FIC: TROUBLEMAKERS Author: Lily Baggins PAIRINGS: Frodo/Aragorn RATING: NC-17 WARNINGS: NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL SITUATION IN LATER PARTS. NO RAPE. Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises, or whoever has the rights now, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. So here I am, getting Frodo into all sorts of precarious situations . . . Setting: The Prancing Pony. More movieverse than bookiverse, definitely. I find the Prancing Pony of the movie to be a much more sinister place than that described in the book. We all remember those nasty-looking men at the bar . . . they were plot bunnies that couldn't be ignored. *** Aragorn noticed them the moment they walked in the door. Four dripping, frightened little rabbits with wide eyes, and the ranger knew his work was cut out for him. He sighed, studying them intently from the shadows as they pulled back their hoods and inquired about lodging. The dark-haired one looked quite unlike most of the hobbits Aragorn had seen in the Shire and in Bree. There was a fragile, almost elven look to his face. But he was clearly the leader among the four. And when he walked up to the counter and asked for Gandalf, the ranger knew this was the hobbit he'd been waiting for: the Ring- bearer. A few minutes later, four very downcast hobbits made their way to the table and sat talking in low voices, shaking out their wet cloaks. Aragorn could overhear their words, catching the phrases, "Gandalf," "Where should we go next?" and "What should we do?" They were clearly at an impasse, unsure of what route to take next and how best to go about it. Like fish out of water, thought the ranger. He also noticed the strange looks the rough men in the place were giving the four small strangers. But when the dark-haired hobbit --- Frodo, Aragorn recalled, from what Gandalf had told him---made his way to the bar , the ranger noted that not all of attention Frodo was attracting was simply due to curiosity. A husky, large-jowled red- faced man with greasy hair eyed the little body with hungry eyes. Aragorn sighed again. He could see why. The hobbit, with his big blue eyes and small petulant mouth, was far too appealing for his own good. It was going to be a very long night---and possibly, a very long journey---in more ways than one. While Frodo stood patiently waiting for the drink he had ordered, unable to even see over the countertop, the red-faced man approached him, unnoticed, from the side. Bending down into a low squat, he whispered something into Frodo's ear that Aragorn couldn't quite catch. Frodo turned, startled, and Aragorn saw him mouth the word, "no." Then the man whispered something else and Frodo's eyes widened, cheeks turning red with embarrassment as he quickly turned away. At that moment, Butterbur set Frodo's beer mug on the counter and Frodo, taking a deep breath and determined to ignore the red- faced stranger, stood on tiptoe to take it. But he wasn't quite fast enough: the red-faced man quickly grabbed the mug and held it aloft--- just out of the hobbit's reach. "And what will you do for this drink, Mr. . . . UNDERHILL . . . did I hear someone say?" the man drawled, leering. "Now, surely you're going to be civil to old Randit, aren't you? I could use with a good hobbit lay, I could. Little you are, but you small folks sure know how to please a man . . . just the right height for a . . ." "Give me my drink, stranger," Frodo ordered, holding his ground and glaring up at the man. "I want nothing to do with you." Aragorn sat up, his hand going to the hilt of his dagger. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frodo's sturdy companion---that must be Sam, Aragorn guessed---start to rise. And then noticed that Pippin, who'd been on the other side of the counter, must have heard the commotion and was heading toward them. But just as quickly, the red- faced man snorted and handed the mug back down to Frodo---but not before deliberately spilling at least half of it on the floor. Frodo swiftly made his way back to his table, blue eyes narrowed in anger. The red-faced man, Randit, picked his teeth and undressed the hobbit with his eyes he walked away. Frodo sat, sipping his beer, deliberately not looking in the direction of the bar. Aragorn saw Sam lean over and give Frodo a nudge, but couldn't hear the rest of their conversation over the din of the bar. "Frodo!! What was that about?! What did he say?" Sam demanded. "It doesn't bear repeating, Sam. It was vulgar," Frodo replied, sipping his beer. "I'm concerned, though. When I was up there I could have sworn I heard someone asking about news of any Bagginses." He looked steadily at Sam. "I dearly hope, Sam, that the Ring will be safe here. We need to make certain we don't draw any undue attention to ourselves." "Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but I think you've already done that without even trying." Sam patted Frodo's back. "Don't worry, Mr. Frodo. That man'll not bother you again, not if Sam Gamgee has anything to say about it. How I do wish Gandalf were here with us right now, though." "Sam, he'll be here," Frodo said, trying to be reassuring. "He'll come." Sam's lips set into a line of grim determination as he directed a steely gaze---or at least as steely a gaze as a hobbit can conjure--- at Randit still standing at the bar. Then Sam looked around the room. For a moment, Aragorn's and Sam's eyes met, and Sam's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Aragorn would have laughed out loud if he could have without making himself noticeable. Sam eyed the man in the corner. For some reason, his attention was focused on Frodo, and Sam was quite sure Frodo had already attracted all the attention he could handle. Sam nudged his master. "That man in the corner has done nothing but stare at you since we arrived." Frodo lowered his mug and surreptitiously glanced at the hooded stranger . "Excuse me," Frodo called out as Butterbur passed by. "That man in the corner---who is he?" "Oh, he's one of them rangers," the innkeeper replied. "Dangerous folk they are, wandering the wilds. What his right name is I've never heard, but round here he's known as Strider." With that, he moved off to other customers. "Strider," Frodo murmured. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then decided to put Randit and this "Strider" out of his mind. He yawned, suddenly thinking how nice a warm bed sounded. "Sam," he said, catching the other hobbit's attention, "I'll be back in a moment." Sam started. "Mr. Frodo, you shouldn't be going anywhere alone in this place!! I'll come with you." Frodo laughed. "Sam, I'm just going out back to the privy. I hardly think it necessary for you to accompany me for that. I'll be right back. Sit and enjoy your drink." And with that, Frodo got up and slipped out the back door. Unbeknownst to him, Randit watched his every movement as he left. Aragorn also watched Frodo leave, then turned his attention back to the room. Frodo would be back in soon, and then Aragorn would approach him about the quest. The ranger sat smoking his pipe, reflecting on the situation and thinking about the Ring. After long minutes had passed, he realized that Frodo hadn't returned. Aragorn's thoughts suddenly turned a shade darker when he looked back at the bar and saw that the red-faced man was missing, too. To be continued . . . ************ FIC: TROUBLEMAKERS Part 2/? Author: Lily Baggins PAIRINGS: Frodo/Aragorn RATINGS: NC-17 sex, violence, angst, bad language WARNINGS: NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL SITUATION. Angst, angst, and more angst. Haters of angst beware. Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises, or whoever has the rights now, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. So here I am, getting Frodo into all sorts of precarious situations . . . Setting: The Prancing Pony. More movieverse than bookiverse. I find the Prancing Pony of the movie to be a much more sinister place than that described in the book. We all remember those nasty-looking men at the bar . . . they were plot bunnies that couldn't be ignored. This is almost an AU --- boy, am I taking liberties here. *** Frodo made his way out the back door of the Prancing Pony and looked around carefully. Behind the inn was a rather large field bordered by low dark buildings and muddy alleyways. The rain had let up some, but the ground was still wet and soggy, and the night air was chill. The hobbit wished he'd had the forethought to bring his cloak with him before venturing outside. The deep blackness of the night was broken only by a low oil lamp burning over the door, and Frodo could barely see the outline of a rickety outhouse in the distance. It was barren and quiet outside except for the neighing of a few horses and some dogs barking in the distance. Making his way carefully through the muddy path, Frodo headed quietly toward the outhouse, feeling vaguely uneasy. The unfamiliar surroundings frightened him a bit, and he wished for a moment that Sam had come with him. But then he reminded himself that he was an adult and able to take care of himself. He didn't need to always rely on others' help. The outhouse door was swinging open, and Frodo was about to go inside when he thought he heard another door creak. He turned around swiftly. "Sam?" he called softly, his blue eyes wide, thinking maybe the other hobbit had come looking for him. No one answered. Frodo looked around again and decided it must have been the wind. Opening the outhouse door, he went in, wincing at the smell of the place and the cobwebs covering the floors and corners. Inside, the darkness was broken only by a bit of moonlight filtering through a high cut-out in the back of the outhouse. Frodo thought he heard the squeak of a rat scurrying about. A large privy hole in the ground was the extent of the facility. Unbuttoning his trousers with chilly hands, Frodo finished his business as quickly as was hobbitly possible, wanting to get out of there. He refastened his trousers, fumbling with the buttons, and then turned and pushed on the door---only to find that it wouldn't budge. Thinking maybe the door had latched some way from the outside, Frodo pushed with all his might against the door. But then, hearing a noise outside, he backed up. There was definitely someone---or something--- out there. The first thought that came to his mind was a Black Rider, and he shut his eyes and put his hands over his ears, desperately trying to shut out the shrill shrieks he knew were coming. And he steeled himself to resist the overpowering urge to put on the Ring. But no shrieks came. And no overpowering urge to put on the Ring assailed him. Instead, he heard the crunch of a twig snapping. And then a voice, and evil laughter. A slurred, foul voice, which called softly. "Need help with those trousers, you little ass-wipe? Get out here, now. Otherwise, you can rot in there. Nobody will come looking for you---everybody uses the other house, on the west side. Only old Butterbur comes out here --- and if he does, I'll take care of him, sure enough." Trying to fight the urge to make a sound, Frodo cautiously stepped over the privy hole and shrank against the back wall of the outhouse, trying to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. The smell was making him nauseous, and for a moment he thought his beer was going to come back up. Sweat broke out on his forehead and his breathing turned labored as he fought down rising panic. He was certainly no match in strength for a man, and he had no sword, no dagger, not even a knife. But he did have one thing no one else had. His hand went automatically to his vest pocket , fumbling for the Ring. "Not coming out, eh? Well, then we'll come get you!" At that moment, the outhouse door swung open and Rancit, the red-faced man at the bar, stood in the doorway. Behind him stood another man, tall and bald-headed, with dark hollows framing beady eyes. He smiled, showing a mouthful of rotten teeth. Without a word, they advanced toward the frightened hobbit, and before he could even reconsider the idea, Frodo slipped the Ring on. The two men started in shock. "Where's he got to?" Rancit shouted. "You little goddamn whoring runt, I'll find you, and when I do, you'll wish to whatever gods you pray to that you were dead, understand? You better show yourself now! I know you're in here!" Frodo tried to stay as quiet as possible, which fortunately, hobbits excelled at. He thought of his possible solutions and looked with dismay at the stinking privy hole in front of him. Unless he could slip out unnoticed, it was the only option. Too narrow to accommodate a man, the privy hole was just wide enough for a hobbit to slip into. The men surely would not go fishing for him in there. But, Frodo reminded himself, he had no idea how deep the hole was---or how full. He might drown in the filth. He decided to keep the idea as a last resort. The men advanced, barring his way completely. If he could just slip out around them . . . suddenly, Frodo's world changed. The men disappeared from his line of vision, and Frodo sank to his knees as, without warning, he found himself in a gray, haunted world unlike anything he'd seen before. He looked up and saw the most insidious sight he'd ever imagined: a giant, flaming Eye looking straight at him. "I see you," it whispered. Gulping, Frodo tried to look away, but couldn't. He had to get the Ring off, and fast. But he could barely see what he was doing or where he was going. The only thing in his line of vision was the giant Eye. Gasping, he fell to his hands and knees and crawled forward, feeling with his hands so as not to fall into the privy hole, only to be met by a giant wall of living flesh. The men. "Something's here, Rancit!" the tall one said. "This must be `im. Come `ere, you . . ." Frodo knew that even though the men couldn't see him, they could still feel him, and he felt hands grasping for him. It was hard for him to think straight, blinded by the Eye. He had to get the Ring off. They couldn't find the Ring. Two pairs of large, sweaty hands grabbed him roughly. Pulling at his first finger, Frodo yanked the Ring off and immediately put it in his vest pocket. As the hobbit became visible, the men roughly latched on to him, cursing and trying to drag him backwards to the door of the outhouse. Frodo struggled and began to scream, and his foot got caught on the edge of the privy hole, twisting painfully. Frodo thought he heard a crack. He grunted in pain, trying to scramble away, until a large fist came down on his head. He reeled from the blow and his vision swam. Before he could even open his mouth to gasp, the hobbit found a large sweaty hand clamped over his mouth and the bright flash of a knife blade at his throat. "Got `im!" said the thin man. "Is this the one, Rancit? It must be, he's got some kind of magic about `im. What's that Southerner want with this little piece of ass?" Rancit leered down at Frodo. "Damned if I know. All he looks good for is a good cock-sucking. Turned me down, he did. I'll reckon he'll regret that soon enough. We'll give him to the Southerner, if this is the one he's lookin' for, but not until after I've spread him in two and banged him to pieces." Over the man's cold hand clamped around his mouth, Frodo's blue eyes widened, and he felt dizzy, his ankle aching painfully. He wasn't sure exactly what Rancit was referring to, but he could take a good guess. He clamped his eyes shut tightly. The Ring. Someone, somewhere, knew about the Ring. At that moment, Frodo didn't care what the men did to him---as long as they didn't find the Ring. "Come on, Mr. UNDERHILL," Rancit was saying, "we're going for a walk. I reckon I'll learn you your lesson." Frodo felt himself being dragged out of the outhouse and across the muddy field. Near the entrance of a dark alleyway, Rancit stopped, seeing the hobbit trembling in fear. He reached down and gently stroked the hobbit's smooth cheek, then moved his hand back and caressed Frodo's dark hair. "Relax, we ain't gonna kill you. You'll just WISH you were dead." He laughed. "'Cause you'll be messed up, for sure. Bleeding like a stuck pig. And all this pretty curly hair will be gone, too." Grabbing a large curling lock of Frodo's hair, Rancit whipped his knife around and hacked it off, laughing. "Course, I'll wait until after I'm done with you to mess you up. Come on, let's go." He dropped the lock of soft hair and it drifted slowly to the ground. To be continued ************ FIC: TROUBLEMAKERS Part 3/? Author: Lily Baggins PAIRINGS: Frodo/Aragorn RATINGS: NC-17 sex, violence, angst, bad language WARNINGS: NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL SITUATION IN THIS PART. NO RAPE, BUT CLOSE.ANGST, ANGST, lots of angst, and h/c. Haters of angst beware. Don't say I didn't warn you. Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises, or whoever has the rights now, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. So here I am, getting Frodo into all sorts of precarious situations . . . Setting: The Prancing Pony. More movieverse than bookiverse. I find the Prancing Pony of the movie to be a much more sinister place than that described in the book. We all remember those nasty-looking men at the bar . . . they were plot bunnies that couldn't be ignored. This is almost an AU --- boy, am I taking liberties here. *** The instant Aragorn noticed the red-faced man was not at the bar, a stab of fear went through him. Frodo had been too long in returning. Standing, the ranger quietly made his way to the back door---then, getting closer, he noticed a sign next to it that read, "Use other door," with an arrow pointing to the far end of the building. The sign was hung at least six feet high---a man could see it easily enough, but a shorter person----such as a hobbit---would probably overlook it. Frodo hadn't known to use the other outhouse, but had instead gone outside where all was quiet and alone. And that could prove very, very dangerous. Outside, all was dark and quiet, and Aragorn surveyed the scene. A rickety old outhouse, a large muddy field. There was no one about. Suddenly, the ranger heard the door opening again and whipped around, dagger in hand---and met the terrified eyes of Samwise Gamgee. "At ease, little hobbit," said Aragorn, putting his dagger away. "What are you doing out here? It's not safe for you to be out and about this time of night by yourself." "Beggin' your pardon, sir, I had some business to take care of . . ." "Look, Sam," said Aragorn, watching the hobbit's eyes widen at the use of his name. The ranger went and knelt in front of him. "I know who you are, Sam, and what brings you and your friends here. I'm a friend of Gandalf's---sent to look out for you. In fact, I've been guarding the Shire for many years ---- before you were even born. I know you're out here looking for Frodo. I am concerned, too. But you stand little chance against the fell beings out here at night. Go back in---I will find your friend, I promise." Sam was dumbstruck. His eyes narrowed. "How do I know you know Gandalf and aren't in league with the enemy? Or a spy?" Aragorn shrugged. "You do not. But I am not going to stand here arguing with you while time is wasting. You must trust me. For Frodo's sake. Now go back inside---it isn't safe out. I must do this alone. If you want to help, stay here, in case Frodo comes back --- or someone has seen him, okay?" Sam started to protest, but Aragorn would have none of it. "Go back inside, Sam," he said firmly. "I will find Frodo. I will be back, I promise." He watched Sam haltingly go back inside. And with that, the ranger took off across the field. Aragorn checked the outhouse and found nothing there. And the alleyways and backbuildings around the Prancing Pony were a maze, offering plenty of opportunities for criminals to hide. But tracking was what he excelled at---he was confident he would find Frodo. And he was equally confident that the red-faced man at the bar had something to do with his disappearance. Aragorn could only hope that he reached Frodo before anything evil happened to him, and he cursed himself for waiting so long to go looking for the hobbit. The field was only subtly illuminated by moonlight, and Aragorn could barely see the muddy ground at all. Even so, he walked slowly, hand on his dagger, looking for any sign of man or hobbit tracks. Suddenly, the ranger's ears perked up and he stopped, listening. Was it his imagination, or had he heard a faint sound, much like a pained cry, coming from one of the alleyways to his left? The ranger stealthily crept forward, hoping he was headed in the right direction. Then he saw it. Something dark, lightly carried by the wind on the surface of the ground. What was it? Aragorn walked over and bent down to pick it up. It was soft, and holding it up, the ranger saw that it was a dark curly lock of hair. His throat tightened. Frodo's hair--- it had to be. He felt sudden hope that he was going in the right direction. But as he caressed the soft lock of hair and realized how it must have found its way there, his chest ached with pain for the innocent hobbit and he prayed that he was not too late. *** The two men dragged Frodo far down into a black alleyway. "Hold him, Nettles," Rancit told the other man. The taller man---Nettles--- clutched the hobbit tightly, hand still clamped around his mouth, while Rancit squatted in front of the hobbit so that their faces were practically on the same level. The man waved his knife in Frodo's face and laughed at the hobbit's frightened blue eyes. "Scared, you little good-for-nothing cock-sucker?" he drawled. "Like I said, I won't kill you, just play with you a bit." So saying, he reached out and began unbuttoning Frodo's trousers. When he had them undone, he slowly put his hands on either side of the hobbit's hips and thrust downward until Frodo's breeches and underpants were in a heap around his ankles. Frodo whimpered as he was exposed to the big man and shut his eyes tightly. Rancit laughed as his eyes took in Frodo's nakedness. "Well, I guess you wish you'd taken me up on my offer before, huh?" Rancit asked with wildly shining eyes. He reached out and gently caressed the Frodo's soft genitals, watching Frodo wince. "Your dick's not hard at all, is it, little one? If you'd taken me up on it, we might be having a good ol' time right now and you`d be hard as a rock. Nice and easy, nice and slow, instead of painful, like it's gonna be for you now." With Nettles' hand over his mouth, Frodo couldn't speak, but his eyes could and did tell his feelings. The blue eyes looked at the big man with fear and disgust---which only seemed to spur Rancit on. "You are an innocent one, ain't you?" he asked, reaching his probing hand up and brushing hair back from Frodo's brow. "Bet you've never done this sort of thing before, even though I'm sure most of the population would loooove to get their hands on you. That face and that body . . . well, we could just eat you up!" he laughed crazily. His hand returned to its former position on Frodo's penis, lightly caressing it. But in his intense fear and hatred, the hobbit was not aroused. "What are you, impotent, you little creep?" Rancit yelled at him. "Maybe I oughta just geld you right now, huh?" he asked, brandishing the knife. "Nah . . . you might not be fit for me to play with, then. I'll wait until I'm done with you--- then I'll cut your little balls clean off." Hearing the man's words, Frodo felt a wave of nausea crash over him. His stomach churned and he vomited all over Nettles' hand. "Goddamn it!" Nettles roared, shaking his hand away as Frodo heaved again---this time partially soaking Rancit's head and boots. Rancit cursed, grabbing the hobbit by the front of his shirt collar and shaking him wildly. Frodo tried to get a sound out, but could only cough. "You undergrown son-of-a-bitch!" he yelled and raised his knife up over the hobbit. At that instant, Frodo knew it was over---the man was going to slit his throat. But instead, Rancit brought the hilt of his knife down hard on the hobbit's temple. "Elbereth!" Frodo cried out as the pain lanced through his head and blackness threatened to overtake down. He would have fallen had not Rancit still held him by the collar. Without further ado, Rancit shoved Frodo roughly to the ground. The half-naked hobbit, with his breeches around his ankles, tried to stand and scramble away, but a horrible dizziness had overtaken him and he found it even difficult to move. He managed to finally make it to his hands and knees when suddenly a booted foot kicked him hard in the side. It was Nettles. "Be quiet, little one," he ordered, with another knife in his hand. "We'd just as soon kill you as look at you," he said. "I wonder what it is you've got that makes that Southerner want you so?" Grasping a handful of Frodo's hair, he pulled Frodo's head back until he could see the hobbit's face easily. Out of the small pale face covered with filth and mud two large blue eyes looked beseechingly at him, and he could see tears threatening to spill over any minute. The side of the hobbit's head was bleeding profusely, and blood was now running down his face. "Let . . . me . . . go . . . please," Frodo whispered. "Nah," said the tall man, refusing to let the hobbit's plea get to him. "In fact, I think maybe I'll take a turn with you when Rancit's done. You do look like you'd be a damn good lay . . . nice and tight, I'll wager, huh Rancit?" Rancit laughed. "We'll soon see, old man. Just remember --- I get him FIRST." He motioned to the taller man. "Put him down. No, on his face. I don't want to see those goddamned pathetic eyes looking at me the whole time." Without further ado, the tall man threw Frodo to the ground, face down, and kneeling over him, held the knife just above the hobbit's neck. "Don't you even try to scream, you understand? You do, and you're dead. Got it?" Frodo didn't answer. He just bit his lip and concentrated on the cold hard ground underneath him. The chill air swept over his bare lower half, and he shivered. He was half naked, he was cold, his head was throbbing, his ankle was aching, and his stomach was churning, but still he thought gratefully of the Ring, deep in his pocket, that they hadn't found. They hadn't even searched him, which surprised Frodo. They probably didn't expect a hobbit from the Shire to be carrying much of value. As long as they didn't touch the Ring . . . as long as they only used his body and then let him go, he could get through this, he told himself. Or as long as Sam found his body and took the Ring to safety. . . . For the first time that night, Frodo thought of his friends back in the inn. He fervently hoped that Sam wouldn't come looking for him. It was too dangerous . . . the thought of Sam, or Merry, or Pippin in this situation was more than Frodo could bear. Suddenly, without meaning to, a sob escaped him. "Shut up!" Nettles yelled, cuffing him. "Hurry up, Rancit!" he yelled to the other man, who was unfastening his own pants and looking around to make sure they were indeed alone. Frodo whimpered as he felt Rancit's strong hands grab his pants and pull them totally off. He had to grit his teeth at the pain he felt in his ankle as the pants came away. Rancit tossed the pants aside. Suddenly, Frodo felt Rancit's sweaty hands on the backs of his legs. With a grunt, Rancit parted Frodo's legs, pushing Frodo's rump high in the air. Frodo shut his eyes tightly and bit his lip hard, willing his mind away from what was coming next. Suddenly, Rancit gave a cry, and Frodo gasped as he felt the full weight of Rancit's body fall on top of him. Frodo groaned softly, waiting for the painful intrusion he knew was coming . . . then realized with a shock that the man on top of him was quite unconscious. And that Nettles and his knife were gone. Frodo could now hear the sound of a scuffle behind him. Wheezing in pain, he slowly started to pull himself out from under the big man's limp body. And craning his neck around, saw that a long-bladed dagger was buried deep in Rancit's back. To be continued FIC: TROUBLEMAKERS Part 4/? Author: Lily Baggins PAIRINGS: Frodo/Aragorn RATINGS: NC-17 sex, violence, angst, bad language WARNINGS: NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL SITUATION. Angst. Lots of h/c. Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises, or whoever has the rights now, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. So here I am, getting Frodo into all sorts of precarious situations . . . Setting: The Prancing Pony. More movieverse than bookiverse. I find the Prancing Pony of the movie to be a much more sinister place than that described in the book. We all remember those nasty-looking men at the bar . . . they were plot bunnies that couldn't be ignored. This is almost an AU --- boy, am I taking liberties here. *** His small body aching, Frodo finally managed to pull himself out from under Rancit's unmoving body. The man's pallor and the blood in the alleyway gave testimony to the fact that Rancit was, indeed, dead. Frodo shuddered; he had never before witnessed a human---or hobbit--- killing another. Looking beyond the corpse, Frodo saw two men fighting with fists and knives. One was Nettles; the other, Frodo didn't know, but he looked vaguely familiar somehow. Gasping at the pain in his head, side, and ankle, the hobbit crawled as far away as he could get from Rancit's dead body and the fight going on before him. Reaching the wall of a building lining the alley, Frodo leaned back against it, closing his eyes for a moment. His bottom and legs were freezing, and the hobbit remembered his state of undress. He still had his knee-length coat on, and he pulled it down and wrapped it tightly around himself to hide his nudity. Wearily, he looked around for his pants. He needed his pants. Then he saw them---on the other side of the alley, under the fighting men's feet. Suddenly, Frodo heard a grunt as his rescuer soundly walloped Nettles in the head with his knife handle. The tall scrawny man fell to the ground, unconscious. Eyeing the man still standing, Frodo tried to place him. Surely he had seen him in the Prancing Pony . . . then sudden realization came. Was this the man in the corner who had stared at Frodo all evening? In his pain and exhaustion, Frodo could barely remember what old Butterbur had said about him---a ranger called Strider? Yes, that was it. And then he recalled Butterbur's other words: "Dangerous folk they are." The hobbit realized he needed to get out of there before "Strider" decided to come after him. The human probably wanted the Ring for himself. Why else would he have been so carefully watching Frodo all evening? Frodo sighed and closed his eyes for a moment as he sat trying to gather his strength for a get-away. When he opened his eyes a second later and looked up, Strider had put his knife away and was gazing at Frodo from across the alley. Then, to Frodo's dismay, the ranger began walking toward him. Scrambling as fast as he could on his injured ankle, his head throbbing, Frodo tried to stand up, but found his legs wouldn't carry him. He sank back down to the ground and curled up against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible. His hand automatically went to his vest pocket, ensuring that the Ring still dwelt safely within it. "Stay away!" Frodo called, his voice hoarse with pain, bright blue eyes shining with fear. "I have a weapon!" Which was untrue. Aragorn stopped for a moment in his tracks, his eyes soft as he looked at Frodo. Inwardly, he sighed. For Frodo's own sake, Aragorn needed to prove his good faith. He held his