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He thought the best of it was the whimpering. Soft, broken sounds that spilled more freely than honest words ever had. The echo of skin meeting and sheets creaking a warning beneath white knuckled grips.
Then he began to cry.
Bilbo, Frodo's beautiful, kind, soft uncle Bilbo who was said to have fought orcs and burgled from kings. Nearly one-hundred years old with the smooth, pretty face and body of a hobbit fifty years his junior. Bilbo who didn't look him in the eye when it was dark out. Whose body trembled when Frodo peeled away thin nightclothes and cast aside familiar blankets.
The first night had been Frodo's favorite. Bilbo had all but fought him, asking questions that twisted his tongue behind his teeth and made him stammer like a faunt. He tried to push Frodo away, even, taken by momentary bravery that washed away like fresh paint under water. He even flinched when Frodo grabbed a handful of his pretty hair and pressed his full weight down on him, those beautiful eyes had shut tight and watered. But he hadn't cried.
Now he did. Now he lay awake in bed long after the light were out, shaking when Frodo’s soft hands slipped up his shirt and exposed his skin to night air, whimpering when three dry fingers forced their way inside of him wordlessly. Now he sobbed, clutching his bedding while Frodo forces his oiled cock in with a groan of pleasure.
The tears are searing, damning.
Frodo licks them off one cheek and rolls his hips to ride the thrill of pleasure that shoots up his spine when fresh tears spill out to replace them.
Uncle could pretend all he wanted, Frodo smiled to himself, but the weepy head of his limp cock told Frodo that he was secretly enjoying this too. Bilbo had always been needlessly secretive.
Quickly then, Frodo decided. Best to be a bit rough tonight, see a few more of those beautiful, shiny tears before he gave him a day of rest. A reward for this; for letting Frodo push his knees to his chest and holding them there like a good boy without being told.
The reminder made his fingers tighten on Bilbo's hips, thrusts quickening until he could hear their skin meeting wetly again. He loved that sound, he'd pull every muscle in his body just to hear it.
The only thing sweeter than this, sweeter than the tears and sex sounds in a quiet room, is–
“P-please, Frodo, stop this. I-I- I love you.” Bilbo begs him weakly, big green eyes wet and pleading. Frodo nearly cums right then, hips stuttering and hands digging in hard to keep his control. Bilbo Bilbo Bilbo, his heart chants and pounds his ribs emphatically. He wants Bilbo to sob around his cock, to whine and clutch the sides of his desk when Frodo fucks him on top of- Bilbo interrupts the both of them with a sharp hiccuping sob and writhes beneath Frodo, “No- not like this. This-s- wrong. Please please-”
His body shudders, fluttering around Frodo's cock. He thought Frodo a fool, thought he couldn't see the way his uncle's cock stiffened when Frodo fucked him hard. He grins up at his uncle, tilting his head to peer through his curls as he rocks into him again. “You are so sweet, Uncle. So soft for me.” Frodo breathes, he lets his hands roam up the backs of Bilbo's ample thighs and squeezes the backs of his knees. “So pretty.”
Most nights he can't help but to watch himself thrust, he likes to see the drag of Bilbo's body clenching around him. The soft tremble of flesh when his hips strike Bilbo's rear. But for now he sees something that wants his attention more, bobbing weepily between lightly furred hobbit thighs.
Bilbo keeps babbling, tries to cover himself with his hands, and-
Frodo struck him.
Well. Neither of them had been expecting that.
His knuckles stung a bit, his hips stilling without his permission and before he knew what was happening he felt his fingers clamp down on Bilbo's jaw, wrenching him forward til their breaths passed between each other's lungs. “Hands off.” He snarled through clenched teeth. The momentary rage blooming in his chest was unexpected, but he wasn't startled. He decided to mold it, direct it into deliberance.
He didn't want to batter his uncle, the very thought disgusted him. His uncle was too.. precious for that.
Bilbo's eyes were wider than he had ever seen them, a new tremor wracking his body that made a trickle of blood fall from his lip. His hands withdrew, fell limp on either side of himself, but he said nothing. The gaspy aftershocks of crying filled the space between them for a long, long minute, making Frodo's cock throb with the need to fuck tears from his eyes. Before that though, he needed something else.
“Say it, Bilbo.” He crooned, shivering with delight to see the redness on Bilbo's face already starting to give way to a lovely blue-purple. “Use your manners.”
