When Frodo woke the next morning, he found himself comfortably enfolded in a pair of strong arms and he soon realized that he hadn't dreamed once the night before. He stayed still for fear of waking Sam, and silently wondered whether Sam would feel differently about what they had done the previous night once he woke up. Frodo knew without a doubt that he loved Sam with all his heart - and more besides. But he didn't want to force himself on the younger hobbit, nor did he wish to invite censure for Sam's actions when he, Frodo Baggins, had been the one to force Sam into revealing his true feelings. And although Sam had been plenty willing to make love in the fire-lit shadows of Bag End's parlor, would he be as willing to love Frodo by the light of day?
A pair of lips at his temple answered Frodo's question. "Good morning, me-dear," Sam murmured sleepily against Frodo's curly hair.
"The same to you, my dear Sam," Frodo replied, smiling even though Sam couldn't see him. He was loved; Sam hadn't rejected him last night, and he wouldn't do so this morning - or ever, Frodo suspected and secretly hoped.
"Shall I make your breakfast?" Sam inquired.
"We'll both make breakfast," Frodo insisted. "We're equals, Sam; we've always been so. I'll allow you that my health isn't what it used to be, but I intend do more around here to make myself useful rather than sitting around reading or shutting myself away in the study translating some text or other while you do everything. I should have been doing my part before now. I'm sorry for being such a burden, Sam."
"Oh, that isn't necessary, s- Frodo," said Sam, correcting himself mid-sentence. "And I've never thought you a burden; it's been an honor working for you. Truth be told, I thought I was the useless one since returning to the Shire. There's seemed less for me to do for you than before we went away or while we were on the Quest."
Frodo rolled over so that he was lying on top of Sam, their bare chests pressed close together. "Listen to me, Samwise Gamgee," he said, speaking intensely as he stared deep into his lover's eyes. "I will always need you. Do you hear me? Always. I don't know how I'd get by otherwise. You are the half that makes me whole, Sam. Without you, I'm nothing. I'd just be the 'mad Baggins' who consorts with Elves and goes off on adventures. Of course, without you, I wouldn't have come back from those same adventures - not alive, anyway..."
"I can't imagine a world without you, Frodo," Sam replied, reaching up to brush a stray curl from off of Frodo's forehead. "I love you."
"I love you, too," Frodo whispered as he bent his head to kiss Sam for the first time since the previous evening.
As he had before, Sam let Frodo set the pace, leading them to kiss languidly for several minutes before Frodo reluctantly pulled away. "As much as I'm enjoying this, I really am hungry," he admitted with a rueful grin. "Let's get started on breakfast."
"All right, me-dear," said Sam agreeably.
Frodo sat back on his heels before rolling off of Sam and setting his feet on the cold wooden floor. Biting back a yelp, he proceeded to search for clothes for both himself and Sam, seeing as those that they had been wearing the night before were currently scattered about the parlor.
"Don't bother yourself none, Frodo," called Sam, throwing back the covers and standing to join him at the dresser. "I can just nip on down to my room and get some clean clothes for myself."
"All right," Frodo replied. "I'm not sure I have anything here that would fit you, anyway."
"I figured as much," said Sam, daring to lean forward and briefly peck Frodo's cheek. "I'll see you in the kitchen."
Frodo stifled a groan as he watched Sam walk away from him, his pale skin shimmering in the early morning light and taunting Frodo. Sam was radiant, bared to his gaze; no one else would ever get to see Sam like this. Sam was his, just as surely as Frodo belonged to him. Quickly dressing, he followed after Sam, pausing to lean against the doorway leading into Sam's room.
Sam was currently searching through his dresser for a shirt, his breeches already on, though the braces hung loose by his side. Having successfully located a sturdy work shirt, Sam turned around to find Frodo staring unabashedly at him. Holding the shirt up to his chest and effectively covering what he considered to be his bulging stomach - even after last night, Sam still feared being called a tub of lard, as he had so often dreamed - Sam's eyes widened at the look in his Frodo's eyes.
"Gosh, but you scared me, Frodo," exclaimed Sam, even as Frodo strode purposely towards him, crossing the distance separating them in a few paces.
"Don't ever think that you have to cover yourself in front of me, Sam," he whispered intently, prying the shirt out of Sam's considerable grip and tossing it on his made-up bed that had yet to be slept in. He'd seen more in Sam's simple gesture than Sam himself probably guessed, and now sought to ease Sam's fears by raising his hands and lightly stroking Sam's upper arms.
