloak. Unlacing my breeches swiftly, I let them fall, stepping out of them and slipping into the water.
The warm water feels wonderfully luxuriant as I sink into it, and my tense and sore muscles relax immediately. I feel a sense of contentment as I have not felt since I left the Shire, even with the reason for so much despair lying cold and wet around my neck. It's not until I turn to retrieve the soap and cloth that I notice Sam, still sat near our packs. He is building up a small pile of sticks, presumably for tonight's camp. His back is turned rather deliberately to me. "Sam," I call out, and he visibly stiffens. "You are going to join me, right?"
Sam shakes his head and busies himself with the wood again. "No, you need to relax," he says. "Go on and have your bath. You don't need me bothering you."
The warm water has released something playful in me, for I splash water lightly in his direction. "But it's wonderful, Sam," I sigh, begging him to share the water with me. I don't know what I am hoping for, but disappointment rings in my mind as he shakes his head. "Someone's got to keep watch," he says stubbornly.
I sink back into the water. "Fine," I say. "But you are taking one later, no doubt, and I'll keep watch. And I won't take no for an answer."
I can hear the smile in Sam's voice as he answers. "Alright, Mr. Frodo. But only after you're properly taken care of." I know I'm defeated. I never win with Sam, but I rather enjoy trying. The friendly banter we share, the laughter and jokes, gives me hope that he isn't doing this out of propriety. He isn't just a servant, trying to humor his master. It gives me a faith in love.
Resigned, I pick up the soap and rag and rub them together, working up a soft white lather. I sit, hypnotized by the bubbles, watching the rainbow patterns the light makes on the delicate surface. Remembering a time, long ago, when I would blow soap bubbles out of the window, each one a shining love letter. They would always seem to find their way to the sun-kissed lad working in the garden, and each one brought such a lovely smile to his face. A kind which I have not seen in a long while, the light of that smile hovering at the edge of my memory.
A bird calls in the distance. The sound snaps me out of my reverie, and the warm sun on my skin replaced by warm water, I begin to wash. The dirt doesn't readily come off, and the paleness of my skin is a stark contrast to the grime that clung to it. Sam has to be much the same state, but I can't help being embarrassed. I must have smelled as well.
Glad to be in the pure, cleansing water, I dunk my head under quickly, shaking the hair out of my eyes as I come back up. Slowly, I lean back, and running the soap through my tangled curls, proceed to rinse the filth from my hair. I feel as if the worries of the world are leaving with the dirt, and I look up, content, into the pale blue sky. With a sinking heart, I realize this will be the last of such beauty for a long while. The thought is disheartening, and it brings me back to the reality of the cold metal lying on my chest.
The bath is no longer relaxing, and the water is uncomfortably hot. I climb out of the water and into the grass surrounding the pool. The sun is a bit lower in the sky, and no less bright. The warmth plays across my wet skin. I dress quickly in the spare clothes from my pack, using my cloak as a towel. Sam still has his back turned to me, and I can see he's already laid out our bedrolls. A wonder he is, my Sam. Fairer and more incredible than the elves he holds in such high regard. Here he is, forever by my side, and still I cannot have him.
I place my hand on Sam's strong, broad shoulders and he turns around, surprised. I smile, and his face relaxes into a smile to match my own, though I hope there is more sincerity and less worry behind his.
"Thank you, Sam," I say. "That was lovely. Now it's your turn. I'll keep watch." Sam blushes and turns away.
"Yes, I think I'll do that," he says softly. "But you don't have to stay for me, Mr. Frodo," he adds quickly, with the tiniest of glances in my direction. Sam's cheeks are tinged red, but for the most part, his face is unreadable. "No." I shake my head firmly. "I'll keep watch."
We argue playfully for a few moments until Sam finally persuades me to take a short walk and explore the clearing. "Mind you, I said short," he admonishes, shaking a finger at me. "Be back before it gets dark."
