Gentle
(This one's kinda pervy, but I like it.) ************************************************************************
Frodo lay still on his bed, trying desperately to stop the tiny voice in the back of his head from egging on his desires. It had been four months since Kit had become his maid in early March, and he had been content just to be near her, but now some wild instinct within him could sense something in her that told him that she was physically ready to be mated again, even with her seven month old daughter, aging as her father's kind would, still nursing. This feeling made him an animal for her love.
She gave it to him in plenty amount, but she reserved herself her corporal passion for her dreams of Boromir. Even in his room down the hall, the hobbit could hear her moans of the Man's name and her cries of desperation and grief. Something guilty in his soul wished for her to want him like she wanted Boromir, the father of her child, her daughter Elena. Just this thought made him turn bright crimson and, if he was in her company, forced him to run to his room, rendering the Princess of Mirkwood speechless.
He now heard the cry of Elena as she awoke, and immediately, a soft beautiful song stemmed the weeping of the girl until there was silence. Frodo couldn't take it any more. Every muscle in his miniscule body stiffened for a moment, nervousness waging war in his stomach, until he defiantly threw the sheets off his body, pulled on his cotton breeches so as not to reveal his purpose too soon, and stalked silently to her room.
The door was ajar, and as Frodo peeked his head in, he had to stifle a gasp of longing and wonder. His eyes drank in the sight of Kit standing partially bent, shrouded in pallid moonlight, above her baby's crib, gently settling the child into her blankets. But this was not what stunned the Halfling. It was an obvious sign that Elena had just finished nursing, for the breast of the Elf stood entirely uncovered, luscious nipple and all.
Frodo panted heavily with his mouth open, wishing he could lick away the stray drops of milk that lingered on her perfectly round womanhood, shining beautifully on her fair skin. Anorlach then noticed his presence at the door, and quickly covered herself from view.
"Please," she said, offering him a seat on her bed as she herself lay back against her pillows. "Sit." Frodo instantaneously did so, forcing all his will to keep him from throwing himself on top of her and kissing her with all his might. He sighed unhappily as she asked why he was out of bed at this time of night.
"I couldn't sleep," he answered, hesitating before asking the brazen question that leapt to his tongue. "May I have a kiss?" Kit cocked her head quizzically, her gaze warm and affectionate, and Frodo's heart leaped into his mouth. But a disappointed cry rose from his tightening throat and he pushed her away as her lips pressed onto his sweaty brow. He could only shake his head to say that wasn't what he wanted; the only indication he could possibly give was to touch his lips with an upraised finger.
Kit's deep blue eyes grew wide in surprise, Frodo's request sinking into her ears in full weight of its meaning. It was her turn to twist away, this time in panic and grief, jerking out of his reach so his lips as he leaned forward for his wish only touched her collarbone.
Frodo saw his opportunity. Scrambling lest she sit, he lay on top of her and pressed his lips into her own, marveling at the spark of pleasure that spread warmth from his face all around his body. Her mouth was open from the surprise of the moment, and instinctively, the hobbit's tongue crept tentatively in, but the hesitance evaporated like dew under the mid- morning sun as he found her own tongue, and instantly, all his limbs were entwining with her own, quivering as a newborn fawn.
The moment ended, soon enough. All the preliminary surprise had worn off of Kit, and she used the fact that she was on the bottom to her advantage by swiftly turning onto her side, the sudden motion throwing Frodo off the bed. He was about to protest, but he then saw the tears, full of terror and resentment, flow down her perfect cheek. His guilt rose to full throttle as he heard a little agonized whimper, vainly trying to be stifled, come from her beautiful throat.
He rose and went to touch her hand, but when their skin made contact, she flinched as if he had burned her. He couldn't bear the expression of sore pride and distrust that lingered in her eyes as he inched away towards the door. She allowed herself to weep, and Frodo turned away, unable to look at her anymore. Her sobs echoed in his ears for the next week.
Over the next few days, Kit and Frodo made ready for Legolas's stay, yet the hobbit's mistress refused to speak with him, even be in the same room with him. Whenever he decided to help with her cleaning, she would give him a spiteful glare and leave in a mood off to do something else. The eve of Legolas's coming, Frodo decided enough was enough. She had just gone to bed and the Halfling could catch her in a place where she could not escape. It was a serious matter. He needed to apologize.
