Several days passed, following the same pattern: both Breakfasts arrived at the appropriate times, and were cleared away by the begrudging Easterling Frodo had been… bestowed? Allocated? The remainder of his meals were also punctual, albeit delivered by a variety of Dark creatures, all of whom looked at the Halfling with unreadable - but clearly malevolent - expressions. None of whom interacted with him, save for short grunts and half-sentences. He was never touched, not once, by any visitor. It made him long for contact, for interaction. Frighteningly, it made him long for the familiarity of Sauron, a man he hadn't seen in nearly four days. On the fifth day without his Lord, Frodo lay flat on the bed, on his belly, reading a new volume Sauron had sent to him. Though he hadn't seen the Man, nor had they spoken, there had been small tokens, gifts. Books, furs, a tea set. He hadn't been left entirely without occupation or amusement. His feet bounced in the air to a tune he hummed; an old Folk song Bilbo had taught him as a child. The book spread before him was romantic, mysterious; the tale of an enchanter who abused his talents to obtain the bodies of any woman he desired, and his eventual undoing. It seemed an odd choice to Frodo, that Sauron should give him an almost cautionary text on carnality and magic, but then, he was an odd creature. A mercurial master. He turned the page and scanned the next two leaves before placing a marker between the crisp sheets of paper, closing the book and setting it to rest on the bedside table again.
Frodo sighed in frustration. He had tried opening the door on his third day in the chamber, only to find it was locked externally. He was accessible only when his keeper allowed it. His well of entertainment was soon running dry - the novel only had a few chapters left, and he wasn't sure what to do with himself once he was finished with it. Perhaps he'd read it again. An idea flashed in his mind quickly, over as soon as it started.
Do it to yourself. Do… What? Use your fingers. Pleasure yourself.
He felt hot, from face to chest, fingers twitching, itching, with the temptation to explore his own body. His lack of reluctance was shocking. He wasn't sure if he was disgusted with himself for desiring the pleasure, the sensation, of being filled once more, or if it was due to that pleasure's origins with a monster. The notion of Sauron's hands ghosting, tracing, over his own supple flesh, inside him… He was awash with simultaneous thrill and humiliation. Cautiously, as though anyone may see his actions, he lightly ran his fingers along his thighs, their insides and backs, over the swell of his buttocks, and gently allowed a fingertip to make contact with that most sensitive of spots, pressing delicately. It was warm and soft, resistant yet pliable. He knew he could open himself up, with patience. Frodo immediately stopped, moaning lightly in combined pleasure and discomfort. He knew he'd enjoyed the sensation, the heat and pressure and pleasure, the firmness of his Lord's digits inside him, curling with calculated dexterity to graze that ball of pressure hidden within. His face glowed red, his hole feeling strangely neglected, taunted even.
Frodo sighed again, folding his arms in vexation, pressing his curls and forehead against them on the windowsill, unwittingly exposing his backside cleanly as his blouse rose.
''Well this is new. I didn't expect you to present yourself so eagerly''.
He's not really there, he's just taunting you, Frodo.
''Oh, I'm here, my boy. And very much admiring the view.''
Before the Halfling had time to protest, his back was arched further, one firm hand pressing down on the small of his back, just above his pale arse cheeks, the other drawing thick fingers between his lips. ''Suck.'', he commanded. And Frodo obeyed. He greedily suckled at Sauron's fingers, tracing their length with his small tongue, opening his lips for a single digit to pass between delicately. ''You're in a teasing mood tonight, love?''
The Hobbit nodded lightly, not caring for consequences. He hadn't seen Sauron in days, and he needed him. His self-disgust was easily set aside, pushed down into his belly for later. Likely to be greeted by something else in his belly. ''Come now, you can suck properly. I know you know how.'' The petite, hot, wet vacuum of Frodo's mouth continued on; Sauron chuckled. ''You refuse? Don't you want to show your master how you would pleasure his cock? If that's the case, I'll assume you don't value your life as highly as you once did. I can take all this away.''
Frodo panicked. Did his survival depend on his complicity in this… depravity? The finger pressing down on his tongue stilled, waiting, anticipating. His mind and stomach lurched. How could he stand to be touched, pleasured, used, by this Man, this monster, as easily as this? And what would Sauron do if he were to claim the Ring from Frodo? The Dark Lord didn't pass comment, hearing every thought racing through his captive's cloudy mind. His finger lingered still in Frodo's hot mouth, the other still holding him in position against the windowsill. An answer would come soon.
