"Interlude In Lorien" Parts III and VI

[frodoslegacy]

Sam tried not to think about the need that felt like a knot in the very lowest part of his belly. Feeling his organ pressed to his master's like this, even through his rough breech cloth, was almost quite enough to end this before it even began... and Sam had many more plans for Frodo, for it to end so clumsily. He shifted his weight a little, but found that little motion only increased the contact between them, and he gasped against Frodo's mouth, hot and sweet from the kissing.

He pressed his lips to Frodo for another moment, staying as still and steady as he could, before sliding his hips again against Frodo's, slowly, better prepared for the feeling, and biting down softly on Frodo's full lower lip. Oh, but this was more than anything Samwise Gamgee had ever dreamed, and he had dreamt plenty about Frodo Baggins over the years.

Hadn't he once or twice even found Frodo in the bathing tub, reading, or just resting with his head back, beads of sweat trickling down the long, slender column of his neck, steam curling his hair even further? Sam had only just come in to replace the towels in the room, and had to quickly avert his eyes from the lounging, bathing Frodo before him. He'd leave the towels and mutter an apology, hurrying out again, his ears red, his heart hammering. Sam would have to lean against the door, trying to catch his breath, and to still the thoughts racing across his mind. But not now, now as he felt Frodo's excitement matching his, his kisses growing all the more bold, Sam gave full rein to his dreams, and let his fingers begin the task of freeing Frodo from his shirt, while kissing tenderly, his chin, and throat.

As he began to work on the buttons, glancing down for the first one, his fingers brushed the heavy chain on which Frodo bore the Ring. Sam resolutely refused to allow this thing... this tiny, awful, fearsome thing... to ruin this moment. Indeed he was afraid Frodo would push him away altogether, retreat inside himself again, this feeling between them stamped out forever. His mind whirled at what to do, his lips kissing the silky skin of Frodo's neck, the hollow under his Adam’s apple--he did not want this evil between them, as they lay together for the first time in love.

Deciding that ignoring it was impossible, Sam looked down into Frodo's bright and mysterious eyes, and said the words that he had kept inside for so long, tonight a talisman as much as pure truth.

"I love you, master. Frodo... I love you so much," and hoping that these words were enough, for now at least, to break any Ring spell, he gingerly lifted the chain, and gently removed it from around his neck, and quickly folded it into a corner of the cloak, making a neat, secure job of it.

Frodo savored the kisses, and the nibbling at his lip--it felt like the gardener wanted to consume him like he was some sort of delicious dessert! It was exciting, and a bit overwhelming, and became even more so when Sam shifted his hips and slowly, deliberately pressed his hard organ against Frodo's own. It was such a contrast to the gentle kisses and caresses, and Frodo felt himself grow harder in response. Despite the coolness of the damp evening, it seemed awfully hot out here now, and Frodo smiled when Sam started to unbutton his shirt.

He relaxed and closed his eyes as the other hobbit undid one button, and then the next. He smiled lazily when Sam again said those wonderful words and lifted the chain from his neck.

But then panic shot through Frodo and his eyes flew open. The Ring! Sam had taken the Ring! Sam's weight upon him, which only moments before had seemed comforting, now seemed to be trapping him. Frodo could see it all too clearly now. This seduction had all been a ruse to take the Ring!

It took everything Frodo had not to shove Sam off him and grab the Ring and run. Had his body not been so aflame with desire and his heart filled with love, he might have done just that! But his passion slowed him down long enough for a measure of sanity to return.

No, no--Sam was not trying to take the Ring for his own. Frodo's heart knew that, and bit by bit, his anxiety eased. But it didn't leave entirely. Frodo knew that the Ring was crafty, treacherous. It had escaped from Gollum before, and the thought that it might still be trying to escape wouldn't leave him.

An image rose in Frodo's mind that he wasn't entirely sure had been created by himself, an image of two hobbits lost in the throes of love, kicking the Ring away without realizing it, and of the Ring disappearing into the layers of leaves all around them, where they'd never find it...

Frodo stirred, then sat up as far as Sam's body over him would allow. He locked eyes with the other and spoke as calmly as he could under the circumstances.

