Sam rummaged in the back shed, cursing under his breath. He had long wooden tent spikes in here somewhere he was sure-
"Ah!" he cried in delight as he shifted a watering can and found the box with the spikes. Triumphantly he hauled it out and set off for the smial once more. He endured the brief wet before pausing at the back door to open the slippery nob and duck in. The scene that met him there was entirely changed from how he left it.
Bilbo Baggins lay sprawled on the floor and the Gaffer was dragging him away from the fireplace, away from a larger pile of stone, and Mari lay by the old master, crying and looking down on him, clutching her ankle. Daisy and May were pulling at her, and then Daisy moved to help the Gaffer drag Bilbo into the kitchen. Sam let out a cry and rushed in, going to the kitchen to kneel over Bilbo, and note with horror the blood smeared across his left cheek.
"What's happened?" he demanded.
"The master was hit in the head," Hamfast said painfully and turned away from Bilbo, "Mari-dear," he held his arms out and Mari rose, limping to go to her father, falling into his arms, still crying. "Sweet lass, are you hurt?"
"My ankle is twisted, but, oh da! Is Mr. Bilbo-"
"He's alive," Sam said, his hand against Bilbo's neck, feeling a strong pulse there and was watching the slight rise and fall of his master's chest. None of that meant that Bilbo wasn't seriously injured though and he bit his lip, feeling panicked and stupid for not knowing what to do, for not being here to stop this, for-
The door opened and Frodo's voice came floating toward him from far away.
"I cut five yards. I thought that would be-" Frodo stopped and Sam closed his eyes flushing in pain and shame. He was not brave enough to look at Frodo just now.
"Mr. Frodo, come here," he heard his father's voice, "Mr. Bilbo's hurt, but he's alive." There was no cry, no sound at all from Frodo, only the slow footsteps and then the sound of Frodo sitting on his knees close by. Sam opened his eyes and saw Frodo's gaze locked on Bilbo, his eyes wide in horror and shock.
"What happened?" he murmured weakly and put a hand on his uncle's chest.
"Some of the ceiling stones fell and struck him. He's been knocked out cold," Hamfast's voice came and it had dropped to a low soothing tone that Sam had almost never heard. He reached up and found the bucket of water they kept in the kitchen and pulled it down beside him. He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and dipping it in the water lay the wet cloth over Bilbo's forehead. Doing something practical was far better than watching Frodo's face. "He saved Mari from getting hurt," the Gaffer added, "The ceiling stones would have fallen on her, had he not been there." He clutched Mari tighter.
"Bilbo, you foolish brave old thing," Frodo said quietly and though he was aiming for lightness in his tone, his voice betrayed how close he was to tears.
"There now Mr. Frodo," the Gaffer said and reached out to lay a comforting hand on Frodo's back, "He's alright. Mr. Bilbo won't be beat by a few stones. He's stood up to far worse. You just be easy now."
"Yes of course," Frodo managed and hid his face. Sam couldn't bear it any longer. He slid over and took Frodo's hand in his. Frodo didn't look up, but he clutched Sam's hand, squeezing tightly.
"Ofph. Why am I on the floor?"
Sam turned back and saw that Bilbo's eyes were open and the master was trying to sit up. He stopped and closed his eyes tightly looking dizzy and put a hand to his head. Everyone was so surprised that for a moment there was silence, then Frodo broke it with a happy cry and leaned over Sam to clasp his uncle's shoulder.
"Bilbo!" he said happily, "You've taken a solid knock to the head, you know! You ought not to be moving about like that." Bilbo paled and slid back down muttering,
"Now you tell me," he sighed, "I feel as if a troll kicked me. Where am I? Oh hello, Sam," he added catching sight of the young gardener bent over him.
"You're in Number Three, sir. Don't you remember?" Sam asked anxiously.
"No. And I don't care to try," Bilbo said softly as he winced. "I'd rather not remember whatever I was doing to end up this way. It was probably something very foolish."
"No sir," the Gaffer said, "It was very brave what you did, and I shant ever forget it." Bilbo opened his eyes and glanced down near his feet.
"Oh, you're here too Hamfast?" he said smiling, "I wonder if I could trouble you for a bed or some other place more comfortable than your floor. Bad back you know."
"Sam, help Mr. Bilbo up," the Gaffer said, standing himself, "Go slow and take him to my room," he added. Gingerly Sam helped Bilbo sit up, and Frodo moved to his other side, slipping an arm under Bilbo's shoulder.
"You'll have to tell me all about it later, Frodo-lad," Bilbo was saying, "If it's as good as all that I might have to add it to the book." Frodo smiled at his uncle and turned to look toward the Gamgee sisters, who were standing awkwardly to the side.
"Would one of you be kind enough to run into town and see if Miss Marchbanks would come down here?" he asked. Miss Francoa Marchbanks was the local healer, and formerly one of Bilbo's most persistent suitors.
"No need for that," Bilbo grumbled irritably as Frodo and Sam led him deeper into the smial.
"Every need, uncle," Frodo said stiffly.
"But not Fanny!" Bilbo insisted, "There's Mica Goodbody."
"I'm not sending the girls to Bywater when Hobbiton will do!" Frodo said and drug Bilbo into the Gaffer's room. Bilbo muttered a curse and Sam grinned, feeling his heart lighten. Bilbo's cursing always lifted his spirits, as long as he wasn't the one Bilbo was cursing at.
"Are you still dizzy?" Frodo asked as they neared the bed, ignoring Bilbo's curses.
"A bit," Bilbo admitted, "But it's much better. I'll just rest a moment and I'll be fine. Don't fuss lad." Frodo gave him a worried look as they helped Bilbo sit on the Gaffer's bed.
"Do you remember coming down to Number Three yet?" he asked.
"Now what does that matter?" Bilbo huffed as he lay down, "Go on, leave me be for a bit and let me rest. Go bother Sam, he has far more tolerance for your fussing moods." Frodo smiled and glanced at Sam, they're eyes meeting. Sam grinned back, abashed.
"My moods have nothing to do with wanting you looked after," Frodo said quietly turning back to Bilbo, "Rest well. I'm glad you're all right," he added quietly. Bilbo's gruffness faded at this and he smiled up at his heir.
"Dear lad," he sighed and squeezed Frodo's shoulder. "Go on now. Don't be silly, worrying over your old cousin." The two looked at one another for a long moment and Sam felt his cheeks go hot as he got the distinct impression that he was watching something private. But then Bilbo's gaze shifted to Sam and he smiled just as warmly. "Don't you worry either Sam-lad. I took a much worse knock to the head at the Battle of the Five Armies when I was up on Ravenhill, defending the Elvenking."
"You were also fifty years younger and had a helm that time," Frodo commented dryly as he pull the blankets up around Bilbo's shoulders.
