It was after tea time when Frodo heard the front door open and the sound of voices coming down the hall. He rose from his desk, stretching and went out to greet his uncle. He could hear Bilbo grumbling from the kitchen so he padded down the hall and paused at the kitchen entryway. Sam was shrugging off pack straps and hefting the heavy cloth bags up onto the counter to be unloaded.
"Who ever heard of goats at a flower festival anyway? It's a recipe for disaster if you want my opinion. Don't you agree, my boy?" Bilbo said, his back turned away from Frodo. Sam caught sight of him and smiled as he answered.
"Yes sir," he said, "Folks ought to know better, lest they're planning on keeping them penned up."
"Exactly! But they won't be building the pens, they'll be expecting the committee to do it, and this is all rather late notice for- oh, hullo Frodo," he said turning.
"Hello," Frodo said, "Sounds as if you had quite a meeting. Did the committee decide on a theme yet?" Sam's eyes went wide in a look of warning and he shook his head but it was too late. Bilbo went red in the face and puffed his cheeks out. "Oh dear. Never mind it," Frodo tried. Bilbo took a deep breath and said slowly,
"…Come sow the seeds of summer fancy and flowery fun."
The three hobbits stood in grave silence for a long moment. Sam gingerly lifted out a few of the cold cellar items and slunk off.
"I'm so sorry, Bilbo," Frodo said in what he hoped was a solemn enough voice. "Mrs. Delphinium has had her revenge after all." Bilbo let out a sigh.
"I'm going to go have a smoke," he said, "Be a good lad and help Sam put away the food stuffs."
"Yes sir," Frodo said contritely, "Can I make you tea?"
"Yes please," Bilbo said, sounding a little more amiable as he left the kitchen. "See if we have any dandelion tea. I've taken a liking to the stuff." Frodo raised his eyebrows but went to the tea drawer. Personally he did not care for dandelion tea, it was far too bitter like coffee, but Bilbo enjoyed it and Frodo had enjoyed making trips into the countryside to watch Sam harvest the taproots that he would later cut and dry and roast. Frodo had gone along to snip off the yellow heads and collect them for making dandelion wine.
Bilbo retired to his study while Frodo brewed the tea and in a few minutes Sam returned from the cellar and entered the kitchen once more. He sent a warm look Frodo's way in greeting and Frodo smiled slightly at him. Together they stacked the food stuffs in the pantry. Sam hefted the flour sack and Frodo pulled it up to the middle shelf where it would be easiest to reach.
"Thanks," Sam said.
"You're welcome. I thought you were at the Cotton's today," Frodo said quietly. Sam nodded.
"I was. Then as me and da were coming home we met Mr. Bilbo on the road carrying all those heavy sacks. So I offered to help him carry."
"That was kind of you," Frodo said softly.
"I'm to help with dinner and washing up but then I thought I might come back up here, if you still want to go out on the hill tonight," Sam murmured.
"Of course I do," Frodo smiled slightly, "I've been looking forward to it all day."
"Ah. Me too," Sam said. They finished putting everything away and Sam took his leave. Frodo watched him go, then turned his attention back to the tea he was supposed to be preparing for his uncle.
Bilbo stretched and stood heading for the kitchen. He was still exhausted from listening to the committee members argue over the festival theme. He deeply regretted suggesting that they have one in the first place. And the one they had decided on…He snorted and tried to think about something else.
As Bilbo passed the study he saw Frodo sitting on the floor in front of the bookcases, a large tome balanced in his lap. The boy was bent over it, deep in study. He paused, curiously.
"What have you got there?" Bilbo asked and predictably Frodo jerked in surprise and stared up at him. His cheeks went pink and he gaped a moment before saying,
"Nothing."
Bilbo laughed.
"Keep your secrets then," he said, "but I recognize that as Minto Boggy-Hillocks Floral Emblems with Illustrative Poetry, second edition." Frodo flushed a deeper shade and scowled.
