Chapter 16
Title: The Price
Author: Anemone Frost
Email: Weepingwillow987@aol.com
Pairing: M/P; P/OC
Rating: R
Summary: 16/? A small group of hobbits, led by Frodo and Sam, storm onto Marroc's property. However, Marroc isn't going down without a fight. The angst isn't over yet.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Warnings: Rape, angst
Archive: Ask first.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tolkien.
Pippin woke to firm kisses raining on his belly. Marroc was kneeling over his form, smirking when he saw the young hobbit awake, and he drew out his tongue, trailing it lower down Pippin's abdomen, making tears brim in Pippin's green eyes. The young hobbit knew what was about to happen, and he griped the towel around his waist as firmly as he could and used the other to tangle in Marroc's locks, attempting to pull him away from his descent. Marroc only grinned wider and laced his fingers in the soft fabric, tugging at it slowly, attempting to gradually open it.
"No!" Pippin screamed. "No! Stop! Please stop!"
"Oh, I think you're going to enjoy what I'm about to do, my jewel," Marroc snickered. He violently tore open the towel, groaning in approval at Pippin's nude form, running his hands along Pippin's trembling thighs. "You're skin is so soft, almost like silk. So beautiful."
A sob rose in Pippin's throat as Marroc lowered his head, sliding his tongue along the head of Pippin's cock, twirling it around the sensitive slit. The young hobbit jerked and wailed in shame as he felt himself start to harden. He felt so disgusted that he couldn't control his body.
"Ah, I was right about you enjoying this," Marroc sneered.
"No!" Pippin snapped. "I feel disgusted every time you touch me!"
Marroc smirked, flicking his tongue on the leaking member. "Well, this part of you obviously doesn't find my ministrations revolting. If you hate it so much, then you should be able to control yourself. It's obvious you love me more than that wretched Merry. Why not admit it?"
"No," Pippin whined, clenching his eyes shut as tears trickled down.
Marroc nestled between his quivering legs, bobbing his head up on down on the young hobbit's shaft. Pippin pushed desperately at Marroc's head and yanked viciously on the older hobbit's curls, pulling out a few strands of the strawberry blonde hair. The older hobbit's chuckle vibrated along Pippin's limp cock, and he grasped the young hobbit's hands and pinned them onto the mattress, making Pippin whimper in defeat. He wanted Merry back and to be held in his arms, but the monster before him had taken Merry away.
With a shattering cry, Pippin yanked his right hand free and smacked Marroc with all his strength, making the older hobbit release Pippin's cock. To Pippin's horror, Marroc's grin only grew as he touched the reddening spot on his cheek.
"Frisky one, aren't you?" Marroc laughed before wrapping his lips on Pippin's member once more.
Pippin growled and clenched his fists, slamming one hard into Marroc's nose. The older hobbit grunted and crawled back on the bed, grasping at his bleeding nose. A snarl surged in Marroc's throat, and he lunged for Pippin, pinning him hard to the mattress, making the young hobbit wince as his nails dug painfully into his flesh. A shiver ran down Pippin's spine as he gazed into Marroc's face now twisted with rage, and his eyes were dangerously ablaze. Blood was dribbling down the older hobbit's lips and droplets landed on Pippin's nose.
"That wasn't very nice, my jewel," Marroc growled. A sadistic smirk formed. "So, you like to do things rough, eh? Well, I suppose I could take you roughly, though I was originally planning on being gentle."
A scream rose in the young hobbit's throat as Marroc brutally dug his fingers in Pippin's thighs and began wrenching them apart. Pippin bucked, punched, and bit at any visible flesh on Marroc, frantically trying to get him off. The older hobbit was stronger, but he was struggling to keep Pippin under control; his face and arms were tensely strained from the fight and sweat was sliding down. He was enraged at the sudden violence springing forth from Pippin. He was hoping that Pippin had been broken by now and would be more passive, but it was obvious that he still had a lot of work to do. Marroc couldn't suppress an evil grin at the thought. He enjoyed the idea of continuing Pippin's torment; he loved the way the young hobbit begged and wept.
"I do believe you need to be punished," Marroc sneered, prying the flaying legs apart and pressing his arousal between Pippin's parted thighs. "I do enjoy being gentle with you, and I hate having to hurt you this way, my jewel, but you just leave me no choice. You must learn to respect me and love me."
"You will never have my love!" Pippin yelled. "Only Merry will have my love!"
Marroc scowled. "What a waste! Why do you insist on declaring your love for a dead, ugly, vile hobbit?!"
The young hobbit cursed Marroc and spat at his face, causing the older hobbit to laugh cruelly. He leaned down and kissed Pippin furiously, sliding his tongue along the quivering lips, and pushing harshly to penetrate his mouth. The feeling of Marroc's tongue grazing over his teeth made Pippin gag in disgust; nausea was rising in his gut. Pippin grunted, thrashing madly and racking his nails over Marroc's back to the point of drawing blood. The pain that Pippin was inflicting on Marroc only enticed the older hobbit to continue his ministrations, thrusting his hard member over Pippin's tight opening, though not penetrating, making the young hobbit writhe in terror of what was to come.
The door swung open, and Roddy stormed into the room, causing Pippin to flinch in humiliation while Marroc pulled away in fury. The older hobbit scrambled off the bed and yanked his discarded towel off the floor, wrapping it around his waist. Pippin took the time to sneak off the bed and headed for the dresser, pulling out a pair of black trousers and a light blue shirt, trembling violently as he hurried to get them on. His face was beet red, and sweat was dribbling down.