"And a thick skull. Which I still have," Bilbo said and shooed him away. "Now go away, both of you." Frodo paused and glanced back at the door, stilling for a moment, then his backbone straightened and he turned away, going back into the living smial, calling,
"Very well, come on Sam. Let's go be useful."
"Yes sir," Sam agreed and followed. They found the Gaffer mopping up the water puddle and giving directions to Daisy and Marigold. May it seems had been the one sent for the healer, and Sam approved, for May was probably the fastest of the Gamgee girls. Frodo stopped and turned to Sam.
"I left the sail cloth at the front entrance. Do you have anything to secure it?" he asked.
"Yes sir. I've some tent spikes I think will do the job," Sam said, with a deep suspicion that Frodo was going to insist on going up with him. He sighed a little, not wanting either Frodo or his father up there with him, particularly.
"Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon," the Gaffer lifted his chin, fixing Frodo with a scowl, "but you are not going up on that roof. I won't have you hurt too."
"Mr. Gamgee," Frodo said quietly, "The upkeep of these smials falls to the master, and if Bilbo's unable then it falls to me. I'm terribly sorry all of this has happened, but it is my responsibility to see it all through." He paused at the Gaffer's stony look and for a moment Sam held his breath, waiting to see which of them would give in to the other.
"This is not your or anyone's fault Mr. Frodo, aside from mine. I didn't know the structure beams had rotted out. Sam was the only one who thought different," he said in a low voice, "Telling workers how and when things is to be done, aye, that's your place as master. It isn't your place to go taking blame for something you couldn't have known, and it is not your place to go risking yourself on some wet half fallen sod roof. What will I tell Mr. Bilbo if sommat happens to you?"
"I'll be careful Mr. Gamgee, and I'll do as Sam tells me. I don't want to be hurt either, but I believe we can do this," Frodo said.
"Mr. Frodo," the Gaffer huffed, clearly upset, "It is one thing to be a might peculiar from other gentlehobbits, beg your pardon, but this is plain foolhardy and dangerous!"
"The Bagginses have been accused of worse, master," Frodo said smiling slightly. "Besides, there are no professional smial builders here for me to order about, and that hole needs coving," he paused and added,
"And after we get that taken care of, I want all of you up at Bag End. You'll need to stay there tonight." Sam went still and stared at the pair of them. The Gaffer frowned deeply and was about to protest when Frodo said quickly, "We can discuss that later, but right now Sam and I need to get that hole patched." The Gaffer sighed and fixed Frodo in a stern look.
"Go and do it before I think better of all this," he said at last.
"Thank you," Frodo said smiling tightly, "I promise Mr. Gamgee, someday I'll make up for all the bother I cause you." The Gaffer only raised his eyebrows and did not answer. He turned away and began ordering Marigold to take Bilbo some water. Frodo cast a quick look at Sam and tilted his head to the door. Wordlessly they headed out into the rain.
Sam tugged at the sailcloth, and set his heel down against a spot in the ground that felt stable. He clenched his jaw, studying the cloth and the ground and frowned. This cloth had no holes for the steaks, and he should have thought to cut some before they came up on the hill. Across the hole Frodo stood, holding onto the other end of the cloth, eyeing it dubiously. Both of them were soaked and Frodo's hair kept dripping in his eyes.
"You hold that end still, sir, I'm going to cut some holes for the steaks," Sam shouted above the rain. Frodo nodded and crouched down, holding the sailcloth to the ground while Sam dug in his pocket for his knife. Pulling the blade out he bent and began cutting holes every few feet along the cloth sides. He would have to hope that the cloth wasn't delicate enough to tear once the steaks were planted.
"Shall I cut holes on this side?" Frodo asked.
"Yes. Have you a knife?" Sam asked, looking up. Frodo shot him an indignant look.
"Of course I have," he said and stood, pulling out his own pocket knife.
"Cut a hole every ell or so," he directed and bent back to his own holes. When he had finished to his satisfaction Sam reached for his toolbox and found a mallet and took one of the steaks in his hand. Frowning he set the steak in the hole and began gently pounding it down into the sod. It went easily for the first few inches, but then stuck in the hard, and Sam hoped, dry tight packed clay. Though he wasn't hammering hard the wet soil around him shifted with each blow and Sam had to hold tight to the tent spike as he slid backward. It felt dangerous and uncomfortable, but he finished quickly with the spike and dug his heels into the mud as he moved over to the next hole.
"I can start on this side," Frodo offered.
"No sir, I'd rather do this bit," Sam told him, without looking up from his hammering. Frodo wouldn't have his practiced hand and conditions made it easy for mistakes. Sam himself was having a hard time keeping water and mud out of his eyes and he had come near to hitting his fingers on several occasions already. "I need you to hold the sail cloth taught," he shouted over the rain.
"It will be taught once I get a spike into the ground on this side, and there are two mallets in your box," Frodo protested, "We'll get this done far quicker if I help."
"Quick ain't what I'm aiming for," Sam said. "If you'll just hold the cloth I'll have these spikes drove down in no time."
"Sam," Frodo said, an edge or irritation in his voice. Sam looked up and frowned. He hadn't been paying terribly close attention to Frodo's protests but now he felt irritation of his own. Didn't Frodo trust him to know what he was doing? Didn't Frodo know that he didn't have to prove anything, at least not to Sam?
"And you're not doing as I tell you," Sam said. Frodo stared at him in surprise for a moment, and Sam felt suddenly badly. Frodo was only trying to help him, but before he could apologize Frodo shook his head.
"You're quite right. I'm sorry," he said. Sam bent back down to the tent spikes feeling unsettled by his own bluntness, a bluntness that he probably wouldn't have let show a few weeks ago, and wanted to apologize. But the rain was picking up again and he would have to shout to be heard. Besides, he wanted this job done and he could smooth things over with Frodo later, if his feelings had been hurt.
He finished the spikes on his side and stood carefully, not liking how precarious it felt to be upright. Gingerly he made his way to Frodo's side and crouched down again to begin putting the stakes in. Frodo, beside him was a silent but comforting presence and Sam felt easier, knowing Frodo would be there to haul him up if he slipped.
He finished the second side quicker than the first and moved back to the tool box, standing to look down on the sailcloth. Frodo stood as well.
"I think that's the best we can do for now," Sam said slowly, "It's too wet out here."
"Let's go down then and see if it's holding the water," Frodo said in his ear, "And reassure your father." Sam turned and gave him a smile, seeing an answering warmth in Frodo's eyes. They made their way down, sliding a bit at the steepest parts of the smial slope. Sam slid down the last quart of the slope and smeared mud over the entire backside of his trousers and some of his shirt. Frodo faired a little better, but by the time they reached flat ground both were caked in mud from the knees down. Sam let Frodo take the tool box from him and set it out of the rain on the back porch. They both clambered onto the porch and caught their breath.
