Possession

So beautiful.

Frodo wound his fingers thorough the soft hair tickling his face, eyes fluttering as the pull of the mouth against his neck deepened. The smell of leaves and wind and mud mixed with a warm, salty scent, so heavy he could almost taste it on the tongue and feel it caress his face. The body pressing him into the trunk of the tree was hard, as old as stone and perhaps as indestructible, awakening in him a hunger and need he had never felt before and craved, craved so desperately. His heart echoed his hunger, quickening at the brush of teeth against his tender skin, wrenching a groan from the one who held him. The grip around his neck and waist tightened, as if the other feared he might try to pull away. ‘Never’, Frodo thought, almost drowsy and delirious with sensation. He could never escape this or the feelings it aroused him in him. He thirsted almost as much as his companion did, driven mad by endless daylight hours, hours that denied him this overwhelming pleasure. He had loved the sun once, now no longer. It was the moon he adored and longed for, the cool touch of the night air and the softness of the night, always so careful to shield them both from eyes that would pry, eyes that might seek to destroy these precious, precious moments. A time was coming, he could feel it, when all this might, indeed end and he dreaded it, feared it as he did the weight of the One Ring around his neck, hastening towards his doom.

He would not think of it now, could not bring himself to dwell and destroy the surreal edge of dreaming this moment had taken on. He often wondered if these nights were not a dream, some delusion of a mind tormented, but no, he had only to touch his neck, to finger those marks he now so carefully hid (even from Sam) to know this was real. No sign was given, no clue that might allow those nearest to him to even suspect something was amiss. They would not approve, would not understand he knew and it grieved him to have to hide. Better to hide though than to risk discovery and separation. He had lied already for so many different reasons, to protect his friends, to protect the Ring... What was one more lie? Was he not entitled to what little pleasure he could find?

A tongue lapped at his torn flesh, teasing strokes that made him shudder, his skin breaking into a million ripples of sensation, and he bucked upward, his breath coming in short pants as he cupped the head resting against his neck. The soft mesh of hair gave way to warming flesh, no longer as chilled as it had been moments earlier, the long lobes and rounding tips pliable beneath his touch. The suction paused and he felt rather than heard that choked groan, brightening at the sound. He was given so much pleasure, so much consideration and to be allowed to return even a fraction of that was something wondrous indeed. Letting his fingers ring and retrace each shell-like round, he turned his head as much as he dared, lips barely grazing his lover's scalp. He wished he could move and he wished never to move again, not if it meant breaking this circuit and losing the sensations ghosting across his nerves. Although his back protested the rough of the bark beneath it, his body was aroused, twisting this way and that way in search of some relief but it never came. Instead, the hunger grew, making him nearly as ravenous as his companion. He wanted to taste, to claim with teeth and tongue as he was being claimed. It would not be the same, he knew but he longed for the feel of cold flesh warmed, thrusting against his as it had on that first night and subsequent nights thereafter. They could not this night, already were they taking a chance even in this brief encounter with the encampment a little more than a few yards away. The trees were hiding them but the protection they offered was only finite; it would take little more than a sleepy human or hobbit to stumble upon them. The danger of discovery was so close and he cared little, save for the repercussions it might have on this, this one precious thing that was untainted, that he could truly call his own. He had made the choice to bear the Ring out of necessity because there was no one else who would shoulder the burden but this... This he chose, this he embraced and was embraced in turn and by doing so found himself more loved, more in love, than he'd ever been in his life. The others... They would not understand, they would seek to protect him. They wouldn't understand that he needed no protection from this. It was already too late for such measures.

Tears beaded his lashes, tiny drops of crystal that obscured his vision. It was so sweet, this and yet so torturous knowing how swift the end would come. His mouth opened, straining, seeking some words, some expression of just how deeply he felt but nothing came save the smallest gasp, swallowed up in a sea of raging emotion and muted growls falling upon his ear. His hands fell away from his lover's head and shoulders, plucking at the front of his tunic, wishing desperately for something more than this, for completion. His unspoken plea seemed to be heard, the arm around his waist loosening as they pivoted, with him now strewn across the other's lap. Open. Vulnerable. Nimble fingers wriggled under his shirt, his stomach contracting and tightening with the feel of calluses against bare skin then they moved downward, fumbling for the ties of his breeches. He closed his eyes, clutching the fabric as a hand, so slender and much larger than his own, closed around him, one, two, three gentle pumps that caused him to arch, his body made eloquent by desire. ‘Please,’ he begged with it, ‘Please.’ And he was heard, that wondrous touch closer, covering him as fingers slid down then back up again, a thumb brushing the straining head, slickening his shaft with fluid. The pressure above and below combined until he felt himself graying out, overwhelmed by a bliss that was more than human and shook him, unmaking him with its pervasiveness. It was more than a mortal body could take and so his gave in, something warm and wet covering his stomach. He quivered, the final rasp of a tongue against his throat sending his senses completely awry, tears slipping free down his cheeks and he unaware of their presence until that fair head lifted, lips reddened even in the darkness, kissing them away. So warm... Now he was the one who was cold, burrowing against his lover, the realization that it was his blood now heating the body against his claiming an inadvertent shiver. The arms around him tightened, lips brushing his cheeks and forehead, before retaking his mouth. He could taste the lingering smoky taste of copper, metallic against his tongue as it was caressed by his companion's. Blood. His blood. He should have felt horrified, but all he could feel was a surge of passion, of love, so strong that it seemed obliterate all hesitation.

