Yule Fic - 'Tis the Season
Author: melanieathene
Title: 'Tis the Season
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Summary: Frodo is decking the halls -- with sprigs of mistletoe. What's a poor boy to think?
Author's Notes: This is a sequel/companion piece to my Merry & Pippin POV drabble which I reposted here yesterday. This fic first appeared in my LJ on Dec. 17, 2004.
~*~
There was someone in the toolshed. As I always keep the door locked and only one other person has access to a key, I knew before I heard the muffled cursing who that someone must be: Mr. Frodo. But what was he doing in there? What chore needed his urgent personal attention, that I could not better perform? An uneven pounding noise masked my light footsteps as I approached the shed; curiosity aroused, I peered through the half-opened door.
He was standing on the overturned wheelbarrow, head tilted up to the ceiling, back bowed and arm upraised, hammering away at a rather bent and strangely angled nail. The hammer dropped to the floor with a careless 'clunk', and he fished in his jacket pocket, drawing out a green and fragrant sprig of mistletoe. Carefully, he hung this from the nail, then stood beneath it in quiet contemplation before lightly hopping down from his precarious perch.
Not until his feet were safely on the ground, did I enter the shed. “Mr. Frodo?” I said, as softly as I might, so as not to startle him too badly.
He spun around to face me, those incredible blue eyes of his all big and round and surprised, three unused nails clenched firmly between his lips. A light wash of colour traveled up his neck to blossom on his cheeks.
I may be slow witted sometimes, but I am no fool.
I crossed the space between us, gently capturing both his hands in mine before he had the chance to lift his hand and rid himself of those incriminating nails. I flicked a deliberate glance upward, a slow smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. His blush deepened prettily.
“I've been noticin' all that mistletoe hung around Bag End,” I murmured, leaning forward until my lips fastened 'round the head of the first nail; slowly, I transferred it from his mouth to mine, and let it drop down to the floor. “I've been thinkin' on it,” I continued, leaning forward again. “Been givin' it a whole lot of thought.” My lips slowly withdrew the second nail; the sound of it hitting the floor seemed abnormally loud in the silence of the room. “What with Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin here for Yule an' all, though, I wasn't sure, you see.” I tilted forward to remove the final nail; it joined the others on the floor. Naught but a breath stood between us now. “But I don't reckon you thought your cousins would come out here to this shed, did you?” I mused.
“No,” he whispered. And this time, he was the one to do the leaning forward as he brought his lips to mine.
At first we barely touched. Feather-light and all uncertain, his lips hovered upon my lips as our breathing deepened and the quicksilver flutter of his pulse beat wildly against my fingertips. I released my hold upon his hands, freeing his slender fingers to wander at will across my back and face and shoulders and down my sides. Forgetting that my hands were icy-cold from hours of working outside shovelling snow, I skimmed my hands beneath his jacket and shirt to stroke his flesh in reply. Frodo's mouth opened on a gasp of shock -- and in unthinking, instinctive response I slipped my tongue inside. I don't know which of us was most startled by this bold move. I gasped and pulled away. Frodo moaned and followed.
His hands rose to capture my face between his surprisingly warm palms. And suddenly we were kissing as if we never meant to stop. I certainly had no thought to spare for stopping, anyway, and greeted the sudden, inexplicable retreat of Frodo's lips with a deep, protesting groan of longing and frustration. Eyes I didn't remember closing opened to find twin blue flames burning scant inches away.
I've seen my master in many moods down through the long years that I've known him. But never before had such a look crossed his face in my presence. Flushed and beautiful and wild, he was. Brimming over with a kind of all-consuming, fierce joy that would have sent me backing up a pace or two, had I not somehow already been pressed up flat against the shed's rough wall. I had no memory of moving there. I had no wish to ever move again, to be anyplace else, ever! My arms dangled limp and useless by my sides.
He pinned me there with his slim body, his hands spread on the wall to either side of my trembling shoulders, my heaving chest lifting him slightly up away from me and then easing him back down close again as I gasped for air. He wriggled a little bit, almost purring as he sinuously rocked his pelvis forward... And then I felt it for the first time: my master's erection, hot and hard and pulsing gently against my own rigid flesh.
“Sam,” he breathed. Just that. Just simply that: my name. And I was undone.
“Fro-do!” I screamed, until his mouth clamped over mine, absorbing my cries and making them his own as I bucked and spasmed against him helplessly. “Frodo,” I whimpered and would have fallen had not his arms slipped 'round to hold me to his breast.
“Sam,” he said again. And there was such a wealth of longing in the name that I felt tears flood to my eyes. All that I had, all that I was, was not enough to offer. He deserved so much better... so much more. He wanted... he needed... something!
But Frodo... well, Frodo, it would seem, knew exactly what it was he wanted and needed.
