Title: His Last  
Author: snaga-hai (captain@troubled-teens.org)  
Pairings: Frodo/Gollum, Frodo/Sam  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: Sometimes lessons must be learnt – lessons that 
you should trust no one but yourself, for example. One 
fragile night in Mordor’s undergrowth, a creature sets out 
to teach Frodo Baggins the lesson he needs. After that, who 
knows what Sam will do in retaliation?  
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein are not mine, 
no matter how much I wish it. No copyright infringement is 
intended.  
Warnings: Non-Consensual Sexual Situations, Character 
Death, (Slightly) Graphic Violence, Necrophilia  
Authors Note: This is a response to the 2nd option of the 
archivist’s challenge. For some reason I had trouble 
getting beta-readers for this…But thanks to Layla, who did 
beta for me. Enjoy the horrific goodness.  
 
--  
 
It was not a stormy night.  
 
It was calm all around, and sleep came lovingly to their 
bodies, for they were weary to their very soul. They had 
travelled far and could not continue without rest. The 
serenity of the plains washed over them and cleansed from 
them their fatigue, replacing it instead with a feeling of 
solace. It was a queer deception that these lands chose for 
their prey, as it was their usual practice simply to 
paralyse their victims so that they could do nothing but 
scream, while their bodies were ravaged by the creatures 
that inhabited those lands.  
 
Frodo and Sam were asleep long before the sun went down, 
and those creatures began to move. A slender finger brushed 
along Frodo’s temple, and he shivered unknowingly in his 
sleep. Sam’s touch never felt like this. His was shyer, and 
more tentative. This touch, though soft, was deliberate and 
felt almost as if it were intended to be tantalisingly 
painful. The hand slipped lower, trailing across Frodo’s 
shoulder and across his chest before coming back up to 
linger at his neck.  
 
Then sharp teeth sank themselves into the white flesh 
between his neck and shoulder. Frodo cried out against the 
leathery hand that had affixed itself tightly to his lips. 
There was a sigh from his attacker when Frodo’s tongue 
splashed against the hand that held him silent. A thin 
trickle of blood trailed slowly down the hobbit’s chest, 
and a finger began to spread it around, pushing the thin 
material of his shirt to one side. Frodo was thankful that 
he had hidden the Ring under the blanket that served at his 
pillow this night.  
 
Frodo emitted a small gasp as thin, bony legs straddled his 
waist and a cold tongue connected with the blood now 
running freely down his chest. It twisted in circles, 
coming dangerously close to his nipple. Against his will, 
and against the creature that kept him capture, Frodo began 
to find himself slowly hardening. The creature felt this, 
and licked more hungrily, bringing its’ mouth up to the 
wound where it began to suck gleefully.  
 
The next thing Frodo felt was a piece of cloth being tied 
around his face to stop protest. His hands were bound above 
his head to the tree that he laid next to. Cold, clammy 
hands shredded the now-bloodstained shirt from his skin and 
rested for a moment on his stomach. The creature got up 
from its position on Frodo’s waist and sat alongside him. 
Frodo sensed something in close proximity to his stomach, 
and twitched. As he did so, a pair of slick lips attached 
themselves to his skin and began to suck, and then there 
were nips too as those sharp teeth reclaimed his flesh.  
 
To his horror, Frodo found himself hardening more at the 
touch. The sucking became more furious, and blood began to 
seep slowly from the miniature wounds left where the 
creature had been. Frodo shivered, and felt the familiar 
tension begin to build up at the base of his spine. The 
creature began to stroke his chest in a similar rhythm to 
its suckling, and Frodo moaned through the cloth that was 
wrapped around his face.  
 
The lips that consumed his stomach parted and the creature 
began to slowly lick the blood it had left behind. It was a 
slight and ticklish gesture that made the tension that 
slowly stretched over Frodo quicken in pace, and shudder 
from head to toe. He could feel himself beginning to leak. 
Soon his chest was clean of blood, except for the fresh 
liquid that poured from the shoulder wound, and Frodo felt 
the creature pull back. Perhaps it had finished, and Frodo 
could begin to feel normal instead of this strange arousal 
that was overpowering him.  
 
