FIC: SNACK RUN 2/2 
 
AUTHOR: Lily Baggins 
 
RATING: NC-17  
 
Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own  
these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien  
Enterprises and New Line Productions, and I only give them  
interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time.  
 
Author's Note: This fic is in response to the FrodoSlash three word  
challenge to use "curls," "goosedown," and "succulent" in one fic. It  
IS a PWP, so be warned. Smut, no plot, Smut, no plot.  
 
*** 
 
"I'm awfully glad you snuck in through my window," Frodo said,  
smiling as he leaned up to kiss me. "Will you stay?" 
 
 
"For a while . . . at least until just before the sun's first rays." 
 
 
"Good. I'm rather parched . . . I wonder if we should go raid the  
pantries." 
 
 
I laughed, quite happy that despite all of his trials, Frodo had  
managed to maintain some of the essential elements of his hobbitness.  
Oh, it was so good to hear him talk of eating and life's simple  
pleasures again---not to mention the fact that we had just greatly  
enjoyed one of the most basic of mankind or hobbitkind's delights.  
 
 
"I daresay Pippin has probably already beat us to the kitchen," I  
told him, "and would no doubt keel over if you and I showed up, clad  
only in blankets, to obtain food." 
 
 
"I know. But I'm suddenly hungry." 
 
 
"Did you have six meals today?" 
 
 
He shook his head. "I didn't have much of an appetite for some  
reason." 
 
 
I sighed, having suspected as much. "Well, you certainly cannot  
regain your strength if you do not eat, Frodo, and it is important  
that you do. Very well . . . I shall go to the pantry and bring you  
something back." 
 
 
"Mmmm . . . I think I should go with you. My stomach is rather fickle  
these days and you might bring back something I don't care for." 
 
 
"Me? All I have to do is pick out something mushroom-y or covered in  
succulent cheese. A fairly easy task, I should think it." 
 
 
"Still . . ." 
 
 
"All right, we shall both go---but quietly." 
 
 
He nodded eagerly, and, not bothering to take the time for clothing,  
we wrapped ourselves up in well in warm patterned quilts. I could  
only imagine what Gandalf would say if he caught sight of me--- 
although he would likely not be at all surprised---but I was still a  
ranger, even if now a king, and I was certain I could be silent  
enough not to avoid waking anyone in the household. 
 
 
The hobbit was another matter. Oh, hobbits were usually noiseless and  
very stealthy---but this one kept tripping over his long  
quilt. "Frodo! Quietly." 
 
 
"I'm trying, I'm trying . . ." 
 
 
We passed several bedrooms with no difficulty at all and finally  
arrived at the kitchen. It was extremely large, illuminated by many  
lamps, and boasted two wood-burning ovens and three hearths over  
which to boil kettles. A huge butter-churn stood in the corner and I  
could see Frodo's eyes light up at a block of the fresh yellow cream  
in a crock beside it. Butter was very close to a hobbit's heart.  
 
 
The pantries were well-stocked---in no time at all we had selected a  
large cheese, rolls, a goodly amount of butter that I was fairly  
certain we were *not* supposed to be taking, and all of the non- 
perishable remains of that night's supper.  
 
 
And then suddenly a woman's voice called out softly, "Who is there?"  
It was one of the house servants, a kindly old woman named Halbeth  
who seemed to have a maternal attitude toward hobbits, and the Ring- 
bearer in particular.  
 
 
Immediately I dashed into the pantry, leaving Frodo alone. Halbeth  
would not be at all upset---or the least bit surprised---to discover  
a hobbit foraging about in the middle of the night for a snack. This  
particular food larder I had entered was very spacious, square in  
size and lined with shelves full of every manner of jar, bottle, or  
burlap sack. It would also have been quite dark except for the fact  
that the door stood partially ajar and light streamed in.  
 
 
Outside, Frodo was speaking to the servant. "It's just me, Miss  
Halbeth. I was hungry and having trouble sleeping." 
 
 
She came out of the shadows with a relieved sigh. "Oh, Master Frodo,  
I thought perhaps we had a thief---or that Master Peregrin was up  
again. Go on, take what you like. Perhaps you'd like me to fry you  
some eggs while I'm up?" 
 
 
"No, no, thank you---this will do excellently." 
 
 
From my position in the pantry I could hear noises of Halbeth moving  
about, gathering things. "Now, that ought to last you a while, good  
hobbit. If you need anything else, just call on old Halbeth. Young  
Master Peregrin was here just a quarter-hour ago---said he was unable  
to sleep for moaning noises coming from one of the bedrooms. I do  
believe we have a ghost here." 
 
 
"No doubt." 
 
 
"Well, I'm back off to my bed---good night!" 
 
 
"Good night," I heard Frodo say, and footsteps fading. I sighed,  
relieved---house servants were the souls of discretion, but at the  
same time, hiding naked in a pantry while my hobbit lover stood  
outside was a new experience to me. If I had been clothed, I might  
not have minded so much.  
 
 
Before I could escape the pantry Frodo entered, his hands and lips  
seeking me out. I immediately shed him of his quilt, opening mine and  
drawing him in close, and needless to say I quickly forgot my  
surroundings as I became caught up again in the feeling of his bare  
satiny skin against my own.  
 
 
"Ow!" 
 
 
"Frodo, what is it?" 
 
 
"Something just fell and hit the top of my foot." 
 
 
"Let me see." Kneeling, I found a very small jar that had rolled off  
a shelf. "Peach preserves," I said, unfastening the lid and dipping a  
finger in to taste, heedless of my kingly dignity. All that seemed to  
matter was tasting, touching, feeling---being with---Frodo. "Very  
good. Try?" 
 