''I'll do it…''
''Good boy. Now, turn around and kneel.''
Frodo complied, being greeted by a very different Sauron. This Master was… Plain? He did not possess the unearthly beauty of the past two incarnations the Hobbit had encountered. He looked like any other man. Simple, unassuming. His hands were large, with thicker fingers than he last remembered. Sauron was pinker, healthier, even. A tidy crop of hair grew from his scalp, cropped above his ears. He sported facial hair, which was unexpected. And body hair? Frodo's eyes followed the equally-groomed, warm range of fur adorning Sauron's body, from his firm yet unimposing chest, to his stomach, which held a thicker line of hair, acting as a guide to his cock. Not that either of them needed assistance in finding it. The Hobbit knelt on a cushion Sauron had cast down for him, and gazed up through thick lashes, his gauzy blouse scarcely concealing his immediate erection. He was going to be intimate with Sauron again, to survive. To protect the Ring, to protect Middle Earth. To…
To…
To feel desired, and be pleasured, and accomplished.
''Don't think, pet. Just feel.''
Sauron stepped closer to his keeling prisoner, amber eyes glowing in the low sunlight. ''I supposed you might prefer a more 'typical' man for your true deflowering.''
''So, you really can alter your appearance?''
''I can. Though it can be taxing. I thought carefully about this appearance for tonight. I considered who you'd found attractive before, of all the males you'd encountered, and heard you contemplating onanism earlier, debating whether your fingers alone could reproduce the pleasure I brought you. And that sliver of doubt was enough to tempt me down here tonight, Frodo. Well, that,'' he laughed, and the knowledge that you were likely bored enough to agree to be fucked.''
Frodo's heart sank a little. He was only here because he thought he was bored? Or to prove his superiority in the art of pleasure? Sauron truly was a monster. Cruel and uncaring.
''I hear all, Frodo.''
''Don't mock me then. You know this is… this is difficult for me. It frightens me.''
''Your attraction to males, or your attraction to me?''
The smaller Man was stunned. He hadn't anticipated Sauron to be so forthright, so bold with his questioning. His attraction to males was something he'd grappled with for years, suppressed and avoided. Even his crush on Sam had been difficult to quash, especially as they shared so much time together on their quest. And now? He was paired with a male who could, and would, change his appearance (and appendage) seemingly at will, who had no qualms about buggery or coupling with any creature, who held a curious fascination with both Frodo and his charge, and would stop at nothing to separate them. Frodo trembled on the floor, curling his fists. I won't cry. I won't.
''You want to cry, boy? Why? You still think pleasure is unnatural, regardless of its source? Or is it only tainted, unnatural, when it's brought by a fellow male? By me? I saw your face in rapture, heard your moans and cries, I felt your body tighten around mine. I know what you crave. But if you still cleave to your 'normality', your compulsion to protect the One Ring, and Middle Earth… Then I will cease my pursuit of you. But know this, Frodo Baggins. I have never lied to you. The only liar in this chamber is you.''
Sauron turned to walk away, toward the door. Frodo gasped, and broke down wailing, sobbing, holding his hands to his weary eyes as though he could suppress the flow of tears. ''D-Don't leave! Don't leave me! Please! Don't go! I can't be alone again! S-S-Sauron!''
''Yes?''
''Please don't go!"
''I think I like you begging.'' The Man turned and crouched on his toes to meet Frodo. ''Ask me again. Look me eye-to-eye and beg. Appeal to my good nature.'' He smirked.
''My King… Please. I need you.''
''Oh, you need me? Why?"
''I want you.''
''Want and need are not the same, dear Frodo.''
''You're mocking me again'', Frodo sniffled. He tucked his feet under himself, and crawled to the bed, climbing up onto the plush structure. A couple of tugs on the covers drew them back over his exhausted body. ''You don't understand. Where I come from, this… Us… We wouldn't be allowed to be. Not like this. We might be allowed some small gestures, but being fully intimate? Being truly connected?'' His voice petered away. The Hobbit curled up into himself, lost even further to the scale of the bed. ''I've never been… me.''
Fingers stroked at Frodo's hair soothingly, unexpectedly. ''You've never done more than kiss, have you? Nothing with meaning. Aside from what we've done.''
The curly-haired head shook gently under the covers.
''And the thought of giving yourself to me, as a guarantee of the Ring's safety, makes you feel… cheap? Or as if any connection you may have will always be emotionless, transactional?'' The ringlets shook again.
''I see.''