The sun is already low in the sky and I slip off, intending to make the most of my walk. Sam may mean well, but he's extremely protective by nature, and this wretched quest has made him even more so. Moments to myself are few and far between. I need someplace to run away to, somewhere to hide, but where could I escape those honey brown eyes?
The walk through the trees is liberating. My mind relaxes, my barriers lost to the scenery around me, and the Ring begins to whisper. I am ever in a waking dream, and happy images spin wildly in my head, lost in a dance that has known neither sorrow nor loss. The Shire twirls before me, peaceful and content. Rivendell spins into view, the elves happily celebrating with Bilbo as he finishes his book with a flourish. My dear cousin Merry, eyes bright with some new mischief. Young, sweet Pippin, throwing apples from his favorite hiding place. And Sam. Lovely, perfect Sam, smiling gently, the sun making his hair glow golden yellows and copper reds. Looking at me through his eyelashes in a way that makes my heart melt and my knees shake. That one look is enough to make this quest seem a fool's outing, and everything is forfeit if I could just make that real.
But as suddenly as my dreams came upon me, I am beset by nightmares, and the laughing, happy faces that swam before me are now twisted with grief and pain. Long lines of hobbits trail before me, led towards a looming pillar of smoke and latched together by chains. The Fellowship lies broken and bruised, lying facedown on a mountain built by bodies of the dead. My sweet Sam, his flawless features contorted in agony. He screams, a soul-wrenching sound that shatters my heart, and the flames consume him as he is replaced by a staring lidless eye who ever searches for me.
I am overcome with a need to make sure my Sam is okay, and I rush back through the trees to the place I first entered the woods. As I step into the clearing I set eyes on the most beautiful sight I've ever seen in my life. Standing before me in the clear, warm water, surrounded by mist, is my Sam. His bare chest glistens, lovely and bronzed, illuminated by the water that trickles slowly down his smooth skin. His golden hair clings to his forehead, wet curls shining in the fading sunlight. My heart beats in my throat as my eyes follow a light trail of hair that runs down his stomach and disappears into the water. Blushing, I find that I am quite unable to look away. I am completely entranced by the ripples and curves of his muscles, the light and shadow playing across his features, and I can't help thinking how perfectly our bodies would fit together.
I step back into the cover of the trees, though not far enough to hide my view of this exquisite creature. As I hide in the shadows, afraid to move lest he sees me, the Ring whispers to me again. Its voice is no longer comforting, it no longer seems an old friend. The loud, harsh whisper swarms my senses, pushing aside everything but the vision of my beautiful Sam.
Go on, it whispers, go on and take him.
"No," I murmur softly. My cracked voice sounds distant and unreal, even as it falls from my dry lips.
Yes, it whispers, and its voice is like a sweet poison, promising a swift and gracious release from a lifetime of pain. He's in the bath, he doesn't see you watching. He won't see you, not until you're there. But by then, so much could have happened. So much that you have longed for...
"No," I say, a little louder, no less unreal. My strength has failed me, and I can seem to form the words to rid myself of the voice that plagues me.
The Ring is angry now. Yes! it screams, and the harsh sound resounds throughout my head and rings in my ears. I don't need to convince you, it hisses, a harsh derisive sound. You've already convinced yourself. Look...
The voice fades away, and I slowly become aware of an intense heat, deep in my trousers. My erection is painfully tight, and it throbs uncomfortably as I look up to drink in the sight of Sam. He now stands naked on the grass, sideways to me, and I find his lower body is as striking as his upper half. His behind curves perfectly into the toned muscles of his legs. I can feel my heart fluttering like a butterfly, trapped in my throat, as my eyes shift to stare at Sam's length, the same bronzed color as the rest of his deeply tanned skin, maybe a bit darker. "He's big for a hobbit," I say, almost reverently. I blush as I hear the words. Big, but not too big, I think, and I have to stifle a giggle as these thoughts fly through my mind. They're funny, the random thoughts that find a half-mad hobbit in love.
