Title: Even If I Told Him Myself  
Author: Berlynn Wohl (bobtherobot@hotmail.com) 
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn, Frodo/Sam implied  
Summary: A morning in Rivendell.  
Keywords: Romance, humor, interspecies, PWP  
Archive: Anywhere, just let me know  
Feedback: Of course. bobtherobot @ hotmail.com  
Disclaimer: Hey...wanna buy a hobbit? No seriously, do you? 
‘Cause if you know where to buy them I’m just gonna follow 
you. I don’t own any, myself...  
Author’s Note : You might say, in regards to this fic, What 
about Arwen? Where is she through all this? And I might say 
in response, Come on, do you REALLY care?  
 
 
The clear cool light of morning did not, initially, lend 
itself to coherent thought. Frodo’s first, vague notion was 
that he must not be in the same place he fell asleep, 
because when he fell asleep it was dark, and this place was 
bright. The night had gone on so long, and had been so 
intense, he had suspected that it must be everlasting. He 
was fully prepared to spend the rest of his life in the 
clutches of a thick, warm darkness penetrated only by the 
crisp light of pillar-mounted lanterns.  
 
Now there was this new light, unnatural in its naturalness. 
Frodo closed his eyes and felt around for the sheet, 
yanking it over his head to deflect the brightness. Then, a 
second notion, only slightly more lucid, came creeping: he 
was not alone in this bed. But that was alright with him, 
for now. Surely the Elves had figured out about him and 
Sam, so it didn’t matter if they were found here together. 
Unless this was Elrond’s bed they were in. Frodo smiled and 
tried to go back to sleep. But now there were fingertips 
trailing over his back. He felt them individually, like 
spider-paws, as they landed one after another between his 
shoulder blades and drew oblong spirals. Frodo squirmed a 
bit to acknowledge that he enjoyed the attention, but then 
whispered sternly, “It’s too early for that, Sam. Let me 
sleep a little longer.”  
 
A deep, coarse voice replied, “It’s not Sam.”  
 
Frodo sat up and twisted round with a wheeze of surprise. 
He beheld Aragorn, a dark shadow of a Man against the clean 
white sheets, smiling through a haze of mischievous 
sleepiness  
 
“It’s true that you’ve had but a few hours of sleep,” 
Aragorn said, “but so have I, and I’m ready for another 
bout.”  
 
“ANOTHER bout?” Frodo looked around for any sign of what he 
had done last night. This room was not his; it clearly 
belonged to someone who kept a permanent residence in 
Rivendell. There was an empty bottle of wine on the table 
by the door.  
 
Aragorn caught Frodo looking at it. “We didn’t have that 
much to drink,” he said. “If you just think for a 
moment...”  
 
“No, no, I remember now,” Frodo said, which was partly 
true. He looked over the side of the bed and remembered 
that he had insisted on climbing up into it himself, rather 
than let Aragorn lift him up there like a child. And he 
remembered that after that, they’d had a bit of an argument 
over who was going to do what to whom, because it had only 
just occurred to them that there were some physiological 
obstacles. Truth be told, by that time they were so tired, 
the settlement they reached had more to do with simplicity 
and speed than anything else. Aragorn had taken Frodo in 
his hand, and Frodo had taken Aragorn in both his hands, 
and after cleaning each other up they immediately fell 
asleep. It was not to be remembered as a romantic evening.  
 
“Oh, Strider, I’m so sorry,” Frodo said.  
 
“Why should you be sorry? It was not unpleasant. How could 
I have resisted such a charming proposition?”  
 
Frodo was suddenly defensive. “Well, when you Men want to 
go to bed with someone, don’t you just ASK them?”  
 
“I suppose, yes. But you must admit, crawling into my lap 
with a drink in your hand and asking me to show you to a 
place where no one would notice us removing each other’s 
clothing...it is somewhat direct?”  
 
Frodo blinked. “I don’t remember that. Oh, wait, now I do. 
Ugh.” He threw himself back down onto the bolster and tried 
to hide under the blankets.  
 
“Oh come now, Frodo, we had fun.”  
 
“Did we?”  
 
“Trust me.”  
 
“Hmm. Well,” Frodo said, still under the covers, “would you 
really like to do it again?”  
 