"I think your Daisy will kill us if we go inside," Frodo remarked.
"Well, if it were an ordinary day, aye," Sam agreed and met Frodo's eyes hesitantly. "I'm sorry I was sharp with you," he said softly. Frodo looked surprised at this and smiled.
"Don't be sorry. I deserved the reminder," he told Sam. "Come on, help me convince your father to come up to Bag End." Sam hummed thoughtfully and moved toward the door.
"I'll try, but da won't like it one bit," he said. They went in and Sam hung back, looking down at his filthy toes. Frodo strode ahead and was met by the Gaffer who, as soon as he saw Frodo unharmed, looked extremely relieved.
"There you are Mr. Frodo," the Gaffer said, "Miss Mica is here." Frodo followed after the Gaffer and disappeared into the other smial. Marigold met Sam's eyes and looked down at his feet and wrinkled her nose.
"Give me a cloth, Mari," Sam mumbled and cast a look at Daisy, who was busy moping. Marigold smiled at him and went to the kitchen, taking a stack of folded linens and passed them to him.
"Get Mr. Frodo to mop himself up," she murmured.
"Hm," Sam acknowledged and went into the Gaffer's room where Frodo had gone. Miss Mica was sitting by the bed, holding Bilbo's wrist and squinting as she took his pulse. Miss Mica had a pile of grey hair on top of her head and small spectacle perched on her nose. She had a kind round face, and Sam had always liked her, ever since he had been seven years old and had come down with a fever. Miss Mica had visited Number Three every day for a week until Sam had been well again.
"Is it alright to move him?" Frodo asked.
"Oh I think so," she said and gave Bilbo an indulgent look.
"I'm not dizzy anymore," Bilbo stated giving Frodo a look from under his eyebrows.
"But you still can't remember what happened," Frodo pointed out.
"Well, that's just how these things are, Mr. Frodo," Miss Mica said fixing the young master in her gaze, "You can't expect the head to take a knock like that and recover immediately. And for one of Mr. Bilbo's age he is recovering remarkably quickly." She turned to Bilbo and squinted at him. "That doesn't mean you're ready to go walk to Frogmorton, sir."
"I didn't say anything about Frogmorton," Bilbo grumbled. Sam slipped in quietly and took up his place by Frodo's side, passing him a towel. Frodo took it absently and began scrubbing at his feet and shins.
"Alright, let's start this trek up the hill," he said and straightened, turning to the Gaffer. "Mr. Gamgee, will you help me get everyone ready?" The Gaffer gave Frodo a long look.
"Yes sir, but if you'll come with for a moment. There's some business I want to ask you about." Sam paused from wiping his knees to glance up at them. Frodo was nodding.
"Yes sir," he said and followed the Gaffer out. He heard the Gaffer pause and tell the girls to pack a bag. Then, there was the sound of the back door closing. Sam let out a breath, feeling worried for Frodo.
"Sam-lad," Bilbo said and Sam looked up at his master, sitting on the bed, while Miss Mica measured out her bandage linen. "Come hold the lantern for Miss Mica, would you?" he asked.
"Yes sir," Sam said and went to the bedside table.
"Oh, let me go and ask the Gamgee girls if they have any goldenseal salve, I'll be right back Mr. Bilbo," Miss Mica said, rising. Sam watched her go and bit his lip. He couldn't remember if they had any, though Daisy would know.
"What's this business your father had with Frodo, do you know?" Bilbo asked him in an undertone. Sam glanced down at him.
"I don't know," he murmured, "But I thought da would fight him about going up to Bag End."
"Ham said Frodo was talking about having all of you stay the night up there," Bilbo said slowly, "He didn't seem enthused but I think I may have convinced him that keeping his family in a smial likely to fall in is a bad idea."
"Yes sir," Sam agreed.
"I had to promise him use of Number One for the duration of the repairs," Bilbo murmured, "But I want it checked out before we go moving your belongings in there. No telling the state of it." Sam gave him a surprised look. Number One hadn't been used since old Gaffer Mudfoot died three years ago. Bilbo hadn't felt particularly pressured to bring in a new tenant and so the hole had sat unused the past years.
"That's kind of you, sir. Thank you," he said. Bilbo waved hand distractedly as Miss Mica returned and Sam held the lantern up while she cleaned and bandaged the cut over Bilbo's left ear. He heard the back door open and close and his father's voice speaking in a low rumble.
"Yes sir. Thank you," Frodo answered. The Gaffer appear in the doorway.
"Sam-lad when you're done there pack a bag for yourself and help Mr. Frodo take Mr. Bilbo up the hill."
"Yes sir," Sam said and couldn't help but glance at Frodo as he moved into the room to watch Miss Mica. Frodo met his eyes briefly and gave a quick smile.
"Almost done, Mr. Frodo and then you can take him home," Miss Mica said.
"Thank you," Frodo said stepping close, "Sam, I can hold the lantern. You go get packed." Sam handed it to him and thanked him as he left. This all felt terribly strange, he reflected. To be on his way up to Bag End to spend the night no less, something he hadn't done since he was a child, and then to live at Number One until Number Three's roof was rebuilt, and it would need rebuilding, Sam had seen that with a sinking heart as soon as he set foot up there. It was amazing the sort of damage that water could do to a smial.
Despite Bilbo's protests Sam suspected Number One could be inhabited immediately, but he wasn't going to go argue with the master, especially when he knew some part of Frodo and Bilbo's motivations for moving the Gamgees up to Bag End for the night was comfort. He knew Bilbo would like their company and the excuse to cook and entertain them after something so dreadful. Frodo would be happy to have them out of harm's way, and would likely appreciate having others to help keep an eye on Bilbo. And of course, there was the excuse to spend time together, though not as Sam had envisioned it earlier in the day. He and Frodo would likely have no time alone for quite some time.
Sam's bag was packed quickly and slinging it over his back, he went to help Frodo steady Bilbo as he rose. Bilbo swatted them away and insisted he could walk and unsteadily made his way out of the bedroom. The Gaffer glanced at them as they made their way past the ruble to the front door.
"We'll join you up the hill in a bit, sirs," Hamfast said.
"See that you do Ham," Bilbo called back, "Or I'll send my lad down after you." To Sam's surprise his father laughed loudly at this.
"Yes sir," Ham said as they left and Frodo closed the door behind them. Miss Mica nodded to Frodo as she picked her way through the wet garden.
"You send for me if there is any change," she reminded, "By tomorrow he'll be past any danger."
"Yes Miss Mica, thank you," Frodo said and passed her a little coin purse. The healed pocketed it discreetly and gave him a kind smile.
