Fic: "Gamgee Gardens," (1/?) The Hobbit/LoTR, Kili/Sam, Fili/Frodo, Bilbo/Thorin, R
Thanks, again, to BadSkippy on AO3 for inspiring this.
Gamgee Gardens (1/?)
Author:
_beetle_
Fandom: The Hobbit/LoTR
Pairing: Kili/Samwise (Frodo/Kili UST), Fili/Frodo, Bilbo/Thorin
Rating: R
Word count: Approx. 2,250
Notes/Warnings: None.
Summary: Kili Durin’s heart-broken, and makes questionable choices on a near-nightly basis. Enter the affluent Durin-Baggins’ family’s new gardener. Inspired in part by BadSkippy’s fandamntastic Bilbo/Thorin fic, Random Thoughts.
Kili opened his eyes and rolled over, away from the familiar warbling of his mobile, and encountered a stranger in his bed.
This not being an unusual occurrence of late, Kili sighed as last night’s questionable choice wrapped strong arms around him and hmmed.
“Gonna get that?” A low voice murmured as lips kissed his temple. Kili, still half-asleep and in no mood for forced phone chat-a quick peek over the questionable choice’s muscled shoulder showed it was almost noon, and far too early to be fielding phone calls from his well-meaning, but utterly clueless uncles-let himself be rolled back over, till he was looking up at the latest handsome face and well-muscled body that’d seemed like a good idea the night before. Said handsome face leaned down to kiss him without waiting for an answer.
“Not particularly,” Kili managed to get out between kisses that tasted like toothpaste, which meant that last night’s questionable choice-Brendan? Brandon? Who could keep track?-had not only stayed past his Best used by date, but had used Kili’s toothbrush.
“Good,” Brendan-Brandon purred in the sudden silence as Kili’s mobile stopped ringing. He pushed Kili’s legs up and out and settled between them. He was more than half-hard and clearly planning to do something about it. “Because I could do with a bit of hair of the dog.”
“You romantical bastard, you.” Kili snorted and let himself be arranged to Brendan-Brandon’s liking, before the larger man-and there was a feat, for Kili was no compact guy, himself-began to prepare him with the same over-eager and rushed fingering Kili remembered from last night . . . and no lube.
Sighing again, Kili fumbled about on his night-table for the tube of Secret Sin he habitually left there, and knocked over an open pack of Maltesers before he got the lube. Then he was waggling it at Brendan-Brandon, who looked puzzled.
“But you’re still slick from last night,” the questionable choice said, his handsome brow furrowing in a way that made him look less than bright.
“Not slick enough, Brendan,” Kili informed the guy, purposely slurring and muffling the name just in case it was Brandon.
Brendan pouted and had the nerve to look hurt. “My name’s not Brennan. It’s Connor.”
Kili colored, but shrugged. “And my name isn’t Kevin,” he said pointedly, referring to the name Connor had called out when he was coming the night before. Both times.
Now Connor looked puzzled again. “It isn’t?”
Sighing for a third time, Kili dropped the lube, de-arranged himself, and sat up, occasioning and: “Oi! What’s this, then?”
“I’ve got a business meeting in . . . soon,” Kili lied flatly as he got out of bed, stretching. The brief pops and cracks were more satisfying than last night had been, at any rate, despite the Maltesers underfoot.
“But-it’s Sunday,” Connor announced plaintively. Kili’s back went up.
“I do my best work on Sunday. That’s why they schedule me for today, don’tcha know?” he gritted out, then forced away his tension. He hated this part. The part where they never got the hint and had to be practically tossed out into the street before they realized their presence was no longer welcome. “What say we finish this another time?” Like never.
“Erm . . . but-” Connor began uncertainly, sounding very lost and very young. Kili turned to the other young man, a bright, but meaningless smile on his face.
“And I’m sure you’ve got important places to be and important things to do, so I won’t keep you any longer.” He ignored the hungry, beginning to be regretful look on Connor’s handsome-but in morning’s light, quite bland-face, and scratched his chest. “Last night was fun, and I’ll catch ya on the flip-side, right?”
“Er . . . right?”
“Excellent!” Kili winked, turning on the charm like flipping a switch. “You don’t need me to call you a taxi, do you?”
“Er . . . no?”
“Alright, then. Thanks for last night and have a great day.”
“Right,” Connor said slowly, finally getting the hint-and sooner than Kili would’ve expected, but not as soon as he would have liked. But as he stood up and began to gather his clothes from off the floor, he glanced hopefully at Kili again. “Don’t suppose you need someone to scrub your back?”