His hand touched beneath my chin and lifted my head up to meet the kaleidoscopes of blue that were his eyes. Gentle lips fluttered across my face, chasing and capturing my teardrops as they fell. Salt and sweet, then, his lips rejoined with mine and gently coaxed me into the sure belief that the something he wanted was me. Me!
“Sam,” he murmured for the third time. And I fell to my knees before him in total adoration and surrender. My face pressed against the velvet of his trousers, feeling the dampness lingering there that had seeped onto him from my wet clothing. I licked and nipped at the fabric, smelling the heady musk of his arousal rising over the scent of my own release, drunk with the joy that flooded through my veins.
“Yes!” Frodo moaned, eyes closed, head thrown back, lost to this new world we were discovering together. He stood before me, statue still and perfect, save for the fine tremors that shook him as I slowly peeled back his trousers and smallclothes. A truer velvet than that which clothed him was soon cradled in my trembling hands.
Blue eyes shot open. I felt their weight fall upon me, and my eyes lifted to lock with his. Unblinking, slowly and reverently, I brought the rose-hued tip of his weeping cock to my parted lips, and let it slip inside.
I felt him quiver as he fought against his need to move, to thrust... I grasped his hips and tugged him close to me, drawing him deep into my mouth. Back, then, my head withdrew, tongue swirling as it slid up his his slick shaft and caressed the tip in passing. Stopping short of setting him free, my firm hand once more drew him back into a smooth plunge deep inside. He let me set the rhythm, trusting me to know my limits and judge his own. And so I tumbled us both over into ecstasy, greedily swallowing his sweet essence as he cried out my name and came.
It was my turn, then, to hold him till his rasping breaths slowed and steadied and his legs once more found the strength to bear his weight.
My hands combed though his hair, loving the soft spill of silken strands slipping through my fingers, entranced by both colour and texture, enraptured by the thought that I was finally free to do this now, just as I had always dreamed I might someday be granted the freedom to touch Frodo...
Frodo shivered, and I drew him in closer to me, wrapping us both up tight in the cloak that I still wore. His arms wound around me in reply, and for blissful, long, silent moments we cuddled there, basking in the afterglow, our bodies lightly swaying to the music of our hearts.
“Frodo?” Pippin's clear and piping tenor sounded nearby, rudely shattering our illusion that naught existed save we two.
Instantly, my master stirred in my arms, drawing himself upright and away to straighten and refasten his rumpled clothes. A final tug on his weskit settled his dignity around him like a comfortable mantle. The Master of Bag End stood before me.
“Here, Pippin,” he answered in a casual, level voice.
My heart sank right down to my hairy, dirt-encrusted toes. How could you be so stupid, I berated myself viciously. Ninnyhammer. Numskull. Idiot. What did you expect? One little tumble and it's love forevermore? Yes. Oh yes, that had been exactly my expectation. That was exactly what it still meant to me. As if I hadn't already loved him madly from afar for as far back as I could remember. As if I could ever now forget his touch, his taste, the way he made those little breathless whimpers when I--
Pippin's woebegone face peeped in the shed. “There you are,” he said accusingly. “It's teatime and Merry's hogging all the biscuits. And he won't let me--”
“I won't let him break into that stash of cookies you had hidden on the back shelf,” Merry drawled, joining his cousin at the door. “Best you come sort things out, Frodo. Oh... hullo, Sam.”
“Mr. Merry,” I mumbled, clutching my cloak around me to conceal the sorry state of my soiled trousers. Woodenly, I shuffled past Frodo, without so much as a sideways glance his way; blindly hastening to reach the door and escape before I further embarrassed myself and burst into tears.
“Oh, look,” Pippin giggled, pointing upward in obvious delight. “Sam's underneath the mistletoe!”
I thought I'd die of shame.
“Pucker up, Sam!” Pippin cried and bounced towards me eagerly.
Resigned, I closed my eyes and braced myself for impact.
But the anticipated onslaught of overenthusiastic Took didn't strike me down. The arms that wrapped around me were gentle and loving and possessive. The lips that softly caressed me implied so much more than the playful, friendly kisses that mistletoe intends...
I would know that touch anywhere. I could not help but wrap my own arms around that slender body pressed so close to me.
It was not necessary, but nonetheless I opened my eyes.
Frodo... Frodo was in my arms, throwing his whole heart into the moment: hands stroking at my face and hair, lips firmly meshed with mine, jaw working slowly as our tongues dueled in an ageless dance... I re-closed my eyes and melted into his fire.
“Mine,” he murmured contentedly.
“Sorry, Pip,” Merry chuckled. “Looks like Sam's well taken.”
“Eh, then I guess that you will have to do!” Pippin said.
The dull thud of Merry hitting the floor was the last thing that I heard for quite some time.
