(no subject)
Title: Stay with Me
Author: Frodo_naatulien
Pairing: F/S
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Frodo’s a bit lonely and Sam is just what he needs. And Frodo is just what Sam needs.
A/N: (Squee!) This is my very first fic. Lots of fluff, I guess. Mild angst. It’s just simply- a day in the life of Frodo and Sam.
Sincere thanks to my beta and truly wonderful new friend, Lyrastar77. Thank you so much for your time and patience, and your wonderful suggestions. I know I’ve already told you this, but I’ll say it again. You were such a great help to me and you made the beta process very pleasant indeed. Thank you… thank you… thank you! : )
Warning(s): There is one small scene that involves questionable intentions, but that’s about all the warning that is needed really. And after reading, you'll see that it all comes together and makes perfect, loving sense.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Just borrowing them from J.R.R. Tolkien for… as Bilbo put it, “just a bit of fun.”
Part 4 - Fear Awakening
When their breathing finally slowed, Frodo spoke first as he gave Sam a little nudge. “Sam,” he breathed. “Please, Sam… I’m so hot.”
Realizing he was still sprawled on top of Frodo, Sam quickly lifted himself off of him. Then he leaned down and kissed him affectionately, his hand lightly cupping Frodo’s neck. He could feel Frodo’s pulse hammering against his palm, and even though he had just been completely satisfied, there was still something about that particular spot on Frodo that made Sam’s insides do flip-flops. Their tongues moved together slowly, and then Sam whispered with affection, “I love you so much,” and kissed him some more.
But, realizing how hot he was also, and how suffocatingly hot the room had become, he reluctantly broke away from Frodo, and then crawled out of the bed. “Well, it’s still rainin’ a good bit,” he said as he headed towards the window, “but I think it’d be safe to open a window now. Leastways, it don’t seem to be blowin’ so hard anymore.”
As he opened the window, a cool refreshing breeze immediately blew through the room. Then he walked back over to the bed and sat on the edge next to Frodo. Frodo was completely drenched with sweat, as was Sam, and the bedcovers, and he just lay there with his eyes closed, too exhausted and too hot to even move.
Sam swept his eyes over him and thought to himself - How was it that no matter what condition Frodo was in, he was absolutely breathtaking? No matter what condition….
Then, upon seeing Frodo laying there naked, but for his opened shirt, he remembered his atrocious and inexcusable actions from earlier. It sickened him. How could he let himself lose control as he did? How could he do that to Frodo? How could he scare him like that?
He reached for Frodo’s hand and held it in his own, tears welling up in his eyes. He stroked the wet hair away from Frodo’s face and began shakily, “I’m so sorry, Frodo. I’m so sorry I got rough with you… that I tried to force myse… I’m sorry I tried to ta…”
Frodo opened his eyes slowly, turning his face to Sam.
Sam continued to speak while he nervously held and caressed Frodo’s hand in both of his, “I’m so sorry if I scared you. I didn’t mean to. You know I’d never mean to hurt you, Frodo, not ever.” And then he bowed his head in shame.
“Sam,” Frodo said softly. “Look at me.” He squeezed Sam’s hand in his own, “I know, Sam. It’s true you scared me a little, but you didn’t hurt me, Sam.” And then his face broke into a grin, “And I’m still madly in love with you.”
And now the tears came, unbidden, and Sam couldn’t stop them. He was so angry and appalled with himself, and here Frodo was, so willing to forgive him so easily. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve it and he felt, right at the moment, as if he didn’t deserve Frodo. And it hurt. It really hurt.
Frodo sat up and embraced him. “Sam, it’s all right. I’m all right, Sam,” he said soothingly, trying to comfort him.
They held each other close and Frodo whispered again, “It’s all right, Sam, I promise.”
Though Frodo did not really want to say this, he saw no other way to ease Sam’s mind. He knew Sam was not likely to forgive himself for something that, quite frankly, Frodo thought was really not that big of a deal in the first place, but he at least wanted to lighten the load of guilt that Sam would inevitably carry silently within himself for who knows how long.
Frodo pulled away but kept his eyes on Sam. He spoke carefully now, but truthfully, “If it’ll make you feel any better, Sam… ” and he paused for a moment, sighing nervously, “well, maybe that’s not exactly the right choice of words but…“ he continued slowly, “before I knew we both shared the same feelings, I have to admit that…” and again, he leaned back in and hugged Sam close, “in my most desperate moments, Sam, there were times that I’d had thoughts of wanting to take from you what I thought I’d never have.” Frodo’s eyes stared off into the dark corner of the room behind Sam for a moment, his voice soft and wavering slightly, “Love can be a tricky thing, Sam.”
Sam leaned back abruptly, startling Frodo just a bit, and with tears streaming from his eyes, he looked Frodo straight in his, “But you didn’t, Frodo.”
“No… and neither did you, Sam,” Frodo answered warmly, yet firmly. “And besides, you didn’t take anything from me. I was giving it to you. I was freely giving myself to you, Sam. Can’t you see that?”
Sam sighed shakily and sniffled, “I don’t know… I don’t know what I was… I just don’t know what I was thinkin’.”
“Well, everything’s fine, Sam. I promise you that,” he assured him again. “Now, let’s not waste another moment on this, all right?”
He kissed Sam on the brow then backed away and looked at him thoughtfully, “All right now, Sam?” Then he backed away further, gesturing unequivocally with his eyes to their bellies, and the bedcovers and said, smiling apologetically, “Though I’m afraid, Sam, we’ve soaked the sheets through and through and it looks as if we’re going to have to get out of this bed after all.”
Though it didn’t excuse his actions, Sam did feel a little more comforted knowing that Frodo had had similar feelings and that Frodo was so understanding about it and, Frodo was right, it wouldn’t do to dwell on it, though he’d certainly not forget it for a long while, he knew that. He swore to himself right then and there that he would never, ever allow himself to lose control like that again. That he would never, ever scare Frodo like that again, even if it meant succumbing to his own hand if he was in need of desperate relief or was too worked up like he’d let himself get today.
