It was all he could think about.

He'd been waiting to do it all day, because he couldn't do it when Sam was awake. Waiting, waiting, waiting, until it was time to sleep, and then he would lie down and not close his eyes, even when Sam ordered him to do so. Frodo used to lie down like this without qualm every night, facing Sam so that they could take comfort in each other's slowing breaths. But he had only a dim memory of that time. It must have been years ago. Now, as soon as Sam was snoring softly, Frodo would get up, go off a few paces, and lie down again, curled up, facing the other way.

Frodo pulled the chain out from under his shirt, and his eyes lit up when he saw It.. He held It in his palm and gently stroked the warm gold with one finger. Only he knew why; an observer would think his efforts fruitless, for the Ring had no texture, nor was It particularly beautiful, or otherwise deserving of such caresses. But It was so dazzling to Frodo now, and he did what he did not just because he was mesmerized by its beauty, but because he knew that if he rubbed the Ring the proper way, pretty soon it would start to rub back.

He'd first learned this on the Anduin, where he had more peace, solitude, and boredom than he could ever hope to enjoy elsewhere on his quest. He was unable to delight in the scenery of the river canyon, could not take pleasure in the taste of food, could not be distracted by conversation, not with such darkness weighing on him. Instead Frodo turned inside his mind to wrestle in this darkness. The Ring made promises to him, described how good he would feel if he put It on. Even if it was only a moment, that's all it would take. But after many temptations, Frodo learned that fighting it, just a little bit, felt even better. He did not know if it was because of or in spite of the Ring, but he toyed with the danger every day now, more in the quiet darkness; balancing precariously between struggle and submission.

It was happening now. Frodo had dared the Ring to dare him, and it had accepted the challenge. He felt it first as a bolt of pure energy that swelled at the base of his spine and shot straight up through his belly and heart, burst inside his brain, and trickled down to his groin. Having dispersed It's power thusly, the Ring began a complicated dance with Frodo, speeding and slowing heedlessly as it warned him not to miss a step, lest he tumble into the abyss. Frodo rolled onto his back and let the Ring go to work, holding it tightly in his fist. The fingers of his other hand dug into the ground, or into his own flesh, so they would not be tempted. He barely moved, but he could feel It tugging at him, pulling him this way and that, and in his mind he writhed even as his body lay still in the marshy loam.

The Ring's touch was not soothing; it was hot and prickling, but it was touching all the right places, all the places that could barely tell the difference between pleasure and pain. Frodo started to unclench his fist, to slide a finger into the opening in his hand. Maybe not to put the Ring on, maybe just to touch it a little more, so It would make him feel even better. No. No. I can't...Oh, I have to...

He had forgotten to breathe, and now he gasped. The Ring nearly fell out of his grasp, but he tightened his fingers around it and told it No and as a reward he felt new touches, pressure and wetness and suction.

Then, although he could not see them, could not touch them, the Ring assured him that he was making love to everyone he'd ever desired, all at once. Their mouths were on him, their hands caressed him. They called his name, and he stared into a bright white sun suspended before him, knowing he would be blinded but caring no longer. He would not need his eyes; he would need only to feel the hands, the lips, the tongues.

The Ring was giving him a nudge here and there, kisses of fire, in a struggle to push him beyond the brink. But Frodo was certain he was in control. Not yet, he said. Not until I'm ready. Not until I'm ready.

...Alright, I'm ready. Now. Now. Now.

An invisible hand wrapped around his spine and stroked up and down, just the way Frodo's own hand used to slide up and down his member, before he had the Ring to help him. Hearing Frodo's anticipatory groan, It gripped harder and stroked faster, and he was coming, coming until the breath was squeezed from him, coming until it hurt.

His body seized. He couldn't control himself, and didn't feel he needed to; he just bucked and twisted until suddenly he was awake. Aware. All around him was dark again, and quiet. Sam slept undisturbed.

Frodo was dizzy. The Earth dragged him as it spun. He was spent seemingly beyond recuperation, but desire lingered in his heart. Even though it had nearly been the death of him, it was not satisfying. Frodo was sure he could have a hundred more orgasms as powerful as that, right now, if only his body were not so exhausted.

Had it really happened at all? It couldn't have all been in his mind; he could feel the sweat-dampness at the small of his back, and his member, limp now, was sweetly sore, even though he had not spilled any seed. Frodo opened his fist to find a round reddened imprint in his white palm, an echo of the Ring's perfect shape. He rolled onto his side, curled up, and smiled weakly to himself, proud for a moment that he had defeated the Ring at its own game. But a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

You can't resist me forever. I know you won't.