Fringe Benefits

Disclaimer: I do not - nor will I ever own any of these characters nor do I make any money off of them!!

***

“I’m going now Frodo,” Bilbo called from the doorway, hefting his pack on his back and gripping a carved walking stick firmly in his hand. “I’ll see you in a seven or eight days.”

Bilbo had business away from the Westfarthing. Mysterious business he wasn’t talking about no matter how much his young cousin pressed.

‘Some adventure I suppose,’ Frodo thought, frowning. Bilbo was famous in the Shire for his adventures and young Frodo desperately wanted to have one of his own. Very unlike a hobbit, yes, but Frodo didn’t care. He was Bilbo’s heir after all – it was almost expected of him.

He had begged for days to go along, but his cousin had refused.

“You’d be bored my lad,” Bilbo had insisted, patting his cheek with a small smile. “Dreadfully bored, I’m afraid.”

“No Bilbo,” he’d protested, eyes shining. “I’m sure I wouldn’t…”

“You’re staying,” Bilbo had decided, at last. “I’ll hear no more about it.”

Frodo had sulked about the smial for days, moping and pouting until – in the end – Bilbo had almost relented.

“I would have you go Frodo my boy,” Bilbo sighed, trying another tactic and playing on Frodo’s compassion, “but it’s Sam’s payday while I’m gone and you know the Gaffer won’t let him collect his wages early. Wouldn’t be fair to make him wait would it? If you stay, I can leave it for you to give him.”

That had quickly changed Frodo’s mind but not for the reason the elder Baggins might have liked. Bilbo’s young cousin had developed a keen interest in Samwise Gamgee in recent months, an interest that had nothing to do with the hobbit’s gardening skills.

Sam had just become a tween, turning twenty earlier that summer, and every inch of him showed that he was no longer a boy. Frodo, among others – mostly young hobbit lasses – had certainly noticed the change in him as his chubby youth’s body had matured into the more hardened form of an adult. He’d discovered that Sam’s chest now filled out his shirt, sometimes straining its seams when he lifted a heavy load.

The young master of Bag End had found himself spending hours of his time watching Sam while he worked, marveling at the ripple of newly developed muscles under his golden tanned skin. He couldn’t help but admire the young hobbit’s firm legs and tight flat belly, such a change from the softly contoured flesh of just a year before.

To be sure, Frodo had more than a casual interest in the Gaffer’s son, and what’s more, it seemed – if Sam’s shy and red-cheeked glances were any indication – the interest was mutual. On more than one occasion, Frodo had noticed the young gardener gazing in his direction, leaning on his rake or hoe, a small smile on his face. If he caught Sam’s eye, the Gaffer’s son would quickly look away, his cheeks flaring red. But Frodo was sure of what he’d seen in that shy look, he was positive that he’d seen interest there.

“You’re right of course, Bilbo, that wouldn’t be fair,” Frodo had agreed at last, his mind working at a small and wicked thought. “And besides…a few days alone might not be so bad after all.”

“Then it’s settled…” Bilbo had left it at that, returning to his planning and packing.

So here Frodo stood in the doorway of the smial, watching as Bilbo disappeared down the road whistling as he went. Then with his cousin safely on his way, Frodo went about setting a careful trap for the unsuspecting Sam.

***

‘Whew…it’s gonna be a hot one today,’ Sam thought as he strolled down Bag Shot Row. It was early, just past dawn and already the air was heavy with the heat.

He carefully unlatched the gate at Bag End and slipped though mindful of the squeaky hinge. Mister Bilbo would likely still be sleeping and Mister Frodo too. Sam didn’t want to wake them.

‘I’ll just weed out those beds under the windows. Then I can hear when there’s stirring in the house.’

The young hobbit smiled to himself. ‘I ‘spect Mister Frodo won’t venture out much today with the heat so high.’ Sam knew that Frodo usually spent such days reading in the smial’s cool interior. ‘That’s too bad though,’ he thought wistfully. With his Gaffer at home, laid up with a bad back and not likely to venture out, Sam might have enjoyed a word or two with the younger master of Bag End.

He smiled at the thought, setting his lunch pail and bag of hand tools in the shade. Mister Frodo was always so kind, reading stories to him sometimes as he worked and sharing with him interesting items he’d discovered in his cousin’s vast book collection. Sam couldn’t have hoped for a better job than tending the gardens at Bag End – nor a better master than Frodo Baggins. When age had slowed his Gaffer these past few years, Sam had eagerly assumed the garden duties at Bag End even though he hadn’t yet passed out of childhood. But that was okay; with Mister Frodo there it hardly seemed like work.

“Good morning, Sam.”

Sam, so deep in thought, hadn’t seen the object of his contemplation until he was already past him. He jumped, startled and spun around.

“Oh, my…” he exclaimed, “beggin’ your pardon, Mister Frodo but I didn’t see you there.”

Frodo set aside the book he’d been browsing and smiled. “It’s all right Sam. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come out awhile – before it got too hot.”

This was only half a lie. Frodo had been so excited for the day to come that he’d awakened long before dawn. Even now his heart pounded in anticipation. It was going to be difficult for him to patiently wait out the course of the day.

“Oh,” Sam replied, finding himself suddenly tongue-tied under that intense blue gaze. “Well if you won’t be needing anything from me, I’d better get to work. Is Mister Bilbo still abed?”

“No, he’s off for a few days on some errand or another,” Frodo said turning the page of his book and pretending to read it, all the while watching the young gardener through his lowered lashes. “He’s left me as master of Bag End for awhile.”

Frodo was amused by the look of dismay that crossed poor Sam’s face at the news. Yet he felt sorry as well, thinking that sometimes, teasing the sensitive Sam didn’t hold the same satisfaction as teasing someone like his Brandybuck cousins. The younger Gamgee took things so seriously and he never, ever tried to get even.

“Oh…I see.” Sam hesitated, a question on his lips. After a heartbeat or two, he thought better of it, and turned away. “Well, good morning to you Mister Frodo. I’ll just be over here in the herb bed if you need anything.”

Sam unpacked his hand tools, his insides filled with disappointment. No Mister Bilbo meant no pay envelope, and Sam, like most young hobbits looked forward to pay day. It was certainly not a pleasant surprise to find out that he’d have to wait. He sighed as the thought of an ale or two at the Green Dragon after work slipped away into the midmorning heat.

“Is something wrong Sam?” Frodo questioned, looking up from his book and suppressing a smile.

“Oh…no Mister Frodo.” Sam quickly replied, driving the thought from his mind. He didn’t want to concern Mister Frodo with his selfishness. The pay would come as it always did – he’d just have to be patient and wait. Wiping his sweating brow on a shirtsleeve, he observed, “My but that sun is hot today.”

“Yes it is Sam.”

Frodo went back to the book as his gardener continued with the day’s work.

Time slipped slowly by and the young master of Bag End didn’t know how he was going to be able to wait out the day. He continued to watch Sam through his eyelashes while pretending to read the tome that lay in his lap. It took no time at all before the fellow was sweat slicked from the heat, making both his shirt and pants cling enticingly to his firm, muscled body. Frodo couldn’t help but stare at him as he squatted by the herb bed, carefully thinning a patch of fragrant lavender. His nicely rounded bottom pressed tightly into the fabric of his trousers as he crouched there, and the sight of it made Frodo’s breath catch in his throat. Sandy colored hair curled, wet and clinging, at the nape of the young gardener’s neck.

‘My but he is beautiful,” Frodo thought, giving up any pretense of reading as he gazed at the young hobbit with longing. He wanted to stroke those strong shoulders and kiss him, tasting the saltiness of his damp skin.

He shivered, feeling a warmth in his belly that had nothing to do with the heat of the day. Groaning, he tried to read the words that drifted lazily across the page.

“Mister Frodo?” Sam looked over his shoulder at the young master of Bag End, his face concerned. “Is something wrong?”

‘You have no idea,’ Frodo thought wryly as he glanced up from the text, his face flushed with desire.

“It’s awful hot out here,” Sam continued, noting Frodo’s red cheeks and the sweat on his brow. “Perhaps you should…”

Sam hesitated. He had no right to be telling Mister Frodo what to do. Quickly amending, he finished, “…it’d certainly be cooler inside.”

“Maybe you’re right, Sam,” Frodo agreed, closing the book carefully. “I am quite warm.”

Unable to watch Sam’s sweet young body any longer, he’d escaped to the smial not too long after that. He would have to find a way to keep busy inside, biding his time until he could spring his trap.

***


It was a shade past midday and Frodo watched Sam from the window – as he had done on and off all morning. The young gardener paused in his work noting the time of day by the height of the sun in the sky. Nodding, he started gathering his gardening tools, and laid a pile of dead branches and leaves by the wheelbarrow. Frodo knew the routine. Once Sam had tidied up from his morning’s efforts he would take his lunch pail to the hill above the smial and eat in the shade of the tree. But not today, if Frodo had any thing to say about it. It was time for the dark-haired hobbit to set his plan into action.