Sam fades away as my thoughts turn to my dear cousin Merry. Merry was my first kiss, my first partner, my first everything. We had our own affair, from the years that I lived at Buckland. I expect that's why Uncle Saradoc was so keen to get me out of his house. Before I left, Merry and I knew it was not to last, but the move sealed our fate. I knew I loved him, but I could never be in love with him. He's too wild, too careless, too young for an old hobbit like me. And too much of his heart already belonged to Pippin. Or at least it did. My sweet cousins were carried off by Uruk-Hai, and I don't expect to see them again. Orcs are not known for their hospitality. Still, I wonder if I could've learned to love him. He was so sweet, so caring, that we could've given it a second chance. Yes, I'm sure, had it not been for Sam taking over my heart so completely, I could have loved him.
The Ring can sense my weakness, and it tries to worm it's way into my mind and into my heart. Sam's golden body swims and blurs before me, and suddenly his bright features are darkened by a look foreign to his features, and yet it is unmistakable. Lust. Pure, unadultered lust. I reach out to caress his cheek and my hand closes on air. I sigh, and let my arm drop to my side. I would love to blame the bitterness in my heart on the Ring, but I know it is not so. My love for Sam is as pure and as true as it could ever be, but it is ever destined to remain unreturned.
I look at my Sam, who is dressed again, and head out to our little campsite. I can smell the sausages on the little fire he's built, and the fading sunlight puts the most beautiful highlights in his golden curls, still damp from his bath. In the little light that is left, his tanned skin seems to glow from within, and I struggle to understand how someone so good, so pure, so beautiful could exist in a world filled with so much pain, so much suffering, and something as recklessly cruel as the One Ring.
"Sam," I whisper, and he looks up startled. His face softens in recognition.
"Hullo, Mr. Frodo. Did you have a nice walk?"
"That I did, Sam," I say, settling in across from him. Close, but not too close. I have to keep my distance. I can't control myself...
Dinner is a silent affair. I can feel the tension between us. The silence unnerves me, but I keep quiet anyway. When you don't know who you're hiding from, you don't know what's safe to say. I try to concentrate on my food, trying not to let any stray thoughts out. I can feel his eyes, twin beams of light, streaming into my mind, reading my thoughts, seeing what I see. I look up, trying to catch his attention, but he is studying the fallen leaves and grass. His plate is as full as mine.
Sighing, I push my food aside and lay down on my bedroll. I give up. I can't fight anymore...
"Frodo..."
All that I am aware of as I awaken is my Sam. His eyes are deep brown, a sharp contrast to the honeyed tones that usually light his eyes.
"Frodo..."
His body is set against mine, and I can feel his heart pounding. Sam's bare chest is pressed against my weskit, and slowly, almost painfully, he reaches between us to unbutton my shirt. I lift my hand to caress his cheek, and suddenly my world stops. My eyes are fixed on my raised hand. My fourth finger, the one that the Ring once adorned, is no more. It is a bleeding, twisted, stump, and I leave the smallest smear of crimson on my Samwise's perfect cheeks. He stares at me, disgust and horror contorting his features, and he sits up, pulling away from me quickly. I stare at his back, sick, maimed, and rejected, and then I find myself truly awake, cold, sweaty, and confused. Across from me, Sam snores peacefully.
"How the hell are you asleep?" I yell, anguished and annoyed. I cross over to him and begin shaking his sleeping form. He opens his eyes, dazed, fear and confusion as clear as the crisp night air.
"How can you sleep when I want you so much?" Sam looks at me, uncomprehending. It infuriates me and I slap him with all my strength, hard enough to turn his face from mine. Wounded tears form in the corner of his eyes, and they hurt me as well. His face is awash with confusion and betrayal.