hands out in a gesture of peace. "Do not fear me, Frodo Baggins," the ranger said gently. "My name is Strider. I am a friend here to help you. I promise I will not harm you, nor let any harm come to you." The hobbit looked at him, startled. "How do you know my name?" he asked. "I don't believe you." Aragorn slowly advanced toward Frodo and the hobbit shrank back further against the wall, drawing his coat about himself more tightly. Looking at the hobbit's big blue eyes shining with fear, Aragorn felt like he was approaching a small frightened animal in the wild. Which was about what Frodo looked like, the ranger thought. The hobbit was a mess. He was filthy from head to foot from having been dragged through the mud and his hair was in wild disarray. Aragorn could see one short piece sticking out slightly on the side--- the piece Rancit must have hacked off. A large, ugly-looking bruised lump was forming on the hobbit's temple, and despite his outward show of stoicism, Frodo was laboring for breath, obviously in pain. His ankle, what Aragorn could see of it, was black, blue and very swollen. And to top it all off, the hobbit had obviously been stripped of all clothing below the waist and had pulled his coat down as far as possible in a pitiful attempt to cover himself. Aragorn had lived a long time and had fought on many battlefields. He had seen every manner of atrocity that could be committed upon elf or man. But when he looked at the beautiful blue-eyed hobbit cowering against the wall, battered and shocked from the trauma of his abduction, something caught in the ranger's throat. In his adult life, Aragorn could not remember having felt such pity for a living creature as he did gazing upon Frodo's innocent, dirt-smudged face. Cautiously, as if he were approaching a wounded deer about to bolt, Aragorn knelt in front of the hobbit. As quickly as he dared, the ranger reached out and brushed a lock of dark hair away from Frodo's bruised head. Seeing Aragorn looking at him with such kind eyes, Frodo relaxed a bit. He was hurting too badly and was too weary to fight. If the ranger wanted him dead, so be it. There was nowhere else for him to run. A tear slipped free of one of Frodo's eyes and rolled down his filthy cheek. Moving his hand down, Aragorn gently brushed the tear away and put his hand under the hobbit's chin, turning Frodo's eyes to meet his. The ranger's eyes were deep and intelligent, and Frodo felt strangely drawn to them. In fact, the man himself, although a bit scruffy, was very handsome, the hobbit noted. "We must get you out of here, little one, and tend to your wounds," Aragorn said. "Your friends are all safe back at the inn. They are terribly worried though, Frodo, with good reason. Will you go back with me now? I think, if truth be told, it's either that or stay here in this alley. You cannot even stand up on your own." "How do you know my name?" Frodo pressed again. Then, in a small voice, he nodded toward the men in the alley. "They're dead, aren't they?" he asked. Aragorn lowered his eyes. "Yes, Rancit is dead. I recognized him when I saw him up close. The man has had a `wanted, dead or alive' bounty on his head in nearly all Middle-earth. I will alert Butterbur when we get back. The other man, however, will only be unconscious for a long time." The ranger continued. "As to how I know your name, Frodo, well, I know all about you. I am a friend of Gandalf's, and since he is not here, I am here to guide you." "Gandalf!" Frodo cried, forgetting his own pain for an instant. "What has become of him?" Aragorn shook his head. "I know it not. But you cannot wait for him, Frodo. The Black Riders are out there --- and as long as you have the Ring, they will never stop hunting you." Frodo nodded, a bit startled at the mention of the Ring. Suddenly, looking up at the man's chiseled features, he felt as if he could trust Strider. "I will go with you. And I . . . thank you for saving my life." He sighed and looked around. "My pants . . . I need my pants," he said in a cracked whisper. "I cannot go anywhere like this." Reluctantly leaving the hobbit's side, Aragorn cast about for Frodo's pants, then spotted them lying on the other side of the alley, a bit the worse for wear. He picked them up---so small, he thought to himself, looking at them---and returned to Frodo's side. "Here, little one," the ranger said, handing Frodo his pants. "You look like you'll need help putting these back on. We must hurry and get you out of here. Your head and ankle need tending immediately." Bending down next to the hobbit, Aragorn looked at him intently. "Frodo . . ." he began, feeling a bit awkward. "I saw what those men were about to do to you. Tell me, before I got here, did they . . . hurt you? Did those men rape you, Frodo?" he asked gently, praying the answer would be no. The hobbit cast his eyes down at the ground and shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Thanks to you, they did . . . not have a chance, Strider. I am . . . all right." "I think you're far from `all right,' little hobbit," the ranger remarked, "but I am relieved they did not touch you so. It would have broken my heart to have had such a thing happen to you. Here," he said, handing Frodo his pants. "Let me help you with these." The hobbit shook his head. "I can do it." So saying, Frodo grabbed the pants and clutched them to his chest for a moment. Then he looked up at Aragorn, his large blue eyes pleading. "Do you mind . . . turning around?" the hobbit asked in a whisper, wanting to put his pants back on in privacy. Humoring Frodo, Aragorn did so. Gingerly uncurling himself, Frodo reached forward to slip his pants on, but the movement was too much for him. He groaned as a wave of dizziness and nausea assailed him, and Aragorn turned around, past the point of caring about the hobbit's modesty. "Frodo?" he asked, kneeling down by the hobbit and observing Frodo's pale face. "Strider . . . think . . . going to be sick," Frodo murmured. Aragorn quickly grasped the hobbit's shoulders and supported his head as Frodo leaned over the dirty ground, waiting for the stomach spasms he knew were coming. After a moment, unable to hold it at bay, Frodo began to vomit. Aragorn supporting Frodo's head as he wretched up the remaining contents of his stomach out onto the dirt. Dry heaves followed, and when they finally stopped, Aragorn found a piece of cloth in his pocket and gently wiped the hobbit's mouth. Frodo was gasping for air, clutching at his sore ribs, and tears were starting to roll down his face. Feeling a moment of intense sympathy, Aragorn reached out and slowly drew the hobbit's head to rest against his own chest. Then Aragorn wrapped his arms around Frodo's small back and just held him, gently rocking, careful of the hobbit's injuries. The ranger had a woodsy, pleasant smell, and Frodo, his shock wearing off somewhat, found himself feeling safe for the first time since he had set foot outside the Shire. Memories of his earlier terror came rushing back, and a sob escaped his chest. The next thing he knew, he was clutching the ranger as his chest heaved with the pent-up emotion. "Sssshhh," the ranger comforted, rubbing Frodo's back in circles and smoothing his dark curly hair. "You are safe now, Frodo, and those men will not harm you ever again." Now that he had an armful of hobbit, Aragorn had to admit he found it downright pleasant. He only wished the circumstances could have been different. In fact, he reflected as he held Frodo close and gently kissed the top of his head, holding Frodo was quite stimulating. Control yourself, Aragorn, he told himself, hoping the hobbit would not notice the ranger's arousal. The last thing Frodo needed was to think every man in Bree was out to bed him. If the hobbit suspected, it would totally destroy his newfound trust in Aragorn. Luckily for Aragorn's emotional and sexual sanity, Frodo's sobs subsided after a few minutes, and he reluctantly pulled away from the ranger. Aragorn picked his pants up. "Here, little one, let me help you now," he said softly. At this, Frodo looked up at him and said, in a small voice, "Very well, Strider. Thank you . . . I'm sorry I . . ." "Do not be sorry, Frodo. You're much braver than many men would be in this situation. I'm glad you've finally decided to trust me." With that, Aragorn pushed Frodo gently back to lie flat on the ground, then Aragorn lifted one of the hobbit's legs and slipped a pant leg over it. The other leg had the badly injured ankle, and Frodo winced as the ranger touched it. Aragorn gently maneuvered the pant leg over the swollen area as the hobbit hissed in pain. When that was done, the ranger slowly lowered Frodo's leg back to the ground. He had to gently lift Frodo up to pull the pants to his waist, and the hobbit whimpered in pain. "There, nearly all done," Strider said, hating to have caused Frodo pain. He bent to button up Frodo's trouser front. "Uh, I can do that," Frodo said, now embarrassed to have the man's hands roaming over that area of his body. Truth to tell, Frodo found the man attractive and was worried his body might respond to that. Brushing the ranger's hands away, Frodo reached down and fumbled with the buttons. Finally getting them fastened, he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "Are you ready now?" Aragorn asked, and he bent down to scoop the hobbit up in his arms. "Here, let me take you." "Please," Frodo said, not wanting the ranger to think he was totally incapable of taking care of himself. "There is no need. I can make it on my own. I am all right, really." Aragorn pulled his hands away and rolled his eyes skyward at the hobbit's continued stubbornness. Painfully, Frodo raised himself on his elbows, his head swimming. He hadn't thought getting up would be this painful. He finally managed to get on his hands and knees and stood on all fours a moment, gasping for breath, before trying to stand. Unable to hold himself back, Aragorn leaned down and put his hands under the hobbit's arms, supporting him as he finally gained his feet. Frodo grimaced and sucked his breath in as he put weight on the injured ankle. It promptly gave out under him. "Maybe just a little help . . . would be not unwelcome," the hobbit whispered, feeling regretful that he had turned down Aragorn's earlier offer to carry him. "Of course, little one," said the ranger, wrapping his arms tighter about the hobbit. Frodo gingerly tried to take one step, but it was too much. With a low moan, he wiped at his sweating brow. The world suddenly started spinning, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open. "Strider . . ." he murmured. Aragorn caught Frodo just as the hobbit sagged, barely conscious. With the utmost care, the ranger picked him up, cradling him in his arms. Frodo's eyes fluttered for a moment and he flung his short arms around Aragorn's neck, snuggling closer to him. Aragorn could feel Frodo's breath on his neck and the softness of the hobbit's long hair. Then, with a small sigh, Frodo went entirely limp, his arms flailing. Aragorn looked down at the pale, innocent face and felt his heart give a tug. Thank the saints, the ranger thought, the two ruffians had not hurt Frodo more. Silently, Aragorn carried his small burden back toward the inn. To be continued FIC: TROUBLEMAKERS Part 5/? Author: Lily Baggins PAIRINGS: Frodo/Aragorn RATINGS: NC-17 sex, angst, bad language WARNINGS: NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL SITUATION IN AN EARLIER PART. Angst. h/c Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises, or whoever has the rights now, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. So here I am, getting Frodo into all sorts of precarious situations . . . Setting: The Prancing Pony. This is almost an AU --- boy, am I taking liberties here. *** As Aragorn reached the back door of the Prancing Pony, it swung open and a practically frantic Sam ran out, looking. "They're here!" he yelled back into the inn. The hobbit's eyes turned to saucers as they took in the unconscious Frodo cradled in Aragorn's arms. Merry and Pippin soon came running out the door as well, their mouths gaping in shock. "Mr. Frodo!!" Sam exclaimed, running to the ranger and rising on his tip-toes to stroke the top of Frodo's head. "Oh my dear Frodo! Is he okay? He's alive isn't he?" he asked, his voice tremulous. "Be at ease, Master Samwise," Aragorn replied. "He'll be okay. Just a bad knock on the head, an injured ankle, and exhaustion. I'm going to take him up to my room and tend to him. He hasn't been out long, and I'm hopeful he'll wake up very soon." Sam looked at the ranger doubtfully and held the door open. Inside The Prancing Pony, the bar patrons' eyes widened at the sight of the man carrying the limp, haggard-looking hobbit, but Aragorn paid them no heed. Walking swiftly, he climbed the stairs to his own room, kicked the door open with his foot, and strode in. The other three hobbits, hard put to keep up with the ranger's long strides, followed him, their eyes wide with fear. Once inside the room, Aragorn carried Frodo over to his own very large bed. "Sam, turn the blanket down for me if you would, please," Aragorn directed. Once Sam had complied, uncovering a soft pillow, the ranger bent and gently deposited Frodo on the bed. As he eased Frodo's head back, the hobbit groaned with returning consciousness. "Strider . . ." he murmured, before sinking back down into sleep. Sam peered down at his master's face before settling down on the bed next to Frodo's head. Reaching a grubby hand out, he smoothed the dark hair back from Frodo's forehead, avoiding the nasty-looking swelling on the hobbit's temple. "Easy, Mr. Frodo; you'll be all right," Sam reassured. "It's Sam. Strider here is going to fix you right up, and you'll be good as new." Aragorn smiled at Sam's sweet words and sat down on the edge of the bed. He turned to the other two hobbits standing nearby. "Merry, Pippin, I need you two to get some things for me," Aragorn told them. "I'll need hot water, towels . . ." Aragorn gave them a detailed list and the two hobbits rushed downstairs to procure the items. Turning to Frodo, Aragorn sighed. The hobbit lay peacefully, head turned slightly to the side, his dark curly hair spread out on the pillow beneath him, long lashes resting on pale---if filthy---cheeks. The sight of his delicate face stirred something within Aragorn, and looking at Frodo's slightly parted lips, the ranger felt his groin tighten. He cursed himself for it. Aragorn had treated an unfathomable number of injuries---on the battlefield and off---over the years and knew himself to be a skilled healer. He was relatively certain he could touch Frodo without giving himself away, but it still made him feel slightly uneasy. What would Frodo think if he knew? Of course, Sam watching him like a hawk from the head of the bed didn't help matters. Sam's voice broke through his thoughts. "Strider?" Sam asked in a small voice when he had the ranger's attention. "Did they . . . hurt him in any other ways? You know what I mean." The ranger didn't play dumb --- he knew exactly what Sam meant and was surprised at Sam's worldliness. "No, Sam, they didn't have time," the ranger told him. "They had already stripped him of his clothing and were about to . . . . They would have raped him if I had gotten there a minute later. He's probably going to have a tough time dealing with this for a while." Sam gulped, a tear rolling down his plump cheek. "I don't know why something like this had to happen to gentle Mr. Frodo," Sam murmured. "Thank you for saving him, Mr. Strider. And the . . . Ring . . . does he still have it?" "Yes, Sam, the Ring is here, and we'll need to put it somewhere while we get his clothes off. There's not much else I can do for him until Merry and Pippin return." The ranger looked up at Sam