Title:  Dinner Theatre
Author:  Brigantine
e-mail:  gidgetpup@netzero.com
Pairing:  Frodo/Sam/Aragorn
Rating:  NC-17
Warning:  Creative Hobbits at work - umm... creatively.
Summary:  Frodo and Sam think Aragorn needs some TLC.
Submitted for LOM Challenge #5: the Water Challenge - 2nd place for best PWP.
A/N:  The Bunny made me do it.
#########
 
On the morning of the fourth day down river from Lorien Aragorn had noticed that 
Boromir's dark mood was remarkably improved.  For the previous two days Boromir had 
been what Aragorn could only describe as twitchy.  He had taken to nibbling at his 
fingernails and sometimes muttering to himself, embarrassed when anyone noticed, as 
though he had not realized what he was doing.  Legolas had been watching the man 
carefully.  Then, on the fourth day Boromir had suddenly seemed to feel perfectly at ease.  
Jovial, even.  The change was abrupt and mysterious, but Aragorn was grateful for it.
 
Today was the sixth day of their journey down the Anduin, and Boromir seemed quite 
happy to putter domestically about their camp.  At the moment he was adding fuel to the 
fire for their noon meal.  Merry and Pip had been put in charge of preparing today's 
dinner.  Gimli had expressed concern as to whether or not this was prudent, and Legolas 
had discreetly echoed the Dwarf's reservations, but Aragorn could see no reason why the 
two Hobbits might not make a go of it.  Hobbits were after all very food-oriented, and 
they were in the middle of nowhere.  How much trouble could Merry and Pip get into 
simply by cooking dinner?  At this Legolas and Gimli had glanced at one another and  
muttered about burning down the forest, but Aragorn had decided that since they had 
been eating cold rations with no fire at night, a warm dinner at mid-day would keep 
spirits up, and he left them all to it.
 
Now, while Legolas kept watch for orcs and forest fires and Gimli mended a tear in 
Pippin's waistcoat, Aragorn wandered off toward the river's edge.  There Frodo perched 
on a warm rock in the sun as Sam massaged his shoulders.  Aragorn stretched his long 
limbs, enjoying the warmth and watching the sun-sparkles on the water.  He was tired 
and sore and worried about what dangers the Fellowship might face ahead, and the pretty 
sun-sparkles soothed him.
 
"Aragorn?"
 
"Mm?"  Aragorn finished his stretch.
 
"Are you alright?" Frodo inquired.
 
Aragorn stifled a yawn and smiled, "Yes, my friend.  A bit weary, is all.  It is no matter."
 
"Come and sit here," Sam offered.  "I'll put you right, just like I do for Mr. Frodo."
 
The Ranger hesitated for a moment, then decided it could do no harm, and ambled over to 
the two Hobbits.  He sat on the lawn, as Frodo's stone seat would have made him too tall 
for Sam to reach properly.  Sam began to massage his shoulders.  Aragorn admitted to 
himself that this was indeed a very pleasant sensation.
 
"Mr. Strider, sir," said Sam, "it'd be best if you take off this heavy leather over-coat."
 
Aragorn nodded and removed his surcoat, handing it to Frodo, who laid it aside neatly on 
the grass for him.
 
Sam massaged a bit more, his hands remarkably strong, digging in pleasantly to knots 
and sore places in the ranger's broad shoulders.  "Sir," Sam suggested, "this will work a 
lot better if you shuck this thick tunic."
 
Aragorn unlaced his thick velvet tunic, pulled it off over his head, and handed it to Frodo, 
who observed the proceedings with interest.
 
Sam continued to work his magic, Aragorn's body easing beneath his ministrations, the 
ranger's dark head beginning to droop forward as he relaxed.  Then, "Sir," Sam 
murmured close to his ear, "if you could take off your shirt I could really get some of 
these nasty knots out of your back.  Honestly, I don't know how you get through a day, all 
wound up like you are."
 
Aragorn shrugged out of his shirt with hardly a thought, his body loose and warm in the 
sunshine, and Sam's strong hands rubbing good and hard into all the places in the ranger's 
back that ached and clenched and yearned for some serious attention.  Aragorn let out a 
low groan of contentment.
 
Frodo grinned at Sam, blue eyes bright, dimples flashing.  Sam dug his talented hands 
deeply into Aragorn's muscles, rubbing firmly over his bared skin, up his long back, and 
then down again, stopping at the waist of his leather trousers.  "Sir," Sam whispered, "if 
you could wriggle out of these bothersome trousers..."
 