"You're the only one I could ever love, the only one I have ever seen or imagined myself loving. There will never be another, do you hear me?" Frodo's grip on Sam tightened infinitesimally, and he gently shook the other hobbit. "I love you and only you; I wish you could see yourself the way I do, dear Sam." He reverted back to stroking Sam's arms, easing the tension he had unwittingly created. "You are absolutely and completely beautiful, just the way you are."
"Not compared -" Sam started to say, only to be cut off by Frodo.
"I know, I know - not compared to me," Frodo sighed, leaning his head against Sam's. "But Sam, have you ever stopped to think that I'm the anomaly in Hobbiton? What does every family in the Shire prize in a hobbit? A round full belly, exactly like what you have. And then there's me, a hobbit so skinny that a stiff breeze is liable to blow me away. Now, I know that you're around me constantly, more so since we returned from the Quest and you moved in with me, but that doesn't mean that your standards or the way that you see yourself have to change."
"I just -" Sam paused to give thought to his words. "I can't help but feel self-conscious around you sometimes, begging your pardon. You're perfect, and I'm... nothing more than a tub of lard."
"Sam!" exclaimed Frodo, shocked beyond belief at what he was hearing. "Whatever makes you say a thing like that?"
"I have these... dreams," Sam revealed. "I'm being picked on by some of the village lads, teased about everything from my height to my weight." Of course, Sam neglected to mention that Frodo was often among these 'lads,' which made the hurt all the worse.
"And it's these... lads who call you a tub of lard?" asked Frodo gently, wisely choosing to remain silent about just who he suspected these lads to be - namely, himself. Not that he would ever jeer at Sam.
"Yes," Sam whispered, nodding miserably.
"Well, don't you pay these dreams of yours any mind, Samwise Gamgee. Listen to what I'm saying now: you're beautiful, and I would be proud to walk from one end of Middle-earth to the other with your hand in mine."
"Would you, really?" asked Sam.
"I would indeed," Frodo replied. "Do you trust me?"
"More than anything," said Sam earnestly.
"Then trust this; trust us, and what we have. Can you do that, Sam?"
"I can try, but this is all very new to me and I haven't the faintest idea what I'm doing," Sam admitted ruefully.
"Neither have I, Sam," Frodo soothed him. "We'll be learning as we go - together."
"I like the sound of that, sir. I mean, Frodo," Sam hastily corrected himself.
"And you were doing so well there for a while," Frodo teased him good naturedly. Handing Sam back his shirt, he helped him to dress, even tucking the excess material into the waistband of his breeches before raising Sam's braces and securing them on his shoulders. "There, now; all set," he proclaimed, dusting imaginary dirt from off of Sam's clothes. Draping an arm around him, Frodo guided them both towards the kitchen, "Now, how about breakfast?"
"I imagine you must be famished," Sam commented.
"No more than usual." Frodo knew that Sam wanted for him to eat more, but he hadn't had much of an appetite since the Quest; he doubted if he would ever truly know hunger again.
They entered the kitchen and each went about his own tasks, as though they knew instinctively what to do without having spoken. Theirs was a special bond - first, of friendship; and now, of love - that needed no words.
Sam set about to making his specialty: biscuits, which were so fluffy that Frodo often said he felt as though he were eating air. These'll tempt Mister Frodo to eat, Sam thought to himself.
Meanwhile, Frodo had got out a pan and was frying bacon, which he knew to be Sam's favorite breakfast food. As the biscuits were already in the oven, Sam joined him at the griddle to stir-fry a mix of vegetables before turning his attention to making them both some pancakes, a delicacy among Men that Aragorn had introduced them to. Having finished with the bacon, Frodo began to poach eggs for himself and Sam. In this manner, the two hobbits' breakfast was prepared in silence and they sat down to eat, Frodo having hurriedly gathered together a mix of fruit to complement Sam's vegetables.
Frodo smiled shyly across the table at Sam. It felt as though they had been doing this for years: living and cooking and loving together. Sam reached a hand across to him and gripped Frodo's hand lightly in his. Raising it to his lips, he kissed the knuckles gently.
"I love you, Frodo," he whispered.
"I love you, too, Sam," Frodo whispered back, his eyes filling unexpectedly with tears at the tenderness that he felt and was being shown.