and wiped his tear away. "We're lucky, Sam, that those men didn't hurt him worse--- or kill him. For that we can be thankful. And you're welcome. As I have said, I will protect him, even if it means my own death." He turned back to his small patient on the bed. The first task was to get Frodo's clothes off. The ranger gently pulled each limp arm out of Frodo's coat sleeves. While Aragorn lifted the hobbit up off the bed slightly, Sam pulled the coat out from under him. Frodo's vest followed. Taking the Ring out of the vest pocket, Aragorn and Sam decided to tie it around Frodo's neck for the time being with some extra-sturdy twine. As Aragorn bent and began unbuttoning the hobbit's shirt, Frodo groaned again and opened his eyes halfway. The ranger, relieved at the return to consciousness, reached up and rubbed Frodo's cheek. "Frodo," Aragorn reassured. "Frodo, wake up. You're back here at the inn. Sam is here. We're taking care of you. Open your eyes." The hobbit sighed and slowly opened his eyes all the way. "Strider?" he whispered in a weary voice. "Did you . . . carry me here?" Noticing his vest was gone, Frodo started, but Aragorn patted the Ring around the hobbit's neck and Frodo relaxed. The ranger then answered his question. "Yes, I brought you in. You're in my room. You weren't in any shape to make it on your own, I'm afraid." Frodo's very blue eyes bore into the ranger's for a second. Aragorn thought to himself that he had rarely seen such beautiful eyes, even among elves. He felt he could get lost in them. Thankfully, Frodo soon looked away to Sam, who was leaning over him. "Sam, is that you? Sam, I'm so glad you're here. I was so worried you or Merry or Pippin would come after me and get in trouble . . ." "There now, Mr. Frodo," Sam soothed, patting his master's head. "Don't you worry about us --- we're all fine." At that moment Merry and Pippin burst back into the room with armfuls of supplies. They were overjoyed to see Frodo awake and aware, and their cousin was just as glad to see them. They chatted a minute while Aragorn wrung out a cold wet cloth and laid it across Frodo's forehead. Finally Aragorn put a finger on top of Frodo's lips to shush him. "That's enough talk for now. Rest," he ordered. "Do you feel sick?" "A . . . bit," Frodo lied, squirming slightly. Truth to tell, his stomach was churning. Probably from the head injury, he guessed. "Well, we'll try to get that taken care of soon enough," the ranger replied. "I hope you can eat something later---you need it for strength." At the mention of food, Pippin sighed. Looking at the other three hobbits, Aragorn saw the worry and exhaustion written in their faces. And, he decided, Frodo would probably prefer not to have an audience while his wounds were tended. Aragorn knew HE would prefer not to have an audience---it made him uneasy. "Sam, Merry, Pippin," Aragorn began, "why don't you three go downstairs and rest for a bit? Frodo's in capable hands, and you've had enough worry for one evening, I think. Have you had any supper, any of you?" They shook their heads. In their extreme worry over Frodo, the hobbits had actually neglected to eat, if such a thing was possible. "Then you have orders to go downstairs and get yourself some supper," the ranger replied. "Frodo is in good hands. I will finish treating his wounds and make him eat something, and then he'll go to sleep. You can come back and check on him later." The hobbits looked at him doubtfully, but Aragorn shooed them away. "Go on now. You too, Sam. No buts. Frodo will be just fine here, won't you, Frodo?" The dark-haired hobbit nodded. "Really, Sam," he said in a tired voice, "I'd prefer it. You need to eat and rest---we have a long journey ahead of us. And I shall fall asleep very soon, anyway." Sam nodded. "If that would make you feel better, Mr. Frodo, that's what I'll do. I'll come back up and check on you in a bit." With the other hobbits gone, the ranger felt a bit more at ease. He looked down at the hobbit lying before him, who looked back up at him with wide, trusting eyes. Aragorn reached up and gently brushed a dark lock of hair off the pale forehead. Frodo closed his eyes and smiled ever so slightly, giving in to the comfort of the man's touch. "Now, Master Baggins," the ranger said. "We'll finish taking care of you." "I really am all right," Frodo protested, and tried to sit up. "Please, all I need is some rest . . . you have already done too much, Strider. I am fine . . ." But when he lifted his head, a fresh wave of dizziness and nausea overtook him. It wasn't as bad as before, but unpleasant just the same. He groaned and raised a hand to his head, hoping he wouldn't be sick again. Deep-set eyes met large blue ones as the ranger fixed Frodo with a look that brooked no nonsense. The ranger wasn't about to go for the stoic act again. "Let that be a lesson to you," Aragorn told him, then said firmly but not unkindly, "You WILL lie back and be still, you WILL allow me to treat your wounds, and you WILL rest and recover as I order. Is that clear?" Looking at Aragorn and seeing he meant business, Frodo gave in. He studied the man leaning over him. Scruffy, unshaven, but handsome, and with a wild look about him. Frodo wasn't experienced in the matters of love or sex, but he definitely felt a twinge of butterflies-in-the-stomach when he looked at the ranger. And the gentle touch of those large nimble hands . . . the hobbit fervently wished Sam was tending to him. He was very afraid he would give in to those gentle hands touching his body and give himself away somehow . . . as if in response, he felt his penis swell slightly, and he was thankful he still had his pants on. "Well," the ranger continued. "Let's finish getting you out of these clothes so we can clean you up with the soap and water and treat your bruises and ankle. I'm afraid there's not too much I can do for a head injury, though, Frodo," the ranger commented. "You will recover with no ill effects, but you be dizzy and have the nausea and headaches for a while. That's to be expected." Frodo wasn't really listening. His mind had stopped at "getting you out of these clothes." He imagined the touch of the ranger's hands undressing him . . . the slide of those hands over his skin. "Clothes?" the hobbit practically squeaked. "Really, Strider, I'm fine as I am . . . I'm perfectly comfortable . . . no need to clean me up---I'll just use the washbasin in the corner . . ." "Frodo, don't argue with me," the ranger said, leaning down so that his face was only inches from the hobbit's. "You're a mess. And you are NOT sleeping here in this bed with me tonight in such a state." The hobbit gulped. Sleep with Strider? In the same bed? "Sleep . . . here?" he asked the ranger in a small voice. "We have . . . a room . . . already." "Yes, you do," Aragorn replied. "But it is not safe for you to sleep in the hobbit quarters, not with the Black Riders about. This is my room, and you'll stay here tonight with me so I can keep an eye on that head injury. Merry and Pippin have already booked the room next door for themselves and Sam. If there's any danger during the night, we'll be close by." Frodo just looked at the ranger. It made sense. It made perfect sense. He groaned in resignation. To be continued FIC: TROUBLEMAKERS Part 6/? Author: Lily Baggins PAIRINGS: Frodo/Aragorn RATINGS: NC-17 sex, angst, bad language WARNINGS: NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL SITUATION IN AN EARLIER PART. Angst. h/c Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises, or whoever has the rights now, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. So here I am, getting Frodo into all sorts of precarious situations . . . Setting: The Prancing Pony. *** As he lay exhausted on the bed, staring up at the beamed ceiling, Frodo started thinking back on his earlier predicament with Rancit and Nettles. In the flurry of waking up and finding himself out of the alley and in Strider's room, Frodo had shut it out of his mind. But suddenly he realized how close he had come to being raped, handed over to the enemy, and most likely killed---after many probable hours of unendurable torture. He would never have been able to return home to the Shire. He would never have seen Sam, or Merry, or Pippin again. Or Bilbo or Gandalf. The Ring would have fallen into enemy hands, and all of Middle-earth would be covered in darkness. Suddenly, the burden of it all weighed heavily on the hobbit's mind . . . perhaps more heavily than it ever had previously. The Black Riders were still about, and Frodo's dangerous journey was only beginning. He and his small band of companions would likely die before they ever got the Ring to safety. The odds of seeing the Shire again were very small, indeed. "How's the stomach feeling?" Aragorn asked, making small talk as he silently unbuttoned his small patient's shirt. "Frodo?" The hobbit didn't answer. Glancing up at Frodo's face, Aragorn saw a look of utter despair. Frodo's eyes, staring up at the ceiling, were liquid with pooled-up tears, his lashes glittering with wetness. The hobbit's full lower lip was quivering. "Frodo? Oh, Frodo," the ranger said in a gentle voice, "Come here." He reached out and gathered the hobbit into his arms, pulling him close. Frodo wrapped his arms around Aragorn's neck and laid his head against Strider's chest, inhaling the reassuring smell of the man. Aragorn wondered if, in his urgency to treat Frodo's physical injuries, he had neglected to realize the emotional trauma the hobbit had gone through. And Frodo still bore the burden of the Ring---a burden that was not likely to disappear anytime soon. Frodo wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm . . . sorry, Strider," the hobbit began in a wavering voice. "I didn't . . . I just . . . I couldn't help thinking about what might have happened . . . and we still have so far to go . . ." "Ssssshhh," the ranger soothed, stroking the back of Frodo curly head and rather enjoying the warmth of the hobbit. "Be at ease, little one," he soothed. "You are safe for now. But this will stay with you a long, long time. I only hope it doesn't influence your ideas of the race of man. We're not all bad, Frodo." "I know," the hobbit answered, his voice steadier. He hugged the ranger tightly and then pulled away slightly, feeling a bit dizzy from the sudden movement. Still close to the ranger's face, Frodo reached one hand up and gently caressed the ranger's unshaven cheek. Before he could stop himself, his small fingers traced the ranger's mouth. "I trust you, Strider," Frodo told him softly. "I know you are here to protect me." Suddenly, the wave of dizziness hit him full-force and he grimaced. Aragorn gently lowered him back to the bed. "Dizzy?" the ranger asked. He leaned over and peered at Frodo's head wound, his heart still beating quickly from the hobbit's nearness a moment earlier. If Frodo had known the dark thoughts that passed through Aragorn's mind when Frodo was in his arms, he would surely be more emotionally traumatized, Aragorn thought ruefully. The ranger was pleased to note that the swelling on Frodo's head had gone down a bit. He gently applied another cool cloth to the area. "Your head is looking better, Frodo," he told the hobbit. "Besides keeping cool compresses on it, there's not much we can do, I'm afraid, with my limited stock of supplies. It will have to mend on its own. Does it hurt badly?" Frodo hesitated a bit before answering. "It does . . . hurt," he said, "but not too terribly. I can bear it, Strider." "And your stomach? Still queasy? What about everywhere else? Do you have pain anywhere else I don't know about?" the ranger asked as he finished unbuttoning Frodo's shirt and began to take an arm out of a sleeve. He figured Frodo would downplay any of his injuries anyway; the hobbit was not the best patient. "Stomach's still churning," Frodo told him. "And the dizziness hasn't gotten much better. Other than that and my ankle, I'm all right." Truth be told, Frodo's entire body was aching from the numerous bruises he'd sustained. As Aragorn finally removed Frodo's shirt, he stopped, aghast at the blue and purple bruises covering the hobbit's side. "Frodo, when did this happen?" "I don't remember," the hobbit replied. "When one of the men kicked me, I suppose." Aragorn shook his head sadly. "What brutes," he murmured. "I should have killed them both while I had the chance. But it would not have done to attract more attention to ourselves." He looked at Frodo with a gleam in his eye. "You have done quite enough of that on your own, Master Baggins," he said dryly. Gently pushing on the hobbit's ribs, Frodo gave a near howl of pain and Aragorn grimaced. "Looks like you've got a couple of broken ribs, my friend. We'll bind them up. You won't be able to move too well for a bit, but there will be no lasting damage." Aragorn set to the task of binding Frodo's ribs up. This necessitated lifting Frodo into a sitting position and resting the hobbit against his chest as he swaddled his torso in cloth. Frodo was in some pain from the whole affair, and he rested his curly head against the ranger's chest, catching his breath occasionally. Aragorn could feel the hobbit's silky hair against his chin and he wished the circumstances were different---that he was making love to Frodo in this very bed . . . abruptly the ranger stopped that line of thought. He was supposed to be healing Frodo, for goodness' sakes, not trying to take advantage of a wounded hobbit who had just gone through considerable trauma and now still carried the ultimate evil of Middle- earth. Lord, what was he thinking? Settling Frodo back amongst the pillows, Aragorn lifted the hobbit's ankle with both hands, gently prodding it for breaks. Large feet hobbits had, but their ankles were surprisingly delicate, Aragorn thought. He gently rotated the ankle and Frodo sucked his breath in. "Elbereth," the hobbit said, "that hurts, Strider." "I'm sorry, Frodo," came the reply. "I'm trying to determine if it's broken. And I do indeed think you have a hairline crack. I must bind it as well. First, though, I think it's wanting a washing." He took a bowl of hot water, a bar of soap, and a clean cloth and washed Frodo's feet and ankles as best he could. The hobbit found the sensation quite pleasant, and he nearly made a purring noise as Aragorn gently rubbed his feet. Aragorn pointedly ignored it so as to keep his thoughts from straying from the matter at hand. Taking his strips of cloth, he bound the ankle snugly. By the time he had finished, the purring sounds had been replaced with indrawn breaths as the hobbit fought the pain. "I'm sorry, Frodo," the ranger said, gently stroking the hobbit's brow. "But I'm all done with the ankle now. You're going to have a tough time putting your full weight on it for a while." He looked Frodo straight in the eye. "Now, do you have any other injuries I'm not aware of? If so, you'd better tell me now, because if I find any more I'm going to examine you thoroughly from head to foot , and I have a feeling you won't like that." Frodo shook his head too rapidly, and his head swam. "No, Strider, nothing else . . . just various aches and pains. Nothing I can put my finger on." Frodo sighed. Gods, he definitely didn't want the ranger probing him for injuries . . . the man's nearness already got to him. And being an invalid was not Frodo's idea of fun. "Well," the ranger said dryly. "I don't believe you, my dear hobbit. I see that you pull this stoic act off very well. So I'm going to check you over anyway." Frodo rolled his eyes and sighed. He should have known. If nothing else, the ranger was thorough. Frodo lay there for a moment thinking of all the Elvish curses he knew. "But first, we'll clean you up a bit," Aragorn said. Taking the cloth and water, the ranger proceeded to wash Frodo's face. As the mud came away, Aragorn was again amazed at how beautiful Frodo was. The ranger brushed the hobbit's hair back to get at his cheekbones and tiny, delicate pointed ears. Frodo lay content while Aragorn ran the cloth over his face, his eyes dreamily half-closed. Suddenly, Aragorn had a vision of what Frodo's face would look like in the heat of lovemaking . . . flushed, his eyes shining, lips parting as he arched his head back . . . It was time to finish with his face, Aragorn decided. It was now clean enough. Maybe he could find a body part to clean that did NOT turn him on . . . Taking each of Frodo's small hands, Aragorn rubbed the grime away. The hobbit's hands were soft, unused to heavy physical toil or sword fighting. They were also warm and dry, with long sensitive fingers. Again, the ranger marveled at their tiny size next to his . . . the perfect size to just wrap around a man's . . . Aragorn sighed and immediately finished that train of thought. Then he realized there was really only one thing left to do---remove Frodo's pants. *Damn, the ranger thought, this will be my undoing.