 
"Mmmm." His eyes told me he approved as he closed his soft mouth  
about my finger and sucked the preserves off, licking his  
lips. "Quite delicious." 
 
 
"And sweet." Grinning, I smeared more of the sticky jam onto his lips  
before leaning down to kiss it off. He groaned as he melted into my  
embrace again and I suddenly wanted to just get out of there and  
carry him right back to bed, food or no.  
 
 
"Come, Frodo, we should gather our foodstuffs and return . . ." My  
legs gave way, however, under the gentle wet pressure of one hobbit  
mouth suddenly enclosing my member, and I slid slowly down to the  
floor like a wilting plant, breathing heavily.  
 
 
"I don't know, I find it rather exciting here, Aragorn . . ." 
 
 
"Mmmm . . . yes . . . but it is too cold for you in here---you'll  
catch a chill or worse." 
 
 
"I'm feeling rather warm, actually. It's just that . . . it makes me  
feel rather wicked, to be doing this in the pantry. I've not done  
anything quite like this before." 
 
 
"Hmmmph. I do believe it is just the food about us you enjoy so much,  
my hobbit." 
 
 
He chuckled as he slipped into my lap, wriggling his bottom against  
me to leave no doubt as to what was on his mind, and suddenly I cared  
not if the entire household was roused by our actions. Throwing our  
blankets to the floor, I pressed him to lay back upon them and  
covered him with my own body for warmth---but not before putting a  
smattering of the peach jam on his belly and licking it off. 
 
 
"Ah, that tickles." He tried to control his laughter as he stroked my  
chest, running small fingers through my hair. His own member, flushed  
and aroused, was wet with pearly drops, and when he saw me gazing at  
him intently he opened his legs in silent invitation.  
 
 
"Frodo, are you certain? You must be rather sore . . ." 
 
 
"No, no, indulge me . . . it feels so nice when you're inside . . .  
but we do need something . . ." 
 
 
"I'm on it," I whispered, casting about for a liquid or salve to ease  
the way. I did not want to contaminate the butter we had gathered for  
ourselves, but surely a kitchen should have *something.* Finally, I  
found it in a tiny bottle sitting upon a shelf nearby. "Ah, olive  
oil . . . imported." We could use what we needed and toss the rest  
when we returned to Frodo's room, or, perhaps, find more nefarious  
uses for it before the night was over.  
 
 
I liberally applied a coating of the slick substance to my throbbing  
erection and his cleft before pulling his buttocks to me and sliding  
into him slowly, with little need for more preparation due to our  
earlier activities. He moaned, as did I, as his tightness fully  
enclosed me, wrapping his arms about my back and his legs about my  
waist. Again I pleasured him with my fingers, not neglecting his  
sensitive sac.  
 
 
Soon the pressure built again as we rocked, and it was an effort for  
both of us to avoid creating a raucous noise.  
 
 
"Am I hurting you?" I asked, always fearing that I would. This was  
not gentle lovemaking such as we had performed earlier---it seemed  
more primal---probably because we were on the floor in a place we  
should not be. My poor hobbit would likely have a purple backside  
come the morrow.  
 
 
But he shook his head, breathing hard. "No . . . thrust harder." 
 
 
I did---and promptly rammed the top of my head into a wooden shelf in  
front of me, cursing loudly.  
 
 
"Are you all right?" Frodo asked, his eyes wide. I knew he was  
probably trying not to giggle. 
 
 
"Yes." I shook my head to clear it, rubbing the top where I now had a  
good bruise, I was certain. But my smarting scalp paled in comparison  
to the sensations in other parts of my anatomy, and I soon lost  
myself once more in the feeling of the sweet body under mine. I  
groaned when the ecstasy hit---Frodo crying out softly---and sighed  
with contentment as the waves dissipated. 
 
 
Now we were both sticky---and from more than just peach preserves. In  
fact, we were quite a mess---a jumble of stickiness and blankets and  
limbs and sweat, and now that the act was over, I was quite eager to  
get off this hard pantry floor and back to Frodo's warm room and soft  
bed. But ah, it had been glorious.  
 
 
Kissing him, I pulled him up carefully and we stood, stretching sore  
muscles from the unnatural positions we had assumed of late and  
enfolding ourselves in quilts once more. I stepped out of the pantry  
easily, turning to hold the door open for Frodo.  
 
 
Suddenly I saw him swallow and look past me, his eyes growing even  
larger than normal. The small bottle of olive oil he had picked up  
fell out of his hand and rolled across the wooden floor. For a moment  
his mouth worked, no sound coming out. "Hullo, Gandalf." 
 
 
I started, whisking about---and there was the old wizard, with plate  
in hand, raising an eyebrow as he regarded our blanket-wrapped forms  
and obvious state of undress beneath. "Good evening, Frodo, Aragorn.  
I was in meditation and thought I might avail myself of refreshment.  
But I see you two have beaten me to it." 
 
 
I nodded, my cheeks flaming. Gandalf would not pass judgment---in  
fact, he was probably not the least bit surprised---but that in no  
way lessened my embarrassment. I did not easily share the details of  
my personal life with others, even very close friends. 
 
 
"Well," Gandalf continued, "Good night. I am off to bed---and rest.  
Take good care of Frodo, Aragorn, for I know he grows lonely and  
needful of your company in particular." 
 
 
"Yes, I . . . I certainly will, old friend." 
 
 
He nodded and made to leave, but not before looking pointedly at the  
floor, then back up at us with a slight smile. "And, oh---you seem to  
have dropped your bottle of olive oil." With a slight chuckle, the  
wizard strode off.  
 
 
And the hobbit and I went back to Frodo's warm bed and feasted and  
slept and made use of the bottle of olive oil again until I snuck out  
just before dawn---this time, through the front door.  
 
 
*THE END*