His uncle's face crumpled into something adorably broken, new tears leaping to the surface. He whimpered, “Th- thank- thank you.”
“Good boy.” Frodo hissed, snatching Bilbo down onto his cock as searing desire rolled over him. He felt like an animal, snarling and scratching just hearing that one, pathetically whined ‘thank you’.
His uncle fell back into weak whimpers, any curls not plastered to his forehead by light sweat bouncing around his face with every jarring thrust. A golden halo. A ring.
His teeth sank into Bilbo's calf and his hips stuttered with release. Bilbo's body clenched around him, milking his seed from him despite the way his uncle wanted to believe he did not like it. Wanted the both of them to believe his lies.
“Good boy.” Frodo rasped again, voice heavy with the dregs of desire.
His eyes fell back down to Bilbo's arousal, shivering with the aftershocks of anger that had swept through him at being denied. Denied something they both knew was Frodo's.
It lay against his stomach now, almost limp again.
Frodo wanted to twist it. To squeeze until Bilbo writhes and begs him to stop again. He wonders how many times he could make Bilbo cum.
He would definitely have to tie him down for that. Restrain his legs so that Frodo could reach all those deliciously sensitive places at the same time.
But for now, he sighed softly, now he would settle for having a little taste.
It was clearly a night for great change. A night for discovering new things like tears and bloody lips and understandings.
He pulled himself free of Bilbo, wishing he could immortalize the leaking semen that escaped the fluttering entrance. What a shame.
He had to grip his uncle's knees, manually keeping them spread open when he tried to withdraw. How irritating. Frodo settled for sending him a brief look of disapproval. He could hardly expect Bilbo to anticipate all changes.
This night was one for learning, Frodo thought to himself as he took Bilbo into his mouth, and one for teaching.
Bilbo made a breathy sound, muscles tensing beneath Frodo's palms, but he didn't fight it.
Oral sex was too easy for hobbits, almost boring in its simplicity. No self respecting hobbit had a gag reflex, and those that did were rumored to be.. crossbreeds.
Frodo liked the feeling of it though, the uncomfortable stretch of his jaw around foreign girth. Bilbo did too, had to admit it in the way his hips chased the feeling of his length striking the back of Frodo's throat.
Frodo hummed with satisfaction as a high moan escaped those bruised lips. His Bilbo. His pet. He suckled hard, hard enough for a flicker of pain to twist his senior’s mouth, then pulled back to let cool air chase the sting.
Another whimper, hands jerking fistfuls of bedding but staying obediently off.
Frodo took him into his mouth again to give him his reward. There had been enough play for one night.
It was quite nice to see, all things considered. Bilbo was frightfully easy to pleasure, so pretty about it like his face was utterly incapable of being smeared into something less than natural, homespun beauty. Frodo watched him, too enraptured to acknowledge the spasming of his chest starting to beg for air, he would suffocate himself to see this. To watch his uncle's brow furrow and his mouth fall open to mewl, hips rolling in halted thrusts that Frodo choked down.
Drool wet his chin as his jaw relaxed further, trying to allow room for precious air to seep in, but Bilbo was so close. Shaking. The poor thing.
So he rolled his tongue and shoved a hand up beneath himself, two fingers slipped in easy. Slicked with cum that let them glide across stretched, used, muscle until they grazed–
Bilbo screamed. A strangled, high scream that made his body arch beautifully. Frodo snatched away, heaving in gasps of air as he watched Bilbo come into the open air.
Beautiful. Beautiful. Frodo's Bilbo.
He made sure to clean every last drop, swiping his tongue over head, over shaft, then down where it flowed over his hip and sneakily tried to escape onto the bed.
After, Bilbo lay there trembling like a girl with his wet eyes stuck on a blank space of wall opposite of the door.
“Good boy.” Frodo reminded him with a soft smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his brow as he made to leave. Then, as an afterthought, he tossed the discarded blanket up over Bilbo's naked body.
There. See. He isn't a monster.
°°°°°°
He did not want to drug Bilbo. The truth of it is that Bilbo forced his hand.
He stayed out late, past any respectable bed time, made Frodo wait until it was nearly dawn before he bothered to return home. He had waited though. He sat quietly in the clinging dark, watching him creep slowly through the door and turn around to close it nice and gentle.
