On Elvish crafts and hobbit skills - part II
Title: On Elvish crafts and hobbit skills
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Rating: PG-13 (this part)
Word count: ~1349
Warning: promiscuous!Frodo (not that it needs a warning in my book, but each to their own.;)); also, definitely crack!fic.
A/N: I started writing this fic weeks months aeons ago, in answer to frodosweetstuff's gaydar challenge. This is the second part. You can find the first part here.
“I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Frodo. I'd like to help you, but I'm not sure I understand what the matter is... What have you lost, exactly?” Sam asked tentatively.
“My Elvish queer pointer... You know, the one Bilbo gave me before he left... It disappeared two weeks ago, and I can't remember where I put it,” Frodo answered. He sounded slightly surprised at Sam's admission of ignorance.
“I'm afraid I don't know what a queer pointer is, sir,” Sam said regretfully. Well, that settled it. Frodo was never going to confide in him again. Why would he choose an ignorant gardener as his confidant when he had so many sophisticated friends and cousins, who surely knew all there was to know about Elvish technology, at his disposal?
“Really? I was sure I told you about it,” Frodo said, seemingly unaware of Sam's attack of self-doubts. “Never mind. The queer pointer is a small device that Elrond gave Bilbo the last time he stayed in Rivendell, and he made good use of it, I can tell you! But when he left he decided he didn't need it any more and gave it to me. A wonderful gift, but as I said I think I've started to rely too much on it, and my intuition has gone dreadfully rusty lately. I've learned it the hard way last night.” He gingerly fingered his bruised eyebrow and winced. Impulsively, Sam reached up and grasped Frodo's hand.
“Don't... You'll make things worse!”
“I'd be hard-pressed to imagine how things could get worse, really. I look like a scarecrow, and I must be the laughing stock of the West Farthing by now. There was quite a crowd at the Dragon yesterday evening,” Frodo said. Sam's first impulse was to soothe his master's distress by denying those allegations vigorously, but he was all too familiar with his fellow hobbits' love of gossip, especially where Bagginses were concerned, and honesty prevailed over blind loyalty. Besides, it was true that Frodo looked a little like a scarecrow, with his oversized robe hanging from his slim shoulders and his multicoloured face.
“Well, maybe you do at that... But a lovely scarecrow, then, and one I wouldn't mind coming near if I were a bird,” Sam blurted out, then bit his lip to keep himself from uttering another stupid comment. To his relief, Frodo didn't seem to mind his servant's foolishness; he even smiled faintly at the silly remark. He didn't let go of Sam's hand either, which Sam found both exhilarating and unnerving. He hoped his palm wouldn't start sweating. Maybe he'd better steer the conversation back to the original subject.
“But, Mr. Frodo, I'm not sure I really understand what a queer pointer does... How does it work, exactly?”
“I'm afraid Elvish technology is somewhat beyond me, Sam, so I can't really explain how it works. But you don't need to understand the technique in order to use it; you just press the button, and voilà! you're set for the night, or for the rest of your life, depending of what you're looking for, of course. But I've never...” Frodo broke off, frowning thoughtfully, and Sam barely swallowed a groan of frustration. Frodo was a talkative hobbit, and like Bilbo he had a slightly pedantic streak that tended to make his explanatory speeches a little too detailed sometimes, but the recent events had clearly subdued his usually articulate self. At that very moment his meanderings were exasperating in the extreme, and Sam had to fight the urge to grasp his master's shoulders and shake a clear explanation out of him.
“Now, now, Mr. Frodo,” he said, keeping his tone respectful but firm. “I can't make head nor tail of what you're saying. You need to make yourself clear. So, what is that queer pointer used for, and what does it have to do with you being beaten?” Frodo's face fell, and Sam felt his master's bony hand tighten in his own.
“I'm sorry, Sam, I'm in such a befuddled state that I can't think straight,” Frodo groaned. “Let's try again. You see, the queer pointer allows its user to determine whether the... er... object of one's affection is susceptible to... er... answer positively to one's advances, if you know what I mean... Well, obviously, you don't,” Frodo said after a quick glance at Sam's face, which was getting redder and redder by the second. “I'll be blunt, then. You know I like boys, yes? It's not always easy to find a willing partner, as you can well imagine. Well, the queer pointer changes colour when directed at a lad who shares my proclivities, and that spares me a lot of tiptoeing around and soothing offended sensibilities... or failing to soothe them, as the case might be,” he concluded, gesturing at his bruised face with his free hand. The other one was still nestled into Sam's, and Sam was starting to wonder whether that was voluntary or just a side effect of Frodo's preoccupation. Either way, he wouldn't be the one who let go first.