* The ranger gave a sigh as he bent to unbutton Frodo's trousers. "After all the trouble we took to get you back into these, it seems a shame to take them off now, doesn't it?" he asked dryly. Frodo started a bit and squirmed as he felt Aragorn's large hands roaming over his lower body, undoing the buttons. He lightly brushed the ranger's hands away. "It is trouble," he replied. There's no need . . ." "That was a rhetorical question, Frodo," Aragorn said. Frodo bit his lip. Aragorn finished with the pant buttons and slid Frodo's breeches down his legs, being extra-careful of the injured ankle. The hobbit had no underpants on, as they had disappeared in the alley. But Frodo had packed some extras with his belongings that he could get later. As the ranger pulled his pants down, Frodo felt his face turning red. Please, Elbereth, he thought to himself, just let me control my reactions. He wished at that moment that the bed would swallow him whole and put him out of his misery. Looking at the hobbit's face, Aragorn noted that it was beet red and the blue eyes were staring fixedly at the ceiling, as if concentrating on something. Frodo was also shivering. Retrieving a sheet from the supplies Merry and Pippin had brought, Aragorn brought it back to the hobbit, draping it over him lightly and tucking it in around his shoulders. Then he pulled it back to reveal Frodo's hips and groin. Frodo squirmed again---this was making him acutely uncomfortable. Reaching down, he took hold of the ranger's hand. "Really, Strider, that's not necessary . . ." he began. But the ranger would have none of it. "Frodo, I need to make certain those men did not hurt you," Aragorn told him. "I know you said they didn't, but you were not thinking clearly all of that time. I couldn't bear it if you had injuries I neglected to treat only because of your embarrassment." Frodo realized he would get nowhere and went limp on the bed, resuming his studious examination of the ceiling beams. To his dismay he found himself growing aroused, and he fought it. He would simply think of something else . . . Aragorn briefly washed the hobbit's genital area and checked him for injuries, being as clinical as possible. But in Frodo's case, he thought to himself; the old jokes he'd heard in Bree about hobbits and their large feet were true. Frodo was . . . better endowed than Aragorn had suspected. Suddenly the ranger heard a strange noise. He looked up, his eyes narrowed. What was that noise? Aragorn realized the noise was coming from Frodo. Was he . . . humming? "Frodo, what are you doing?" "Hmmmm? Oh, humming, Strider. A song Bilbo used to sing to me. I'm sorry." He clamped his lips tightly together. Aragorn raised his eyebrows. Having seen no injuries to Frodo's more sensitive parts, he gently turned the hobbit onto his side to check his backside, for which Frodo was actually grateful, as his penis was getting harder by the minute. He whimpered slightly as rolling over aggravated his head and injured side, and the ranger laid a comforting hand on Frodo's hip as he glanced at the hobbit's buttocks and gently separated them to make sure that Frodo was, indeed, not bleeding or torn. The hobbit felt the ranger's hands on his lower body and squeezed his eyes tightly. In response to the ranger's touch, of course, he could feel his member growing . . . Frodo couldn't remember ever being this embarrassed . . . or this flustered . . . and the feelings were quite new to him. Aragorn, for his part, was very clinical, and in his concern for Frodo, was giving no indications of embarrassment. Seeing that the hobbit was indeed untouched, he gently cleaned Frodo's backside, which had gotten rather dirty from sitting in the alleyway. By this time, Frodo's erection was full-force, and he hoped it would go away before Strider took notice. For a split second, the hobbit wondered if he could convince the ranger to leave the room for a few minutes so that Frodo could "take care of it." When he was finished cleaning Frodo up, the ranger helped him turn back over. Frodo immediately grabbed his sheet and wrapped it tightly about himself. But the sheet was thin---and it didn't do an adequate job of hiding the evidence, the hobbit saw with dismay. He saw the ranger's eyes linger upon his groin area for a moment and widen slightly. Yes, the hobbit thought, Strider had noticed. Frodo gave up the notion of having the bed swallow him whole. He decided, instead, that he'd be better off casting himself into the fires of Mount Doom immediately. But Aragorn didn't want the hobbit to feel uncomfortable about what had happened. He reached up and caressed Frodo's cheek. "It's perfectly natural, little one," the ranger gently told him. "No one could help that reaction, being touched as you were. Think nothing of it." Inside, Aragorn was fighting with himself. Anyone being touched there in such a manner would have that reaction, right? He surely would. And Frodo was likely inexperienced in the ways of love, as most unmarried hobbits tended to be, and wasn't used to such intimacy. He had just decided to change the subject when he heard a knock at the door. "It's Sam," a voice called. Aragorn got up to unlock it, letting Sam and the two other hobbits in. They rushed to Frodo's bedside to check on their friend, and seemed to be in considerably better spirits after having had a bit of supper. Aragorn walked back over to Frodo's side and noted that while his back was turned, Frodo had rolled slightly onto his side, drawing his legs up and wrapping his sheet tightly about himself so that he resembled nothing so much as a small white blob. If the hobbit was still aroused, it could not be seen. "Mr. Frodo, how are you feeling?" asked Sam as he patted the other hobbit's shoulder. He would have reached for a hand, but Frodo's hands could not visible, entangled as they were in the sheet. "I'm better, Sam, thank you," Frodo told him. "Strider has seen to my injuries. How are you three? I hope you got something to eat?" "We sure did, cousin," Pippin chimed in. "And will you be wanting anything? We could get you a bite from downstairs." Frodo's face blanched somewhat as the mention of food made his stomach do cartwheels. But Aragorn spoke up. "Frodo could do with some broth and bread, if you would see to it," he told Pippin. "And bring a jug of milk. But NO ale!" he said, laughing. Happy to be of service, Pippin and Merry scrambled back downstairs for the meal. "I'm really not hungry, Strider," Frodo protested. "You need to try to eat something, Frodo," the ranger told him. "It's the best way to get your strength back. Now, why don't Sam and I make sure you're tucked in for the night. Sam?" Sam had managed, through appealing to Butterbur's sense of responsibility for what had happened to Frodo, to obtain a nightshirt for Frodo to sleep in. He knew not where it came, but it was clean and well-folded, and much more comfortable for Frodo to sleep in than his grimy clothes. It never occurred to Sam that Frodo could sleep in the nude---at least, certainly not when sharing a room with a relative stranger such as Strider. Luckily for Frodo, his earlier "problem" had diminished, and he gratefully accepted the nightshirt, glad he would not have to share a bed with the ranger while in the altogether. The only drawback was that the nightshirt was made for a human---and a rather large one at that. After Sam and Aragorn had gently untangled Frodo from his sheet and had gotten the nightshirt on him, they had both chuckled somewhat. The shirt swallowed the hobbit's small frame. The hem of the shirt swept past Frodo's feet and the sleeves hung down far past his hands. The neck hole was huge, also --- practically falling off the hobbit's shoulder. But Frodo didn't complain, and Aragorn rolled the sleeves up for him. He gently lifted Frodo while Sam turned the bedclothes down. Aragorn lay Frodo back down, careful of his injured head and ribs. When he was securely settled back in bed, Sam pulled the sheets and blankets back up and tucked them snugly around his master. "There, Mr. Frodo," Sam soothed, smoothing out the blankets. "Safe and sound." The door swung gently open, and Merry and Pippin came in bearing a tray full of items. Frodo's nose caught the smell of food and he groaned. But he was determined to try to eat something to please everyone, and the other hobbits has gone to such trouble to get it all. Sam set him up in bed and Frodo took the bowl of broth with shaky hands. Sam offered to feed him, but Frodo had had enough of feeling like an invalid and was determined to do it himself. The other three hobbits made small talk as Frodo sipped a bit with a spoon, grimacing with each bite. He wondered if Strider had eaten anything at all and looked for the ranger. Aragorn was sitting in the corner smoking his pipe and resting a bit, by the looks of things. Frodo sincerely hoped he had not offended Aragorn earlier in any way. The ranger had seemed a bit brusque with him after noticing the hobbit's arousal. Looking at the man, Frodo was again struck by his chiseled face and lean, muscular body. Frodo had been around few beings besides hobbits in his life---in fact, he could only remember Gandalf and the lovely, ethereal elves, and he'd not kept much company with rugged men. The ranger definitely held a fascination for him. From across the room, Aragorn felt Frodo's bright blue gaze resting on him, and he turned to the hobbit and nodded slightly, his eyes soft. Frodo quickly looked back down at his soup bowl. The ranger had been around hobbits plenty of times in his long life---they were native to Bree, and he had guarded the Shire for many years. He thought well of the little people, but often found them to be naive and too comfort-loving for their own good. He definitely had never had sexual feelings for one of them, and it surprised him. But then, he thought, looking at Frodo, Frodo definitely wasn't a normal hobbit. He was elven-beautiful, with those dancing eyes that gave his emotions away. Small he might be, but Frodo's body was definitely masculine---trim and firm, with all the right equipment. But it was Frodo's courage and stoicism in the face of incredible danger that really got to the ranger. Frodo's small voice broke through his thoughts. "I can't eat another bite," the hobbit was saying. "Thank you, Pippin and Merry, for bringing it in." With that, Aragorn stood up and crossed the room. "I'm glad you managed part of it, Frodo," he said, noting Frodo's peaked face. The hobbit looked tuckered out. "Now, I want you to lie back and go to sleep---no protests," Aragorn told him. "In fact," he said, turning to the other three tired hobbits, "I want all of you to go get some sleep---we can discuss your travel plans in the morning. If you should need me, come and get me, but I will check on you during the night." Whispering their goodnights, Merry, Pippin, and Sam all hugged Frodo and excused themselves to the other room. When they had gone, Aragorn got up and locked the door. He wasn't taking any chances with ruffians and Black Riders about. Frodo gave a weary sigh, and the ranger went back to his bed and helped him lie back and settle down among the pillows. Then Aragorn pulled the covers up to his chin and sat next to him a moment as the hobbit closed his eyes, sighing. "How are you feeling?" the ranger asked him. "Stomach any better after eating?" Frodo nodded slightly. "My stomach is still queasy, but the dizziness seems to be getting better. And as long as I don't move much, the ribs aren't too bad." He opened his mouth in a huge yawn. "Good night, Strider," he whispered. Then his eyes sought the ranger's. "Aren't you going to sleep?" "Maybe later," Aragorn said, leaning down close to Frodo's face. "Good night, Frodo. Sleep well." He brushed Frodo's hair back from his face and gently traced the curve of a pointed ear with his thumb, then planted a soft kiss on the hobbit's forehead. "If you need anything, I'll be right here," he said in a low voice. Smiling slightly, Frodo closed his eyes and exhaled softly. To be continued FIC: TROUBLEMAKERS Part 7/? Author: Lily Baggins PAIRINGS: Frodo/Aragorn RATINGS: NC-17 sex, angst, bad language WARNINGS: NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL SITUATION IN AN EARLIER PART. Angst. h/c Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises, or whoever has the rights now, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. So here I am, getting Frodo into all sorts of precarious situations . . . in this fic, it's pretty obvious that Frodo's "disappearing act" in the bar never happens . . . sorry for messing with canon!! Setting: The Prancing Pony. *** Blowing out all of the candles in the room except for two, Aragorn went back to his corner and sat, gazing into the distance and glancing every so often at the small form in the middle of the bed. He could see only the top of Frodo's curly head, swathed as the hobbit was in covers. The large bed seemed to swallow the hobbit whole. Aragorn could just barely hear Frodo's breathing, and every so often it would catch in a slight gasp as Frodo shifted and felt the pain of his injuries. The ranger winced every time he heard it, and more than once he seriously considered going to Frodo and taking him in his arms. Outside, the night was quiet, and only the chirping of crickets and the occasional creak of a wagon could be heard. Aragorn sat thinking about the night's events, and again, he thanked Elbereth that he had been there for Frodo when the hobbit needed him. The thought of Frodo suffering at the hands of the two Bree ruffians was almost more than the ranger could bear. The ranger's reverie was interrupted again by rustling noises coming from the bed. Looking over, he saw that Frodo was tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. The hobbit whimpered loudly in pain, and immediately the ranger was attentive. He strode over to the bed and leaned over Frodo, who was lying on his uninjured side, clutching his broken ribs tightly. The hobbit grimaced as Aragorn sat down on the bed, unintentionally jostling it a little. "Frodo?" he whispered, reaching a hand up to the hobbit and affectionately rubbing one pointed ear through the mass of curly hair. "Where does it hurt, little one?" The hobbit gazed at him with sleepy eyes. "It is the same pain I was in before, Strider," he said in a soft weary voice. "It's just that . . . sleeping . . . makes it worse. This nightshirt is very long and every time I move, I seem to get tangled up in it and jar something painful." "Well," said the ranger casually, "maybe we should just take the nightshirt off. We're adults here, Frodo. It won't disturb me if you sleep without a nightshirt on." As soon as he said it, the