MST 1

FRODO: Um. Remind me why we’re doing this again?
THIA, patiently: To cheer up Adrienne.
FRODO: And that’s a good thing because...
PIPPIN: Because without Adrienne we wouldn’t get laid nearly as often.
MERRY: Bit too contemporary on the phrasing there, Pip. And besides, we would get laid. It’s Frodo and Sam who’d suffer.
THIA, through her teeth: Sit down and pay attention to the screen, Meriadoc Brandybuck, or in my next story you’re going to get intimate with the Balrog, do you understand me?
PIPPIN: Oy, there’s no need to get nasty.

AN AWAKENING

HOBBITS: Rivendell fic!
THIA: How do you know?
FRODO: Because ‘Return of the King’ hasn’t come out yet, so no one is thinking of Ithilien and the Field of Cormallen.
MERRY: Or else the author was feeling truly unoriginal.
THIA: Oy, no dissing Mira![1]

Cerulean eyes flashed open in startled surprise.

FRODO: Cerulean?
SAM: I always thought they were gray, myself.

Fear clapped icy fingers around his thrumming heart and squeezed in gentle suffocation.

MERRY: Isn’t that a cheerful image.
PIPPIN: Whose thrumming heart? I’m lost already.
SAM: I liked the cerulean eyes better.
MERRY: Yes, Sam, we know.
FRODO: Cerulean?
THIA: I think we broke something.

For a moment his mind did not register its peaceful surroundings and dwelt instead on its last horrific image, that of the Nazgul crossing the Ford to lay claim of his soul...and the Ring...for the Dark Lord.

FRODO: Cerul – Wait a minute, soul? I don’t remember my soul being in question.
MERRY: Body, yes. Life, certainly. And the Ring’s a given. But soul, no.
SAM: That came later.
[KRISTEN slips in and sits down next to THIA.]
KRISTEN, in a whisper: Have I missed anything?
THIA, also in a whisper: Just cerulean eyes and some adjectives run amuck.

But slowly, finally, as his wide eyes took in the lush, golden surroundings, he realized that he was free of the clutches of The Nine, and he relaxed his dark, curly head against a pillow so deep and luxuriant that it caressed his flamed cheeks,

[FRODO whimpers.]
PIPPIN: Flamed cheeks...ooo, Frodo as a nice rare steak!
MERRY: Yet another image I didn’t need, Pippin.

while a fragrant mattress equally sumptuous enveloped his weary body with a lover’s embrace.

SAM, muttered: Stupid mattress.

Above his head, a graven image of a beautiful Elven princess stood watch over him, arms opened wide, as if protecting him from the darkest hideousness the bowels of the earth could produce.

MERRY: Really? Here I always thought she was saying, ‘the one that got away was this big!’
KRISTEN: Or ‘come and give your Auntie Grizelda a bear hug!’

The burning pain and numbness in his chest, shoulder and arm was gone...replaced by the soothing rays of Elrond’s potent remedy.

PIPPIN: I’m torn. Do I make snide comments about Elrond’s use of sunlight or about his use of marine animals?
THIA: No, the marine animals are from a different story altogether.[2]
FRODO: At least if it’s sunlight, we know this isn’t a vampire-hobbits story.

He was safe, safe in the fold of Rivendell, in the house of Elrond Halfelven, and amongst the fairest people in all of Middle-Earth.

MERRY: I thought the Rivendell Elves were all brunettes.
FRODO: The author means ‘fair’ as in ‘beautiful’, Merry.
PIPPIN: Galadriel would still be pissed.

A sigh of relief escaped Frodo’s lips that reached all the way down into his belly.

[Moment of silence from the HOBBITS.]
MERRY: That is an incredibly obscene image.

and he snuggled deep into his warm, silken bedding in a haze of refuge and comfort that seemed almost obscene to be borne.

MERRY: Didn’t I just say that?
FRODO: I think the author means too obscene to be borne.
PIPPIN: It’s not that bad.
SAM: Yet.
KRISTEN: Give it time.

”Obscene?” he thought boldly. “Then let it be so! I have been rescued nearly from the dragon’s gullet, and I will revel in my recovery and welcome every fair being to lave my body with pleasure for I have been born again!”

SAM: What?
[KRISTEN hands Frodo a bumper sticker bearing a fish with the name ‘Jesus’ centered inside it.]
FRODO, ignoring the bumper sticker: Obviously confused. It was Bilbo who met the dragon. Besides, I’m much more choosy about which fair beings get to, er, ‘lave my body with pleasure.’
THIA, quietly: Nice save.