"Sam! We've got to... secure the Ring better than that. My back pocket is deep, and it buttons. Put it in there, then roll the pants up and put them aside, out of reach, where we won't disturb them by mistake."

Frodo looked down at his pants, then back up at the Gardener and smiled.

"Of course, you'll have to remove them first."

Samwise Gamgee had stopped breathing for nearly a whole minute, watching the struggle in Frodo's flushed face over the Ring, and when he felt Frodo sit up, he accommodated him and lifted himself up, to sit at Frodo's feet. He prepared himself for almost anything, a slap, a stinging insult--oh, he had seen the power of this Ring, he had! Then Frodo spoke, and the words were like a balm to Sam, and he felt his own eyes grow wide at the very last words of his master.

Remove them... remove his pants... the words rang clear, and Frodo's slight smile was as sweet as the tinkling sound of chimes, but it seemed what he said had no meaning to Sam for a moment. Nothing was ruined... this moment was going to go on... and with the teasing encouragement of Frodo at that! If it would have made Frodo feel better, Samwise would have built a whole house to keep the Ring safe, but all he had to do was take... off... Frodo's... pants...

Sam bravely looked up at Frodo, and gave a crooked smile in return, and made to kneel up over him.

"All right, Master, if that's what it takes," Sam whispered more hoarsely than he intended, and slid his palms over Frodo's thighs. He lifted his fingers to the buttons at the front of the pants, and undid each one, slowly, his fingers betraying how excited, how nervous, he really was, and once the last tiny button had been unfastened, Sam slid his rough hands under the waistband, and slowly eased the cloth over Frodo's slim hips, his downy thighs, and over his strong calves.

Sam didn't allow himself to look up just yet, needed a moment to catch his breath, and collect himself. Heat was flooding him, all through his body there was this delicious feeling of sunlight, as though the light and heat were a living thing... Sam untangled the pants from Frodo's feet, and lifted the Ring from it's meager hiding place, palming it quickly and slipping it into the back pocket, closing the button there quickly as he could. Now this was an action that Sam had performed dozens of times, and it calmed him a little--folding Frodo's pants neatly, sure that the Ring pocket was safely folded on the inside.

He looked up finally at Frodo, and a small noise escaped his lips, some exclamation that was unintelligible, at how beautiful his Frodo was, and for a moment, Sam felt so unworthy. But remembering Frodo's soft smile and the quickening of his kisses, he let his fears dissipate, and lifted his fingers to finish unbuttoning Frodo's shirt.

"Beggin' your pardon, Frodo, but if we wrap the pants in your shirt, 'tis sure to be doubly safe, and... and I'll move the bundle to a clear spot, out... out of our way, sir."

Sam's fingers brushed against some rather sensitive areas as he fumbled with the buttons of Frodo's fly, and it was all so tantalizing, and seemed to be taking so long, that it was all Frodo could do not to stand up and finish the job himself! But no, that wouldn't do at all, and he forced himself to relax and merely watched Sam through his lashes, smiling encouragingly. Though it didn't seem that the gardener noticed, for he was so concentrated on his task that he never even glanced up as far as Frodo could tell!

Finally Sam eased the pants over Frodo's hips, and down his legs, freeing him. The cool night air caressed Frodo's flesh and he felt a flash of vulnerability, but this was quickly drowned out by his every rising excitement.

Then the gardener finally looked at him, looked him over from hairy toes to the top of his head and then right into his eyes, and the look of wonder, even awe, on Sam's face almost made Frodo burst into tears again. When was the last time he had been looked at like that? Had he ever? He had seen desire, lust, even affection on the faces of others, but the look on the gardener's face was something new, he decided.

He nodded his assent and murmured something about wrapping the pants in the shirt being a very good idea indeed when Sam reached for those buttons. This took a lot less time, and before he knew it, Frodo was sitting completely naked on the forest floor, with only a cloak between himself and the damp leaves, for he had left his Mithril shirt back with his things, glad to be able to rid himself of the extra layer for the time being. As Sam proceeded to wrap the pants up in the shirt and secure it in so many knots he doubted it would ever come loose, Frodo absently observed that the cloak beneath them seemed to be doing a great job of shielding them from the damp...

