Fingertips

Chapter One

 

Fingertips…

The evening had fallen peacefully over the little house on Tol Eressea. The tender strains of evening crickets play across the summer warmed meadows. Fireflies dance in the uplifting air and the sweet songs of lovely hobbit voices filter into the dusky smials. The sunlight fading into the west reaches far into the main hall tunnel and ignites motes of dust that rise on the slowly stirring air. It is far too peaceful and beautiful an evening to be inside… and yet you are.

But you would not wish to be anywhere else.

You lay across his naked body, your arms encircling his waist, your head resting on the creamy soft skin of his hip and you are being lulled into sleep by the sound and motion of his gentle easing breath. He is but an instant from sleep, you can tell, for you have held him as he slept many times before, and in that drowsy, delightful moment, you feel at peace and full of utter joy. Your life could be no better than it is at this moment.

His elegant hand rests on the hip opposite you. Three slim fingers and a thumb… all as relaxed and easy as the rest of him. You are just about to close your eyes and surrender to sleep yourself when a slight movement, so close to your face that it is out of focus, stirs you.

It is his finger. Whether by some half dreamed conscious control or in the realms of blissful sleep, he is slowly stroking the smooth skin just inside his other hip. It is not a deliberate gesture; there is none of purposeful moment in it, merely a response to dream, or perhaps a half remembered tickle that his somnolent mind wants to sooth away. Whatever it is, it fascinates you. Your eyes focus on his slowly moving hand and you follow each sleepy, elegant movement as if it was sweet bread and you were a starving hobbit. Goosebumps run up your spine as you feel yourself drawn to your love’s smooth tipped fingers. Each bone, each tendon, each tiny crease of skin is revealed with crystal clarity. It is as if he were stroking you with those easy careless motions and you can feel the warmth of your desire for him race through your body like lightning. He’s not even awake and he can still thrill you!

Slow stroke after slow stroke you watch, devouring the sight, delighting in the pulse racing hot through your veins, until at last, perhaps satisfied it has accomplished its task, the finger stills and settles gently amid its brethren. You want to cry out… entice it to continue, but such a sound might break the spell of delight he has unconsciously woven. Why did he do that? Was it some half remembered itch? Some reflex only called in those moments between waking and dreaming? Some spark of sinful temptation that he keeps normally under tight control?

Whatever it is, you want more. Carefully and silently you raise your head and lean over his sleeping body to gently kiss the finger. It twitches but he does not stir. He is indeed asleep. You kiss the other fingers next to the culprit and are rewarded by his soft exhalation of breath… for a moment you wait to see if he will stir again, but he falls silent and you know he has gone back to his dreams. You should let him sleep, as he clearly needs it, but your desire, once wakened, is not so easily subdued. You try one last tack to see if you can gently rouse him. The offending finger is resting, looking for all the world an innocent digit, but you know what devilry it is capable of – and you intend to let it know it has met its match in you. You lean down, and with petal soft lips and an eager mouth, you take up that provocative finger.

It feels slender and soft, but strong and wiry, much like the rest of him. You slide gently down the length of it; your tongue stroking the underside so teasingly that there is no way his body could mistake your intent. You are soon rewarded by a confused, sleepy murmur but he has not truly woken. He moans, not sure if what you are doing is real or in his dreams, but from where you lie, across his lower body, sucking gently on his fingertip, you can feel his response. It is rising, pushing against you in the space between your breasts. You cannot suppress the delight you feel at having such power over him, nor the excitement that also rises in you to feel his response. He is so precious to you – so perfect – you ever want to do your utmost to please him. You flick your tongue into the little space between his fingers and he moans again. The sound is more intoxicating than wine.

Now the finger is not enough and you turn his palm over and begin kissing the soft space in the center of it. He at last struggles awake and you hear him gasp.

“What are you DOING?” he asks, his whispering voice touched with sleep, wonder and perhaps a little fear.

“Pleasing you,” you sigh between kisses. “I hope?”

“Mmmm…” His brilliant eyes close again and he frowns a bit, as if contemplating the nature of the universe. “Well,… yes,” he sighs. “You do… but….” And here his frown deepens as if he is confused. “What were you doing earlier? I thought I was dreaming,.. but…” His voice is still sleep muddled but you can hear the sound of wonder in it.

“This…” you reply and plunge his whole finger deep into your mouth. Slowly you pull back, sucking gently as you raise your eyes to his.

He stares at you in thunderstruck amazement. You look back at him with possibly the most sinful expression of wicked delight that you have ever borne in your life. As refined and proper a gentle hobbit as he is, he is still male. Wonder, horrified shock and secret hunger vie for dominance in his expression. You lift your head and as the soft, rounded fingertip reaches the circle of your lips, you pause to dance your tongue artfully around the now trembling tip. The secret hunger wins and blazes forth. You feel him jerk and stiffen beneath you. Frodo’s eyes grow wide and his voice becomes breathy, soft and disbelieving.

“Sweet Eru!” he whispers…
 

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