Yet even as he thought this, his cheeks crimsoned further with such a concept. He, Frodo, wifeless and a virgin at the age of 50...young by hobbit years, but well into adulthood...inviting all to feast on him as if he were a king’s banquet.

PIPPIN: And we’re back to the ‘Frodo as nice rare steak’ image.
THIA: Somehow I don’t think that’s quite what the author was going for.
MERRY: Yes, but all the other jokes don’t work.
THIA: Hmm. Roast pig...no, definitely not. Apple in his mouth – oh dear. I see what you mean.

His hands slid over his body, a bit plump but still very slender by corpulent hobbit standards.

SAM: Who’s she calling ‘corpulent’?
MERRY: Maybe she thinks Fatty is the epitome of hobbit beauty.
THIA: Hey! Watch what you say about Fredegar!

Lifting the cool, soft gown that had been put on him, he laid his open hands on warm flesh, running them over his slightly rounded belly, reaching to the tops of his smooth thighs...which was about the extent of the range of his hobbit-sized arms.

FRODO: Were adjectives on sale that day?
MERRY: Special, two for the price of one.

He closed his eyes almost in embarrassment, his plush lashes making twin crescents on his full cheeks, as his fingertips began their ascent up the velvetness of his inner thighs.

FRODO: Plush lashes? What am I, a teddy bear?
SAM: Still not as bad as ‘cerulean eyes’, sir.
MERRY: Wait, isn’t there a logistical problem here? I thought his hands could only reach the tops of his thighs. And now they’re ascending?
THIA: It’s a very short ascent.

His right palm fluttered quickly over the rigid organ now burning his skin with its own heat, and his breath caught in his throat at the pleasure even so light a touch could bring.

PIPPIN: Burning his skin? Frodo is secretly a furnace?
MERRY: Must make masturbation uncomfortable, if he burns his hand every time.
FRODO: Be quiet, you two, or I’ll ask Thia to choose a story of yours next time.
MERRY, muttered: Suck-up.

In apprehension and furtiveness, his eyes squinted open...a shimmer of blue fire...

FRODO: Oh, no.
MERRY: Sure you don’t want us to go back to you masturbating?
FRODO: This whole section is me masturbating – there’s no escaping it.
PIPPIN: I can’t get any worse, can it?
FRODO: Than ‘blue fire’? I’m afraid to ask.

to assure himself that he indeed was alone in the large room. It was so.

THIA: Although since in the movieverse there weren’t any curtains or doors, that didn’t mean as much as it might.

He pulled the gown over his head, letting it fall to the floor with a soft flutter, and gave himself up to the enjoyment of his own body.

FRODO: Is this where I protest I’m not Angelica, and I really do prefer things with a partner?
THIA: No mirrors have been mentioned. I think you’re safe.

his small but graceful hand gripping an organ that was generous for the diminutive realm of hobbits. Nay! He told himself in contented exultation as his closed fist fell far short of encircling it, Not only for Hobbits, but to be sure for Elves, Dwarves and Men as well!

THIA: Button it up, all of you. I’ll get the tape measure out after we’re done reading.

His breath came in heavy gasps as his arousal increased with each passing second.

MERRY: Are you sure no mirrors have been mentioned?
THIA: He’s supposed to be turned on by, um, the joy of his escape.
FRODO: Last I noticed, I don’t usually fantasize about escaping from Black Riders.
KRISTEN: An unconscious kink, maybe? I wonder what Freud would say...oh, he’s already having a field day.

Kicking the coverlet off him, he pointed his knees at the high, etched ceiling, and lifted his hips from the bedding in a gentle, undulating rhythm...

MERRY: As Frodo began his new career as an exotic dancer...
[KRISTEN waves a $20.]
FRODO: You do realize Sam has his frying pan with him, don’t you?
[KRISTEN rapidly shoves the $20 away and proceeds to study her fingernails.]

one hand cradling his swollen scrotum, while the other stroked a penis that was already close to disgorging its thick seed. Already, a clear, viscous honey dribbled from the tip, an unmistakable herald of orgasm closing in.

FRODO: Honey? I’ve seen food metaphors before about hobbit sex, but honey?
PIPPIN: I don’t know – Sam, does it taste sweet?
SAM: None of your beeswax.
THIA: Was that pun really necessary?