“Sam?” he called from the study window, shading his eyes against the sun.

The young gardener turned at the sound of his name and walked over. “Yes Mister Frodo?”

“It’s too hot for having your lunch outside today,” Frodo observed smiling. “Why don’t you come in for awhile. I have plenty made up for two.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Sam mumbled brushing the dirt from his hands. Sweat trickled down the side of his face to mingle with the gritty moisture at his neck. “I’m awful mucked up for coming indoors…”

“Nonsense,” Frodo answered with a laugh. “You can wash up a bit at the well.”

Sam hesitated torn between the appealing thought of lunch with Mister Frodo in the cool interior of Bag End and the sure knowledge of his gaffer’s displeasure should he be discovered not ‘minding his place.’

Seeing indecision play across Sam’s expressive face, Frodo continued. His plan would have no chance of working if Sam didn’t come inside.

“Come now Samwise.” Frodo pressed his lips together in an attempt at looking stern. “I insist. Besides, I really would enjoy the company.”

“I don’t know,” Sam hedged, though Frodo could tell by the eager look in his eyes that he wanted to say yes.

“I won’t take no for an answer,” Frodo stated at last, his tone firm – allowing no room for Sam to argue. “Go wash up. I’ll bring you out a towel.”

The elder hobbit turned from the window before Sam could reply. The young gardener was used to doing as he was told and Frodo knew without a doubt that he would comply.

Staring at the empty window, Sam hesitated for only a couple of heartbeats before dutifully obeying Mister Frodo and heading for the well. He smiled, secretly glad to be given no way out. He’d really wanted to go in but years of careful training at his gaffer’s hands had made him mindful of propriety. If he’d been taught one thing beyond any doubt it was that he and Mister Frodo were from two very different worlds and those two worlds didn’t mix.

Drawing the bucket from the well Sam enjoyed the cool drip of the water as it splashed his hands. He took the dipper that hung on the well’s side and slipped it into the pail then raised it to his lips. He swallowed a long draft to ease his parched throat, then tilted his head back and poured the rest of the dipper over his face and head, shuddering as the icy liquid trickled down his back. Shaking out his damp brown curls he ran his fingers through the wet tangles before slipping off his braces and unbuttoning his shirt.

Frodo exited the smial a towel in hand and approached the well. Silently he paused to watch as Sam peeled off his clinging shirt and laid it aside. He observed how the broad shoulders and back tapered down into a narrow waist and hips and then into strongly muscled buttocks and legs. Frodo felt his breath quicken as Sam splashed his torso with cold water, running his hands over neck, chest and arms to loosen the grit that lay there. He rinsed with another couple of dippers full, stripping the clinging droplets from his arms and sides with a quick motion of his hands.

Inwardly Frodo groaned, feeling his body ache with desire. ‘Oh to be those hands,’ he thought, ‘or better still that chest to have those hands touching him.’ Frodo could feel his body stirring at the thought and he quickly pushed the image from his mind – for now.

“Here you are Sam,” he said stepping closer.

Sam turned, droplets clinging to the curls that framed his face. He blushed under Frodo’s unabashed gaze, suddenly self-conscious of his bare wet chest. Frodo handed him the towel allowing his hand to graze Sam’s in a brief caress.

The young gardener pulled his hand back as if burned. The red of his cheeks darkened as he turned away with murmured thanks.

“Come in when you’re done,” Frodo urged, smiling at Sam’s back. “Lunch is already set out…”

Frodo forced himself to walk away his heart beating loudly. It took all his will to deny himself another look, a more intimate touch. If there had been any question in his mind it had gone at the sight of that delicious body. Frodo *had* to have him. Of this fact he no longer had any doubt.

He grinned in anticipation of the plan unfolding as he entered the smial and shut the door behind him.

***

As Sam entered Bag End he felt both excited and anxious. He loved the cozy smial, finding it so different from his own home in every way. His eyes roamed eagerly over the clutter of books and papers and the maps of exciting places so far away. Like most children in the Westfarthing, he’d grown up with Mister Bilbo’s tales of adventure. And although even the thought of leaving the Shire filled Sam’s heart with a terrible dread, he thrilled at hearing the stories of other folk who had.

‘And elves,’ he thought. Sam loved hearing about elves.

He walked quietly through the rooms, heading for the kitchen. He could hear Frodo whistling happily.

“Mister Frodo,” he called, peering down the hallway. “Hello…”

“In here Sam,” Frodo answered, peeking out the doorway and waving for Sam to come in.

Sam hurried along, not wanting to keep the young master waiting and slipped into the kitchen. He stopped short at the mini feast Frodo had laid out on the kitchen table and his eyes widened in surprise. There were plates of meat and cheese, sliced bread and boiled eggs. A bowl brimmed with ripe red strawberries.

“My goodness…” Sam murmured, softly and Frodo smiled.

“Hungry?”

“Y…yes, that is…oh my…” Sam stumbled over his words and stopped speaking to collect his thoughts. Mister Frodo always seemed to make him flustered and that bothered Sam. He always sounded like a fool around the more educated Frodo and although Sam was a simple hobbit and not very book smart, he was not stupid.

Frodo smiled at Sam’s flustered hesitation and came around the table to take his hand. “Sam, it’s lunch…nothing to get all tongue-tied about. Sit down, let’s eat.”

Sam’s hand was warm and pliant in Frodo’s and he was loath to release it as the young gardener stepped over the bench to sit at the table. Frodo smiled sweetly, and reached past Sam to grab the pitcher. He deliberately leaned into Sam as he did so, pressing into his still damp back and side enjoying the feel of taut muscles.

“Would you like some apple juice?” Frodo asked. His breath made a tickling warmth on Sam’s ear and the young gardener shivered.

“Yes, please…” Sam whispered in reply, glancing sidelong at the hobbit that pressed into him. He swallowed hard toying with the fork beside his plate. He sure wished Mister Frodo wouldn’t stand so close; the nearness of him was making Sam’s face feel awfully warm and his heart pound terribly loud in his head.

Inwardly, Frodo smiled, feeling Sam tremble as he leaned over him pouring the juice slowly into the young hobbit’s mug. He rubbed against Sam, as he set the pitcher down, then pulled away reluctantly his body aching.

“T…th…thank you,” Sam stammered, face burning, as Frodo moved away and took his seat across the table.

“Are you all right?” Frodo questioned with a small smile, pushing a plate of boiled eggs, cheese and sliced meat toward Sam. He picked up an egg and bit into it carefully, watching Sam with bright blue eyes. He licked the crumbled yolk from his lips and fingers with careful strokes of his tongue, his eyes never leaving the younger hobbit’s face.

“Yes sir, Mister Frodo…it’s just a bit too much sun I’m thinking,” Sam replied, meeting that azure stare with his own brown one. “That’s it…the sun…”

Frodo nodded, raising his mug and taking a sip. “Of course. It *is* awfully hot out.”

Sam tried to concentrate on the food before him but was finding it difficult to drag his eyes from the ones that pierced him from across the table. He placed slices of meat and cheese together and slipped them between his lips, chewing with a mouth gone suddenly dry. He’d been so hungry before but now it seemed he couldn’t taste what he’d eaten. He swallowed dryly, taking up the mug and following the morsel with a sip of sweet liquid.

“So…is Mister Bilbo gone on one of his adventures?” Sam managed to ask dragging his eyes from Frodo’s to stare at his plate. He attempted another bite, finding it easier to manage if he didn’t look up, though he could almost feel those eyes looking at him.

“He wouldn’t say,” Frodo admitted with a sigh. “You know how secretive he can be.”

Sam nodded, taking another bite. Frodo frowned as Sam stared into his plate, avoiding his gaze. He had to reclaim Sam’s attention somehow.

“I suspect he’s probably off to visit the elves or some such thing as that.”

Sam’s head snapped up at the mention of elves, as Frodo knew it would and he gazed at the elder hobbit with eyes full of wonder. “Elves, Mister Frodo…do you really think so?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“I sure would like to see the elves sometime.” Sam mused, looking at Frodo with excitement. “More than just about anything.”

Frodo smiled at the young hobbit’s hopeful gaze. “You may some day Sam.”

“I don’t know about that, Mister Frodo,” Sam disagreed, with a slight frown. Disappointment clouded his expressive face. “I don’t ‘spect there’ll ever be any elves coming to the shire.”

Frodo smiled, nibbling delicately on a strawberry, and shrugged his shoulders. “You never can tell. Strawberry?”

The dark-haired hobbit held out a plump, red fruit to Sam, licking a bit of juice from his own bottom lip with a flickering of a pink tongue. Sam glanced down quickly and shook his head. He could feel his heart race and he swallowed against a lump in his throat. He suddenly felt embarrassed to be there, having lunch with Mister Frodo, and he didn’t know why.

“Are you sure?” Frodo pressed, biting into the juicy berry slowly. “They’re delicious.”

“Ohh…I’m just fine with what I have here,” Sam admitted in a rush of words. He met Frodo’s probing eyes again and smiled nervously. “But thank you.”

