Disclaimer: We do not own Lord of the Rings.
The mountain pass was blustering and cold. The snow nipped at Frodo's red nose like tiny fat mosquitoes. He clutched the ring at his chest as he slept, twitching in dream state. Sam watched him with glazed eyeballs, licking his lips hungrily for what he could never have. Sméagol, who some might know as Gollum, sat, prone, his hairless body defenseless to winter's spears. He, too, wished for the carnal satisfaction that only Frodo's frail body could provide.
It was torture, this. Two pairs of eyes watched with poor intentions the heaving and sighing of the swarthy hobbit. Every so often their eyes would meet, angrily, predatorily, not speaking of but completely aware of their raunchy rivalry. Soon Smeagol grew bored of this game, and with a huff rolled over onto his curdled-milk colored belly, curling up into a ball of horrible fury. Samwise saw his chance. His ravenous eyes swept down upon the sleeping, trembling form of his master, and he scooted himself downwards, his generous behind scraping along the pebbles as he went. Frodo blinked once or twice, hearing the crunching of hobbit-on-rock so familiar to him. Half-awake, he moaned, "Sam?" A rush came upon Sam like waves of ale freshly-brewed and spilled in a tavern. He scooted faster still, until the front of his soiled breeches came in contact with the small of Frodo's back.
"Yes, it's me, Mister Frodo." He wrapped a suave arm around his charge, and whispered into his ear, "I thought you might be… Cold."
Gollum swallowed whatever saliva his frail body could still produce. It tasted like catfish and pure jealousy as it bubbled down his raspy throat. He would have none of this. None of it. Slowly he began his own descent down the rocky cliffs.
Frodo hesitated before his answer, although whether from sleep or excitement his guardians could not tell. "I was, but…" he mumbled, suddenly feeling Sam's pleasant warmth. Any objections he may have had to his companion's new proximity dissipated. Sam sensed his small victory, grinning the faintest of grins as he pulled off his Rivendellian cloak and wrapped it around both of their bodies, all too sneakily worming his way underneath Frodo's coverings as well.
While Frodo had not objected to the sharing of their body warmth, this certainly seemed a tad intrusive of his hobbity privates. Still, the gentle caress of his long-time confidant seemed necessary. It was as if all the glances and meaningful moments had meant for this to happen no matter how many rings-to-rule-them-all Frodo might be destined to carry. He sucked in a shaky breath, straining to look over his shoulder to look into Samwise's eyes.
"What are you doing, Sam?"
"Is this… alright?" Sam breathed into dark curls. Frodo felt the need in Sam, though his own desire was want. He felt it, physically, pressure on his backside. The desire was strong, and large (surprisingly enough, as they were indeed hobbits). He gave up attempting to look over his shoulder, and turned his body so that his eyes met Sam's. A nod or a verbal affirmation was unnecessary with the look they shared, and Frodo's pale fingers rose and came to rest on Sam's sturdy chest. Sam saw Frodo's familiar eyes, bright even in the dim light, pure even in the drone of the storm. His feelings, were they returned? There was so much longing, so much passion, in that blue-eyed gaze of his. But the blue was so cold.
It was his job now to warm it up.
The pair was speaking too softly for Gollum to eavesdrop per usual. He sat in near-silence for the longest moments. The duality of his personality could not comprehend the romance below him, how could his Master choose that fat, useless, stupid hobbit over slim, sexy Gollum? Unthinkable! His own need, unknown to the quiet two below, was unignorable under the circumstances. Matters were only made worse when the smallest of sounds reached his sensitive ears—Frodo had just emitted the smallest, most wanton of moans…
…Pink lips left Frodo's neck when the sound emerged. It made Samwise jump a little to hear so sultry a noise from his most adored of paramours. Frodo felt this change in his lover and smiled innocently at the effect he had. He knew that the effect would only be heightened once more sinful activities were pursued. Wishing to reach this point as quickly as possible, Frodo reached behind him and groped around until he found Samwise's swollen member, thick and prostrated and throbbing in his small hands. It was still clothed in the roughest burlap. Sam's breathing was stunted with anticipation and anxiety. He seemed heavier than ever, and warmer. Certainly the storm was of no worry to them now, as he peeled back the shire breeches. It was freed and Frodo's eyes widened as their gaze fell upon the not-so-Hobbit-sized organ. His hands tentatively reached for it, felt their way along the smooth skin at the top down to the coarse, curly hairs at the base, and shyly began to pump. Sam's hands crept under Frodo's tunic, feeling the ridges quake less and less as the warmth and comfort between then rose steadily; even so the quivering in his own back matched the rhythm of Frodo's ministrations. But he wished for an even more intimate sort of contact, one that only Frodo's sweet lips could bring. Sam reached and gingerly took hold of Frodo's face in his hands.