Frodo released the gentle grip of his scrotum

MERRY: Wait a second – who’s gripping whom, here?

to touch the glossy, maroon head,

FRODO: Adjectives definitely on two-for-one sale.
KRISTEN: Membership at Adjective Costco. Lot of 50 for the price of one.

letting the syrupy juice coat his fingers, then bringing the fingers to his lips to taste his own salty-sweetness.

FRODO: I wish she’d make up her mind - is it honey or corn syrup?
THIA: It’s juice. More food metaphor – hobbithood as plum.
MERRY: Did you just say ‘hobbithood’?
KRISTEN: What would you rather she’d said? C’mon, you’ve seen some of those metaphors.
MERRY: Kindly do not bring logic into this.

He shuddered in the double-ecstacy of complete safety and sexual bliss, and redoubled his efforts, desperately longing to feel the beauty of the orgasm slam his every nerve ending with a pleasure not found anywhere else in nature.

PIPPIN: I don’t know. Mrs. Chubb’s peach cobbler is pretty close...what? Why is everyone looking at me?
FRODO: Merry, do we need to have a talk?
MERRY: We had a run of he’s-too-young stories. I’ll take care of it once we’re through here.

Suddenly, urgent footsteps padding toward the closed door of the bedchamber made his heart falter in his chest.

THIA: Because, y’know, it might be Black Riders or something. In Rivendell.
FRODO: Or Figwit. Which is nearly as bad.
KRISTEN: Shrieking fangirls, maybe. With cameras.

He quickly threw the coverlet back over himself, his entire body crying out with pain at the thwarted orgasm,

MERRY: Ouch. Blue balls.
PIPPIN: To go with his blue eyes.
FRODO: My eyes aren’t blue.

as the door burst inward and his loyal manservant Samwise entered the room, anxiety and concern crossing his usual jovial brow.

SAM: ‘Jovial’?
FRODO: Means you’re usually smiling. I think.
SAM: Begging your pardon, but I’m usually weeding.
THIA: Hmm. I could see how that would cut down on the smiles right there.
KRISTEN: I believe Frodo would be the one smiling, considering Sam’s bent on hands and knees and... [ALL look at her.] Oh, what!

When he saw Frodo awake and gazing at him, he capered with happiness.

SAM: ‘Capered’?
FRODO: It’s to balance out the ‘blue fire’ and ‘cerulean’.
SAM: Not hardly it doesn’t.

”Mr. Frodo, Mr. Frodo! Oh so glad I am that you’re awake at last!

THIA: Since when is Sam Yoda?
KRISTEN: Well, a frying pan is pretty close to a gimmer...stick...okay...I give up now.

I was so worried...I...I didn’t know what I was going to do if you left me.”

SAM: I knew exactly what I was going to do.
MERRY: Yes, Sam, but I’m fairly certain the Witch King wouldn’t have stayed still for it.
SAM: Why not? You got through to him.
MERRY: I had Eowyn helping. You wouldn’t have.

He approached the edge of the bed and, bending low over him in relief, he placed a hand over Frodo’s wrist in a warm gesture of affection.

PIPPIN: Wait -- how low is this bed?
THIA: And why is Sam caressing Frodo’s wrist?
MERRY: Taking his pulse?

Then he reaised his head, his grip on Frodo’s wrist tightening, and concern once again furrowed his forehead.

MERRY, as Sam: Wait, where is your pulse?
SAM: That’s not a matter for joking.

”Mr. Frodo...your heart. It’s beating so wildly. It feels like mighty drums, in your wrist. Are you all right?”

THIA: Drums...drums in the deep.
FRODO: I thought you were threatening Merry with the Balrog.
KRISTEN: Plenty of Balrog to go around, may as well share the wealth.

Frodo relaxed against the pillow in exasperation, a half-grin twinkling his face.

MERRY: ‘Twinkling his face’? Frodo, have you been using that CGI makeup again?
KRISTEN: He’s auditioning to be an extra in Velvet Goldmine 2.

Nothing was secret from Samwise.

SAM: Of course not – that’s why it apparently took you twenty years and more to say something to your Sam.
FRODO: Maybe this Frodo just had a hard time fitting “Take me, Sam, take me now” into normal conversation.
MERRY: Not a handicap you’ve ever suffered.
FRODO: Oh be quiet.

”Yes, Sam, I’m fine. I’m just...well...very glad to be alive.”

