| PART TWO |
"Frodo?" Aragorn went down on his haunches beside his chair, and placed something in his
lax hand. "This is for you. Happy Yule."
"Oh Strider, you didn't have to - " Frodo turned the object in his fingers and smiled. It was a
carving of a fawn, done in a light, fine-grained wood, and very well made. The fawn lay in a
covert, its large eyes peering out beneath delicately carved vines, the horn stubs on its head
proclaiming it a stag-to-be. "It's beautiful," he whispered. "Did you make this?"
"Rangers have much time on their hands, and wood is never in short supply." Aragorn
replied. He paused, and added, "It reminded me of you."
Frodo laughed, but without bitterness. "Small and defenseless? That would be all too true,
unfortunately."
"No." Aragorn wrapped his fingers around hand and fawn and said gently, "Small, perhaps,
but not defenseless. The fawn blends in so well with its surroundings, that predators are
hard put to espy it. And when it grows - ah, this one will be a proud stag, with a rack of at
least eighteen points, if I miss my guess. It will be formidable."
He rose to his feet, and leaned down, and Frodo looked up at him. "I will try," he said
quietly.
"I know you will." And the Ranger smiled and kissed him.
~~~~~
"Stop by and see me on the morrow, my boy." Bilbo blinked up at him sleepily. "I believe I
have a mathom or two that you may have a use for."
"I will, Bilbo, thank you." Frodo hugged the old hobbit affectionately and snuffed the candle
- then he let himself out into the hallway and stopped to get his bearings in the dim light.
He heard Merry and Pip laughing, somewhere behind the walls, and he smiled to himself
and went on towards his room.
His door stood ajar, and golden lamplight spilled through the gap in a welcoming flood. He
frowned. Surely Sam hadn't waited up for him after all? He had been later than he had
intended to be. They had persuaded Bilbo to reprise the Lay of Eärendil, and an elven
harper had provided a musical counterpoint to the beautiful words. The music had soothed
the ache in his heart and for a short while, he had been at peace - a peace that now seemed
to be slipping rapidly from his grasp.
He pushed the door open noiselessly. Sam stood with his back to him, occupied with
turning down the bed. He had changed into a nightshirt and had had a wash, for his hair
curled damply against the strong column of his neck. As Frodo watched, he bent over to
smooth the covers, and a fold of his shirt slipped between the cheeks of his firm rump and
caught there.
Frodo slid around the doorpost and plastered himself to the hallway wall. His heart
thundered in his ears and his knees felt as weak as though he had just run the races at the
midsummer fair. He looked down at the swelling that strained his breeches to ripping point
and groaned softly. What was he to do? Steal off and find a bed among the cushions of the
Great Hall? Sam would surely find him there. There really was no way around it. It wouldn't
always be convenient to run away.
Better get used to doing your thinking with your cock, he told himself ruefully. It seems to
be stronger than your head, at any rate.
He wrapped his coat securely around his body and pushed himself away from the wall - and
not a moment too soon, for Sam's head appeared around the door.
"I was wondering where you had got to, sir!" he exclaimed in relief. He stood aside to let his
Master pass and put out a hand, "Here - let me take your coat, Mr Frodo."
Frodo edged past him and shook his head, clutching his lapels so tightly, his knuckles
whitened. He could smell Sam, so close, so fresh and fragrant with promise, and he
breathed the scent of him in and fed it to the growing lump under his heart.
"No, Sam. I'm feeling a bit cold, actually. And please - I can undress myself, if you don't
mind."
The last came out a bit sharply, and Frodo regretted the words as soon as they left his lips.
It wasn't Sam's fault that his master had no more control over his urges than a callow
tweenager. But it was hard - so hard. Sam merely shrugged and glanced toward the fire
burning in the grate.
"Well then, sit you down and I'll be washing the dust off your feet. The room'll warm up soon
enough, though why them elves don't go in for proper windows beats all sense, it does."
Frodo sank into the proffered chair with an inward wince at the way his breeches bound him.
"There's no weather to shut out in Rivendell, Sam."
"What about being - private, then?" Sam knelt before him, the movement causing the
neckline of his shirt to fall away from his body. Frodo looked down at him and was lost,
drowning in the sight of lightly furred golden skin and deep, soft shadow. Oh Eru... "I
suppose the elves don't go for that either," he said hoarsely. "Sam..."
"Yes, Mr Frodo?" Sam looked up and Frodo jerked his eyes away, searching frantically for
something, anything, to fix his attention on. The small table swept into his sight and his
eyes widened.
