Fic repost
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Rating: R, for gratuitous sex in the bathtub. But as I said when I posted the fic for the first time, who could resist a wet and soapy Frodo?;)
My dear Bilbo,
Frodo stopped writing, nibbled at his pen and sighed. When Bilbo had said to him years ago that they could celebrate their birthday-parties together if he came and lived with him at Bag End, he had never thought birthdays would be so complicated.
I wish you a happy birthday.
He was not complaining about the parties: they were always a success, even by the high standards of hobbits. In fact, he was not worried about Bilbo’s birthday, but about his own; he didn’t have the slightest idea of what he could give to him as present. Bilbo had everything a hobbit could desire.
On previous occasions Frodo had successively offered him two ties, a silk waistcoat, books, sweets, a new pipe and an assortment of pipe-weed, twelve bottles of Old Wineyard, a hat and a enamelled inkwell. The old hobbit had always looked very grateful; he hugged his young cousin and kissed him on the cheek, thanking him profusely. He was sincerely happy, Frodo was certain of that. But Frodo could not help thinking he had bought the presents with Bilbo’s own money, and he was uncomfortably conscious that, save some relics of his childhood, everything he possessed was a gift from Bilbo.
His uncle never talked about it, of course. Frodo received an allowance every month, and he was free to buy whatever he wanted. He was not extravagant, and he never needed extra money, like the other young gentlehobbits usually did. His clothing was of good quality but simple, he didn’t lay bets on race ponies, and of course he didn’t support a expensive mistress. He had Sam, and Sam demanded nothing from him but love. It was something Frodo had plenty to give, and he did it generously. But sometimes he was afraid love was not enough.
Whenever he was looking at Sam working in the garden or inside Bag End, cooking, chopping wood, pulling weeds, carrying heavy buckets in hot summer days, sweat running down his face, he guiltily thought he was undeservedly privileged. Bilbo didn’t require anything from him, and yet he got a tidy sum of money. Sam got a good wage, but Frodo knew it was only the fifth of his own income. And Sam worked hard, while Frodo indulged in lazy naps and spent quiet afternoons reading and writing.
Sam never complained. In his opinion Frodo’s life was the one a gentlehobbit ought to live, proper and decent. He would have been very surprised if Frodo had expressed the desire to earn his living by actually working. Besides, he loved to make himself useful for his master and lover, and he seemed able to guess Frodo’s desires and needs before he could even express them. It was very pleasant in bed, because Sam’s skilfulness often reduced Frodo to incoherence, but it could be a trifle irritating when he just wanted a cup of tea and Sam, obviously reading Frodo’s mind, interrupted his work in the garden in order to put the kettle on.
Frodo looked at his almost empty sheet of paper and sighed again. He wanted to give Bilbo something he could regard as his own. Maybe he could write something; Sam always marvelled at the stories he invented. But since the beginning of the year Frodo’s muse was capricious at best, and more often than not purely and simply absent. He felt very unsure of himself, and he didn’t want to inflict his dubious attempts at writing on Bilbo, especially on the day of their birthday.
With an exasperated sigh he screwed up the letter, threw it into the wastebasket and went in search of Sam. Maybe his friend had a solution to his predicament.
****
Frodo found Sam in the tool shed, busy sharpening his sickle. As the gardener saw him, he put his tools down on the bench, greeted him with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, then resumed his work. Frodo felt embarrassed. Sam, although obviously happy to see him, looked as though he was in a hurry and didn’t want to talk for the moment. At other times Frodo would not have insisted, but the birthday party took place the next evening, and he didn’t have a minute to lose.
“Sam,” he solemnly began, “I’ve a problem.” Sam stared at Frodo in alarm. He put the sickle and the sharpener down again and, stroking Frodo’s cheek gently, asked anxiously:
“What’s the matter, my dear? Nothing serious, I hope!” Leaning into Sam’s touch, Frodo laughed weakly.
“It’s not really serious… but I don’t know what to do all the same,” he answered, a bit self-consciously, and began explaining the situation to his friend. Sam put his arm around Frodo’s waist and listened to him attentively, but soon Frodo could see Sam felt like laughing and was trying not to show it; the corners of Sam’s mouth were twitching, and Frodo was suddenly unable to decide if he wanted to be angry with him, laugh with him, or kiss him and have his way with him right here on the work bench. Annoyance won the day. He stopped talking and extricated himself from Sam’s embrace.