FRODO: Not but what you couldn’t have figured that out by looking a few inches to one side. Depending on where my hand is.
MERRY: Those Elven coverlets are rather drapy and clingy, aren’t they?

Instantly, Sam’s merry cheeks broadened into a knowing smile. “I think I understand, Mr. Frodo, and you know you really shouldn’t be doing anything for yourself right now, you don’t want to relapse!”

[SAM groans.]
MERRY: And the winner for ‘most obvious come-on’ is...

When I think how we could be without you right now, why...it would be doom for not only Middle-Earth but for me as well. You know I...oh Mr. Frodo, sir, you do know how I feel about you, don’t you, sir?”

FRODO: No, Sam, haven’t a clue.
SAM: It was the capering that gave it away, wasn’t it?

A blush spread across Sam’s face and he hung his head down so low that his crown looked wholly like a curly, blond mop-end.

SAM: I’ve a crown?
FRODO: A rather messy one, it sounds like.
THIA: The real question is, what’s he king of? ...besides the obvious. Don’t you two get sappy on me, we still have half the fic to go.

Yes, Sam, of course I know,” Frodo said tenderly. “I love you, too.”

THIA: Like a brother. No, really.
MERRY: I think we’re all very glad you didn’t have any brothers.

At those words, Sam reacted with such a sincere glee that Frodo’s heart melted for his loyal friend, and any reservation he may have harbored withered on the vine.

MERRY: Oh, for pity’s sake – this is beginning to smack of taking advantage, Frodo.
SAM: Which way?
PIPPIN: It was the cerulean eyes, wasn’t it?
FRODO: Sam, can I borrow your frying pan for a minute?

Without another word, he pulled back the coverlet and his eyes shined up at Sam.

THIA: She means ‘shone’, doesn’t she?
MERRY: She must’ve bought too many adjectives and run out before she got to verbs.

They spoke of an invitation that he could not speak with his voice.

PIPPIN: Aw, come on. Just one more use of the verb ‘speak’ and you’ll get a Special Bonus Prize!
FRODO: Dare I ask?

Sam hesitated only for a moment, but not before Frodo noticed the surprise registering in his friend’s warm brown eyes...surprise with just a touch of eagerness.

FRODO: Just a touch.
SAM: A small bit, sir.
FRODO: A subtle way of saying you leapt onto the bed screaming ‘yes, finally, thank you Eru’.
MERRY: That is more than I wanted to know about you two.

As Sam slid between the sheets, Frodo’s heart began to triphammer again, as he anticipated what was to follow. Completely innocent concerning any act of love save that which he enjoyed alone and not knowing what else to do, he shyly turned his back to Sam and the two of them nestled in the crook of each other’s bodies.

MERRY: I’m detecting logistical problems again.
FRODO: Not to mention logical problems.
SAM: I’m not objecting.
PIPPIN: You wouldn’t.

Sam’s arm slid securely over his master’s left side and he held his naked belly firmly, while his lower body curved against and pressed into the round, plump flesh of his buttocks.

THIA: Either Sam’s a contortionist, or the author forgot an attribution or two in there.
KRISTEN, studying a copy of Hobbit Anatomy and Physiology: Yes, an attribution or two...or twenty...
FRODO: Given she chose now to get coy, I’m not optimistic either way.

Frodo quivered at Sam’s first touch...the fire that had been prematurely doused at Sam’s unexpected arrival now flared and burned with an unquenchable flame, and he felt his penis throb painfully against his belly.

FRODO: I think Pippin was right the first time about the sunlight thing. Obviously there’s a magnifying glass over the bed.
THIA: Ooo. Magnifying glass.
MERRY: Will someone please throw cold water over Thia?
KRISTEN: Sauna, anyone?

Sam’s hand lay mere inches away...which only served to heighten his excitement.

FRODO: Ah, the thrill of antici...pation.
THIA: Who let him watch Rocky Horror Picture Show?
[KRISTEN hides her Micky Mouse ears.]

He squirmed deliberately, in so doing attempting to impel Sam’s hand to touch him.

MERRY: Decisions, decisions. To object to the verb ‘impel’...
PIPPIN: Or to give it up as a bad phrase entirely and try again?

His gasp was audible as fingertips not his brushed his organ.

THIA: No no no – this is not Phantom of the Opera, thankyouverymuch.
KRISTEN, singing: Fondle me, fondle me...fondly...
FRODO: I thought Christine went for the mask.
THIA: So it’s a new, improved, updated version.