"Composing flower messages is rather more complicated than I remembered," he said.
"Well, you probably didn't care so very much before," Bilbo said in reasonable tones. "I would suggest asking Sam- the boy probably has that book memorized- but I suppose that would defeat the purpose."
"Exactly," Frodo sighed. "No one should have the task of composing a corsage for a gardener." Bilbo chuckled.
"What's wrong with something simple? Sam will like whatever you give him I suspect." Frodo shrugged.
"I suppose. But I did want to impress him." He sighed, "I will find messages that seem to suit, but then I have no idea how to get a hold of the flowers. Most aren't in season," he gritted his teeth, "why don't we have this bloody festival in spring time?" Bilbo laughed.
"Really, there are several things blooming in our garden."
"I hate to cut them when Sam's worked so hard to grow them and set them to rights," Frodo sighed "And I couldn't bear to seek out another gardener for help. It strikes me as being unfaithful, somehow." Bilbo bit his lip.
"You could always ask Hamfast," he said. Frodo gave him an agonized look. "Well, no I suppose not."
"I don't suppose you ever made flower messages for anyone?" Frodo asked interestedly.
"Of course I did," Bilbo said gruffly, "Though this whole flower wearing custom wasn't so popular when I was young."
"How did you go about it?" Frodo asked, "Did you ask Holman to help you?"
"Holman had better things to do than mess about with flower fancy, as he called it. No, I wouldn't have dared," Bilbo chuckled. "I believe I went wildflower collecting and then looked up the flowers I found and composed the message from what I had. Not the best way perhaps, but it worked well enough for me. Won a few kisses at any rate."
"I suppose I could try that," Frodo mumbled casting a last look at the flower book.
As evening drew closer Sam made his way toward the Hill. He whistled happily for a time until he drew closer and began to feel the mixture of feelings he was coming to associate with these trysts. Nerves, happiness, lust, excitement all swirled inside him. He climbed the garden steps and let himself into the west gate, passing the flower beds and the vegetable plots. He paused for a moment, a newly bloomed flower catching his attention and he bent to examine it. Smiling in pleasure he thought of plucking it, but resisted the urge. Sam straightened, lifting his head above the hedge and saw Frodo's faint outline framed by his round bedroom window. Frodo hadn't seen him, but was gazing out at the row road. He looked wistful and to Sam's eyes, beautiful, in the glow of dying sun light.
"Hark!" he cried suddenly. Frodo jerked back and stared at him in surprise.
"Sam!" he gasped, "what in the Shire?" Sam stood up, taken suddenly by a whim.
"I cried out because I was taken so by the sight of my fair lad crowned by dusk's glory and framed by living vine." Frodo stood up straighter and frowned.
"I beg your pardon?" he said in mock sternness. Sam grinned and came forward, speaking in a low solemn voice, the same voice he used for reading out poetry from Bilbo's books.
"When a lad sees such a radiance as you, touched by nature's glory, bathed in summer light, he must cry out or lose the chance at love's discovery, forsaking his delight." Frodo winced, probably from the badness of the verse. He stuck his pipe in his mouth and chewed it speculatively, looking as if he were stifling laughter.
"Aherm- What are you quoting from?" he asked.
"Naught but from my heart," Sam laughed and to his pleasure Frodo blushed, while trying to look all together unmoved by his words. "my heart charmed, hopeful that my fine lad should linger and be pleased in the garden that his love tends for him, though it cannot hope to match him in sweetness or fairness." Frodo continued to chew his pipe, leaning against the window sill.
"My love's flowers are fair things," Frodo said slowly, "how can you know that this lad is fairer than the bright blooms? They are, after all, the envy of the Farthing. And this lad, I would guess, would not claim such a boast as this." Sam considered for a moment before answering,
"Oh aye, he is unsuspicious, full of charm unconscious. And as you say, the flowers are fair and fragrant," Sam admitted, "But he is as far above the flowers as the stars in the sky. Aye, he is very like the stars."