His anger was drowning.
It was too easy. Too easy to press in behind him, wrench a handful of those pretty curls back so that he could take him down to the floor. Too easy, to rip his bottoms off and take him right there in the entryway. Too easy to hold him down even though he did try to crawl away– to shove his way in no matter how hard Bilbo twisted to try to keep him out.
It was too easy. Anyone could have done it. And that- that made him angry.
So he fucked him right there in the hall, hand in his hair keeping him down and hand on hip to force him into every thrust.
He needed to know. To understand.
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry Frodo.” Bilbo wept, voice hoarse and shaking.
Frodo snarled, snapping his teeth by Bilbo's ear. “You will be.” He wanted to strike him again, to slam his pretty face into the smooth wooden floors just to work out some of the fury simmering in his bones.
But he didn't. He forced that tension into his hips, shivering with delight when the thrusts became forceful enough to make Bilbo's gentle form knock lightly against the floor. He wouldn't give in to the dark desire curling in his gut, the thrilled little voice that wanted him to tease Bilbo swollen lip with his thumb and suck away the blood that came easily after–
He did not crest easily. Truth be told it was not very pleasurable for either of them. Too dry, nearly too tight. But he had a lesson to teach. So he focused on the sound of Bilbo's sobs, the tense muscles quivering beneath him. His Bilbo taking him raw on the ground like an animal because he knew he deserved it. Really, it wasn't all that hard to cum knowing that.
He didn't groan, didn't pet Bilbo's beautiful skin like he wanted so badly. He had to learn. So Frodo spilled into him with a light grunt, pressing in until Bilbo's body tried to buckle beneath him, and then pulled away.
He'd never forget seeing Bilbo crumpled in the hall like that, blood smeared on his back end like a declaration. A trophy.
He tucked himself away and went back to bed.
And that should have been the end of it. But Bilbo was stubborn. Always so determined to make his own way of it despite being given such simple direction. Frodo didn't have to see him packing to know. He saw the guilty quake in his hands at breakfast, and the innocent way his walking stick had been left outside propped against the gate.
He smiled and thanked Bilbo for cooking, then, “Do you want some tea, Uncle? For your nerves?”
A complicated look crossed Bilbo's face, his eyes dark and a drawn expression twisting his mouth. Frodo could nearly hear the ‘no’ in his eyes, but Bilbo could never hold his convictions when it came to Frodo. He was too weak, too soft. Too precious. He sagged raggedly in on himself and looked away. “Y-yes, Frodo my boy, I'd like some tea.”
Frodo hummed in response, gathering the kettle to fill.
He had to serve it steaming hot, a little too much honey mixed in, but Bilbo was too busy pretending to eat a single egg and toast to notice. He sipped obediently, eyes never leaving the plate whose contents shifted and roamed but never disappeared.
Frodo felt oddly detached, watching the way Bilbo's eyes became hazy in the middle of trying to put away his empty cup, the china jarring loudly against the basin. He knew the feeling would come later. The disappointment and anger at Bilbo for trying to leave him. The sympathy for his flighty little pet having to be secured away, even if it were for his own good.
Now he just watched, blinking placidly as Bilbo's eyes filled with tears and he began to weep. He cast Frodo a haunted look as he went stumbling out of the kitchen, weak hands trying to pull his cloak free of the hook, and collapsed there like a wet towel. His dull eyes slid over to Frodo hovering in the doorway and the younger hobbit peered back over his own cooling cup of tea.
No. Frodo did not want to drug his Bilbo.
But, he sighed, unbuckling his belt. It would be interesting to see how honest Bilbo could be when he wasn't thinking the whole time.
It was nice to take him during the day. The early morning sun casting pretty colors across his slack, tear streaked face as Frodo stripped him of his burdens.
He left him like that, even, retrieving his oil at a lax pace knowing that Bilbo would still be there when he returned, thighs spread invitingly and his nicely furred feet curving loosely down.
“You are not being very good right now, dear Bilbo.” He sighed, bracing one hand beside Bilbo's head as he guided himself into sore walls. “But there is time. You just need to catch up with your body… you were made for me, Uncle.” He savoured his first thrust with a gasp, smiling when Bilbo remained fully pliant under him.
Well, he grinned at the rising flesh between them, not fully.
°°°°°