Sam made no move to pull away, but instead whispered in his ear, “Mr. Frodo, sir, you feel so warm, so good. It wasn’t long ago when you felt cold as the knife that pierce you, and I watched you in this very bed and cried, fearing you were leaving me.

MERRY: This sounds really perverse.
THIA: I thought we were going with obscene.
FRODO: We’re playing on the edge of necrophilia here. I’ll say both.
SAM: And we’re not even to Cirith Ungol yet.
ALL TOGETHER: Eeewww.

I’m so glad...that you’re not...” Frodo started, his eyes widening with both fear and pleasure. Sam’s arousal was quite evident, or so it felt in the form of his hard, fat penis pushing through his breeches at his buttocks.

FRODO: Fear and pleasure? Fear of what?
MERRY: I think we should get out that tape measure again.
THIA: Or maybe he’s just picked up on the same necrophilia thing we saw.

He rubbed the rigid mound rhythmically in an up and down motion against his hot crevice,

THIA: Attributions, yo.
FRODO: And when you’re done sorting out the attributions, maybe a little attention turned to my sudden transformation into a geological formation.
PIPPIN: Frodo as Yellowstone National Park?
MERRY: That’s definitely too contemporary, Pip.

and Frodo was hardly aware that he was returning the motion with equal ardor.

PIPPIN: Whose point of view is this in, again?
FRODO: Mine. That’s why the author is weaseling out with ‘hardly’ aware.

For several breathless moments they continued, clothed pelvis grinding against plump, naked cheeks.

MERRY: Again with the plump.
PIPPIN: Hadn’t Frodo lost weight?
FRODO: Apparently not there.

No words were spoken, none needed to be spoken.

THIA: Hey, Pippin, does this count for your Special Prize?
KRISTEN: And then some.

Frodo’s arousal increased threefold,

SAM: Mathematical formulas?
THIA: Hobbit calculus.
FRODO: Now that sounds like fun.

and he felt that he could easily orgasm within another half-minute just by this act.

MERRY: Frodo, I think you really need to get out more.

His soft, muffled cries reached Sam’s ears, whose hand finally closed firmly over his glutted penis...

FRODO: Since when do Sam’s ears have a hand?
MERRY: That’s even worse than the gripping scrotum.

cries of approaching orgasm and frustration at it ending so soon. At the last possible moment, he wrenched himself from Sam’s grasp, instead turning over on his back and pulling Sam down on top of him. Their full, inquisitive lips sliding sensuously together in a penetrating kiss, probing tongues caressing, sucking, small teeth nibbling.

MERRY: That sounds rather...
SAM: Romance-novel?
MERRY: No, that was the bit before the last sentence. Sentence fragment. Whatever.
FRODO: Oh, the bit where it sounds like our mouths have, er...
THIA: Undergone some sort of science-fiction-esque merging that turns them into a single mouth?
FRODO: For lack of a better way of putting it, yes.
PIPPIN: I’m still trying to figure out the teeth fetish.

”You do love me,” Sam murmured in total humility, as if he considered himself not worthy of love. “You do, oh you do!”

SAM, as himself: Or at least you’re willing to lie with me, close enough.
MERRY: Sam! Where’s that humility?
THIA: He lost it when he realized he could make Frodo beg just by taking his shirt off.
FRODO: I thought you said you weren’t watching.
THIA: I lied.

His lips left Frodo’s and set a moist course over his smooth chest, which not a single hair defamed.

FRODO: Talking chest hair?
KRISTEN: Ooo, can it recite poetry as well? A Shakespearean soliliquy, perhaps?

Curly locks might decorate their feet and head, but none dared show itself on a hobbit chest.

[HOBBITS shake their heads pityingly.]
PIPPIN: You can tell she’s never lain with a real hobbit.
THIA: Mary Sue with hobbit – eeew. I did not need that mental image, Peregrin Took.
KRISTEN: Yes, now there’s a problem with logic. Not to mention proportion.

Frodo whimpered softly as he felt Sam’s cupid’s-bow lips close over his red, pointed nipples...

FRODO: My nipples are not red, not unless Pippin’s been at them with a rouge-pot.
THIA: Rouge-pot? Do I want to know about this?
SAM: No.
KRISTEN: I do!

first the left, then the right, then the left again, biting the left one lightly with careful teeth.

