(no subject)
Once again making a Christmas-card fic do double duty as a birthday mathom. hangs head But at least it will be new to almost everyone.
Snow for Yule
Sam hummed under his breath as he strode briskly along the path back to Bag End. The recent snowfall that had blanketed Hobbiton in several inches of snow had also left enough of a chill in the air that he was not disposed to linger overlong along the way, but despite the cold he felt quite contented with the results of his trip into Hobbiton. Not only had he found every last thing that they had wanted for their Yule feast and made arrangements for them to be delivered, but he had also found several surprises for his Frodo. His trip to the paper shop had of course provided Frodo's requested re-stock of his forever-running-low paper supply, but, oh, the treasures that had been hiding, newly arrived, on the back counter... A ream (or more!) of exceptionally fine quality parchment, such as would be fit for his Frodo's personal flights of fancy, and then, to top that off, a set of exquisitely tinted inks. Such colors-- beyond the usual black, or blue, or red, there were greens the shade of new leaves in spring as well as the deep tints of the forests at high summer, a deep purple the exact shade of harvest-ripe grapes, even gold-tinted ink! The cost was high--most of what coin he'd managed to put away--but no matter. These had to be included in Frodo's Yule gift. He'd arranged for them to be sent to Number Three, with a note to Daisy asking her to hide them away until he could manage to smuggle them into Bag End.
He was still smiling, deeply satisfied at the thought of Frodo's reaction, when his happy contemplation of the upcoming Yule was abruptly interrupted by a cold glob of soft snow that landed precisely on the top of his head and broke apart into a powdery cloud, dusting his hair and most of his face, as well. Startled, he looked around for his assailant, but saw nothing... until another soft snow-glob landed squarely on his chest. "Whaaa...?" he spluttered, just in time for a third projectile to catch him directly in his open mouth.
Peals of silvery laughter identified his attacker and this time he finally spotted Frodo dashing back towards Bag End. "Why, just you wait, Frodo Baggins! I'll be getting you!"
"You'll have to catch me first, Sam-love!"
"And don't think that I won't, you rascally Baggins!" So saying, Sam charged up the path and leapt over the low hedge. He stumbled slightly upon landing but regained his footing quickly and resumed the chase.
Frodo led Sam on a twisting route up the Hill, but Sam suspected that he wasn't trying his hardest to escape, since he was gainlng ground easily. As they entered the back gardens at Bag End, Frodo turned at bay and sprang at Sam catching his around the waist and tackling him to the soft snow. "So who's got who now, Master Samwise?" He grinned down at Sam and reached for another handful of snow, clearly planning to further bedeck Sam.
But Sam had been expecting something of the sort and took full advantage of Frodo's shift in attention to swiftly and skillfully flip their positions so that he was straddling a sprawled Frodo. "Now you're for in, you rapscallion!" Knowing his prey's most ticklish spots, he curved his fingers and went for them.
"No, Sam, no!" Frodo yelped and squirmed away from those threatening fingers, throwing Sam off and starting to roll away. Sam lunged and caught an ankle, but didn't have a firm enough grasp to hold it and Frodo pulled free and tried to get to his feet. But before he could get off his knees, it was Sam's turn to fling himself at Frodo and tackle him back to the ground, this time holding him firmly around the waist. "There's no escape for you this time, me dear. You're for it now, and that's a fact."
Frodo looked up at the (trying to be) stern face of his captor and capitulated. "Very well, Sam. You've got me. Now what are you going to do with me?"
Sam looked down at the glowing face beneath him and smiled. "Well, there's a mort o' things that I'd wish to be doin' to and with you, dearie, but I think that I'll start with this," and bent down to capture Frodo's chill-reddened lips in a kiss that Frodo returned in full measure, snuggling deeper into Sam's hold and trying to wrap as much of himself around Sam as was hobbitly possible.
After some considerable amount of time had passed,Sam reluctantly pulled away long enough to gasp, "I'm thinkin' that mayhap this'd be better continued somewhere a bit warmer. Say in front of the fire? And with, say, a mug of hot mulled cider?"
"Mmmmm. Sounds lovely," Frodo agreed. As they struggled to their feet, Frodo looked down at himself and then over at Sam. "Well, I think that it's a toss-up as to which of us is more covered in snow, despite your head start."
"Aye, it's proper snow-hobbits we are," Sam laughed. "Come on, then, me dear." Trudging their way to the kitchen door, they paused to pat as much of the snow as they could off of each other before entering the warmth of Bag End's kitchen.
