Disclaimer: I don't own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.
The gardening's all done, and Sam hasn't left yet.
He's parked on the foot of the hill, lying in the grass and staring up at the black sky. Frodo's paused in the window, watching him. Frodo's slightly leaning on the frame, but his body is turned, ready to duck out of the way should Sam look over. He doesn't have the blunt bravery Sam has, not when it really comes down to it, though of course Sam would insist it the other way around. He's not quite sure how he would explain his captivation without going into other things, and he doesn't at all know how to say any of those. So he just contents himself with looking. Sam might have the more conventional position, but Frodo's still sure he has the better view.
Then Sam slowly sits up, brushing little flecks of grass off his trousers. Frodo has a sharp intake of breath—he's going to lose his picturesque view.
Before Sam can fully stand up, Frodo's irrationally darting out of the room and through the hallway, nearly slipping across the wood in his efforts. He throws the door open and swings it shut behind himself as quietly as possible, hopping around the lawn. He's sure he tramples a patch of begonias in his haste, but he can't seem to retain haste and the ability to walk properly all at once. When he reaches the back, Sam's barely moved a step, and he turns around as Frodo darts up to him, greeting kindly, "Why, hello, Mr. Frodo. What brings you out tonight? It's late, you know."
Frodo nods and says a hasty, "Hello," before pausing to catch his breath. Sam patiently waits for Frodo to straighten up again, panting, "I just... wanted to come see why you were still out here. Since it is... you know, late."
Sam grins broadly, maybe a little flushed across his face too, and Frodo can feel his cheeks heat. He sounds silly, he knows, but Sam's too good to him to say anything about it. When Sam gestures up at the sky, Frodo nods as though it all makes sense now. When Frodo doesn't leave, Sam walks back a step and sits back down, stretching out in the grass again. Frodo instantly follows, shifting to lie down beside him.
The grass is slightly prickly, and the earth is warm. Frodo lays barely an arm's length away from Sam, and he rests his hands over his rapidly beating heart. Sam stretches his arms behind his head like a pillow, sighing contentedly. His golden curls tumble to the side of his head, and his shirt stretches across his strong chest. His eyes fall half closed: relaxed. Sam always looks strikingly handsome, but especially so like this, in the midst of Frodo's flowers, and Frodo finds it hard to watch the stars like he's supposed to.
There's a stretch of wondrous, peaceful silence. Eventually, Frodo manages to tilt his head upwards, and he looks at the way the heavens seem to shimmer and shine. He's too distracted with his company to connect the dots like he used to when he was younger, but it's still a nice feeling. There's a faint, cool breeze that drifts over them, and the floral scent of the garden is pleasantly wrapped through the air.
In time, Sam sighs, "Isn't it just beautiful, Mr. Frodo?"
Frodo's eyes have strayed sideways again, and he traces the familiar form of Sam while he replies softly, "Yes. It's beautiful."
When Sam looks over, Frodo doesn't quite look away in time. Their eyes catch, and Frodo's breath sticks in his throat. But Sam blushes and teases, chuckling, "Why, Mr. Frodo, I do believe you're looking at the wrong sight."
Frodo just shakes his head. Suddenly, he wishes they weren't outside at all, even with how lovely it is. He wishes they were inside Bag End, lying side by side, just like this, atop Frodo's bed, just the two of them. Sam's eyebrows knit together, as though he doesn't quite understand why Frodo doesn't respond to his jest. He shifts to lie on his side, propping his head up on his elbow. After a minute, Frodo does the same. They're so close that Frodo can hear Sam breathing. Something comes over Sam's eyes.
Then he seems to suck in a breath, looking just as courageous as Frodo thinks him, and he murmurs gently, "You're more gorgeous than any star, Mr. Frodo." Frodo's cheeks light up, eyes going a little wide. If that was going to be the reaction, he would've never waited so long to say anything. He didn't say anything, really. But he's showing it with all his might, trying to say with his eyes that he feels the same way. Sam hesitates, then shuffles a bit closer, flattening all the grass between them. He gets braver when Frodo doesn't recoil and adds quietly, "If I could watch you instead, I would."
Frodo isn't brave enough to kiss Sam like he wants to. So he just breathes, "Would you like to come inside?" He nods towards Bag End. Sam grins so wide it's breathtaking.