Sam leaned over, tilting his head to the side, and brushed his lips ever-so softly against Frodo's, who instantly melted at the loving touch that had been missing so long from his life. Sam pulled away, smirking at the dazed expression his kiss had left on Frodo's face. He still couldn't believe that he - simple Samwise Gamgee, the gardener's son - had this effect on the master of Bag End, his Mister Frodo. His face softened as he watched Frodo, whose eyes were still closed. He knew that Frodo continued to be haunted by the Ring, and he knew what the Lady Arwen had offered him before leaving Minas Tirith. It wouldn't surprise Sam in the least to learn that Frodo would one day leave Middle-earth to sail West with the Elves. With that in mind, he intended to enjoy what time they had together rather than waste the precious gift that Frodo's love was.
Frodo was now the one to lean forward in search of Sam, almost desperately crushing their lips together. Their tongues did battle for several moments before Frodo drew back, apparently sated for the time being. Smirking at Sam in return, he calmly reached for a biscuit before piling a little of everything on his plate.
"What shall we do today, Sam?" he asked.
Frodo's kiss had left Sam's senses reeling, and he was hard pressed to answer right away. "I have some work to do in the garden. Didn't you express an interest in helping? I'm sure I can find something for you to do that won't be too taxing, begging your pardon."
"No offense taken, Sam," said Frodo, waving a hand dismissively. "I know my strength and stamina aren't what they used to be."
The hobbits quickly finished their breakfast after that, eager to be out in the sun and working together to restore Bag End to its former glory. Frodo accompanied Sam to the garden shed where all the supplies were stored and gladly accepted the rake that he was handed.
"I don't think raking up the stray leaves should strain you too badly," Sam mused. "But stop nonetheless if you feel the slightest bit tired."
"Alright, you're the boss," Frodo teased him, laughing lightly. He stopped abruptly, though, when he saw Sam's expression change, the muscles seeming to tighten around his eyes as his face became guarded. "Sam?" he asked hesitantly. "What's wrong?"
Sam seemed to be fighting an internal battle, similarly to when he had at last broken down and admitted his feelings for Frodo to the master himself. Eventually deciding that Frodo would get the truth out of him one way or another, Sam decided to speak while he could. "I can accept that you love me, sir," he began, hurrying his words along when it looked as though Frodo would object to the honorific. "But I can't ever think of anyone but you being the 'boss,' to use your own words. You were my master before you were my friend, and a part of me will forever think of you in that way. Everything I do is of my own free will - that's true enough; I don't think I could help but love you, master or no - but I can't imagine anyone else giving the orders around here... certainly not me." His speech finished, Sam lowered his eyes to stare at the ground, shuffling his feet back and forth as he fidgeted uneasily in place.
"Sam, all I meant was that the garden is your domain, and I don't want to get in the way of that," said Frodo, gently placing a hand on Sam's shoulder and giving him an encouraging squeeze. "Sam-love, look at me."
The younger hobbit had never been able to deny his master anything, and doubted if he ever could again if Frodo continued to use that particular endearment. Raising his head to meet Frodo's eyes, he gasped and fought the urge to take a step backwards at the utter vulnerability shining back at him. Frodo had bared himself completely - even more so than when he had entered Sam's body the previous evening - leaving nothing uncovered, even at the risk of inviting Sam's ridicule.
"I don't ever want you to think that I own you in any way, Samwise Gamgee," said Frodo, his voice unusually serious. "You may call me 'sir,' and even 'master,' if you so choose, while we're out together in public; I realize that it's expected of you by society, as much as I wish it were otherwise. But I hope you know that I don't hold with such nonsense as that. We can belong to each other, as long as that belonging is by choice and not out of duty. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
"I understand," said Sam, nodding slowly to show his agreement, "Doesn't mean I have to agree with it, though." At Frodo's questioning look, he elaborated: "Personally, I don't see anything wrong with you owning me. In fact, I'd like nothing better. I love you that much."
Frodo gave a little laugh. "Now I don't understand. Sam, what are you saying?"
"I'm not rightly sure," said Sam, shaking his head a little as evidence of his own confusion. "I just love you, I guess, and want to be yours completely."
"Oh, Sam." Frodo threw down his rake and moved forward to slide his hands so that they settled at the small of Sam's back. "You are mine, just as I am yours. I don't need to own you for us to belong to each other."