He burst through the door, fully clothed despite the July heat, yet looking penitent. Instantly, as he saw her tense, coiled like a cat ready to spring, he wished he could just go back to his room and hide, but that wasn't a choice he had. He sat on the edge of the bed near her feet and gently took her hands, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked into her eyes, the scorn and suspicion clear against a blue background.
"Kit, please," he pleaded, using his thumbs resting on the top of her hands to try and warm away all the fear and betrayal she felt, stroking her smooth, flawless skin. "I couldn't help it. I love you, I do. I've wanted to kiss you ever since I knew I loved you," He hesitated. "I've wanted to be inside you for so long," he said after a pause, removing one hand from hers to settle on her belly.
Kit's already pallid skin turned the color of fresh milk, and she trembled violently, as the poison melted from her gaze. "You don't understand," she murmured, going to her sleeping daughter, picking her up, rocking her back and forth in her arms. "Elena is the only living thing that I have left of Boromir, and she is my only joy. I am her mother, and I am able to watch her grow. I see more and more of her father in her every day, and this may seem absurd, but I feel like he is speaking to me through her eyes."
Her sudden trust of him again made him sigh in relief, but as he drew nearer to embrace her, she backed away into the far wall, eyeing him dejectedly. "Why do you scorn me so?" he cried, awaking Elena and sending the girl into a frenzy of tears.
"Leave," the Princess commanded, sparing the hobbit a derogatory glare, before quieting her daughter with a murmured song and a gentle rocking motion provided from her hips. Frodo, still feeling incredibly culpable, openly defied her and drew himself up to his full height, scraping together all the courage he had left to walk forward and touch her right hand. All the muscles in her arm tensed as a low growl resounded from her throat and he saw wolf fangs protrude out from under her upper lip...
He woke up the next morning in his bed, with hardly any recollection of what had happened. He called out Kit's name...but she had gone...
(This one's kinda pervy, but I like it.) ************************************************************************
Frodo lay still on his bed, trying desperately to stop the tiny voice in the back of his head from egging on his desires. It had been four months since Kit had become his maid in early March, and he had been content just to be near her, but now some wild instinct within him could sense something in her that told him that she was physically ready to be mated again, even with her seven month old daughter, aging as her father's kind would, still nursing. This feeling made him an animal for her love.
She gave it to him in plenty amount, but she reserved herself her corporal passion for her dreams of Boromir. Even in his room down the hall, the hobbit could hear her moans of the Man's name and her cries of desperation and grief. Something guilty in his soul wished for her to want him like she wanted Boromir, the father of her child, her daughter Elena. Just this thought made him turn bright crimson and, if he was in her company, forced him to run to his room, rendering the Princess of Mirkwood speechless.
He now heard the cry of Elena as she awoke, and immediately, a soft beautiful song stemmed the weeping of the girl until there was silence. Frodo couldn't take it any more. Every muscle in his miniscule body stiffened for a moment, nervousness waging war in his stomach, until he defiantly threw the sheets off his body, pulled on his cotton breeches so as not to reveal his purpose too soon, and stalked silently to her room.
The door was ajar, and as Frodo peeked his head in, he had to stifle a gasp of longing and wonder. His eyes drank in the sight of Kit standing partially bent, shrouded in pallid moonlight, above her baby's crib, gently settling the child into her blankets. But this was not what stunned the Halfling. It was an obvious sign that Elena had just finished nursing, for the breast of the Elf stood entirely uncovered, luscious nipple and all.
Frodo panted heavily with his mouth open, wishing he could lick away the stray drops of milk that lingered on her perfectly round womanhood, shining beautifully on her fair skin. Anorlach then noticed his presence at the door, and quickly covered herself from view.
"Please," she said, offering him a seat on her bed as she herself lay back against her pillows. "Sit." Frodo instantaneously did so, forcing all his will to keep him from throwing himself on top of her and kissing her with all his might. He sighed unhappily as she asked why he was out of bed at this time of night.