This was asked with a leer that might have passed for suavity with someone a little thicker than Kili. Or a little drunker. Say the Kili of last night, perhaps.
On his way to the bathroom, Kili tossed back over his shoulder. “Nah. Got a back-scrubby thing for that, but thanks for your concern. Cheers, mate.”
A second later, Kili was in the bathroom, leaning on the thankfully shut door between himself and last night’s questionable choice. When he imagined what his uncles would say about this latest in a string of the same-what Fili would say . . . or the way Frodo would give him that look of concern and compassion, leavened with guilt-Kili met his dark eyes in the mirror.
At least for a few moments, anyway. Then he was closing them.
On the backs of his eyelids, as happened frequently, he saw Frodo smiling at him, those striking blue eyes so direct and happy . . . then they darted past Kili, and Frodo’s eyes and face practically lit up as he saw Fili. As ever they had, since . . . as far back as Kili could remember.
Not that he chose to remember back far. It hurt too much to think that, in the lottery of life, he’d lost everything at such an early age. And that he’d lost it to none other than the older brother whom he loved more than anyone.
Fili, who’d never harmed a fly and would’ve, if he could’ve, stepped back and let Kili have their cousin . . . if said cousin had not made it irrefutably clear at last which brother he preferred . . . to none more than he had Kili.
”But I love you, Frodo Baggins!” Kili had said that awful night, standing in the rain, soaked. Just as Frodo was soaked, his dark curls plastered to his head as he looked down at his feet for a few moments, before looking back up at Kili with such compassion, such empathy, such . . . distance. A distance Kili had finally understood would never be crossed. He and Frodo would never meet in the middle of that vast gulf. Nor at any point along the way.
“I love you, too, Kili, just . . . not in that way. I’m . . . I’m sorry.” Frodo had whispered with the brave forthrightness that Kili had always at turns admired and despised. “I hope you won’t hate me for this. That we’ll always be friends-”
“I have friends, Frodo. And I’m not in love with any of them. You and I will never be just friends,” Kili had said, reaching out to tip Frodo’ face up to his own as he stepped closer . . . till they had been sharing air. Till Kili’s lips had been brushing Frodo’s warm wet ones, his tongue darting out to coax that full, sweet mouth open. To let Kili in.
But they hadn’t.
They never would.
“Kili, don’t,” Frodo had breathed, shivering in the chill damp, but resisting when Kili tried to wrap his arms around him.
“Why not?” Kili had asked, shivering himself at Frodo’s nearness, at the lingering sweetness on his lips, like candy canes and chocolate, because Frodo had a fondness and weakness for sweets, but never so much as he did during Yuletime.
“Because I’m . . . I’m already in love with someone. Someone I have absolutely no chance with, but for whom I would wait forever for some sign, no matter how small, that my feelings could be returned. It wouldn’t be fair of me to embark on anything with you when this other person has always had my heart and always will,” Frodo had sighed, then stepped back decisively from Kili, who felt those last words like a hammer-blow to the heart.
Because he’d already known with whom his cousin was in love. Had known since they were wee, from the way Frodo’s eyes seemed to glow when he looked at Fili. Had known and tried to blind himself to the fact that his feelings, his plight, was hopeless, and had been from the moment Frodo and Fili had met.
And despite the fact that Fili had always stayed in the background, as a steady, big brother to them both, Kili knew his brother better than Fili knew himself. It’d taken years, but in time, FIli had grown to return Frodo’s feelings. At this late date, the only people who didn’t know how Frodo and Fili had felt for each other . . . were Frodo and Fili.
And a willfully blind Kili.
But no more. . . .
Now, he’d looked away from the plea for understanding in Frodo’s big blue eyes. “Have you told him? Have you told Fili you love him?” Kili had asked, though he’d already known the answer was no.
Surprised, Frodo had blinked. “You-how did you know it was Fili?” He didn’t bother to deny it, something which made Kili obscurely proud, even as he wilted inside.
“How could I not?” He swallowed, searching Frodo’s clear eyes. “No matter how much I lied to myself and told myself that one day you’d love me the way you loved him . . . how could I not know, Frodo? You shine when you’re around him . . . you simply shine. In light of that, how could I not know?”
Frodo blushed, burying his face in his hands. “Oh, God, does Fili know?”
Kili had laughed ruefully. “Of course not, or you wouldn’t be standing here, wasting time with me, would you? You’d be in his arms, right now, and he’d be the happiest man alive.”
“He’d have to feel the same way for me for that to happen, Kili, and he doesn’t,” Frodo had said so hopelessly that it was like a second hammer-blow to Kili’s heart. One that eclipsed his rage and jealousy and hurt. Frodo in pain was something he’d never stand for, no matter how things went between them. “He’ll never see me in that way.”
