F/M/S fic: Bum Rap - Part 1, rated R
Okay, let me explain.
Here I am, working happily along on my novel when I discover... there's no hobbit sex in it. Not even a hairy foot. I can ignore this for a month, and suddenly I can stand it no longer. I must have more hobbit sex!!!
I'd started this story once upon a time, and never got a chance to finish it. Well, it's now finished. I'll post it in seven installments, so I can worry over each piece individually. Yes, it's another weirdo idea from me. Get ready, because Frodo is about to get called up on a
Title: Bum Rap
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Pairing: F/M, F/S
Words: 22,000
Warnings: Sackville-Bagginses!
Summary: Frodo’s posterior gets a public airing.
Thank you aussiepeach for the beta!
Bum Rap
Part 1,
Rated R
“Otho!” Lobelia shrieked,
startling her husband so badly he knocked his head against the side of the
carriage. Lobelia stabbed her finger at her window, tapping the glass with a
sharp nail. “Do you see that?”
“What?” Otho grumbled, rubbing his
head.
“Do you see it? There! Up on
the hill. It’s…” Lobelia put her nose to the glass. “I tell you, it’s that
Frodo Brandybuck Baggins, waving his bare-arsed bum in our direction!”
“What?” Otho leaned over
Lobelia, squashing her against the door so he could get a view out her window.
“Where is he?”
“Top of the hill!” Lobelia grunted,
pushing her husband back so she could breathe. “In that wildish little thicket,
there. You can see him plain as plain, through a gap in the trees.”
Otho frowned. Clearly, he did not
see what Lobelia had caught so unmistakably, yet briefly, out of the corner of
her eye. She squeezed next to Otho, aligning his face with hers so she could
guide his view. “Right there!” she said, tapping. “Just at the crest.” As the
carriage proceeded to roll, the shrub that had blocked the view obligingly
moved out of the way.
Pale skin glowed like a beacon on
the hill, painted pink by the fading sunset. The Brandybuck hadn’t a stitch of
clothing on. However, there was no mistaking that ivory complexion and raven-curled
head, coupled with the slender hips and leading to a finely shaped bum-the
gleaming object that was at this moment wiggling so obscenely in their
direction.
“I say!” cried Otho, considerably
shocked.
Lobelia followed each energetic
bobble with horrified fascination. “Does he think we’re blind?” she wondered
aloud.
The sharp rap of Otho’s stick on the
carriage roof startled her. “Stop!” he called. “Abson, stop this carriage this
instant! Stop at once, I say!”
Abson must have been truly
preoccupied, to miss Otho’s pounding and shouting. Lobelia plastered her face
to the window, as the thicket with its bobbing white bum receded round the
bend.
“Abson!” Otho bellowed, and
at last the team checked their stride. A scrubby knot of bushes intervened
between Lobelia and the offending thicket. She cursed her luck, as Abson guided
the team to a gentle halt.
Otho threw open the door the instant
they stopped. “What insolence is this, Abson?” he cried, letting down the step
himself in his impatience. “When I call for you to stop, I mean for you to stop,
not carry on for half a furlong!”
“I beg your pardon, sir.” Abson
climbed down from the box, as Lobelia desperately searched for a glimpse of her
naked relation out the rear window. No luck-drat!
“That were a blind corner,” the
driver explained, coming to the door just as Otho stepped down. “And an unsafe
place to stop.”
“In more ways than one,” grumbled Otho.
“Did you see that shameless Brandybuck?”
Abson looked puzzled. “The road was
empty, sir.”
“Not on the road, on the hill!” Otho
threw out his arm in the appropriate direction. “Waving his bare bum at us, to
show his disrespect!”
Abson seemed bewildered. “I can’t
rightly think of who you mean,” he said, in that plain, stupid way of his that
made Lobelia wild.
“The Brandybuck!” Lobelia shouted
from her seat. “Bilbo’s disreputable heir! He was mooning us from the hill!”
Abson stared at her. “That don’t
seem likely, Mistress.”
“Here, I’ll prove it to you.” Otho
snatched the servant’s elbow, and hurried back the way they had come. Lobelia
watched tensely through the rear window. They proceeded perhaps twenty steps,
then stopped. After some little conference, and much pointing on Otho’s part,
the pair returned to the carriage.
