There was want in your skin, from the warm sheen of your sun-tinted forehead to the grass looped 'round your restless toes. I wanted to grab you, to still you. For all your lack of greater movement as you lay staring with eyes heavier than the gold-weighted sky, not even the cradle of your beloved earth and poppies crushed beneath us could lull you. I wondered what had wound you so tightly, and how, on a day when my own limbs fell draped with the glow of wakeful slumber. The rain of weeks ago had passed, leaving us full in the heart of Forelithe splendor. But, ah, what a blessing those storms had been, and none so precious as the last and fiercest of all, just before the breaking of spring's last breath.

I leaned to skim my lips from your ear to your jaw, tasting all the way. "You're so beautiful here, Sam."

You turned your head only in the slightest, reaching up to twine your fingers in my hair. "I can't see as I've changed any, sir, not since..."

I leaned full over you, propping myself on one elbow, tilting your chin up until our gazes met. I cast your face into shadow, and for a moment, I wondered how dark a cast mirrored upon my own against the glare of the sun. It must have hurt your eyes. You squinted as if it did, your lips pursing against the strain. And I suddenly wanted very much to take my words back, and I did.

"I should have said this, to make myself clear: You're beautiful anywhere, Sam, but at this moment--"

You placed two fingers over my lips, smiling gently. "I take your meaning, Mr. Frodo. Don't you fret so. An' you're as lovely here as by moonlight, I reckon, or anywhere at all. It's like that, isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, completely," I whispered, leaning in for a kiss.

Even now, I still taste cold freshness and utter surprize as the heat of your mouth yields to mine. So new, all of this, still so fragile. Our afternoons and a few stolen nights in my bed have been fierce and precious, our murmurs and promises fit to match. We're still learning this, what it means to hold, to touch--to plead and cling and cry as all the world otherwise shatters in one charged static crack, and then all is silence. I tasted this, too, as you breathed and delved in complement to my own tongue's searching. Asking. When at last I drew back, the restlessness in you came funneling up and up, until I couldn't see the color of your eyes, for the fact that it had become them.

"Oh, Sam, what's troubling you?" The words felt heavy, inappropriate. As if their leadenness might only serve to sink you into those cool greens and waxy-petaled reds serving our repose.

You sighed, running your fingers comblike through my hair for long moments, until the gesture lost form, your fingers falling to rest on my shoulder. You gripped me as if the thought that furrowed your brow stung.

"I don't rightly know," you said softly after a long moment of deliberation. The crease in your forehead deepened, and after some moments more of waiting, the same delicate sheen filled it, stung you more deeply.

I breathed out, felt awkward tightness. We'd come here for some time to ourselves, away from the press of Hobbiton, from the familiarity of Bagshot Row. Perhaps to see if this wonder were still the same, even when all else had come to change. Oh, and I felt no different. I wanted you then; leaning full against your side filled me, too, with want, but yours was something strange, wild, unnameable. This thing that twisted you into the absence of motion, that wound stalks of plantain tight between your toes. I couldn't bear it any longer. I let my hand creep slow and soothing from your hip to your collarbone, my eyes still searching.

"Are you certain?"

"Frodo, if I knew, I'd say it sure as you're askin'."

I lowered my eyes, half penitent. "I don't mean to push--"

"I love you, sir, I do. Oh, I love you till I can't...think of anythin' but that, Frodo, I think about...those roses, the way it felt when those fine hands o' yours..."

And in the next silence, our foreheads brushed and eyes closed, a mutual observance. Very softly, I kissed the corners of your mouth; more softly still, I found the edge of your top button, smooth as slate, and traced it before gently forcing it free. You sighed for a moment with genuine content, head tilting as I trailed kisses to your chin and worked the line of cotton and wooden disks until it fell free and parted beneath my hand. I paused over your stomach, felt it pulse in time with a murmur tight in your throat as my palm settled.

"And I cannot say it half as well as you have," I whispered, caressing lightly. "Oh, Sam, please--"

"Sir, it's--"

"Oh?"

My eagerness to know chased your nerve into silence. I kissed you again more slowly, imploring. If I could not draw it from you with words, then perhaps--

"Sir, stop," you whispered, bracing hands against my shoulders, easing me off. "It's...It's like this."

I sank back to leaning against your side, a trickle of chilled anxiety seeping through the welcome thickness of desire. I didn't speak; it would only freeze you again. And as wondrous as that chill yielding to heat as mist fell over, this was not the same. This was sunlight and warmth and security, not lightning and desperation. Not anymore.

You took a deep breath, eyes rising beyond mine to clear, limitless blue overhead. "I've been thinkin' that...well, I know you've probably been, too; in fact, I think you more'n either of us, considerin'--"

My brow furrowed. "Sam, I brood extensively, but that has not stretched to include y--"

"I'm sorry, sir. But I just thought, seeing as...this has all come on sudden-like, if you follow, we ought to consider--"

"Don't do this to me," I whispered. "If you think this is just--just some passing--"

You sat up, eyes wide. I fell back, staring up at you, hurt and quiet.

"Sir, I never said that."

I trembled, turned my face away. "No...you didn't...but it sounded--"

You slipped your arms around me then, strong and sure, pulled me up into your embrace. "Oh, Mr. Frodo. I didn't mean to frighten you any!"

I pressed shaking hands to your cheeks. "Sam, unless you outright tell me, how am I supposed to know at all?"

You blushed deeply, catching me entirely off guard. "Oh, then I...I will."

I tilted my head and looked at you, trying to smile despite the fact that I still trembled worse than when I had first touched you.