At last the kiss ended and a whisper floated towards him. "Are you all right?"

He smiled, stroking the cheek closest to him. "Of course. You didn't hurt me. You never could."

"I am not so sure of that, little one." There was a pause, a guilty apologetic note creeping in. "I worry for you."

Frodo frowned, wiggling into an almost sitting position so that he could have a better look at his lover. "Stop. You have not hurt me and you have done nothing wrong."

This was a conversation they'd had so many times before since that first night when Frodo had unwittingly stumbled upon the other's secret. He had been afraid then, fearful of the unknown, of his own feelings, fears that had been dispelled over the course of many nights since. He knew not what the future would bring them or even how long this could go on, he only knew that his fate for good or ill was inextricably tied to this creature.

"I chose you. I know the risks and still I chose you," his voice hitched as he continued. "Will you leave me then? Abandon me to the hunger that we both feel out of the need to protect me?"

"I could never abandon you," That rich voice rustled, filled with depths that he could only begin to fathom. "I love you."

There was something stronger than the Ring, something more binding and it was a spell of three words only. Three words and his heart threatened to brim over and, "Then the rest doesn't matter."

"But--" Doubt colored that one word and he hated it for that. He caught his lover's neck, kissing him quickly with a ferociousness that startled them both.

"I love you," the words were heated, tumbling out of his mouth. "Don't try to tell me that I don't understand... I know what's happening. I know because you're doing it to me and I'm letting you. You're what's keeping me going and I'll take you anyway I can have you."

"Don't you know how much I love you, Legolas?"

The archer's breath was harsh. "Enough to suffer an eternity of nights, of endless hunger? Because that is what will happen if we continue on this path. I walk only in the light of day because of my elvish heritage. You have no such protection, Frodo Baggins. If I claim you as I desire to, you will be consigned to darkness."

He paused, more out of habit than anything else. This conversation was one he’d had in his head a million times before now and he had never been quite sure how he could answer the question unasked. Until now.

"I am content with whatever you give me, Legolas. Light or darkness. If you asked it, I would give up the sun, the early rise of morning and late creep of afternoon."

The Elven vampire's pale face glittered in the wan moonlight, so remote and perfect that it made his heart ache. The half-sorrowing, half-hopeful expression in his eyes was all too immediate. "You are brave but I wonder if you really know what you are asking for."

"I'm asking for you, Legolas. I've made my promises, every single time I have given them freely. I ask to be allowed to stay with you. If we survive this, if we destroy the Ring," his voice stumbled, the weight of the gold band seeming to burn hot against the hollow of his throat at the word destroy. "I want to stay with you. After this, do you really suppose I could return to the Shire?"

"I suppose not," he sighed. "Mithrandir will skin me for this."

There was some relenting in the words and he felt lighter. "More than likely both of us," his voice was wry. "It's a small price to pay."

"Are you sure? Frodo, if the others knew the truth about me, they would hardly approve of this, let alone me being allowed to stay in the Fellowship. I would not have you lose those you love, not for me."

"I don't wish to lose them either. I love Gandalf and Sam and the others. You've all become so dear to me, but I won't lose you. Not to them. The choice is mine to make. I am not a child who needs his decisions made for him. I am a full grown hobbit and the sooner they realize this, the better we'll all be."

Legolas laughed. "Before I met you, I had no idea that hobbits had such fire. I almost think you could teach my people a thing or two."

"I can be strong, Legolas. And I can fight for when it is needed and I will fight for this. When the time comes, when this is all over, I will bind myself to you with the strongest ties I can employ. Will you do the same?"

Silence, a pregnant, considering pause that shook him, frightening him as it stretched. "I will stay with you, Frodo," he said at last. "But I'm not sure I can share this fate with you nor even offer you the choice that I was denied."

"And I told you it didn't matter, so long as we're together. Light or dark, Legolas. Light or dark."

The archer threaded his fingers through his small hand, his gaze serious, heavy with promises. "Light or dark then, little one. One way or another."

***End