Frodo returned the smile with a sweet one of his own, popping the rest of the fruit into his mouth. He held Sam’s gaze, until the gardener forced himself to look away, satisfied that his seduction was working.

The two sat silently for awhile, Frodo catching Sam’s eye whenever he looked up, holding him captive in a glance. The younger hobbit found that he could think of nothing but the piercing blue of his master’s eyes, the curve of his mouth, the way his lips moved when he ate.

“Aren’t you hungry, Sam?” Frodo finally asked, watching Sam pick at the food – eating little. He reached out to touch the young hobbit’s hand where it lay on the table, his eyes feigning concern. “You haven’t had too much sun have you?”

Frodo was sure that sun had nothing to do with Sam’s appetite and he felt heat bubble inside of him at the thought.

“No,” Sam admitted, taking another bite, “I guess I just wasn’t as hungry as I thought. I’m sorry, after you went to so much trouble…”

“Oh, Sam don’t,” Frodo ordered, his lips pressing into a firm line. “Don’t you *dare* apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m the one who got carried away and practically emptied the larder.”

“I’m sorry…” Sam started then realized he was apologizing again and covered his mouth with his hand. He glanced at Frodo with soft brown eyes.

“Sam,” Frodo whispered, “you’re so sweet.” He patted the gardener’s hand affectionately. “Why don’t you help me put some of this away? We can always pull it out again later…if you find your appetite.”

“All right, Mister Frodo,” Sam agreed, glad to have something to occupy his hands which were suddenly shaking. He stood quickly and reached for a plate.

They cleared the table in silence, putting items away into the food cupboard. Frodo took every opportunity to tease against Sam as they worked, easing into him as he stood at the wash basin, leaning on him as he reached across the table to grab a bowl of fruit. Sam nearly dropped the pitcher when Frodo brushed against his front, pressing briefly into him as he slipped to the other side of the table. The dark-haired hobbit thought he’d felt a hardness in Sam’s pants but couldn’t be entirely sure, so swiftly had the young gardener pulled away. Still the rosy flush of Sam’s cheeks left him little doubt of the effects of his teasing game.

Sam clutched the pitcher to his chest looking as if he were going to flee as any second, and Frodo backed off for a moment. He took the pitcher, turning toward the sink with a smile. Time for the next phase of his plan and none too soon if the throbbing in his own trousers was any indication. Besides, he could see that Sam needed a moment to collect his thoughts and Frodo had the perfect way to give him one.

“Sam?” he questioned, not turning around.

“Yes, Mister Frodo?” Sam’s voice was soft and tight.

“I noticed my favorite roses are in bloom,” Frodo pointed out, turning to face the gentle gardener. “I think a bouquet of them would be ever so nice; you know how much I love their smell. Would you be a dear and cut some and bring them in for me?”

“Why certainly I would, Mister Frodo…all you have to do is ask,” Sam agreed, glad for an excuse to flee the kitchen. “I’ll do it right away.”

“Very good Sam, there’s a vase on the counter.” Frodo turned away, acting indifferent, though his heart was pounding with excitement. “I’ll finish up here so why don’t you take them right to my room when you’re done gathering them.”

“All right, Mister Frodo,” Sam agreed, grabbing the vase and fleeing quickly from the older hobbit’s presence. As soon as Frodo heard the door of the smial click shut, he abandoned the kitchen – setting the last of the dishes into the sink and headed down to his room to await his beautiful Sam.

***

Once outside Sam frowned, heading first to the well to fill the vase with water. He splashed some of the icy liquid on his own hot face and leaned for a moment against the cool stone. Confusion filled his racing mind. What was wrong with him? He’d always admired Mister Frodo, loved every minute the older hobbit lavished on him. So why, today of all days, did being around him make Sam feel so strange, dizzy and almost lightheaded, as if he *had* been too long in the sun? Why did every look from Frodo’s blue eyes, every casual touch, fill his body with an embarrassing heat, making him trembling and hard all at once.

He wandered to the rose bushes, breathing deeply to calm his thoughts. He didn’t want Mister Frodo to think ill of him, didn’t want the dark-haired young master of Bag End to think him a child who couldn’t put two words together without stumbling over them. He so wanted to impress Mister Frodo, to show him that he was a tween and no longer the little boy who tagged at the Gaffer’s heels.

‘He’s always laughing at me,’ Sam thought, picking the most beautiful blooms and snipping them carefully before placing them in the vase. ‘I can’t seem to carry on the simplest of conversations with him. What must he think? Samwise you are such a fool. What are you thinking, presuming to spend your time with someone like Mister Frodo? He is so beyond you.’

Sam could hear the Gaffer’s voice, as surely as if he were standing there at his shoulder. ‘Mind your place Samwise, you got no business putting on airs. There’s a difference between the likes of us and the likes of folk like the Bagginses. And there always will be.’

The young gardener sighed, feeling tears sting his eyes in the heat. Why that thought make his heart hurt so badly he couldn’t say, but it did. He brushed at the drops that trickled from his eyes and whisked them away with his shirtsleeve, placing more blooms into the swiftly filling vase. He felt angry with himself, and he didn’t know why. His brother had told him that confusion and anger were two things a tween had to look forward to, that they came with getting older, and if that were so, Sam didn’t like it one bit. Maybe growing up, he concluded, wasn’t as fun as he thought it would be.

Sam stood there long after the vase was filled, puttering with the bush and pulling off dead blossoms so new ones would grow. He knew that he shouldn’t tarry, that Mister Frodo was waiting, but he couldn’t make himself go back inside…not yet. He needed a moment to think and to calm his racing heart.

***

Inside, Frodo paced restlessly, waiting. ‘What was taking him so long?’ Frodo wondered, listening expectantly, anticipating the opening of the front door. ‘How long does it take to cut a few roses.’

He fidgeted like a tween himself, overeager for a treat that was long overdue. He was losing patience with the game and wanted it to be finished. He wanted Sam, and he wanted him now.

“Confound it, where is he?” he muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed and frowning. His mind raced, seeking answers. ‘Did I press him too strongly? Did I frighten him away? What if, even now he was racing home to tell the Gaffer about that nasty Mister Frodo and what he was trying to do?’

But no, that wasn’t possible, Frodo couldn’t be so mistaken. He was sure he’d seen wanting in those sweet brown eyes, had felt it in Sam’s trembling body. It just had to be so.

Just when Frodo thought he couldn’t take another second of waiting, he heard a door open and close. A moment later he heard Sam’s quiet call of ‘Mister Frodo’ and his shuffling steps as he came down the hall. Frodo rose and stood out of view by the door as the young hobbit approached.

“Mister Frodo?” Sam called again, peeking into the room but not seeing anyone. He stepped in cautiously, looking around. The room was familiar. He’d spent many rainy day hours there, when they’d both been younger. Frodo had read books to him as a lad, and later he’d taught him his letters and numbers. Sam had many happy childhood memories from his times spent at Bag End.

But he wasn’t a child any more.

He set the vase down on the dressing table, turning it just so to show off the best blooms. He smelled them once more bending down to breathe in the heady aroma of their scent. He straightened, just in time to hear the door click shut behind him. He turned, startled and stared at the closed portal and the dark-haired hobbit that stood there.

“M…Mister Frodo?” the words were a nervous question and Frodo could see confusion on the young hobbit’s face.

“It’s all right Sam,” Frodo soothed, easing closer, taking Sam’s limp hand in his own. “Thank you for bringing me the flowers.”

Sam could only nod as Frodo moved still closer, until their bodies were almost touching. “You are such a dear friend, do you know that?”

“Uh, I am?” Sam didn’t know what else to say. He felt very awkward, standing so close to Frodo and it seemed that all the words had dried up in his mouth again. He looked down, avoiding Frodo’s gaze and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

“Oh Sam, are you really so naïve?” Frodo continued, reaching one hand to up to touch the young gardener’s cheek while the other continued to hold his hand. Sam trembled as the hand cupped his chin, forcing him to look into his master’s bright blue eyes. Frodo smiled, warmly, and moved closer – bringing their two bodies together – and was surprised when Sam backed suddenly away.

“Please…Mister Frodo,” Sam began, his retreat stopping only when the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed, “I don’t understand…”

“What’s to understand?” Frodo whispered, still pursuing the young gardener, his fingers laced with Sam’s. “I need you, Samwise Gamgee.”

“Need…me?” Sam questioned, slipping his hand free of Frodo’s. “What do you need me for?”

“Oh Sam, don’t you know?”

The innocent gardener shook his head, gazing at Frodo with curious brown eyes. “What, Mister Frodo?”

Laughing, Frodo placed both his hands on the gardener’s chest, touching him lightly. Mischief flared in his eyes as he gazed at his lovely Sam and he smiled teasingly.

“For this!”

The older hobbit pushed Sam gently on the chest using both of his hands. With his legs pressed against the edge of the bed, Sam could only fall backwards, landing heavily on the mattress. He gasped as Frodo landed on top of him, pressed full length between his legs, lying warmly against his belly. Frodo giggled, placing his crossed arms on the gardener’s broad chest but the sound died on his lips as he looked into his quarry’s round face.

