Although on the surface you felt the same, the idea of deepening your relationship with Frodo constantly played in your mind; how his bare skin would feel against your's, what his lips would taste like, where he'd let your hands wonder. Your grip on him tightens as he opens and closes the door to Bag-End, smiling still. He shuffles through the warm halls, candles still burning on the walls. This hobbit hole was always so warm, so inviting - the lighting bright, fires almost always burning and it smelt deliciously of allspice and rosemary.
After a little more walking, you eventually stop outside an end room. Frodo bends slightly to turn the door handle without having to put you down. The inside of the room seems to be a spare bedroom of sorts, clutter and books scattered everywhere, with the bed hardly made and the only light being a few streams of moonlight from the window. You're set down on a small settee that stands opisite an empty fire.
"I appologise for the state of my room." Calls Frodo from where he is collecting belongings from the floor to clear away, "I never really get any visitors in here." He smirks.
"No, no, it's perfectly fine!" You sputter, reaching over to the nearby coffee table to light a candle with Pippin's matches you still had. A pleasantly surprising smell of red berries and cinnamon filled the air a few mere moments after you do so. You set about Frodo's room, as you now assume, lighting the fire and candles and helping Frodo stack his books. The same pain you felt earlier jolts thoughout your form again as you lift, grimacing as you did so.
"(Y/n), what are you doing?!" Frodo asks urgently, "You'll hurt yourself terribly!"
"No, it's fine really. It'll be over with faster if I help."
"But you're hurt! It's hurting you, please don't deny it."
You stop to think a little; if it meant that much to him, you guess you could sit for five minutes. You light one last candle above the mantle and retake your seat on the sofa.
"I'll be back in a moment!" Frodo shouts as he bolts out of the bedroom door. You assume he's gone to find the things he needs to help with your cuts and bruises. He really must be worried about you to go into so much trouble. It was these sort of situations that always got you thinking about other situations with Frodo, leading you far too far to, well, a specific situation.
It would be nice though; he was always so caring and attentive, constantly smiling, considering how many people frowned upon him and Bilbo. Their association with elves, dwarves and especially Gandalf did not go down well with the village folk, most who were too naïve to welcome adventure and diversity. Frodo always loved reading too, even as a child. Not always for the ancestry and history, but for stories and poems of far off, exotic lands; heros saving the world from all the dark creatures of Mordor. That was what made Frodo different - his unconscious need for excitement in a celebratory simple life.
Lost in your trail of thought, you didn't notice Frodo had slipped back in again, arms full of books and jars of sort. He sets them down on the table, vials and bottles falling everywhere. You reach over to catch one, pain shooting through you again. Sitting up, you place it on the table, Frodo smiling up at you in thanks. He flicks open a worn book, scanning downwards with his forefinger before skipping to another page when his smiles. After checking the page over a few times, Frodo reaches for a cloth and pours a minty-green liquid onto it.
"Now this may sting a little..." He trails off, pulling the shoulder of your dress, before pressing the cloth to your cut. You take a sharp intake of breath, biting down on you lip and tensing slightly. Frodo looks up at you apologetically, eyebrows knit close together. He pats the material a little before setting it to the side
"I'm sorry." He mumbles.
"You're trying to help. There's not need to be sorry." You smile at him, running a hand through his hair. He grins back at you, breath deepening a little at the contact. Frodo then proceeds to sort through the bottles before coming to one filled with some sort of dried flower. The lid opens with an audible 'pop' before Frodo reaches in to bring out a handful of the contents.
"May I?" He asks, reaching for the fabric again. You hold back the neck of your dress for Frodo to daub your cut with the creamy coloured plant. He kept his eyes steady on your face, scanning for any signs of pain. It was such an innocently caring action, but you knew it could lead to oh-so-much more.