MERRY: Because his mother told him he had to be fair and share everything out equally.

His mouth never left Frodo’s nipples as he began to snake a hand down over the sweet belly and between the soft thighs, exploring, searching for a tight, warm sheath for his index finger.

THIA: I thought Frodo didn’t have any pockets on any more.
FRODO: What I’d like to know is, why the index finger? Why not some other finger?
MERRY: It’s the adjectives. They’ve gone beserk – they’re attaching themselves in places where they don’t belong.
SAM: And you can tell the difference how?

Sam found what he was searching for and deftly entered it, making Frodo gasp softly.

FRODO, as himself: Oh, so I do have pockets there after all!

Gentle he was,

THIA: Yoda he was not. Please.
KRISTEN: “I feel much fear in you...” Y’know, I think Yoda was thinking of this story when he said that.

so tender as if he was fondling the most fragile glass in all Middle-Earth.

SAM: Wait a moment – my finger is up his arse.
THIA: Unless it’s in a previously unknown pants pocket, yes.
SAM: Without oil or lotion or any such thing.
THIA: Not that the author bothered to mention.
SAM: And yet I’m treating him as if he were fragile.
THIA: No, you’re treating him as if he were glass. After all, would you handle glass with slippery hands?
FRODO: There is such a thing as taking a metaphor too far.
KRISTEN: I think we’re all agreed on that by now.

Frodo relaxed against his touch, opening himself to him, giving himself up with complete trust as he always did to his loyal servant.

SAM: But obviously not that much trust, or this wouldn’t be the FIRST TIME, now would it?

Sam’s tender thrusts turned the fire in his belly into a seething volcano.

FRODO: No, the volcano comes later. Much later. Trust me.

Involuntarily, his hand touched his penis, and he was wet...oozing a continuous stream of honey that coated his fingertips.

FRODO: Out of curiosity, can I get any more femmed here?
THIA: Well, let’s see: we have the letting-Sam-do-all-the-work thing going on...and the miraculous lack of need of lube...and now you’re described as ‘wet’...yeah, I’d say you’ve got ‘uke’ in big blinking neon letters over your head.
KRISTEN: Pink neon.

Soon he felt Sam gently pushing his hand away, and a hot mouth cautiously tasted his knob, liked what it tasted, and enfolded his shaft down to the base.

MERRY: Where this mysterious floating hot mouth had come from, he didn’t know. He screamed and scrambled off the bed...

He felt himself pulsing against Sam’s throat, and Frodo clenched his teeth, muffling the groan with a firm hand over his mouth.

PIPPIN: Where’s the hand come from?
THIA: Stop that. I do not need the image of various floating body parts in the air around these two.
MERRY: Too late.

Sudden he was seized by a desire so strong that it bordered on madness. At the same time, almost as if he read his mind, Sam said passionately, “I don’t know as I could hold out much longer, Mr. Frodo. I’m so hard it hurts, and it’s leaking so much that the front of my breeches are wet straight through.”

FRODO: Sam still hasn’t taken off his breeches?
SAM: I think that’s where the ‘bordered on madness’ bit comes in.
PIPPIN: What does he mean, ‘ hold out’? What’s he holding out for?
MERRY: The chance to take off his breeches, I hope.

Turning to him almost violently (violent for the usually gentle Hobbit, at any rate), Frodo took hold of the top of Sam’s breeches and in one fell swoop nearly tore them off his body.

FRODO: ‘Almost’. ‘Nearly’.
SAM: Good job you weren’t really violent, sir. My breeches aren’t sewn that badly.
THIA: So, just for research purposes – tearing off clothing is right out?
SAM: Yes. You need at least a knife.
PIPPIN: Sam! I never knew you had it in you!

At last, Sam’s firm member was free of its binding, and Frodo held it lovingly, stroking the length of it,

FRODO: My preciousss...
[KRISTEN and THIA scream.]
THIA: Don’t do that!
KRISTEN: Frodo, that was downright mean.

yearning for the throbbing, living feel of it inside him...and then turned his back to him once more. “Rub it against me now, Sam. Hurry...oh please do it now.” Sam wavered, not wanting to hurt him. “By all the Shire, do it now!” Frodo cried, and he fell to harsh gasps as the large organ slide remarkably easily into him.

