Sam liked to work in the evening--that is, when his patience could
stand it. He passed through Bag End's front gate, then closed it with care
behind him. Truth be told, there wasn't much left that needed doing. He
wandered the narrow paths and tranquil alcoves of the garden that he loved
nigh as much as the hobbit who would inherit them, searching for any tools
he migh have left about, or stalks of dying plants that he might have
missed. The nights had taken on a faint chill, and already most of
September's last blooms had fallen.
Finding nothing amiss, Sam skirted the roses and slipped into the open
space behind the smial, the place visible from Frodo's window. Sam peered
in curiously, though he expected to find nothing. Frodo's shutters were
partially drawn; the room lay in quiet and shadow, the bed predictably
unmade. Sam leaned on the grassy embankment and sighed: it had been a few
nights, always for some reason or another beyond his control, and he
longed to warm Frodo against autumn's sharpening chill better than those
blankets ever could. Last time, though, Sam thought with a flush of
warmth, they'd hardly needed--
"What shall I do with you?" Frodo's mouth was soft, moist at the nape
of Sam's neck. "You've forgotten the front door entirely. It just won't
do."
"I'd like to hear you say that some mornin' when you're wanting a bit
of play and I have too much trimming to do, right here," Sam replied
matter-of-factly, skimming his fingers through the grass along the
windowpane. Frodo dipped to bestow a kiss made more of tongue than lip;
Sam tried not to shudder, but only halfheartedly. Frodo's arms were around
his waist, now, and no matter where Frodo's hands went, ignoring such an
embrace would have been foolish indeed. Sam grasped Frodo's fingers as
they danced over his stomach, squeezing them gently. "Seems you
can't pull us away from here, neither."
Sam should have expected Frodo's bright, startling laughter, should
have expected the abrupt letting-go and firm yank on his braces. He
stumbled backwards, twisted, and found himself caught snugly in Frodo's
arms. They were face to face.
Frodo leaned a little, the better to kiss Sam's ear. "No waistcoat...my, whatever would your Gaffer--"
"As if Bagginses have got much--mmm--more propriety, begging
your pardon." Sam nuzzled his way to the crook of Frodo's neck eagerly,
pleased to find that his voice remained steady. A few months of this
teasing had gotten him accustomed to it, even schooled well enough to
respond without such a blush as he once had.
"That reminds me: I have news," Frodo said, pressing another murmur to
Sam's earlobe.
With wide eyes, Sam asked before Frodo could continue, "Ought I be
lying down first?"
Frodo's lips twitched, but he managed to hold back whatever retort had
wanted to break free. There was a softening in his eyes, and Sam could see
that word-games wouldn't hold with them for much longer. He took the
chance to kiss Frodo, unhurried and deep, fingers winding carefully in
those soothing, faintly fragrant curls. Frodo gasped and murmured
something, hard to tell what. Sam drew back reluctantly, lips lingering as
near to Frodo's as they reasonably could and still permit him to speak.
"That's not a half bad idea," Frodo repeated in a near-whisper. "In
fact, it's..."
Whatever it was, finding himself backed against the embankment seemed a
suitable substitute, Sam decided. When Frodo tasted him like this,
everything else seemed to fade and leave a pulsing awe instead: the very
air around them, the ground beneath their feet. Which was not feeling
particularly reliable, what with Frodo's mouth and hands and body dizzying
him against the pull of a single compelling thought from the moment
before.
"Hammock," Sam gasped between kisses, and Frodo stopped, blinking at
him through vision as hazy as his own.
"You didn't take it down?"
Sam shook his head and ran his fingers through Frodo's hair.
Frodo crushed his mouth to Sam's temple and breathed something that
made Sam fairly certain he wouldn't be able to walk afer another minute or
so. "So, let's..."
The two sturdy young trees stood just out of sight around the bend,
close against the row of what had been towering splashes of green and
Bilbo's favorite shade of gold. The sunflowers were all but fallen now,
most of them, heavy with spilling seeds and feeble remaining petals. A few
hung doggedly on, standing tall but with a slight bow to their stems,
enough petals lingering to lend an air of run-down grace. One leaned lower
than the others, the head of which nearly brushed the strong twine
securing a braided hammock to the nearest tree's trunk.