"No, Mister Frodo, use your mouth…" He trailed off, not sure what he had just uttered. But Frodo was quick to respond, letting his lips brush Sam's cheek as he descended, teasingly nipping at the tip. His eyes looked up at Sam from underneath long, dark lashes. "Sam…" He murmured hotly, breath ghosting over his gardener's need, "you know you can't tell me what to do…"
As he voraciously wrapped himself around his friend, now lover, Frodo sweetly suckled with nothing but loving intent. Sam let out a loud moan as the wet flesh of his companion met his own. He reveled in the act.
Gollum had been sitting, straining, fearing what he might see should he get any closer. The sounds the enraptured pair below were making were driving him entirely mad! He couldn't bear this pain, this ignorance of his own needs. It wasn't fair!
- But Master will hate us! And we love the master, we do.
- Look at that horrible hobbit! He is dirtying our precious master, brainwashing him to love him and hate us!
Smeagol's eyes widened, the view around him blurred by the snowstorm. He tried not to look down, acknowledge the lusty hobbits or his own graying desire. In one skin-flaking motion, Gollum made his move…
The two lovemaking Halflings could not have possibly expected the flurry of limbs that suddenly came at them and caused Frodo's mouth to be detached from Sam with a wet 'pop'. The next thing that made itself known in Frodo's mind was that he was being vivaciously humped, much like his pet puppy had once done. Eyes wide in horror, he looked down to find none other than pale, sickly, Gollum against his leg.
Sam opened his eyes at the sound of shrieking hyperventilation coming from in front of him. In a raging instant he threw his hairy fist at the creature, knocking it from its mating position. Gollum flew backwards, skidding, and hit a wall with the back of his head. He was bleeding, obviously taken aback by the improved force of the hardened Halfling. His legs were splayed open, shred of cloth gone, and the exposed appendage was surprisingly familiar to them both. He had once been a Hobbit, after all. Although, Sam could easily liken the rather shriveled organ to Gandalf's wet beard. But his satisfied reverie from punching the vile thing was broken by Frodo's shrill cry.
"Sam! How could you!"
"He was raping you, Mister Frodo, can't you see?"
"Sam… Let him be." The thought of Bilbo Baggins once sparing this poor creature's life out of pity came to him, and he realized he had much the same feeling. The sadness in those grotesquely bulbous eyes was apparent, softening, in more ways than one. Sam was disgusted with all of it, the wretched shape across the floor, the idea of sharing his beloved with a decrepit devolved being with a heart of pure evil. He nearly vomited. He looked down, not wanting to waste another moment of sight on the thing, and met Frodo's pleading eyes.
"Master Frodo… Don't you realize what you're agreein' to?"
"I am fully aware, Sam," Frodo replied hotly, cheeks flushing a pretty red in the cold. "And I don't want to hear another protesting word from you again."
Sam looked down at the snow, thoroughly scolded and downtrodden with shame. "Alright, if you say so, Mister Frodo." Sam managed to spit the words through clenched teeth.
Sméagol leapt up in ecstasy and immediately winced in pain and clutched his head wound.
"Look what you've done to him," Frodo whispered. Sam's only reason to remain a part of this horror was Frodo's hand resting on his hip. The pitying swarthy hobbit lowered his trousers, revealing his luscious backside. Sméagol nearly exploded in joy at the sight of it. Sam began to protest but was shushed by the stunning feeling of lips on his most sensitive of areas.
Falling snow lapped at Frodo's prone bits, and he shivered once more. Prompted by the accompanying vibration on his member, Sam opened his eyes to reach for a cloak to throw over the ringbearer. His eyes caught Gollum's just before he filthy wretch entered his dearest. His muscles were twitching visibly as he clutched the cloth on Frodo's back. When the gray appendage intruded, Frodo's unprepared rectum seized, and so too did his mouth, causing Sam to feel something incredible. The thrust of the creature made something in Frodo's mouth move just a little differently. It was unbelievable. Sam had to have more.