~end~
Title: 'Tis the Season
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Summary: Frodo is decking the halls -- with sprigs of mistletoe. What's a poor boy to think?
Author's Notes: This is a sequel/companion piece to my Merry & Pippin POV drabble which I reposted here yesterday. This fic first appeared in my LJ on Dec. 17, 2004.
~*~
There was someone in the toolshed. As I always keep the door locked and only one other person has access to a key, I knew before I heard the muffled cursing who that someone must be: Mr. Frodo. But what was he doing in there? What chore needed his urgent personal attention, that I could not better perform? An uneven pounding noise masked my light footsteps as I approached the shed; curiosity aroused, I peered through the half-opened door.
He was standing on the overturned wheelbarrow, head tilted up to the ceiling, back bowed and arm upraised, hammering away at a rather bent and strangely angled nail. The hammer dropped to the floor with a careless 'clunk', and he fished in his jacket pocket, drawing out a green and fragrant sprig of mistletoe. Carefully, he hung this from the nail, then stood beneath it in quiet contemplation before lightly hopping down from his precarious perch.
Not until his feet were safely on the ground, did I enter the shed. “Mr. Frodo?” I said, as softly as I might, so as not to startle him too badly.
He spun around to face me, those incredible blue eyes of his all big and round and surprised, three unused nails clenched firmly between his lips. A light wash of colour traveled up his neck to blossom on his cheeks.
I may be slow witted sometimes, but I am no fool.
I crossed the space between us, gently capturing both his hands in mine before he had the chance to lift his hand and rid himself of those incriminating nails. I flicked a deliberate glance upward, a slow smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. His blush deepened prettily.
“I've been noticin' all that mistletoe hung around Bag End,” I murmured, leaning forward until my lips fastened 'round the head of the first nail; slowly, I transferred it from his mouth to mine, and let it drop down to the floor. “I've been thinkin' on it,” I continued, leaning forward again. “Been givin' it a whole lot of thought.” My lips slowly withdrew the second nail; the sound of it hitting the floor seemed abnormally loud in the silence of the room. “What with Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin here for Yule an' all, though, I wasn't sure, you see.” I tilted forward to remove the final nail; it joined the others on the floor. Naught but a breath stood between us now. “But I don't reckon you thought your cousins would come out here to this shed, did you?” I mused.
“No,” he whispered. And this time, he was the one to do the leaning forward as he brought his lips to mine.
At first we barely touched. Feather-light and all uncertain, his lips hovered upon my lips as our breathing deepened and the quicksilver flutter of his pulse beat wildly against my fingertips. I released my hold upon his hands, freeing his slender fingers to wander at will across my back and face and shoulders and down my sides. Forgetting that my hands were icy-cold from hours of working outside shovelling snow, I skimmed my hands beneath his jacket and shirt to stroke his flesh in reply. Frodo's mouth opened on a gasp of shock -- and in unthinking, instinctive response I slipped my tongue inside. I don't know which of us was most startled by this bold move. I gasped and pulled away. Frodo moaned and followed.
His hands rose to capture my face between his surprisingly warm palms. And suddenly we were kissing as if we never meant to stop. I certainly had no thought to spare for stopping, anyway, and greeted the sudden, inexplicable retreat of Frodo's lips with a deep, protesting groan of longing and frustration. Eyes I didn't remember closing opened to find twin blue flames burning scant inches away.
I've seen my master in many moods down through the long years that I've known him. But never before had such a look crossed his face in my presence. Flushed and beautiful and wild, he was. Brimming over with a kind of all-consuming, fierce joy that would have sent me backing up a pace or two, had I not somehow already been pressed up flat against the shed's rough wall. I had no memory of moving there. I had no wish to ever move again, to be anyplace else, ever! My arms dangled limp and useless by my sides.
He pinned me there with his slim body, his hands spread on the wall to either side of my trembling shoulders, my heaving chest lifting him slightly up away from me and then easing him back down close again as I gasped for air. He wriggled a little bit, almost purring as he sinuously rocked his pelvis forward... And then I felt it for the first time: my master's erection, hot and hard and pulsing gently against my own rigid flesh.
“Sam,” he breathed. Just that. Just simply that: my name. And I was undone.
“Fro-do!” I screamed, until his mouth clamped over mine, absorbing my cries and making them his own as I bucked and spasmed against him helplessly. “Frodo,” I whimpered and would have fallen had not his arms slipped 'round to hold me to his breast.
“Sam,” he said again. And there was such a wealth of longing in the name that I felt tears flood to my eyes. All that I had, all that I was, was not enough to offer. He deserved so much better... so much more. He wanted... he needed... something!
But Frodo... well, Frodo, it would seem, knew exactly what it was he wanted and needed.