ranger cursed himself for a fool. He had hoped to get some sleep tonight---in a real bed. One thing was certain: He would definitely not be getting in the bed if Frodo slept there unclothed. His lustful thoughts for his tiny patient seemed to be growing, and Aragorn was afraid he would do something he would very much regret. Frodo looked down at himself questioningly and bit his lip. He should have been more quiet and then the ranger wouldn't have known anything was amiss. There was no way Frodo was going to take the nightshirt off---not if that meant possibly being naked in the bed with Strider. He was definitely not going that route and would fight tooth and nail against it. He already offended Strider once. "There's no need, really, Strider," the hobbit told him. "I have it untangled, and I don't think it will bother me again, really. Without it, I'm afraid I might get too cold." That would probably convince Strider to let him keep the nightshirt, the hobbit figured. "Very well," the ranger said, "but tell me if you change your mind. How does your stomach and head feel now after having eaten? Still dizzy?" "I feel better," Frodo murmured, yawning. "My stomach is hardly bothering me at all, and the headache has subsided quite a bit. The dizziness is manageable as long as I lay still. My body does ache a bit from the bruises, though." Aragorn smiled gently in sympathy. "Here," he said, smoothing Frodo's hair back, "turn over and I'll rub your back for you. That should help you relax and take the ache out somewhat." The ranger helped the hobbit turn over onto his stomach and began gently rubbing his back and shoulders through the nightshirt, careful of using too much pressure . The motion seemed to soothe Frodo, and he sighed and snuggled deeper into the pillows, pursing his lips and making the soft purring noise Aragorn had heard him make earlier when he found something pleasurable. That noise reminded the ranger of what else he could be doing to Frodo to evoke such a sound, and he shook his head softly, wondering if he should stop the massage now . . . . but he WAS enjoying the sensation of touching Frodo's small warm body, and it did seem to be helping with the pain. Aragorn glanced at the hobbit's small face, noting the closed eyes and shapely dark eyebrows, then his glance slid down to the nicely shaped shoulders and slim waist and finally came to rest on the firm roundness of the hobbit's narrow buttocks. Aragorn found himself yearning to slide his hands lower and cup the twin globes . . . to knead the soft flesh through the thin cloth of the nightshirt . . . wouldn't that make Frodo come awake with a start, the ranger thought with a chuckle. Giving the hobbit a lingering glance and a final pat, Aragorn reluctantly took his hands away and went back to his chair. On the bed, Frodo was not yet asleep. He had been thoroughly enjoying the sensation of those large, sensitive hands gliding over his back and shoulders. And he had fervently wished the hands would turn him over and roam the rest of his body, seeking . . . . Sighing as he drifted off to sleep, Frodo's last thought was of the ranger's lean legs, slim hips and the feel of those piercing eyes as they looked into his own. Over in the corner, Aragorn realized he was nodding off ---even a ranger couldn't go without sleep indefinitely. He could sleep in his chair, of course . . . but there WAS plenty of room in the bed. Frodo was small; he didn't take up much space . . . and it was a shame to pass up an opportunity to sleep in a real bed instead of the ground, for once. Shouldering out of his tunic and pulling his boots off, the ranger padded over to the bed. Frodo lay partly on his side, one arm across his chest, the other flung up on his pillow next to his head. His eyes were closed and Aragorn could see the dark feathery lashes resting on his cheeks. Suddenly, Frodo sighed in his sleep, his small mouth opening slightly. Aragorn took one look at him and reconsidered venturing into the bed. On the other hand, the hobbit was sound asleep . . . and Aragorn knew he'd soon drift off himself. Easing the covers back, the ranger slipped into bed. Frodo still lay in the middle of it, and there was just enough space for Aragorn to lay down comfortably without disturbing the hobbit. Aragorn turned on his side, keeping his back to Frodo, and tried to relax as he listened to Frodo breathe. Suddenly, the hobbit shifted in sleep, and he snuggled up against Aragorn's back. The ranger's eyes widened at the warmth pressing up against him and he found his groin tightening. Willing himself to relax, he eventually fell asleep. Some time later---to Aragorn it didn't seem as if much time had passed---the ranger opened his eyes. A muffled noise had awakened him, and he lay for a moment getting his bearings. Suddenly Aragorn realized that the warmth that had lovingly pressed against him earlier was gone. Quickly he turned over, his arm going out to the portion of bed next to him. It was empty. "Frodo?" the ranger called softly. "Frodo, where are you?" No answer. Aragorn started to panic for a moment. Aragorn jumped out of bed rapidly and checked the door. It was still locked from the inside. His heart beating fast, the ranger ran to the other side of the bed---and saw the small white-clad form on the floor. Frodo was on his hands and knees, grimacing. His breath caught slightly at the sight of Strider bare-chested. "Frodo!" Aragorn called out. "What happened? What are you doing out of bed?" He walked over knelt in front of the hobbit, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. Frodo coughed slightly as he clutched at his injured ribs and raised his eyes to meet the ranger's. "I'm sorry I woke you up, Strider," the hobbit said in an small embarrassed voice. "I . . . had to use the chamber pot and then wanted a drink of water. I was . . . trying to make it back to bed without putting weight on my ankle when I tripped and fell on my nightshirt. I am all right." The ranger nodded. "Next time, wake me, little one, and I will help you. Come, let's get you back to bed." Frodo tried to get up, but Aragorn didn't want him putting weight on his ankle if it wasn't necessary. He'd certainly have enough walking to do tomorrow, if they couldn't get a pony. "No, Frodo, let me help you back," the ranger told him. "Then we're taking that nightshirt off of you, understand?" Frodo gave in and the ranger gently picked him up under the arms, careful of the injured ribs, and hoisted the hobbit up to rest on the ranger's hip. Frodo lightly clasped his short arms around the ranger's neck and wrapped his legs loosely around Aragorn's waist. Aragorn lowered one of his hands for a moment to keep Frodo from falling and unintentionally rested it on the firm flesh of the hobbit's buttocks. Caught off guard by the warmth of the ranger's hand and a bit undone by his position so near the ranger's groin, Frodo swallowed hard. Aragorn looked down and saw two very large blue eyes staring at him from only inches away. For a moment, the ranger's breath caught at the closeness of those eyes and lips to his, and he momentarily forgot what he was doing. Seconds passed as he stared down at the small cherubic face. "Strider," those small rosebud lips asked, "Uh . . . are you going to put me down?" The ranger sighed as reality resurfaced. "Of course, Frodo, I'm sorry. I was just . . . momentarily . . . distracted." Aragorn carried Frodo to the bed and gently set the hobbit down on the edge, leaving his short legs dangling off the side so Aragorn could pull the nightshirt up and off. Frodo made quite a sight, the ranger thought to himself. His face was a bit flushed, his hair mussed up, and the nightshirt was practically falling off his shoulder. Trying to ignore the image, the ranger knelt down on the floor before Frodo to grasp the hem of the shirt. But before he could touch it, he felt a small hand on each shoulder and looked up to see those two blue eyes gazing at him again, full of trust. "Strider, you have done too much for me," Frodo mumbled, self- conscious. "I don't . . . know . . . what would have happened to me if you had not been there for me tonight. What those men would have done . . . and the Ring . . . what would have happened to it . . ." he trailed off, looking down and biting his lower lip, unable to continue. "Little one, I could not have borne seeing anything happen to you. The burden you carry is already far too great, and after tonight, I fear you will not trust men --- and possibly no one---for a long time, if ever again." Frodo looked down at him with a trembling mouth. "I trust you implicitly, Strider, even though I have only known you a short while," he said. "Thank you for helping me bear this burden." Before Aragorn could stop himself, his arms reached out to clasp the hobbit's shoulders and he gently pulled Frodo to him, sliding him gently off the edge of the bed and into his lap. They both slowly sank to the floor, Aragorn sitting with Frodo's arms around the ranger's neck and the hobbit's short legs straddling Aragorn's waist. The too-long nightshirt was bunched up between them, and Aragorn felt his member swell uncomfortably in his breeches. The ranger swallowed hard. Frodo embraced him, wincing a moment at the pain in his side. Taking the hobbit's small chin in his hand, Aragorn leaned Frodo's head back so that it was only inches from his and gazed into the blue depths of those eyes. Frodo was nervously biting his lip again, and Aragorn raised one finger and gently pulled at the hobbit's lower lip until he released it from between his teeth. The corners of Frodo's mouth turned up, and feeling those soft lips against his finger nearly undid the ranger. He gently brushed Frodo's hair back and traced the curve of one pointed ear as the hobbit sat astride him. Reaching one hand up, Frodo stroked the ranger's unshaven cheek and marveled at the feel of the lean body beneath him. "Strider," he murmured breathlessly, scooting his hips and wiggling even closer to the man. The hobbit gulped as he felt the ranger's erection pulsating through the layers of nightshirt between them, and Frodo felt his own penis rising in response. "Frodo," the ranger said in a low husky voice. Looking down, Aragorn lifted the bunched folds of Frodo's nightshirt up a bit, so that only a thin bit of cloth covered the hobbit's aroused member. Then Aragorn did something he'd wanted to do for hours. With both hands he reached down under the hobbit's voluminous garment, very gently cupped the silky skin of Frodo's bare buttocks, and pulled the hobbit tightly to him until he could feel Frodo's erection pushing up against him. For long moments they sat there, on the floor, looking into each other's eyes and reveling in the sensation of their throbbing members pressed together. Then, as one, their lips slowly met. to be continued FIC: TROUBLEMAKERS Part 8/? Author: Lily Baggins PAIRINGS: Frodo/Aragorn RATINGS: NC-17 WARNINGS: NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL SITUATION IN AN EARLIER PART. Angst. h/c. SEX Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises, or whoever has the rights now, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. In this fic, it's pretty obvious that Frodo's "disappearing act" in the bar never happens . . . sorry for messing with canon!! A few dialogue lines borrowed from The Fellowship of the Ring. Setting: The Prancing Pony. Part movie, part bookiverse. Here, the hobbits sleep through the Black Riders' raid, as they did in the book. *** Aragorn lightly pressed his mouth to Frodo's small rosebud lips and tasted their sweetness for only a moment before pulling away and looking into the hobbit's wide blue eyes. In silent reply, Frodo closed his eyes and leaned into the ranger, putting his small hands on Aragorn's broad bare chest and gently brushing the man's lips with his own. For a moment their mouths moved in cadence, and Aragorn groaned at the promises of things to come. In reaction, his hands on Frodo's bare buttocks began roaming up and down the hobbit's hips, gently kneading the flesh as he had longed to do earlier. Frodo made a small moaning sound deep in his chest as he felt the dry, rough heat of the man's large hands pressing along his body. Sensing no fear or trepidation on Frodo's part, Aragorn slipped his tongue out further, lightly brushing the silky inside of the hobbit's lips before reluctantly pulling away. Frodo gazed at him with wide eyes, his face flushed and gleaming with an ever-so-faint glow of perspiration. "Frodo," the ranger began gently, uncertain how to approach the subject. "Have you . . . ever been with anyone before?" "I have not been with a man before," Frodo answered truthfully, without hesitation. "No, Strider, I have never been with a male before . . . at all." Aragorn nodded. He had suspected as much. "What about lasses?" he teased. But seeing the hobbit's face flush a becoming shade of red, the ranger's smile faded. So the hobbit was a virgin, then. Aragorn inwardly sighed. He wasn't really surprised, given hobbit culture, but he wanted to know for certain Frodo was ready before they went too far. Frodo winced and lowered his eyes. "I have not had many opportunities to . . . know the hobbit maids in the Shire in that way, Strider. A few kisses, only. I always seem to be preoccupied with books, or learning Elvish, or taking care of things at Bag End." "So you have not been with a lass, then? Do not feel embarrassed, Frodo. That does not surprise me, knowing the Shire-hobbits' ways." Aragorn's lips quirked upward and he reached a hand up from under Frodo's nightshirt to tenderly brush the hobbit's curly bangs back; away from the still-ugly-looking bruise on his temple. The ranger wanted the hobbit . . . badly . . . but Frodo had been through much in the past day, and Aragorn did not want to take advantage of his vulnerability. "You are beautiful, little one," Aragorn whispered, smiling. "I want you like I've wanted no one before. But I cannot, in good conscience, be the one to sully you, Frodo Baggins. I do not want the responsibility of knowing I took your innocence." Frodo lifted his eyes back up to the ranger's, his small forehead crinkling up in irritation. "I am hardly `innocent,' Strider. If I am trusted to bear the Ring, then surely I should be allowed the pleasures that hobbits and men of even far younger years than I regularly enjoy. Please, Strider," he begged, reaching up and stroking the ranger's face, "please give me something to carry me through the darkness that surely will come." "Are you certain, little one?" the ranger asked him softly. "Yes." The word was whispered, wavering, but spoken with conviction. With that, Aragorn caught the hobbit's mouth again, his kisses growing more insistent. Frodo parted his lips, but his mouth was smaller than the ranger's, and Aragorn wanted to explore every corner of it. "Open your mouth more, Frodo," the ranger commanded in a low hoarse voice tinged with emotion. Frodo moaned softly and opened his mouth wider, allowing the ranger to thrust deeper with his tongue. Frodo was new at this; he had kissed a few lasses in the Shire, but never deeply, and he hoped he was doing it right. A moment later, Aragorn felt Frodo's own small tongue tentatively moving into his own mouth, and he gasped in response to the thrill of it. Aragorn's kisses grew firmer, and raising his other hand from under Frodo's nightshirt, he cupped the back of the hobbit's head and drew him in closer, careful not to bruise the hobbit's mouth with the intensity of his desire. Frodo gasped and wriggled a bit, moving on top of the ranger, and the movement of his penis rubbing through cloth against the ranger's caused Aragorn to groan deeply. "Oh, Elbereth, Frodo," he moaned softly. "Look at what you do to me, little one." Frodo willingly lost himself