“Well, I was sure you wouldn’t understand,” he said irritably. “I’ll not bother you any longer,” he added, making for the door. Sam caught him up just before he left the tool shed; he looked surprised, and a little hurt. Frodo immediately felt a twinge of remorse.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” he apologized. “I’ve been rude. But for a moment I thought you were laughing at me.”
“I wasn’t laughing at you! I’d never do that!” exclaimed Sam, taking Frodo’s hand and squeezing it tenderly. “But I think you worry too much about that birthday, love. Of course you use Bilbo’s money to buy something for him, but the price isn’t the most important part of a present, it’s the love you put in it. And Mr. Bilbo knows that.” Sam looked very serious, and Frodo was deeply touched, even if he was still not certain Sam really understood the cause of Frodo’s problem. He kissed the gardener on the lips and answered, smiling:
“You’re right, Sam, as always. I’m going to give him the embroidered handkerchiefs I planned to buy from Lily Burrow. I saw them in the window of her haberdashery shop last week, they’re very beautiful; she has put a dozen aside for me. It’s not very original, but…”
“… But Mr. Bilbo never leaves Bag End without having a clean handkerchief in his pocket,” continued Sam with a broad smile.” So your present is going to be very useful. I’m sure he’ll love it.”
“Well, that settles it. I’ll buy them before tea. By the way, I’d like to go for a walk this afternoon; do you want to come with me?”
Sam’s face clouded over.
“I’d like to, but I’m in a hurry to get that job finished today,” he answered, pointing his scythe out. “My Gaffer’s sure it’s going to rain tomorrow, and he’s never wrong about the weather,” he said regretfully. Feeling suddenly guilty, Frodo said, an apologetic smile on his lips.
“I’m sorry, Sam. Sometimes I forget you’re so busy… I’ll see you later!” And with a last kiss he left the tool shed.
****
Frodo’s walk was pleasantly melancholic; the weather was misty, and the sun appearing intermittently was shedding a beautiful golden light. The trees were still green, but the air already smelled like autumn; maybe he would find some mushrooms on the way back. After a nice walk he reached a place north of Hobbiton he liked very much, a glade surrounded by old oak trees that shielded it from the wind; it was a peaceful spot where he was usually alone. He climbed the pile of big flat rocks that stood in the middle of the clearing and looked around; in summer you could see Hobbiton in the distance, but today the town was invisible, drowned in golden mist. Frodo sighed, lay down on the warm rock and closed his eyes. He had taken a book with him, but he didn’t feel like reading, and he put it on his chest.
He dozed peacefully for a while, lulled by the soft sound of the breeze. As the sun was disappearing behind the top of the trees, he yawned and stretched his arms. He had to leave if he wanted to buy the handkerchiefs before having tea with Bilbo and Sam. He got back to his feet and began climbing down from the rock. But he dislodged a small pebble that started rolling down, and he lost his footing; he desperately tried to keep his balance, to no avail; he fell heavily on his left side, slipped, and landed flat on the grass, covered in gravel and dirt.
He remained on his back for a moment, stunned; his neck, shoulders and hips ached, and his left wrist was throbbing fiercely. He looked at it and grimaced; the joint was already swollen and bluish, and when he tried to move it, the pain was so great that it gave him nausea, and he wondered anxiously whether it was broken. Struggling against a sickening attack of dizziness, he slowly got back to his feet; he was sore and bruised all over, but apparently he was able to walk. Gingerly cradling his left arm against his chest, he dusted his clothing and looked for his book. He spotted it a few feet away, lying on the ground and covered in pebbles. He removed them and was about to pick up the volume when one of the rocks drew his attention. He took it in his right hand and examined it closely; the stone was the size of his palm, egg-shaped, grey and smooth, and a seashell was delicately engraved on one of its sides.
Frodo was so surprised that he almost forgot the pain in his wrist. The carving was one of the most beautiful and precise works he had ever seen, and its proportions were perfect. He wondered who was the engraver, and why he had chosen such a model; Frodo was not certain there were hobbits in the Shire able to recognize a seashell, except Bilbo and himself. He had seen some drawings of such creatures in Bilbo’s books, but no one that looked exactly like the one he had in his hand. Maybe the engraver was an Elf. He could not begin to imagine how such a work of art had ended up in a clearing in the Shire. Pensive, he pocketed the mysterious stone, picked up his book and started limping towards Hobbiton.