He leaned over and slowly picked up Frodo’s torn breeches from the floor near the bed and held them in his lap, looking over at Frodo apologetically.
“Never mind, Sam,” Frodo said as he held his hand out and Sam placed them in his. “I’ve more where these came from. I wasn’t very fond of this particular pair anyway. And to make sure neither of us will have to do any explaining to anyone, I’ll simply burn them.”
And by anyone, he was really referring to Sam’s three sisters who did most of Bag Ends laundry. Frodo knew if Sam’s sisters came across the torn breeches in the laundry that they’d not pry into his business outright, but he had no doubts whatsoever that the lass’s, being curious and all, would be asking Sam all sorts of questions so, better to dispose of them and avoid the situation all together.
Sam gave Frodo an appreciative smile then wiped his face with the back of his hand as he got up and went around the bed picking up the rest of their clothing. He folded his clothes and hung them on the back of the chair in the corner and said, “Mayhap we ought to go take that mud bath like you suggested earlier.”
Frodo laughed. “I can’t say that I’m as ready to roll around in the mud as I was earlier, but a quick rinsing off in the rain sounds like a refreshing idea. It’s gotten so miserably HOT in here,” he said, his face grimacing with irritation at the discomfort, as he quickly yanked the rest of his sweat-drenched shirt off.
~*~
They put fresh linens on the bed and Sam placed the soiled sheets and Frodo’s shirt and underclothes in a basket and carried the basket down the hall. Frodo threw the torn breeches into the fire and waited for them to burn then scurried off to the washroom to get some towels and bathrobes.
As Sam was making his way down the hallway, he remarked to himself how, not only was it miserably hot in the smial, as Frodo had said, but it was unbelievably dark too.
He placed the laundry basket by the back door to take home with him. Then he went and stoked the kitchen hearth, and placed a kettle of water on the fire to heat up, then lit the small lamp on the table.
Frodo entered the kitchen through the dark parlour, “I’ve opened some of the windows just a little to let in some air. Hopefully that will help cool things off in here.”
He grabbed the lantern from the table, “Ready, Sam?” he asked, and they both padded down the hallway towards the back entrance. Frodo hung the towels and robes on the pegs on the wall and set the lantern on the hall table. Sam opened the back door and they both stood there looking out into the darkness.
It was evening now, even though it had seemed like it for most of the day, but it wasn’t late. There were still large patches of storm clouds in the sky and the rain was still coming down considerably, but the thunder and lightning had all but dissipated. There were still soft flickers of lightning and the faintest sounds of rumbling in the distance, but the worst of the storm had moved off well to the east.
Sam looked over at Frodo, “Shall we?”
Frodo smirked then said, “Wait just a minute,” then turned and vanished down the dark hallway, leaving the lantern with Sam. Frodo knew the smial like the back of his hand, so getting around in the dark was hardly a challenge for him. When he came back, just minutes later, he held out a bar of soap. “If we’re going to do this, we might as well make it worth our while.”
So they both stepped out into the rain and, instantly, they both took in a sharp breath, surprised by how cold it was. The rain was quite loud so they didn’t even bother trying to talk to each other. Frodo turned his face to the sky and let it wash all over him, his skin already goose bumping from the cold. Then he grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him under the arbor that was along the back wall of the smial, a little ways to the left of the back door if you were on the outside.
Sam had built this arbor just for Frodo, with Bilbo’s approval, only a couple years back so Frodo could sit outside on sunny days and read without having to be in the sun, or having to move here and there because of the position of the sun. It looked out over the vegetable garden so Sam had his own personal reasons for building it also, and being able to catch a glimpse of Frodo every now and again, sitting under it reading to his hearts content while he was working out in the garden always seemed to make his work go a little faster. It was covered with the climbing wisteria vine that had woody, branch-like boughs that twined and twirled and looped around the arbor forming a thick leafy-covered canopy and, in the late springtime and early summertime, had the most beautiful, and most abundant clusters of cascading, and extremely fragrant, blue-purple blossoms you ever did see. Sam thought the blue-purple blossoms went well with Frodo’s eyes, though, to Sam, there weren’t nothin’ prettier than Frodo’s eyes.
When they got under it, Frodo leaned in close to Sam, still having to talk above the sound of the rain. “We’ll never be able to lather up in that downpour,” he remarked in a raised voice, though still trying not to yell. The wisteria didn’t block the rain out completely but it blocked it enough that they could get a decent lather up for washing.
Sam shook his head in agreement and they began washing themselves, taking turns back and forth with the soap, and stepping out from underneath the arbor into the heavy rain to rinse.
Frodo felt a twinge of sadness come over him; a sadness that the day was coming to an end. He knew it was getting closer and closer to Sam having to go home, yet he so wanted Sam to stay. Perhaps one day, he thought, he would ask Sam to move in with him, but it was too soon for that now, and Frodo knew that. Frodo had no doubts that Sam would say yes, but he knew Sam had a Da and three sisters at home, and his responsibilities to his own family should precede any personal or selfish wishes that Frodo might want or have of Sam. And with these visions of Sam and his family, Frodo was suddenly all too aware again of how alone he was. It brought tears to his eyes and he was relieved that the rain and the darkness would mask those tears.
They washed from head to toe, making quick about it since they were both of them getting quite chilled by now, Frodo having begun to shiver. When they were finished they dashed through the back door and into the smial, drying off quickly with the laid out towels then wrapping themselves up in the warm bathrobes.
It didn’t take long for Sam to warm up, but Frodo was so chilled that his teeth were chattering.
“Come ‘ere you,” Sam muttered as he pulled Frodo into a warm, snuggly hug. “You poor thing… you’re freezin’.”
Frodo thought how especially good it felt at this very moment, being chilled as he was, to be wrapped in Sam’s warm, snuggly embrace. “Well, I must say, I certainly wasn’t prepared for the rain to be quite that cold,” he said, his teeth still chattering a bit, and then added, with a faint smile, “But at least we’re not hot anymore, and at least we’re washed up now, Sam.”
They dropped the towels into the laundry basket by the back door then headed to the kitchen where, earlier, Sam had started a pot of hot water and stoked the fire, so the kitchen was quite warm and inviting. And the smial had cooled off to a very comfortable temperature from Frodo having opened the windows before they went outside to wash.
