Frodo has finished off a griddle-cake with jam, and is in the pantry, prodding a wheel of cheese with a fork to see if it's still fresh enough to eat, when he hears the knock on the front door. He pauses, jam-sticky lips twisted in a grimace. He isn't sure he wants to receive visitors yet, since he hasn't quite reconciled himself to the notion of rejoining society. But maybe it's Sam, and maybe that would be all right, since he seemed so sympathetic yesterday when Frodo apologized to him - why, he nearly asked the magic question ("Who did you dream of?")...and, for that matter, Frodo nearly answered. Sam probably meant nothing by it, but hope, Frodo is finding, really does spring damnably eternal.
Before he knows it, Frodo is at the door, cautiously opening it a couple of inches to peek outside. Sam lifts his chin and beams a warm smile at him. "Afternoon, Mr. Frodo!"
Frodo feels a hitch in his heartbeat - not fair for Sam's mere voice to give him goosebumps; really not fair - and opens the door further. "Hullo, Sam. What can I do for you?"
"Actually, I thought maybe I could do for you." Sam lifts a wooden box covered with a cloth. "I just checked in on your springhouse, and found some luscious-looking things left over from that party. Thought maybe you didn't know they were there, and I wouldn't want them to go to waste."
"The springhouse!" Frodo takes the box and lets Sam inside. "I didn't even think to look there. Those serving lasses must have taken them down there." He carries it to the kitchen table and removes the cloth. The collection of mince pies, bottled cream, fruit salad, and chocolates he finds inside lifts his spirits considerably. "I *knew* there should be some chocolate left over!" he says, reaching in to take things out and spread them on the table.
Sam has closed the front door and followed him into the kitchen. "Is there now? Funny, that. I had a dream last night about chocolate."
"Everyone ought to dream about chocolate." Frodo unwraps the paper from a large bar of it, and inhales the sweet, dark scent.
"Matter of fact," Sam continues, and now he sounds shy, "it was one of *those* dreams. I...I think your dream gave mine ideas, like."
Frodo pauses, and lifts his eyes to Sam, hoping he understood correctly. "You...had a dream like mine? Last night?"
He sees that Sam is blushing. "Yes, sir," Sam admits.
"About chocolate?"
"Oh - not *just* about chocolate." Sam laughs, picks up a fork, and starts rearranging pieces of fruit in the salad bowl. "There was a person in it too."
"Oh." Frodo's knees aren't too steady; he sits down at the table.
Sam follows suit, sliding gracefully into a chair next to Frodo, still toying with the fruit salad. "I'll tell you about it, if you like...but you'd have to promise you wouldn't tell no one."
Frodo starts breaking the chocolate into pieces. He laughs shakily. "After what you could say about me? No, I wouldn't tell, Sam."
"Well..." Sam sends Frodo a becomingly bashful glance. "It started out with me here in the kitchen, as it happens, with you."
"Mm-hm," Frodo agrees, focusing on the chocolate.
"I was showing you how to make a chocolate dip for fruit and biscuits and things. You know the type of dip I mean? You take heavy cream..." Sam picks up a bottle of cream, gives it a shake, and removes the cork. "...Pour some out and put it over a low fire, and melt bits of chocolate in it." He pulls a soup bowl closer, and pours cream into it. "I shan't bother melting it now, but here, try this." He picks up one of the chocolate shards under Frodo's hands, and dips it into the bowl until it (and Sam's fingertips) are coated with cream. He licks a drop off his finger, then holds out the piece of chocolate for Frodo to eat.
Nearly drooling for one reason and another, Frodo obediently opens his mouth and eats the cream-covered chocolate morsel from Sam's wet fingers. It tastes divine, of course. "Mm," Frodo agrees in approval, a soft hum.
"Nice, isn't it? So where was I?...aye, we were in here melting the chocolate. And I dipped in a piece of fruit and gave you that..." Sam spears an apple wedge on a fork, dunks it in the cream, and tilts it toward Frodo.
Frodo is beginning to sense a strange game going on here, but rather likes the direction it seems to be taking. Of course, any moment now Sam will tell him that the dream suddenly took a strange turn and Sam found himself on the kitchen floor with an elf maiden. Frodo sighs, leans over, and takes the apple with his teeth. "What happened then?" Frodo asks through the mouthful of fruit and cream.
"Then..." Sam ducks his head, smiling. "Well, then I..." He runs his finger around the edge of the bowl of cream. "I saw a smudge of chocolate on your lip...and rather than touch it off with a corner of my apron, I...well, I stepped up close and I licked it off, sir."