Snow for Yule
Sam hummed under his breath as he strode briskly along the path back to Bag End. The recent snowfall that had blanketed Hobbiton in several inches of snow had also left enough of a chill in the air that he was not disposed to linger overlong along the way, but despite the cold he felt quite contented with the results of his trip into Hobbiton. Not only had he found every last thing that they had wanted for their Yule feast and made arrangements for them to be delivered, but he had also found several surprises for his Frodo. His trip to the paper shop had of course provided Frodo's requested re-stock of his forever-running-low paper supply, but, oh, the treasures that had been hiding, newly arrived, on the back counter... A ream (or more!) of exceptionally fine quality parchment, such as would be fit for his Frodo's personal flights of fancy, and then, to top that off, a set of exquisitely tinted inks. Such colors-- beyond the usual black, or blue, or red, there were greens the shade of new leaves in spring as well as the deep tints of the forests at high summer, a deep purple the exact shade of harvest-ripe grapes, even gold-tinted ink! The cost was high--most of what coin he'd managed to put away--but no matter. These had to be included in Frodo's Yule gift. He'd arranged for them to be sent to Number Three, with a note to Daisy asking her to hide them away until he could manage to smuggle them into Bag End.
He was still smiling, deeply satisfied at the thought of Frodo's reaction, when his happy contemplation of the upcoming Yule was abruptly interrupted by a cold glob of soft snow that landed precisely on the top of his head and broke apart into a powdery cloud, dusting his hair and most of his face, as well. Startled, he looked around for his assailant, but saw nothing... until another soft snow-glob landed squarely on his chest. "Whaaa...?" he spluttered, just in time for a third projectile to catch him directly in his open mouth.
Peals of silvery laughter identified his attacker and this time he finally spotted Frodo dashing back towards Bag End. "Why, just you wait, Frodo Baggins! I'll be getting you!"
"You'll have to catch me first, Sam-love!"
"And don't think that I won't, you rascally Baggins!" So saying, Sam charged up the path and leapt over the low hedge. He stumbled slightly upon landing but regained his footing quickly and resumed the chase.
Frodo led Sam on a twisting route up the Hill, but Sam suspected that he wasn't trying his hardest to escape, since he was gainlng ground easily. As they entered the back gardens at Bag End, Frodo turned at bay and sprang at Sam catching his around the waist and tackling him to the soft snow. "So who's got who now, Master Samwise?" He grinned down at Sam and reached for another handful of snow, clearly planning to further bedeck Sam.
But Sam had been expecting something of the sort and took full advantage of Frodo's shift in attention to swiftly and skillfully flip their positions so that he was straddling a sprawled Frodo. "Now you're for in, you rapscallion!" Knowing his prey's most ticklish spots, he curved his fingers and went for them.
"No, Sam, no!" Frodo yelped and squirmed away from those threatening fingers, throwing Sam off and starting to roll away. Sam lunged and caught an ankle, but didn't have a firm enough grasp to hold it and Frodo pulled free and tried to get to his feet. But before he could get off his knees, it was Sam's turn to fling himself at Frodo and tackle him back to the ground, this time holding him firmly around the waist. "There's no escape for you this time, me dear. You're for it now, and that's a fact."
Frodo looked up at the (trying to be) stern face of his captor and capitulated. "Very well, Sam. You've got me. Now what are you going to do with me?"
Sam looked down at the glowing face beneath him and smiled. "Well, there's a mort o' things that I'd wish to be doin' to and with you, dearie, but I think that I'll start with this," and bent down to capture Frodo's chill-reddened lips in a kiss that Frodo returned in full measure, snuggling deeper into Sam's hold and trying to wrap as much of himself around Sam as was hobbitly possible.
After some considerable amount of time had passed,Sam reluctantly pulled away long enough to gasp, "I'm thinkin' that mayhap this'd be better continued somewhere a bit warmer. Say in front of the fire? And with, say, a mug of hot mulled cider?"
"Mmmmm. Sounds lovely," Frodo agreed. As they struggled to their feet, Frodo looked down at himself and then over at Sam. "Well, I think that it's a toss-up as to which of us is more covered in snow, despite your head start."
"Aye, it's proper snow-hobbits we are," Sam laughed. "Come on, then, me dear." Trudging their way to the kitchen door, they paused to pat as much of the snow as they could off of each other before entering the warmth of Bag End's kitchen.