“ I hope I didn't shock you, Sam,” Frodo said after a moment's silence.
“Oh no, you didn't!” Sam answered hastily, blushing anew. “I just... I don't know what to say, and I don't know how to help you either. I'm really sorry you lost such an useful thing, and it's not as if we could find another queer pointer in the Shire...” To his consternation, Sam began to realise that he wasn't entirely unhappy about the disappearance of the fateful thing. Of course Frodo being beaten made his blood boil with anger, but the prospect of his beloved -but undeniably promiscuous- master being forced to a little more restraint wasn't without its appeal. As soon as that thought occurred to him, he was filled with shame. What a bad servant he was! He should have been looking for a way to help his master instead of turning his predicament to his own advantage. He had to pull himself together, and quickly.
“Are you sure you've lost it? Maybe you just misplaced it. Where were you keeping it, usually?” he asked, trying to sound helpful, and assuage his guilt at the same time.
“I kept it clasped to a chain, in my breeches-pocket. I vaguely remember putting it on the chest drawer along with the rest of my clothes when I came back from the Dragon two weeks ago, and... well, as you might recall, I spent the better part of the following day in bed with that spectacular redhead...”
“I remember, I remember !” Sam said hastily. “And it was the last time you saw your queer pointer, I gather.”
“Exactly! The day after, it was nowhere to be found. At first I thought May had taken it along with my dirty clothes by mistake, but she assured me she didn't. I asked Togo, that's the lad I was with, but he didn't know what I was talking about, which was to be expected, because I never mentioned the pointer to any of my lovers. I've searched Bag End from top to bottom, to no avail. It's a complete mystery!” Frodo exclaimed. “And it's not as if that pointer was a tiny thing. It's a star-shaped device nearly the size of my palm, it couldn't have disappeared into thin air!”
Sam's heart skipped a beat, and he felt himself go pale.
“A... a star-shaped device? Made of translucent glass, with a... a kind of silver button in the middle?” he asked faintly. Frodo gave him a startled look.
“Yes! Did you see it?”
“Oh! Mr. Frodo, I'm so sorry! It's my fault you got beaten! Not only did I see it, I took it, too!” Sam wailed in despair. Frodo's hand slipped out of Sam's and he stared at him open-mouthed, consternation and incomprehension written all over his poor bruised face.
“But... but... Why, Sam? I don't understand!”
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Rating: PG-13 (this part)
Word count: ~1349
Warning: promiscuous!Frodo (not that it needs a warning in my book, but each to their own.;)); also, definitely crack!fic.
A/N: I started writing this fic weeks months aeons ago, in answer to frodosweetstuff's gaydar challenge. This is the second part. You can find the first part here.
“I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Frodo. I'd like to help you, but I'm not sure I understand what the matter is... What have you lost, exactly?” Sam asked tentatively.
“My Elvish queer pointer... You know, the one Bilbo gave me before he left... It disappeared two weeks ago, and I can't remember where I put it,” Frodo answered. He sounded slightly surprised at Sam's admission of ignorance.
“I'm afraid I don't know what a queer pointer is, sir,” Sam said regretfully. Well, that settled it. Frodo was never going to confide in him again. Why would he choose an ignorant gardener as his confidant when he had so many sophisticated friends and cousins, who surely knew all there was to know about Elvish technology, at his disposal?
“Really? I was sure I told you about it,” Frodo said, seemingly unaware of Sam's attack of self-doubts. “Never mind. The queer pointer is a small device that Elrond gave Bilbo the last time he stayed in Rivendell, and he made good use of it, I can tell you! But when he left he decided he didn't need it any more and gave it to me. A wonderful gift, but as I said I think I've started to rely too much on it, and my intuition has gone dreadfully rusty lately. I've learned it the hard way last night.” He gingerly fingered his bruised eyebrow and winced. Impulsively, Sam reached up and grasped Frodo's hand.
“Don't... You'll make things worse!”
“I'd be hard-pressed to imagine how things could get worse, really. I look like a scarecrow, and I must be the laughing stock of the West Farthing by now. There was quite a crowd at the Dragon yesterday evening,” Frodo said. Sam's first impulse was to soothe his master's distress by denying those allegations vigorously, but he was all too familiar with his fellow hobbits' love of gossip, especially where Bagginses were concerned, and honesty prevailed over blind loyalty. Besides, it was true that Frodo looked a little like a scarecrow, with his oversized robe hanging from his slim shoulders and his multicoloured face.