"Mr. Bilbo, you take it easy now and don't be worrying Mr. Frodo," she said.
"I shant Mica-dear," Bilbo assured her and with one last smile the healer turned away and began walking back up the road to Hobbiton and Bywater.
"I thought you were sending for Miss Marchbanks," Sam said frowning as the healer disappeared. Frodo rolled his eyes as Bilbo chuckled.
"Luckily, May took pity on me and ran to Bywater, despite what Frodo said," Bilbo exclaimed cheerfully.
"Well, you ought to thank May then," Frodo said, "I didn't mean for her to run all the way there just to save time."
"I did thank her," Bilbo sniffed. "Now what did Hamfast want that was so urgent?" he asked. Frodo gave him an uncomfortable look and dug his hands in his pockets.
"Just that, he didn't want anything improper to happen with me and Sam while the girls were up there," he murmured. Sam blushed hard and groaned.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said. Bilbo laughed, seemingly unable to help himself, even when Frodo scowled at him.
"Oh, poor Ham," Bilbo said between snorts.
"Begging pardon sir," Sam said, joining Frodo in his scowl, "but it's not all that funny."
"Well, I don't suppose it is to either of you," Bilbo admitted, "But trying to imagine Ham balancing his tone between the sternness of a father addressing his son's suitor and the tone he uses for addressing the master's heir would be a treat."
"That's not how I would describe it," Frodo said coolly and Bilbo paused to glance at his nephew, smiling wryly.
"Oh Frodo. I'm sorry," he said, "Let's have elevensies when we get up, shall we?" Frodo's frown eased and he nodded.
"That sounds wonderful. I'm starving after all that," he said and glanced at Sam, giving him an entreating look. "Would you cook an omelet for me, Sam? With mushrooms? I love your omelets," he said, his voice full of the charm Sam had seen him use on others when Frodo truly wanted his way. Sam's head spun from catching the full effect of it.
"Yes sir," he sighed dazedly, "I'll make you anything you like." The smile he got was reward enough as Frodo gazed at him from Bilbo's other side, clasping his uncle's hand.
The rain had not let up by late afternoon. Sam stood in the kitchen and watched the water pour down over the kitchen window frames and glowered at the torrent. It was not content to only pull down Number Three's chimney, now it was out to drown his seedlings. And there was nothing Sam could do about it.
"You look like you eat a lemon and was aiming for a plum," came the sound of his father's voice. Sam turned and saw the Gaffer enter the kitchen and sit down.
"The garden is waterlogged," Sam said quietly. He knew his father would not be impressed by this. The Gaffer had dealt with far worse disasters to the garden everything from ice storms to high winds and drought. The fact that Sam's freshly planted seedlings, specially selected flowers meant to burst up in bloom over the next few months would all be uprooted and likely parish in this torrent would be shrugged off by the pragmatic Hamfast. "Plants can be replanted and replaced with heartier things," would be the response. Sam suddenly wanted to go to Frodo with his worries, for even if Frodo didn't understand them, he would be sympathetic. But Frodo was in conference with the Hobbiton and Bywater Builder's Alliance and had been closeted in his study making arrangements for the better part of the afternoon.
"Well, plants can be replanted," Hamfast said in low voice. Sam smiled faintly and went to sit with his father.
"Want some tea, da? I just made this pot," Sam said gently. The Gaffer raised his eyebrows.
"Making free with the master's tea are you?" he growled. Sam laughed.
"Mr. Bilbo asked for it, but then he fell asleep," he said. The Gaffer eased.
"Aye well. He's fair wore himself out," he said. "That walk back up the hill took more out of him than he'd like us to think and then he wouldn't stop pulling linens out of cupboards and trying to dress beds until Mr. Frodo threatened to lock him in his room." Sam blinked and stifled a chuckle. He had missed all that, having gone deep into the larder to gather the ingredients for omelet. "Mr. Bilbo is a good one and no mistake. I'm glad you've got to know him so well Sam-lad."
"Me too, da," Sam said, a little surprised as he poured the tea. He had always thought his dad had been unhappy about how close he and Bilbo had become. Sam handed his father the cup.
"Even… Even if he's a bit of a caution," the Gaffer furrowed his eyebrows and stared at the table. Sam paused and watched the conflict play out over his father's face in silence. "It don't make me easy, where all this has led for you," the Gaffer said. Sam looked down too and bit his lip.
"I know da," he murmured.
"Maybe it would have been better if you were born a lass," the Gaffer said quietly. Sam took a short breath and his chest clenched in pain. He was rooted to the chair, unable to say anything, or even look at his father, but he heard the Gaffer sigh long and low. "You're my favorite, of all my lads and lasses, you know." The tightness eased in Sam enough for him to look up, but he grimaced in confusion.
"Sir," he murmured. The Gaffer shook his head and rose.
"Don't mind me, Sam," he said, "I'm just an old hobbit gardener. I don't know enough to go telling you how to live." With that he turned and left the kitchen, leaving Sam still clutching the table, staring after him.
After a moment Sam cleared his throat and rose, deciding that he should start cooking for the afternoon and evening meals. He went to the stove and took down a large pot setting it carefully on the burner and put his hands on the stove edge. He let out a long sigh and swiped at his cheeks, where tears had fallen, leaving sticky trails and straightened.
He would make vegetable soup, he decided.
The girls had taken up first in the parlor and had spent the first part of the afternoon cleaning and dusting and mending whatever they found that looked as if it were in need of attention. This turned out to be quite a lot of things, for Sam had never concerned himself with dusting and mending holes in pillows when there was gardening, cooking, and any number of more useful tasks to set his hands to. But by the time Sam started in on the soup Daisy had discovered what he was up to and decided that she would help.
"Mr. Bilbo might like a bit more than soup," she said lightly, "I'll make biscuits, and I think May was settin' to make a pie." Sam had helped her find the ingredients and before long the kitchen was filled with the smells of warm baking and the soothing aroma of roasting potatoes, carrots, celery, onions, and beans, seasoned with thyme sprigs and ground black pepper. Sam stared down into the pot lost in the smells that washed over his senses.
The noise from the hall increased as Frodo's study door opened and the procession of five or so hobbits from the Bywater Hole Builder Company trooped past, talking loudly and calling their goodbyes. Sam shot a frown toward the hall, wondering if Bilbo was still sleeping.
"S'alright Sam," Daisy said catching sight of his expression, "I took Mr. Bilbo some tea not ten minutes ago and he was awake. Da was in there with him."
"Hm," Sam hummed, returning his gaze to the stew.
"What's going on between you and da?" Daisy asked softly.