"Cold and distant?" Frodo asked, smirking.
"Bright and hopeful, with the power to comfort and sooth away worry," Sam said, striding along the lane of rose bushes.
"And what of clouded nights?" Frodo asked softly.
"The clouds matter not, me dear," Sam said gazing up at him, coming to stand under his window, "for above that darkness beyond the clouds, the stars shine, whether we can see them or no. And so it is with my love." He bowed his head suddenly a little shy, "For I know he loves me, even when I cannot be at his side. Even when I cannot speak my love to him. The thought of him gives me peace and hope enough to stand against any hardness in this world."
"Oh," Frodo sighed, sounding touched. "Dearest Sam, I adore you," he murmured. Sam set his chin on the window sill and smiled.
"And my moonshine?" he asked, closing his eyes as Frodo's hand lit on his hair, stroking his hair.
"And your moonshine," Frodo assured him.
"And my bad poetry?" Sam chuckled.
"Well," Frodo paused, squinting down at him, "perhaps you have been reading too much of the elvish troubadours."
"You said you'd find me something a bit naughtier," Sam murmured, pleased by the way that Frodo kept stroking his curls.
"So I did," Frodo said. "And so I found one for our story on the Hill tonight." Sam felt his cheeks go hot.
"Oh," he sighed.
They climbed the hill together after gathering a few items, a blanket to sit on, a basket of provisions to nibble on and a bottle of wine with glasses. Frodo collected a small leather bound book that Sam had never seen before and received a mysterious grin when he asked about it.
"It's kept on a high shelf," was all that Frodo would say. They came up to the top of the hill, a wide mound full of untamed soft grass, dotted with white and yellow wild flowers, and at the head of the Hill, the old oak that twisted down over the grand smial itself. They set the blanket close to the tree, but faced away from it, looking out into the sky over the countryside they both knew so well. Frodo opened the wine and poured a bit for both of them, then settled back to read from his mysterious book. Clearing his throat he read,
I dream'd this mortal part of mine Was metamorphoz'd to a vine,
Which crawling one and every way
Enthrall'd my dainty Lucia.
Methought her long small legs and thighs
I with my tendrils did surprize;
Her belly, buttocks, and her waist
By my soft nerv'lits were embrac'd.
"Oh my," Sam murmured and grinned. Frodo looked up and chuckled.
"I told you," he said.
"A plant eh?" Sam said peering at him. Frodo shrugged.
"Think what you like," he said smiling, "But you must have noticed how many euphemisms use plants to stand in for what they really mean." Sam rolled his eyes.
"Aye, I get to hear it all laughed over in the pub all the time. 'Oy Sam, handle any taters today? Sow any wild oats? Spy any pretty rosebuds?'"
"Plant any seed?" Frodo laughed, "Plow any furrow?"
"Now, Mr. Frodo," Sam said pretending to be shocked, which only made Frodo laugh harder.
"Shall I finish the poem?" Frodo asked. "I don't want to scandalize you now."
"Oh, go ahead then," Sam said and Frodo continued,
My curls about her neck did craule,
And armes and hands they did enthrall,
So that she could not freely stir
(All parts there made one prisoner).
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts which maids keep unespy'd,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took
That with the fancie I awoke;
And found (ah me!) this flesh of mine
More like a stock than like a vine.
Frodo paused and glanced over at Sam who was watching the last shreds of sunlight fade away.
"Well, mercy me," Sam said, blushing a little, "fancy that elves would write about such a thing."
"This one was written by a man, I believe, but elves aren't above writing on such things." Sam smiled, feeling warm and pleased from the vision.
"It is a pleasant fancy, I'll give it that," he said.
"Oh?" Frodo said turning to him in interest. "Really?" Sam blushed at Frodo's regard.
"Well! No more than any other lad might find it pleasant, I'm sure. Don't you like it?"