"We ought to consider--?"

"Well, sir, what comes next."

"What comes--next?"

I would never have believed you had yet another shade of crimson in your repertoire, but there it was. "Yes, sir," you whispered. "What do we do? I thought of bringin' us here to be romantic and all, and here I'm thinkin', it's been the same--the same lovely thing Frodo, and no mistake--every time, and I wonder that I don't bore you by now, if you follow."

I stared at you for an incredulous moment before succumbing to laughter so hard that I'm sure it chased the blush nigh into your hair, for lack of anywhere else to go. I kissed you reassuringly and tumbled you back to the ground, smoothing your hair back in grateful elation.

"You ridiculous...Sam, that's...that's ridiculous! Bore me? How could you? Do I bore you? Really, it's been, what, three--"

"Sir, I'm sorry. I'd have done best just to keep it to my--"

"No, Sam," I said, trying my best to wipe clear away the tears of mirth streaming down my cheeks. "You were right to say so. If you ever worry for anything--anything--please, tell--"

"There's something else," you murmured, biting your lip.

I kissed your cheek, whispered. "Anything, Sam. Anything at all, and I shan't think you a fool for it."

Your fingers tightened briefly on my shoulders, marked by a hesitation of breath, but a moment later your lips sought mine and I thought little of it, so little as your fingers found my own buttons and deftly, tenderly reciprocated. You paused at my waistband and tugged me down, clasping firmly, your mouth hovering silent at my earlobe, but not for long.

"I'd like it just fine if you picked up where you left off, sir."

"I wouldn't mind, either," I breathed, finding the clips of your braces with eager fingers. I shifted to a more comfortable position, the hum in your chest registering low and immediate, anticipating. "And neither would--"

"Frodo..." Your hands unfastened my own braces in their turn, fingers tugging at my shirt, stroking gently at the skin beneath. There was a query in your voice, soft and tentative.

And then, the clash of understanding. I lifted my head from paying its homage at your throat. "Yes, Sam?"

You hesitated at the look in my eyes, and I knew well the look I gave you.

Ask me.

"I...well," you murmured hesitantly, averting your eyes. "I'd--I'd li--oh, sir, I can't," you whispered harshly. "It's not my--"

"Your place," I said sternly, tilting your chin up and holding your head firmly in place, "is right--here--and--I think there ought to be no debating that."

You whimpered softly with each gentle thrust. "Oh, Frodo."

I leaned to your ear this time. "What do you want?" My breath sent a tremor through you, sharp and urgent.

"I want..." Your voice was the ghost of a plea.

"Sam--"

"Your mouth."

I kissed you fiercely, but you pushed me back, murmured it from a rough gasp away:

"Everywhere."

Ah.

And my startlement faded with the flush of a thrill, precise and comprehending. Yes, to give you that--that and more, oh, I wanted. More, I wanted to hear you say it again. I breathed clear assent and kissed you, nodding vehemently as our mouths moved,yes, yes. Yes, I would, gladly, and I said so with hands set back to where they began, careful at your waist, careful in tugging your shirt free, drinking your cries in, sweet and disbelieving as at last I smoothed both shirt and breeches away and held you aching in my hands.

"Please, please," you cried, when I drew back sufficient to let you speak.

I let one hand drop and slide smoothly to your stomach, just a gentle press. My other, a scarcely-brushing shield for your warmth against the sudden chill of the breeze.

"What, Sam?" I waited. Not patiently, but I waited all the same.

"Do--th--Frodo!--me, now!"

I laughed softly, lifted from you so that my body's own begging would be of no distraction. "As you wish, Samwise," I whispered, and then a last kiss, and then your throat--your chest, a warm, beating, heaving line of gasp and shout beneath my fingers, my lips, my tongue--

"Ah!--"

"Now?" My words muffled against the quiver of your stomach, tongue delving to taste bellybutton first.

"Yes..."

"Mm?" Abdomen.

"Yes!"

Dampness and salt, silk.

"Frodo!"

So simple then, to swallow and let glide free again, skin and musk and faintest sweetness, but never so sweet as your voice and your moving, your hips in my grasp. Careful not to bite, careful not to choke. Dabs and flicks of my tongue, you breathed wonderful; consume and release, you shouted more. And that way I held you and gave steady strokes and sometimes paused to murmur until--

"Ah!--Mm!--Oh,--Frodo!--I--!"

Sobbed and released tautly, then freely.

Yes, you.

I bowed my head, eyes tight against the flood, then reeling--

Taking. Not so difficult, this; just surprizing. Swallow and let go, lean still for a moment against your heaving stomach, what with my own breath to find. Swallow again...

Your fingers crept through my hair, light and wondering and grateful. "Oh, Frodo."

Lifted my head, wondered if my vision would ever cease swimming. Pain and readiness low in myself. No words--only quiet asking. Your eyes welcomed, reaching.

"Oh, come here."

You held me for a moment, hands wandering, finding pushing my breeches down and away. I whimpered with the taste of you still new and throbbing, seeping to places I hadn't imagined it could, at the mere thought of what I had--

"Here, now, mmm, just let--"

"Sam..."

Rolled onto my back, kissed soundly into silence. All right.

"Oh, Frodo...Frodo...mmm..."

Kisses at my collarbone, nipples, stomach. Sam...

"What is it?"

I could only tremble. Yes.

"Ah, of course. Now--"

And for the first time then knew thunder in sunlight, and yes, yes, we were one and the same no matter where the clouds drifted.