"Nothing," Sam murmured. Daisy clicked her tongue and fixed him with a hard look. Sam turned and met it staring back. May breezed in, holding a box of blueberries, humming as she did. "You can ask May," he said, "She's gone and told cousin Lily all about it." May froze and stared at him, her mouth open. Daisy whirled on her and grinned.
"Oh aye? Let's have it then," Daisy said, but May's face had drained of color.
"This ain't the place to be talking on that," she said faintly.
"No it ain't," Sam growled at her, "And neither is Lily's kitchen. I had to deal with cousin Ponto cause of you." May looked pained and set the fruit basket down, wringing her hands.
"Ah Sam, I'm sorry," she said. "I weren't meaning harm. I was trying to help."
"Well I'm not wanting help," Sam told her in a low hard voice, "Don't gossip about me. I didn't think I had to watch me back around me own sisters." May's mouth set in a hard line.
"I weren't meaning you harm," she said again, "you know me better'n that. Don't growl at me for sommat cousin Ponto done." Sam closed his mouth and paused for a moment.
"Aye," he said at last, "that's fair. But harm come of it cause of what you passed on. How did you find out anyway?"
"Da," May said shortly and stared at him, her hard look not softening. "I don't want to talk about this anymore Samwise. Not here especially." She turned and walked back toward the larder, disappearing into the depths of the pantry. Daisy chuckled and Sam frowned at her.
"Ah Sam, leave her be," she said, "This seems like some heavy sort of thing between all of you," she added.
"It… aye. That it is," he sighed, "Sorry Daisy. I'll tell you about it sometime."
"Just not now?" she pressed.
"It's best not to," he said and went back to the stove. Daisy was silent for a long moment then he heard her move to his side and felt her hand on his back.
"Sammy, don't look so glum, whatever it is it can't be as bad as all that," she told him in a soft voice, "Everyone you care about is alive and well and together under this very sturdy sod roof." Sam smiled at that.
"Aye," he agreed. She patted his back.
"It sounds as if Mr. Frodo's meeting is over. Why don't you take him some tea? I bet he'd like that, and talking to him always cheers you. I'll watch your stew." Sam looked up at her and gave her a heartfelt smile.
"Thank you Daisy," he said and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
Balancing a tray, Sam set off down the hall a few minutes later and slipped quietly into Frodo's study. He heard voices from outside but the meeting seemed to be officially done with so he didn't feel too uncomfortable entering. Inside Frodo stood next to his desk and chatted with a small plump hobbit, who's arms were full of rolled up drawings. Sam sat the tea tray down and watched them, admiring his master. Frodo had his back to the door and had not seen Sam yet, but Sam could tell he was tired by the tension in his shoulders, though he stood up straight and his voice was strong.
"-rolling is a fine way to store oversized parchment, but eventually it gets so old and cracked that you can't unroll it without damaging it. I've seen rolled paper crack and crumble," Frodo was telling him. At some point after lunch Frodo had bathed and changed into a stiff high collar shirt with a crisp weskit and coat, though he was down to shirt sleeves at this point, and his cravat had been loosened. Sam knew Frodo didn't like the stiff collars and cravats, but they made him look so dignified it still filled Sam with a sense of awe to see him decked out like that. The other hobbit nodded in agreement.
"Seen the very thing myself too sir," he said, "and I tells them it can't be a good way to store the drawings we want to be keeping around, oh it will do for most smial plans for we don't particularly need them after the hole is built, but we lost the drawings for Bracebourne Hole that way." The smaller hobbit pushed his glasses up on his nose and shook his head mournfully. "When we done that addition Mr. Bracegurdle wanted t'would have saved us a lot of time to have the old drawings. As it was we had to draw a whole new set. We've got them stored flat now, in a large drawer. Next to the drawer with Bag End's plans, actually."
"You have a copy of Bag End's plans? I thought Bag End was built by the Frogmorten company, what was it?"
"Rowhobbler and Sons," the smaller hobbit sniffed, "They went out of business you know, after the father died and we inherited the plans."
"Well, it's good to know someone is looking after them," Frodo said, "I do hope Bilbo has a set."
"He has three sets," the hobbit chuckled, "And I hear one of them is accurate. Secret passages you know. Old Mr. Bungo didn't even let the smial planner know where they all are." Frodo laughed at this and stuck his hand out.
"It has been a pleasure Mr. Grubb," he said as the other hobbit shook his hand.
"The same Mr. Frodo," Grubb answered, "I do hope we can get this business sorted quickly. We all want the Gamgees settled again."
"As do I," Frodo said quietly.
"And if I may say," Grubb added quietly, "You do Mr. Bilbo proud. You'll make a fine master someday." Frodo paused for a moment.
"Thank you, Mr. Grubb," he said, "I appreciate you saying that." The other hobbit smiled widely and turned away calling a goodbye as he went, brushing past Sam with a nod. Sam nodded back to him and watched the small hobbit go down the hall, a warm feeling welling in his heart.
"Sam," Frodo said and Sam turned to see Frodo's face lit with delight, despite how tired he looked. Frodo crossed the room and slid his hand into Sam's, squeezing his fingers. Sam grinned.
"I brought you tea," he said.
"I see that," Frodo said, "can you stay for a bit?" he asked.
"For a bit. I'm making a stew for dinner but Daisy said she would watch it for me," Sam said.
"Oh what kind?" Frodo asked as his hand dropped away and he went to the tray.
"Vegetable," Sam said, watching Frodo pour himself a cup and pick up a cracker to munch.
"How is Bilbo?" he asked, pulling his desk chair our and taking a seat. Sam pulled one of the study chairs around to the side of the desk and settled.
"Last I saw sleeping, though that was maybe an hour back. Daisy took him tea a few minutes ago and said he was up."
"Good," Frodo sighed into the steam of his cup. Sam studied him fondly.
"You look tired. Does your head hurt?" he asked. Frodo's eyes shifted to look at him.
"A little," he admitted. Two weeks ago Sam would have offered to rub his neck, but Sam didn't want his father seeing that now.
"I'll get you something for it," Sam said and made to rise but Frodo waved him back.
"No. I can get something later. I'd rather you stayed and talked to me," he said. Sam turned back to him, a little surprised at the plaintive note in Frodo's voice, when a moment ago he had been so full of hearty cheer and strength. Sam reached across the desk and took Frodo's hand again.
"You've had a hard day, haven't you?" Sam asked him quietly.
"As have you," Frodo murmured. He stiffened unexpectedly and drew his hand away. Just as Sam was about to ask why, he heard footsteps in the hall and the grumble of his father's voice, mixed with Bilbo's cheerful tones. Bilbo stuck his head in the study and peered at them.
"I smell food. Do you know anything about that Samwise?" he asked.
"Aye sir. It's vegetable stew with biscuits and I hear rumors of blueberry pie," Sam answered.