Sam smiled as he rested his head in the space between Frodo's neck and shoulders. "I love you," he whispered, sighing contentedly.
"I love you, too," Frodo replied softly, pressing his lips to Sam's sun-kissed curls.
They remained that way, wrapped up in each other's arms, for many minutes. Sam was the first to pull away. "I reckon we should get to work now, Frodo," he remarked a little sadly. "Those leaves won't rake themselves."
"Right you are, Samwise," said Frodo cheerfully, kissing Sam's forehead before bending down to retrieve the rake where he had discarded it in favor of comforting his distraught lover. Once he had straightened, he posed a surprising question to Sam. "What do you say to a swimming lesson when we're done here?"
"Me... learn to swim? I'm not sure that's a good idea, Frodo," Sam protested. "You saw what happened on the Quest."
"And that's exactly why you should learn," Frodo countered. "I'm not expecting you to go off on another Quest any time soon, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared."
"You'll be there to catch me and make sure I don't drown?" Sam couldn't help but ask, even if he already knew the answer.
"Of course, always," Frodo replied instantly.
"Alright," Sam agreed, though somewhat reluctantly. Even knowing that Frodo would be there and the idea of seeing him in naught but his skin again - after all, you couldn't very well swim in your clothes, as he knew from experience - wasn't entirely enough to convince Sam. He'd make the best of things, though, as he always did.
Sam set to weeding the nearby plants with a vengeance, watching out of the corner of his eye as Frodo began the task of raking the leaves. Except… he was doing it all wrong. He was gripping the rake at the very top, rather than spreading his hands out to allow for him to cover more ground. "Frodo, me-dear," Sam called. Rising to his feet again and pausing briefly to crack his back despite having only been crouched over for no more than a few minutes - Frodo's wasn't the only body who hadn't recovered entirely from the ordeal of the Quest - he approached his lover to fix his posture.
"Yes, Sam?" Frodo replied, turning at the sound of Sam's voice.
"Ah, well..." Sam stumbled over his words slightly, as he was unsure how exactly to correct his master without making it seem as if that's what he was doing.
"Out with it, Sam," said Frodo with a laugh.
"It's just..." Sam tried again. "Oh, here, let me show you," he said at last, approaching Frodo and leaning over him so that his chest was pressed up against Frodo's back. "See, you were holding it like this," he demonstrated, covering Frodo's hands with his. "But you're supposed to hold it like this." He guided Frodo's hands into the correct position and remained pressed close together before eventually retreating. "That should help you rake more leaves than you would have gotten otherwise."
"I thought something felt wrong," Frodo exclaimed. "Thank you, Sam. And... you don't ever need to fear correcting me on something. When we're alone, I'm not your master; I'm just Frodo."
Sam nodded, unsure of what to say in response to that, and returned to his weeding, Frodo's eyes staring fixedly at him all the while.
"Well, well, well..." came an unpleasant nasally voice from the fence overlooking Bag End's garden. "Looks like the servant finally got one over on his master."
"Sod off, Sandyman," said Sam, blushing at the implications of his statement. "We don't have to defend ourselves to you. You're lucky Mister Frodo doesn't have you thrown out of Hobbiton for what you did and allowed to have happen."
"Your talk don't scare me none, Gamgee," the other hobbit retorted. "Your master's cracked, and his uncle before him. And you're headed the same way if you plan on stickin' round for much longer."
While Sam and Ted Sandyman were engaged in their verbal sparring match, Frodo had been busy too, climbing over the fence until he was directly behind the combative hobbit. Poking him in the back with the handle of his rake, Frodo threatened him as he would have if it were Sting in his hand. "I'd sod off if I were you, Ted," he remarked pleasantly. "You see, while Sam and I were off saving Middle-earth, we learned how to defend ourselves using a vast range of weapons, meaning that I can dispose of you with this rake as easily as if it were a sword. So I'd tread very, very carefully if I were you, lest I get angry and decide to mete out the justice you so richly deserve but which I've deigned to hold in reserve."
Suitably frightened, Ted beat a hasty retreat, leaving Frodo panting heavily from the exertion of saying exactly what had been on his mind and which he'd long kept silent about. "That felt good," he said, glancing askance at Sam and grinning broadly. Sam replied with an answering grin, and the two returned to their previous tasks.
Luckily for both hobbits, there were no further disturbances, and seeing as there was little to do to improve the garden's splendor - thanks to Sam's caring diligence, Bag End flourished - they were soon done with the menial day-to-day tasks that Sam usually did on his own.