“Well?” Lobelia asked, plucking at
her skirt as her husband climbed inside.
“Gone,” Otho muttered, as Abson folded
up the step and closed the door.
“And Abson didn’t see it,” Lobelia
concluded bitterly.
Otho patted her hand. “Never you
mind, my dear. We’ll see that Brandybuck gets his due. Never fear about that!”
#
Robin Smallburrow liked his job.
The duties were light, the compensations in the form of ale and gossip delightful.
Then there were days like this one, when his role of shirriff took him way
beyond his usual sphere and left him wishing he were anywhere else. Nervously,
Robin adjusted his waistcoat. He’d put on his best outfit for his trip to Bag
End, but nothing would make this visit any less distressing.
As he neared the top of the Hill,
Robin noticed Samwise Gamgee, hard at work in one of the beds near the lane.
With relief, he took the opportunity to postpone his call at Bag End a few more
minutes.
“Afternoon, Sam,” he called.
Sam’s head popped up, and his curly
hair gilded from the westering sun. His squint turned into a smile. “Robin Smallburrow!
What brings you up the Hill?”
“Business, I’m afraid.” Robin
propped his elbows on the fence as Sam came up on the other side.
“Business, eh?” he said. “And you
need Mr. Frodo’s help?”
“Aye, I do.”
“Well, no need to look so mournful
about it. Mr. Frodo will be glad to help, I’m sure. He only got back this
morning, but he’ll be rested up by now.”
Robin felt a prick of anxiety. “He’s
been away?”
“Aye. Went up to Box Hill with his
relation, Mr. Merry from Buckland. It weren’t much of a trip, just an overnight
visit. He loves lying out under the stars, does Mr. Frodo.” Sam’s smile was
warm and indulgent.
Robin felt more uncomfortable than
ever. “So, he were up on Box Hill last night, and only got back this morning?”
“That’s what I said. They camped out
there.” Sam frowned. “What’s eating you, Robin? You look like you took a bite
of one of Miss Boffin’s green apples.”
“Nothing!” Robin hurried to say.
“It’s just that… Box Hill overlooks the lane that runs to Bywater.”
“I believe it does, in back.” Sam
had lost his good humor. “Now see here, Cock-robin! What are you getting at? Why
are you so interested in where Mr. Frodo spent his time?”
Robin drew back from the fence. “It ain’t
for me to say, Sam. This is a matter between the shirriffs and Mr. Frodo.”
“You’re investigating Mr. Frodo?”
Sam looked appalled.
“I never said I was!” Robin backed
up hastily. “It’s just… there was a complaint. A rumor, actually.” Sam was
staring with his mouth open. Robin swallowed and bulled on. “I’m sure there’s
naught to it. It just… might have been better if Mr. Frodo had been home last
night.”
Sam’s face set like iron. “You’d
best tell me what the trouble is right now, Robin. Or I’ll be planting your
face in this bed of mine instead of the petunias!”
“You’re not supposed to threaten me,
Sam. It ain’t proper.”
“Neither is investigating Mr. Frodo!
Why, he’s done five times as much for this village as any other hobbit ever
did, saving perhaps Mr. Bilbo.”
“I know that, Sam! But I’ve got to
ask him some questions, all the same.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “It’s those Sackville-Bagginses,
isn’t it? They’re always after Mr. Frodo for one thing or another, ever since
Mr. Bilbo left Bag End to Mr. Frodo and not to them. Come on, which one is it
this time? Miz Lobelia? Mister Lotho?”
Ironically, Sam’s tirade helped
Robin to relax. “I’m sure that’s what it is, Sam. Just malicious gossip.”
“You bet it is!” Sam snorted, his
fury banking down with Robin’s submission. “Sorry to have you run up here on
such a fool’s errand. As if Mr. Frodo would do aught improper. The very idea!”
“You’re right, Sam. I’m sure it’s naught
but hot air.”
“That’s what it is, all right.”
Fuming, but quietly, Sam started back towards his plantings. “You just come by
when you’re done, and let me know all is well.”
“I’ll do that, Sam. Don’t fret
yourself.”
Robin walked on, leaving Sam
growling and attacking the earth with a trowel behind him.
#
Robin fidgeted outside Bag End’s
green door in the long interval as he waited for someone to answer his ring at
the bell.
