How Dark the Night (Complete Now)

Title: How Dark the Night V: Taste
Author: Elf Maiden
Rating: Strong R
Summary: What does Sam dream about?

Taste

“All right, Sam,” sighed Frodo. “Show me.”

And Sam did.

He pushed Frodo’s braces off his shoulders, leaving them dangling at Frodo’s sides. Next, he
eased Frodo’s shirt half way off down his back, leaving Frodo’s neck and shoulders exposed to
Sam’s hungry gaze. Sam stared enrred red at the skin he could see and licked his lips, his
eyes never leaving Frodo’s. Sam looked as though he wanted to devour Frodo whole, and by the
Valar if Frodo didn’t want to let him.

Sam bent his head and kissed the skin of Frodo’s left shoulder. Frodo jerked upwards at the
touch, he hadn’t known his shoulders were so sensitive. He imagined this was how it must feel
to be struck by lightning. Sam was the lightning and Frodo was willing to stand there and
be consumed until there was nothing left of him but smoke and ashes.

Sam suckled on his shoulder and Frodo almost jumped right out of his skin when he felt a
gentle nip of Sam’s teeth, he didn’t think Sam drew blood, but there would be a mark. It was
as though Sam had branded him. You are mine.

Sam glanced up at Frodo, his eyes cloudy, but his mouth still busy with Frodo’s shoulder.
Frodo wriggled against Sam trying to relieve the pressure that was building up steadily
between his legs. He didn’t think he’d ever felt this aroused in his life. Frodo heard a
strange sound and in his lust induced haze it took a while for him to place it. Sam was
humming. Sam was humming against his shoulder. Frodo could feel the vibrations right down to
his toes. They curled in the ground and he arched upwards, his body awash with need.

“Sam, please!” he begged, unsure what it was that he wanted.

“You didn’t talk in the dreams, sir,” said Sam, no longer kissing Frodo’s shoulder, but his
mouth still hovering a few inched from it. Frodo could feel Sam’s hot breath on his already
heated skin. Sam’s eyes were twinkling with some mischief, Frodo thought. “You didn’t talk,
but you were very vocal, like.”

“Vocal?” Frodo almost squeaked, as Sam’s hand increased its pace along Frodo’s length, stroking
a steady rhythm. He arched shamelessly into Sam’s hands, all thoughts about propriety long
forgotten. His whole body was thrumming with need, every sensation heightened by the fact
that it was Sam who was doing this to him. Frodo’s hands fisted at his sides, sometimes
scraping against the bark of the tree supporting him.

“Let me touch you too, Sam,” pleaded Frodo. Sam shook his head, standing up straight and
moving slightly away from Frodo. Frodo felt bereft without the solidity of Sam pressed
against him.

Sam was staring at him, taking in every part of him that his eyes could reach, lingering the
longest on Frodo’s chest and neck. Frodo had never been the object of such scrutiny before
and he writhed under Sam’s steady gaze. It was as though Sam could see right down to his
soul and he thought it beautiful. Then Frodo realised what Sam was looking at. The Ring.

Frodo yanked the chain over his head and threw the accursed thing onto the grass, as far
away from them as his arm could reach. “Sam? Can I touch you?”

“Not yet, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam, his voice shaky. His pupils were so wide that his eyes looked
almost black, a dark pool rimmed in gold. “There’s something I want to do, but if you touch
me I’ll be lost. I’m that close, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo felt a flood of desire so strong at Sam’s words that he had to lean back against the
tree before he fell. “What do you want to do, Sam?” he panted.

Sam’s answer needed no words, he sank to his knees in the grass in front of Frodo, pinning
Frodo’s hips with his hands. Sam’s mouth was so close to Frodo’s aching flesh, he would just
have to turn his head and he would be able to kiss Frodo there. Frodo moaned
anticipating just that. Sam glanced up at him, his eyes questioning. Frodo nodded, beyond
the capacity to speak. Is that what Sam dreamed about? Tasting him?

Frodo had long imagined the sensations of Sam’s mouth around him, but nothing could compare
him for the reality of it. Sam kissed the tip tenderly, before he took Frodo’s length
halfway into his mouth. Sam’s mouth was so soft, warm and slick, Frodo tried to stop himself
from thrusting ruthlessly forwards, but he had been on the edge for so long that it was
difficult. He deliberately scratched his hands on the bark behind him, needed something to
keep him grounded. He would float away at any moment. He felt the familiar tightness low in
his belly, knowing that he was going to come soon and tried to should a warning to Sam, but
all that emerged from his mouth were incoherent grunts and moans. Oh, Sam was too good at
this. He didn’t want it to end.