Frodo tugged Sam over by the hand, smiling. Oh, Sam could follow that
to the ends of the earth and back, surely, and even farther still. Frodo
settled carefully into the cradle, swinging for a moment before lying back
and swinging his legs up inside. He still held Sam's hand, and he reached
for the other, then tugged at them both, a playful pleading.
"It'll be dusk soon," Frodo said, stroking the backs of Sam's hands.
Sam nodded and caressed Frodo's wrists in return, overwhelmed. The
moment was far too lovely for marring with words: just enough of a breeze
had stirred up to sweep through them, ruffling Frodo's curls against his
cheeks and his forehead. So dazzlingly pale, Sam thought, that mayhap
that's where all the light was going to, and if he had half a mind,
he'd...
"Sam," Frodo breathed in soft welcome, shifting onto his side to make
Sam's climbing into the hammock easier. It swayed precariously until Sam
had settled, lying full-length against Frodo. It felt oddly heavy like
this, held by the sturdily-twined netting as he worked one arm beneath
Frodo's neck and the other around his waist, just breathing with eyes gone
misted that here, they were here again, this place that went with
them no matter where they lay.
"I've missed you," Sam whispered, stroking up and over Frodo's hip,
trailing his fingers over an incongruous path of skin and warm fabric,
dipping to the rise and fall of Frodo's throat, until they came to rest at
Frodo's cheek, and sought no more.
Frodo turned his head and kissed at Sam's fingertips, half playfully
and half entranced. "You too, Sam. There's no way I couldn't, not in..."
"I miss you after an hour," Sam whispered, letting his hand drop
feathery caresses back along Frodo's collarbone, movements lulled in time
with the swaying of the hammock. "That said, I'd like it if we didn't
waste another minute."
Frodo's eyes widened, nearer to dark, smoky violet in the hush of
evening and shadowed closeness between them. The breeze swept over them
again, passing effortlessly through the gaps in the roping that held them.
Frodo shivered and laughed softly; Sam tilted his head and swallowed the
sound, hitching his leg over Frodo and poking his toes through the gaps
for purchase.
"You still haven't told your news, sir. That'd be the only thing
keepin'--"
"Oh, you're terrible," Frodo chuckled, holding Sam tightly while he
pressed close with a sigh of pleasure. "Well, if you insist--I'm afraid
it's dreadful. Bilbo's going away for two days, and I'm horrified at the
prospect. However am I to get on with...without..."
Frodo's voice broke in laughter once more, and Sam had laughter of his
own to add, for sheer joy. Oh, they'd have time...
Frodo's laughter subsided into a busy suckling at Sam's earlobe.
"You...if I'm not mistaken, you're"--Frodo broke off and slid his hand
down to Sam's backside, tugging hard enough that Sam felt it in just the
right place, which necessitated choking back more than a gasp--"already
thinking"--another tug, and Frodo pushed in unison this time, stifling a
cry of his own--"ahead."
"How...How did you know, sir?" Sam replied weakly. The ruse was a
miserable one to uphold, what when he'd rather be working his way through
as many of Frodo's buttons as their location might dictate. It was plain
enough that Frodo hadn't just chosen to leave dinner; likely, he'd been
shooed. Sam knew Mr. Bilbo well enough, and thanked him for it.
Frodo glided his fingers down Sam's front, catching hold of his shirt
with fingers slipped between buttons. "I had a feeling that...you.
Oh, you," Frodo laughed between light, frenzied pecks at Sam's cheek. "You
said you didn't want to waste--"
"I don't," Sam said, and grasped Frodo's hand and guided it to where it
ought to begin, and he unclipped the other side himself.
"Annoying things," Frodo remarked offhandedly, struggling to get his
arms out of the way as Sam sought after his braces, too. "But, otherwise
there'd be..."
Frodo never finished the thought. Sam was hungry, starved beyond words,
beyond what even touch might convey until he could feel Frodo's skin, and
find--ah. He'd kiss Frodo like that until he writhed and begged,
perhaps, and then he'd see about more than just tugging Frodo's shirt free
and letting his hand traverse Frodo's waistband with restless fascination.
Since when had he grown to enjoy teasing himself just as much?
Frodo was moving now, steadily, hand on Sam's hip, arching into the
shelter of his thigh with sounds still too relaxed, too content. Not
urgent, not quite yet: Sam feared he might reach that himself, if Frodo
kept--
Something light and scarce brushed his cheek, something that wasn't
quite the tickle of an errant curl or gasping breath. Sam tugged his hand
up from venturing down Frodo's lower back and caught it, whatever it was.