Kili’d gaped. “Are you fucking joking?” he’d demanded incredulously. “Frodo, if you tell Fili how you feel, I guarantee you that you will find a warm welcome.”
Frodo had sighed. “Why? What would he want with his scrawny little tag-along cousin? He could have anyone he wanted. Why would he want me?”
Kili had snorted again and shook his head. “Have you looked in a mirror, lately?”
Frodo had blushed again, hotly. “Kili-”
“Anyway, he feels the same for you, you know?” Kili had said stiffly, though his voice was light and casual. “Has done for some time.”
Frodo had frowned, but his eyes had had a hopeful light in them. “But-he can’t-he never said anything-”
“And he never will. Not unless he thinks I have no chance with you,” Kili’d said, turning away and looking up into the rainy night sky. “And clearly I don’t.”
“Kili, please . . . don’t. . . .”
“You’d better go to him, yeah? In the interests of not wasting more time?”
“But, Kili. . . .” Frodo trailed off because Kili was already walking away, the only difference between the rain on his cheeks and his own traitorous tears being the slight difference in temperature. . . .
That night, Kili had made his first questionable choice-the first in a string of many-and in the months since then had done his best to steer clear of both Frodo and Fili, who’d become inseparable in the intervening time. In fact, he didn’t see his cousin and brother at all, except for the occasional Sunday teas at Bag End. And when he did see them . . . their happiness scalded and scorched his heart-made it into a dead pile of soot and ashes, rather than a living, beating organ.
And yet for all that, he did not begrudge them their happiness. At least, he didn’t begrudge them if he didn’t have to see them constantly, and have his face rubbed in how perfect they were for each other.
Even one or two Sunday teas a month were almost more than Kili could bear.
Now, as he regarded his reflection once more, he tried on a smile that definitely didn’t pass muster.
“You’ve gotta stop doing this, Kil,” he muttered, shaking his head. “It’s not solving anything, and it’s only making you despair of yourself.”
His reflection had no reply but a sheepish, guilty look that quickly sidled away.
With yet another sigh, Kili shook his head and made his way to the shower, though it never made him feel refreshed or even clean anymore.
As he showered, he kept an ear out for Connor leaving. When he heard the door to the flat slam shut-an offended sort of slam, if it was anything-he finally relaxed under the hot water, and set about trying to wash last night-and all the nights before them-away.
TBC
Gamgee Gardens (1/?)
Author:
_beetle_
Fandom: The Hobbit/LoTR
Pairing: Kili/Samwise (Frodo/Kili UST), Fili/Frodo, Bilbo/Thorin
Rating: R
Word count: Approx. 2,250
Notes/Warnings: None.
Summary: Kili Durin’s heart-broken, and makes questionable choices on a near-nightly basis. Enter the affluent Durin-Baggins’ family’s new gardener. Inspired in part by BadSkippy’s fandamntastic Bilbo/Thorin fic, Random Thoughts.
Kili opened his eyes and rolled over, away from the familiar warbling of his mobile, and encountered a stranger in his bed.
This not being an unusual occurrence of late, Kili sighed as last night’s questionable choice wrapped strong arms around him and hmmed.
“Gonna get that?” A low voice murmured as lips kissed his temple. Kili, still half-asleep and in no mood for forced phone chat-a quick peek over the questionable choice’s muscled shoulder showed it was almost noon, and far too early to be fielding phone calls from his well-meaning, but utterly clueless uncles-let himself be rolled back over, till he was looking up at the latest handsome face and well-muscled body that’d seemed like a good idea the night before. Said handsome face leaned down to kiss him without waiting for an answer.
“Not particularly,” Kili managed to get out between kisses that tasted like toothpaste, which meant that last night’s questionable choice-Brendan? Brandon? Who could keep track?-had not only stayed past his Best used by date, but had used Kili’s toothbrush.
“Good,” Brendan-Brandon purred in the sudden silence as Kili’s mobile stopped ringing. He pushed Kili’s legs up and out and settled between them. He was more than half-hard and clearly planning to do something about it. “Because I could do with a bit of hair of the dog.”
“You romantical bastard, you.” Kili snorted and let himself be arranged to Brendan-Brandon’s liking, before the larger man-and there was a feat, for Kili was no compact guy, himself-began to prepare him with the same over-eager and rushed fingering Kili remembered from last night . . . and no lube.
Sighing again, Kili fumbled about on his night-table for the tube of Secret Sin he habitually left there, and knocked over an open pack of Maltesers before he got the lube. Then he was waggling it at Brendan-Brandon, who looked puzzled.