Aragorn came out of his light trance.  "What's that?"
 
"Sam can give your legs a nice rub-down, just as he's done with your back," Frodo 
suggested.
 
"I..."
 
"Tell you what, why don't you just lie down on the nice warm grass here?"
 
One eyebrow tugged downward.  "Take off my trousers and lie on the grass," Aragorn 
summed.
 
Frodo bounced on his toes.  "Oh, *yes!*  I mean, sure, if you want to.  Sam's magic 
hands, and all that."
 
Aragorn eyed the two hobbits briefly.  He really was very tired, and the sun was warm, 
and the sausages Pip and Merry were arguing over whether or not to add onions to had 
begun to smell rather good. 
 
When Aragorn lay bare to the green grass, the golden sun, and Frodo's blue, blue eyes, 
Sam began to work on his ankles.  It certainly was lovely to just lie there without his 
boots and all that heavy gear.
 
He opened his eyes and peered about curiously when he heard quick scuffling noises.  
Sam had moved up to Aragorn's shoulders.  Frodo knelt between Aragorn's knees.
 
Frodo was naked.
 
Aragorn blinked rapidly with the beginnings of genuine alarm, and glanced sideways.  
Naked Frodo.  Naked Sam.  Naked Aragorn.
 
The Ranger lunged to his feet, but was restrained halfway by the two hobbits.  "Now, 
now, Strider Sir, there's no need for fussin' and gettin' all skittish!  You just come back 
here and let us take care of you."
 
Aragorn glared from one hobbit to the other.  "Listen, I don't now what the devil you two 
have in mind--"
 
"Plenty of time before dinner," Frodo told him.
 
"Time for what?"
 
"For this o'course," Sam said, pulling Aragorn back down to the warm grass and kissing 
him soundly.
 
"Mmmmf, I-- now wait a moment here," the ranger objected a bit breathlessly.
 
Frodo kissed his knee.
 
"Stop that.  I--"
 
Sam kissed his nose.
 
"Sam!  I said--"
 
Frodo kissed his bellybutton.
 
"Say now!"  Aragorn's scarred hands batted ineffectually at the two hobbits, his Fierce 
Ranger training doing him no good at all at the moment.  "I don't--"
 
Sam kissed him on the mouth again.
 
"Will you listen!"
 
Frodo kissed him on his--
 
"Hoy!  Oo!  That's not--that's... that's really rather... guh," stuttered Aragorn.
 
"Right-ho," Frodo smiled.  He dimpled winningly at the ranger.  "Let us take care of you, 
Aragorn.  You're always looking after us.  We want to do something nice for you."
 
Aragorn was blushing brightly.  "Ahm.  Now Frodo, this is, well, *very* nice, but don't 
you think it's a bit much?  I mean, rather inappropriate; you, me, Hobbits, a Man--"
 
Frodo's smile drooped.  "What d'you mean, hobbits, men, inappropriate?"
 
Sam bridled indignantly.  "Why, I never!  Now you've made Mr. Frodo unhappy!"
 
"No, no,"Aragorn protested. "Please, I meant no insult, it's just that--"  The ranger cleared 
his throat uncomfortably and blushed more deeply beneath his beard.  "You see, er, you 
know, the size difference; men, hobbits, big, smallish, flailing limbs, possible injuries..."  
Aragorn grimaced.  "You see.  Yes.  Er."
 
Sam sat back on his heels and shared a look with Frodo.  "Ahhhhh," they nodded, 
smirking at each other.
 
"Not to worry," Frodo assured Aragorn enthusiastically.  "We have this worked out."
 
"Oh.  Well then."  Aragorn frowned thoughtfully as Sam gently pushed him back down 
onto the soft grass.  "Wait, what do you mean--you've been *planning* this?"
 
"Hush," said Sam.
 
Frodo rubbed his hands together briskly.
 
"Um..." Aragorn ventured nervously.
 
"Shush," Sam reassured, kissing him lightly.
 
Rummaging quickly into the pocket of his vest where it lay on the lawn, Frodo produced 
a small bottle, and settled with it between Aragorn's knees.  He popped the cork, poured 
some of the gleaming liquid into the palm of one hand, and began very gently caressing 
Aragorn where he had previously kissed him.
 