Sam’s eyes were very wide and very brown, but to Frodo’s horror they were also filled with fear.

“Why are you so frightened Samwise?” Frodo’s voice was gentle and concerned. He reached up with one hand and stroked his fingers down a smooth cheek brushing damp curls from Sam’s forehead. “I would never hurt you.”

The young gardener didn’t reply though his mouth hung slightly open. He seemed frozen as he lay there his nervous fingers clutching at the blanket that lay below him. Frodo’s teasing bravado crumbled under that soft honeyed gaze. He’d been so sure of his intentions before, so sure of Sam’s response but now…

A long moment passed as they lay there, Sam’s frightened breathing the only sound disturbing the quiet of the room. Frodo searched the young hobbit’s face, looking for a sign of anything but anxious questioning and finding none he felt panic rise in his belly to replace the lustful passion.

“I’m so sorry…” Frodo whispered at last, his resolve fading with his ardor. He rolled away from the young hobbit and sat up, burying his face in his hands. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

The sight of Frodo’s distress confused the young gardener almost as much as Frodo’s actions had. He eased up on his elbows and took a deep shuddering breath. He looked over at the dark-haired hobbit, forcing a small smile as if to say that everything would be all right.

“No…” Sam spoke at last. He was shaking still and his voice quavered with apprehension. “Y..you just startled me is all! If you’d just let me know what you’re getting at, well…then I’m sure everything will be fine.”

In that instant Sam looked so sweet and innocent, so terribly trusting and Frodo couldn’t help but feel something bloom in his heart – something much stronger than the lust that had been motivating him. It lay there warmly, filling him with an aching guilt. How could he have been so foolish to think that Sam would understand his intentions?

“Oh Sam,” Frodo murmured, feeling ashamed. He wanted to find words to explain his actions but was finding it difficult to do so. “I thought, well…I thought you might want…might be interested in…”

“Interested in what?” Sam questioned, tilting his head to look at Frodo through soft lashes.

‘He couldn’t be that naïve,’ the older hobbit thought. ‘He’s a tween after all and no child.’ Yet as the words came to his mind Frodo understood the truth. Yes, perhaps he could. This was after all the same gentle Sam who was forever the brunt of teasing from his peers, who seldom understood their jokes and shied away, red-faced when their talk turned to crude subjects. He was the same Sam who searched for answers in the bottom of his ale mug when sweet faced lasses gave him an interested smile. Poor innocent Sam.

“Mister Frodo?” Sam pressed, lying back down on the bed. His fingers touched Frodo’s arm lightly.

“Why…in me you silly hobbit,” Frodo blurted out at last, exasperated. How could he be more obvious? He glanced at Sam with frustrated and stormy eyes.

Sam’s mouth dropped open as he digested Frodo’s words. “Oh.”

Frodo could see understanding creep into Sam’s eyes and pass over his face. For a moment he was thoughtful, mulling the information over in his head. Then slowly, a smile touched at the corners of his mouth and he blushed lightly – not his usual embarrassed red but more like the glow of someone remembering a secret thought both pleasant and forbidden.

Ever practical, Sam finally asked, “Why didn’t you just say so, Mister Frodo?”

Laughing in relief, Frodo leaned on his elbow at Sam’s side and peered into the younger hobbit’s round-cheeked face, resisting the urge to cover his slightly parted lips with kisses. He reached out a hand to move one of Sam’s sandy curls out of his eyes allowing it to wrap loosely around his finger.

“Do you have any idea how fresh and wonderful you are?” Frodo mused, gazing down at Sam’s earnest face.

“Oh Mister Frodo, I’m nothing special.” Sam replied. He shook his head staring into bright blue eyes. “I’m just your Sam.”

“My Sam,” Frodo breathed, stroking his finger down Sam’s cheek. “I like that. I *want* you to be mine, Sam.”

Frodo leaned down cautiously and with only a slight hesitation he pressed his lips onto Sam’s soft and yielding mouth. He could feel the young hobbit’s breath catch in his throat – could feel the clenching of his fingers on the coverlet below. He kissed Sam gently at first but feeling no resistance, he pressed deeper, teasing his tongue against Sam’s lips until they obediently parted for him. He slid inside briefly, savoring the taste of him – licking at the sweet, slick heat before reluctantly pulling away.

Sam’s head lifted slightly, his mouth trailing after Frodo’s, loath to part from the taste and touch of those rosebud lips. “Oh,” he breathed, his mouth tingling. “That was…nice.”

“I could do it again, if you’d like,” Frodo whispered, running his thumb across Sam’s full bottom lip, watching as it quivered under his touch.

“Please,” Sam answered, his eyes smoldering with the spark of a newly kindled fire.

Twining his fingers in damp brown curls, Frodo covered his lips again, this time with more passion his mouth matching the heat that burned in his own belly. He pressed into Sam hungrily, holding the young hobbit’s head in a firm grip.

Sam met his devouring mouth with awkward enthusiasm, his own hand raising to stroke Frodo’s hair. He groaned as their teeth grated together then dissolved into embarrassed laughter as they squashed noses.

“Sorry,” he muttered shyly when Frodo pulled away in a fit of light giggling. His look was so sincere that the older hobbit couldn’t help but love him more.

“Have you ever done this before?” Frodo asked gently when his soft laughing subsided. He kissed Sam’s cheek and nibbled down his neck. “With anyone?”

“No,” Sam admitted softly, his voice quavering and his breath catching in his throat. Then he quickly added, “but I’d like too…”

Frodo laughed warmly at Sam’s eager admission. He could see apprehension turning to excitement in the young hobbit’s eyes and that made his own passion burn brighter.

“So would I Sam,” Frodo smiled, laying his hand over Sam’s heart, feeling it beat strongly.

“Will you tell me what to do then?”

“I’d rather show you…” Frodo teased, leaning over him.

Sam nodded, closing his eyes as Frodo kissed him again, feeling the caress of soft lips and responding with a sigh. He parted his lips and risked a tentative taste of Frodo’s mouth with his own tongue, flickering the tip inside to parry with Frodo’s more eager appendage.

As their mouths sparred, the dark-haired hobbit ran a palm across Sam’s chest covering a thrusting nipple with its warm pressure. Sam gasped as the older hobbit pinched the hardening bud beneath the rough fabric of his shirt. He moaned as Frodo continued to tease his flesh with skilled fingers.

“I’ll stop whenever you want,” Frodo assured, as he released Sam’s mouth and trailed kisses down his throat. He pressed against Sam’s ear and fluttered his tongue against the tapered shell of flesh. The young gardener shivered feeling goose bumps raise on his arms. “All you have to do is tell me to.”

Frodo paused, looking deeply into Sam’s hot brown eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

“N…no…” Sam admitted, his heart beating in time with a pulsing heat that had started between his legs. He gazed into Frodo’s eyes and voicing a confidence that he hadn’t shown before, he answered decisively. “No, I don’t want you to stop.”

Frodo was glad of that. For the sake of Sam’s innocence he would have quelled his ardor but he certainly didn’t want to.

“Then lets be done with some of these clothes. I want to take a look at you.”

Frodo pulled Sam to sitting, rewarding him with quick kisses to his lips, cheeks and nose. He motioned the young hobbit to the center of the bed, a location that allowed Frodo room to kneel in front of him, positioned between his spread legs. He slipped the braces from Sam’s shoulders and down his arms then worked at his shirt buttons with nimble fingers, pulling the damp garment out of his waistband and spreading it open to bare his chest. He rubbed his hands over the tight flesh, feeling a soft down of new hair covering it and he smiled as Sam trembled under the touch.

“Nice,” he murmured, running his fingertips around Sam’s hardened nipples before trailing up to his shoulders and giving them a squeeze.

Slowly, he eased the fabric from Sam’s torso, bending over to place little bites along his shoulder and down his arm. He could smell the musk of Sam’s body, made stronger by rising passion, the heat and his morning of work, and the scent of it made Frodo dizzy with wanting. Pulling the shirt from Sam’s arms, Frodo tossed it casually to the floor beside the bed. He allowed his hands to return to the firm flesh of Sam’s shoulders and slid them down his chest and to his taut belly, caressing the warm skin with strong fingers. Sam trembled, closing his eyes, and groaned deep in his throat.

“Now, Sam,” Frodo encouraged, taking the young gardener’s hands and raising them to his lips for a kiss. He could smell a lingering hint of lavender and rose on them and the scent maddened him with its sweetness. “You do mine.”

Sam’s fingers weren’t quite so nimble as they worked at Frodo’s waistcoat, struggling to force the buttons through holes that seemed far too small. Frodo stroked Sam’s body and arms, waiting patiently, enjoying the feel of those fumbling hands against his chest, anticipating the feel of them on his naked flesh.

“Slowly,” he urged, when frustration threatened to get the better of his younger companion. “Take your time.”

