With This Ring

Posted: December 2003
Title: With This Ring
Author: LadyHawksShadow
Type: RPS
Characters: Smeagol/Deagol
Rating: NC-17
Beta: Larian Elensar
Disclaimer: I don't own. I only borrow. I'll put ‘em all back when I'm done playing.
Special Warnings: Rape; Murder; Necrophilia (sexual relations with a corpse).
Timeline: Well…
Author's Note: I got this idea from watching Andy Serkis portray Gollum
in Return of the King. This is a dark story full of violence and sensitive themes. Please be advised that if such themes offend or "squick" you, you may not read further. This is as close as I come to Hobbit slash.

I discussed this story with Alex before posting it here and received her permission.

Spoilers: *snort * You all know that Gollum steals the ring from his friend, right?

Summary: What Tolkien did not tell us about Smeagol and Deagol.

~*~

"Give it to us, my love. We wants it," Smeagol purred as he patted his friend. "It's our birthday."

Deagol turned his head and peered at Smeagol through his dark, dripping locks. He had found the ring when a fish pulled his fishing line from his hands and he had dived deep into the river in an attempt to save his prized possession. As he touched the silt bottom, he put down his hand out to push himself back to the surface, shining far above his head, and his hand enclosed over mud. Something caught his eye and he turned his face from salvation and focussed his attention on his hand. Buried in the mud was a glittering, golden band. Deagol clutched the circle to his breast and swam towards the surface. Gasping for air and choking on the water filling his lungs, he collapsed on the bank.

He wiped the grit away from his treasure and stared at it, caressing it lightly with the tip of a shaking forefinger. His tongue slithered around his mouth. Thus, Smeagol found him and made his demand.

"No, it is mine. I found it, on the river bottom. I gave you a present already." He answered, folding his bony fingers over the ring.

Smeagol grasped Deagol's wrist. "Give it to us!" He demanded.

Deagol slapped away Smeagol's hands and scrambled away from questing, grasping claws, trying to save his trinket. "Mine," he screeched desperately.

Without warning, Smeagol pounced upon his friend, seeking not the ring, but rather the scrawny throat. Deagol struggled beneath him, trying to buck Smeagol off his chest. They rolled on the grassy bank, struggling for possession of the golden band. Deagol at last managed to throw Smeagol aside and labored to his knees. He managed a few feet before Smeagol recovered and pounced upon his back.

Smeagol pressed against Deagol from shoulder to knee and sank his teeth deep in Deagol's tender shoulder. He worried the wound he created as Deagol thrashed beneath him. He suddenly felt a sensation deep in his loins that he'd never before felt and it took his breath away. Between his thighs, he felt his member stir and it felt good. As Deagol screamed, Smeagol pressed himself harder against the wriggling bottom against him. Thrills shivered up and down the length of his spine. His clawed hands gripped more firmly around his friend's thin throat and he squeezed harder as his growing need drove him closer to madness.

Choking and struggling against Smeagol, Deagol still refused to drop the glittering ring from his desperate clutches, though he did not place it upon his hand. He felt something pressing against his buttocks and shuddered as he realized that Smeagol had become aroused. He screamed and spat in his fear.

"It is mine. I found it!"

Smeagol locked one arm around Deagol's throat and used the other to pull at his friend's loincloth. In moments, he exposed the tight nether cheeks and his hand groped the smooth globes. His body trembled with a desire he hardly knew and his frantic hands clawed at his own thin covering. Cool air touched his flesh and he shook as his fingers ghosted his own flesh. Velvet heat met his fingers and a drop of fluid slicked his thumb. Beneath him, Deagol struggled for breath as the elbow locked around his throat constricted.

"Give it to us, my love," he repeated, though what he meant by his words was no longer clear.

Deagol gasped a negative reply, even as he felt something hot and round push against his most secret entrance. His fingers clawed great clods from the earth, ripping up grass and rocks. Tears stung his eyes, burned his cheeks with their salt. His words became unintelligible as that which pushed against him slowly, inexorably, penetrated him to his core. He choked and gagged, as he was brutally ripped open. The tiny hole, which had never been designed for such an invasion, stretched, sundered. He panted shallowly, trying to resist the pain and unable. His body pushed, trying to expel the foreign object. Every muscle in his body rippled and shivered in protest.

Smeagol groaned and then yelped as he penetrated Deagol. Never in his wildest imaginings had he thought of something so exquisite. The tightness and heat wrapped around him made him shudder as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. His hips thrust forward and Deagol sprawled on the springy turf. Seeing Deagol face down before him sent a surge of power through him and Smeagol clamped his hungry jaws on the back of his friend's neck, tasting the sweet copper of blood welling against his tongue. Blinding need over took him, his hips rose and fell, slamming hard and fast into Deagol. He felt the slackness of Deagol's blood smooth the tight passage and he growled deep in his chest. His eyes glazed and a sweet tension built around his loins. He gnawed and worried at Deagol's neck.

Deagol tasted salt tears and grass and dirt as his face was thrust into the ground. He could not breathe. His head buzzed as his oxygen starved body convulsed violently. Deagol's head was jerked back roughly, as Smeagol thrust hard and there was a moment of pain followed by a sharp snap. Deagol's head lolled as Smeagol bit his neck, but Deagol did not know. The ring rolled forever from his gasp.

Smeagol crowed and cooed, into Deagol's ear as he neared the pinnacle of his desire. "Yyyeesss, my love," he hissed and his tongue snaked out to lap Deagol's ear.

With a long sigh, he spilled his essence and collapsed in a shuddering heap. He lay still for a moment, gasping for breath. His sight cleared and he stroked Deagol. After a moment, he realized his friend was cool and unresponsive. Lifting himself away, he stared for a moment, puzzling his friend's stillness. He prodded Deagol with no effect. He reached over and plucked the ring from the grass and examined it closely. He stroked it. Petted it. Crooned to it.

Later, as the shadows along the river grew, he rolled Deagol onto his back and stared at the blank, film-covered eyes. Slowly Smeagol leaned down and pressed his lips to Deagol's. He groaned softly as he stroked the thin, still chest. Unexpectedly, he heard someone call his name and his head jerked up with a guilty start.

The Fat One stared at him from around the sleeping form of Master. Smeagol glared at the fat Hobbit balefully. Watching them sleep so serenely in each other's arms had resurrected memories he thought gone forever and he was loath to see them end. With a sharp hiss, he slunk into the darkness.

THE END

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