His hand touched beneath my chin and lifted my head up to meet the kaleidoscopes of blue that were his eyes. Gentle lips fluttered across my face, chasing and capturing my teardrops as they fell. Salt and sweet, then, his lips rejoined with mine and gently coaxed me into the sure belief that the something he wanted was me. Me!
“Sam,” he murmured for the third time. And I fell to my knees before him in total adoration and surrender. My face pressed against the velvet of his trousers, feeling the dampness lingering there that had seeped onto him from my wet clothing. I licked and nipped at the fabric, smelling the heady musk of his arousal rising over the scent of my own release, drunk with the joy that flooded through my veins.
“Yes!” Frodo moaned, eyes closed, head thrown back, lost to this new world we were discovering together. He stood before me, statue still and perfect, save for the fine tremors that shook him as I slowly peeled back his trousers and smallclothes. A truer velvet than that which clothed him was soon cradled in my trembling hands.
Blue eyes shot open. I felt their weight fall upon me, and my eyes lifted to lock with his. Unblinking, slowly and reverently, I brought the rose-hued tip of his weeping cock to my parted lips, and let it slip inside.
I felt him quiver as he fought against his need to move, to thrust... I grasped his hips and tugged him close to me, drawing him deep into my mouth. Back, then, my head withdrew, tongue swirling as it slid up his his slick shaft and caressed the tip in passing. Stopping short of setting him free, my firm hand once more drew him back into a smooth plunge deep inside. He let me set the rhythm, trusting me to know my limits and judge his own. And so I tumbled us both over into ecstasy, greedily swallowing his sweet essence as he cried out my name and came.
It was my turn, then, to hold him till his rasping breaths slowed and steadied and his legs once more found the strength to bear his weight.
My hands combed though his hair, loving the soft spill of silken strands slipping through my fingers, entranced by both colour and texture, enraptured by the thought that I was finally free to do this now, just as I had always dreamed I might someday be granted the freedom to touch Frodo...
Frodo shivered, and I drew him in closer to me, wrapping us both up tight in the cloak that I still wore. His arms wound around me in reply, and for blissful, long, silent moments we cuddled there, basking in the afterglow, our bodies lightly swaying to the music of our hearts.
“Frodo?” Pippin's clear and piping tenor sounded nearby, rudely shattering our illusion that naught existed save we two.
Instantly, my master stirred in my arms, drawing himself upright and away to straighten and refasten his rumpled clothes. A final tug on his weskit settled his dignity around him like a comfortable mantle. The Master of Bag End stood before me.
“Here, Pippin,” he answered in a casual, level voice.
My heart sank right down to my hairy, dirt-encrusted toes. How could you be so stupid, I berated myself viciously. Ninnyhammer. Numskull. Idiot. What did you expect? One little tumble and it's love forevermore? Yes. Oh yes, that had been exactly my expectation. That was exactly what it still meant to me. As if I hadn't already loved him madly from afar for as far back as I could remember. As if I could ever now forget his touch, his taste, the way he made those little breathless whimpers when I--
Pippin's woebegone face peeped in the shed. “There you are,” he said accusingly. “It's teatime and Merry's hogging all the biscuits. And he won't let me--”
“I won't let him break into that stash of cookies you had hidden on the back shelf,” Merry drawled, joining his cousin at the door. “Best you come sort things out, Frodo. Oh... hullo, Sam.”
“Mr. Merry,” I mumbled, clutching my cloak around me to conceal the sorry state of my soiled trousers. Woodenly, I shuffled past Frodo, without so much as a sideways glance his way; blindly hastening to reach the door and escape before I further embarrassed myself and burst into tears.
“Oh, look,” Pippin giggled, pointing upward in obvious delight. “Sam's underneath the mistletoe!”
I thought I'd die of shame.
“Pucker up, Sam!” Pippin cried and bounced towards me eagerly.
Resigned, I closed my eyes and braced myself for impact.
But the anticipated onslaught of overenthusiastic Took didn't strike me down. The arms that wrapped around me were gentle and loving and possessive. The lips that softly caressed me implied so much more than the playful, friendly kisses that mistletoe intends...
I would know that touch anywhere. I could not help but wrap my own arms around that slender body pressed so close to me.
It was not necessary, but nonetheless I opened my eyes.
Frodo... Frodo was in my arms, throwing his whole heart into the moment: hands stroking at my face and hair, lips firmly meshed with mine, jaw working slowly as our tongues dueled in an ageless dance... I re-closed my eyes and melted into his fire.
“Mine,” he murmured contentedly.
“Sorry, Pip,” Merry chuckled. “Looks like Sam's well taken.”
“Eh, then I guess that you will have to do!” Pippin said.
The dull thud of Merry hitting the floor was the last thing that I heard for quite some time.
~end~