Title: The Tongues Of Men
Author: Bragi-Blacktongue (bragiblacktongue@hotmail.com)
Pairing: Elrond/Frodo
Rating: R
Summary: Frodo in his care, Elrond undertakes some "hands on" healing. 
Pure smut.
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine. Belong in total to Tolkien Trust. Don't 
sue ;)
Warning: Non-consensual sexual situations - Foot worship
Authors Note: I don't like feet. I do like to challenge myself.

"You had best leave us." Although the risk was small, he did not want the 
infection of the shadow to pass on from the shuddering hobbit that lay 
before him.

The sharp ears of his retinue ignoring the protestations ushered the other 
hobbits and the ranger out.
"It is our way."
"He must heal on his own."

The hobbit they called Samwise lingered, placing a hand on the cool 
forehead of the incomprehensibly murmering and writhing form that was 
Frodo, an affectionate move not missed by the sharp elven eyes. He too 
then was bustled out of the room to leave the healing master his work.

And there Elrond stood, at the foot of the wide bed carrying a burden more 
cumbersome than any Middle Earth had seen. The One Ring had been 
already been placed upon a silver chain around Frodo's neck. The morgul-
blade wound had already been treated with the best herbage the craft had 
to yield. But it was only now that all was done that the true healing could 
occur.

Elrond leant forward, his ever-professional, proficient hands caressing at 
the wound, ensuring that the salve was performing the duty supposed of it. 
He reckoned upon the shadowy fever crippling Frodo's form with cold 
before head, and light bedding coverings and blankets lay folded for 
convenience sake at the base of the bed. Pure white sheeting presently 
covered the unconscious hobbit's feet.

For the moment, Elrond needed that to be there. Again taking his place 
standing meditative at the base of the bed, he looked down the hobbit from 
head to foot as the writhing abated. Unable to stop his eyes as the stared, 
an unrelenting dread and guilt plagued Elrond, and mandated that he must 
stay here until the end of the hobbit's fight for life, whether Frodo should 
pull through or no.

But it was not the Ring that drew his gaze; it was the unseen. It was not 
the prescence of the shadow but the hidden. In his own feverish move, 
Elrond quickly bent to uncover the feet of the slight hobbit that lay before 
him. The other elves had left them in their hurried bathing and cooling of 
the hobbit under the orders of Elrond himself. It is widely known that 
while tough and travel-hardy, the feet of hobbits can be as senstive as an 
elf's ears to the Black Speech, and indeed hobbits were rarely known to 
entrust the care of their feet to others.

The matted hair along the ridge of the feet and the leathery soles were yet 
caked with a variety of mud from Bag-End through Weathertop. 
Fragments and flecks of leaf litter so obviously from the Old Forest were 
caught in the accumulated muck from the banks of the Brandywine. Fine 
silt from the haunted barrows was etched into several cuts on the soles of 
Frodo's feet.

Elrond knelt forward, one knee on the bed between Frodo's feet, lifting the 
right foot toward his face to look more carefully at one graze in particular. 
It was clear that the feet would need attention, and gazing down upon 
them as he placed the foot back upon the bed, the elf-lord decided that 
now was the time of need.

He ran a finger along the base of Frodo's foot as he lay, the hobbit 
perceptibly moving somewhat, according with his information on half-ling 
physiology. Lifting his finger to eye level and looking at the fine grains of 
sand and dust that now graced his tip, he slowly drew a deep breath, 
allowing the scent to enter his nostrils.

Elrond moved a hand to support Frodo's ankle, feeling a distinct stirring in 
his groin as he lifted the foot up again, this time drawing his nail hand 
down the mud caked hair on the top of the foot and again he brought it to 
his face. This time, after breathing the sour, metallic scent of mud and 
hobbit hair he slowly placed his index finger to his lips, running his tongue 
along the grooves of his finger tip taking all that held on to Frodo's feet 
into his mouth and swirling the small amount of grit around in his mouth 
before swallowing his mouthful of dirt and saliva.

As blood raced to his rapidly stiffening member, Elrond passions flaring, 
he roughly lifted the foot to his face, placing the largest toe before his 
mouth and protruding his tongue to lick at the yellowed nail.

His tongue scratched past some grit beneath the nail and so Elrond brought 
Frodo's whole toe into his mouth, running his tongue now beneath the nail, 
easing the dirt out. Frodo began again to writhe on the bed, contorting the 
sheeting beneath him in patterns of clear pleasure. Elrond again swallowed 
after cleansing the large toe and moved to the others, systematically 
leaving each nail free of the bluish line of silt.

Frodo's face, eyes shut, suggested he was lost in a nightmarish rapture, 
lines of anguish and consternation around his eyes were contracticted by 
his opening mouth releasing sigh and moan. Elrond began groaning in 
response, taking the foot before him very seriously, now licking between 
the toes, eyes upon Frodo's face and hands that clawed absently at air or 
sheet.

Leaning forward now, Elrond moved his face to the top of Frodo's right 
foot, bring his tongue out to ease the matted mud from the thick hair. For 
the moment, the hobbit lay still, mouth yet open as if in anticipation while 
the elf cleansed the hair, licking it flat against the foot neat and practically 
combed.

And now he turned to the pinnacle of his sport; the sole of Frodo's foot. 
Even as he was low on the bed, his hot breath buffing the sole, Frodo 
squirmed again on the bed, murmuring incoherently. In one slick 
movement, Elrond brought his tongue to the sole, licking from heel to the 
base of the toes and the sleeping form of Frodo gasped, hands again 
closing in air. A smile slid across the elf's face as he saw the effect of his 
action. A bulge was becoming visible in the Frodo's white undergarment, 
and Elrond felt his own erection twitch at the attention he was putting 
towards his fantasy. As he knelt on the bed, worshipping the feet of the 
hobbit, he began rubbing his erection against the bed as he performed his 
healing.

Panting now as he cleansed the foot of the hobbit with long licks of his 
tongue, he left a slimy slather of saliva, unable to find himself unaffected 
by the hobbit's moans, his mouth watering intensely as he continued. His 
mouth filled with the sour, bitter grit of the hobbit's journey, he continued 
rubbing himself against the bed, bringing himself closer to the edge of the 
precipise of his passions.

Frodo too was writhing more than he had before, the bulge at his crotch 
evidently straining against the crisp white of the undergarment, a wet 
patch growing at the telltale head of his member. And suddenly as is wont 
to happen, Elrond found he was racing himself to the edge of that very 
cliff, moving his hips faster against the bed as he feverishly licked the 
hobbits feet over removing any last taste of sour earth. His tongue finding 
a deep cut as he climaxed, he let out a grunt and pushed forward on the 
bed, all his power and essence being projected forward towards the 
moaning Frodo.

As he lay there panting, leaning still over the feet of the halfling, he 
contemplated pleasuring Frodo, dubiously moving closer to the 
unconcious hobbit's waist. He might well do, but not with his hands; his 
hands would remain controlled. His hands were for healing, professional, 
elfin. Only his tongue would remain lusty and human.