Disclaimer: Good clean sex between two adult males. Tolkien is probably rolling over in his grave.
The first days out of Rivendell were uneventful, and Boromir spent them getting everyone’s measure. Gandalf was friendlier than he’d expected a wizard to be, especially with the hobbits, whom he had known since they were children. Gimli and Legolas repelled each other like magnets, always as far apart as possible, but individually they were good company. He had no idea how to act around Aragorn, the man who was, by choice, not his king, but certainly not his subordinate, but they were both humans, both good fighters, and were tentatively finding common ground. Most of the hobbits were playful and lighthearted, rather like children, and Boromir enjoyed teasing them or saving them little treats and snacks. He and Aragorn took turns teaching them to fight; they weren’t half bad.
And then there was Frodo. The ring-bearer. A silent, simple little hobbit who safeguarded the ring of power Boromir so desperately needed to save his people. Entrusting a ring of power to someone so small and unable to protect it was like tossing it to a wraith for safekeeping! The sooner Frodo gave up the ring, the better for all concerned.
And so Boromir needled him about it, mocking whenever Frodo was the slowest of the company, whenever he stumbled or begged the others to stop and rest. Though he did less and less of that last one as they continued; the ring seemed to be dragging him forward, making Frodo reluctant to stop even at night.
Which is why, when Frodo sought him out one night as he gathered firewood, Boromir was surprised and suspicious. “What do you want, Frodo?”
Frodo bit his lip, withdrawing a little. “I need to talk to someone. I’d die if any of the others knew, especially the other hobbits, but I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“What is it?”
“It -- it’s the ring. At least, I think it is. I keep getting these strange sensations, they make me want to touch myself, Boromir, I don’t know what to do, and I’m scared!”
Boromir looked the hobbit over. Hobbits had different lifespans from humans. That, in addition to their size, made it impossible for him to judge Frodo’s age or maturity, but he had an idea as to what was going on. “It makes you want to touch yourself where?” At Frodo’s vague, bashful gesture, Boromir grinned at the silly hobbit. “Frodo, that’s not the ring. You’re just growing up. Didn’t anyone explain this to you back in the shire?”
Frodo was beet red and couldn’t meet his eyes. “Hobbits don’t talk about this sort of thing. It’s considered disgraceful.”
“Well, all you have to do is rub yourself -- you’ll figure out the best way for yourself -- until you take yourself over the edge. It feels good.”
“I can’t,” cried Frodo. “Every time I try, I feel like I’m on the edge of some dark precipice. I’m afraid of what will happen.”
Boromir’s smile widened at the hobbit’s naivete, remembering his own early efforts in that regard. Yes, the sensations had been a little scary and different, but nothing to scare off a determined human. Hobbits were apparently not made of such stern stuff. Poor Frodo.
“Here, Frodo, let me help you. After the first time you take it to the natural conclusion, it will stop being so scary.” He put down the firewood and sat down beside it. “Come over here and sit with your back to my belly, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
Frodo sat down uncertainly, and Boromir untied the clasps of Frodo’s trousers, releasing the already-hard little cock from its confines. His hand completely enveloped it, and Frodo gasped at the tightness of Boromir’s grasp, arching back against the human. It was about half the size Boromir was used to, which actually made things difficult for the first few moments as Boromir changed his grip and stroke to compensate for the lesser length and width.
“See?” he murmured encouragingly, “Nothing to be afraid of.” The hobbit was gasping for air now, eyes squeezed shut, whimpering with pleasure, his whole body tense with anticipation. Boromir grinned at the thought of Frodo needing him so desperately, completely at his mercy. The thought made him kiss Frodo’s earlobe just as he tightened his grip.
Frodo cried out, and a rather remarkable amount of seed fountained from his cock. Boromir slowed his pace, careful to squeeze out the last spurts of fluid, while the hobbit lay against him, quite spent.
When Frodo recovered, he stood up and began tying up his trousers. “I had no idea,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Here now,” said Boromir, laughing at the messy hobbit, “You can’t go back to the others with seed stains all over your shirt.” He took his water skin and cleaned the hobbit off. “Go back to camp, and I’ll follow after.”
The hobbit gave him a strange smile, then ran off. Boromir chuckled and picked up the firewood, whistling as he made his way back to camp. Gandalf was just coming out of his tent when Boromir arrived.
“You’re in good spirits,” said Gandalf.
Boromir laughed. “Those hobbits really are like little children.”
“Oh?”
“They don’t know anything about sex! One wonders how their race even continues. Frodo just came to me crying because his body was giving him all sorts of strange sensations and he didn’t know what to do. I took care of it for him, but really!”
Gandalf stared at him strangely. “Hobbits don’t know anything about sex? Boromir, hobbits rut like rabbits. The Proudfoot clan got their name because dexterity with the feet supposedly means dexterity with the…”
The four hobbits all came out of the tent behind Gandalf and stood side by side, smirking at Boromir. The expression on Frodo’s face was smug beyond words.
Gandalf smiled at Boromir. “My friend, I think you’ve been had.”
End.