But what was he doing thinking about that at a time like this! Frodo waited until the gardener set the little bundle of clothes aside, and he took one last worried glance at it and then resolved to put the Ring, and all other random thoughts, out of his mind for this evening at least. He scooted closer to Sam, placed his hands on the other hobbit's shoulders, and leaned in to kiss him gently on the lips.

Then, without ever removing his lips from the other's, he slid his hands around to the gardener's chest and started undoing his own shirt buttons, one by one, his fingers brushing much more flesh than necessary to complete the task.

Sam was quite glad that his Uncle Andy had showed him so many clever little knots--they came in right handy in wrapping up the Ring in Frodo's clothes. Frodo's clothes...He didn't have time to finish the thought when Frodo moved closer to him, and went right back to the silky, hot kisses that had begun this interlude. And when Sam felt Frodo's fingers touch the fevered flesh under his shirt buttons, he could let himself forget that this wasn't proper, wasn't proper for his master to be waitin' so on him.

And as much as Sam wanted to be pressed against Frodo, with naught between them, he couldn't help but be self-conscious. Having had the opportunity to see Frodo naked, in the soft Lorien starlight, Sam knew now what the word breathtaking truly meant. Frodo was beautiful. His pale skin silvered by the light dappling through the leaves, gave him an ethereal glow. His eyes dancing like vast azure waters, under the soft fringe of his long, dark lashes. His nipples pale red, like the first crop of ripe raspberries, luscious, rough, and sweet. His elfin hobbit. His for now, under the huge far-away sky.

And his organ, which Sam reached down a tentative hand to touch--softly, reverently with only the tips of his fingers--so like the stalk of a flower, a lily. It felt strong and so smooth under Sam's fingers, a marvel to him to be touching Frodo like this. He only stroked his fingers up the length of it, and he gasped against Frodo's mouth as it moved of it's own accord in his hand. This was too delicious, too intoxicating, and also fearsome. He wanted so much to please Frodo, to love him with as much skill as care, but it was the skill that Samwise lacked.

He gently, gently pressed Frodo back down again, onto his back, Sam following him down, with his master's fingers just finishing his shirt buttons. And he resumed his exploration of Frodo's body, dancing his fingers up Frodo's excitement again, then sliding over the tip of him. Sam held his weight from Frodo with his other hand, and tilted his head to tease Frodo's lips with his, barely touching them, then capturing them passionately, nibbling at his tempting lower lip.

Sam’s touch on Frodo’s organ was light but it was enough to put a hitch into Frodo’s breathing and make him fumble away the button he was working on. Frodo’s hands closed onto Sam’s shirt for a moment as he made a gasp of his own and then forgot, momentarily, how to breathe.

When his breath returned, it was quicker and more ragged than it had been before, and his muscles felt rather weak as all the blood in his body seemed to rush to the place Sam was gently caressing.

He had just remembered the buttons when Samwise started pushing him gently but firmly back down again, and kissing him again, and biting on his lower lip again, and lightly stroking him up and down until Frodo felt like he was drowning in pleasurable sensations. But it was a good drowning.

Determinedly, Frodo resumed unbuttoning Sam’s shirt, and when it fell open, he placed both his palms on Sam’s chest and ran them through he dark golden fuzz he found there, brushing them across Sam’s nipples as he went.

Despite Frodo’s natural inclination to be circumspect in the large, quiet forest that loomed all around them, he could not help making a little cry when Samwise’s strong but gentle fingers ran over the sensitive tip of his organ.

“Oh-h!”

Sam withdrew his lips from Frodo's, as his master's delicately soft hands went across his nipples. He gazed at Frodo in absolute wonder for a moment, and so thoroughly enjoying the sensation himself, he bent his head to tentatively touch Frodo's own with the tip of his tongue. First one, slowly, then lifting his head to tenderly lick the other. Sam marveled at how they pebbled under that touch, and boldly he did it again, lapping a bit harder at the tiny knots.

And without thought, Sam's hand wrapped around the whole of Frodo's organ, and stroked him upwards, as he continued the exploration of his tender nipples with his tongue. This was tremendously exciting to Sam, to experiment with a light flick of his tongue, or a rougher lash, and to feel Frodo writhe a bit under him, the organ almost like a living thing all it's own in his calloused hand.