in the warm wetness of the ranger's mouth---a thrilling sensation he'd never imagined. The warmth in his groin grew, if possible, and he kissed Aragorn more savagely, his small teeth catching the ranger's lips lightly, sucking. The ranger gasped in response and sought to take his tongue deeper. After a few moments, Aragorn abruptly pulled his mouth away, catching Frodo by surprise. The hobbit opened his eyes and moved to speak, but was given no chance before the ranger arched Frodo's head back slightly and lowered his own mouth to Frodo's neck, showering the hobbit's smooth skin with tender kisses. Frodo shut his eyes again and fairly purred ---the same sound Aragorn had heard already twice that night. Gently brushing Frodo's hair back, the ranger turned the hobbit's head slightly and lavished attention on Frodo's delicate pointed ears. Frodo gasped as he felt the wetness on his ears and began trembling. Aragorn pulled back for a moment, concerned. "Are you okay, little one? Am I holding you too tightly? Am I hurting you?" The hobbit could only look at him, dumbfounded, unable to find the words to speak for a moment. "No . . . no, Strider, not at all," Frodo told him breathlessly. "Please don't stop." "You like that, do you?" the ranger purred, not expecting an answer. "Maybe you'll like this even more." With that, Aragorn gently lay Frodo back on the floor. Leaning over the hobbit, he raised the nightshirt, exposing the hobbit's pink highly aroused penis, which was dewy at the tip. And then it happened. A knock at the door . . . starting out softly and growing more insistent. Between clenched teeth, Aragorn muttered a string of the most vile Elvish curses he knew. "Who is it?" he yelled, a bit too abruptly. Beneath him, Frodo tensed, his bright blue filled with momentary fear at the interruption. "Begging your pardon, Strider, it's Butterbur," came the voice of the innkeeper. "We're closing the kitchen down for the night and I was wanting to make sure the sick little master---Mr. Underhill---would not be needing anything." "Uh, no, Butterbur, Mr. Underhill is just fine," Aragorn told him with a look at the hobbit. "I'm . . . seeing to his needs." "Very well," said the innkeeper with a note of doubt in his voice. "Goodnight, then." "Goodnight!" the ranger replied, rather abruptly. The footsteps of Butterbur faded away, and the ranger looked back down at the bemused hobbit, whose lips were curved upward in a slight smile. "Am I seeing to your needs, Mr. Baggins?" Aragorn asked him softly. "Yes, indeed you are, Mr. Strider." Aragorn's mouth quirked in a wry smile and he resumed his ministrations under Frodo's huge nightshirt. Deliberately avoiding Frodo's aroused member, the ranger lowered his head to Frodo's stomach and chest and gently trailed wet kisses along the length of the hobbit's body. He kissed the light downy fur that started below the navel and trailed down lower to a thicket of curls, and then gently licked and fondled the nipples. Frodo gasped and arched up off the floor slightly in response, momentarily forgetting his injuries. He was reminded of them the minute he moved, as he painfully jarred his foot and ribcage and felt a brief rush of dizziness. Frodo whimpered and grimaced for a moment, obviously in pain and not pleasure. "Frodo!" the ranger said, concerned, stilling his hands. He leaned down close to the hobbit's face and traced the soft lips with a finger. "You are still hurt. I would rather kill myself than cause you more pain. Perhaps . . ." and it did kill him to say this, "perhaps we should stop. You need rest to recover, and this can't be helping any." "No!" the hobbit refused, his voice hoarse and adamant. "Strider, it's already too late. I can't stop now. Please." Frodo's voice whimpered with need and he reached up to rub the ranger's bare chest with his hands. "Please don't stop. Although I fear I . . ." and here he looked down, " . . . I fear I may not be the best . . . at this . . . especially because of my injuries, as I cannot move very well. I am afraid I may not be able to . . . that is . . . I can't really . . ." Aragorn smiled softly and put a hand to the small mouth. "Hush, Frodo," he said. "I want to pleasure you. You need not do anything. We will take it slow and take our time." Catching Frodo's eyes and smiling slightly, the ranger bent and grasped the hobbit's penis between both hands, studying its pink smoothness with wonder. The hobbit was larger than Aragorn had anticipated---a pleasant surprise. Frodo shivered at the touch. Locking eyes with the hobbit, Aragorn bent and took the tip of Frodo's erection into his mouth, gently sucking. Frodo moaned low in his throat and closed his eyes in blissful agony. A light dew of perspiration coated his brow. "Gods, Strider . . ." Still gently sucking, the ranger took all he could of Frodo into his mouth. Frodo felt the warm wetness enclosing his aroused member and began gasping as trickles of pleasure waved out to every part of his body. "Strider, please . . ." Just when Frodo thought he couldn't take anymore without letting go in release, Aragorn removed his mouth and hands completely, leaving Frodo lying on the floor panting, his lower lip quivering. Half senseless with the pleasure, Frodo gasped as he felt two strong arms scoop him up carefully and place him on the soft comfort of the bed. The hobbit sighed blissfully as he sank back, his eyes taking in Aragorn's every move. To be continued -- soon! FIC: TROUBLEMAKERS Part 9/? Author: Lily Baggins PAIRINGS: Frodo/Aragorn RATINGS: NC-17 WARNINGS: NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL SITUATION IN AN EARLIER PART. Angst. h/c. SEX. SEX. And MORE SEX. Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises, or whoever has the rights now, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. In this fic, it's pretty obvious that Frodo's "disappearing act" in the bar never happens . . . sorry for messing with canon!! Setting: The Prancing Pony. *** Aragorn's eyes took in the hobbit lying trembling on the bed, tight as a bow string, anxiously awaiting more of the ranger's "ministrations." Suddenly Frodo squirmed a bit, gingerly stretching sore muscles, and fixed a questioning gaze upon the ranger. Looking steadily at the hobbit, Aragorn reached down and began unlacing his own breeches. For reasons he could not fathom, he was nervous. In his lifetime, the ranger had bedded a fair number of beings---male and female alike---but he could not remember feeling so self-conscious and eager to perform. After much fumbling, he finally divested himself of his clothing and stood nude before Frodo. The hobbit's breath caught at the sight. The ranger's body was rock hard; long and lean and lightly tanned by years spent in the sun. His trim waist led down to narrow hips and . . . Frodo looked at the man's member and fairly gulped. It stood proudly, a faint glistening at the tip, and was more enormous than the hobbit had ever imagined. Aragorn saw the hobbit's eyes widen as they fixed on his penis and his lips curved up in a slight smile. "Do I frighten you, Master Baggins?" the ranger asked, only half- teasing. "No, Strider . . . you are . . . beautiful . . . I never imagined . . ." the hobbit trailed off, his large blue eyes roaming the ranger's body from head to foot and back again, unable to put his thoughts into words. Aragorn slowly advanced toward the hobbit. Watching him, Frodo felt a sudden surge of fear that he, Frodo, would not be adequate to this task, that his small form would not be enough to satisfy the ranger--- a man who was surely much more worldly than a mere hobbit from the Shire. Frodo cursed his naivete, wishing he were more experienced and knew better what to do. He had never even seen a nude human male before. He had not seen Rancit unclothed when the man tried to . . . Suddenly, Frodo had a brief vision of himself lying face down in the alley, on the cold hard ground, as Rancit approached him . . . he shook his head and cast the thought out of his mind. It did no good to dwell on the past, he reminded himself. But Aragorn had seen the flash of fear cross the hobbit's small features. "Frodo?" he said in a soft voice. "Frodo . . ." Aragorn climbed up on the bed and lay next to Frodo, drawing very near. Then he gently eased himself down to lie partially atop the hobbit, balancing on his forearms to avoid crushing Frodo or putting undue pressure on his ribs. The hobbit wrapped his small arms around the ranger's neck, his pulse beating rapidly and his lips quivering---whether from fear or simply the man's nearness, he knew not. "Oh Frodo," the ranger soothed, smoothing the dark curly hair back from the dewy forehead. "Do not worry about my . . . size . . . Frodo," he murmured reassuringly. "I have no plans to ask you to grant me the use of your body for that particular . . . activity---it might hurt you." He bent to gently kiss the small mouth beneath his but stopped at the sight of two very large blue eyes gazing up at him, the dark brows over them knitted together. "Frodo?" Aragorn began. "Little one, what's wrong?" "It's nothing, Strider. But . . . I want to give you pleasure, also. I cannot move much, given my injuries are still painful . . . but you are so desirable . . . I want to do this . . . right. I do not want you holding back. I want to feel you inside of me, Strider. I want to give myself to you." The blue eyes shone with love and longing. Aragorn shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "Why not? Surely you would find pleasure in it?" Aragorn froze him with a look. "Do I have to spell it out for you, Frodo?" He sighed and his tone changed to one of gentleness. "Look, Frodo, I would hurt you if I were to do that to you---bed you the way men do with men. You're too small, and I would hurt you, and then you would hate me for it." "Strider," the hobbit said in a soft voice, reaching a hand to stroke the unshaven cheeks. "I could never, never hate you." "Frodo, the answer is no. Please don't make me repeat myself. After what nearly happened to you tonight, I could not bear to . . ." He shook his head and trailed off, realizing he had uttered a poor choice of words. Frodo gulped at the mention of his near-rape and looked down, saying nothing. Aragorn smiled down at him. "There are many, many ways to pleasure, little one," he said. "Trust me." He glanced down at the hobbit's nightshirt-clad form. "But first, I think . . . this garment has caused enough trouble, hasn't it? It's high time we got rid of it." Sitting up, the ranger eased Frodo's arms out of the billowing garment and lifted the hem. Then he leaned in close as he pulled it up. As the shirt came off over Frodo's head, it caught slightly on the Ring and Aragorn had to disentangle the two and give the shirt a slight tug. Frodo closed his eyes for a moment, letting the ranger undress him, giving in to the feel of the man's large hands on his body, tugging . . . and before the hobbit could stop his train of thought, he vividly recalled Rancit's hands on him . . . Rancit reaching for him, tearing his trousers off . . . A whimper escaped the hobbit, and as Aragorn finally yanked the nightshirt off Frodo's head, uncovering his face, he saw two large tears rolling out of Frodo's eyes, the lower lip quivering in remembrance. The ranger's heart melted. "Little one," he soothed, taking Frodo's face in his hands and bringing his head up to meet Aragorn's. "Frodo . . . are you . . . remembering what happened earlier today?" Frodo nodded. "I'm sorry, Strider, I . . ." It was a stab in the ranger's heart, he could not find it in himself to pressure the hobbit into going any further. Aragorn wanted Frodo's first time, more than anything, to be one of utmost pleasure. "Then we must stop," Aragorn told him through slightly gritted teeth. His aroused member was beginning to throb with need. The hobbit's own erection had subsided just a bit from the fear. Aragorn wrapped his arms around Frodo as he lay atop him and embraced him as tightly as he could without aggravating the hobbit's injuries. Frodo returned the embrace, clasping his arms around the man and burying his head in the ranger's warm chest. The emotions caught up with him, and he gave in as gentle sobs racked his small frame. Aragorn just held him, rubbing and patting his back gently, his groin still aching and his member still aroused. He would deal with it himself after Frodo fell asleep, he decided. Finally, the hobbit's tears subsided, and the ranger eased him gently away and lay him back down on the bed, brushing the wetness from the small cheeks. "Frodo, I care about you," the ranger told him, easing himself up on his elbows. "Please let me know how I can help you bear this . . . the thought of you in pain is heavy on my heart." Frodo shook his head. "I am all right. I will work through it, Strider . . . I have you to thank for my life." "Frodo, if you have only been doing this with me because of that . . ." the ranger began, his eyes hurt and troubled. "Well, it is done with. We will stop now---we cannot go farther. You need to lie back and go to sleep. Rest. You are still in too much pain, and . . ." "No! No, Strider . . ." Frodo leaned up slightly, wincing at the pain in his side, and met the ranger's steely eyes with his own bright blue ones. "Strider," he said in a low voice. "I don't want to stop. I want you more than I've ever wanted anything. Please. It was only for a moment there . . . the memory . . . as time goes by it will fade. I have much more difficult things to face in the coming weeks, of that I am certain. I yearn for your touch. I feel protected when I am with you, whole. Please . . . I want to do this. I *have* to do this." He smiled slightly, trying to lighten the conversation, and looked down at his own groin, which was again becoming aroused from the ranger's mere presence. "If I don't, I shan't ever get to sleep, you know." With that, Frodo reached his tiny arms up and clasped them around the ranger's neck, drawing him down and covering the man's mouth with wet, hungry kisses. "Frodo, are you certain?" Aragorn asked him, pulling away for a moment. "I've never been more certain of anything," was the muffled reply. Very carefully, his injuries aching a tad, Frodo sat up and gently pushed Aragorn to lie back on the bed. The ranger's eyebrows raised up a bit, but the hobbit only looked at him mischievously. Once the ranger was down, Frodo straddled the ranger and lay on top of him, his short legs on either side of the ranger's hips, their aroused penises rubbing together. Aragorn groaned loudly, reaching down to grab handfuls of the hobbit's dark curly hair. On top the ranger, the hobbit's head only came up to his chest, and Frodo took advantage to this. He wet his hands with his own saliva and gently rubbed them over Aragorn's chest, which was lightly covered with hair, and lowered his small rosebud mouth to gently suck a nipple. "Frodo . . . " the ranger choked out. The hobbit responded by pressing his hips more tightly onto Aragorn and gently rocking back and forth, while continuing to shower Aragorn's chest with sucking kisses and moving his hands down to rub over the soft fur at the bottom of the ranger's abdomen. "Frodo, damn . . . Frodo . . ." Aragorn clasped his hands up onto the hobbit's tender buttocks and squeezed, his fingers gently separating the twin globes and pulling down. Their aroused members ground together as they began moving rhythmically. "Strider . . ." Frodo pulled his head up, squeezing his eyes shut and losing himself to the sensation of his smaller penis crushed against the ranger's. He could feel the sticky dew from their two erect members mixing as they rocked. "Strider," he groaned, whimpering, biting his lip to keep from crying out. Aragorn knew he couldn't take much more without giving in to the waves of pleasure---and