Shutting the door to the gardening shed, Frodo took off, leaping across the fence and calling back to Sam from over his shoulder, "Race you to the swimming hole."
Sam laughed and gave chase, glad to see Frodo shed his cares as easily as he would very soon be shedding his clothes. Distracted by thoughts of once more seeing Frodo in naught but his skin, Sam almost ran in to the other hobbit, who had stopped in the middle of the path. "What's wrong, Frodo?" asked Sam, stepping up to his side and following Frodo's line of sight.
"Nothing, I assure you," said Frodo, taking Sam's hand in his and entwining their fingers. "I just decided to wait for you - that's all."
"Well, let's go, then," said Sam, sounding more eager than he felt. Frodo's presence was all well and good, but Sam couldn't help but still fear the water as he recalled with frightening clarity the feeling of sinking to the bottom of the river and thinking that Frodo would go away and leave him. That was the crux of the issue right there, wasn't it? Although Sam knew that Frodo would never abandon him - and that he wouldn't have while on the Quest, either - there still remained that residual fear that Frodo would ultimately decide Sam wasn't worth the bother and leave to find someone better suited for his needs and desires. What did a gentle-hobbit such as Frodo see in a simple gardener like Sam, anyway? His fear of learning to swim had nothing to do with the water, did it? Not really. It was all in Sam's mind, this lingering insecurity.
Now Sam was the one to stop dead in his tracks, forcing Frodo to halt as well. "What is it, Sam?" he asked gently, taking note of the other hobbit's rigid posture and the way Sam refused to look directly at him.
Sam's eyes darted between somewhere over Frodo's shoulder and the ground as he struggled to find the words with which to answer Frodo. "On the Quest..." he began haltingly. "I followed you into the water, despite not knowing how to swim. As I started sinking, it felt to me like - and this is just my own opinion, sir, which I know doesn't count for much - you were thinking of leaving me to drown and continuing on by yourself. Is that true?"
Frodo's eyes widened in alarm at hearing Sam's words, which also gave him pause to think. For the sake of the Quest, in order to ensure its success, would he have let Sam drown and gone on alone? Having survived the Quest along with Sam, he knew for a fact that he wouldn't have got far without the other hobbit, who had saved him time and again, even when he hadn't deserved such steadfast loyalty. But would he have let Sam drown?
"No," he said at last, "I wouldn't have left you to drown, Sam. You are more precious to me than all of Middle-earth, and had you asked it of me, I would have been willing to sacrifice the world and more for your sake alone."
"Would you, really?" asked Sam in wonder.
"I would," Frodo replied gravely. "Is this where your fear of the water and swimming comes from? You think I'm going to leave you?"
"I suppose, a bit," Sam admitted, shrugging his shoulders in attempted nonchalance.
"Well, you have nothing to fear, Samwise Gamgee," Frodo declared, crowding into Sam's personal space and wrapping his arms tightly around his friend. "I'm never going to leave you, not unless you send me away," he whispered in the other hobbit's ear.
"I guess we'll be together a long time, then. I can't imagine being without you, Frodo Baggins."
Frodo smiled tenderly at Sam and leaned up on his toes to kiss him, framing the other's face with his hands and running his fingers through Sam's auburn curls. "Come on, let's go swimming," he said as he pulled away, once more taking Sam's hand in his and leading the way down the path towards the swimming hole.
A copse of trees surrounded the pond on Frodo's property, affording them a modicum of privacy. Smiling reassuringly at Sam from over his shoulder, Frodo led him to the shoreline before dropping his hand and proceeding to undress. Sam followed suit, and soon both were naked. Sam still felt slightly awkward, not used to being in aught but his skin around anyone - not even his family - much less Frodo, who he had loved for probably much longer than he was willing to admit. Frodo, seeming to sense his unease, once more smiled reassuringly and began steadily walking into the pond until the water was up to his belly button.
"Come on in, Sam," he called. "The water's not deep, and it feels great!"
Swallowing once and steeling his nerve, Sam waded into the water until he was level with Frodo and holding his hand once again. "Now what?" he asked, unsure what followed when learning how to swim.
"Walk around," suggested Frodo. "Get used to the water until you're comfortable. After that, it's up to you how much we do. I suppose it'd be best to start with floating on your back. Then I can teach you a couple easy strokes for getting around."