“But you’re still slick from last night,” the questionable choice said, his handsome brow furrowing in a way that made him look less than bright.
“Not slick enough, Brendan,” Kili informed the guy, purposely slurring and muffling the name just in case it was Brandon.
Brendan pouted and had the nerve to look hurt. “My name’s not Brennan. It’s Connor.”
Kili colored, but shrugged. “And my name isn’t Kevin,” he said pointedly, referring to the name Connor had called out when he was coming the night before. Both times.
Now Connor looked puzzled again. “It isn’t?”
Sighing for a third time, Kili dropped the lube, de-arranged himself, and sat up, occasioning and: “Oi! What’s this, then?”
“I’ve got a business meeting in . . . soon,” Kili lied flatly as he got out of bed, stretching. The brief pops and cracks were more satisfying than last night had been, at any rate, despite the Maltesers underfoot.
“But-it’s Sunday,” Connor announced plaintively. Kili’s back went up.
“I do my best work on Sunday. That’s why they schedule me for today, don’tcha know?” he gritted out, then forced away his tension. He hated this part. The part where they never got the hint and had to be practically tossed out into the street before they realized their presence was no longer welcome. “What say we finish this another time?” Like never.
“Erm . . . but-” Connor began uncertainly, sounding very lost and very young. Kili turned to the other young man, a bright, but meaningless smile on his face.
“And I’m sure you’ve got important places to be and important things to do, so I won’t keep you any longer.” He ignored the hungry, beginning to be regretful look on Connor’s handsome-but in morning’s light, quite bland-face, and scratched his chest. “Last night was fun, and I’ll catch ya on the flip-side, right?”
“Er . . . right?”
“Excellent!” Kili winked, turning on the charm like flipping a switch. “You don’t need me to call you a taxi, do you?”
“Er . . . no?”
“Alright, then. Thanks for last night and have a great day.”
“Right,” Connor said slowly, finally getting the hint-and sooner than Kili would’ve expected, but not as soon as he would have liked. But as he stood up and began to gather his clothes from off the floor, he glanced hopefully at Kili again. “Don’t suppose you need someone to scrub your back?”
This was asked with a leer that might have passed for suavity with someone a little thicker than Kili. Or a little drunker. Say the Kili of last night, perhaps.
On his way to the bathroom, Kili tossed back over his shoulder. “Nah. Got a back-scrubby thing for that, but thanks for your concern. Cheers, mate.”
A second later, Kili was in the bathroom, leaning on the thankfully shut door between himself and last night’s questionable choice. When he imagined what his uncles would say about this latest in a string of the same-what Fili would say . . . or the way Frodo would give him that look of concern and compassion, leavened with guilt-Kili met his dark eyes in the mirror.
At least for a few moments, anyway. Then he was closing them.
On the backs of his eyelids, as happened frequently, he saw Frodo smiling at him, those striking blue eyes so direct and happy . . . then they darted past Kili, and Frodo’s eyes and face practically lit up as he saw Fili. As ever they had, since . . . as far back as Kili could remember.
Not that he chose to remember back far. It hurt too much to think that, in the lottery of life, he’d lost everything at such an early age. And that he’d lost it to none other than the older brother whom he loved more than anyone.
Fili, who’d never harmed a fly and would’ve, if he could’ve, stepped back and let Kili have their cousin . . . if said cousin had not made it irrefutably clear at last which brother he preferred . . . to none more than he had Kili.
”But I love you, Frodo Baggins!” Kili had said that awful night, standing in the rain, soaked. Just as Frodo was soaked, his dark curls plastered to his head as he looked down at his feet for a few moments, before looking back up at Kili with such compassion, such empathy, such . . . distance. A distance Kili had finally understood would never be crossed. He and Frodo would never meet in the middle of that vast gulf. Nor at any point along the way.
“I love you, too, Kili, just . . . not in that way. I’m . . . I’m sorry.” Frodo had whispered with the brave forthrightness that Kili had always at turns admired and despised. “I hope you won’t hate me for this. That we’ll always be friends-”
“I have friends, Frodo. And I’m not in love with any of them. You and I will never be just friends,” Kili had said, reaching out to tip Frodo’ face up to his own as he stepped closer . . . till they had been sharing air. Till Kili’s lips had been brushing Frodo’s warm wet ones, his tongue darting out to coax that full, sweet mouth open. To let Kili in.
But they hadn’t.
They never would.
“Kili, don’t,” Frodo had breathed, shivering in the chill damp, but resisting when Kili tried to wrap his arms around him.