Velvet under his fingers, no more than a strip cut from a much larger
weaving, one that he had done himself. He closed his hand around it,
careful not to crush, and brought his fist to rest lightly on Frodo's
shoulder. Frodo made a confused sound into Sam's mouth and pulled away,
panting.
"What was--"
"Don't you fret about it, me dear," and before Frodo could protest, he
was being ravished once more with lips and tongue, or at least Sam hoped
Frodo thought so. Carefully, then, Sam took the sunflower petal between
thumb and forefinger and let his hand slide up Frodo's shirt.
Frodo's first reaction was a quiet hmm, partly pleased and clearly to
say, So that's your game. Frodo responded as he always had to Sam's
touch on his collarbone, his nipples, even with the petal caught between
fingers and skin. By the time Sam had seen to both sides, slow, careful
circles with this new texture, Frodo's whimpers were near enough to
pleading to warrant unbuttoning that shirt entirely. Sam drew his hand out
and tucked the petal momentarily between his teeth, baring Frodo's chest
with practiced ease over those buttons. Oh, if Frodo had been a sight
before, well--flushed rosy and damp, now, barely cooled by the steady
breeze, chest rising and falling almost in rhythm with their peaceful
swaying. Sam took the petal in hand again, and held Frodo's gaze while he
brushed zigzags and swirls lighter than butterfly wings down to Frodo's
navel--
"Stop," Frodo gasped, then gestured as if to deny, or at least
to clarify what he had said. "I mean--Sam!--if you're going to...then, at
least try..."
Something sparked in Frodo's eyes, and Sam had been so entranced that
he hardly had time to react when Frodo took the petal away. Sam made no
move to claim it back; Frodo was back at his mouth--oh, his
mouth--and rolling Sam onto his back as best he could, and unfastening
Sam's own buttons, right down to--
"This," Frodo finished in a hushed whisper, and Sam tilted his head
back with a cry when Frodo's fingers dipped into his open trousers, petal
and all.
"I...I was gettin' to tha--at! I swear I wa--Frodo!"
"That's it," Frodo murmured, still pale and shining, nay, more so as
the dusk deepend and as he leaned over Sam, stroking his cheek in time to
the swaying, swaying, and there was a different sort of swaying,
nothing to hold him and give that shocked, welcome sort of pleasure, not
while Frodo was trailing the petal aimlessly up and down the length of
him. Almost aimlessly. Frodo let go of his breath and kissed Sam in
the very moment he let his fingers close in a gentle squeeze.
Sam moaned quietly, tugging at Frodo's shoulders. Frodo's hand was
wandering in a strange pattern, now, over his belly and dipping between
his thighs, even skimming under them, as if--
"I lost it," Frodo admitted with a breathless laugh. He pressed a quick
kiss to Sam's forehead in apology. With an equal amount of teasing, Frodo
reached up to pluck--
"Oh, don't you dare," Sam groaned, catching Frodo's wrist. "Seeing as
you lost it, I think you ought to find it."
Frodo tucked his head against Sam's shoulder and laughed softly, but he
seemed to agree all the same, and set about removing Sam's trousers
entirely. By the time they lay flung on the grass, Frodo was kneeling over
him, awkwardly balanced and trailing his fingers precisely as he had done
with the petal. Sam bit his lip, wriggled a little. Frodo snapped out of
his reverie quickly, and the ensuing struggle with his own trousers was
almost enough to make Sam laugh. But Frodo settled down over him,
breathing quickly and audibly in Sam's ear, and he said, "I suppose we
could forget about it entirely, seeing as..."
"Yes," Sam gasped, and said no more, nothing that had shape,
because Frodo moved against him and shifted his weight just enough, side
to side, that the gentle sway back and forth felt like nothingness beneath
him, or perhaps the rocking of a boat on water. There were only Frodo's
arms and the lightness of air to hold him when he came, the shudders deep
and sweetly aching.
"Oh..."
"Sh," Frodo breathed, molding his mouth for a soothing moment over
Sam's. "Shhh."
Sam closed his eyes, still clinging to Frodo. "Lmmlet
me...catch...nmm..."
