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Scratching an Itch (PG) Print

Written by Ithiliana

20 June 2005 | 549 words

Title: Scratching an Itch
By: Ithiliana
Pairing: Frodo/Faramir
AN: Living happily ever after in Ithilien, after a few bugs get worked out
Rating: PG-ish
Disclaimer: Totally not mine, written for love not money.
Feedback: Always appreciated!

Frodo heard the door open and shut with great relief. He’d thought he would die in the time it had taken Faramir to go to the Healer’s. The cold bath had not helped in the least. Reaching down under the sheet, Frodo scratched frantically at his legs and belly. The red welts had grown larger, burning under his skin.

“Love, no, you’ll make it worse.” Faramir set a round crockery pot on the table and knelt by the bed, pulling Frodo’s hands to him, clasping them firmly.

“It’s awful,” Frodo said. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“I didn’t realize how you would react to the bites.” Faramir released Frodo, tossing the sheet aside. Reaching into the pot, Faramir scooped out a gob of faintly green-tinted goop and began smearing it over Frodo’s arms, chest, belly, and legs.

He wrinkled his nose at the heavy odour. “What is it?”

“I think, mostly goose grease. And some herbs. I didn’t wait to hear what went into it.” Faramir worked the greasy stuff gently into Frodo’s skin.

Sighing, Frodo felt himself relaxing for the first time since dusk. No matter how distasteful the smell, the ointment was working, and working quickly. The burning itching was quickly fading.

They had gone for their usual walk after daymeal, and he’d been bitten by some large black buzzing insects that had swarmed near the stream. The welts had come up almost immediately.

“How’s that?”

“Better.” Frodo stretched under Faramir’s hands, warm and soothing. “There’s one on the back of my neck.”

“Sit up.”

Faramir lifted Frodo’s hair and carefully smoothed ointment on his neck, under his hair. “The blackflies always bite where the blood lies closest to the skin.”

Frowning, Frodo lay down again. “I notice they didn’t bite you.”

“They did, actually.” Faramir pushed his sleeve up, showed a faint pink bump on his wrist.

Frodo stared in disbelief. “That’s not fair. One bite? It doesn’t look anything like the ones I got.”

Faramir let the sleeve fall back down as he reached out to stroke Frodo’s cheek. “Apparently hobbits taste much sweeter than men.”

“Hrmph.” Frodo snuggled back into the pillows and frowned at Faramir. “You never warned me about this peril of Ithilien. Storms, orcs, and snakes, yes. These, no.”

“They’re not usually so bad. The wet spring must have let more hatch than usual. They won’t last long, no more than a week or so.”

“I’m not going outside until they’re gone,” Frodo declared.

Faramir smoothed a hand down Frodo’s chest, slowly trailing his fingers down over his belly. “No need to, love. You can stay in bed.”

Trembling, Frodo felt his member stir, clenched his hands in the bedding as Faramir smoothed one finger along the sensitive skin.

Leaning forward, Faramir kissed Frodo softly. “Is that better.”

“Yes,” Frodo said faintly. “Much.”

“Better make sure,” Faramir said, reaching into the pot for more ointment, rubbing it between his hands, running his hands over Frodo’s body.

“Unh,” Frodo said, trembling and spreading his legs, rolling over. “I um think there are some places you missed.”

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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