Frodo sat down at the table and stared into the fire, still feeling a bit sad, while Sam made them some hot tea and put some cinnamon scones on the table. When Sam was finished, he came over to the table, threw one leg over the bench seat and scooted up beside Frodo, gathering him up in his arms again. “Are you warmin’ up some?” he asked softly, nuzzling into Frodo’s damp curls.
“Yes Sam, I’m fine. It’s quite comfortable in here, thanks to you,” he answered, still staring into the fire.
Sam put his fingers gently to Frodo’s jaw and turned his head towards him, “Well, your teeth ain’t chatterin’ no more, and you ain’t shakin’ so bad, and that’s a good thing, but you’re lips are still purple,” he said, while brushing his thumb softly over those cool, purple lips. “Mayhap I can do somethin’ about that,” he murmured, and then he gently touched his warm lips to Frodo’s.
Frodo let out a soft whimper and his arms came up quickly, and wrapped tightly around Sam’s neck.
Sam clutched him tightly back then asked, concerned, “Are you all right, Frodo?”
Frodo gave him one more quick squeeze then pulled away, answering, “I’m fine, Sam.”
Sam noticed the shimmer in his eyes but decided not to say anything. “Would you like me to fix somethin’ for supper? Mayhap I could make some hot soup outta’ all o’ them leftovers from lunch,” Sam suggested.
“That sounds fine, Sam,” Frodo replied a bit glumly, with a pout to match.
So, Sam ignored that too, and went about putting a pot of water to boil on the stove and gathering up what was left over from lunch, and then set about choppin’ things in bite size pieces.
“What would you like me to do, Sam?”
“Nothin’, Frodo,” he quickly answered. “No, I can take care of it. You just sit by that fire and get yourself warmed up some more. I don’t want you comin’ down with nothin’.”
Frodo smiled warmly and gave in, knowing full well that Sam wouldn’t tolerate him arguing about it, “All right, Sam.”
He sat at the table in front of the fire and drank his tea while Sam quietly worked on supper. He yawned a couple of times, then crossed his arms on the table and laid his head down on his arms, listening to the crackle of the fire. Sleep was coming over him. He knew the telltale signs, so he closed his eyes for just a second to relieve the stinging sensation. The next thing he heard was Sam’s mellow voice calling, “Frodo, wake up… Wake up, Frodo.” And instead of the usual nudging that a person does when they try to wake someone, Frodo felt his hair being gently stroked with the most soothing touch.
And with his eyes still closed, and tired beyond all measure, he was somehow able to string some words together and form a complete thought, and in a very sleepy voice, forced himself to speak that thought aloud, “Sam… that is not going to wake me, you know.”
Frodo kept his eyes shut and then he heard Sam chuckle softly and then a faint smile graced his own lips and he asked, “Are you laughing at me, Sam?”
To which Sam replied, still chuckling, “Aye, that I am, sir, sorry. But what you said sounded a mite funny comin’ from someone who’s s’posed to be asleep and all.”
Frodo opened his eyes slowly and raised his head to find Sam sitting there close beside him again. Then he rubbed at his eyes with the pads of his fingers and yawned, and started chuckling lightly himself, “I suppose it did sound silly, didn’t it?” He crossed one arm over the other, then brought the other arm up and rested the side of his head on that hand and continued, “What I meant was… it was that soft, sing-song voice of yours that woke me. And I’m glad it did, otherwise, I’d not have felt your fingers going through my hair, which, by the way, felt truly wonderful Sam.”
Smiling, Sam asked curiously, “Sing-song voice, huh?”
“Oh, Sam, you know what I mean,” Frodo said through another yawn, while trying politely to cover his mouth.
Sam chuckled quietly and then said, “Aye. Well, the soup ain’t ready just yet but I don’t want you goin’ to sleep ‘til after you eat. Would you like me to go fetch you a book or somethin’ so’s you can read while we’re waitin’?”
“Well, believe it or not, Sam,” Frodo replied, clearly without thinking, “I’ve still got a little more work to do. It seems that a certain handsome, young gardener, though unbeknownst to him, distracted me from my work this morning.”
And just as soon as it spilled from his lips, he quickly clamped his mouth shut. He felt prickling behind his eyes and rubbed at them again, trying to hide his aggravation at what he’d just said. Why he even brought up his work at a time like now, he hadn’t a clue. He’d been waiting for Sam to say he had to leave any minute now, and he did not want him to leave, but a stupid remark like that was surely going to send Sam on his way. He could have kicked himself for saying it.
Sam simply gave Frodo a warm smile and then politely said, “Beggin’ your pardon, s… Frodo, but you know as well as I do that no sooner’n you’d be gettin’ in to that study of yours, and closin’ that door behind you, and it bein’ quiet and all, you’d be right back to fallin’ asleep again. What you need is a good night’s sleep in a warm, comfy bed. After you eat, that is.”
Frodo was completely relieved that Sam saw it the way he did. “I’m afraid you’re right, Sam. I guess I would be at that.” But what I really need is you Sam.
“If’n you want, I can wake you up when I get here in the mornin’, first thing, so’s you can fit it all in with tomorrow’s things too.”
Oh, Sam, please don’t tell me you’re going to leave. “Yes, Sam, that’s a fine idea.”
Frodo’s face went sad for the third or fourth time again this evening, Sam noticed, and again, Sam chose to ignore it. It was plain something was bothering him but if Frodo didn’t want to volunteer the information, Sam wasn’t going to pry it out of him.
“All right then,” he said. “That’s settled.” He pulled Frodo back into that snuggly hug, with Frodo’s head resting in the crook of his neck, and just held him close. That would give Frodo some comfort, Sam thought. He could at least do that.
They sat like that for just a few moments until Sam heard the soup boiling on the stove. He released Frodo and got up to tend to the soup. “I reckon it’s ready now,” he said over his shoulder, then began ladling the soup into two bowls. He set the butter and a plate of biscuits on the table then brought the bowls over to the table and slid a bowl in front of Frodo, “Have a bit of supper now, Frodo,” he offered kindly. “It’ll warm you up even more.”