Pushing these thoughts aside, you concentrate on the flickering of the flame on the fireplace. Colours of citrine, scarlet and orange dance in patchy waltzes, distracting you from the feel on your chest. All the while, you could feel a set of eyes watching yours; icy, piercing eyes orbs of strife. You ignore them, keeping thoughts of Frodo away at all costs, concentrating on the fire.
Eventually, the dabbing stops; you turn back to smile up at Frodo in thanks. He's leaning so close to you now, something he seems to be doing alot recently, hovering over you as his warm, sweet breath sweeps your face. The fact that he was here looking after /you/ of all people was too much to fully comprehend, let alone appreciate properly. Such a beautiful, caring hobbit concerned about your health and well being.
Losing yourself in his eyes momentarily, you feel the heat from your heart rush to your cheeks, painting them a faint rose. Your smile widens with embarrassment, completely losing all words you could say from your head.
Before you know it, Frodo leans in towards you even further and places a feather light kiss onto your lips, hardly there at all. The feeling is indescribable. It's as if you've been pierced through the heart with a morgul blade and numbness has settled in you. Yet instead of hurt and pain, love and comtentment burst from within you. Your field of vision is stars and suns, suns and stars. Light is everywhere: pouring from your fingertips, filling your heart, resting in your mouth. You pout your lips out, as if asking it to continue for longer than Frodo had first anticipated, but it is not to last.
In an almost shock, Frodo pulls back, eyes frantically searching your face. A look of guilt comes upon him and he hangs his head in almost shame.
"I-I apologise, (y/n). I didn't mean..." He is unable to finish his sentence as you wrap your hands behind his neck to pull him into another kiss, this one more tender. You pull yourself up, and then into his lap, lips staying locked with his at all times. At first, he stays pretty rigid, but after you begin to let your hands flow through his curls, his mouth becomes responsive and he silently traces lines up and down your back. His lips are so soft, like rose petals infact, and most likely even the same colour. And taste so sweet! Sweet like honey, or perhaps syrup, laced with hints of hazel. They send shivers to your very core as Frodo catches your bottom lip between his. This is nothing invading or sexual in any way - just a long, sweet kiss that feels perfect after such an awing day.
Frodo's hands begin to linger, putting up your warning signs that you should stop. Both of you wimper a little as you pull back, hands remaining where they were. That had been so perfectly innocent you you wanted it to finish like that too. During the next few minutes, you just sit and look into the others eyes. Not a word is uttered, on your part because you can't think of anything to say.
"Uhm..." You begin, not really sure how to finish. Suddenly, there is a sudden interest in the floor as you find your eyes fixated upon it.
"It's getting pretty late..." Frodo trails off, "You can spend the night here if you want." His hands start to move even lower. How is it he's so calm and collective after /that/?
"No, I think I should get back. Mother and Father will want to know my whereabouts."
"Ahh, I see. Well goodnight then, (y/n)." There is strain in his voice, as if he is overly saddened. Cold air hits you as Frodo drops his arms to release to from his warm embrace. You can't be sure whether its your body overreacting, or if Frodo's touch gave you hot, tingly feelings inside.
"Goodnight Frodo." You simper, jumping from Frodo's knees and making your way out of the room. It's not like you didn't think of Frodo in that way, really, you did. But he is a Baggins. And like everyone knows, Bagginses have a tendency to stray fro the norm and wander into the unknown. A dangerous place for a potential husband, your father says.
But maybe Frodo could be an exception.
"Frodo," You turn to him before pulling on the brassy knob of the front door, "I'm going to the Green Dragon with my parents tomorrow night. You can come with your friends if you want - it'll lighten up the mood a little."
"Thank you, (y/n). I'll see if I can make if. If not I'm sure Merry and Pippin will be up for some of it." Frodo's smile is a little melancholy, although he does his best to maintain composure. He really was a kind and gentle hobbit, more than most you know.
"Goodnight." You peck him quickly on the cheek before turning on your heel to stroll into the glittering night in The Shire.