Sam was not unaware, however, of the horrid black bruise caused by the troll in the depths of Moria, and he kissed that spot with great love, as if to heal it, to erase it from Frodo's body. But nothing marred him in Sam's eyes, neither the bruise nor the scar of the Morgul blade. And as much as Sam was flushed and heated with what was happening, he felt such an exquisite wave of tenderness flood him. He would naught forget his promise to care for Frodo, now and for as long as his own body held breath.

Sam's lips, then, slid down Frodo's body, so marvelously different than his own. He really was like an elf--his stomach only very subtly rounded, his skin as pale as sweet cream, and Sam sought to kiss each bit of him. Over his ribcage, his hipbones, across his belly, nuzzling and licking as he went, one hand still stroking the length of heat between Frodo's legs.

Sam was moving out of Frodo's grasp, but he didn't think on that at all, all that mattered to him now was the giving. Everything he was, everything he had, was Frodo's, and wanted to find some way to show him, and to lift them both out of the terror and uncertainty of weeks past. He found himself pressing a very small kiss to the tip of his master's hardness, surprised a little at the wetness his lips found there, but very pleasantly so, as he licked the little bead from his lips, and darted his tongue out, like a kitten, to taste him again. It seemed a shudder went all through Frodo then, and nervously Sam jerked his head up to look at him, his green eyes were a question.

And in his head, Samwise chided himself for being such a fool, for thinking he knew anything about pleasing a hobbit like Frodo! One so worldly and rare, a luminous bloom in a dark wood--and Sam so common, so sheltered... though for some glorious moments, he had forgotten all those things, and had been filled only with purpose and with love, and he held his breath now, as he waited.

The look of innocent astonishment that flickered over Sam’s features when Frodo passed his hands over Sam’s nipples went right to Frodo’s head, and he smiled a pleased smile. Why, it was almost as if Samwise was unaware that a touch there was almost as good as a touch lower down! Frodo couldn’t resist doing it again, and then once more, as the gardener simply looked at him. Frodo’s cerulean eyes locked on Sam’s green ones in a long, wonderful moment where the rest of middle earth disappeared, and there were only the two of them alone in a magical world where the very air shimmered with the promise of pleasure and love.

Previously unaware Samwise might have been, but he was a fast learner, and when he pressed his tongue against Frodo’s own nipples and started to lap at them like a cat laps at cream, Frodo moaned a little, for it seemed that a current passed from Sam’s tongue right through the sensitive bits of flesh and into his organ! Repeatedly! Then Sam wrapped his strong hand around Frodo’s organ, and started stroking him firmly, and Frodo with a sharp gasp, gave up on trying to please the other and let his hands fall to his sides, using them to brace himself as he writhed under Sam’s attentions. Oh, this was good, too good!

The last bit of reserve left Frodo then, and with a long, shuddering sigh, he yielded his body over completely to Samwise’s hands, tongue and teeth. His head lolled back on the cloak-pillow and his unseeing eyes rolled back a little in his head as he gave himself up to his lover’s gentle kisses all over his body, and the large hand stroking his organ, strokes which were growing less gentle with every passing minute!

Suddenly, the strokes stilled, and Frodo felt the touch of Sam’s lips in a very sensitive spot, followed by the lick of a scratchy tongue which sent such a wave of pleasure through him, he nearly lost it all right then and there, and might have, if Sam had continued… but then Sam stopped! Stopped!

Frodo pried open his eyes and lifted his neck a little to look at the other, his breath coming in short little gasps. He stared at Sam through a pleasured haze, trying to make sense of the situation. Sam for all the world looked like he was waiting for something, but for the life of him, Frodo couldn’t figure out what it was. Was Sam teasing him? But no, that it didn’t seem right.

Frodo forced his mind to work. What on earth could he do to get Sam to keep going? To stop now was far, far worse than if they had never begun! Well, he could ask, he supposed!

Frodo tried to speak and it came out a strangled squawk. He tried again. "Sa-am? Oh, heavens, Sam! Don’t stop now…"

Something else occurred to Frodo at this point and he forced himself to give voice to it.