"That sounds wonderful," Bilbo said.
"Sam, go help your sisters," the Gaffer said, from behind Bilbo's shoulder. Sam rose unsteadily.
"Yes sir," he said and went to the hall entrance, casting one last look back at Frodo.
"Excuse me, sir," he said. Frodo gave him a rueful smile.
"Thank you for the tea Sam," he said.
Dinner was a warm jovial affair, mostly thanks to Bilbo. The old master broke out the beer and kept everyone's glass full. Alcohol combined with good food and cheerful talk and songs eased the tension that had bubbled up over the course of the day and by the end of the meal even the Gaffer leaned back and smiled at the assembled crowd of Gamgees and Bagginses around him.
"Let's go to the parlor for afters," Bilbo suggested and rose from the table, clearing the dishes. "Frodo and I are washing up and I'll not hear a word about it. You all go into the parlor and May, take that pretty pie in there and see if you can't find some desert plates. We must have some about somewhere." He turned, "Sam would you brew us all some tea? That kind that tastes of cinnamon and fig, you know the one? There's a good lad."
The Gamgees sat comfortably in the parlor, the Gaffer seated in Bilbo's second best reading chair while the other Gamgee children sat on the sofa or on the floor near the fire place. Sam set the tea pot down with the steeping tea and lit the oil lamps before taking a place on the floor, crossing his legs under him. From the kitchen came Bilbo's voice, singing a song of his own invention about washing dishes. Marigold giggled and nudged him.
"Does Mr. Bilbo have a song for everything?" she asked cheekily. The Gaffer growled wordlessly and Mari closed her mouth tightly, but was still smiling as she looked up to meet her father's frown. She giggled again and set her head on his knee, peering at Sam as she did.
"Saucy lass," Sam muttered at her and watched as the Gaffer leaned out to pat Marigold's head. Daisy glanced over at them from her position on the sofa and smiled faintly before turning to her sister beside her.
"May, get the pie ready for Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo," Daisy said. May bent and sliced the thick golden crush with a pie knife looking troubled as she did so.
"Are the masters to balance their plates in their laps, then?" she asked.
"Mr. Bilbo wants his pie in here, so we'll have it in here," the Gaffer said quietly, "Proper or no. That's Mr. Bilbo's way." Sam hid his slight surprise at this statement made so bluntly in the Baggins own parlor, but then his father had partaken in a few mugs. "And it's not every gentlehobbit would have lasses in the parlor for afters anyway, so mind your manners," he added. In a few minutes Bilbo appeared in the parlor door, Frodo following quietly behind him.
"Well," Bilbo sighed as he found his chair, "That was a wonderful meal, dear Gamgees."
"Would you like some pie now sir?" May asked, sliding a generous piece onto one of the delicate desert plates. Frodo settled on the floor near his uncle's chair, and leaned tiredly against the soft plush side.
"Yes please," Bilbo said taking it, "this smells absolutely delicious."
"Mr. Frodo?" May lifted her eyebrows and cut another slice. Frodo gave her a smile and leaned forward to take the piece she offered.
"Thank you, Miss May," he said. Bilbo asked about the summer, and if the Gaffer thought it would be a dry one, which launched the old gardener into a long narrative about the summer of '84 when it had not rained, the Gaffer swore, for three months. Bilbo clucked and nodded, adding his own memories. Throughout the conversation Sam let his eyes wander to Frodo, mostly when he was sure his father was distracted enough not to notice him looking. Frodo met his eyes and pressed his cheek to the chair side, drowsy after finishing his pie and smiled slightly at Sam, as if to say, ah they'll go on like this all night if nothing stops them.
"Can I take your plate, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked quietly and made to rise. Frodo handed it to him and Sam let their fingers brush. He drew away feeling self-conscious and turned to Marigold. "You done Mari?"
"Yes Sam," she chirped and handed her plate up to him. The Gaffer passed his own plate up to Sam and he took off for the kitchen.
"Bring the tea cups if you would lad, your tea ought to have steeped by now," Bilbo called and Sam called back his customary polite acknowledgment. A moment later he was setting down a tray with seven teacups, honey, sugar, lemon, cream, and spoons. He noted his sister's eyes widening at this, and remembered that they wouldn't have seen the customary tea service of the Baggins, more used to their own humble pitcher of cream and the odd bit of honey.
"Thank you Sam-lad," Bilbo said giving him a warm look, "I've always said that tea can cure most ills. But you know, a good meal never hurts either."
"Yes sir," Sam answered and resumed his seat near the fireplace. Marigold moved over and leaned against her brother, fixing Bilbo with a hopeful look.
"Mr. Bilbo, will you tell us a story? The way you used to when we were little?" she asked.
"You're still little, Mari," Sam teased her in an undertone but she ignored him, her attention on Bilbo. Bilbo considered but before he could answer the Gaffer put in,
"Now, the master might be too tired for all that."
"No I'm not!" Bilbo said quickly, his tone stubborn, but he paused and looked down at Frodo, "But, well, perhaps I should let Frodo do the honors tonight. Would you mind lad?" he asked. Frodo looked up at his uncle.
"Oh no, I would be glad to. I suppose I ought to get some practice in, after all." Marigold turned her attention to Frodo.
"Would you tell us one about the elves Mr. Frodo?" she asked, "Sam says you know wonderful stories about them." In the dim light Frodo's expression was a little unclear, but Sam thought he looked pleased by this. Beside him, the Gaffer shifted uncomfortably.
"Oh not elves," Daisy said, then blushing she remember where she was and said quickly, "Begging your pardon and all. I just can't keep a good picture of an elf in me head. And I can't understand their ways." Bilbo chuckled merrily.
"They have a bit of a hard time with hobbit ways, you know," he murmured.
"What if I told you all a part of There and Back Again, a part with elves?" Frodo suggested.
"I'm sure that would be fine Mr. Frodo," the Gaffer said, taking his role of speaking for all of them.
"Alright," Frodo licked his lips unconsciously and sat up a little straighter. Sam smiled at the gesture and leaned against the Gaffer's chair, pulling Marigold into the crook of his arm. She sighed and lay her head on his shoulder as Frodo began to speak.
"You'll remember that Bilbo and the dwarves were saved from the trolls by Gandalf the grey wizard," Frodo began quietly. Bilbo cleared his throat, and with a smile Frodo added, "of course, it was only because Bilbo was so cunning to keep the trolls arguing long enough for Gandalf to save them, that any of them got away at all." Bilbo settled back and smiling, took out his pipe.