“It looks wonderful, Sam, but I’m not that hungry really,” Frodo mumbled.
And though Sam was preparing himself to counter Frodo’s remark, he began to chuckle instead.
Frodo looked at him suspiciously, “Now what are you laughing about, Sam? What have I said this time?”
“Well,” he began, trying to put on a straight face. “It just goes back to what I said earlier, ‘bout you not eatin’ proper.”
“What did you say earlier… about me not… “ and then it came to him, just as slow as it did the first time - though he had an excuse then, being distracted like he was - and Frodo too began to laugh. “Sam, I don’t think I’m quite up for that again… at least, not at the moment anyway.”
“Me neither,” Sam replied, “so mayhap you’d best be eatin’ this ‘ere soup,” he instructed playfully.
Frodo shot him a sideways glance, “Yes, I suppose I’d better,” he laughed.
They sat at the table, side-by-side, in the cozy little fire-lit kitchen of Bag End and ate their supper together. Sam, of course, eating more than Frodo, which wasn’t anything new, but Frodo actually ate more than Sam expected him to, bein’ so tired and all, so that was a good thing, but Frodo still seemed a bit sad to Sam, and that was unsettling.
Sam cleared the table and washed what little dishes they had used while Frodo sat at the table finishing up his tea.
Quite understandably, the only thing that was on Frodo’s mind right now was that Sam was going to leave. He and Sam had spent the entire day together, supper was done, the day was at an end, and now Sam was going to come over and tell him it was time for him to be heading home. Frodo could feel his anxiety building and he kept asking himself over and over in his head, Why do you always have to leave, Sam? Why can’t you stay just one night? Just one night, Sam.
Sam finished up, then dried his hands on the tea towel and hung it over the hook on the wall. Then he turned around and walked over to Frodo. There was no mistaking the worried, nervous look on Frodo’s face, and his rapid breathing; and Frodo had such a grip on his cup of tea that Sam thought the cup was going to shatter in his hands. He stepped behind Frodo, circling one arm around his chest and the other reaching for and gently releasing Frodo’s grip on the cup.
Frodo’s eyes closed tight and his lips pursed, utterly dreading Sam’s inevitable words of farewell. But, to Frodo’s surprise, instead, Sam murmured softly in his ear, “Mayhap we can head on back to that bed of yours and I can run my fingers through your hair some more,” he suggested.
Frodo let out his breath, completely unaware that he was even holding it, and everything in him relaxed as soon as Sam spoke those words. Sam helped him up from the table and Frodo rose quickly, turning in his arms and hugging him anxiously, “Please, I’d like that very much, Sam.”
~*~
They were back in Frodo’s room again and Sam thought how funny it was, that as big as Bag End was, they had spent almost the entire day in only two of the rooms - the kitchen, and Frodo’s bedroom; well, three, if you counted their occasional dashes to the bathroom.
The window having been left open had cooled the room considerably. Sam went over and stoked the fire again and then they both removed their robes and slid between the cool, clean sheets together. Sam was looking forward to this just as much as Frodo was.
Frodo immediately draped himself over Sam, cuddling up close and resting his head on Sam’s chest, and Sam, in turn, nuzzled into Frodo’s hair, breathing in the lingering fresh, soapy scent from their rain bath. Frodo smelled so good and so refreshingly clean and Sam felt unbelievably comfortable at the moment. And then he slowly and gently began stroking Frodo’s hair.
“Mmmm, Sam… that feels wonderful,” Frodo breathed against his chest. He closed his eyes and listened to the steady rhythm of Sam’s heartbeat; trying so hard to push his thoughts of Sam having to leave right out of his mind.
They didn’t really say much; each of them lost in their own thoughts, yet Sam continued to run his fingers slowly through Frodo’s silky curls. It was soothing to Frodo, that he knew, but it was just as soothing to him. In one sweep, he’d run his palm slowly over his hair, Frodo’s curls looping up over the edge and tickling the back of his hand; in another sweep, he’d dive in with his fingers apart, catching the soft curls in between each finger; and still another sweep, and he’d take his whole hand and come up through the massive curls from underneath, careful not to pull. He did this over and over, switching back and forth; over, through and under; over, through, and under.
He did this in such a slow and methodic rhythm that Frodo had fallen asleep soon after he started, and he chuckled to himself thinkin’, How can he enjoy this if he can’t stay awake to feel it? No matter, Sam thought, ‘cause he was certainly enjoying it, whether or no.
He didn’t quite know how long he’d been doing it now, but he found himself beginning to nod off also and so he figured it was now time for him to go. The problem was, Frodo was sprawled across him and he thought that if he moved just yet he would wake him, and he didn’t want to do that. Whatever had been botherin’ Frodo, he seemed to have gotten over it, or so Sam thought. But he didn’t want to take any chances by waking him.
So he lay there a little longer, savoring the moment, and the next thing he knew he was waking up from one ‘o them little nod-offs again. He figured he hadn’t been sleepin’ too long ‘cause Frodo was still where he was at, but it was time to go, so the best thing was just to get up and go, he told himself.
He grabbed the pillow from behind his head and, moving as carefully as he could, he slowly slithered out from underneath Frodo while sliding the pillow in his place. As quietly as he could, he walked over to the chair where he had placed his clothes earlier and got dressed. When he finished, he walked back over to Frodo’s bed. How peaceful and comfortable he looked surrounded by this sea of downy blankets and pillows. He leaned down and whispered as soft as he could, “Goodnight, Frodo,” and kissed him on his head as carefully as he could, then gathered up the bathrobes and padded silently out of the room.
It was dark in the smial but he could see, to his left, the moonlight shining in the parlour window and in the two small round windows on either side of the front door giving some light to the front entryway, and a low flickering light in the hallway up ahead coming from the hearth in the kitchen. He hung the robes back in their respective places in the bathroom, having to feel his way in the dark, then went and grabbed the basket of laundry at the back door. Feeling a little sad himself, Sam turned and headed back down the hallway towards the front door.
TBC
Part 5 - A Cry in the Night.