At last the waistcoat was done and Frodo slipped it from his limbs and cast it aside with the same recklessness that he’d disposed of Sam’s shirt. He almost laughed when Sam’s face fell, met with the row of even smaller buttons on Frodo’s linen shirt.

“Why don’t I undo these,” Frodo offered, reaching for the first button in line and slipping it through the opening, “you can watch.”

“All right,” Sam agreed readily, his breathing fast and heavy. He looked on as Frodo slowly undid the row of pearly fastenings, exposing a chest as smooth and creamy white as his face and hands.

Almost unbidden, Sam’s hand reached up to touch the bared throat, callused fingertips brushing the soft flesh almost reverently. Frodo paused, savoring the timid caress, then resumed his task with more urgency. He desperately wanted to bare more flesh to Sam’s exploring touch. Freeing the last button, Frodo stripped off his shirt and cast it aside.

Once again he took Sam’s hands and raised them to his lips. He kissed each fingertip tenderly and smiled at Sam’s rapt expression. Slowly he drew one of the digits into his mouth, circling it with a warm tongue and plying it with gentle suction. Sam moaned, eyes closed, as Frodo suckled him for a long, slow moment.

“Oh, Mister Frodo…” the gardener hobbit breathed, his body shuddering at the sensation. “Oh…”

Laughing Frodo reluctantly released the finger, then moved the hands to his shoulders, giving Sam a starting point for his exploration. In turn, he reached out his own hands, touching the gardener’s golden skin, leading him by example. He palmed the flesh from shoulder to waist, rubbing softly, paying close attention to the young hobbit’s reaction as he drew fingernails across the sensitive flesh of his stomach and ribs.

Sam started slow, unsure of what to do but he learned quickly what pleased Frodo by the soft moans that certain caresses brought from his lips. He remembered the trembling feeling in his own body earlier when Frodo had stroked and pinched his nipple through his shirt. He brought his questing fingers to the rosy circles on Frodo’s chest and rubbed them gently, smiling as the flesh tightened under his touch.

“Ummm, yes,” Frodo moaned, pressing his hand into Sam’s, holding the gardener’s fingers more firmly against the sensitive little nubs. “Do it a little harder, like this.”

Frodo guided his hand, encouraging him to squeeze the bud between his fingers, and he trembled as his apt pupil complied.

The caress of those work hardened hands was driving Frodo mad. The tentative touch was more exciting than the dark-haired hobbit could have imagined and he moaned, throwing his head back as Sam stroked his belly and slid strong hands around his slender waist to caress the hollow of his back and the curve at the base of his spine. He had never been the teacher before, his other lovers had all been at least as experienced as he was. It was no easy task finding the patience for this slow exploration. He wanted Sam desperately, had wanted him too long already, and he needed to press on or die from desiring him.

Frodo leaned forward and pushed on Sam’s shoulders, gently forcing him back down onto the bed. He trapped the younger hobbit’s mouth in a wet kiss as he eased down onto the prone body pressing bare chest to bare chest. With one of his thighs pressed between the spread legs below him, he could feel Sam’s hardness, tight against his trousers. He pressed into it firmly, massaging him with a squeezing thrust of his leg, causing Sam to groan into his mouth. Releasing his lips, he leaned over to Sam’s ear and licked it, warm breath following with a seductive heat.

“You like that, hmmm?” Frodo teased, squeezing again and feeling Sam’s body arch up into him. “Do you want more, my beautiful Samwise?”

The young gardener nodded his eyes wide. His head was spinning and he was finding it hard to breathe. He watched as Frodo crawled down his body, the elder hobbit depositing kisses as he went until he knelt once more on the bed. Sam’s heart pounded with just a touch of fear as Frodo paused between his spread legs, his hands working at the gardener’s trouser fastenings.

He wanted this, was powerless to resist the beautiful young master of Bag End, but he was afraid all the same.

Buttons undone, the dark-haired hobbit gripped at Sam’s waistband and slipped the trousers and his undergarments down in one motion, slipping them from under Sam’s hips and pulling them to his thighs. He eased backwards, allowing for more room to pull the clothes off, and tugged them over each foot carefully before discarding them on the floor.

Briefly caressing the young hobbit’s feet, stroking the soft fur of hair that covered his delightful toes, Frodo allowed himself a quick, surreptitious appraisal of Sam’s hitherto unseen parts. Frodo had to admit that they were in no way a disappointment. A curly tuft of sandy brown hair circled the young hobbit’s erect member and trailed up to just below his bellybutton. The shaft was not as long as some that Frodo had been acquainted with over the years but what Sam might have lacked in length he made up for in a delightfully rigid thickness. Besides, Sam was young yet with a body not fully grown; it would be of interest to see what changes further maturity would have on him.

The elder hobbit could hardly wait to grip that hardness, to feel it pulsing in his hand while he stroked its silky length. He groaned pushing the thought from his mind before it undid him. He swiftly fumbled at his own trousers, finding his eager fingers clumsy in their haste. He slipped out of the clinging garment, freeing his aching shaft. He pitched the breeches to the side, and paused, bare at last – having donned no underclothes that morning in anticipation of this moment. His own slender cock was long and already quite hard and it throbbed in time with the swift beating of his heart.

Sam stared wide-eyed at his naked master, taking in the full sight of him.

“Oh my,” he breathed at last. “Oh, Frodo…you’re…beautiful.”

“So are you, dear Samwise.”

The older hobbit eased forward again, sliding his hands against Sam’s body as he went, caressing spread thighs and taut hips with slender but strong fingers. He rubbed his hand slowly between the young hobbit’s legs, stroking the length of his hardness with a firm touch. He smiled as those muscular hips rose to meet his caress, pressing into his hand. Releasing his lover’s shaft reluctantly, Frodo slid his body onto Sam’s again, this time pressing bare flesh against bare flesh, feeling their two members slip against each other with a delicious friction. Sam was trembling, in both anxiety and passion, and Frodo kissed him softly to ease away his fears.

“Don’t be frightened, Sam,” he whispered, stroking a damp cheek and forehead. “It’ll be wonderful, you’ll see.” Frodo paused. “Or do you want me to stop? I will, if you’re not ready.”

Sam shook his head, swallowing his fear. “No…”

Frodo kissed him again, another gently probing kiss like the first one they’d shared, and he was relieved to feel Sam’s lips respond. He wanted this to be special for his gentle new lover, not some frightful thing to be gotten over. He knew that once Sam had passed that first peak, there’d be nothing more to worry about but Frodo wanted to bring him there gently and without fear.

Still kissing, Frodo slowly thrust his hips into Sam, sliding their hard members together. Sam moaned, circling his arms around Frodo’s back, and clutched at him tightly. Frodo pressed into him again, stroking sweaty sides and running fingertips over muscled ribs. Sam groaned and dug his fingers into Frodo’s flesh, sucking at the lips that devoured his mouth.

Frodo released Sam’s lips to move his mouth downward, nibbling at his straining neck and licking the sweat that beaded and pooled in the hollow of his throat. Easing further down, he nipped at the muscles of Sam’s chest then captured a dark nipple and worked at it with a soft, hot tongue until the young gardener whimpered desperately. He smiled, moving to the other side of his lover’s chest, and gripped the other nub in his teeth. Sam cried in surprise and wrapped his fingers in Frodo’s dark hair.

“Oh, Frodo, please…” Sam begged although he didn’t know exactly whether he was pleading for Frodo to stop or continue.

While Frodo ravished the flesh of the younger hobbit’s chest, his hips kept at their slow movement, creating a steady sliding of flesh on flesh. The two feelings combined brought panting moans from the gardener’s parted lips.

“Ohh…,” Sam cried, as Frodo slid further down on his body, their hips slipping apart at last. “Ohh…”

“Patience, Sam,” Frodo whispered, pressing kisses to his belly and slipping a wet tongue into the cleft where his leg met his body. “Patience…”

The young hobbit threw a forearm across his forehead, gasping. He groaned, his body on fire, and clutched at the bedding with his other hand. Whimpering softly when Frodo’s kisses stopped, he cried out in surprise as he felt those warm, soft lips press into his hard shaft. He arched as his lover’s hot mouth circled the head, licking away the slick drops of fluid that lay there with a couple of deft strokes of his tongue.

Slowly Frodo slipped the swollen member between his lips, taking in as much of it as he could while stroking the rest with his fingertips. He sucked, laving the hardness with his tongue and Sam’s hips thrust into him eagerly. He slid his lips against the silky flesh, then plunged it deeply into his throat, reaching his hand below the shaft’s base to massage the firm twin sacs that lay there.

“Frodo…” Sam moaned, his body shuddering under the touch of his master’s skilled mouth.

It wouldn’t take long, Frodo knew, the first time never did. He could feel Sam’s body tense as he sucked him, could feel the tightness of those muscled thighs, the rapid heaving of his hips. Frodo closed his eyes, feeling the hard slick shaft slide easily in his mouth. He savored the taste and feel of this lover he had ached so long for, and he thrilled at the pleasure he was giving to his beautiful Sam. He quickened his pace, stroking with his lips, tongue and hand until Sam’s frantic cries and hurried movements betrayed his approaching climax.