"Sam-love, of course," Frodo whispered, and Sam opened his eyes to
Frodo's, wide and dark again, hushed, as if to deny his own need. But Sam
could feel it well enough.
"If I remember...rightly, you wanted..."
It didn't take much to rearrange them, as weak and floating as Sam
felt. It took even less to spoon Frodo into the curve of his body, and
hold him tight with one hand and touch with the other. Somewhere between
sighing and swaying, Frodo found his own release, sheltered and safe from
the wind at Sam's back.
Sam shivered and turned Frodo to face him, gathering him close. "That's
come out of nowhere," he murmured. Dusk had fallen fully, and dark would
soon follow.
"We ought to dress and go in soon," Frodo sighed, stretching against
Sam and pressing a kiss to his chest. "Bilbo ought to have supper started,
and he's gotten a new book. He's been pestering Uncle Saradoc over it for
ages, and he's finally gotten him to surrender. Either that or Merry's
ruined it utterly."
Sam snorted with amusement. "What? With jam or somesuch? Wine?"
Frodo yawned. "Mm, no. Footprints. Merry would have had little other
use for it."
* * *
Bilbo had expected as much: Frodo and Sam came in looking not a little
rumpled, but as proper as they could muster all the same. He didn't dare
let on that he had happened to catch sight of the bold yellow petal that
drifted free of Sam's trouser leg as he hustled them both off to the
dining room. Bilbo steeled himself with a sigh: at least it wasn't
something edible. He wondered vaguely how Bell Gamgee could stand for such
things in the wash, but those thoughts were soon forgotten in favor of his
own cooking and the company of his two dear young hobbits. Bilbo noticed
that Frodo's appetite was considerably bigger in Sam's presence.
They had no sooner gotten through afters than Frodo suggested they
ought to take dessert into the living room and have a look at that new
book. Ah, that book: Bilbo had been after it for years. He lacked a
collection of Buckland's own ancient rhymes so thorough, and that his most
recent written prodding had drawn any response at all was entirely
miraculous. Perhaps Saradoc supposed that Frodo would eventually be so
kind as to lend it back, once he came into his inheritance. Bilbo stifled
a chuckle and agreed, and followed Frodo and Sam into the parlor with his
dish of trifle in hand.
With the trifle in question thoroughly consumed, that left them free to
pass the book at leisure, one picking up where the one before had left
off. Frodo read first and the longest; Bilbo suspected it had something to
do with Sam leaning against him and making eyes that could be interpreted
a handful of ways, none of them at all innocent. Frodo finally turned
his eyes on Sam, and that was enough to coax Sam into reading a
page or so until the words became tiresome, but Bilbo suspected it wasn't
the words half as much as it was Frodo's hand somewhere out of sight
behind them. The book finally came to rest in Bilbo's lap, and he broke
the chain by turning to a piece towards the end of the book, one he'd
opened to completely at random many years ago, upon first finding the tome
in Brandy Hall's library. Just as he tilted the book, something slid out
with a whisper against his cuff before it hit the floor.
Frodo opened his eyes, then squinted. "That's Uncle Saradoc's writing.
Maybe he doesn't intend for you to keep it after all. Was there another
letter bound to it when the post came today?"
"No," Bilbo replied, bending over to retrieve the fallen note.
"Curious, most curious..."
It was addressed to both Bilbo and Frodo. Bilbo discovered Saradoc's
seal upon turning it over; that, he broke quickly and unfolded the paper.
He scanned over it once before reading aloud:
Here it is, you old rascal! Heaven knows, you would have written and
written till my desk could no longer hold it (Bilbo left that part out).
I'm writing on behalf of myself and dear Esme, and Frodo, you listen
closely. We're having a ball in two weeks' time, seeing as Merry thinks we
haven't had the lot up from Tuckborough enough, and I say it's only fair
that we extend the invitation to Hobbiton as well. High time we celebrated
the harvest properly, don't you think? Frodo, you may recall the last
time, except you weren't more than a sprout with Merry on your heels. Ah,
well: bring whom you will, as even Tooks tend to grow tiresome, though
don't you dare tell Paladin. What about that Boffin lad, Frodo, or that
young Gamgee you're so fond of? The more, the merrier, they say, and Esme
does so wish for the merriest.