Aragorn let out a low, even groan, and the two hobbits smiled at each other over him as 
his body responded with undisguised enthusiasm to Frodo's ministrations.  "Oo," Frodo 
commented happily, "You're very... responsive, Aragorn!"
 
Aragorn gulped and closed his eyes.  "Mmm."
 
"Now," Frodo commanded politely, "I'm going to need for you to lift up your knees a 
bit... there, that's good, now just let your legs relax and fall open a bit, give me some 
room... oh, that's lovely."  Frodo cleared his throat. "Lovely indeed," he added 
appreciatively, snuggling up against the tender back of Aragorn's muscular right thigh. 
 
Sam watched Frodo's dimpled cheeks flushing pink.  He bit his lower lip at the sight of 
Frodo and what he was doing and to whom he was doing it, and trailed thoughtful fingers 
lightly over the delicate rosy surface of the ranger's left nipple.
 
Aragorn made soft, pleased noises that rumbled in his chest.
 
Frodo poured a little more oil onto his hand, and dribbled some onto Aragorn, letting it 
trickle southward.
 
Aragorn's eyes snapped open.  "Frodo.  Frodo, what are you doing?"
 
Frodo did precisely what the Ranger suspected he was about to do.  
 
"Yah!  Wait!  I don't know about this Frodo, I think--"
 
"And that's your problem," Sam scolded gently.  "You think far too much.  Now let Mr. 
Frodo work.  Really, I don't know how Men get by, always so tense, arguin' over little 
things."
 
Ignoring them both, the tip of his pink tongue thrust out in concentration, Frodo moved 
his fingers in small, slow, gentle circles, waiting for Aragorn to get used to the contact 
and relax.
 
Aragorn took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "Right.  I can do this," he muttered.  He 
had battled cave trolls, orcs and worse.  Of course he could do this, whatever it turned out 
to be.  Absolutely.
 
Sam patted him on the shoulder and began lightly running his callused fingers through 
the soft hair on Aragorn's broad chest.  "That's the spirit Strider Sir," the sturdy gardener 
crooned, moving his strong hand in slow swathes across the ranger's torso.
 
Aragorn twitched.  "Frodo!"
 
"Just fingers," the hobbit murmured. "Friendly fingers."
 
Sam twined his other hand in Aragorn's dark hair and soothed him, kissing his forehead 
and stroking his chest.
 
Aragorn's hands fluttered briefly, looking for something to do.  Sam took hold of the left 
and began sucking on Aragorn's fingers.  Aragorn made a small, strangled noise.
 
Frodo hummed to himself as he regarded his own fingers and what they had got 
themselves up to.  He smiled, adding a generous amount from the little bottle.
 
Aragorn squirmed.  "Ah.  Frodo.  Not to complain, but is that, erm..."  His grey eyes 
widened.  "Frodo, is that *all* of your knuckles that I feel?"
 
"M-hmm," said Frodo, concentrating very carefully on his knuckles and where they were 
disappearing.  He pushed gently, but firmly.
 
"Oick," grunted Aragorn, seriously doubting whether or not he should be here, and 
wondering how the devil he could escape if he wanted to.  He was, he concluded, fairly 
committed to the moment.
 
Frodo scooched up a bit, leaning more comfortably against Aragorn's hip and bracing his 
left arm around Aragorn's waist.  Knuckles in.  Now, the wrist. "You're so... warm inside, 
Aragorn.  Slick as a newborn foal."
 
The ranger had begun breathing like a slow bellows.  Aragorn swallowed hard, feeling 
Frodo's nimble fingers moving carefully within him.  The sensation was extremely odd. 
And then...
 
"Ah, here we are," Frodo said to himself in a triumphant little murmur.
 
Aragorn yipped and nearly lifted off the ground, held back from a short, awkward flight 
only by Sam's weight suddenly across his chest.  "F-f-frodo!"
 
"I told you it would be nice," the hobbit said, blue eyes gleaming.  He stroked the 
particular place he had found within Aragorn's body.  "You know, this would work better 
if you wouldn't thrash about like that."
 
Frodo gently caressed the pleasurable place again, enjoying the noises the ranger was 
making and chuckling at the way Aragorn's left leg jolted apparently of its own accord.  
He leaned forward and wrapped his warm mouth about the firm, hot flesh so 
conveniently there in front of him.  He sucked thoughtfully.
 