Frodo takes in a sharp breath. Sam's finger comes to a stop on the bowl, and his eyes lift carefully to Frodo's. The look in them is hopeful, sweet, and, unless Frodo is getting things very wrong, amorous. They stare at each other for a few silent seconds, then Frodo takes hold of the seat of his chair and pulls it closer to Sam. He picks up a broken piece of chocolate, dips it into the cream, and offers it up for Sam's lips. Sam watches his every move, then returns his eyes to Frodo's as he takes the chocolate into his mouth. "Mm," he murmurs in thanks.
"What did I do then?" Frodo asks. Knowing the rest of this dream has become the most important thing in the world to him. More important even than dessert.
Sam swallows the chocolate. His face is aglow with blushing, but he answers the question: "You licked me back. Sir."
"No need to call me 'sir' when I'm licking chocolate off you," Frodo says; he means it to sound like a joke, but it comes out low and breathy.
One side of Sam's mouth curls upward in a smile. "I'll remember that."
"Well. Go on," Frodo requests.
"Well, then," Sam resumes, "then we...well...I'm not sure how it happened, but I was on this table right here...sitting on the edge of it, and you were standing before me, kissing me, and I was kissing you right back; and the chocolate, it was getting everywhere...so I said we oughtn't get our clothes all dirty like that, and...and so we took them off..."
Somehow during all this, Frodo and Sam have leaned closer and closer to each other, elbows propped on the table, and now they are quite within kissing distance. This, and the things Sam has been saying in his halting, husky voice, have been arousing Frodo almost to the point of madness.
"Do you..." Frodo interrupts. "Do you mean to say...*I* was the one in your dream? All the way to the...end?"
Eyes moving along Frodo's features, Sam nods slowly. "All the way."
Frodo closes his eyes in a second of rapture, and then reopens them, worried. "And you - enjoyed this? You're not afraid to tell me about it?"
"It's like I said," Sam says, still husky, still inches from Frodo's mouth. "Can't control what you dream of. And yes. I enjoyed it quite a bit."
"Do you know," Frodo says, almost whispering, "there's a bit of cream there, on your lip..."
"Is there?" Sam whispers back. Rather than move to wipe it off, he tilts his head, quite in the manner of someone expecting a...
Kiss. Frodo is doing it before he knows how he got there. His tongue is delicately tasting cream and chocolate on Sam's upper lip, and then their mouths are pressed together, and Sam is definitely responding, and they have slid forward on their chairs so their knees are interlocked. Frodo is beginning to suspect that Sam made up this whole dream story, as all the elements were entirely too convenient; but, considering the purpose for doing so, Frodo thinks that is fine; that is just fine.
* * *
Author's note:
OK, kids, there is definitely more to this story, but it really cannot be considered R-rated; it is beyond a doubt NC-17. So if you want to read it, it's at my website: http://home.earthlink.net/~fennelseed/nocturn.htm
...but you can still leave comments here if you like. ;-)
Thankee; over and out.
Before he knows it, Frodo is at the door, cautiously opening it a couple of inches to peek outside. Sam lifts his chin and beams a warm smile at him. "Afternoon, Mr. Frodo!"
Frodo feels a hitch in his heartbeat - not fair for Sam's mere voice to give him goosebumps; really not fair - and opens the door further. "Hullo, Sam. What can I do for you?"
"Actually, I thought maybe I could do for you." Sam lifts a wooden box covered with a cloth. "I just checked in on your springhouse, and found some luscious-looking things left over from that party. Thought maybe you didn't know they were there, and I wouldn't want them to go to waste."
"The springhouse!" Frodo takes the box and lets Sam inside. "I didn't even think to look there. Those serving lasses must have taken them down there." He carries it to the kitchen table and removes the cloth. The collection of mince pies, bottled cream, fruit salad, and chocolates he finds inside lifts his spirits considerably. "I *knew* there should be some chocolate left over!" he says, reaching in to take things out and spread them on the table.
Sam has closed the front door and followed him into the kitchen. "Is there now? Funny, that. I had a dream last night about chocolate."
"Everyone ought to dream about chocolate." Frodo unwraps the paper from a large bar of it, and inhales the sweet, dark scent.
"Matter of fact," Sam continues, and now he sounds shy, "it was one of *those* dreams. I...I think your dream gave mine ideas, like."
Frodo pauses, and lifts his eyes to Sam, hoping he understood correctly. "You...had a dream like mine? Last night?"
He sees that Sam is blushing. "Yes, sir," Sam admits.
"About chocolate?"
"Oh - not *just* about chocolate." Sam laughs, picks up a fork, and starts rearranging pieces of fruit in the salad bowl. "There was a person in it too."
"Oh." Frodo's knees aren't too steady; he sits down at the table.
Sam follows suit, sliding gracefully into a chair next to Frodo, still toying with the fruit salad. "I'll tell you about it, if you like...but you'd have to promise you wouldn't tell no one."
Frodo starts breaking the chocolate into pieces. He laughs shakily. "After what you could say about me? No, I wouldn't tell, Sam."