Most affectionate regards, and you take good care of it, you old devil
(Bilbo tripped over this; he hadn't been expecting it),
Saradoc
Bilbo looked up to find Frodo in stitches and Sam trying exceptionally
hard to pick a loose thread out of Frodo's collar. A stern look was all it
took to quiet Frodo, but the gleam by and far did not leave the lad's
eyes. Sam looked up, abruptly satisfied with his work.
Frodo cleared his throat. "I'd like to go. I haven't seen Merry in a
while." He squeezed Sam's hand and added, "And I'm sure they'll be pleased
that I've chosen you as my guest."
Sam mumbled something unintelligible about Merry and then turned his
head to nod thanks at Bilbo. Bilbo drew out his pipe and sighed.
"I'd almost rather say we ought to steer clear. Gadalf let on about
still being close, and he may--" Bilbo made an emphatic gesture and
stuffed some Old Toby into his pipe. He didn't want to meet Frodo's eyes;
he knew full well what he'd see, and that would break his heart.
"Then, let us go," Frodo said. His voice was hard with
disappointment.
"Frodo-lad, surely you could find dancing--"
"We'll take Folco, too, and Freddy," Frodo insisted. "With four of us,
the trip won't be so bad."
"I suppose not," Bilbo sighed, looking up through a puff of smoke.
Frodo was relaxed now. Sam was just as pleased, smile barely hidden
against Frodo's shoulder as he turned his head as if to check on the fire.
Bilbo supposed it didn't matter if Frodo were there or not, if the wizard
even showed up at all, as fond as Gandalf was of the boy. He'd surely
understand the charm of dancing, if nothing else...
Frodo's yawn broke Bilbo's reverie. Sam turned his head and touched
Frodo's arm and touched inquiringly. Frodo laughed a little and nodded,
pressed a quiet kiss against Sam's temple, his nod a barely perceptible
yes.
"As long as you let me know of your arrangements well ahead of time."
Bilbo leaned back and drew another mouthful of smoke. Some semblance of
control--he had to keep some...
"We will," Frodo said agreeably, stretching as he rose to his feet. He
bent to offer Sam his hand. The pair hesitated for a moment, almost
awkward; they hadn't yet done this in front of Bilbo, made it clear where
they were going. Usually, Bilbo tried to be out of their way by then.
Frodo turned his head and said with a touch of caution, "Good night,
uncle."
"Yes, yes. Good night," Bilbo opened the book indifferently, but not
without a smile of his own. Best to be reading as they padded out of the
room, fingers already linked between them.
* * *
"Dancing," Sam sighed, stretching out on his side to watch Frodo
undress. He had pulled out of his clothes and turned down the sheets while
Frodo was in the washroom. Frodo's eyes were on Sam as he tugged his
breeches off, warm and smiling. "Not that I ain't looking forward to it,
but...a
ball, sir. That means lads and lasses and more finery
than--"
Frodo laughed and kicked his breeches aside. He crawled into bed and
pressed close to Sam, warming him with an unhurried kiss. Sam shivered and
slid an arm around Frodo, murmuring with pleasure. Frodo nuzzled his
cheek, spoke softly.
"Contrary to Uncle Saradoc's belief, I remember a good bit more than I
ought to--the least of which that when a Brandybuck says ball, he
might as well say a romp in the barn. This will be outside, with a bonfire
and ale and music you'd never hear if it were, say, a wedding. Even
better," Frodo whispered, "the sort of dancing--well, no one will speak
amiss if we're partnered, is what I'm saying."
Sam was so relieved that it called for another kiss, and another. Already he could imagine it: the woodsmoke and revelry,
doubled rows and partner-switching to a gaily wild rhythm. He remembered
such an evening at the Cottons' the year before--he had taken Marigold,
and they'd found themselves in constant shuffle with Nibs and Rosie. Sam
ran his fingers through Frodo's curls and imagined them caught in a spin,
Frodo held tight against him while they wheeled, then they'd separate and
step back into--
"I'm looking forward to it, too," Frodo breathed, lips swollen and
tremulous against Sam's.
Sam shifted and rolled Frodo back into the pillows. Sam dipped his head
to Frodo's collarbone in response to Frodo's soft moan, mouthing gently.
"Your turn," Sam murmured. "I haven't forgotten..."
"Sam--but--ah!"
Sam trailed kisses down Frodo's chest until there was nowhere left to
go, save for where he wished.