Aragorn convulsed upward, nearly dislodging Sam and squeaking when this caused 
Frodo to accidentally clip him with his front teeth. The ranger settled back, quivering, on 
the grass.
 
Frodo licked him.
 
It was too much.
 
Frodo heard a startled squawk, there was a moment of thrashing, and then suddenly 
Sam's face was upside down near his own, brown eyes wide with surprise and something 
quite like unexpected pleasure.
 
Aragorn had for all practical purposes swallowed Sam whole, trying to keep himself quiet 
and giving himself a way to express his own considerable pleasure while Frodo stroked 
him from the inside out and licked and kissed the ranger in wonderfully sensitive places.
 
Sam's legs kicked feebly on either side of Aragorn's head.
 
Frodo smiled to himself.  Aragorn was a new taste, and he decided that he rather liked the 
taste of Ranger.
 
"Cor," Sam gasped, clutching at Aragorn's trembling body while the ranger's big hands 
did lovely things to his backside.
 
Frodo put a bit more spin on what his talented fingers were up to.  He applied himself a 
bit more to the game his tongue was playing.
 
Aragorn groaned, in spite of his mouth being full.
 
Sam gurgled, clutching.
 
Aragorn writhed, and wrapped his brawny arms tightly about Sam.
 
Sam's eyes opened very wide.  He swore under his breath.  His face turned red.  He 
wriggled and twitched, and with a sharp cry of rapture Sam collapsed in a limp heap atop 
Aragorn's belly.
 
Frodo sighed at the sight of him, and moaned into the hot flesh in his mouth.  He braced 
himself for the rush, twiddled his fingers delicately, and was suddenly flooded with the 
wild taste of Ranger as Aragorn yowled against the inside of Sam's right leg and bucked 
so hard that poor Sam rolled right off of him onto the grass.  Frodo's mouth let Aragorn 
loose with a quick, wet popping sound.
 
Frodo laughed delightedly.  He very gently retrieved his wrist, his knuckles and his clever 
fingers. 
 
Sam lay staring at the sky for a moment before he sat up dizzily, leaned in to kiss Frodo 
thoroughly, never minding the added spice of Ranger, and he and Frodo made their way 
up Aragorn's body to kiss him on each cheek of his flushed face and then flop down on 
either side of him.  
 
Aragorn blinked dazedly.  "Nnnngg..."
 
Frodo petted the sweaty silk of Aragorn's chest hair.  "Was that alright then?"
 
Aragorn swallowed.  His voice hitched.  "Was it--?"  He stared into the sky for a moment, 
then, "Puppet," he said.
 
"What's that?"  Frodo asked.
 
Aragorn giggled a bit manically.  "I'm a happy Hobbit hand puppet."
 
Sam spluttered and kissed him, while Frodo lay back and laughed at the sky.  He turned 
back toward the Ranger, his face growing more solemn.  "But you did like it, I hope."
 
Aragorn grinned at him.  "That I did, Master Frodo, and I thank you both!  But ehm, 
about yourself now?"
 
"Ah," Frodo smiled and waggled his eyebrows.  "Don't worry yourself about that. The 
two of you just, you know, doing what the two of you did, and me doing what I did, well, 
I'm taken care of let's say."
 
Aragorn ruffled Frodo's dark curls.  "The resourcefulness of Hobbits continues to amaze 
me!  I never would have thought of doing, er, what you just did, you know..."  Aragorn's 
hands flailed a bit, losing track of his words in the after-glow.
 
"Oh, I didn't think *that* one up," Frodo admitted easily.
 
"That was Pip," Sam said.
 
"Pippin?"
 
"O'course.  Why d'you suppose Boromir's been in such a good mood lately?"
 
Aragorn tilted his head far back, trying to see past the bushes on the river bank to where 
Boromir was calmly dousing a small, extraneous fire while Merry and Pippin obliviously 
debated over whether the sliced apples should be eaten raw or fried in the sausage grease, 
and should they add raisins.  Gimli and Legolas looked on with a restrained sort of 
horror.
 
Aragorn glanced from Frodo to Sam.  "Boromir?  When?  While we've been moving 
down river?  But day or night I've never heard a suspicious moan nor groan out of him."
 
Frodo rested his curly head against the ranger's shoulder, chuckling, "Gracious!  The way 
Merry kisses?  I should say not!"
 
--end--