"Yes," Frodo answered softening his smile and slipped an arm around Sam's shoulder. "I wasn't making fun. I find it a very stimulating poem, myself, otherwise I wouldn't have read it. I suppose I was wondering about what part you found pleasant."
"Well, all of it," Sam said frowning, feeling simple and as if he were missing something. "I liked the bit about his hard… er, vine." He rushed on, "I just never heard such a thing described in a fancy verse. It struck me a bit naughty and funny."
"It is, isn't it?" Frodo said and Sam felt relieved that Frodo wasn't disappointed in his answer, "I think I laughed aloud the first time I read it. I didn't quite expect it either."
"And what part do you find pleasant?" Sam asked, more to keep the conversation going than anything else, though he was curious, of course. Frodo paused and went very still.
"I like," he murmured softly, "well, the idea of dainty Lucia being a bit helpless, bound as she is by her lover. The poem doesn't say, but I like to think that she enjoys the attentions." He stared at the grass in front of them, and Sam could tell he was embarrassed. "You may think it's a bit odd to find that stimulating." Sam found that he didn't, the more he thought about it. The way Frodo sounded when he spoke on it, seemed to suggest there might be pleasure in it. Sam shivered and realized he had been quiet a long while and Frodo had gone very red in the face and wasn't looking at him.
"Nay," Sam said quietly, "it sounds pleasant, the way you speak on it." But Frodo was already reaching into the basket to retrieve the wine to pour more. He shrugged.
"Ah well, maybe," he said and pulled the cork out. He poured a bit more in his glass and lifted the bottle, shooting Sam a questioning look. Sam held his glass out and Frodo poured another glass for him. Sam settled back and cradled the glass, staring out over the hills below dim now in the dying twilight. Sam could already see a few stars, twinkling faintly above.
"It's so beautiful, isn't it?" Frodo asked softly.
"Mhm," Sam sighed.
"I hardly come up here. Seems a shame to ignore such a fine view."
"It's not much different than the view from your bedroom, is it?" Sam asked. Frodo smiled slightly and sipped.
"My bedroom window does give me a view over the hills, but I also see the road and the box hedge. It doesn't give the same sensation as this place. I almost feel as if I were flying." Sam gazed out and studied the hills before him, trying to see them as Frodo did. "Perhaps," Frodo said quietly, "I ought to better acquaint you with the view from my bedroom." He turned and cast a slightly sly grin Sam's way. Sam, to his embarrassment felt his cheeks flush hot, though he doubted Frodo could see him blush in the dim light. "Don't mind me, I'm teasing," he added. Sam shifted and set his wine glass down.
"I do want to get acquainted with it… And with you," he licked his lips nervously, "All of you."
"Ah," Frodo blinked at him in the dim light, "my talk of making love hasn't frightened you?"
"No, of course not," Sam said quietly.Making love, Sam reflected feeling his heart pound. He wasn't sure they had talked about it in those terms.
"So have you thought more on it?" Frodo asked.
"I can't stop thinking about it," Sam blurted and there was a short silence. Frodo laughed softly in the still air, but before Sam could feel embarrassed Frodo leaned closer and put an arm around his shoulders.
"I can't either," he confessed, "but I was wondering on if you had thought about how soon we might want."
"I don't know," Sam said in a small voice, "when do you think?" there was another silence, so Sam hurried on to fill it, "We might wait at least until after the flower festival. There's so much to do and so much bustle on the hill. I shant think either of us will be left alone long enough for any sort of planning."
"Too true, unfortunately," Frodo chuckled. The silence stretched again, but it was comfortable this time. The night had truly come now and though there was enough light from the stars to see by, the cool darkness enshrouding them in a protective privacy and intimacy. Frodo set aside his wine glass and lay his head on Sam's shoulder, wrapping his arms around his gardener.
"I find myself thinking of you at night," Frodo whispered, "I remember some of the things we've done, and I think about what it will be like to touch you when you're bare and lying in my bed." Sam shivered a little and touched his nose to Frodo's forehead. "I wonder how I might arouse you when I touch you."