Author: Frodo_naatulien
Pairing: F/S
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Frodo’s a bit lonely and Sam is just what he needs. And Frodo is just what Sam needs.
A/N: (Squee!) This is my very first fic. Lots of fluff, I guess. Mild angst. It’s just simply- a day in the life of Frodo and Sam.
Sincere thanks to my beta and truly wonderful new friend, Lyrastar77. Thank you so much for your time and patience, and your wonderful suggestions. I know I’ve already told you this, but I’ll say it again. You were such a great help to me and you made the beta process very pleasant indeed. Thank you… thank you… thank you! : )
Warning(s): There is one small scene that involves questionable intentions, but that’s about all the warning that is needed really. And after reading, you'll see that it all comes together and makes perfect, loving sense.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Just borrowing them from J.R.R. Tolkien for… as Bilbo put it, “just a bit of fun.”
Part 4 - Fear Awakening
When their breathing finally slowed, Frodo spoke first as he gave Sam a little nudge. “Sam,” he breathed. “Please, Sam… I’m so hot.”
Realizing he was still sprawled on top of Frodo, Sam quickly lifted himself off of him. Then he leaned down and kissed him affectionately, his hand lightly cupping Frodo’s neck. He could feel Frodo’s pulse hammering against his palm, and even though he had just been completely satisfied, there was still something about that particular spot on Frodo that made Sam’s insides do flip-flops. Their tongues moved together slowly, and then Sam whispered with affection, “I love you so much,” and kissed him some more.
But, realizing how hot he was also, and how suffocatingly hot the room had become, he reluctantly broke away from Frodo, and then crawled out of the bed. “Well, it’s still rainin’ a good bit,” he said as he headed towards the window, “but I think it’d be safe to open a window now. Leastways, it don’t seem to be blowin’ so hard anymore.”
As he opened the window, a cool refreshing breeze immediately blew through the room. Then he walked back over to the bed and sat on the edge next to Frodo. Frodo was completely drenched with sweat, as was Sam, and the bedcovers, and he just lay there with his eyes closed, too exhausted and too hot to even move.
Sam swept his eyes over him and thought to himself - How was it that no matter what condition Frodo was in, he was absolutely breathtaking? No matter what condition….
Then, upon seeing Frodo laying there naked, but for his opened shirt, he remembered his atrocious and inexcusable actions from earlier. It sickened him. How could he let himself lose control as he did? How could he do that to Frodo? How could he scare him like that?
He reached for Frodo’s hand and held it in his own, tears welling up in his eyes. He stroked the wet hair away from Frodo’s face and began shakily, “I’m so sorry, Frodo. I’m so sorry I got rough with you… that I tried to force myse… I’m sorry I tried to ta…”
Frodo opened his eyes slowly, turning his face to Sam.
Sam continued to speak while he nervously held and caressed Frodo’s hand in both of his, “I’m so sorry if I scared you. I didn’t mean to. You know I’d never mean to hurt you, Frodo, not ever.” And then he bowed his head in shame.
“Sam,” Frodo said softly. “Look at me.” He squeezed Sam’s hand in his own, “I know, Sam. It’s true you scared me a little, but you didn’t hurt me, Sam.” And then his face broke into a grin, “And I’m still madly in love with you.”
And now the tears came, unbidden, and Sam couldn’t stop them. He was so angry and appalled with himself, and here Frodo was, so willing to forgive him so easily. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve it and he felt, right at the moment, as if he didn’t deserve Frodo. And it hurt. It really hurt.
Frodo sat up and embraced him. “Sam, it’s all right. I’m all right, Sam,” he said soothingly, trying to comfort him.
They held each other close and Frodo whispered again, “It’s all right, Sam, I promise.”
Though Frodo did not really want to say this, he saw no other way to ease Sam’s mind. He knew Sam was not likely to forgive himself for something that, quite frankly, Frodo thought was really not that big of a deal in the first place, but he at least wanted to lighten the load of guilt that Sam would inevitably carry silently within himself for who knows how long.
Frodo pulled away but kept his eyes on Sam. He spoke carefully now, but truthfully, “If it’ll make you feel any better, Sam… ” and he paused for a moment, sighing nervously, “well, maybe that’s not exactly the right choice of words but…“ he continued slowly, “before I knew we both shared the same feelings, I have to admit that…” and again, he leaned back in and hugged Sam close, “in my most desperate moments, Sam, there were times that I’d had thoughts of wanting to take from you what I thought I’d never have.” Frodo’s eyes stared off into the dark corner of the room behind Sam for a moment, his voice soft and wavering slightly, “Love can be a tricky thing, Sam.”
Sam leaned back abruptly, startling Frodo just a bit, and with tears streaming from his eyes, he looked Frodo straight in his, “But you didn’t, Frodo.”
“No… and neither did you, Sam,” Frodo answered warmly, yet firmly. “And besides, you didn’t take anything from me. I was giving it to you. I was freely giving myself to you, Sam. Can’t you see that?”
Sam sighed shakily and sniffled, “I don’t know… I don’t know what I was… I just don’t know what I was thinkin’.”
“Well, everything’s fine, Sam. I promise you that,” he assured him again. “Now, let’s not waste another moment on this, all right?”
He kissed Sam on the brow then backed away and looked at him thoughtfully, “All right now, Sam?” Then he backed away further, gesturing unequivocally with his eyes to their bellies, and the bedcovers and said, smiling apologetically, “Though I’m afraid, Sam, we’ve soaked the sheets through and through and it looks as if we’re going to have to get out of this bed after all.”
Though it didn’t excuse his actions, Sam did feel a little more comforted knowing that Frodo had had similar feelings and that Frodo was so understanding about it and, Frodo was right, it wouldn’t do to dwell on it, though he’d certainly not forget it for a long while, he knew that. He swore to himself right then and there that he would never, ever allow himself to lose control like that again. That he would never, ever scare Frodo like that again, even if it meant succumbing to his own hand if he was in need of desperate relief or was too worked up like he’d let himself get today.
He leaned over and slowly picked up Frodo’s torn breeches from the floor near the bed and held them in his lap, looking over at Frodo apologetically.