"So the party journeyed on, heading for the Misty Mountains and the Last Homely House of Elrond half-elven, a pretty place called Rivendale. Now, Rivendale is tucked deep in a secret valley and the roads are very easy to get confused…"
Frodo finally ended the tale, describing how Bilbo had squeezed through the goblin door and run out into the tall pines and into freedom from the gloomy tunnels, eager to find his friends once more.
"… and Bilbo stumbled upon his friends, sneaking right into their camp while they mourned his loss. He produced himself and they were all quite happy to see him, especially Gandalf, who had felt terribly sad about their burglar being lost to the goblins. At last, Bilbo proved how very skilled and cunning he was, and the dwarves began to see that there is more to a Baggins than meets the eye." Frodo took a breath and sank into silence. Bilbo had dozed off and the Gaffer looked as if he were very close to doing the same. Daisy was smiling with a faraway look in her eye and she sat up, peering down at Frodo.
"Oh, Mr. Frodo that was well told. I do like the bit when Mr. Bilbo beats that Gollum creature at riddles," she murmured. Frodo, who was sipping his cold tea looked up at her and smiled.
"Thank you, Miss Daisy. I like that part too."
"Well done, sir," Sam murmured sleepily and Frodo sent him a delighted look.
"Yes sir, that were fine," the Gaffer said, rousing himself, "But we had best be getting to bed. I think Mr. Bilbo has beat us to it." Frodo grinned, looking up at his uncle.
"You'll have to excuse Bilbo, sir. He is after all a centenarian and needs his rest."
"I don't sleep past second breakfast," Bilbo muttered without opening his eyes, "unlike some young scamps I could name." Frodo only chuckled and rose, stretching. Sam sighed and tightened his hold on Marigold. The girl had fallen asleep somewhere after Bilbo had been lost in the goblin caves. Sam leaned close and shook her shoulder.
"Mari wake up," he murmured.
"Aw Sam," Marigold complained drowsily and pushed his hand away. May laughed and stepped around the tea table to pull Marigold from Sam's side.
"Come along dozy lass," she said. The girls bid everyone goodnight and went down the hall to the guest room Frodo had prepared for them early in the afternoon. The Gaffer and Sam would share the room next to theirs, Bilbo had told Sam earlier in the evening.
"Your father won't let me prepare more than two of the bedrooms for you all," Bilbo had said with some chagrined. "It seems a shame to make the girls all pile into one room."
"They share a room at home, sir," Sam had reminded gently. Bilbo had been unimpressed.
"They have their own beds at home," he grumbled.
"Well that they do sir, but this is just for one night. I know you like to give your guests the best of the best, but my family will feel more comfortable if they think they're not putting you out any more than they have to," Sam advised and felt cheeky for saying it, though Bilbo was nodding and looking thoughtful.
"You're right of course," Bilbo had said and given him a pat on the shoulder. "Are you alright with the arrangements?" he looked a little sheepish, "I wanted to offer you the little pallet bed at the end of the hall in the old servants quarters, but I think Hamfast wants to keep an eye on you." Sam had blushed at that. "I'm sorry Sam-lad," Bilbo said, "But I think we had best humor him."
"Yes sir," Sam had sighed. He wasn't looking forward to sleeping in the same room as his dad, even if there was a trundle bed that he would have to himself. His dad snored and snorted and had a habit of passing wind very loudly. Sam could hear him at home through the wall some nights.
Sam rose from his place and began collecting the tea things to take back to the kitchen. When he returned the Gaffer had risen and was working the kinks out of his back. Bilbo was disappearing down the hall, calling,
"Goodnight all."
"Goodnight sir," Sam called. Frodo reappeared a moment later from the hallway, having taken the leftover pie to down to the cool cellar. He caught Sam's gaze as he moved to the window, pulling the shutters closed.
"Goodnight Sam," he said and turned to the Gaffer, "Goodnight Mr. Gamgee. I hope you both rest well. If there is anything you need in the night please don't worry about waking me or Bilbo." The Gaffer nodded politely to Frodo and gave him a tight smile.
"We shan't be needing to do that I'm sure, but thank 'ee kindly for saying so, sir," the Gaffer paused a long moment and let out a soft sigh, turning to the hallway. "Sam, help your master close up the hole for the night. Then come on to bed when you're done." The Gaffer didn't look back as he moved out the parlor. "Good night Mr. Frodo," he said.
"Good night Mr. Gamgee," Frodo said softly, looking where the Gaffer had disappeared. Sam let out a long breath. He hadn't expected his father to give him a moment alone with Frodo. Well he didn't intend to waste it. He stepped close to Frodo's side and took his hand. Frodo turned to him slowly, his eyes soft. He looked so warm and inviting and handsome in the lamp light, Sam thought.
"You know," Frodo murmured, "You're beautiful with your family." Sam blinked at that, pleased and a little unsure of what Frodo meant. "I suppose I haven't really seen you with them for long periods, lately. It's so clear that you all love one another so." Sam chuckled.
"Aye well, don't be thinking it's all sweetness having three sisters and my old grumpy da," he said. Frodo smiled faintly and leaned against Sam, setting his chin on Sam's shoulder.
"No, I suppose not," he said softly.
"You're beautiful with your family too," Sam murmured in his ear. He felt Frodo tighten his hold. "You are. And you were so fine and strong today. On the roof with me, doing nasty dangerous work and then in the study with those fancy smial builders, every inch the Master of the Hill."
"My only aim was not to embarrass myself, on both counts," Frodo said drawing back and smiling wanly, eye cast down, "I'm glad that you think I didn't." There wasn't any good answer to that so Sam bent and brushed a kiss against Frodo's forehead, taking the excuse to wind his fingers in the soft brown curls that framed his face. To his surprise Frodo left out a sigh and stilled under his touch. Sam pulled back a bit and peered down into his face to make sure everything was alright only to see Frodo gazing at him with thoughtful eyes, a quiet patient expression, waiting.
Ah, Sam thought, he's letting me lead. Up until this point it had been Frodo who had initiated their physical encounters in one way or another, but tonight was different. Tonight he was pliant in a way that was turning Sam's backbone to jelly. Experimentally he let his hand drift down along Frodo's jaw line and pressed gently to tilt his head up for a kiss. Frodo let him without comment, parting his lips as Sam pressed their mouths together.
When Sam's wits returned he found he was gripping Frodo's side tightly in a way that had to be uncomfortable, and that he was trembling as Frodo's hot wet tongue danced along his own in a way that made him want to throw all caution to the wind and push the gentlehobbit against the nearest wall and couple him. Frodo wasn't helping his resolve. At some point he had stepped closer and inserted a thigh between Sam's legs, pressing it against his groin. Sam's attention narrowed to that warm welcome touch as Frodo slid his leg teasingly from side to side. Sam drew his mouth back, trying to regain an amount of control, even as he felt Frodo's chest rise and fall in quick excitement and heard the soft murmur of need that escaped him when Sam withdrew. He gingerly moved his hips back, but let their foreheads brush, unwilling to lose the closeness as they caught their breaths. He opened his eyes, planning on saying something or smiling but Frodo closed the distance again, and licked Sam's mouth, entreating him to fall back into a kiss.