"All right," said Sam agreeably. "Will you walk with me?"
"Of course, Sam," Frodo assured him.
With Frodo's hand in his, Sam soon grew accustomed to feeling the water move around him, and he grew bolder, sinking to his knees so that the water was up to his chest and almost lapping at his neck. Frodo's proud smile made heat pool in his belly, and his cheeks flushed under his lover's intense gaze. He hoped the look in Frodo's eyes meant what he thought it did; he wouldn't mind having Frodo fill him again, despite having only made love for the first time ever the previous evening. He dared voice his thoughts to Frodo, who laughed, though not unkindly, and called him incorrigible.
"How are you feeling, Sam?" asked Frodo later, after many minutes spent circling the pool.
"I'm fine," said Sam. "I think I'm doing better here because the water's still, whereas the water before was a fast-flowing river."
"Are you ready to try floating on your back?"
"How do I start?" was Sam's reply.
"Let the water guide you," Frodo instructed. He helped Sam onto his back, keeping a steadying hand underneath him all the while. "Now, to avoid sinking, just imagine that there's a loaf of bread resting on your stomach. You don't want it to get wet, so you have to raise yourself up to keep the bread above the water line. Good," he praised Sam. "Now try moving your arms." Sam did so, and he began to move, gliding through the water while Frodo walked alongside him, continuing to keep a supportive hand underneath him at all times. "Good, Sam, you're doing fine," he said.
They continued practicing different strokes all through the afternoon, Sam growing more and more comfortable the longer he spent in the water. Finally, though, they had had enough and crawled out of the water on their hands and knees to collapse on top of their discarded clothes.
"I enjoyed that, Frodo. Thank you," said Sam.
"My pleasure," he replied, turning his head as little as possible while still managing to keep Sam in his sight.
They lapsed into silence after that, staring up at the blue sky dotted with clouds and watching the birds fly overhead. Frodo chewed his lower lip as he worked up the courage to ask Sam something very important. Still, if Sam could master his fear and learn to swim, then Frodo could do no less.
"Sam..." Frodo began hesitantly. Sam turned his head, and upon seeing the serious look in Frodo's eyes, rolled over on his side and balanced on his elbow, granting Frodo his full attention. "I was wondering - would you... would you make love to me?"
Sam stared at him in slack-jawed amazement, his mouth left gaping like a fish and his eyes wide with shock. "What?" he gasped. "Are you serious about this, Frodo?"
"I was never more serious in my life, Sam," Frodo replied evenly. "Watching you swim today has given me courage. I'm ready; I know I am. Please, Sam - will you do this for me?"
"Only if you're sure, now," Sam cautioned him.
"I am." Frodo then lay on his back and spread his legs open in an invitation for Sam to have his way with him. "There's a small jar of oil in one of my pockets. I thought it best to be prepared."
Sam was nervous while at the same time flattered by the confidence Frodo showed in trusting him to make this good, to erase the memories of past atrocities that the orcs had committed against him. How could he refuse when his master and lover was relying on him so? Searching through Frodo's pockets, he located the jar of oil and approached Frodo on shaky limbs. He wasn't going to back down, though; it was just nerves. He wanted this - he really did - as did Frodo. And he had never been able to deny Frodo anything. He was just worried about being a disappointment or accidentally hurting Frodo, thereby causing Frodo to hate him and turn him out of Bag End, maybe even banishing him from Hobbiton like old Mister Bilbo had been banished from Erebor.
"You're thinking too much," Frodo chided him. "Relax. Of course, you can always say 'no' if you want; you never have to do anything you're not comfortable with."
Sam knew that he was being given an easy out, but he hadn't been raised to back down from a problem. He'd faced his fear of water by learning to swim, and he would face this with the same courage as Frodo had shown all throughout their quest together. "I'm fine," he said, smiling reassuringly down at Frodo. "Just nerves, is all. Weren't you nervous making love to me last night?"
"I suppose I was," Frodo admitted. "I hadn't had a good first experience myself, and I wanted you to enjoy yourself."
"And I did," Sam assured him. "Now let me do the same for you."
With that said, he bent his head down to capture Frodo's lips with his. While Frodo was suitably distracted, Sam's hand drifted down the length of his body until he discovered Frodo's entrance. He eased an experimental finger inside and swallowed Frodo's gasp of surprise by once more sealing their mouths together. Once he felt that Frodo had adjusted to the initial intrusion, he fully sheathed his finger and began crooking it in an attempt to stretch Frodo so that he would be able to accept the entirety of Sam's considerable girth. One finger was joined by two, and then a third, before Sam deemed Frodo ready. All the while, neither one had spoken a word, choosing instead to share breath and sloppy kisses.