Mr. Frodo must be very soft-footed
indeed. Without warning, the door swung abruptly open, framing the young new
master in the doorway. He looked surprised, but not alarmed. “Shirriff Smallburrow!
What brings you to Bag End? Please, come in.”
Feeling more uncomfortable than
ever, Robin stepped inside the doorway.
“There’s tea in the kitchen,” Mr.
Frodo said, shutting the door. “I’m sure you’d like a cup.” He walked quickly
to precede Robin down the hall. “Oh, Merry. Cut another slice of that apple
tart, would you?”
“Already done,” came the muffled
reply.
Robin followed Mr. Frodo round the
corner to see Mr. Merry Brandybuck just setting a plate at an empty place at
the table. The Buckland heir took in the feather in Robin’s cap. “What’s the
trouble, Shirriff? Someone’s sheep stray out of their fold?”
“This is Robin Smallburrow, Merry.
He looks after us all in Hobbiton. Now, Robin.” Mr. Frodo gestured for him to
take his place at table. “What can I do for you?”
Robin’s embarrassment increased. He
felt heat creeping over his face-doubtless a deep blush that was easily
apparent to both gentlehobbits. He swayed in place, too bothered to take the
seat so kindly offered him. “If you’ll forgive me, Mr. Frodo, I’m afraid I must
ask you some direct questions.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Frodo looked amazed,
from what Robin could see from the tail of his eye.
Robin cleared his throat. “I
understand you were up on Box Hill last night.”
Mr. Frodo grew still. “What business
is it of the shirriffs where I might have been last night?”
Robin wanted to vanish through the
floor. He forced himself to continue. “This morning I received a… complaint.”
At the table, Mr. Merry ceased all
movement. The tension in the air was thick. “What kind of complaint?” asked Mr.
Frodo softly.
Robin forced himself to bring his
gaze up to Mr. Frodo’s face. He could hardly learn the truth staring at his
suspect’s toes. “Mr. Frodo-sir-I had a report… That is, it was suggested…”
Robin took a deep breath, and plunged on. “Mr. Baggins, were you waving your
bare backside at passersby on the old south lane anytime round about sunset?”
Mr. Frodo’s eyes widened with astonishment.
Mr. Merry stared, then gave a bark of laughter and clapped his hand over his
mouth. Mr. Frodo started at the noise, then glared at his cousin.
Mr. Merry wheezed his words between
guffaws. “Oh… Frodo… that’s so very… you!” He dissolved into laughter
again.
Robin’s nerves came out in a sharp
tongue. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Brandybuck, it ain’t no laughing matter. We
have rule of law about such things here in Hobbiton.”
“Ah,” gasped Mr. Merry, not in
control of himself yet. “It’s such a problem in these parts, you must enact
laws about it. Please, Shirriff, do continue. I would not interrupt you for
worlds.”
“It ain’t a common problem,”
Robin said, starting to become angry in earnest. “But there’s old laws about it
on the books, and the S-s-s-the complainants, asked me to look into the matter.”
Mr. Frodo grew rigid. His voice was
a mere whisper. “This complaint came from the Sackville-Bagginses?”
Robin felt his cheeks bloom with
fresh warmth, but boldly continued. “Now, you know I can’t confirm that, Mr.
Frodo. Please don’t ask me to. But I do have this accusation, and I must do my
best to clear it up. So, you were on Box Hill last night.”
“With my kinsman, camping out.” Mr.
Frodo looked bewildered. “But we weren’t anywhere near the road.”
“Where were you camped, if
you don’t mind my asking?”
“At the top. There’s a lovely little
glade there, perfect for star gazing.”
“A perfect little glade,”
echoed Mr. Merry, with a dreamy smile.
“And you weren’t naked at any time
up there?”
“I-“ Mr. Frodo broke off, and his
eyes grew round. “Naked, did you say?”
Robin looked at Mr. Merry. The smile
had been stricken off the gentlehobbit’s face. Both cousins had gone rigid.
Scarlet spots flamed on Mr. Frodo’s
cheeks. He said lamely, “I thought you said I was supposed to have been… er,
mooning people on the road, or something.”
“That’s true. But according to the…
witnesses, your bottom weren’t the only thing what was bare.”