****
He reached Bag End after tea time, exhausted and aching. The pain in his wrist had increased, he felt a dull throb in his lower back, and he had a premonition that sitting down was going to be rather uncomfortable for days. He opened the door and heard Sam and Bilbo doing the dishes in the kitchen, talking animatedly and apparently not worried about his being late. He could not help feeling slightly annoyed over their lack of concern. But after all, he was often late; Bilbo used to tease him about the watch he had given him three years ago and Frodo regularly forgot on his bedside table.
As he entered the kitchen, Sam and Bilbo greeted him amiably without interrupting their washing-up; Frodo was about to apologize for his lateness when he saw the welcoming smile die on both their faces, replaced by a worried expression.
“Frodo, what happened?” cried Bilbo, dropping his dishtowel. Sam said nothing, but he looked alarmed. Bilbo took Frodo’s face between his hands and examined his nephew’s bruised and dirty cheeks.
“You look terrible, my lad! What happened?” Bilbo asked again. Frodo felt himself blushing. He had the distinct feeling that in comparison with Bilbo’s his misadventure was definitely lacking in heroism.
“It’s nothing… I fell, but I’m fine now. Just bruised and scratched, and I think I sprained my wrist, that’s all. There’s nothing to be worried about!” he assured, trying to free himself from Bilbo’s grip. Bilbo seized his nephew’s left hand in his own, and Frodo winced in pain.
“I’ll take a good look at this wrist when you’re clean, Frodo,” the old hobbit said sternly. “Sam! Can you run a bath for Frodo, please? With lots of arnica in the water!”
****
A half-hour later Frodo was immersed up to his nose in the bath, relishing the soothing effect of hot water on his bruised body. Sam was sitting on a stool beside the tub and was delicately washing Frodo’s left hand with a soft flannel.
“Does it hurt?” he asked. Frodo flexed his wrist gingerly, and he noticed with relief that he could move it a bit.
“ Mmmm… It’s more bearable now, and it doesn’t look as if it’s broken, isn’t it?” he answered. Sam examined the joint and palpated it thoroughly. Despite the pain Frodo had to smile at the serious and concerned expression his lover’s round face was wearing. Sam was finally satisfied with his examination and carefully put Frodo’s hand on the edge of the bathtub.
“I think you just sprained it, as you said. You were lucky! You could have broken your leg… I’d be very happy if you were less absent-minded when you’re out for a walk”, Sam said reprovingly. “And don’t laugh! Well, now I’m going to wash you. Don’t dare use that hand!” Frodo managed not to smile and let Sam run the cloth over him. To be perfectly honest, sometimes he loved to be bossed around by Sam, and of course the touch of his hand was always a delight. He closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure; he heard Sam’s low chuckle and could not stifle a little laugh of his own.
After a moment of blissful contentment, he noticed that Sam’s hands were stroking his belly with insistence, tantalizingly close to his half-hard cock, and relaxation gave way to a beginning of arousal. He would not have thought that he could feel desire while being so tired and aching, but apparently Sam’s presence had such an effect on him that it made Frodo forget all about small inconveniences such as bruises, strains and scratches.
Without opening his eyes he took Sam’s soapy hand and put it where Sam was obviously still hesitating to lay it. Frodo made a satisfied little sound as he felt Sam tighten his grip around his cock, which hardened at the touch. At first the caresses were deliciously slow and lazy, but when Frodo began to breath harder, Sam quickened the pace. Pleasure coiled around Frodo’s spine, and he gripped the edge of the bath with his right hand.
He was dimly conscious of water splashing his chest and his own breathing sounded harsh in his ears. Suddenly Sam’s lips were on his, Sam’s warm tongue seeking entrance, and Frodo yielded to the sweet invasion with a strangled whimper. His hips were moving erratically, and he would have been unbalanced and half drowned if Sam had not put a hand under Frodo’s neck, supporting him while the other hand was stroking him relentlessly.
Frodo was panting, and he gasped when Sam began to kiss and nibble gently at his nipples. He opened his eyes and through his lashes saw Sam’s golden head on his chest, Sam’s tanned hand curled around Frodo’s flushed cock, sending waves of soapy water ripple on Frodo's belly with every stroke. The sight was enough to push him over the edge; he arched his back, spread his thighs and came with a throaty moan, totally oblivious of the numerous aches and pains his uncontrolled movements aroused in his bruised body.