“Why not?” Kili had asked, shivering himself at Frodo’s nearness, at the lingering sweetness on his lips, like candy canes and chocolate, because Frodo had a fondness and weakness for sweets, but never so much as he did during Yuletime.
“Because I’m . . . I’m already in love with someone. Someone I have absolutely no chance with, but for whom I would wait forever for some sign, no matter how small, that my feelings could be returned. It wouldn’t be fair of me to embark on anything with you when this other person has always had my heart and always will,” Frodo had sighed, then stepped back decisively from Kili, who felt those last words like a hammer-blow to the heart.
Because he’d already known with whom his cousin was in love. Had known since they were wee, from the way Frodo’s eyes seemed to glow when he looked at Fili. Had known and tried to blind himself to the fact that his feelings, his plight, was hopeless, and had been from the moment Frodo and Fili had met.
And despite the fact that Fili had always stayed in the background, as a steady, big brother to them both, Kili knew his brother better than Fili knew himself. It’d taken years, but in time, FIli had grown to return Frodo’s feelings. At this late date, the only people who didn’t know how Frodo and Fili had felt for each other . . . were Frodo and Fili.
And a willfully blind Kili.
But no more. . . .
Now, he’d looked away from the plea for understanding in Frodo’s big blue eyes. “Have you told him? Have you told Fili you love him?” Kili had asked, though he’d already known the answer was no.
Surprised, Frodo had blinked. “You-how did you know it was Fili?” He didn’t bother to deny it, something which made Kili obscurely proud, even as he wilted inside.
“How could I not?” He swallowed, searching Frodo’s clear eyes. “No matter how much I lied to myself and told myself that one day you’d love me the way you loved him . . . how could I not know, Frodo? You shine when you’re around him . . . you simply shine. In light of that, how could I not know?”
Frodo blushed, burying his face in his hands. “Oh, God, does Fili know?”
Kili had laughed ruefully. “Of course not, or you wouldn’t be standing here, wasting time with me, would you? You’d be in his arms, right now, and he’d be the happiest man alive.”
“He’d have to feel the same way for me for that to happen, Kili, and he doesn’t,” Frodo had said so hopelessly that it was like a second hammer-blow to Kili’s heart. One that eclipsed his rage and jealousy and hurt. Frodo in pain was something he’d never stand for, no matter how things went between them. “He’ll never see me in that way.”
Kili’d gaped. “Are you fucking joking?” he’d demanded incredulously. “Frodo, if you tell Fili how you feel, I guarantee you that you will find a warm welcome.”
Frodo had sighed. “Why? What would he want with his scrawny little tag-along cousin? He could have anyone he wanted. Why would he want me?”
Kili had snorted again and shook his head. “Have you looked in a mirror, lately?”
Frodo had blushed again, hotly. “Kili-”
“Anyway, he feels the same for you, you know?” Kili had said stiffly, though his voice was light and casual. “Has done for some time.”
Frodo had frowned, but his eyes had had a hopeful light in them. “But-he can’t-he never said anything-”
“And he never will. Not unless he thinks I have no chance with you,” Kili’d said, turning away and looking up into the rainy night sky. “And clearly I don’t.”
“Kili, please . . . don’t. . . .”
“You’d better go to him, yeah? In the interests of not wasting more time?”
“But, Kili. . . .” Frodo trailed off because Kili was already walking away, the only difference between the rain on his cheeks and his own traitorous tears being the slight difference in temperature. . . .
That night, Kili had made his first questionable choice-the first in a string of many-and in the months since then had done his best to steer clear of both Frodo and Fili, who’d become inseparable in the intervening time. In fact, he didn’t see his cousin and brother at all, except for the occasional Sunday teas at Bag End. And when he did see them . . . their happiness scalded and scorched his heart-made it into a dead pile of soot and ashes, rather than a living, beating organ.
And yet for all that, he did not begrudge them their happiness. At least, he didn’t begrudge them if he didn’t have to see them constantly, and have his face rubbed in how perfect they were for each other.
Even one or two Sunday teas a month were almost more than Kili could bear.
Now, as he regarded his reflection once more, he tried on a smile that definitely didn’t pass muster.
“You’ve gotta stop doing this, Kil,” he muttered, shaking his head. “It’s not solving anything, and it’s only making you despair of yourself.”
His reflection had no reply but a sheepish, guilty look that quickly sidled away.
With yet another sigh, Kili shook his head and made his way to the shower, though it never made him feel refreshed or even clean anymore.
As he showered, he kept an ear out for Connor leaving. When he heard the door to the flat slam shut-an offended sort of slam, if it was anything-he finally relaxed under the hot water, and set about trying to wash last night-and all the nights before them-away.
TBC