"Oh," Sam breathed. No one had ever spoken to him like this before and it was making his blood pound and his cock tingle.
"How do you like to be touched?" Frodo asked him quietly. Sam grappled with an answer for a moment.
"Well," he said hesitantly, "first I'll just say everything you've done I liked, a lot in fact. I suppose I like what most lads do; I like rubbing and being rubbed. Nothing special really."
"You're being shy," Frodo chided gently, "I shall find out what you like and I will do my best to bring you bliss. Perhaps I should tell you how I like to be touched."
"I'd like to see how you like to be touched, if it's all the same to you," Sam said before he could feel too self-conscious for asking. He heard Frodo take in a surprised breath.
"Hmm, I suppose…" he mused softly, "Though, it is rather dark."
"If you're shy, sir, then just say so," Sam teased and won a laugh.
"Very well. I'm sorry I called you shy," Frodo said softly and shifted around to sit back on his haunches and unlaced his pants. Sam sat up, interested, his eyes fixed on Frodo's hands. Frodo looked up and studied him for a moment.
"When you said you wanted to see me, did you mean you wanted to watch me touch myself or did you want to play a more active role?"
"E-Either would be…" Sam breathed and forced himself to look Frodo in the eye and steadied his tone, "I was hoping I could touch you a bit tonight," he said, "unless you would rather give me a show. Believe me, I'd not object to that either." Frodo laughed and Sam felt a rush a relief.
"I think it might be nice to feel your hands on me."
"Aye then," Sam agreed and Frodo climbed into his lap, settling there, straddling his legs so that his unlaced britches hung between them, and looking down Sam could spy a triangle of light fabric that must be Frodo's small clothes. He leaned close and Sam thought he was going to kiss him, but instead Frodo gently turned Sam's head to the side, and breathed warmly in his ear, sending shivers through the gardener.
"Go on then," he whispered. Sam didn't know what to do exactly, so his brain slipped into the literal and he grasped Frodo's side, breathing hard. Frodo drew back, a sparkling of amusement in his eyes as Sam leaned up to kiss him. The kiss was warm and passion filled, but Sam didn't let it distract him.
For all that Frodo had said he would show Sam how he liked to be touched he hadn't actually told him anything and Sam was at a loss. His usual methods of foreplay were kisses and rubbing against his partner, or if it was a lass he gave her tits a squeeze and found her nipples. Well, that was an idea, he supposed, though he wasn't sure if all lads liked having their nipples touched. Sam did, but he wasn't going to assume a gentlehobbit would have any of the same tastes as himself.
Still, he reached up and set a hand over Frodo's chest, rubbing it slightly. Frodo's shirt was thin and he wasn't wearing a weskit, so it was fairly easy to find the telltale bump of a nipple. Sam paused and shifted his hand, letting his thumb strum insistently over the small point. Frodo gave a gasp and squirmed, murmuring softly.
Encouraged, Sam drew his other hand to Frodo's chest and sought his right nipple, giving it the same attention. Frodo broke the kiss and leaned back, his chest rising and falling quickly in excitement.
"Yes," he gasped, "like that." Sam grunted softly and rolled one point between his thumb and forefinger. Frodo squirmed in his lap, his hips taking up a soft thrusting motion.
"Now," Sam said in a low lazy voice, "you just tell me how it is you like to be touched." Frodo's eyes flicked open and he smiled slightly.
"It tends to depend on what sort of mood I'm in," he breathed, "but usually I like to start slow." Sam turned his face and kissed along the side of Frodo's throat, making him sigh. "Oh," he murmured and clung tightly to Sam. Sam shivered wanting badly to roll Frodo onto his back and lie over him but he held himself in check. Slow, he thought, tasting the warm slightly salty skin under Frodo's ear, slow. Frodo pulled away and took several deep breaths, his hand running soothingly up and down Sam's arms.