“Never mind, Sam,” Frodo said as he held his hand out and Sam placed them in his. “I’ve more where these came from. I wasn’t very fond of this particular pair anyway. And to make sure neither of us will have to do any explaining to anyone, I’ll simply burn them.”
And by anyone, he was really referring to Sam’s three sisters who did most of Bag Ends laundry. Frodo knew if Sam’s sisters came across the torn breeches in the laundry that they’d not pry into his business outright, but he had no doubts whatsoever that the lass’s, being curious and all, would be asking Sam all sorts of questions so, better to dispose of them and avoid the situation all together.
Sam gave Frodo an appreciative smile then wiped his face with the back of his hand as he got up and went around the bed picking up the rest of their clothing. He folded his clothes and hung them on the back of the chair in the corner and said, “Mayhap we ought to go take that mud bath like you suggested earlier.”
Frodo laughed. “I can’t say that I’m as ready to roll around in the mud as I was earlier, but a quick rinsing off in the rain sounds like a refreshing idea. It’s gotten so miserably HOT in here,” he said, his face grimacing with irritation at the discomfort, as he quickly yanked the rest of his sweat-drenched shirt off.
~*~
They put fresh linens on the bed and Sam placed the soiled sheets and Frodo’s shirt and underclothes in a basket and carried the basket down the hall. Frodo threw the torn breeches into the fire and waited for them to burn then scurried off to the washroom to get some towels and bathrobes.
As Sam was making his way down the hallway, he remarked to himself how, not only was it miserably hot in the smial, as Frodo had said, but it was unbelievably dark too.
He placed the laundry basket by the back door to take home with him. Then he went and stoked the kitchen hearth, and placed a kettle of water on the fire to heat up, then lit the small lamp on the table.
Frodo entered the kitchen through the dark parlour, “I’ve opened some of the windows just a little to let in some air. Hopefully that will help cool things off in here.”
He grabbed the lantern from the table, “Ready, Sam?” he asked, and they both padded down the hallway towards the back entrance. Frodo hung the towels and robes on the pegs on the wall and set the lantern on the hall table. Sam opened the back door and they both stood there looking out into the darkness.
It was evening now, even though it had seemed like it for most of the day, but it wasn’t late. There were still large patches of storm clouds in the sky and the rain was still coming down considerably, but the thunder and lightning had all but dissipated. There were still soft flickers of lightning and the faintest sounds of rumbling in the distance, but the worst of the storm had moved off well to the east.
Sam looked over at Frodo, “Shall we?”
Frodo smirked then said, “Wait just a minute,” then turned and vanished down the dark hallway, leaving the lantern with Sam. Frodo knew the smial like the back of his hand, so getting around in the dark was hardly a challenge for him. When he came back, just minutes later, he held out a bar of soap. “If we’re going to do this, we might as well make it worth our while.”
So they both stepped out into the rain and, instantly, they both took in a sharp breath, surprised by how cold it was. The rain was quite loud so they didn’t even bother trying to talk to each other. Frodo turned his face to the sky and let it wash all over him, his skin already goose bumping from the cold. Then he grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him under the arbor that was along the back wall of the smial, a little ways to the left of the back door if you were on the outside.
Sam had built this arbor just for Frodo, with Bilbo’s approval, only a couple years back so Frodo could sit outside on sunny days and read without having to be in the sun, or having to move here and there because of the position of the sun. It looked out over the vegetable garden so Sam had his own personal reasons for building it also, and being able to catch a glimpse of Frodo every now and again, sitting under it reading to his hearts content while he was working out in the garden always seemed to make his work go a little faster. It was covered with the climbing wisteria vine that had woody, branch-like boughs that twined and twirled and looped around the arbor forming a thick leafy-covered canopy and, in the late springtime and early summertime, had the most beautiful, and most abundant clusters of cascading, and extremely fragrant, blue-purple blossoms you ever did see. Sam thought the blue-purple blossoms went well with Frodo’s eyes, though, to Sam, there weren’t nothin’ prettier than Frodo’s eyes.
When they got under it, Frodo leaned in close to Sam, still having to talk above the sound of the rain. “We’ll never be able to lather up in that downpour,” he remarked in a raised voice, though still trying not to yell. The wisteria didn’t block the rain out completely but it blocked it enough that they could get a decent lather up for washing.
Sam shook his head in agreement and they began washing themselves, taking turns back and forth with the soap, and stepping out from underneath the arbor into the heavy rain to rinse.
Frodo felt a twinge of sadness come over him; a sadness that the day was coming to an end. He knew it was getting closer and closer to Sam having to go home, yet he so wanted Sam to stay. Perhaps one day, he thought, he would ask Sam to move in with him, but it was too soon for that now, and Frodo knew that. Frodo had no doubts that Sam would say yes, but he knew Sam had a Da and three sisters at home, and his responsibilities to his own family should precede any personal or selfish wishes that Frodo might want or have of Sam. And with these visions of Sam and his family, Frodo was suddenly all too aware again of how alone he was. It brought tears to his eyes and he was relieved that the rain and the darkness would mask those tears.
They washed from head to toe, making quick about it since they were both of them getting quite chilled by now, Frodo having begun to shiver. When they were finished they dashed through the back door and into the smial, drying off quickly with the laid out towels then wrapping themselves up in the warm bathrobes.
It didn’t take long for Sam to warm up, but Frodo was so chilled that his teeth were chattering.
“Come ‘ere you,” Sam muttered as he pulled Frodo into a warm, snuggly hug. “You poor thing… you’re freezin’.”
Frodo thought how especially good it felt at this very moment, being chilled as he was, to be wrapped in Sam’s warm, snuggly embrace. “Well, I must say, I certainly wasn’t prepared for the rain to be quite that cold,” he said, his teeth still chattering a bit, and then added, with a faint smile, “But at least we’re not hot anymore, and at least we’re washed up now, Sam.”
They dropped the towels into the laundry basket by the back door then headed to the kitchen where, earlier, Sam had started a pot of hot water and stoked the fire, so the kitchen was quite warm and inviting. And the smial had cooled off to a very comfortable temperature from Frodo having opened the windows before they went outside to wash.