"Unless… you don’t want to... go on. I’ll understand..."

I will then proceed to die on this very spot, but I’ll understand… Frodo’s mind continued wryly.

Sam felt indignation rise instantly at Frodo's words, and he raised himself up a little further.

"Not want to! Now see here, Mr. Frodo, I..." and realizing that actions speak far louder than words, maybe most especially now, he lowered himself back down, and covered Frodo's hardness with his mouth entirely. Now! This was something utterly new, and strange, and wonderful...

Sam drew his mouth back up, and then used his tongue as he did on Frodo's nipples--he lapped at the head, then slid it roughly down the underside. He wrapped his hand around the wide base of Frodo's organ, instinctively, to hold it steady for his ministrations. He slid his mouth, wetly, back down as far as he comfortably could, which, at least for these first few passes, wasn't very far. He found he loved enveloping Frodo in this way, loved the silky hardness, such an amazing contrast, under his tongue.

He tilted his curly head this way and that, to reach each part of Frodo with his soft lips and tongue, alternating lapping at him with sliding his mouth down and up again. Sam had certainly heard enough late night talk between his brothers, and even some small amount of bragging among some of the coarser hobbits at the Green Dragon, to have some small inkling of what he was doing, and how to go about it. But the talk of it, and the thoughts of it, were utterly, utterly different from having his warm, solid master under him. He was depending on his love, and on Frodo, to lead him further down this path. He would give Frodo this second gift, this gift of pleasure, of surrender.

"Aaagh!"

Oh, the shock, the delicious, thrilling shock of Sam’s warm, wet mouth covering his organ made Frodo cry out. No amount of dreaming of such a moment, or locking one's self in one’s bedroom and approximating it with one’s own hand, can ever prepare one for this! And though, truth be told, it wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened to Frodo, it might as well have been, so strong was his reaction. His heart, which had been beating rapidly, seemed to stop, and though he opened his eyes wide, they were so far back in his head he saw nothing. Frodo writhed a little on the ground under Sam’s enthusiastic ministrations, nothing in the world real to him now but the delicious sensations he was feeling from below the waist.

"Oh! Oh!" Frodo made little whimpering sounds as Sam continued, touching him all over with various parts of his mouth--oh heavens what is he DOING-and without even realizing, it, Frodo thrust his hips skywards, pushing himself gently but firmly deeper into the other’s mouth. So good, so good…

He wasn’t the Ring-bearer anymore. He was naught but a young, healthy male hobbit with all the longings and needs that that entails, alone with someone he loved who was determined to fulfill them. His mind and body were focused on but one thing, the pleasurable sensations in his body that gathered like clouds before a thunderstorm and were increasing by the minute!

**** **** **** ****

Sam felt the nudge of Frodo's organ against the very back of his throat, and opened his eyes in surprise, and he moved his mouth back up quite quickly to recover. But as he lowered his mouth again, sliding to the very base of Frodo's hardness, letting it go much farther than before. There was something lusciously overwhelming about Frodo moving like that, pressing deep inside Sam's mouth, and Sam felt a rush of something like power with each pass he made over his master's need.

There was nothing but the glorious, repetitive sensation of Frodo's body, the most intimate part of his beautiful body, being drawn in and out of Sam's soft, reverent lips. Reverent, yes, but eager, too. Eager to elicit more moans from Frodo, eager to please and surprise him. Softly, Sam's hand brushed against the sac just below Frodo's organ, and softer still, he took it in his rough hand, and squeezed it. How amazing to be touching someone else this way, this hobbit he'd dreamt of for so long that he was not completely sure he wasn't dreaming now, too.

Sam opened his eyes, then, and looked up to Frodo's face, his lips never ceasing their attentions, his hand gentle below. Not dreaming, no. Better than any dream or wish, this. Sam had no thoughts at all as to how it would end, how any of it would end. This moment, this act, this journey, this love. But his heart held so much hope, that in this moment, none of that mattered at all.