PIPPIN: Since when does ‘against’ mean ‘into’?
MERRY: For very loose definitions of ‘against’. And speaking of loose–
SAM: You were saying, Mr. Merry?
MERRY: ...er, nothing. Just how convenient this ‘uke’, no-need-for-lube thing must be. Nice frying pan there.

Any momentary discomfort vanished quickly for Frodo and he matched Sam’s increasingly swift thrusts with his own.

THIA: Thus proving that we are really in a fantasy.
FRODO: I don’t recall much pain in your stories – or Adrienne’s, either.
THIA: Yes, but neither of us write self-lubricating hobbits.
KRISTEN: That’d be a rather messy business, wouldn’t it? What happens when the lubricating mechanism goes wrong? Or you don’t regenerate fast enough, or –
ALL: STOP!
MERRY: Who invited her?
KRISTEN: I crashed.

”Oh...Mr. Frodo, sir...oh, you can’t imagine...” puffed Sam as the incredibly tight orifice bathed his penis with pure ectasy.

THIA, softly singing: Puff the magic Samwise...
FRODO, louder to drown her out: No, I can’t imagine, because I’m a virgin and you wouldn’t let me top, you nasty author you.
MERRY: There, there. I’m sure Sam will let you top when you get home, won’t you, Sam? Sam? Where’d he go?
PIPPIN: He said something about checking to be sure you’d enough lotion.
THIA: All this self-lubricating must have him nervous.

His hand slid around Frodo’s body and closed firmly on his quivering organ and he pumped the thick shaft, smiling proudly to himself at Frodo’s pleasurable cries.

MERRY: Should we even bother with the cry of ‘adjectives!’ any more?
PIPPIN: Seems a shame to give it up now.

Their orgasms caught both of them simultaneously.

THIA: Tag – you’re it.

The instant Frodo felt the hot, urgent spurts warm inside his lower belly, his own unleased with a fervor he had not felt before.

FRODO: ‘Lower belly’?
THIA: She’s trying to be, um...
MERRY: Discreet? Subtle? Coy?
PIPPIN: Stupid?

His creamy seed fountained over Sam’s caressing hand...a copious load indeed...

KRISTEN, not quite silently: Load?
MERRY: Yes, the coyness is kind of undercut by the porn terminology.
THIA: What would you know about porn?
FRODO: He’s got an entire roomful of Took Fancier magazine.

and tears sprang to the corners of his eyes as the intensity of the orgasm seemed to magically transport him to the burning center of the sun, where he sobbed with unutterable torment and unbelievable gratification.

PIPPIN: Wait – we went straight from porn to romance novel?
THIA: Have you read some of the old historical romances? It’s not necessarily that far a jump.
KRISTEN: More of a nance.
PIPPIN: Nance?
KRISTEN: You know, what Legolas does.
MERRY: Romance novel, nothing – ‘burning center’? Who made the guess about the magnifying glass? I think he should win that Special Prize of Pippin’s.

Sam’s ragged breath was hot on the back of his neck, making him shudder uncontrollably.

MERRY: Stiff breeze?
THIA: I don’t think Sam’s breathing that hard.

Their orgasms waned yet they still remained locked together, moving gently, as if they were afraid to release, afraid the magic would evaporate and never be recaptured.

MERRY: We can but hope.
FRODO: Let’s see: cerulean eyes, blue fire, capering...yes, I’d be hoping it was a bad dream right about then.

”Foolish hobbits!” thundered a voice at the foot of the bed. Two pairs of frightened eyes looked up wildly to behold Gandalf, his bushy brows lowered in annoyance.

FRODO, muttered: Adjectives, adjectives...this is embarrassing...
PIPPIN, as Gandalf: ‘Didn’t I tell you last time, not until the camera’s rolling!’
MERRY: Much, much, much too contemporary.
SAM: Pervy old wizard’s just upset he missed it.
THIA: So do you have enough lotion?

”Indulging your own selves when there is much work to be done! The Council is called.

FRODO: Wasn’t there a bell that chimed before the Council?
SAM: And you and I were awake and talking to Gandalf and Bilbo before-hand, sir.
FRODO: I’ll give them this much: I’d much rather have spent the morning before the Council like this.

If you are not there within a quarter-hour, we will move the Council to this bedchamber, and I shall turn you both into a joined statue so that you may enjoy yourselves into eternity.”

MERRY: That sounds sort of fun.
FRODO: I’ll let Gandalf know, the next time I see him.
MERRY: Not that fun.

They both stammer in agonized embarrassment as they struggled to break free of each other.