Retrieving the jar of oil, Sam dabbed a little on his fingers and began slicking himself up, stifling his groans of pleasure at being touched. He couldn't wait to fill Frodo up so that the other hobbit could know the same ecstasy as Sam had experienced the previous evening. He looked up to find Frodo watching him intently, pupils blown wide with either fear or lust, Sam wasn't sure which, although he hoped it was the latter.
"Are you sure you still want this?" he asked, thinking it better to be safe than sorry.
"I'm positive, Sam," Frodo replied in a strained voice. "Now, please - get on with it before I explode."
"We can't have that, now, can we?" asked Sam, teasing Frodo in an effort to distract him from the initial burn as he slid the tip of his oil-slicked shaft past Frodo's entrance. He held still long enough for Frodo to adjust and accept the penetration, and then slid seamlessly all the way in. "How does that feel?" he asked worriedly.
"Fine, Sam. Just keep moving," Frodo ordered tersely, his jaw clenched and forehead furrowed in a look of intense concentration.
"Of course." Sam felt guilty. He must be doing something wrong for Frodo to look like that, and to respond to him in such a manner. He pulled back and eased forward again, repeating the motion several times. Gradually, Frodo's face relaxed and he began to lose the tense look he had been wearing before. He even smiled at Sam and spoke encouragingly to him.
Sam felt his release building up inside him, and increased his pace to match. Frodo's breath hitched at the same moment as Sam's hips stuttered, and their seed spilled from them at the same time. Sam remained sheathed within Frodo for several agonizing long moments as he waited for Frodo to open his eyes and look at him, giving him some sign as to his success or lack thereof.
There were tears shimmering in Frodo's eyes when Sam finally withdrew. "Did I hurt you? Oh, Master, I'm sorry!" Sam exclaimed, tears quick to form in his own eyes.
"No, Sam, no," Frodo entreated him. "Forgive me for frightening you. It was perfect, as were you, my dearest. I just never knew lovemaking could feel like that!"
"Did I make it good for you, then?" asked Sam tentatively.
"You certainly did!" Frodo replied.
"I'm so relieved," Sam exclaimed, releasing a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.
They were interrupted, then, as thunder rumbled above them and the sky darkened from clouds gathering close together in the sky. Sam and Frodo hurriedly stood and helped each other get cleaned up and dressed, before grabbing hands and running back towards Bag End. They weren't quite fast enough, though, as the skies opened and they were drenched by a sudden onslaught of wind and rain.
Laughing gaily, Frodo took Sam's hands in his and spun around in a circle, raising his face to the sky and thereby allowing the rain to wash him clean. Sam watched him with a look akin to wonder on his face, before grabbing Frodo by his braces and dragging him forward until their lips were touching, moving and melding against one another as though they could be devoured. Neither cared about the downpour surrounding them; all that mattered was the hobbit in their arms as they held on to each other with a fierceness born of the fires of Mordor.
As suddenly as the rain came, it stopped, leaving the two hobbits feeling surprisingly bereft. The sun came out, then, shining on the dew-sprinkled grass as they walked home in silence, their joined hands occasionally swinging between their bodies. Many times one or the other opened their mouths to speak, only to close them again. What was there to say, really? After all they had seen and done, what words were there that could sum up the experience? Making love, on both their parts, had merely been the next step in their relationship. Truly, Frodo and Sam had been a couple for much longer than a day; they had been together their whole lives.
Frodo reached the threshold of Bag End first and held the door open for Sam, who immediately moved to divest Frodo of his overcoat and hang it up on one of the many pegs lining the hallway.
"How 'bout a bath, to warm up those chilled bones?" Sam suggested.
"Only if you'll share with me," said Frodo, adopting his best pout that never failed to get Sam to do what he wanted - not that Sam would ever even think of denying his Frodo anything, master or no.