Frodo felt a pair of arms sliding around him, one holding his waist firmly, the other slipping into place around his collarbones. ''For one night, then, let's play at being lovers. Truly. I will uphold my word not to harm you.'' The Hobbit's skin prickled; he still didn't trust his captor not to harm him, to inflict pain of any sort. ''You won't be in any pain.''He wasn't convinced, but the heat of Sauron's body against his, the softness of his lips on the nape of his neck, the pressure of Sauron's fingertips on his softest parts… Frodo turned in Sauron's arms, determined to have some agency this night. Sauron had changed his appearance once more. His face was sullen, almost doll-like. His skin, luminescent, was illustrated with a map of blue arteries Frodo felt he could navigate Sauron's body by; his face was framed by wolf-like hair, dark and curled. A pair of full, mocking lips hid perfect snow-white teeth. Sauron's never-changing amber eyes were cast down, seemingly drowning in sadness - for Frodo? Or was that simply how this iteration of the Lord's eyes appeared? Curiously, Sauron was no longer grand in height (from what Frodo could discern while laying down); rather, he was perhaps a foot taller than him.
''You changed again.''
''Your first time ought to be unforgettable. I am unforgettable. This face better reflects that.''
''I still don't trust you.''
''Must you?''
''Sauron…'' The Hobbit began again, only for Frodo's concerns to be quashed with a simple kiss, Sauron's fingers teasing his curls gently, holding his head in place. Both Men closed their eyes, yielding to the embrace. ''We'll go at your pace, sweetling. Perhaps I have been pushing you a little too hard.''
Frodo nodded, consenting at last. Perhaps his Master was right; for as much as he grappled with the feelings of shame and humiliation, of filth, Sauron's enthusiastic praise and appreciation of him, of his body, were increasingly more reassuring. He grew more daring, and reciprocated the kiss more intensely, feeling for Sauron's biceps to hold.
''Are you ready to be opened, little one?'' Sauron whispered, pressing a kiss to Frodo's forehead. He nodded again. ''I want to hear you say it. Please.''
''I want you to… to put yourself inside me, Sauron.''
Those were the words that set the scene for the night. Frodo's legs were spread keenly on the floor as Sauron crouched between them, hungrily licking and sucking at his tight little hole, preparing him more thoroughly than he had previous partners, caressing the Halfling's back and stomach, the back of his thighs, tickling his dusky pink nipples and suckling on his cocklet and dainty fingers. Frodo finally tasted the perceived perfection of Sauron's prick, awe-struck at just how quickly he could take his Lord in his throat. Granted, he wasn't able to swallow the whole of his Master's sword; but what he could suck, he did with aplomb.. Sauron never complained about the poor quality of Frodo's sucking. Tonight was not the time to be commenting on a lack of skill; it was about establishing trust, faith to be abused at a later date.
Finally, laid on his side and with his legs tucked up a little, Frodo whimpered and moaned as he achieved what he had fantasised about, what he had deemed impossible: he had Sauron buried to the hilt inside him, his pliable, pretty hole stretched around his Maiar's cock. His body trembled, glazed in a sheen of sweat. Tender kisses were pressed to his shoulders, his neck, behind his ear, his cheek, with praise paid in Black Speech. Frodo didn't care that he didn't understand. His mind was occupied with seeing past the discomfort to the pleasure. He had never imagined he could feel as full as he did now. ''I always knew you'd look pretty when opened up like this. You feel wonderful…''
Sauron began to rock his hips gently, sliding in and out of the boy, gradually building up to a comfortable pace that left Frodo mewling and arching his back further. ''S-so do you!'' He gasped as the tip of Sauron's cock grazed his prostate, contorting his body to try and kiss his penetrator. ''I don't need praise, pet, but thank you.''
The two exchanged breathless comments throughout the night, connecting their bodies in the simplest positions for hours, taking time to explore every inch, from lips to toes. Frodo finally collapsed in Sauron's lap from exhaustion, closing his eyes. His hand was entwined with Sauron's, the other spread on the Man's chest.
''Thank you.''
''What for?''
''For being patient with me. I… I really enjoyed it. That. You.''
''Rest, little Hobbit. You're exhausted.''
''M'not.''
The Necromancer rolled his eyes; Frodo was beholden to him, and for what? For taking his time while claiming his virginity? Ridiculous. But perhaps extortable. The boy was proving to be more malleable than anticipated, he mused, rolling the Ring (still on its chain about Frodo's neck) between his thumb and forefinger as Frodo slipped into a dreamless sleep, his first in many months.