"Sam? On the table - what is it?" His gardener released his foot and sat back on his heels,
and Frodo got up and went to inspect the blaze of color laid out on the polished wood. It
was a tray of pastries, the like of which Frodo had never seen before. They glistened in the
lamplight, tiny, bite-sized sweetmeats in jeweled colors of amber, ruby, emerald and
sapphire, cunningly fashioned to mimic flowers that he thought he recognised. He prodded
one gingerly and it quivered, sparkling in its lacy cup.
"They're Yule gifts from the Lady Arwen, sir. Seems she made them with her own two hands.
Good for the digestion, she said."
"They're lovely!" Frodo marveled. "Am I supposed to eat them, or wear them? And what's in
these?" Two gently steaming pewter goblets stood beside the tray, and he lifted one and
sniffed at it. The aroma of oranges and spice teased at his nose, and he could discern an
undertone of bitter-sweetness. He put it down and looked again. Two goblets. And morsels
so beautiful that they seemed designed to be fed, one by one, to a hungry lover. His head
swam, and he clutched at the table for support.
"Sir?" Sam's voice came faintly through the roaring in his ears and he turned unsteadily.
Sam still knelt on the floor, his eyes on a level with his master's groin, and there was a look
in them that made Frodo clutch for the table behind him again.
"You seem to be a mite uncomfortable in them breeks, Mr Frodo." Sam smiled and rose to
his feet. "Wouldn't they be better off you, as it were?"
"Sam..."
"I haven't got nothing to gift you for Yule, sir, so I thought, being as we're in the Shire no
more -"
"Sam..."
"- that mayhap I could give you me. If you want me, that is." He shot a meaningful glance
at the bulge that strained the placket of Frodo's breeches and grinned.
"Samwise Gamgee! If your gaffer could hear you now..."
"He'd have a load of his hard words for me, that's certain. And he'd say that I've lost the
little sense I was born with. But there's sense, and sense, and we don't rightly know what's
before us now, do we. What's the sense then, in holding back?"
Frodo's eyes widened, and at the back of his mind, the ever-present voice of duty choked
and fumbled to a halt. He glanced at the table and back at his recalcitrant gardener, and
his eyes narrowed. "They haven't put you up to this, have they? For if they did..."
"Can't deny that Mr Pippin and Mr Merry had a bone to pick with me." Sam blushed, and
fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. "But - oh Frodo," he looked up, his eyes soft and
unfocused, "I've loved you since before I got to be a tweener, and wanted you dreadfully for
half that time since. And I don't hide it very well, I expect."
"From the looks of things, I don't guard myself all that well either." Frodo laughed wryly.
"Since it seems that everyone knows me better than I know myself. Oh Sam," He took a
step forward and found himself wrapped in strong arms that promised all the solace that he
craved. "I don't have a Yule gift for you either. Will you have me, Sam? I'll try not to be too
much of a bother, truly I will."
"Thank you, love. And now that we've got the declaring out of the way, there's summat that
needs attending to, isn't there." His hands found the curve of Frodo's rump and pressed,
grinding their arousals together through thicknesses of cloth.
"Ahhh," Frodo moaned. "Any more of that, and I shall burst like an over-ripe peach. Bed,
Samwise. Now."
Being the excellent body-servant that he was, Sam obeyed with alacrity, disrobing his
master with efficient hands. He paused for a moment as the Ring swung into view, and
Frodo smiled and lifted the chain over his head. At last they lay naked in the big bed, and
Sam gazed down at the feast spread out for his delectation.
"Mr Frodo, me dear, you're a sight to gladden the eyes of the Valar, you are."
"I'd much rather gladden your eyes, Sam, as the sight of you gladdens mine."
He locked his arms around Sam's neck and kissed him deeply, and the taste of him was all
that he had dreamed it would be - sunlight and summer, berries and cream - a flavour that
would always remind him of home. Then Sam shifted, his mouth wandering southwards, and
Frodo's protest died in his throat as it found his needy flesh and sampled it greedily. He
raised his head with an effort, because he wanted - oh he wanted - to watch, and Sam
paused in his thoughtful suckling, to raise his brows and smile around his warm mouthful.
He smiled dazedly back, and then - O Elbereth - he was looking dizzily up at the ceiling,
feeling as if Gandalf's fireworks had taken up residence in his skin, for Sam had taken him
in, all of him, deep into heat and fire and -
"Sam!" Frodo's body arched like the bow Legolas wielded so well, and he came, deep in his
beloved's throat, and it was so beautiful and so right. For a moment, he fell into night,
losing all sense of who he was - then he came back to the light again, cradled against
Sam's broad chest, with Sam's arousal hot against his belly. He fondled the silky length of
it and looked up at his lover.