The fact that it was not over became obvious when the gag 
was removed and a mouth, smothered with warm saliva, 
suckered itself to Frodo’s bottom lip. Those sharp teeth 
began to bit him on the lip, soft at first, but hard in 
quick succession. The coppery taste of his own blood began 
to pollute Frodo’s taste buds. The creature began to kiss 
him then, fierce and insisting, drinking on the blood that 
seeped from Frodo’s bruised lips.  
 
Frodo’s hips bucked. The creature moved its tongue inside 
Frodo’s mouth, diving around as if searching for something 
and cleaning it of blood as it went. Frodo thought he would 
die then, for the pleasure of the sensation was too much. 
Orgasm threatened his body. The creature began to bite 
softly on Frodo’s tongue and he shuddered once more, 
savouring in the taste of another.  
 
The creature began to bite harder, hard enough to hurt and 
Frodo whimpered through his nose, tears beginning to drip 
silently from his eyes, and a trail of mucus building up 
below his nose. The creature bit hard on Frodo’s tongue and 
he in reflex bit down on the creature. Their blood began to 
mix together as the creature kissed him again. Frodo was 
close to breaking point.  
 
Then, almost as if in shock, the creature pulled back, 
leaving its head by the earlier wound that still bled 
freely, licking it. Moving its mouth back to Frodo’s, the 
quietest of whispers crept into being.  
“My precious…”  
 
Then the creature bit down hard on his tongue one last 
time, and Frodo came uncontrollably, screaming and 
spluttering into the unresponsive night as he drowned in 
his own blood.  
 
--  
 
Sam awoke to the sound of a piteous scream filled with 
ecstasy and pain. Leaping up, he span around to see the 
lifeless body of his master lying on the floor, blood 
splattered across his chest and mouth. Casting his eyes 
downwards, Sam held back the bile that was rising in his 
throat. His master was lying in his own semen, spread 
liberally across the front of his clothing. Curiosity got 
the better of Sam, and pushing aside his sorrows for a 
moment, he undid the buttons and took the last of Frodo’s 
clothing aside.  
 
His dripping, now less engorged penis lay open to the 
elements. Sam drew a sharp breath, and with a shaking hand 
reached forwards to touch it. His fingers caressed it for a 
moment, but got no reply. For a moment, Sam felt guilt. 
Frodo had never let him touch him like this before, for 
fear of discovery and expulsion from hobbit-kind. The 
temptation was overwhelming. Sam cried out and pushed his 
former master over in hope of expelling his desires.  
 
But then he could see his way of entrance, and the 
temptation crept back again. It crept lower and began to 
arouse him, until he had to take off his breeches to stop 
the pressure becoming any more painful. The acrid smell of 
stale blood was beginning to rise in the air, and Sam 
sensed that if he were to act, he should do it quickly.  
 
Frodo’s back was stone cold to touch, and Sam did so with a 
shaking hand. Kissing the back of Frodo’s neck and begging 
forgiveness from his Gaffer, Sam began to thrust. He 
whimpered at the tightness of Frodo’s entrance, and paused 
for a moment, wondering if he should go on. Instead of 
stopping, he pushed in again, this time deliberately and 
with more purpose. He could feel his skin being rubbed raw 
at the friction between it and the clenched muscles 
surrounding.  
 
With three more thrusts, Sam had collapsed, saturated, 
against his master’s back. Releasing himself from Frodo’s 
body, he fell onto his back and looked up at the stars. His 
body was strewn with blood where he had rubbed up against 
Frodo, and his hands were slick with bodily fluids where 
they had roamed over Frodo’s unmoving corpse. Sam closed 
his eyes and began to drift off into a not-so peaceful 
sleep.  
 
In the darkness, a creature licked at the dry, cracked 
blood around his lips. It was time for the main course.