"What don't you understand?" Hot, angry tears stream down my cheeks, and I roughly wipe them away. My hand slams into Sam's shoulder, and he winces. The Ring begins to laugh, although there is no mirth in its tones. I look up into the starless, cloudless sky. The sliver of moon against the dark canvas of night seems to be curled into a smile. The damn thing is mocking me. "Who the hell are you laughing at, you foul, miserable, wretch?" I jerk my head down to face Sam and relish in the terror in his eyes. What does he know about terror? Terror is being chased by nine soulless wraiths on huge black steeds, faceless and terrible, whose only pleasure is stealing the life out of you and making you their own. Terror is knowing that you've sacrificed your two best friends, the only family you've ever known, knowing that you've gambled their lives so that you could run away. Terror is living in a dream world, made up of shadow and fed by fear, so real that you don't know what's really happening or if it's the same damn nightmare over and over again. He thinks he knows terror, my Sam does, huh? Let me show him something of terror.
Slowly, I begin to unbutton his shirt. "What are yo-" Sam begins to ask, but I silence him with a hungry, fevered kiss. Let him know of silence, when I have kept quiet for so long. Let him learn.
I pull away, quickly, and return my fingers to his shirt. They feel clumsy and heavy as I undo the buttons, and shaking, I find myself unable to control my body. The taste of Sam on my lips is intoxicating, and I have lost all power to think, all reason to be. I am not aware of time, I simply understand that there is all too little of it. Sam looks away as I undo the last button and push the rough cloth off his shoulders. Hurt, confusion, and tears burn in his eyes as I run my fingers along his upper body, down his arms, past his warm belly, in the grooves between his muscles, around each perfect, dark nipple. I lower my mouth to trail kisses down the path that my fingers just made, and my tongue traces delicate patterns around the stiffened little peaks. With a smile, I graze my teeth along the sensitive skin, and Sam gives a yelp of indignation. Sitting up, straddled aside his hips, I place a finger on his full, slightly swollen lips. My eyes fall on the mark on his cheek from where I struck him. In the moonlight, it stands out, a flaw on Sam's perfect features, and I take an odd sort of satisfaction in the brand on his face. It is the sign of that which I have claimed, and no one may touch him but me, in love or otherwise.
My fingers find their way down to make quick work of the lacing on Sam's trousers, and I dismount long enough to expose the rest of him to the moonlight. His body seems to radiate an inner glow, and coupled with the tears shining on his face, he looks like a fallen god, so far away from home. He is breathtaking, and I turn from him, suddenly embarrassed, to undress myself. My shirt falls, and closing my eyes, I let my pants fall as well. I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me, but when I turn Sam is still looking away from my face, eyes bright with fresh tears. I nearly burst into tears as well. My heart pounds below the scar of the cave troll's spear, and the stark white of the scar from the Morgul blade burns clear and pale. Ashamed of my flawed body, I let my eyes trail down until they come to rest on the full arousal between his legs. "For all the tears, you do enjoy this," I murmur, and I bring my lips down again to plant a kiss near the base of the shaft. My tongue leaves a wet trail down to the tip, where it traces the heart-shaped head, savoring every taste, every little sound Sam makes as he winds his fingers into my hair. I take him into my mouth and he gives a little shudder, bucking his hips forward. I look up to see surprise and shame on his face. He is ashamed of his body and disgusted by his master, and yet he still whimpers, his erection throbbing with need. We'll finish this, my Sam, I think, and the thought doesn't seem to come from my own fevered mind. This is a night you will remember. A cold lump forms in my stomach as I settle myself between his legs.
"Mister Frodo, no, wait..." Sam says, trailing off as I slide my hands gently under his buttocks. Pulling myself closer to him, I slip a hand under the soft velvety sac to rub my travel-worn thumb across the tight opening.
"Frodo, please, no..." he pleads, and through his pleas I can hear something of Merry, bright eyes deep with lust, positively begging for me to enter him, hoping to find something we lost in ourselves in each other. But it is Sam in my mind and in my arms as I push my forefinger into the tight space. And it is Sam who thrashes and bears down, driving my finger deep inside him with a strangled cry. His body is flooded with warmth, and the heat grows inside me as well. A second finger follows the first, driving in as far as the other had gone, and I feel him stretching and beginning to give way. Sam's head whips wildly from side to side, eyes focused on a point in the heavens that he silently whispers to, over and over again.