"Sam? I expect I won't be walking on the morrow, but do you think you could..." He stopped
and lowered his eyes, feeling an unaccountable shyness well up inside him.
"I expect I could, at that," Sam chuckled softly. "Frodo, you goose. I hoped you'd want to -
and it won't hurt. Well, not much, anyway."
Frodo rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Do you take me for a green 'un, Samwise? I'm no
blushing virgin come to her bridal bed, you know. I know it will hurt - but I don't mind. It will
be well worth any amount of pain."
Instead of replying, Sam turned to the table by the bed. A crystal flagon sat near the back
of it, and Frodo knew it hadn't been there that morning.
"I plumb forgot to tell you, Frodo, but Mr Gandalf sent you a Yule gift too." Sam
unstoppered the bottle, and the fresh scent of aloe escaped into the air. "Though likely it
was for us both, I'm thinking. He's spelled it, he has, and he told me it would dull some of
the pain, but none of the pleasure. Thought at first that it was for your shoulder, and
couldn't figure where the pleasure came in."
"Gandalf too?" Frodo moaned. "Does the whole of Middle-Earth know my business?"
"You could say he's got experience, at least." Sam availed himself of the Wizard's gift and
applied it where it would do the most good. Then he kissed Frodo again, reveling in the
sweetness of his master's soft lips, and slicked himself up quickly.
"It feels like cheating, somehow," Frodo protested feebly.
"Hush, love. No one who holds you dear would ever want to cause you pain. Lay you back
now, and let your Sam love you."
And as they joined and became one, he did.
~~~~~
The cries split the silence of the night, winging into the darkness in a paean of joy.
"It worked, Merry," Pippin snuggled deeper into the warm arms and sighed. "Sam will never
allow him to go into danger now."
Merry kissed the soft curls fondly. "He would have followed his Master to the ends of
Middle- Earth regardless, Pip."
"Perhaps so, but loving makes one so much braver, doesn't it?"
Merry looked down at his cousin with something like surprise. "You're a wise one, Peregin
Took. I do believe you're right."
He paused, and pondered on Frodo's solitary life - the responsibility that bowed the thin
shoulders and the sweetness wasted on books and dusty words. A thought came to him,
and he felt tears rise to his eyes.
When there's love to come home to, living is sweet.
Oh Frodo...
END
lax hand. "This is for you. Happy Yule."
"Oh Strider, you didn't have to - " Frodo turned the object in his fingers and smiled. It was a
carving of a fawn, done in a light, fine-grained wood, and very well made. The fawn lay in a
covert, its large eyes peering out beneath delicately carved vines, the horn stubs on its head
proclaiming it a stag-to-be. "It's beautiful," he whispered. "Did you make this?"
"Rangers have much time on their hands, and wood is never in short supply." Aragorn
replied. He paused, and added, "It reminded me of you."
Frodo laughed, but without bitterness. "Small and defenseless? That would be all too true,
unfortunately."
"No." Aragorn wrapped his fingers around hand and fawn and said gently, "Small, perhaps,
but not defenseless. The fawn blends in so well with its surroundings, that predators are
hard put to espy it. And when it grows - ah, this one will be a proud stag, with a rack of at
least eighteen points, if I miss my guess. It will be formidable."
He rose to his feet, and leaned down, and Frodo looked up at him. "I will try," he said
quietly.
"I know you will." And the Ranger smiled and kissed him.
~~~~~
"Stop by and see me on the morrow, my boy." Bilbo blinked up at him sleepily. "I believe I
have a mathom or two that you may have a use for."
"I will, Bilbo, thank you." Frodo hugged the old hobbit affectionately and snuffed the candle
- then he let himself out into the hallway and stopped to get his bearings in the dim light.
He heard Merry and Pip laughing, somewhere behind the walls, and he smiled to himself
and went on towards his room.
His door stood ajar, and golden lamplight spilled through the gap in a welcoming flood. He
frowned. Surely Sam hadn't waited up for him after all? He had been later than he had
intended to be. They had persuaded Bilbo to reprise the Lay of Eärendil, and an elven
harper had provided a musical counterpoint to the beautiful words. The music had soothed
the ache in his heart and for a short while, he had been at peace - a peace that now seemed
to be slipping rapidly from his grasp.
He pushed the door open noiselessly. Sam stood with his back to him, occupied with
turning down the bed. He had changed into a nightshirt and had had a wash, for his hair
curled damply against the strong column of his neck. As Frodo watched, he bent over to
smooth the covers, and a fold of his shirt slipped between the cheeks of his firm rump and
caught there.