Frodo sat down at the table and stared into the fire, still feeling a bit sad, while Sam made them some hot tea and put some cinnamon scones on the table. When Sam was finished, he came over to the table, threw one leg over the bench seat and scooted up beside Frodo, gathering him up in his arms again. “Are you warmin’ up some?” he asked softly, nuzzling into Frodo’s damp curls.
“Yes Sam, I’m fine. It’s quite comfortable in here, thanks to you,” he answered, still staring into the fire.
Sam put his fingers gently to Frodo’s jaw and turned his head towards him, “Well, your teeth ain’t chatterin’ no more, and you ain’t shakin’ so bad, and that’s a good thing, but you’re lips are still purple,” he said, while brushing his thumb softly over those cool, purple lips. “Mayhap I can do somethin’ about that,” he murmured, and then he gently touched his warm lips to Frodo’s.
Frodo let out a soft whimper and his arms came up quickly, and wrapped tightly around Sam’s neck.
Sam clutched him tightly back then asked, concerned, “Are you all right, Frodo?”
Frodo gave him one more quick squeeze then pulled away, answering, “I’m fine, Sam.”
Sam noticed the shimmer in his eyes but decided not to say anything. “Would you like me to fix somethin’ for supper? Mayhap I could make some hot soup outta’ all o’ them leftovers from lunch,” Sam suggested.
“That sounds fine, Sam,” Frodo replied a bit glumly, with a pout to match.
So, Sam ignored that too, and went about putting a pot of water to boil on the stove and gathering up what was left over from lunch, and then set about choppin’ things in bite size pieces.
“What would you like me to do, Sam?”
“Nothin’, Frodo,” he quickly answered. “No, I can take care of it. You just sit by that fire and get yourself warmed up some more. I don’t want you comin’ down with nothin’.”
Frodo smiled warmly and gave in, knowing full well that Sam wouldn’t tolerate him arguing about it, “All right, Sam.”
He sat at the table in front of the fire and drank his tea while Sam quietly worked on supper. He yawned a couple of times, then crossed his arms on the table and laid his head down on his arms, listening to the crackle of the fire. Sleep was coming over him. He knew the telltale signs, so he closed his eyes for just a second to relieve the stinging sensation. The next thing he heard was Sam’s mellow voice calling, “Frodo, wake up… Wake up, Frodo.” And instead of the usual nudging that a person does when they try to wake someone, Frodo felt his hair being gently stroked with the most soothing touch.
And with his eyes still closed, and tired beyond all measure, he was somehow able to string some words together and form a complete thought, and in a very sleepy voice, forced himself to speak that thought aloud, “Sam… that is not going to wake me, you know.”
Frodo kept his eyes shut and then he heard Sam chuckle softly and then a faint smile graced his own lips and he asked, “Are you laughing at me, Sam?”
To which Sam replied, still chuckling, “Aye, that I am, sir, sorry. But what you said sounded a mite funny comin’ from someone who’s s’posed to be asleep and all.”
Frodo opened his eyes slowly and raised his head to find Sam sitting there close beside him again. Then he rubbed at his eyes with the pads of his fingers and yawned, and started chuckling lightly himself, “I suppose it did sound silly, didn’t it?” He crossed one arm over the other, then brought the other arm up and rested the side of his head on that hand and continued, “What I meant was… it was that soft, sing-song voice of yours that woke me. And I’m glad it did, otherwise, I’d not have felt your fingers going through my hair, which, by the way, felt truly wonderful Sam.”
Smiling, Sam asked curiously, “Sing-song voice, huh?”
“Oh, Sam, you know what I mean,” Frodo said through another yawn, while trying politely to cover his mouth.
Sam chuckled quietly and then said, “Aye. Well, the soup ain’t ready just yet but I don’t want you goin’ to sleep ‘til after you eat. Would you like me to go fetch you a book or somethin’ so’s you can read while we’re waitin’?”
“Well, believe it or not, Sam,” Frodo replied, clearly without thinking, “I’ve still got a little more work to do. It seems that a certain handsome, young gardener, though unbeknownst to him, distracted me from my work this morning.”
And just as soon as it spilled from his lips, he quickly clamped his mouth shut. He felt prickling behind his eyes and rubbed at them again, trying to hide his aggravation at what he’d just said. Why he even brought up his work at a time like now, he hadn’t a clue. He’d been waiting for Sam to say he had to leave any minute now, and he did not want him to leave, but a stupid remark like that was surely going to send Sam on his way. He could have kicked himself for saying it.
Sam simply gave Frodo a warm smile and then politely said, “Beggin’ your pardon, s… Frodo, but you know as well as I do that no sooner’n you’d be gettin’ in to that study of yours, and closin’ that door behind you, and it bein’ quiet and all, you’d be right back to fallin’ asleep again. What you need is a good night’s sleep in a warm, comfy bed. After you eat, that is.”
Frodo was completely relieved that Sam saw it the way he did. “I’m afraid you’re right, Sam. I guess I would be at that.” But what I really need is you Sam.
“If’n you want, I can wake you up when I get here in the mornin’, first thing, so’s you can fit it all in with tomorrow’s things too.”
Oh, Sam, please don’t tell me you’re going to leave. “Yes, Sam, that’s a fine idea.”
Frodo’s face went sad for the third or fourth time again this evening, Sam noticed, and again, Sam chose to ignore it. It was plain something was bothering him but if Frodo didn’t want to volunteer the information, Sam wasn’t going to pry it out of him.
“All right then,” he said. “That’s settled.” He pulled Frodo back into that snuggly hug, with Frodo’s head resting in the crook of his neck, and just held him close. That would give Frodo some comfort, Sam thought. He could at least do that.
They sat like that for just a few moments until Sam heard the soup boiling on the stove. He released Frodo and got up to tend to the soup. “I reckon it’s ready now,” he said over his shoulder, then began ladling the soup into two bowls. He set the butter and a plate of biscuits on the table then brought the bowls over to the table and slid a bowl in front of Frodo, “Have a bit of supper now, Frodo,” he offered kindly. “It’ll warm you up even more.”