"What do you want?!" Marroc roared. "What is so important that you barge in here unannounced?!"
"There's an urgent matter that I most inform you of Marroc," Roddy stuttered, his eyes wide with fear. "Please, step out into the hall and let me explain."
Marroc followed the guard and left Pippin alone. The lad was fully dressed now, and it wasn't long for him to jump in fright as Marroc came rushing back in. His face was noticeably paler, and for a moment he paid no attention to Pippin, only rummaging through the drawers to yank out a pair of tan trousers, a matching waistcoat, and a white shirt. Once finished dressing, he stalked over to Pippin and griped him roughly by the arm, dragging him out of the room and down the hall. Roddy, Ned, and Fred were waiting for their master, and Roddy tossed Marroc a sword while Fred fastened a cloak over his shoulders. Pippin noticed that the three were dressed in dark cloaks and were also carrying swords. Other guards were rushing around the dwelling, heading toward the main entrance. Servants were rushing about with frightened expressions on their face.
"What is going on?" Pippin inquired, glancing around nervously.
"It seems that your pathetic friends have come to rescue you," Marroc sneered, "and have brought a small group of hobbits to help them. It won't matter. I have hired an equal number of guards but in case things go sour I have another dwelling that I can escape to in the White Downs for a while. I'm not going to let them take you from me."
"So you're going to retreat like a coward?" Pippin grumbled.
"On the contrary, my jewel, I'm going to stay and fight," Marroc grinned. "Nothing will give me greater pleasure then to slay that miserable Sam Gamgee and take Frodo for my own. In the mean time, I'm going to have one of my guards take you to my hobbit hole in the White Downs. When the fight here is over, I will travel to retrieve you. However, if I happen to perish in battle, which is highly unlikely, a messenger will be sent to the home to inform the guard to dispose of you. I love you, my jewel, and I can't bare the thought of being separated from you even in death. If I die, you will join me."
A pang of fear coursed into Pippin's mind as he was carted from the room and led out the back door where a guard was in wait with a pony. His face was covered by the cloak hood, and his hands were covered with black gloves. Pippin was shoved toward him, and the hobbit grasped him and hauled him gently onto the pony. Pippin thought he could almost recognize the gentle touch and the body of the hobbit as he mounted the steed and pressed Pippin close to his back.
"Goodbye, my jewel," Marroc stated. "I hope to see you soon."
Pippin frowned at Marroc's statement and gasped in shock as the form behind him tensed and clenched his fists on the reins. The pony raced down the forest trail, and the hobbit hole, along with Marroc, disappeared from sight. The young hobbit shook with fright as the other hobbit stopped the pony and gently eased him to the ground. Pippin stumbled from shaking violently, and he crawled until his back hit a tree trunk. The guard dismounted and slowly approached the shivering hobbit. Pippin's eyes brimmed with tears as he realized that his life was in danger.
"Please, don't hurt me," Pippin begged.
The hobbit slowly drew back his hood, causing Pippin's eyes to go wide. The hobbit's face was covered with black and blue marks, but he was still recognizable. It was Merry. He was alive. The young hobbit could barely believe his eyes. It had to be a cruel dream.
"Merry," Pippin whispered, gradually standing up. "Merry."
Tears were trickling down his cheeks as he stepped toward Merry, extending his hand until it touched the bruised cheek. A smile grew on his face as the warm flesh greeted his palm. Sobs rose in his throat as he buried his face in the nape of Merry's neck, gripping him tightly. Merry embraced him with brutal force, squeezing and rubbing Pippin's trembling back.
"Oh, Merry!" Pippin wept. "Are you real? Tell me you're real! Tell me you're really here in my arms and that it isn't a dream! Tell me!"
"It isn't a dream my love," Merry replied, tilting Pippin's head back. He trailed his fingertips over Pippin's lips, sighing in content as the young hobbit grasped them and kissed each one. "I'm real Pippin. I'm alive."
"I thought Marroc had killed you," Pippin cried, clutching Merry desperately. "I felt so despaired—I wanted to kill myself—"
"Don't say that love," Merry murmured.
Merry leaned down and delicately kissed Pippin's lips. The young hobbit cried out and pressed himself hard against Merry, causing the older hobbit to stumble back and tumble over with Pippin woven in his arms. Pippin rained kisses over Merry's face, stopping to suck on Merry's bottom lip. The older drew out his tongue and trailed it along Pippin's upper lip, coaxing him to open his mouth so he could slip inside. Pippin rose his head up and parted his lips, allowing his cousin to insert his tongue, letting it snake delicately over his own. Merry broke the kiss, cupping the young hobbit's face in his hands, placing light pecks on Pippin's neck, cheeks, nose, and then burying his face into Pippin's curls while sobbing. Both were crying uncontrollably at this time, crying in joy that they were finally in each other's arms, and crying in sorrow for the misery the other one had suffered through.
"I love you, Merry," Pippin wept. "Please, don't ever leave me. Please, don't leave me to him."
"I won't, darling," Merry murmured. "No one will ever hurt you again. I swear to you." He lowered his hand to Pippin's, drawing it up to his lips to kiss it. "Never again. Marroc will be taken care of."
To be continued.
Chapter 15
Chapter 17
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