he wasn't ready to stop. Abruptly he stilled, reaching up and grasping the hobbit's small shoulders. Frodo looked at him wide-eyed, his face flushed and his body glowing, pink lips parting in question. "It's my turn, Master Baggins," the ranger told him. Gently he raised the hobbit up a bit and rolled Frodo onto his back, wincing and smoothing Frodo's hair back as the hobbit grimaced from the pain of his ribs. Then, rolling over himself, the ranger leaned over the hobbit, long hair hanging down around his face, and planted one long, lingering kiss upon the tiny lips. As he had done earlier, the ranger moved Frodo's hair aside and again kissed the tiny pointed ears, waiting for the purring sound he knew would come. Then the ranger scooted down to the hobbit's own erection and took it in one of his large hands, squeezing gently. He eased Frodo's legs apart, bending the hobbit's knees up a bit, listening to the hobbit's heavy breathing in the relative quiet of the room. Outside, the crickets chirped. Leaning down, the ranger kept one large hand wrapped around Frodo's penis and moved his warm lips to the sac just beneath. Frodo arched his back and neck at the sensation and his body started to tremble. Knowing he shouldn't indulge Frodo too long with this lest the hobbit climax, the ranger lifted his head up a bit and looked at the beautiful blue eyes, which lowered to meet his. How should he broach the next subject? "Frodo . . ." Aragorn told him, "if it does not pain you too badly to lie there while I do the work, I would like to feel you . . . inside of me. But, I fear I have no . . . preparation. Even though you are much smaller than a man would be, it would still be more comfortable with something to . . . ease the way. Especially for you, as you have not done this before." Frodo gazed at him, his eyes blinking. The idea of being inside the ranger's hot dark depths, to feel the throb of his body . . . to experience such a thing . . . it caught the hobbit off guard and he was overwhelmed with the thought of it. "Frodo?" the ranger said again. "Perhaps . . . you are not comfortable with doing this?" Frodo reached up and rubbed the ranger's chest, then his hands moved down lower to stroke the man's taut abdomen. Aragorn moaned at the light touch of those sensitive fingers. "By Elbereth, Strider . . . I can think of nothing I want more," the hobbit gasped, breathless. "I want to do it . . . very much. But wouldn't you get more pleasure out of . . . well . . . doing it the other way around?" "Frodo, I told you before . . ." "Very well," the hobbit answered. He became silent for a moment, thinking, and then his hobbit practicality kicked in. "Butter," Frodo said. "Butter?" the ranger echoed. "Frodo, we can't very well go down to Butterbur's pantry demanding butter at this time of . . ." "No, Strider," the hobbit replied, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "We have butter here." He turned his head and the ranger followed his gaze. On top of the tall corner table sat the tray of food Merry and Pippin had brought Frodo earlier in the evening. Frodo chuckled softly. "There is a large plate of butter up there, Strider," he said. "I did not touch it --- my stomach couldn't handle it at the time." The ranger's eyes lit up a bit at this good fortune. "So do you think you could handle it now, my dear hobbit?" he asked with a mischievous smile. "Oh, yes." "That we shall see," the ranger said as he reluctantly moved off the hobbit to get the plate, not really believing what he was doing. Going back to the bed, he sat down again next to the Frodo with the butter, and they both began to laugh mercilessly. "One thing is certain," Aragorn told him, "If anyone should notice this entire plate of butter gone, you must surely tell a falsehood and say you ate it . . . the butter, that is." He shook his head at that thought. "Frodo, we must be as quiet as we can. They are only next door." Frodo nodded. "Hobbits excel at being quiet, Strider." The ranger didn't answer. Instead, he coated his hands with the butter, and leaning over the hobbit, grasped Frodo's very aroused member, sensuously coating it with the oily substance. "That feels . . . very good," Frodo told him. "Ugh . . ." "Just you wait, little one," Strider replied. Lifting himself up slightly, he coated his own buttocks and anal opening with it. Then, leaning back a bit, Aragorn parted his legs, taking one of Frodo's hands and raising it to the ranger's own muscular opening between his own buttocks. "I will show you how it's usually done," the ranger told him. "Put your fingers in, Frodo. It will help me to relax a bit." The hobbit did as he was instructed, inserting two of his small fingers into the ranger and relaxing the tight muscle. Aragorn shivered as he felt the intrusion. It was not painful, as Frodo's fingers were tiny, but it was enticing, and he jumped a bit at the feeling. Aragorn was about to sit back up astride the hobbit, taking his erection inside, when he felt a hot, warm wetness settle on the tip of his erection. Frodo's lips. Aragorn moaned with a sound not unlike pain at the thought. The hobbit had bent over, grasping the ranger's buttocks with his tiny hands and taking in as much of the ranger's erection as he could handle. He was now quite expertly sucking on it and swirling his tongue around. The ranger's breath quickened. He had only dreamed about that mouth doing such things to him . . . the hot wetness of it. When the ranger didn't think he could take much more, the hobbit began to lavish attention on the ranger's testicles . . . and Aragorn bucked slightly, a low throaty growl coming from him. "Little one, you must stop --- NOW," he moaned. "Frodo . . . I can't wait any longer . . ." Knowing that if he went any further the ranger would come, Frodo pulled away, stroking Aragorn's powerful thighs with his tiny hands. Strider . . ." Frodo whispered. "Please . . . take me. I want you in me. It won't hurt me, truly. I want to give this to you." Aragorn's eyes bore into Frodo's for a moment. The ranger wanted nothing more than to claim that eager little body for his own, to sink his aching need . . . His brain told him no, but his loins won out. "Are you sure, Frodo?" he whispered. "Most definitely," the hobbit breathed. His chest and face beaded with sweat, Aragorn sat up on the bed and pushed Frodo back gently. Grasping the hobbit's thighs, being careful of the hobbit's still-injured ankle, Aragorn pulled him close until Frodo lay flat on his back among the tangled sheets of the bed. Then Aragorn grabbed a pillow. "Lift up," he commanded and placed the pillow under Frodo's rump to raise it just slightly. The hobbit was trembling, and the ranger's hands were shaky. Very gently, Aragorn pushed the hobbit's knees up and apart, spreading his legs. "This is going to hurt at first, Frodo," he told the hobbit. "Just tell me to stop, and it is done." Frodo shook his head. "No, no, we don't stop. I want to do it." Taking his right hand, the ranger rubbed the butter lightly over it, coating his fingers. Then he leaned in close between the hobbit's legs, spreading Frodo's buttocks apart until he could see the tiny opening. He sighed. This was going to be difficult, but if the pain was too bad for Frodo to bear, the hobbit would speak up. He hoped. Taking a finger, Aragorn gently thrust it into Frodo's opening, seeking, The hobbit moaned softly---a moan of pleasure. Aragorn gently slid the finger around, then inserted a second finger to try to relax the tight muscle. This time, Frodo made a small noise in his throat, and Aragorn looked up at him, but Frodo said nothing, only breathing hard. Aragorn gently added a third finger to his quest, and this time, Frodo did whimper. The hobbit's anus was tight; the ranger moved his finger around, slowly pushing them in further as Frodo grabbed the edge of a nearby sheet corner, grasping it with white knuckles. "Keep going," he said in a firm voice when the ranger paused. "Very well," the ranger said, his own breath coming fast. "Try to relax, Frodo." He could feel Frodo's anus relaxing slowly as he moved his fingers to and fro, stretching, and the hobbit gave a brief squeak as Aragorn found the small nut-shaped gland deep inside. Removing his fingers, Aragorn pressed Frodo's legs up and even further apart before he scooted himself up on his knees and knelt before the hobbit's spread buttocks. Coating his member heavily with the butter, Aragorn eased forward and touched his member to Frodo's small opening. Frodo gasped as he felt the sensation of Aragorn's penis in that most sensitive of areas. "Relax, Frodo," the ranger told him. "Just let it go." Scooching forward ever so slowly, Aragorn watched, rapt, as the very tip of his penis disappeared inside Frodo's rectum. Then he inched forward a bit more, consciously reminding himself to go slowly. There was a bit of pain for him as his member met with tightly constricted muscles. But the feel of it . . . was an almost unendurable pleasure. Frodo raised his hands to the ranger's back, clasping tightly as he studied the new sensations he was feeling. A slight pain, a spreading fullness . . . and he couldn't wait to welcome the full length of the ranger. But first, pain must be endured. Aragorn slowly inched his way forward some more, stopping when Frodo gritted his teeth and whimpered, his lower lip quivering. He was staring at the ceiling again, as he had been earlier in the night when Aragorn had examined him, and his eyes were shining with unshed tears. Aragorn reached up to caress a soft cheek and move the dark hair off the still-bruised forehead, tracing the tip of a pointed ear. "Easy, little one," he whispered. "How far to go?" the hobbit asked in a wavering voice. A tear rolled down his cheek, and the ranger reached up and rubbed it away. "I'm not sure, Frodo," Aragorn told him in a husky voice. "A few more inches, I suppose . . . we can stop any time." "No," the hobbit shook his head rapidly, wincing at the movement, and clutched the ranger more tightly. "Keep it coming," he said in a low voice. Not quite certain if he should, Aragorn slid further into the hobbit's small body. Frodo bit his lip hard to stop his cry of pain, his neck arching slightly, and the ranger leaned down and put his hand on the hobbit's forehead, soothing. "Relax, little one . . . almost there. It will be better in just a moment." With a final push, Aragorn slid his penis in as far it would go, shuddering at the feel of the slick wetness gripping him. As he pushed in, Frodo's head snapped back and he grimaced, moaned loudly. Aragorn put a hand to his mouth to muffle it, afraid their companions in the other room would hear. "Frodo," the ranger said, patting the hobbit's face gently. He was a bit concerned at the hobbit's glassy-eyed state. The ranger pulled himself out a bit and then pushed his member in again slightly, just hitting the small gland inside Frodo that usually promised great pleasure. Suddenly, the pain on Frodo's face faded and was quickly replaced by a wide-eyed look of disbelief. "Strider," he gasped. "Yes, little one?" the ranger asked, scared he'd hurt Frodo very badly. "What is it?" "Please . . . do that again. What you just did. Do it again," the hobbit murmured, his face coated with perspiration. Aragorn smiled. "So you like that? Very well . . . I shall make both of us very happy." Aragorn made sure he wasn't exerting too much pressure on the hobbit's small body beneath him. Then he slid his penis out slightly, then back in, out, and in, a few times in a rhythmic motion until he could feel Frodo relaxing considerably. Frodo finally lifted his shocked face and clasped Aragorn's back harder, his tiny fingers biting into Aragorn's skin and his deep blue eyes boring into the ranger's. Aragorn kept pumping in and out, trying to go slowly and not lose control. "Oh . . . Elbereth, Strider . . . oh . . ." Aragorn had to remind himself not to thrust too deeply, so consumed was he by the hobbit's tight warmth enclosing him. He himself was slick with sweat, panting, trying to keep the growls low in his throat.The sheets beneath them were tangled and moist. Aragorn reached down and clamped one large warm hand around Frodo's erection between them, rubbing firmly up and down the smooth pink shaft as the hobbit thrust upward in response. On the bed, Frodo's head was arched back, his brow beaded with sweat, his mouth open as he drew in great lungfuls of air. He groaned low in his throat from the sheer ecstasy of it, and Aragorn gently tried to shush him for a moment, hoping the sounds didn't carry too far. Frodo had never experienced such feelings---even when he had stroked himself, and he hadn't known what ecstasy such a union could bring. He could feel the ranger's member thrust deep within him, a pumping heat, the sensation of it far outweighing the pain. His own smaller penis was enclosed by Strider's hand as the ranger stroked it firmly, bringing waves of pleasure. The hobbit bit his lips to keep from crying out. "Frodo . . ." the ranger grunted as the waves built up to a pulsing crescendo. "My little one . . . I can't hold out much longer . . ." He continued to rub the hobbit's penis and was met with increasingly louder whimpers. The spasms rolled one upon the other until both were shuddering on the brink. "Strider!" the hobbit fairly howled, not caring who heard, as he gave one huge thrust upward with his hips and crossed over the brink in climax. Between them, Aragorn felt the sticky wetness of the hobbit's release. The ranger, panting, met the cry with his own as the waves built up and crashed. Deep inside Frodo's body, Aragorn found release as his member ejected its milky fluid. Then suddenly they were holding each other, their bodies going soft, spent with the sheer experience of it. To be continued FIC: TROUBLEMAKERS Part 10/10 Author: Lily Baggins PAIRINGS: Frodo/Aragorn RATINGS: NC-17 WARNINGS: NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL SITUATION IN AN EARLIER PART. Angst. h/c. SEX. Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises, or whoever has the rights now, and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time. In this fic, it's pretty obvious that Frodo's "disappearing act" in the bar never happens . . . sorry for messing with canon!! Setting: The Prancing Pony. As in the book, the hobbits sleep through the Black Rider raid. *** They lay there for many long minutes, limp as wet dishrags, their bodies still locked together. Aragorn was the first to stir. He raised his head slowly and looked at the small sweat-soaked face beneath him. Frodo's eyes were closed and his lips were curled upward into a slight smile. The ranger reached up and smoothed the dark hair from the bruised forehead. "Little one?" Frodo opened his eyes for a moment and sighed before closing them again. "Mmmmm . . ." he mumbled in a sleepy voice. "That was . . ." he trailed off, unable to find the words. Aragorn planted a soft kiss on the rosebud lips. Leaning up on his elbows, he moved his hips back to withdraw his now-flaccid member from Frodo's body. A grimace passed across the hobbit's face and Frodo jerked slightly as Aragorn's penis came free. "Frodo, did that hurt?" the ranger asked, concerned, as he rolled over to lay next to the hobbit and leaned over him. One hand came down to play with Frodo's dark curly bangs while the other rubbed the hobbit's collarbone. "It only burned a little, Strider. I'm feeling rather . . . raw . . . down there, is all." Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "I imagine you're feeling a lot more than that, Frodo. And if you don't now, you certainly will be in a few hours, I'm sure." "Probably. But it was worth it." Aragorn chuckled. "Now that I have spoiled you, Master Baggins, how did you find the experience? Was it to your liking?" Frodo t