"Oh! Oh! Sa-am!" Frodo cried out, and he half-rose into a sitting position as the gardener’s callused hand squeezed at another intimate part of his anatomy. Frodo’s amazed blue eyes, gone an even deeper blue-gray like a stormy ocean, met the gardener’s green, intent ones and something passed between them, something so powerful Frodo would never forget it as long as he lived. It’s like they were one being at that moment; Samwise responding to needs he didn’t even know he had, and touching him in places he hadn’t even known he was longing to be touched. The feelings were exquisite. Frodo had forgotten that there could be such pleasure in the world. Oh, why couldn’t there be more of it, he wondered, and less pain? Why?

Frodo relaxed and lay back down (though really, he was too weak to remain sitting much longer) and continued to breathe in quick, fast bursts, and continued to squirm as Sam relentlessly, and wonderfully, kept on. Deep within his belly he could feel the pressure building, pressure that demanded release, and quickly too!

"Ooh…"

Samwise felt Frodo soften all over but for that one place that he was lavishing so much attention on with his lips. Frodo had been so tense, so keenly on edge, that this moment of relaxation was visible, palpable to Sam. He relished it near as much as he did the realization of all his dreams...well, near all of them...

He had loved Frodo for so long, and for so hard. He could not stop to think about the implications of his admission or his actions now. His own soft hair tickled his cheeks as he continued to pleasure his master with his mouth, his tongue, but nothing distracted him. He closed his eyes again, and basked in the scent and feel of his Frodo, so sweet and clean and heated.

When Frodo lay back, when a soft sigh escaped him, and when his breathing quickened, Sam took a breath of his own, and increased the intensity with which he sought to release Frodo. He gained confidence from Frodo's reaction, and his suckling grew harder, swifter, bolder, and his hand on Frodo, a bit more firm.

Frodo felt himself nudge the soft flesh at the very back of Sam’s throat again and had a brief worry that he might choke his friend, but then Sam adjusted his position slightly, and the thought left Frodo’s mind as quickly as it had come. The sensations were just too intoxicating and too distracting to leave room for any other considerations at this point.

Involuntarily, Frodo’s body tensed up all over, and he hovered on the brink for what seemed an impossibly long moment, during which each pass of Samwise’s warm, attentive mouth was exquisite agony for him. Finally, finally, Frodo’s release came.

Frodo cried out, a hoarse inarticulate shout, and lay back helpless on the cloak, caught in the grip the wonderful waves of pleasure that started at his organ and flooded his thin, scarred body with nearly divine warmth. Frodo's face twisted in a grimace of pleasure, though the only other part of him that seemed able to move was his organ, which spasmed repeatedly at the encouragement of Sam’s mouth and lips.

"Oh… my…goodness… Sam!" Frodo managed to choke out, finally, staring up at the stars like he’d never seen them before.

When Frodo shuddered beneath him, Sam felt a bit fearful again. He had not thought of the messy end that such a thing as he was doing could cause. But he was a normal, young hobbit, after all, and had done certain experimenting on his own self. Yet, he had forgotten how strong and how copious the rush of pleasure could be, and generally, he had a bit of cloth ready for just such a purpose. He realized with a bit of a jolt, *he* was the receptacle for Frodo's pleasure, and after his initial stunned reaction, he kept up his ministrations to Frodo's organ, unsure of what else to do!

That first spurt of fluid was hot and brackish, not at all unpleasant, just surprising. Sam made a small whimper in the back of his throat, and swallowed hard. And he kept swallowing as Frodo spilled into his mouth, and he reached up his hands to stroke his master's hips soothingly as his body continued to convulse. When it seemed all motion but his breathing was gone from Frodo, Sam slid his lips gently from his softening organ, kissing it almost reverently, before kneeling up.

Sam suddenly felt very unsure, and didn't know where to look or what else to say. He felt far more naked than Frodo, and his eyes were bright with tears. He swallowed again, but this time it was his fear.

"I do love you, Mr. Frodo," he whispered solemnly.

A sea of warmth suffused Frodo's limbs and soothed his soul, and for a long moment he merely floated blissfully in it, staring at the twinkling stars above him. The branches of trees all around him rustled in the gentle night breeze, whispering secrets into Frodo's ears, timeless secrets containing ancient wisdom that in that moment his soul understood, if not his mind. In that moment he felt connected to them all--the stars, the trees and most of all, the hobbit kneeling in front of him who had given him this gift. The hobbit whose voice now he heard drifting toward him.