At last he slumped down into the bath, his breathing slowly going back to normal. Sam gave him a slightly embarrassed and toyed with a wet strand of Frodo’s dark hair .
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t resist. You were so… so lovely, all wet and soapy…” he stammered, blushing. Frodo silenced him with a kiss.
“No need to apologize, my Sam. You won’t hear me complaining, and it was exactly what I needed. I’m feeling wonderful,” he added, vigorously, but somewhat untruthfully, while trying to extract himself from the bathtub.
****
Frodo didn’t sleep well that night despite Sam’s presence in his bed. Bilbo himself had told the Gaffer that Sam was needed at Bag End, for Frodo, as he explained, was incapacitated by an unfortunate fall, and they had a lot of things to do for the imminent party. Sam’s father had grudgingly accepted, and Frodo had been deeply thankful for Bilbo’s kindness (and persuasiveness!). But he was not used yet to having Sam sleeping with him, and he was afraid to wake him; he was aching, and he didn’t know where to put his left hand, carefully bandaged by Sam and Bilbo before they went to bed. He listened to Sam breathing slowly and evenly beside him, and tried to forget his discomfort and enjoy his lover’s presence. He laid his sprained wrist on Sam’s hip, and at last managed to go to sleep, lulled by Sam’s warmth and soft scent.
When he woke up from sleep the next morning, he was in the same position, curled against Sam, his nose buried in golden hair. He yawned and snuggled up to him, but this simple movement proved to be very taxing; his bruised limbs had stiffened during the night, and he gave a strangled cry. Sam awoke with a start, sat up and asked, his voice drowsy:
“Frodo! You… Are you ill?… What’s the matter?” Frodo tried to stretch, gave up and answered grumpily:
“It’s nothing, Sam: I just have the feeling I’m at least a hundred years this morning instead of thirty-two.” He painfully managed to sit up and grimaced. “I don’t think I’ll be very entertaining at the party; Bilbo is going to leap about, and I’ll be stuck in his armchair,” he added with a wry smile.
****
Frodo was right; he was unable to help. He could not use his left hand at all, and he was sore all over. Bilbo and Sam soon decided to settle him down in a padded armchair placed in the kitchen, so that he would be able talk with them while they were cooking. Frodo was feeling as useless as ever, and his mood was definitely morose. But Bilbo and Sam were so joyful that he gradually cheered up, and began humming a song to himself.
“You can sing louder, you know, my lad!” Bilbo cried. “You’ve got a good voice, and I’m sure Sam loves to hear you, too”, he added, winking his eye at his young gardener, who smiled with embarrassment. So Frodo sang, and he made Bilbo and Sam sing along with him, laugh, and sometimes blush (especially Sam) when he chose a particularly bawdy song.
At noon he had almost reconciled himself to his state of helplessness and was beginning to look forward to the evening. After lunch, he asked Sam if he could help him to wrap his presents, and they both went to Frodo’s bedroom. But after taking out the gifts from the chest and putting them on his bed, he suddenly realized that because of his fall he had totally forgotten to buy the handkerchiefs for Bilbo. He was filled with consternation; Sam was too busy with the preparations to go and fetch them, and Frodo was too sore to even think about leaving Bag End: he was hardly able to drag himself from his bed to an armchair.
“Sam, it’s a disaster! I totally forgot to buy the handkerchiefs! I don’t have any present for Bilbo!” he exclaimed. Sam looked at him, puzzled.
“But… I thought you changed your mind about his gift!” he replied. It was Frodo’s turn to stare at Sam with stupefaction.
“I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” Frodo said. Without answering Sam took a small bundle wrapped in a dirty handkerchief and handed it to him. Frodo opened it, and saw the carved stone he had pocketed after his fall.
“I found it in your breeches yesterday. I thought you had bought it instead of the handkerchiefs. It’s such a beautiful paperweight! I never saw anything like it. Where did you find it?” Sam asked. Frodo stared at the strange stone laying on his lap; he had forgotten all about it, but again he was struck by its beauty. Caressing the smooth spiral with his fingertips, he told Sam how it had come into his possession and explained him that the engraving showed a seashell. Sam had heard of the name, but he had never seen the animal before, and he was fascinated. He weighed it in his hand and said, filled of wonder:
“It’s huge! I’m very glad we don’t have snails that big in the Shire… But you know, even if it’s not a paperweight, it’s still a perfect gift for Bilbo: it’s beautiful, exotic, strange, elvish maybe… I’m sure he’ll love it. Besides, you can’t say you didn’t earn it!” he chuckled, gently patting Frodo’s left hand. Frodo tangled the fingers of his good hand in Sam’s hair and kissed him lingeringly.