Aragorn answered by reaching beneath the blankets and 
caressing the first part of Frodo’s anatomy that he 
encountered; in this case, a thigh. He lured Frodo over to 
him with more teasing touches, and took an armful of hobbit 
as soon as he was able. Frodo was just as receptive as 
Aragorn remembered him as being the night before, though 
not so aggressive in the light of day. Aragorn was able to 
roll him over onto his back, and laid half on top of him, 
smothering him with kisses both demanding and grateful. 
Frodo kissed back, rapidly losing his breath. He was 
pushing against Aragorn with his whole body, but Aragorn 
couldn’t tell if he was demonstrating his enthusiasm or 
just begging Aragorn to get off him lest he be crushed. 
Aragorn shifted his weight to one elbow and leaned over 
Frodo, pushing to get between his legs. When Frodo 
complied, Aragorn rubbed his hard member against Frodo’s 
thighs, and further up.  
 
“Oh, no, we can’t do it that way,” Frodo said. “You’ll hurt 
me.”  
 
Aragorn was willing to stop if need be, but his voice was 
strained and coaxing. “We could try.”  
 
Frodo scooted back, away from that insistent member. “What 
about if we tried it the other way around?”  
 
Aragorn tilted his head. “You want to take me?” He could 
not suppress a laugh.  
 
“Hey! Don’t laugh at me!” Frodo, insulted, was overcome by 
a sudden urge to hit Aragorn, but he’d never hit anyone 
before and didn’t know how to do it correctly, so he kept 
his arms at his sides.  
 
“Forgive me, Frodo,” Aragorn said, still chucking. “It’s 
just, that would look so silly, to do it that way.”  
 
“Well it’s a silly-looking activity anyway, if that’s your 
only concern. I don’t see what difference it makes.”  
 
Frodo saw that Aragorn was caught off guard, and used all 
his weight to give the Man a good shove back onto the 
bolster. Aragorn landed face down and Frodo leaped on top 
of him. “Besides, if we did it like this, you wouldn’t be 
able to see how silly it looked anyway. Have you anything 
to ease the way?”  
 
Aragorn had to think on this a moment, because giving Frodo 
an answer would mean he was complying. “There’s a bottle 
over there,” he said slowly, “in that cabinet. It’s green. 
If you think we’ll really need it...”  
 
“I beg your pardon? Are you saying I’m poorly endowed? I’ll 
have you know that among hobbits I’m something of an object 
of envy.”  
 
“I’ve no doubt of it,” Aragorn said, doubtfully.  
 
“Hmph.” Frodo went to get the bottle, and Aragorn started 
to get up. “No,” Frodo said, “you stay right where you are! 
Don’t you try to get the upper hand while I’m naked and 
vulnerable.”  
 
Aragorn laid back down and rested his chin on his hands. 
“I’m naked and vulnerable as well at the moment,” he mused.  
 
“Yes,” Frodo said, scaling the bed again with the bottle, 
“but you know how to do things, like kill people with your 
bare hands. I’ve only ever known how to steal mushrooms.”  
 
“You do have nimble fingers.”  
 
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Strider. Now spread your 
legs.”  
 
Frodo’s firm tone did not betray his inner tumult. His 
heart raced as he settled in between Aragorn’s thighs. 
Frodo opened the bottle with shaking hands and the glass 
stopper clinked in a telltale manner. The oil had a sharp, 
cool smell, but was warm enough between his fingers. In a 
moment, when Frodo had two of those fingers inside Aragorn, 
any doubts the Man had about Frodo’s ability to pleasure 
him were obliterated.  
 
“Where is it,” Frodo asked, “here?” He moved his fingers 
about until Aragorn made a strange little noise.  
 
“There,” Aragorn managed to say, with no actual 
vocalization. He clasped his hands over his head, trying to 
stave off the fundamental uneasiness he felt, having 
someone inside his body that way.  
 
Frodo, on the other hand, was having fun now. When he took 
his fingers away, Aragorn made a new noise, an imploring 
one. Frodo was glad Aragorn could not see the huge grin on 
his face when he said, with all the solemnity he could 
muster, “Perhaps you’re right, Strider. Perhaps it’s a 
silly idea after all. I think I should just get dressed and 
go back to my own room to avoid embarrassing myself 
further.” He started to get up, and Aragorn reached back 
with one arm, obediently refraining, Frodo noticed, from 
actually getting up. “Master Hobbit, you will stay right 
there and take me properly, or so help me...”  
 