"I do love you, Mr. Frodo..." Sam. Frodo lifted his head and peered at his friend, and felt such a rush of affection it brought tears to his eyes. He sat up all the way, reached out his arms, and pulled the solemn, sandy-haired hobbit to him. Frodo wrapped his thin arms around Sam, pressing their bare chests together, and hugged him with all the strength in his body.

Then it was like a dam burst inside of Frodo, and he buried his face in the space between the Sam's neck and shoulder and cried, cried more than he had at any time since he was a child. He cried for Gandalf, fallen horribly into shadow; for Samwise, whose reward for his loyalty to Frodo was to be wrenched from his home and put in mortal danger, but who still could give him this generous gift; for all of Middle Earth, which was filled with such horror and pain Frodo could hardly stand it; and even for himself, lost in a world of Big Folk that he didn't understand yet was somehow expected to save.

"It's all wrong... It's all wrong..." Frodo repeated, over and over, his shoulders shaking with the sobs he could no longer suppress.

Sam tried to hide his trembling from his master, but soon doubted that it could be felt among the sobs that wracked Frodo's body. Sam held Frodo as he wept and felt tears of his own creep down his flushed cheeks. Sam felt shame flicker in his heart, wondering if he had somehow taken advantage of his poor Frodo, wondering if he had gone too far entirely. It had felt so wonderfully right, though, those moments where it was just the two of them, the heat and salt of Frodo's body, the surge of desire that Sam had experienced, the love that lingered still.

He stroked Frodo's hair now, as he tried to soothe him, and after a moment, it became clear that Frodo's sobs were now words, and those words wounded Sam to the quick. "It's all wrong." Sam became painfully aware that the press of Frodo's skin to his own had aroused him, and he almost tried to pull back from their embrace. Wrong. The word echoed in Sam's brain and in his soul, and here, when he would have never done anything to hurt Frodo, he had wronged him further. He did try, then, to pull himself back, but it seemed that Frodo held him fast.

For another painful moment, Sam let Frodo cry in his arms, just holding him as tightly as he could, not speaking. Then when it seemed perhaps the very worst of the sobs had subsided, Sam found his voice, and spoke carefully. "I'm...I'm...sorry, Mr. Frodo. I'll naught let it happen again, sir, I just...it's just...Oh, Mr. Frodo, please don't cry so! It's only your Sam, after all, even still. I'm sorry!"

Finally Frodo calmed enough to be aware of the world around him again, and what Sam was saying to him. It didn’t make any sense. Sam was apologizing? What in Middle Earth for?

Oh!

Frodo carefully took Sam’s hands in his own, squeezed them tight. "Oh no, Sam! No! You’ve done nothing wrong! You’re the best thing that has happened to me since we left the Shire, you are!"

Frodo leaned back and caught Sam’s eyes with his own to assure him that he meant it. "It’s not you that’s wrong Sam! It’s everything else!" Frodo stated earnestly. He wrapped his arms around the other hobbit again, hugged him close to him, and repeated in a whisper, "It’s everything else…"

But Frodo was done with grieving for now, and deep inside he felt a calmness that he had not felt in ages, a calmness and peace he’d thought he’d left behind forever. It was a feeling that he’d like to impart to his friend, who now looked so miserable, if he could. What had it taken for Sam to take the chance he did? He had such courage, did Sam! Brave Samwise…

Frodo carefully extracted himself from Sam’s arms, and moved backwards and downwards until he was lying on his belly in front of Sam, his legs stretched out behind him. Leaning on his elbows, he reached out and carefully unbuttoned the buttons of Sam’s trouser fly, one by one, then tugged the pants down and took Samwise’s own organ in both of his hands.

Then he looked up at Sam’s face and smiled an angelic smile.

Relief flooded through Sam's body as his master explained the reason for his terrible sobs. He reckoned he was more afraid than he thought of Frodo's reaction to his admission, and to his actions. And when he felt Frodo slip out of his arms, he thought perhaps he ought to button up his shirt, and get something to cover up Frodo from the damp, as well. He hoped in his secret heart that they could sleep here together, away from the others, at least for tonight.