The young gardener cried out loudly as he peaked, spraying the back of Frodo’s throat with his seed. His fingers clutched desperately at the bedding gripping the fabric in his sweaty palms. As Sam thrust into him, the older hobbit swallowed quickly, savoring Sam’s taste as the fluid trickled down his throat and escaped his lips. He continued to lick the softening shaft, wiping away the last remnants of the orgasm with a lapping tongue, as Sam’s body collapsed back onto the bed. Frodo pulled away slowly wiping his lips with the back of his hand and he smiled down at the panting hobbit that lay limply below him.

Frodo slid up to rest once more on Sam’s tight body. It was slick now with sweat, smelling wonderfully masculine and the older hobbit breathed deeply of its scent. He smiled dreamily, stroking Sam’s lips with his fingers.

“Nice?” he purred softly, tugging on wet curls – wrapping his fingers in them.

“Oh, Mister Frodo….” Sam breathed, eyes shining. “It was. So very nice…I didn’t want it to be done.”

“Done?” Frodo mused, smiling. “Oh, it’s far from done, my dear Sam. We’re only just beginning, I promise you.”

As if to emphasize this point, Frodo ground his hips into Sam, pressing his still hard member into the slick body below him.

“Ah, yes…” Sam murmured, wide-eyed. He licked his lips nervously. “Did you…I mean…do you want me to…?”

Sam flushed crimson, and looked at Frodo’s chin – avoiding his amused eyes.

“Oh my dear Sam,” Frodo laughed. “You really are quite adorable. No, I think we’ll leave that lesson for another day.” His voice dropped low, taking a more serious tone as he gripped Sam’s chin, gently forcing the young gardener to meet his azure gaze. “I know what I want – what I have been dreaming of for quite some time now.”

Frodo’s look was intense and it made Sam tremble with nervousness and desire.

“And what would that be?” Sam asked breathlessly, his eyes questing.

In answer, Frodo kissed him deeply, savoring Sam’s sweetness once more and allowing the sandy-haired hobbit to taste himself on his lover’s lips. The young master of Bag End was feeling strange, more in control than he had been before. Though passion still flamed in his loins, his heart was filled with the aching pain of love. Looking down at that beautiful face, he realized that he didn’t just want Sam’s body, he wanted all of him – his heart, his soul, his love. He wanted to possess him and be possessed by him.

“Don’t move…” Frodo whispered at last, rolling reluctantly from Sam’s body.

He slid from the bed and went to the dressing table. After a moment of rummaging he returned to sit on the bed, bearing a small jar.

“Do you know what I’m going to do?” Frodo asked, taking one of the bed’s pillows and motioning for Sam to raise up so he could place it under his hips.

“No…” Sam’s answer was barely a whispered breath.

Frodo uncapped the jar and slipped his fingers inside, coating them with the substance, then set the jar on the bedside table before turning back to Sam.

“I want to be inside of you,” Frodo breathed, leaning down to kiss his belly. He gently spread Sam’s legs and raised his knees. “But I want you ready first. That’s what I’m going to do now, get you ready. It’ll hurt some…but I’ll be careful.”

Stroking the soft downy hairs on Sam’s inner thigh with one hand, he slid his oily fingers underneath the young hobbit’s body stroking the exposed cleft between his cheeks. Sam sucked in his breath as Frodo found the tight entrance that lay there, his slick fingers teasing at the opening.

“Relax, Sam,” he whispered, lavishing his belly and hips with soft kisses. “Take a deep breath and relax.”

Sam closed his eyes breathing deeply and tried to do as he was told. He groaned as the finger pressed into him, the tip carefully easing past the tight opening and sliding inside. The digit pressed deeper, burning a path clear to his backbone it seemed and Sam bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain.

“Oh no…”

“Shhhh…” Frodo soothed, carefully sliding the finger until it was almost out before easing it back in again. “It’ll be all right Sam.”

Murmuring softly, Frodo pressed his finger into Sam’s body rhythmically, feeling him relax as the pain gave way to a pleasant friction. He smiled as Sam’s groans of discomfort eased into soft moans bordering on pleasure. He could see the hobbit’s young body respond to the stimulus, his cock starting to harden once more.

Carefully he slid a second digit in to join the first, laughing at Sam’s gasping growl of displeasure. It was short lived, however, as Frodo massaged him with the two fingers, touching off a shocking wave of pleasure that coursed through his whole body. Sam arched, his member stiffening more fully as the older hobbit pressed first two fingers then three into him again and again, finding that sweet spot and filling him with fiery tremors.

“See…” Frodo gasped, huskily – his will dissolving with Sam’s impassioned cries. “I told you it’d be all right.”

When at last he was sure that the young gardener was ready, and that he couldn’t possibly wait one minute more, Frodo slid the fingers out.

“No…” Sam groaned in protest, making Frodo laugh as he took the oil jar once more and dribbled some into his hand.

“Goodness Sam,” he teased, kneeling again between the younger hobbit’s legs and stroking the slick substance on his own throbbing shaft. “You’ve turned out to be quite the wanton hobbit.”

“I have?” Sam asked innocently, glancing at Frodo with passionate eyes. “I didn’t mean to…”

Frodo laughed again, grasping Sam’s hips with smooth hands. “Silly hobbit…I like you that way.”

“You do?” Sam gasped, feeling the press of Frodo’s hardness as he maneuvered it between his cheeks.

“Yes. Now relax,” he ordered, raising Sam’s hips.

Frodo breached Sam’s tightness with a steady pressure, feeling the opening give way more easily than he’d hoped. Sam groaned at the sharp pain of entry, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing hard. He panted, his hands gripping Frodo’s shoulders as the dark-haired hobbit slowly slid into him, not pausing until he’d sheathed his whole length in Sam’s hot tightness.

Feeling Sam’s virgin body clench around him sweetly, Frodo trembled – it was even more wonderful than he’d imagined it would be. He moved, cautiously, sliding with short strokes into the tightness below him, watching the intense expression on Sam’s sweet face as it gave way to budding pleasure. He ran his hands over the young gardener’s sweaty chest and belly, digging his fingers into the taut muscles.

Sam’s hands eased from their grip on his shoulders and rubbed at Frodo’s sides and down his back, caressing with rough fingertips and palms. His legs circled Frodo’s waist loosely and as pain passed into a sweet passionate heat he raised his body to meet his lover’s gentle thrusts. He moaned, loudly, clutching at Frodo’s flesh, savoring the feel of Frodo’s hardness as it pressed inside of him.

“Oh Sam,” Frodo panted as Sam arched into him, his body sparked once more by Frodo’s careful thrusting. “Yes….yes…”

This time Sam kissed him, tangling his fingers in Frodo’s dark curls and dragging their mouths together. All shyness aside, the young gardener attacked his lover’s mouth with a bruising force, sucking and biting on his lips and thrusting his tongue deeply inside. He devoured the tender flesh, only pulling away when Frodo’s plunging body touched off another wave of ecstasy.

“Ahhh…” He tilted his head back, baring his throat. Frodo immediately attacked the exposed flesh, covering it with sharp little bites.

The elder hobbit’s movements were frenzied now. He drove hard and deep into Sam’s body with each thrust of his slender hips, all control gone in his rising passion. Frodo reached between them, gripping Sam’s hardness with a sweaty hand and stroked him. He matched the hand’s rhythm to the pressing of his hips into Sam’s tight body until the younger hobbit was moaning with the approach of his second climax.

“Come on Sam…” he urged, softly. “Come on…”

“Frodo…Frodo…” Sam panted in reply, his body clenching around Frodo’s shaft as he peaked in a hot spray across his belly. “Oh, yes!”

Frodo thrust deeply, impaling the young body below him as his own form shuddered in completion. He cried out, throwing back his head and digging his fingers into Sam’s hips as he released his seed deep into the body that enveloped him. He gasped as a final wave of passion spread through him, lighting his nerves with a wonderful glow. Trembling, he pressed his hands into Sam’s body supporting his weight as he slipped his softening shaft from between the gardener’s legs.

Collapsing, Frodo rolled to Sam’s side and gathered the panting young hobbit into his arms before covering his face with light kisses. He murmured soft, encouraging words, stroking the young hobbit’s shaking body with soothing hands. Sam clutched at him tightly, holding onto him with trembling arms and breathed hard against Frodo’s throat, resting his head on his shoulder.

A long moment passed in silence as each hobbit regained his breath. Frodo stroked Sam’s back and hair loving the feel of that beautiful body pressed against his.

“Sam?” he whispered at last, pressing a kiss into Sam’s mane of sandy curls. “Are you all right?”

The young gardener looked up at him with glowing eyes filled with love and he smiled. “Oh yes, Mister Frodo.”

“*Mister* Frodo,” the dark-haired hobbit teased, laughing. “I’d say that’s a little formal after what we’ve just been doing.”

“Oh…” Sam murmured, smiling shyly. “I reckon you might be right.”

