Sméagol loved his cousin Déagol very much. He was his precious, his sweet gentle dear friend, his precious joy; and Sméagol was not unashamed to tell Déagol of his love, and Déagol said he shared his love.
The two were inseparable ever since. Sméagol, being the older, taught Déagol how to fish. Each day when the sun was warm on their faces they went out into the river near their homes and fished till their buckets were full of delicious fat fish to bring back home and enjoy for the next few days.
It was during one fishing trip that a gasp escaped Déagol's lips, distracting Sméagol from his fishing. He looked up to see a fishing hook pierced into his cousin's hand. He reached forward and casually removed the hook; Déagol let out another painful gasp.
“Are you bleeding, my love?” Sméagol asked gently.
Déagol raised his hand to Sméagol's face to show him his wound. "We must go back to the shore!" he said.
"It’s not too deep in," Sméagol said. "It will heal by itself." He took Déagol's hand in his and gave it a tentative lick, and when he was used to the metallic taste of the blood, he sucked the blood slowly out before the wound it could become infected.
Déagol gasped as a strange thrill filled him every time Sméagol sucked on his wound, tugging the skin of his hand forward in a rhythmic motion.
Sméagol appeared to be enjoying it as well, for he kept sucking long after the bleeding had stopped.
"I believe the bleeding is gone, my love" Déagol said though he privately hoped his cousin would never stop, for the sensations were unfamiliar yet pleasing to him, tingling around in his lower belly.
Sméagol seemed to think the same, for he next went to suck on each of his cousin's fingers. Déagol moaned as slowly Sméagol slipped his finger out, licking his lips. A look of strange joy was upon his pale face.
"See, my love? The cut was not deep," Sméagol said. There was something in his voice that brought another thrill through Déagol's body, though he could not explain why.
They continued on their fishing without another mention of what had happened. However, the taste of Déagol's blood never left Sméagol's mind, but too ashamed was he to admit that he rather enjoyed the taste of it. Ashamed also was he to speak of how he enjoyed sucking on Déagol's finger, and in his mind he thought of sucking other parts of him.
They never brought up that day of the fishing trip, but ever since then the two got closer. Sméagol grew very fond of his Déagol, but he was also jealous of any girl who caught his eye. Ever was the taste of blood upon his lips. Ever was his mind on his cousin in ways that was not appropriate for hobbits that lived by the bank of the Great River in Wilderland.
If Déagol knew any of this, he never mentioned it. He was ever so jolly, his face brightening whenever he saw Sméagol, and always ready he was to spend his time with his dearest cousin. And for many years they swam and fished and spoke of their childhood years, and always Sméagol harbored that little forbidden love for Déagol. But never did he attempt to give in to his desire. And why would he need to? Déagol was his precious, and happiness filled him when they were simply together. Sméagol needed nothing else to bring him joy.
But when the Ring had came into their lives, Sméagol's desires were finally realized, and he gave in to tasting his Déagol’s blood once more before running off with his new Precious.