[ALL wince.]
PIPPIN: Wasn’t Sam still inside you?
FRODO: Yes.
PIPPIN: Ouch. Ouch ouch ouch.
THIA: Hey, this was SuperUke!Frodo. It might not hurt to, um, struggle it out.
FRODO: You remember the description of Sam’s size? I repeat: ouch.

Forgive us, Gandalf!” Frodo finally had found his voice. “I...we...I am just so happy to be here and...well...Sam is my loyal manservant, after all, and...”

MERRY: You mean this is part of Sam’s duties?
THIA: No, no, that’s a different story. Cara hasn’t written that yet.[3]
SAM: Purely optional, sir.
FRODO: Although we optioned it fairly quickly.

”Be still!” Gandalf roared. Then his face took on another, softer look, and a glimmer kissed his careworn eyes.

PIPPIN: Because he certainly didn’t have a boyfriend to do any such kissing.

”The House of Rivendell soothes and refreshes tired minds and bodies, and you have felt enough stress so far on this Quest to fell ten strong men. The Elves have long been renowned throughout Middle-Earth for their talent in all manner of love. Elrond would commend you, of that I have no doubt.

THIA: And Sam and Frodo win the gold!
FRODO: In what? Over-use of adjectives while engaging in improbable sexual activity?
MERRY: Certainly wasn’t any time records.
SAM: Not with the Elves. Mr. Bilbo says their record is three months.

But,” he added, beginning to glower again, “not when you indulge on HIS time!” One wrinkled eye winked under the brim of his ancient, hooked hat.

THIA: Because Gandalf indulges with Elrond on his time whenever he comes to Rivendell.
KRISTEN: Okay, was anyone else just taken to a scary visual place?
PIPPIN: Gandalf doesn’t have a boyfriend. I refuse to consider it.

And with that, he exited the room in three strides of his long legs, shouting out, “A quarter-hour, remember!” over his shoulder as the door slammed shut behind him.

PIPPIN: How big was your room again, Frodo?
FRODO: Bigger than that. Unless he really didn’t come very far in.
SAM: In which case, all that struggling apart was entirely pointless.
THIA: He came in far enough – unless you really wanted to give him a detailed exhibition?

Frodo and Sam giggled to each other, both in relief and happiness that Gandalf understood.

FRODO: I object. I have never ‘giggled’ in my life. Chuckled, chortled, laughed, snickered –
MERRY: There was that once after you’d had a bottle and a half of Old Winyards.
FRODO: Do you really want to start bringing up things that happened while drunk?
MERRY: ...point. Carry on.

They dressed quickly for the Council, never skeptical that he would make good on his threat if they did not show up within the appointed time.

SAM: Hoy, hold up a moment – I’m expected?
THIA: This is bad fanfic, Sam. Canon need not apply.

”Never fear, Sam,” Frodo said softly, “we will have several more nights in fair Rivendell before we must continue with this dark journey.”

FRODO: And afternoons.
SAM: And mornings.
THIA: Fond memories?
MERRY: Not that fond. You didn’t have to room next to them.
KRISTEN: No, but Glorfindel had to room next to you and he was very grumpy when I passed him in the hall.
MERRY: What were you doing in Rivendell?
KRISTEN: Erm...I was returning a book I borrowed from Arwen.
MERRY, skeptically: I see.
PIPPIN: They’re calling it ‘passing in the hall’ now?

”That we will, Mr. Frodo,” said a very happy Sam, as he fixed his master with loving eyes. “That we will.”

FRODO: Makes me sound like a butterfly, held up with very odd pins.
SAM: I’m no collector, sir. Only want one item, and that’s you.
FRODO: Oh, Sam.
MERRY: Aren’t you going to object?
THIA: What for? Fic’s over, and I need to take notes for ‘First Night’.[4]
KRISTEN: And I wanted to put peanut butter in Haldir’s hairbrush.
MERRY: Right. I’ll go bother BrieflyDel, then. Coming, Pip?
PIPPIN: In a minute. I want to pick out the next story.


[1] If you haven’t read Awakenings, then go do so.
[2] Adrienne’s Remnants – yes, I know there’s no marine animals yet. I have Inside Information. Mwa-ha-ha.
[3] This was based on Inside Information about what would turn into A Star And A Half.
[4] Which has been finished (this MST was originally written in August of 2002) and will be published in Inside A Song.

– end –

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