The two gentlehobbits stared at him,
still as stone. Robin persisted, “You weren’t naked up there, were you,
Mr. Frodo?”
The Master of Bag End opened his
mouth to speak. Before he could say a word, Mr. Merry leant forward. “Sunset,
did you say?”
“Near enough,” Robin answered him.
Mr. Merry turned briskly towards his
cousin. “Oh, I think I know what happened. I had spilled that ale on your
jacket-remember, Cousin? It went down your front, and right down your trouser
leg.”
Mr. Frodo looked confused. “Ale.”
“From our flask. Just butterfingers
on my part, Shirriff Smallburrow. I wouldn’t even have remembered such a
trivial incident had you not reminded me. Anyway, Frodo and I were setting out
the supper, and I tripped on a stone or something, and the ale went all over
him. He just… stepped into the bushes to shake it out of his clothes.”
Robin turned towards Mr. Frodo, who
was looking at Mr. Merry with amazement. “Is that true, Mr. Frodo?”
Mr. Frodo abruptly came back to
himself. “Yes. Yes, I remember the incident now.”
“So he was shaking off the moisture
in the bushes,” Mr. Merry continued. “Unfortunately, by the purest chance, the
S-Bs must have been passing by on the road at the exact same instant.”
“I see.” Robin looked back at Mr.
Baggins. “Why didn’t you just wipe up the spill with a cloth?”
Mr. Frodo opened his mouth, hesitated.
“Velvet!” cried Mr. Merry. “You
can’t just rub it. You need to rinse it and shake out the nap, or it crushes.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Frodo dully. “You
must go carefully with velvet.”
Robin looked from Mr. Frodo’s
perplexed face, to Mr. Merry’s perky one. He asked, “So you didn’t yourself see
that Mr. Frodo was naked?”
“Well, he was in the bushes. It
wasn’t likely I would go in after him.”
Mr. Frodo murmured, “I hadn’t any
idea I was anywhere visible to the road.”
Mr. Merry spread his hands. “There
you have it. It was a simple misunderstanding. You can’t arrest a hobbit for
trying to salvage his wardrobe, can you? Not at the prices those fellows
charge.”
“No, I can’t say I would.” Robin
looked from Mr. Frodo, who with heightened color was gazing at the floor, to
Mr. Merry, who was looking at Robin with disarming earnestness.
Robin took a breath. “Well, that’s
settled. I’m sorry to trouble you, sir, about such a trifle. I’m glad to see
you got all the ale stains out, anyway.”
Mr. Frodo fingered the cloth of his
deep blue trousers. “Oh, yes. Quite out, everything is quite all right now.”
“Of course, he wasn’t wearing those
trousers.” Mr. Merry glared at his cousin. “The stained ones must be somewhere
in the back-aren’t they, Frodo?”
“Yes!” cried Mr. Frodo. “Of course
they are. We took a bath upon our return this morning. Separate baths, that is.
And of course we dressed fresh afterwards. I was only holding the material here
to show you where the stain had been, had it been there-which it wasn’t,
because I rinsed it out immediately and set the nap right afterwards. On the
other pair of trousers, which aren’t here.”
“I see.” Robin collected himself.
“Well, Mr. Baggins, I reckon there’s naught more to say. You seem to have been
caught out by a mere mischance, the way Mr. Brandybuck says.” He bowed his
head. “Sorry to have troubled you.”
“Don’t run away, Shirriff Smallburrow!”
Robin halted at Mr. Merry’s cry. The gentlehobbit was scurrying towards the
plate he had set down earlier. “If you must go, at least take this bite of
apple tart with you. No, no, I insist. It will ride perfectly well in this
cloth. There. Here’s a nibble of cheese to go with it. I’m sorry to have taken
you so far out of your way. Here, I’ll show you to the door. Frodo is a bit
overcome by the discovery of his public nudity, I’m afraid. His accidental,
completely unintentional nudity. It’s quite taken his speech away, but you know
how private Frodo is. Nothing flamboyant about him. Very well. Goodbye, Shirriff!
Have a pleasant evening!”
And before Robin could respond, he
found himself bustled onto Bag End’s front step. Mr. Merry waved cheerily, and
closed the door upon him. Robin stared at the green paint. Then he looked at
the bundle in his hand, so prettily arranged and smelling delectable.