They were quiet a moment longer, Sam running his fingers absently over Frodo’s chest. He marveled at the feel of that smooth skin, so pale compared to his own, and looked forward to exploring it more thoroughly. ‘But not now,’ he thought with a sigh. Sam didn’t feel as though he could move an inch from where he lay. ‘I’m so tired.’

Frodo shifted, easing Sam from his shoulder and back onto the bed. He sat up then bent over to place a gentle kiss on Sam’s lips, before sliding out of bed.

“Stay there,” he ordered softly, padding across the room to the door. “I won’t be a moment.”

Sam closed his eyes, as Frodo left the room, and sighed contentedly. His body tingled still with a wonderful feeling he’d never known before. He was so happy.

The door opened a moment later and Frodo returned with a basin and some towels in hand. He placed them at the bedside and wetting one smaller towel he crawled back onto the bed to Sam’s side and smiled at him.

“I thought a cool wash up might be nice,” Frodo admitted, brushing the wet cloth across Sam’s brow.

“Frodo, you don’t have to…” Sam protested as the elder hobbit began washing his sweaty body with the cool water.

“I know. Hush.”

Sam lay there obediently, while Frodo wiped away the evidence of their lovemaking. He sucked in a breath of pain and grimaced when Frodo washed between his legs, feeling the aching burn of his newly breached body.

“You’re going to be sore awhile,” Frodo admitted, remembering his own first time. He picked up a small vial he’d brought with the towels and unstoppered it, dabbing a dot of the contents onto his fingertip. He rubbed the salve on the bruised opening and Sam sighed at the feel of its numbing coolness. “This’ll help.”

With Sam tended to, Frodo rinsed his own body quickly then crawled back into the bed with a soft sigh. He took Sam back into his arms, cuddling him gently.

“Sam, I…” Frodo faltered, snuggling into the gardener’s warm body. “I want you to know something.”

“What’s that?” Sam wondered lazily, his breath warm against Frodo’s chest.

“This wasn’t just…” Frodo hesitated, unsure of his words. “I don’t want you to think that I just wanted to, well…get you in my bed…I mean it started out that way, but it’s different now…”

“I know.” Sam looked up at him with warm brown eyes and smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t have done it, if I didn’t think you cared about me. Besides, I love you.”

Frodo stared at him a moment, mouth hanging open. “You do?”

“Since I was little,” Sam confessed, softly. “Since as long as I can remember. Until now I never even dreamed that you might feel something special for me too.”

“I do, silly hobbit,” Frodo admitted, both to Sam and himself. “I really do.”

They lay there awhile, quietly – both caught up in their own private thoughts. Frodo thinking warm thoughts of Sam while the ever-practical gardener was thinking of responsibility.

“I should get up,” he sighed tiredly against Frodo’s chest. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Oh Sam, don’t worry about it,” Frodo whispered, wrapping his arms around Sam tighter as if to prevent him from leaving. “Your father’s laid up with his bad back so he won’t be coming to check on you and Cousin Bilbo won’t notice if the garden is suffering from a half days worth of neglect.”

“But I’ll know,” Sam murmured softly.

“Please,” Frodo pleaded, loathe to have his lovely Sam leave his arms so soon. “It’s only half a day. Just this once, be irresponsible and indulge me.”

The young gardener sighed in resignation, helpless to deny his Mister Frodo anything. “All right, just this once. But mind you I’ll have to work twice as hard…”

“Shhhh…” Frodo hushed, planting a soft kiss on his lips, “or I’ll have to teach you a lesson about working hard.”

Frodo giggled as Sam blushed and he snuggled him closer, closing his eyes to drift in contented sleep.

***

The Gaffer wandered down Bag Shot row, leaning heavily on his walking stick still nursing his strained back. He wanted to check on Sam, make sure the boy wasn’t overdoing it in the heat. Some days his son hadn’t the commonsense to come in out of the weather and Hamfast didn’t want the both of them to be laid up. Sam was a kind and hardworking lad and for all his gruffness, the Gaffer dearly loved his youngest son – he didn’t want to see any harm come to him. Besides a walk to Bag End was just the excuse he needed to escape a hot house full of gaggling females.

Everything was quiet in the hazy afternoon as the limping hobbit reached Bag End…too quiet, with nothing stirring in the stifling heat. Where was that boy?

The Gaffer slowly circled the gardens, searching for his son. His garden implements were there, lying carefully in Master Bilbo’s wheelbarrow still dirty from use. Garden detritus lay carefully stacked and ready to be removed. Everything appeared to be in order, yet nothing but insects moved in the waning day.

When Hamfast found no sign of Sam about the garden, he hobbled to the gate and let himself through. He’d have a word with Master Bilbo, find out what had become of the boy. ‘He’d best not be at the Green Dragon yet,’ the Gaffer thought, ‘no matter how nice a cool pint might be – not this early in the day.’
And if he was, well there’d be a thrashing to be had – bad back or no – if the Gaffer had anything to say about it.

Inside of Bag End, Frodo and Sam lay dozing together, arms and legs entwined. The interior of the underground home was nice and cool, in spite of the heat outdoors and it had been easy for them both to fall asleep, tired from their lovemaking.

Sam suddenly bolted upright, pulling from Frodo’s light grip.

“It’s the gate Mister Frodo!” he cried quietly, his face gone pale with sudden fear.

“Gate, Sam?” Frodo questioned sleepily. “What gate?”

“*Your* gate Mister Frodo,” he explained, untangling his sweaty body from the sheets and sliding to the edge of the bed. “There’s a rusty hinge I’ve been meaning to fix, that squeaks real loud when you open it too far…someone’s coming up the walk.”

Frodo’s eyes snapped open at a sudden rapping of knuckles on the door. He also sat up, glancing at Sam who was collecting the pieces of his clothing that lay scattered on the bedroom floor.

“It’s all right Sam,” Frodo soothed, shrugging. “Let them knock…I don’t have to answer.”

A second rap sounded, louder than the first followed by a muffled voice. “Hello…Master Bilbo? Are you at home?”

Sam’s face blanched whiter still. “It’s my gaffer!” he exclaimed in a whisper, his body sinking to the side of the bed as he tried to pull on his still damp under clothes. “He’s looking for me…I’m suppose to be working, remember!”

Frodo could see the terror in Sam’s eyes. The Gaffer could be quite unforgiving of sloth, wielding a willow switch against the backside as skillfully as he did a garden hoe. He knew that he had to do something to protect the young hobbit that sat next to him struggling to get dressed. He placed a hand on Sam’s trembling shoulder and squeezed it gently.

“Don’t worry Sam,” he answered, sliding out of the bed. He grabbed his dressing gown and pulled it on hastily. “Get your things on and slip down the hall and into the cellar as soon as you do. Wait a few minutes then come out with a couple of jars of pickled eggs.”

“Oh, I am in such trouble,” Sam muttered, slipping on his trousers and looking for his shirt.

“Sam!” Frodo ordered quietly, taking Sam’s chin in his hand and turning the young hobbit’s face to look at him. He pierced him with sharp blue eyes that demanded obedience and Sam stopped fumbling with his buttons. “Listen to me…slip down the hall into the cellar when you are dressed, wait a few minutes then come back with a couple of jars of pickled eggs. I’ll tell your father that I asked you to help me out because I’m not feeling well. Just follow my lead. Everything will be all right.”

Sam nodded his eyes wet – just short of tears. Frodo kissed him softly and turned to exit the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. A third rap sounded on the door, this time the sound of wood on wood, as the Gaffer pounded the door with his walking stick.

“Half a moment please,” Frodo called, walking slowly down the hall and into the entry hallway. He dawdled giving Sam as much time as he could before he reached the entrance.

He grasped the latch and pulled open the door, grimacing as the sunlight hit his sensitive eyes. The mid-afternoon air seeped thickly into the smial’s cool interior.

“Master Gamgee,” Frodo greeted quietly. He pulled wide the door and stepped back to make room, “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, but I’m just up from a bit of a rest. Please come in.”

“Afternoon Mister Frodo,” the old hobbit replied, hobbling into the house.

Frodo shut the door behind him, trapping out the heat. “If you’re looking for Cousin Bilbo, he’s gone for a few days on business…but if I can be any assistance to you…”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Mister Frodo,” the Gaffer interrupted, “but I was looking for my boy Samwise.”

“Oh, he’s here,” Frodo admitted, herding the Gaffer into the sitting room, away from a view down the hallway. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit under the weather with this heat. I’ve asked Sam if he’d fetch a few things out of the cellar for me. Of course, when he heard that I was feeling poorly, he asked if he could fix me up a bit of dinner before he goes.”

“Did he now?” the Gaffer questioned, frowning. That would be his son, always eager to help – especially when it came to the young master of Bag End.

“I’m ashamed to admit that I took him up on his kind offer. I really am feeling quite dreadful and with Cousin Bilbo out of town, I could do with the help…and the company.” Frodo smiled feebly and shrugged. “That is, if it’s all right with you sir.”