“I know I just keep repeating myself, but you’re right, as always, Sam. I can’t wait to seeing Bilbo’s face when he opens it. Now help me to wrap them before the party begins!”
****
Frodo was not disappointed. Bilbo opened the present with a smile full of anticipation, but when he saw the stone, stupefaction replaced cheerfulness on his face. Frodo had to admit he found his expression very rewarding; Bilbo was staring at the carving in amazement, speechless. At last he exclaimed:
“Frodo, it’s wonderful! Where have you found it? I’ve never thought I’d see an authentic fossil in my life!”
“A what?” Frodo asked with suprise. “Sam and I thought it was an elvish carving! I’ve never heard about those... fossils?”
“Fossils, yes, and it’s not a carving,” Bilbo confirmed. He gave the other hobbits an appraising glance; they had finished the dessert and were sipping at his best brandy, satisfied and rather tipsy, and obviously not in the mood for intellectual exercise. But Bilbo could not miss such an occasion.
“I know you’re not here to hear a lecture, but you’ll get it nevertheless,” he warned, grinning at his young guests’ consternation, and mercilessly began his explanation.
Surprisingly Bilbo’s story proved to be rather interesting. The audience was fascinated to learn that thousands years ago the sea covered the Shire, and that the petrified remains of fishes and shells could still be found in some rocks. Merry Brandybuck looked decidedly incredulous, though, and as Bilbo finished and poured himself a well-deserved brandy, he asked, frowning:
“I’m not sure you didn’t imagine that just now, Bilbo. That sounds so incredible!” Folco Boffin nodded, obviously being of the same opinion. Merry went on: “Where did you learn that? In one of your books?” Bilbo didn’t look offended at his young cousin’s incredulity and answered patiently.
“I read that in a history book I found when I was staying at Rivendell. The book showed some drawings of fossils, too. I remember I thought it was hard to believe, so I understand you, Merry. But the Elves assured me it was true, and Frodo’s find proves it, isn’t it?” He smiled at his heir with affection. “You must show me where you found it when you feel better, dear lad; maybe we’re going to discover another one. I’d like that!” He rubbed his hands with satisfaction, poured Frodo more brandy and started distributing his own presents.
****
When all the guests had retired, Frodo went out for fresh air in the garden before going to bed. He was very happy; the party had been a success, he could move his wrist (only a little bit, of course, but it was a real progress) and Bilbo had greatly enjoyed his present. To crown it all, Sam would spend another night with him. Frodo smiled with an expression not unlike Bilbo’s just before he opened his present; he would make sure that this night Sam got as much as he gave.
He was wondering where Sam was gone when he heard his voice calling him softly; the young hobbit stood in the doorway, and, spotting Frodo, rejoined him in the garden. They looked at the scenery for a moment hand in hand, saying nothing. The half-moon lit a world made of silver mist and dark shadows; the road disappeared in emptiness before them, and the trees that lined it looked like the tall columns of some outlandish structure. Frodo sighed, his mood strangely altered.
“Can you imagine that, Sam? The sea covering our Shire… What a fascinating image!” Sam didn’t answer at once. He looked uneasy and was obviously searching for words; Frodo waited patiently for him to find them.
“Well…” Sam began pensively. “I’m not like you, Frodo. I find that frightening, and disturbing; if the sea was there thousands of years ago, maybe the sea could come back… I can’t say I’m looking forward to it!”
“But Sam,” Frodo exclaimed, “don’t you want to see the sea? Oh! I’d like that, you know! That must be so beautiful… If I go, will you come with me?” Sam tightened his grip on Frodo’s hand and said, trying to sound casual:
“Of course I’d go with you! You’re so absent-minded that you’re in danger even in the Shire; I’d never let you dip a toe into the sea without keeping an eye on you!” Frodo wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist and laughed.
“I know you’d follow me everywhere, Sam.” He yawned, suddenly very tired, and rubbed his eyes.” But for now I’m just planning to go to bed. I hope it’s not a destination that’s too exotic for you!.” Sam kissed him in answer, and they returned home without looking back.