"But then, slow doesn't always suit," he said in a surprisingly even voice, "I… haven't done this in a long time and I'm… excitable. You'll have to excuse me."
"I am too," Sam mumbled through the haze of lust. Frodo met his eyes and bit his lip. Without speaking he took Sam's hand and guided it slowly between their bodies, caressing his palm and fingers. Sam watched, spellbound as Frodo drew it down and set Sam's palm gently over the warm lump nestled between his legs. He heard Frodo take a breath and raised his head, looking intently into his face. Frodo stilled and sensing his regard opened his eyes, holding Sam's gaze. To Sam's shock Frodo's eyes were wide and nervous, and there was something deeply vulnerable on display in his expression. Sam had never seen such a look and it froze him for a moment. His innate need to comfort overcame his paralysis however, and in the next breath he was holding Frodo close with one arm wrapped around his back, murmuring soothingly.
Frodo's body relaxed and his nervousness slowly melted away as Sam watched him and kissed him, mindful to keep his other hand still though what it held was so tantalizingly hot and hard. Frodo's arms came around him and as Sam watched Frodo leaned close and began to whisper instructions. He told Sam where he was sensitive and what motions he used to tease himself. He told Sam about the ridge on the underside of his cock and how rubbing it in hard fast even strokes could bring him to the edge of bliss or push him over that edge.
Sam took all the information in awe, storing it away carefully in his mind, all the while his hand moved slowly encircling and rubbing along the cloth enclosed prick still nestled between them. Frodo's hand lit on top of his and slowly began to guide his hand, showing him, Sam realized, the motions that Frodo used on himself. Sam's own need throbbed below, but it was ignored. He was so enraptured with what he was being allowed to do that his own need paled.
Finally Frodo's hand fell away and he sat before Sam looking slightly dazed. Sam continued moved his hand, palm cupping the hot length between them and watched as a slight surprise entered Frodo's expression. His lips parted, but he did not speak, only marked each new touch with a shallow breath or wordless murmur. Feeling dazed himself, Sam continued rubbing, firming his grip to deliver more bliss. He likes it, Sam thought in amazement,he likes it so that he don't want me to stop. But even as Sam thought it he saw Frodo come back to himself and the dream was broken as he set his hand on top of Sam's, stilling it.
"Easy," Frodo breathed, "You're taking me too far." Sam blinked at him.
"Too far?" he asked, drawing his hand away.
"Yes, I don't want to shock you," Frodo said, dropping his gaze. Sam frowned.
"You're not going to shock me," he said gently. Frodo closed his eyes, his breathing evening out.
"Are you telling me that I needn't be a gentlehobbit about this?"
"Well," Sam frowned in consternation, "you needn't put on airs with me. You needn't try and act a certain way out of fear I'll think poorly of you, if that's what you mean." Frodo lifted his eyes.
"So, you won't think poorly of me if I want to go on?"
"Of course not," Sam said.
"Ah," Frodo murmured. Sam leaned closer, trying to catch his gaze.
"Do you want to go on?" he asked softly. Frodo met his eyes and nodded. Sam took another breath. "May I keep touching you?"
"Yes," Frodo said. He reached down and unlaced his small clothes, tugging the fabric open. Sam felt his breath stop and his mouth water at the sight that met him. Frodo had a slightly untamed dark cluster of curls running over his rounded pale belly to gather at the base of a sturdy thick shaft. That shaft was presently jutting straight out over their legs, swollen and flushed. Sam felt his own cock ache at the sight. Gingerly he reached forward and closed his fist around the length. He watched Frodo's eyes go dark and slip shut as he tugged and worked the shaft in his hand, trying to match the motions Frodo had shown him.
"That's it," Frodo sighed, his voice low in a way that Sam had never heard before. This was nothing like the other boy, Sam reflected briefly. Then the goal had only been fulfillment and to impress the other boy with tricks and slyness, but now there was none of that. He wanted desperately for this to touch Frodo as deeply as it was touching him. Sam leaned forward and caught Frodo's lips against his own, trying to push in until Frodo's opened his mouth with a soft sound.