They could hear the cellar door and steps in the hall and both turned as Sam came into view, carrying two jars of eggs. “Where did you need me to put these, Mister Frodo?” Sam asked, then paused as he faced his father. “Oh…hello Da…”

“Just put them in the kitchen Sam, you’re such a dear,” Frodo directed, with a casual wave of his slender hand. “I’m just making sure it’s all right that you stay for awhile and fix up that dinner for me like you offered. Would that be all right Master Gamgee?”

“Of course young Master Frodo,” the Gaffer agreed, nodding his head. “Just don’t want him bothering you none.”

“I assure you Master Gamgee,” Frodo replied, “Sam is never a bother to me.”

“Besides,” the old hobbit continued, noting Sam’s flushed cheeks and clinging clothes, “he’s looking a bit done in himself. It’s too hot to do much more outdoor working today anyway. You just be sure to send him on straight home when you’re done with him. You tell him no dawdling.”

Frodo smiled perhaps a bit too broadly and nodded. “When I’m done with him, of course I will. You can count on that.”

“Very well,” the Gaffer agreed nodding. “I’ll be going then, thank you Master Frodo.”

The dark-haired hobbit walked Hamfast to the door, letting him out into the afternoon sun and watched as he hobbled down the walk and through the gate. He stood at the window watching until the old hobbit had walked well down Bag Shot Row before pulling the curtains and heading to the kitchen.

Sam was whistling softly as he rummaged through the food cupboard, pulling out the remains of their earlier luncheon. He placed a couple of plates on the counter then grabbed the mugs and turned toward the table. His whistling faded as his eyes fell on Frodo and he smiled a nervous grin.

“You can relax, Sam,” Frodo assured with a smile of his own. “He’s gone…and none the wiser I might add.”

“Well, that is a relief, make no mistake,” Sam sighed, placing a laden plate on the table.

“You really don’t have to fix up dinner you know,” Frodo pointed out. “That was just an excuse to keep you here awhile longer.”

“Beggin’ your pardon but you wouldn’t want me lying to my Da would you?” Sam asked.

“No, I suppose not,” Frodo agreed. “Though really, I’m the one who did the lying…not you.”

“Besides, *I’m* a mite hungry,” Sam added, giving him a teasing look, “seeing how *someone* was making it awful hard to concentrate on lunch earlier.”

Frodo feigned innocence, pressing a slender hand to his heart, his blue eyes wide. “Why…Sam…!”

The young gardener ignored him, turning back to the sink. “Aren’t you hungry Frodo?”

“Oh, I’m hungry all right,” Frodo admitted, easing up behind Sam and slipping his arms around the young hobbit’s waist.

“Mister Frodo,” Sam chastised. “I meant for food.”

“Food, hmmmm?” Frodo mused lazily, leaning into Sam’s back. He pressed his cheek between the gardener’s shoulders and squeezed his belly playfully, sliding his fingers to Sam’s waistband. “I can think of something delicious that I wouldn’t mind eating…”

“Frodo,” Sam groaned, covering the dark-haired hobbit’s hands with his own pressing them back against his stomach and away from his trouser buttons. He could feel warmth tingling in his body.

“Sam,” Frodo whispered pressing his lips into the back of the young hobbit’s neck, biting him softly.

The young gardener shivered, tilting his head back to press against Frodo’s. He tightly gripped the hands that pressed against him, preventing them from straying from their place against his stomach. “No wonder there’s naught to you but skin and bones.”

Frodo laughed, reluctantly releasing his companion’s waist and stepping away. He didn’t want to push Sam although he knew he could. Frodo knew it would be easy to drive the sandy-haired hobbit back into his bed for another round – the gardener’s young body all too anxious to obey. But he wanted Sam willing in both mind and spirit as well, not just physically and he felt he was treading a thin line now between free choice and coercion. He didn’t want to cross to the wrong side of that line – not ever again.

“Skin and bones?” he questioned, leaning against the table. He crossed his arms hugging them to his chest, resisting the urge to reach out towards Sam’s sweet body.

“Well, maybe not exactly skin and bones,” Sam admitted. “But there sure isn’t much to you.”

“Oh, that’s just the Took in me,” Frodo laughed, taking a plate from Sam’s hands as he turned from the sink. He moved to sit at the table, settling on the bench with a sigh.

Sam followed, sitting across from him with a grin, agreeing skeptically. “If you say so Mister Frodo.”

“I do.”

The young gardener looked up but glanced away quickly, before Frodo could catch his eye. “Now none of your funny business. I’m having some lunch.”

Frodo stared in amazement at Sam as he stacked meat and cheese on slices of bread and bit into the hefty sandwich hungrily. Such forward talk was so unlike the shy gardener that it surprised Frodo to hear it. He was beginning to realize there was more to Sam than met the eye. And he was *definitely* looking forward to discovering all the secrets that his Sam had in store.

The older hobbit sat there watching his beautiful new lover as he polished off the sandwich then started on some eggs. This time it was Frodo who found it impossible to eat.

***

After the late luncheon, they’d spent the rest of the afternoon dozing, cuddled together in bed stealing kisses and careful touches in the waning afternoon. Frodo had let Sam take the lead, quelling his own desire to renew their earlier passionate coupling and the young gardener had opted to enjoy the gentle petting without progressing any further. Sam seemed content to wait, and in his heart Frodo admitted he was too.

Always practical, it was Sam who moved away at last, sitting on the bed’s edge and reaching to button his open shirt and slip his braces up over each shoulder. He sighed softly, his shoulders slumping in resignation. “It’s late, I have to go. They’ll be waiting supper for me.”

Frodo nodded, also rising from the bed and clutching his robe around him.

“I’ve got to store my tools,” Sam admitted, running fingers through his tangled hair. “But I’ll step back in before I go.”

“You’d better,” Frodo ordered softly, searching for his clothes. “I’ll be terribly angry if you don’t.”

Sam nodded, stepping through the door and walking slowly down the hall. Frodo sighed, hearing the smial’s door click in the quiet house. He dressed carelessly, slipping from his robe and into his trousers and shirt, leaving the tails untucked.

As he left the bedroom and wandered toward the kitchen, Frodo could hear Sam singing softly outside. He paused to watch the young gardener though the window, as he cleaned his equipment and stored it neatly away. The dark-haired hobbit smiled as Sam stopped to pluck at a couple of flowers, and pull a few weeds – always so dedicated to the garden he so diligently tended.

Frodo continued on to the kitchen, craving a cup of tea, but he was unwilling to start a fire in the heat. He stared at the kettle for a moment then settled instead for a mug of tepid water. As he drank the warm liquid, he heard Sam enter the smial, closing the door carefully, and waited for the call of his sweet voice.

“Mister Frodo?”

The dark-haired hobbit sighed, setting the mug down and wandered back to the entry hall where Sam waited for him. His heart was filled with frustration. He didn’t want the afternoon to end.

“Well, that’ll be about it,” Sam spoke quietly, gazing into the deep blue of Frodo’s eyes, his own brown ones soft and sweet. “I’d best be going now or they’re likely to send Marigold out to fetch me.”

Frodo stole one last kiss before opening the door to Bag End, pressing Sam’s lips passionately, stroking his face and hair. He didn’t want to let his sweet gardener go but knew that he couldn’t keep him there all night, as much as he might like to. Sam had a family that expected him home, responsibilities to them that he couldn’t ignore, and Frodo respected him for that. Still, the thought didn’t make the parting any easier.

“Goodnight Mister Frodo,” Sam whispered, pulling at last from the heat of Frodo’s kiss. He touched his lover’s cheek tenderly before stepping away.

Frodo could only nod finding no words to say that wouldn’t include asking Sam to stay a bit longer. He knew Sam would, if he asked, and it wouldn’t be fair to make the young hobbit choose between loyalty to him and loyalty to his family.

The thought of Mister Frodo speechless amused Sam and the young gardener smiled as he pulled wide the door and walked through into the dusk of early evening.

The air was still heavy but a light wet breeze blew in Sam’s face, holding the promise of rain and a break to the heat. He paced slowly to the gate, breathing deeply, his heart so full it could burst. He didn’t dare look back at the hobbit that rested in the doorway of the smial, even though he could feel those bright blue eyes caressing his back.

“Oh Sam, I almost forgot your pay envelope!” Frodo exclaimed, suddenly remembering the packet that lay on the fireplace mantle. He took a step from the doorway to halt the young gardener. “Cousin Bilbo left it for me to give to you…”

Sam turned from the gate with a smile and shook his head.

“Don’t go to no trouble Mister Frodo,” he urged. “I can just pick it up tomorrow.”

“But it’s your day off tomorrow…” Frodo began, but he stopped as the implication slowly dawned on him.

“That’s all right…” Sam admitted with a sly sideways glance. “I don’t mind stopping back, what with you feeling poorly and all.”

He turned away before Frodo could reply and slipped through the gate, latching it behind him.

As Frodo stared slack-jawed at the young gardener’s retreating back, Sam wandered casually down the Row toward home, whistling a happy tune.