Frodo slid around the doorpost and plastered himself to the hallway wall. His heart
thundered in his ears and his knees felt as weak as though he had just run the races at the
midsummer fair. He looked down at the swelling that strained his breeches to ripping point
and groaned softly. What was he to do? Steal off and find a bed among the cushions of the
Great Hall? Sam would surely find him there. There really was no way around it. It wouldn't
always be convenient to run away.
Better get used to doing your thinking with your cock, he told himself ruefully. It seems to
be stronger than your head, at any rate.
He wrapped his coat securely around his body and pushed himself away from the wall - and
not a moment too soon, for Sam's head appeared around the door.
"I was wondering where you had got to, sir!" he exclaimed in relief. He stood aside to let his
Master pass and put out a hand, "Here - let me take your coat, Mr Frodo."
Frodo edged past him and shook his head, clutching his lapels so tightly, his knuckles
whitened. He could smell Sam, so close, so fresh and fragrant with promise, and he
breathed the scent of him in and fed it to the growing lump under his heart.
"No, Sam. I'm feeling a bit cold, actually. And please - I can undress myself, if you don't
mind."
The last came out a bit sharply, and Frodo regretted the words as soon as they left his lips.
It wasn't Sam's fault that his master had no more control over his urges than a callow
tweenager. But it was hard - so hard. Sam merely shrugged and glanced toward the fire
burning in the grate.
"Well then, sit you down and I'll be washing the dust off your feet. The room'll warm up soon
enough, though why them elves don't go in for proper windows beats all sense, it does."
Frodo sank into the proffered chair with an inward wince at the way his breeches bound him.
"There's no weather to shut out in Rivendell, Sam."
"What about being - private, then?" Sam knelt before him, the movement causing the
neckline of his shirt to fall away from his body. Frodo looked down at him and was lost,
drowning in the sight of lightly furred golden skin and deep, soft shadow. Oh Eru... "I
suppose the elves don't go for that either," he said hoarsely. "Sam..."
"Yes, Mr Frodo?" Sam looked up and Frodo jerked his eyes away, searching frantically for
something, anything, to fix his attention on. The small table swept into his sight and his
eyes widened.
"Sam? On the table - what is it?" His gardener released his foot and sat back on his heels,
and Frodo got up and went to inspect the blaze of color laid out on the polished wood. It
was a tray of pastries, the like of which Frodo had never seen before. They glistened in the
lamplight, tiny, bite-sized sweetmeats in jeweled colors of amber, ruby, emerald and
sapphire, cunningly fashioned to mimic flowers that he thought he recognised. He prodded
one gingerly and it quivered, sparkling in its lacy cup.
"They're Yule gifts from the Lady Arwen, sir. Seems she made them with her own two hands.
Good for the digestion, she said."
"They're lovely!" Frodo marveled. "Am I supposed to eat them, or wear them? And what's in
these?" Two gently steaming pewter goblets stood beside the tray, and he lifted one and
sniffed at it. The aroma of oranges and spice teased at his nose, and he could discern an
undertone of bitter-sweetness. He put it down and looked again. Two goblets. And morsels
so beautiful that they seemed designed to be fed, one by one, to a hungry lover. His head
swam, and he clutched at the table for support.
"Sir?" Sam's voice came faintly through the roaring in his ears and he turned unsteadily.
Sam still knelt on the floor, his eyes on a level with his master's groin, and there was a look
in them that made Frodo clutch for the table behind him again.
"You seem to be a mite uncomfortable in them breeks, Mr Frodo." Sam smiled and rose to
his feet. "Wouldn't they be better off you, as it were?"
"Sam..."
"I haven't got nothing to gift you for Yule, sir, so I thought, being as we're in the Shire no
more -"
"Sam..."
"- that mayhap I could give you me. If you want me, that is." He shot a meaningful glance
at the bulge that strained the placket of Frodo's breeches and grinned.
"Samwise Gamgee! If your gaffer could hear you now..."
"He'd have a load of his hard words for me, that's certain. And he'd say that I've lost the
little sense I was born with. But there's sense, and sense, and we don't rightly know what's
before us now, do we. What's the sense then, in holding back?"
Frodo's eyes widened, and at the back of his mind, the ever-present voice of duty choked
and fumbled to a halt. He glanced at the table and back at his recalcitrant gardener, and
his eyes narrowed. "They haven't put you up to this, have they? For if they did..."
"Can't deny that Mr Pippin and Mr Merry had a bone to pick with me." Sam blushed, and
fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. "But - oh Frodo," he looked up, his eyes soft and
unfocused, "I've loved you since before I got to be a tweener, and wanted you dreadfully for
half that time since. And I don't hide it very well, I expect."