"Lie still," I order quietly; and Sam begins to calm down, though the wildness lurks still in his wide eyes. He locks his huge, frightened eyes on mine, asking questions that I have no power to answer. I tear my gaze from his, feeling empty without his eyes on mine. Pulling out my fingers quickly, I complete my act by shoving into him roughly.
I can tell I've hurt him from the cry of pain he gives as I penetrate him, shuddering as the heat swallows me whole and I bury myself deep inside of him. The cold stone in my stomach is engulfed by the fire searing through my loins, and there it remains, a blackened coal that aches with every thrust. Hot, salty tears stream down my face, and Sam's sweet features mirror the tears on mine. Grasping his arousal, I slowly begin to move my hand along the length, feeling it throb as the rhythm of my hand and the rhythm of my hips join together. I cling to Sam, keeping my hand and my body moving with the last of my strength. My knees shake underneath me, threatening to give way.
This is what you wanted, isn't it? the Ring sneers, voice dripping with sarcasm and mock concern. "Yes," I gasp, panting for breath, barely able to see through my tears, pushing into Sam with everything I am. The voice fades into a horrible, cruel laughter, and I try to push it out of my thoughts until nothing remains.
Faster and faster I move, my mind empty. If I could describe my thoughts, they would be white, a pure, stark white; a blank canvas helpless to the will of the artist. Higher thought has left me for a new master, and bright lights dance behind my closed eyelids. And even as my mind races, devoid of all thought, my senses become terribly clear. I suddenly become aware of everything; each small, uncontrolled spasm my body gives as it nears climax; the chill that hangs in the crisp night air; the heat burning between my body and Sam's that threatens to swallow us all. The sticky wetness of Sam's seed as he comes between us with a shuddering gasp. I give one, last, shaky thrust and spill into him with a liquid flame that fills my body as well and destroys a part of my heart forever.
Spent, I pull out slowly, shaking, my body too weak to support its own weight. The bright white that burned inside me has been replaced with a cold, dead darkness that leaves me trembling all over. I struggle to stand, but my legs give way and I fall onto my knees, my body shuddering with sobs.
"I'm sorry, Sam," I moan, lamenting all that I have lost, all that will never return. "So, so, sorry."
There is a moment's hesitation before Sam wraps his arms around me tightly. I cry even harder, knowing I have hurt him, knowing I don't deserve his touch. Even as I have defiled his body and desecrated my love for him, he still holds me. But if we are alone, and I seek his embrace, who will he go to? Whose arms will he sob in? To whom will he say, My master raped me today...
I shut my eyes tightly, so tightly that I bring back the stars that shone behind my eyelids. Tears stream from the corner of my eyes until I feel I may drown in them. If I deserved to die, if I deserved release from the knowledge from what I've done, such would be a fitting punishment, to drown in my own tears.
Sam's voice seems to come from a place far away, a place touched by horror that will never be the same. A part of that place has died, and although Sam's voice is strong, the hurt and the doubt still linger in its tones. "Shh, Mr. Frodo," he whispers. He speaks to me soothingly, as if I were the one who was wronged. "It'll all be alright. It'll be okay." A moment passes before he speaks again, quieter than before. "Just..." His voice falters and I look up at him, tears streaming down his moonlit cheeks. His face is turned from mine, but I can clearly see the hurt in his eyes, a hurt that may never heal.
"Why didn't you just tell your Sam? Why? You can trust me, even if you can't trust no-one else. I loved you so, Mr. Frodo, I'd have given you the world if you'd only asked... You didn't have to..." He trails off hopelessly and I sob, shaking my wretched body with emotion, tears, and the pain I have caused the one person I love most in all of Middle-Earth. Between us, the One Ring shines, untouched by our tears, glinting as cold and as pure as ice. And I realize now, though much too late, that there is only one Lord of the Rings. No one else can wield his power.