“Well, maybe you do at that... But a lovely scarecrow, then, and one I wouldn't mind coming near if I were a bird,” Sam blurted out, then bit his lip to keep himself from uttering another stupid comment. To his relief, Frodo didn't seem to mind his servant's foolishness; he even smiled faintly at the silly remark. He didn't let go of Sam's hand either, which Sam found both exhilarating and unnerving. He hoped his palm wouldn't start sweating. Maybe he'd better steer the conversation back to the original subject.
“But, Mr. Frodo, I'm not sure I really understand what a queer pointer does... How does it work, exactly?”
“I'm afraid Elvish technology is somewhat beyond me, Sam, so I can't really explain how it works. But you don't need to understand the technique in order to use it; you just press the button, and voilà! you're set for the night, or for the rest of your life, depending of what you're looking for, of course. But I've never...” Frodo broke off, frowning thoughtfully, and Sam barely swallowed a groan of frustration. Frodo was a talkative hobbit, and like Bilbo he had a slightly pedantic streak that tended to make his explanatory speeches a little too detailed sometimes, but the recent events had clearly subdued his usually articulate self. At that very moment his meanderings were exasperating in the extreme, and Sam had to fight the urge to grasp his master's shoulders and shake a clear explanation out of him.
“Now, now, Mr. Frodo,” he said, keeping his tone respectful but firm. “I can't make head nor tail of what you're saying. You need to make yourself clear. So, what is that queer pointer used for, and what does it have to do with you being beaten?” Frodo's face fell, and Sam felt his master's bony hand tighten in his own.
“I'm sorry, Sam, I'm in such a befuddled state that I can't think straight,” Frodo groaned. “Let's try again. You see, the queer pointer allows its user to determine whether the... er... object of one's affection is susceptible to... er... answer positively to one's advances, if you know what I mean... Well, obviously, you don't,” Frodo said after a quick glance at Sam's face, which was getting redder and redder by the second. “I'll be blunt, then. You know I like boys, yes? It's not always easy to find a willing partner, as you can well imagine. Well, the queer pointer changes colour when directed at a lad who shares my proclivities, and that spares me a lot of tiptoeing around and soothing offended sensibilities... or failing to soothe them, as the case might be,” he concluded, gesturing at his bruised face with his free hand. The other one was still nestled into Sam's, and Sam was starting to wonder whether that was voluntary or just a side effect of Frodo's preoccupation. Either way, he wouldn't be the one who let go first.
“ I hope I didn't shock you, Sam,” Frodo said after a moment's silence.
“Oh no, you didn't!” Sam answered hastily, blushing anew. “I just... I don't know what to say, and I don't know how to help you either. I'm really sorry you lost such an useful thing, and it's not as if we could find another queer pointer in the Shire...” To his consternation, Sam began to realise that he wasn't entirely unhappy about the disappearance of the fateful thing. Of course Frodo being beaten made his blood boil with anger, but the prospect of his beloved -but undeniably promiscuous- master being forced to a little more restraint wasn't without its appeal. As soon as that thought occurred to him, he was filled with shame. What a bad servant he was! He should have been looking for a way to help his master instead of turning his predicament to his own advantage. He had to pull himself together, and quickly.
“Are you sure you've lost it? Maybe you just misplaced it. Where were you keeping it, usually?” he asked, trying to sound helpful, and assuage his guilt at the same time.
“I kept it clasped to a chain, in my breeches-pocket. I vaguely remember putting it on the chest drawer along with the rest of my clothes when I came back from the Dragon two weeks ago, and... well, as you might recall, I spent the better part of the following day in bed with that spectacular redhead...”
“I remember, I remember !” Sam said hastily. “And it was the last time you saw your queer pointer, I gather.”
“Exactly! The day after, it was nowhere to be found. At first I thought May had taken it along with my dirty clothes by mistake, but she assured me she didn't. I asked Togo, that's the lad I was with, but he didn't know what I was talking about, which was to be expected, because I never mentioned the pointer to any of my lovers. I've searched Bag End from top to bottom, to no avail. It's a complete mystery!” Frodo exclaimed. “And it's not as if that pointer was a tiny thing. It's a star-shaped device nearly the size of my palm, it couldn't have disappeared into thin air!”
Sam's heart skipped a beat, and he felt himself go pale.
“A... a star-shaped device? Made of translucent glass, with a... a kind of silver button in the middle?” he asked faintly. Frodo gave him a startled look.
“Yes! Did you see it?”
“Oh! Mr. Frodo, I'm so sorry! It's my fault you got beaten! Not only did I see it, I took it, too!” Sam wailed in despair. Frodo's hand slipped out of Sam's and he stared at him open-mouthed, consternation and incomprehension written all over his poor bruised face.
“But... but... Why, Sam? I don't understand!”