Sam drew the water - though only after insisting that there was nothing Frodo could do to help, and would he please save his energy by waiting until he was called? - filling the tub to its brim, and helped Frodo to undress as he had so many times before. This time, though, his touch held a new tenderness to it as he drew the shirt off over Frodo's head and pulled his trousers down to his ankles before gesturing for Frodo to step out of them. He had always revered his master; that much would have been obvious to every hobbit in the Shire. But something had changed - first with the Quest, and now with the new status of their relationship. For once, Frodo returned Sam's reverence, undressing him with the utmost care and then gripping his arm for support as he stepped into the tub. Settling himself in the water, Frodo bent forward slightly as he waited for Sam to climb in behind him, only then leaning back against Sam's sturdy chest.
No real bathing actually took place. The two hobbits simply relaxed, enjoying each other's company as they let the warm water seep into their bones until their skin was wrinkled and pruned. Sam left the tub first before gesturing for Frodo to climb out. He was careful in his movements as he dried Frodo with a fluffy white towel, especially around Frodo's shoulder where he had been stabbed on Weathertop. Gandalf had said that as a result of his wound, Frodo's body temperature would always be lower than what was strictly normal for a healthy hobbit, so Sam sought to relieve him of his discomfort, if only for a little while.
Once Frodo was dried and clad in his favorite loungewear, he then turned his attention to Sam, giving the other hobbit the same treatment that he had received. Sam tried to stay still, he really did; but it was just so hard watching Frodo go down on his knees to wipe Sam's legs dry and brush out the hair on his feet. Frodo didn't belong down there; he should be upright and masterful. Sam was the one who was lower than Frodo; it should be him on his knees tending to Frodo, not the other way around. But Sam and Frodo had had this argument many times, even before they had officially become a couple, and Frodo always won out, insisting that he and Sam were equals. Sam wasn't convinced, but as Frodo was the master, he would listen and obey.
While Sam dressed in whatever he had that was most comfortable, Frodo was messing about in the kitchen, fixing himself and Sam each a cup of hot chocolate. Although it was late summer, fall would soon be upon them - and with it, an autumn chill. And as Frodo always said, you could never have too much chocolate, in any shape or form.
"Frodo, love, where are you?" Sam called out as he wandered down the hallway from his bedroom.
"I'm in the living room, Sam!" Frodo called back. "And I have hot chocolate waiting, and a nice roaring fire."
Sam padded into the room in his bare feet, settling himself on the floor beside Frodo and accepting the brimming cup of hot chocolate that Frodo held out for him to take. From his side, Frodo set a book in his lap, looking hopefully at Sam. "I thought, maybe, I might read for a while?" he said, the inflection of his voice making it sound like a question.
"I'd love to hear you read, Frodo," Sam replied. "Is it the story you've been working on lately, the one that's given you so much trouble?"
"Yes, it's the story 'Of Beren and Lúthien'." He picked up the book, opened it to the first page, and started to read. "Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days, there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures..."
Frodo had been reading for some time when there came a knock at the door. Opening it, he discovered Merry and Pippin on the other side. Stifling a groan of dismay - he'd wanted Sam to himself that night - he let them in and directed them to the living room, where Sam was waiting with two additional cups of hot chocolate.
"Frodo's finished his translation of the story 'Of Beren and Lúthien'," he announced joyfully.
"That's great news, Fro," said Merry, clapping Frodo on the back. "We know how much trouble it's been giving you."
"Yeah, we'd love to hear it," piped up Pippin. "If you don't mind, that is."
"Not at all. Make yourselves comfortable," said Frodo graciously. "After all, my house is your house." Once everyone was settled (again), Frodo picked up where he had left off, reading late into the evening.
"...Yet in her choice the Two Kindreds have been joined; and she is the forerunner of many in whom the Eldar see yet, though all the world is changed, the likeness of Lúthien the beloved, whom they have lost."
Frodo's voice trailed away as he read aloud the conclusion to one of the most heartbreaking yet touching stories he had ever come across in his many years of translating Elvish texts. He looked around him and chuckled to see Merry leaning against Bilbo's favorite armchair, fast asleep, with Pippin's head resting in his lap. Sam, likewise, was curled up next to Frodo, a smile playing across his face even in sleep. Shaking his head in bemusement, Frodo stood and moved carefully among the slumbering bodies to replace his book on the bookshelf.
"What would I do without you lot?" Frodo asked himself as he re-joined Sam, laying down so that he was cocooned by the other's hefty bulk. Having grown tired himself while reading, he soon drifted off, his last conscious thought being that his life couldn't get any more perfect that this, surrounded by the people he loved best in Middle-earth.