Frodo felt as though he was hurtling over the edge of a cliff. Sam took him deeper into his
mouth. He was dimly aware that Sam’s hands had left his hips and he could hear the rustle of
fabric, not his clothes. Sam’s. Frodo opened his eyes and glanced down, Sam was touching
himself through the material of his breeches, while his other hand was busy with Frodo.
Doing this to Frodo was exciting Sam. This was no duty, no chore. The knowledge was enough
to senodo odo plunging headlong over the cliff.

He screamed as the waves crashed over him and broke on the beach of his shaking body,
spilling himself inside the warm cave of Sam’s mouth. He dimly felt Sam’s hands on his
thighs, holding him against the tree as they both waited for the spasms to subside.

“Frodo, are you all right?” Sam asked, gently removing his mouth and Frodo wondered what had
prompted the question, before realising that tears were dripping down his face.

“I'm - I'm fine, Sam. That was just so - so. I can't describe it. I'm overwhelmed.”

Sam pushed himself up and hugged Frodo. Frodo could feel Sam’s body trembling next to his.
Frodo kissed him and tasted his own seed in Sam’s mouth, salty but slightly sweet too. Or
maybe Sam was the one who tasted sweet. Frodo broke the kiss and smiled at Sam. “Samwise
Gamgee, where on Middle-Earth did you learn how to do that?” Frodo managed to get out between
gasps for breath.

“In a dream,” said Sam, resting his head on Frodo’s shoulder and beginning to nibble on his
earlobe. Frodo wriggled against him, feeling desire curl in his belly, but he knew that he
would be slow to quicken again. He was not as young as Sam and it would take time for his
body to recover. Not that he minded Sam’s efforts, no not at all. He brought his mouth close
to Sam’s ear, licking the pointed tip. Sam groaned and arched against him.

“Sam, I love you,” whispered Frodo. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Aye, I reckon I do at that, Mr. Frodo. I love you too.”

“Well, now that we have that sorted out, there is another matter we need to resolve.”

“There is?” Sam stiffened in his arms, worried if Frodo was any judge.

Frodo reached down and tugged Sam’s head up, cupping Sam’s cheeks in his palms, just gazing
into his eyes. “Yes, my dearest Sam. It’s about time that the master of Bag End took care
yo
you.”

Sam’s eyes widened as Frodo pushed him against the tree. Sam flung his head back as Frodo’s
knee pressed between his thighs. Frodo could feel the dampness seeping through Sam’s breeches
and onto his own. Frodo leaned close to Sam’s ear and growled softly. “I think it’s about
time I discovered how you taste.”

The moans from Sam were all the encouragement Frodo needed as he knelt on his knees to tend
his gardener.

***

Epilogue

Legolas found the new lovers quite by accident. He was just talking a walk, as was his
custom before settling down for the night. He loved wandering in the woods of Lorien, so
different from his home. The light was different, almost difficult to tell whether it was
day or night.

Sam and Frodo were in a small clearing, sleeping peacefully at the foot of a mallorn tree.
He did not disturb them, his steps were so light, but he made his way carefully over to
them, curious. Sam was lying on his back, his shirt unbuttoned to the waist, curled up
against his left shoulder was Frodo, who was completely shirtless. His shirt lay next to
him, crumpled and discarded. And next to the shirt was the Ring.

Legolas tore his eyes away from that siren and stared at the two sleeping Hobbits. He had
never seen them without shirts before and he was fascinated by the downy hair that covered
their chests. Elves did not have hair on their chests and it was such an unusual site for
the Elf that he was sorely tempted to run his hands over the softness there, just to see
what it felt like. His hand was almost on them before he tugged it back. No, it was wrong to
do that.

What was right was the fact that these two had finally found each other. Perhaps they could
comfort each other in the long days ahead, for Legolas knew their task would not be easy. It
was right and if Legolas got hurt in the process, then what did that matter? For the
Fellowship had a higher purpose and he should not dwell on things that were never meant
to be.

Legolas had told Frodo the truth that day, but not all of it. It was true that Legolas’
heart had been stolen, but he had refrained from mentioning by who.

The thief lay on the forest floor, his arm curled protectively around Frodo.

Legolas had fallen hopelessly in love with Samwise Gamgee.

The End.