"Ah," Sam cried weakly and stepped away, hating to separate himself from Frodo, but knowing too, that his will would not last much longer if they continued.
"I'm sorry," Frodo whispered. Sam bit hard on his lip and forced himself to look at Frodo.
"It's just, da will be looking for me…" he breathed and added, "Oh, don't be sorry. I love kissing you." Frodo shook his head, still smiling.
"Kissing is one thing. This," Frodo paused and shyly looked down at himself, and Sam's eyes followed, fixing on the ridge of strained cloth tucked under trouser buttons. "It's not fair of me. When we can't do anything about it." Sam let out a soft short whine, unbidden and Frodo looked up, startled. Sam wrenched his eyes away and took deep steadying breaths.
"Sorry," he gasped and sat on the footstool Bilbo kept near his chair. Sam jumped a little when Frodo touched his shoulder. He opened his eyes to protest, but Frodo shushed him and began rubbing his back.
"Just relax. I'm afraid you'll have it a bit worse than I, but there's no helping it," Frodo sighed.
"Why is it worse for me?" Sam asked. "Cause I'm younger?" Frodo peered at him and chuckled, his cheeks going a becoming pink.
"Well, I was thinking more that you are about to have to go bed down in the same room as your father, while I will have the privacy of my own bedroom." Sam looked down in embarrassment, but he couldn't feel too bad with Frodo still rubbing his shoulders like that.
"Oh," he said abashed. Frodo continued to press gently along the muscles of his shoulders, working at the tense knots with slow patient strokes.
"It won't always be like this," Frodo told him quietly, "when I take you to my bed I'll make sure we have time and privacy. We won't be worrying about being caught or called away."
"That sounds wonderful," Sam murmured. Frodo bent slightly and kissed his ear tip.
"Now, is it better for you to sit here still for a bit or help me close the shutters?" Frodo asked him.
"Close the shutters," Sam said, rising, "t'will take me mind off… that is, doing something practical always helps me." Frodo nodded slightly.
"I'll take the kitchen and dining room, and if you would check the front hall and the library. We'll meet in the study."
"Alright," Sam said and went to his appointed tasks. In the summer, most hobbits left their windows open, and Bilbo allowed the bedroom windows to stay open, but he didn't care for summer breezes in the other rooms. The villagers said it was because Bilbo was suspicious of thieves, but Sam knew it was because Bilbo didn't like for his papers to be blown around or for his books to be exposed to damp night air.
Sam moved from room to room, willing his mind away from what had just happened, but he couldn't. It took his breath away that he had aroused Frodo, and that Frodo had openly admitted it, and even let Sam see the evidence of it. And then, Frodo had talked about when- not if, but when- he would take Sam to bed. He wants to… with me! Sam thought gleefully and swallowed his nervousness down as he approached the first window in the front hall. He stared out into the damp night, hearing the soft drip of water from the trees and bushes.
He couldn't imagine how Frodo could assure their time and privacy but he had no doubt that he would. They would be allowed to relax and think only of one another and what was happening between them. Sam sighed and closed the window and the shutters. It would be a long night.
Frodo lay in bed, his hands behind his head slid under his pillow, and he gazed up at the vaulted ceiling above him. His cock tingled and throbbed dully so he rolled his hips and let the soft linen sheets slide over it teasingly. He smiled a little at the pleasure and turned on his side, sighing.
He had been mindful not to do anything to excite Sam when they said their goodnights in the study. He hadn't even kissed him, rather he had restricted himself to a hand clasp. Sam had taken his hand and kissed it, saying goodnight as he did.
Frodo wondered guiltily if he had pushed Sam too far too fast, all but he had seemed to enjoy what they had been doing. And it hadn't been a conscious decision to put his leg against Sam's cock, but had been something was accustomed to doing with Pan all those years ago. Instincts were returning with a vengeance, he was discovering.
It really had felt remarkably good, he reflected and squirmed, drawing his knees up. The way Sam had held him so tightly and pressed back so enthusiastically had made him hard, harder than he had let himself get around someone else in a long time. He shivered to remember Sam's warm solid body pressing against his own and felt his cock tighten in response. He licked his lips and gave in, curling his fist around the hot flesh rising up from between his legs. He recalled the look on Sam's face when he had looked down and seen the result that their kissing and rubbing had had. And the sound he had made- that had been lust! Lust, from my sweet shy Samwise, Frodo thought, panting now.
How would it be to lay him down, to touch him and watch those soulful brown eyes widen in excitement and pleasure? And how would it be to touch Sam's cock, with no trousers or linens in the way? He had felt it with his leg, the vague outline of it and the warmth of it. He knew it was thick and supposed it would flush a deep red the way Sam's face did when he was embarrassed or excited. Would Sam let him taste it? Had he ever known that sort of pleasure?
The muscles in his stomach quivered in tension and Frodo let a soft moan become audible. He had learned to use moans and whimpers to tell his playmates how aroused he was, how he liked to be touched and even to drive his own arousal when he was alone.
"Mmm," he sighed and reached down to fondle his stones, slowing his stroking to prolong the pleasure. He wondered if Sam would be a noisy lover, and couldn't decide; would his inherent shyness keep the fair gardener quiet or would he be helpless to the passion that made him burst into tears when he was upset or raise his voice in indignation when he was tested and teased by his friends?
He moved his hand faster now, his excitement growing, notching higher. Not for the first time, he was thankful for the thick walls of Bag End, assuring that none would hear his labored breaths and guess what he was up to. He felt the hot welling at the base of his cock and realized he was getting close, and that he didn't have a handkerchief handy. Muttering a curse he slowed his stroking and wriggled to the side of the bed, reaching out for his breeks where he had shed them at the bedside. Sometimes it paid to be untidy, he reflected as he found a handkerchief in the pocket and drawing it up pressed it over the tip of his arousal. Satisfied now he resumed his stroking and let his reaction come. The pleasure of it washed over him in a deep sweeping orgasm that set his limbs trembling.
"Aahk," he groaned, as his body pulsed, pleased, if not a little surprised at how powerful it was. He must have been more wound up than he realized. Slowly his muscles eased and relaxation spread over him, like a warm blanket that left his limbs heavy and his head cloudy with drowsiness.
He hoped when he and Sam loved it would be as nice, or better. It would be better, he decided, for it would be far nicer to have Sam in his arms. But, he resolved sleepily, he would try for an exclamation slightly more dignified at the crucial moment.