"From the looks of things, I don't guard myself all that well either." Frodo laughed wryly.
"Since it seems that everyone knows me better than I know myself. Oh Sam," He took a
step forward and found himself wrapped in strong arms that promised all the solace that he
craved. "I don't have a Yule gift for you either. Will you have me, Sam? I'll try not to be too
much of a bother, truly I will."
"Thank you, love. And now that we've got the declaring out of the way, there's summat that
needs attending to, isn't there." His hands found the curve of Frodo's rump and pressed,
grinding their arousals together through thicknesses of cloth.
"Ahhh," Frodo moaned. "Any more of that, and I shall burst like an over-ripe peach. Bed,
Samwise. Now."
Being the excellent body-servant that he was, Sam obeyed with alacrity, disrobing his
master with efficient hands. He paused for a moment as the Ring swung into view, and
Frodo smiled and lifted the chain over his head. At last they lay naked in the big bed, and
Sam gazed down at the feast spread out for his delectation.
"Mr Frodo, me dear, you're a sight to gladden the eyes of the Valar, you are."
"I'd much rather gladden your eyes, Sam, as the sight of you gladdens mine."
He locked his arms around Sam's neck and kissed him deeply, and the taste of him was all
that he had dreamed it would be - sunlight and summer, berries and cream - a flavour that
would always remind him of home. Then Sam shifted, his mouth wandering southwards, and
Frodo's protest died in his throat as it found his needy flesh and sampled it greedily. He
raised his head with an effort, because he wanted - oh he wanted - to watch, and Sam
paused in his thoughtful suckling, to raise his brows and smile around his warm mouthful.
He smiled dazedly back, and then - O Elbereth - he was looking dizzily up at the ceiling,
feeling as if Gandalf's fireworks had taken up residence in his skin, for Sam had taken him
in, all of him, deep into heat and fire and -
"Sam!" Frodo's body arched like the bow Legolas wielded so well, and he came, deep in his
beloved's throat, and it was so beautiful and so right. For a moment, he fell into night,
losing all sense of who he was - then he came back to the light again, cradled against
Sam's broad chest, with Sam's arousal hot against his belly. He fondled the silky length of
it and looked up at his lover.
"Sam? I expect I won't be walking on the morrow, but do you think you could..." He stopped
and lowered his eyes, feeling an unaccountable shyness well up inside him.
"I expect I could, at that," Sam chuckled softly. "Frodo, you goose. I hoped you'd want to -
and it won't hurt. Well, not much, anyway."
Frodo rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Do you take me for a green 'un, Samwise? I'm no
blushing virgin come to her bridal bed, you know. I know it will hurt - but I don't mind. It will
be well worth any amount of pain."
Instead of replying, Sam turned to the table by the bed. A crystal flagon sat near the back
of it, and Frodo knew it hadn't been there that morning.
"I plumb forgot to tell you, Frodo, but Mr Gandalf sent you a Yule gift too." Sam
unstoppered the bottle, and the fresh scent of aloe escaped into the air. "Though likely it
was for us both, I'm thinking. He's spelled it, he has, and he told me it would dull some of
the pain, but none of the pleasure. Thought at first that it was for your shoulder, and
couldn't figure where the pleasure came in."
"Gandalf too?" Frodo moaned. "Does the whole of Middle-Earth know my business?"
"You could say he's got experience, at least." Sam availed himself of the Wizard's gift and
applied it where it would do the most good. Then he kissed Frodo again, reveling in the
sweetness of his master's soft lips, and slicked himself up quickly.
"It feels like cheating, somehow," Frodo protested feebly.
"Hush, love. No one who holds you dear would ever want to cause you pain. Lay you back
now, and let your Sam love you."
And as they joined and became one, he did.
~~~~~
The cries split the silence of the night, winging into the darkness in a paean of joy.
"It worked, Merry," Pippin snuggled deeper into the warm arms and sighed. "Sam will never
allow him to go into danger now."
Merry kissed the soft curls fondly. "He would have followed his Master to the ends of
Middle- Earth regardless, Pip."
"Perhaps so, but loving makes one so much braver, doesn't it?"
Merry looked down at his cousin with something like surprise. "You're a wise one, Peregin
Took. I do believe you're right."
He paused, and pondered on Frodo's solitary life - the responsibility that bowed the thin
shoulders and the sweetness wasted on books and dusty words. A thought came to him,
and he felt tears rise to his eyes.
When there's love to come home to, living is sweet.
Oh Frodo...
END