Regardless of his aversion to the pale creature currently attached to his lover's bum, he ground out, "…Do that again." His eyes squinted together tightly as he said so, nails digging into Frodo's scalp. Gollum of course obliged, thrusting forward and again brushed against Frodo's prostate, which was causing the brunette halfling's body to convulse. In turn, his mouth did that wonderful /thing/ around Sam's member once more, causing the blond to involuntarily buck into his companion's mouth. "Oh, Mister Frodo," he moaned. Frodo groaned as well as Sméagol began a rhythm most unkind.
Sam begrudgingly allowed this to continue until he climaxed. Neither paid attention to Gollum's climaxing; they had to assume he had done so several times without ejaculate, which his body presumably could no longer produce.
Frodo welcomed Sam's gift, swallowing it with the utmost vigor. It tasted of the Shire and slightly of Elf cake. Sighing, he let Sam's softening member drop from his lips and at the same moment Gollum withdrew from him violently with an outcry comparable to that of a banshee. Both were apparently spent, and took a few steps backward from Frodo. Frodo, however, was still stiff.
Sam was eager to return the favor for the winner of his heart. Frodo stood, pulling up his breeches from behind swiftly. He tucked one thumb into the hem in front, just inches from Sam's point-of-interest. Before Frodo could complete the task himself, The Gollum had regathered himself after his outburst and was hastily clawing at the shire trousers. Sam screamed in fury and lunged for the degenerate, pulling him away.
The two erupted in combat, full fists and flaccid fingers flying. They tumbled, tumultuous, around the inside of the cave.
Frodo, unseen to the tossing two, was slipping the golden ring off its link chain. It glittered in his eyes. Before Gollum had time to sense his precious was being unsheathed, Frodo had lowered the golden loop to his intensely throbbing appendage. It let out some to accommodate the moderate girth as he slipped it rather easily on. Now entirely invisible, the two other cavefolk continued their skirmish for a few more moments before noticing that the object of their fist exchange was indeed missing.
"Where's (Master) Frodo?" They asked in confused unison, blinking and looking around. Sam was about to open his mouth to ask another question, but before he could utter another word a long and rather warm invisible something was thrust into his speaking hole. He almost gagged, but upon realizing it was Frodo's member, he nearly melted in pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Samwise sucked and bobbed enthusiastically, eager to please his master. Gollum watched on with envious, round eyes, salivating, and strangely turned on by Sam mouth-fucking an invisible being. Almost instinctively, his clammy fingers reached downwards and wrapped around his own member. Within moments he was bucking feverishly into his hand.
Meanwhile, Frodo was lost in a ring-and-blowjob-induced fervor, only half-aware of the many ghostly figures of Kings past that had their bony hands around their hauntingly transparent members, strangely enough doing it in a circle around Frodo's writhing, invisible body. Alas! Waves and waves of pleasure kept washing upon Frodo, but none were strong enough to become the tsunami that was his orgasm. In a horrible moment he realized that it was because of the ring! He couldn't bear to remove poor Samwise's hungry mouth from his member, the man looked so satisfied working the staff every which way he could fathom.
"Sam!" Frodo called, in a faraway voice, carried by the ring's magic through Sam's mouth. It was as if Frodo's strained voice was coming from Sam's own head. He shouted, fervently, "Sam! The ring, remove the ring!" Samwise knew what he had to do. Grasping his thumb within his fist, he fought past his gag reflex and with remarkable skill deep-throated Frodo's member. Within seconds he had grasped the ring with his teeth and removed it, spitting it aside as Frodo suddenly bucked into his mouth, spewing gush after gush of delicious milk into Sam's waiting gut.
Suddenly feeling his Precious's proximity, Sméagol opened his eyes. The ring glittered on the floor, beckoning to him. Behind it he would see the ravenous passions of the hobbits. Frodo was clutching Samwise's head on either side, pulling his curls back from his face. He was thrusting wildly, in short bursts, and Gollum could tell that his master had spilled, had chosen the stupid, fat hobbit over his glorious selves.
In a fit of angry spite and disdain, Gollum stomped over to wear the ring lay, his limp member swinging to and fro like the trunk of an oliphaunt. He grasped it between his knobby fingers, staring at it as it glinted in the light of the ongoing storm, and looked sadly at the passionate lovemaking between the two hobbits.
Sméagol sighed and shook his head, but smiled all the same. A sad, defeated smile, that is not unfamiliar to an old man as he withers away into the throes of rigor mortis.
He may not have his Master's love, but at least he has his Precious…