They only passed a few minutes like this before Frodo's breathing turned harsh and his finger dug into Sam side. With a huff and a strangle cry he came, pushing his face into Sam's shoulder. Sam gave a soft cry of his own, surprised almost by the climax and its resulting gush of warmth over his hand. Frodo sagged against him, gulping in air and Sam felt a sudden deep and abiding satisfaction.
"You lovely sweet dear hobbit," Frodo gasped. Sam murmured in pleasure and slipped an arm around Frodo, hugging him closer. His other hand was still wet and dithering slightly, Sam wiped it on the grass beside them. He sighed happily, enjoying the warm contentedness from the one in his arms and leaned back, drawing Frodo with him to lay down. They were still for several long minutes. Sam closed his eyes, enjoying the peace of the night stretched out over them, as the rhythm of Frodo's breath slowed and stilled. With a lovely contented murmured Frodo rolled off him to lie at his side. He draped an arm over Sam's stomach and sighed.
"It's all glory and wonder this," Sam murmured, gazing up at the stars, "To love you is like coming on spring all at once after ten seasons of winter."
Frodo turned his face up and gazed at him for a long moment.
"Ah now Master Gamgee," he murmured lazily, "You're trying to use those pretty words to turn my head."
"Pleases me to hear you think my words pretty," Sam sighed. Frodo chuckled softly.
"Pretty words and bold proclamations."
"Too bold?" Sam asked, wrinkling his brow slightly.
"No…But I feel a bit silly. I'm not spring time or star light or half as fair and wise as you make me out," Frodo said softly. Sam hummed softly.
"I have given my love to one who is worthy of love," he murmured. Frodo was silent for a long moment and Sam slowly opened his eyes to see Frodo peering at him.
"What are you quoting…?"
"Just," Sam said gruffly, "listen to what's behind the words." Again there was another silence.
"I'm sorry Sam," Frodo said quietly, "I shouldn't be so contrary." Sam eased and reached for Frodo's hand.
"Just say 'thank you'," Sam teased and Frodo laughed, catching sight of his expression.
"Thank you," he said quietly and kissed Sam's cheek, "I wish I had words half so pretty as the ones you've given me."
"I like those sounds you made more than any words," Sam admitted, smiling. Frodo chuckled bashfully.
"Oh dear," he sighed. They lay together quietly for a long moment until Frodo shifted slightly and turned back to look at Sam thoughtfully. "What you said, it wasn't a quote at all, was it?" Sam watched him.
"No," he murmured glancing away embarrassed for some reason, "I can spin a bad copy of the fancy speech I read in books. Just like all that nonsense under your windowsill."
"It wasn't nonsense," Frodo said softly, "I liked it." He drew himself up slightly and his gaze turned a little hotter, "So, what would you like to do now?" He moved over Sam, putting his hands on either side of Sam's shoulders.
"Hm," Sam murmured, feeling his interested bits throb at the suggestion, but even so he felt suddenly shy. There hadn't been time for a bath before coming up the hill and though Frodo had just been crawling all over him, he still didn't feel right letting Frodo touch him.
"Ah dearie," Sam murmured, "Kiss me, but I must go down the hill after that." Frodo gazed at him fondly but questioningly.
"Oh?" he murmured.
"Forgive your Sam," he murmured shyly, "But I'm looking forward to that bed of yours and the loving we can have there."
"You don't want a bit of loving now?" Frodo murmured softly but Sam could hear a slight tease in the tone.
"You've given me loving and more. I'm very content just now," Sam smiled. Frodo smiled and rolled against him, embracing him and kissing along his shoulder.
"Very well," he said amiably, "But I shall remember this." Sam smiled happily and kissed the curls closest to his face.
"You shan't be the only one," he sighed.