“It looks wonderful, Sam, but I’m not that hungry really,” Frodo mumbled.
And though Sam was preparing himself to counter Frodo’s remark, he began to chuckle instead.
Frodo looked at him suspiciously, “Now what are you laughing about, Sam? What have I said this time?”
“Well,” he began, trying to put on a straight face. “It just goes back to what I said earlier, ‘bout you not eatin’ proper.”
“What did you say earlier… about me not… “ and then it came to him, just as slow as it did the first time - though he had an excuse then, being distracted like he was - and Frodo too began to laugh. “Sam, I don’t think I’m quite up for that again… at least, not at the moment anyway.”
“Me neither,” Sam replied, “so mayhap you’d best be eatin’ this ‘ere soup,” he instructed playfully.
Frodo shot him a sideways glance, “Yes, I suppose I’d better,” he laughed.
They sat at the table, side-by-side, in the cozy little fire-lit kitchen of Bag End and ate their supper together. Sam, of course, eating more than Frodo, which wasn’t anything new, but Frodo actually ate more than Sam expected him to, bein’ so tired and all, so that was a good thing, but Frodo still seemed a bit sad to Sam, and that was unsettling.
Sam cleared the table and washed what little dishes they had used while Frodo sat at the table finishing up his tea.
Quite understandably, the only thing that was on Frodo’s mind right now was that Sam was going to leave. He and Sam had spent the entire day together, supper was done, the day was at an end, and now Sam was going to come over and tell him it was time for him to be heading home. Frodo could feel his anxiety building and he kept asking himself over and over in his head, Why do you always have to leave, Sam? Why can’t you stay just one night? Just one night, Sam.
Sam finished up, then dried his hands on the tea towel and hung it over the hook on the wall. Then he turned around and walked over to Frodo. There was no mistaking the worried, nervous look on Frodo’s face, and his rapid breathing; and Frodo had such a grip on his cup of tea that Sam thought the cup was going to shatter in his hands. He stepped behind Frodo, circling one arm around his chest and the other reaching for and gently releasing Frodo’s grip on the cup.
Frodo’s eyes closed tight and his lips pursed, utterly dreading Sam’s inevitable words of farewell. But, to Frodo’s surprise, instead, Sam murmured softly in his ear, “Mayhap we can head on back to that bed of yours and I can run my fingers through your hair some more,” he suggested.
Frodo let out his breath, completely unaware that he was even holding it, and everything in him relaxed as soon as Sam spoke those words. Sam helped him up from the table and Frodo rose quickly, turning in his arms and hugging him anxiously, “Please, I’d like that very much, Sam.”
~*~
They were back in Frodo’s room again and Sam thought how funny it was, that as big as Bag End was, they had spent almost the entire day in only two of the rooms - the kitchen, and Frodo’s bedroom; well, three, if you counted their occasional dashes to the bathroom.
The window having been left open had cooled the room considerably. Sam went over and stoked the fire again and then they both removed their robes and slid between the cool, clean sheets together. Sam was looking forward to this just as much as Frodo was.
Frodo immediately draped himself over Sam, cuddling up close and resting his head on Sam’s chest, and Sam, in turn, nuzzled into Frodo’s hair, breathing in the lingering fresh, soapy scent from their rain bath. Frodo smelled so good and so refreshingly clean and Sam felt unbelievably comfortable at the moment. And then he slowly and gently began stroking Frodo’s hair.
“Mmmm, Sam… that feels wonderful,” Frodo breathed against his chest. He closed his eyes and listened to the steady rhythm of Sam’s heartbeat; trying so hard to push his thoughts of Sam having to leave right out of his mind.
They didn’t really say much; each of them lost in their own thoughts, yet Sam continued to run his fingers slowly through Frodo’s silky curls. It was soothing to Frodo, that he knew, but it was just as soothing to him. In one sweep, he’d run his palm slowly over his hair, Frodo’s curls looping up over the edge and tickling the back of his hand; in another sweep, he’d dive in with his fingers apart, catching the soft curls in between each finger; and still another sweep, and he’d take his whole hand and come up through the massive curls from underneath, careful not to pull. He did this over and over, switching back and forth; over, through and under; over, through, and under.
He did this in such a slow and methodic rhythm that Frodo had fallen asleep soon after he started, and he chuckled to himself thinkin’, How can he enjoy this if he can’t stay awake to feel it? No matter, Sam thought, ‘cause he was certainly enjoying it, whether or no.
He didn’t quite know how long he’d been doing it now, but he found himself beginning to nod off also and so he figured it was now time for him to go. The problem was, Frodo was sprawled across him and he thought that if he moved just yet he would wake him, and he didn’t want to do that. Whatever had been botherin’ Frodo, he seemed to have gotten over it, or so Sam thought. But he didn’t want to take any chances by waking him.
So he lay there a little longer, savoring the moment, and the next thing he knew he was waking up from one ‘o them little nod-offs again. He figured he hadn’t been sleepin’ too long ‘cause Frodo was still where he was at, but it was time to go, so the best thing was just to get up and go, he told himself.
He grabbed the pillow from behind his head and, moving as carefully as he could, he slowly slithered out from underneath Frodo while sliding the pillow in his place. As quietly as he could, he walked over to the chair where he had placed his clothes earlier and got dressed. When he finished, he walked back over to Frodo’s bed. How peaceful and comfortable he looked surrounded by this sea of downy blankets and pillows. He leaned down and whispered as soft as he could, “Goodnight, Frodo,” and kissed him on his head as carefully as he could, then gathered up the bathrobes and padded silently out of the room.
It was dark in the smial but he could see, to his left, the moonlight shining in the parlour window and in the two small round windows on either side of the front door giving some light to the front entryway, and a low flickering light in the hallway up ahead coming from the hearth in the kitchen. He hung the robes back in their respective places in the bathroom, having to feel his way in the dark, then went and grabbed the basket of laundry at the back door. Feeling a little sad himself, Sam turned and headed back down the hallway towards the front door.
TBC
Part 5 - A Cry in the Night.