“Now, now, there’s no need for nasty threats. Bit of a 
joke, that was.” Frodo kneeled down again and began to rub 
the head of his member against Aragorn’s thighs, imitating 
the Man’s earlier advances. “You Men have no sense of 
humor. It’s a curse. You know that, right?” Now he was 
nudging along the cleft of Aragorn’s rump with his member, 
pushing harder when he neared the opening. The slipperiness 
of the oil guided him right to it, and with one solid 
thrust he was inside Aragorn.  
 
There was so much of Aragorn to make love to, Frodo feared 
he wouldn’t get to all of him before peaking, or exhausting 
himself. But at the same time he was excited by the thought 
of how much effort it would take to satisfy this Man. Frodo 
leaned forward and laid the length of himself along 
Aragorn’s body, letting the warmth sink into him and giving 
a little thrust each time he heard the heartbeat coming 
through Aragorn’s ribcage. He smiled to himself. This 
wouldn’t be easy, but he didn’t want it to be. He stroked 
Aragorn’s sides, thinking that he might be able to conquer 
this body after all, but just then Aragorn started to push 
back. Frodo was jolted, and his hands tightened into fists 
just so he could hold himself in place. Aragorn lifted his 
hips to get at his own member so he could pleasure himself, 
and Frodo was lifted right along. He sat up and tried to 
right himself, getting his knees back on the bed so he 
could recover his rhythm.  
 
Frodo could not fool himself any longer that he was in 
complete control of the situation; rather, he though 
himself to be a small boat in a rough sea, and everything 
now depended on not letting the waves get the better of 
him. He took hold of Aragorn’s hips and began thrusting in 
earnest, grunting with the exertion, caring now not for the 
pleasure but only for its culmination.  
 
Aragorn, though unable to see what Frodo was doing, was 
nonetheless excited by the noises he heard behind him. The 
rhythm of Frodo’s cries pushed him closer to rapturous 
emptiness. When he climaxed, Frodo felt the squeeze of 
tight muscles around his member, and crumpled atop Aragorn 
with a shudder. He continued to wriggle his hips, employing 
the same tempo but now with weak, near-imperceptible 
strokes. Then they lay very still, their bodies fused with 
sweat. Frodo felt as though some part of him was still out 
there on those waves, rocking, and he continued to groan a 
little with each exhalation. Frodo’s weight was no burden 
to Aragorn, and they nodded off together in that fashion.  
 
Frodo woke up first, with no idea how long he’d dozed. He 
rose up off of Aragorn and went looking for a place to get 
cleaned up. He found an adjoining room with a bathtub, but 
there was no water, save for a small basin in front of the 
mirror, and he wasn’t sure where to retrieve more. So he 
just washed his face and tried to make his hair 
presentable. When he returned Aragorn was still snoring. 
Frodo woke him with a slap on the behind.  
 
Aragorn sat on the edge of the bed and Frodo climbed up 
next to him and buried his face in Aragorn’s neck. “You 
stink,” he said. “You smell like a Man.” He giggled. 
Aragorn leaned down to nose around Frodo’s neck and 
shoulders, ready to retort, but found nothing to complain 
about. “There is a public bath nearby. Join me?”  
 
Frodo agreed to it, and hopped down to gather his clothes. 
Whatever he found that wasn’t his, he tossed to Aragorn, 
who was still sleepy. “I’d like to have another tumble with 
you,” Frodo said.  
 
“What, already?”  
 
Frodo laughed. “You think very highly of me. But I just 
meant sometime soon.”  
 
“How will Sam feel about that?”  
 
Frodo was quiet for a moment, and gave no indication that 
he’d heard the question. But when he was dressed he said, 
“Sam would never suspect that you and I had gone to bed 
together. He wouldn’t believe it if I told him myself.”  
 
“I see. That’s sort of a shame; if he’s anything like you 
under the covers, I’d ask you to invite him to join us.”  
 
“He’d probably burst into tears if I made such a proposal.”  
 
Aragorn opened the door and held it for Frodo, and they 
stepped into the corridor. “Tears of joy or of anguish?”  
 
“It’s hard to tell with Sam,” Frodo shrugged. “But perhaps 
we could at least invite him to bathe with us?”  
 
Aragorn smiled. “That is a phenomenal idea.”