"Well..." Sam sends Frodo a becomingly bashful glance. "It started out with me here in the kitchen, as it happens, with you."
"Mm-hm," Frodo agrees, focusing on the chocolate.
"I was showing you how to make a chocolate dip for fruit and biscuits and things. You know the type of dip I mean? You take heavy cream..." Sam picks up a bottle of cream, gives it a shake, and removes the cork. "...Pour some out and put it over a low fire, and melt bits of chocolate in it." He pulls a soup bowl closer, and pours cream into it. "I shan't bother melting it now, but here, try this." He picks up one of the chocolate shards under Frodo's hands, and dips it into the bowl until it (and Sam's fingertips) are coated with cream. He licks a drop off his finger, then holds out the piece of chocolate for Frodo to eat.
Nearly drooling for one reason and another, Frodo obediently opens his mouth and eats the cream-covered chocolate morsel from Sam's wet fingers. It tastes divine, of course. "Mm," Frodo agrees in approval, a soft hum.
"Nice, isn't it? So where was I?...aye, we were in here melting the chocolate. And I dipped in a piece of fruit and gave you that..." Sam spears an apple wedge on a fork, dunks it in the cream, and tilts it toward Frodo.
Frodo is beginning to sense a strange game going on here, but rather likes the direction it seems to be taking. Of course, any moment now Sam will tell him that the dream suddenly took a strange turn and Sam found himself on the kitchen floor with an elf maiden. Frodo sighs, leans over, and takes the apple with his teeth. "What happened then?" Frodo asks through the mouthful of fruit and cream.
"Then..." Sam ducks his head, smiling. "Well, then I..." He runs his finger around the edge of the bowl of cream. "I saw a smudge of chocolate on your lip...and rather than touch it off with a corner of my apron, I...well, I stepped up close and I licked it off, sir."
Frodo takes in a sharp breath. Sam's finger comes to a stop on the bowl, and his eyes lift carefully to Frodo's. The look in them is hopeful, sweet, and, unless Frodo is getting things very wrong, amorous. They stare at each other for a few silent seconds, then Frodo takes hold of the seat of his chair and pulls it closer to Sam. He picks up a broken piece of chocolate, dips it into the cream, and offers it up for Sam's lips. Sam watches his every move, then returns his eyes to Frodo's as he takes the chocolate into his mouth. "Mm," he murmurs in thanks.
"What did I do then?" Frodo asks. Knowing the rest of this dream has become the most important thing in the world to him. More important even than dessert.
Sam swallows the chocolate. His face is aglow with blushing, but he answers the question: "You licked me back. Sir."
"No need to call me 'sir' when I'm licking chocolate off you," Frodo says; he means it to sound like a joke, but it comes out low and breathy.
One side of Sam's mouth curls upward in a smile. "I'll remember that."
"Well. Go on," Frodo requests.
"Well, then," Sam resumes, "then we...well...I'm not sure how it happened, but I was on this table right here...sitting on the edge of it, and you were standing before me, kissing me, and I was kissing you right back; and the chocolate, it was getting everywhere...so I said we oughtn't get our clothes all dirty like that, and...and so we took them off..."
Somehow during all this, Frodo and Sam have leaned closer and closer to each other, elbows propped on the table, and now they are quite within kissing distance. This, and the things Sam has been saying in his halting, husky voice, have been arousing Frodo almost to the point of madness.
"Do you..." Frodo interrupts. "Do you mean to say...*I* was the one in your dream? All the way to the...end?"
Eyes moving along Frodo's features, Sam nods slowly. "All the way."
Frodo closes his eyes in a second of rapture, and then reopens them, worried. "And you - enjoyed this? You're not afraid to tell me about it?"
"It's like I said," Sam says, still husky, still inches from Frodo's mouth. "Can't control what you dream of. And yes. I enjoyed it quite a bit."
"Do you know," Frodo says, almost whispering, "there's a bit of cream there, on your lip..."
"Is there?" Sam whispers back. Rather than move to wipe it off, he tilts his head, quite in the manner of someone expecting a...
Kiss. Frodo is doing it before he knows how he got there. His tongue is delicately tasting cream and chocolate on Sam's upper lip, and then their mouths are pressed together, and Sam is definitely responding, and they have slid forward on their chairs so their knees are interlocked. Frodo is beginning to suspect that Sam made up this whole dream story, as all the elements were entirely too convenient; but, considering the purpose for doing so, Frodo thinks that is fine; that is just fine.
* * *
Author's note:
OK, kids, there is definitely more to this story, but it really cannot be considered R-rated; it is beyond a doubt NC-17. So if you want to read it, it's at my website: http://home.earthlink.net/~fennelseed/nocturn.htm
...but you can still leave comments here if you like. ;-)
Thankee; over and out.