"I couldn't sleep," he answered, hesitating before asking the brazen question that leapt to his tongue. "May I have a kiss?" Kit cocked her head quizzically, her gaze warm and affectionate, and Frodo's heart leaped into his mouth. But a disappointed cry rose from his tightening throat and he pushed her away as her lips pressed onto his sweaty brow. He could only shake his head to say that wasn't what he wanted; the only indication he could possibly give was to touch his lips with an upraised finger.
Kit's deep blue eyes grew wide in surprise, Frodo's request sinking into her ears in full weight of its meaning. It was her turn to twist away, this time in panic and grief, jerking out of his reach so his lips as he leaned forward for his wish only touched her collarbone.
Frodo saw his opportunity. Scrambling lest she sit, he lay on top of her and pressed his lips into her own, marveling at the spark of pleasure that spread warmth from his face all around his body. Her mouth was open from the surprise of the moment, and instinctively, the hobbit's tongue crept tentatively in, but the hesitance evaporated like dew under the mid- morning sun as he found her own tongue, and instantly, all his limbs were entwining with her own, quivering as a newborn fawn.
The moment ended, soon enough. All the preliminary surprise had worn off of Kit, and she used the fact that she was on the bottom to her advantage by swiftly turning onto her side, the sudden motion throwing Frodo off the bed. He was about to protest, but he then saw the tears, full of terror and resentment, flow down her perfect cheek. His guilt rose to full throttle as he heard a little agonized whimper, vainly trying to be stifled, come from her beautiful throat.
He rose and went to touch her hand, but when their skin made contact, she flinched as if he had burned her. He couldn't bear the expression of sore pride and distrust that lingered in her eyes as he inched away towards the door. She allowed herself to weep, and Frodo turned away, unable to look at her anymore. Her sobs echoed in his ears for the next week.
Over the next few days, Kit and Frodo made ready for Legolas's stay, yet the hobbit's mistress refused to speak with him, even be in the same room with him. Whenever he decided to help with her cleaning, she would give him a spiteful glare and leave in a mood off to do something else. The eve of Legolas's coming, Frodo decided enough was enough. She had just gone to bed and the Halfling could catch her in a place where she could not escape. It was a serious matter. He needed to apologize.
He burst through the door, fully clothed despite the July heat, yet looking penitent. Instantly, as he saw her tense, coiled like a cat ready to spring, he wished he could just go back to his room and hide, but that wasn't a choice he had. He sat on the edge of the bed near her feet and gently took her hands, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked into her eyes, the scorn and suspicion clear against a blue background.
"Kit, please," he pleaded, using his thumbs resting on the top of her hands to try and warm away all the fear and betrayal she felt, stroking her smooth, flawless skin. "I couldn't help it. I love you, I do. I've wanted to kiss you ever since I knew I loved you," He hesitated. "I've wanted to be inside you for so long," he said after a pause, removing one hand from hers to settle on her belly.
Kit's already pallid skin turned the color of fresh milk, and she trembled violently, as the poison melted from her gaze. "You don't understand," she murmured, going to her sleeping daughter, picking her up, rocking her back and forth in her arms. "Elena is the only living thing that I have left of Boromir, and she is my only joy. I am her mother, and I am able to watch her grow. I see more and more of her father in her every day, and this may seem absurd, but I feel like he is speaking to me through her eyes."
Her sudden trust of him again made him sigh in relief, but as he drew nearer to embrace her, she backed away into the far wall, eyeing him dejectedly. "Why do you scorn me so?" he cried, awaking Elena and sending the girl into a frenzy of tears.
"Leave," the Princess commanded, sparing the hobbit a derogatory glare, before quieting her daughter with a murmured song and a gentle rocking motion provided from her hips. Frodo, still feeling incredibly culpable, openly defied her and drew himself up to his full height, scraping together all the courage he had left to walk forward and touch her right hand. All the muscles in her arm tensed as a low growl resounded from her throat and he saw wolf fangs protrude out from under her upper lip...
He woke up the next morning in his bed, with hardly any recollection of what had happened. He called out Kit's name...but she had gone...