And as he was considering these things, he suddenly felt Frodo's fingers at the buttons on his fly! There would be no hiding his excitement now, and before any protests could escape his lips, Frodo Baggins had that very thing in his two delicate hands. Sam's face was marked with seriousness, and he bit his lip hard to keep from moaning at both the sight and feel of Frodo's hands on him at last. This was indeed the last part of Sam's dream, but suddenly he wasn't at all sure that he was ready for this. Or that it was proper for his master to be lying so before him.

Sam looked searchingly into the great, blue eyes dancing before him. He felt a tingle at the base of his spine at how radiantly beautiful Frodo looked, the lovely length of his back, his softly rounded buttocks, his great, hairy feet stretched out before him. But voices rose in Sam's heart, and whispered into his ear... not good enough, not fitting to have his master ministering to him... Frodo felt obligated to reciprocate his affections... Frodo didn't love him.

This last thought almost caused Sam to cry out. And it was indeed what he was searching for in Frodo's eyes, some sign that he loved him, too. Sam had waited so long, had never sought out any other hobbit to give him such attentions, had never had another touch him as Frodo was now doing. But he knew now that he didn't want any of it, if it wasn't done in love, with love. He appreciated truly the playful glint Frodo's eyes had acquired, and was grateful the tears had subsided. He was glad and proud that he played some part in that transformation, that his love mattered. But Sam felt half-ashamed of his own obvious need, and he put his hands on top of Frodo's now.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam began softly. "You... you oughtn't... that is... no one's ever... " His voice began to take on a slightly desperate tone, and he stammered on, "P-please, sir, you needn't... it's all right, it is... " He looked down at Frodo again, his green eyes pleading with him to understand the things he could not say.

Samwise’s hands came down over Frodo’s own and now it was Frodo’s turn to feel like he had done something wrong.

Frodo searched the eyes of his friend, his delicately arched brows furrowing in puzzlement. He’d never had a lad turn him down once it had got to this point! Not that his experience was all that vast, but still! Samwise was clearly excited, clearly enjoyed the touch of Frodo’s fingers on him-Frodo could feel Sam’s organ swell at his touch. So why was he holding himself back?

Mind racing now, Frodo tried to make sense of it all. Of course, he thought. He was moving too fast. It was Samwise’s first experience! "No one’s ever…" Frodo thought back to his own first experience, the first time a hobbit had touched him there… It had been intoxicating, exhilarating-and also, yes, frightening. Frightening to give oneself over to another in such a way, frightening to put one’s most sensitive parts and one’s pleasure in the hands-literally-of another. When Frodo had done it, he had done it deliberately, consciously, with some idea of what to expect, and a sincere desire to get the "first time" over with. He doubted that Sam had had any such notions when he had started all this.

There was more to it too; more in Sam’s hoarse, anguished plea that Frodo struggled to make sense of. "Oughtn’t… needn’t…." Why, Sam was acting as if he thought Frodo didn’t really want to do this! As though Frodo had insisted on doing some mundane task that Samwise thought he shouldn’t be bothering with. Well, that may apply to certain chores about the house, Frodo thought, but he didn’t see what that had to do with anything out here!

"Well, of course I don’t have to!" Frodo replied matter-of-factly. "I want to!"

Frodo’s voice softened, and he repeated, "I want to. Very much." He looked at Sam, a very sincere and direct look. "But I won’t… if you really don’t want me too. Or if it feels wrong. I’ll tell you what…"

Frodo carefully eased his hands off of Sam’s organ and knelt up, so that his head was almost level with Sam’s. "Why don’t you think about it a little. Before you decide."

Frodo reached out then and stroked Sam’s cheek, and smiled into his friend’s eyes--a calm, reassuring smile. "Trust me" he thought… but didn’t give voice to it. What he said instead was,

"In the meantime, can we do this again?"

Frodo then leaned forward and brushed his lips against Sam’s own, lightly. He hoped with all his heart this retreat to the safer ground that both had previously enjoyed would work. It was just as likely the other might refuse him again, he supposed. But he had to try.

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