“Knock me over with a feather,” he
murmured.
#
Merry hastened back to the kitchen
to find Frodo sunken onto a bench, looking shocked. “The Sackville-Bagginses! Oh,
Frodo.” He giggled. “If only they knew the truth!”
Frodo turned quickly on his seat to
clasp Merry’s hand. “That they must never do. Oh, Merry.” He groaned. “To
think that we should have been seen!”
“I know. It’s tragic. I much prefer
to be felt.” He sank onto the bench beside Frodo, and began nuzzling his
ear.
“It’s no laughing matter, as Robin Smallburrow
said. Consider, Merry, how narrow was our escape. If the S-Bs had actually seen
you kneeling before me-“
“Sucking you in to the back of my
throat,” Merry murmured, dropping feather kisses upon Frodo’s neck. “Driving
you into a frenzy…”
“-they should have broadcast the
news all over town, and your parents would never let you come upon a visit to me
again. Oh, my dear.” He turned towards Merry, leaning into the kisses-and
coincidentally spreading his legs a little further apart.
Merry gripped the mound that was
swelling between his cousin’s legs. Frodo moaned. “My insatiable cousin,” he
whispered. “You have the shortest fuse in the Shire, and I love you for it.”
Frodo rocked his hips into the
caress. “You are not exactly standoffish yourself, most excellent of Brandybucks.”
“Yet, what do you tell the world?”
He stroked the stiffening tissue, delighted to feel it firm up beneath his fingertips.
“Separate baths?”
Frodo tipped back his head,
surrendering his throat to Merry’s kisses. “Hardly as suggestive as butterfingers,
my dear hobbit.”
Merry squeezed, and Frodo arched
into his touch. “Is that what you would like? Butterfingers?”
Frodo shuddered with desire. Merry’s
own fuse lit at the sight of it, just that quick.
Frodo began fumbling with his
buttons. “Off, off! I want you to take me on the bench, now. On the bench,
Merry-hard, with butter.”
Merry began shucking off his own
clothes with all speed. “Frodo, I shall pound you into the most satisfied hunk
of hobbit that ever draped itself across a piece of kitchen furniture. Now, get
those trousers out of the way! We wouldn’t want to crush the nap.”
Continued in Part 2
Here I am, working happily along on my novel when I discover... there's no hobbit sex in it. Not even a hairy foot. I can ignore this for a month, and suddenly I can stand it no longer. I must have more hobbit sex!!!
I'd started this story once upon a time, and never got a chance to finish it. Well, it's now finished. I'll post it in seven installments, so I can worry over each piece individually. Yes, it's another weirdo idea from me. Get ready, because Frodo is about to get called up on a
Title: Bum Rap
Rating: PG-13 to NC-17
Pairing: F/M, F/S
Words: 22,000
Warnings: Sackville-Bagginses!
Summary: Frodo’s posterior gets a public airing.
Thank you aussiepeach for the beta!
Bum Rap
Part 1,
Rated R
“Otho!” Lobelia shrieked,
startling her husband so badly he knocked his head against the side of the
carriage. Lobelia stabbed her finger at her window, tapping the glass with a
sharp nail. “Do you see that?”
“What?” Otho grumbled, rubbing his
head.
“Do you see it? There! Up on
the hill. It’s…” Lobelia put her nose to the glass. “I tell you, it’s that
Frodo Brandybuck Baggins, waving his bare-arsed bum in our direction!”
“What?” Otho leaned over
Lobelia, squashing her against the door so he could get a view out her window.
“Where is he?”
“Top of the hill!” Lobelia grunted,
pushing her husband back so she could breathe. “In that wildish little thicket,
there. You can see him plain as plain, through a gap in the trees.”
Otho frowned. Clearly, he did not
see what Lobelia had caught so unmistakably, yet briefly, out of the corner of
her eye. She squeezed next to Otho, aligning his face with hers so she could
guide his view. “Right there!” she said, tapping. “Just at the crest.” As the
carriage proceeded to roll, the shrub that had blocked the view obligingly
moved out of the way.
Pale skin glowed like a beacon on
the hill, painted pink by the fading sunset. The Brandybuck hadn’t a stitch of
clothing on. However, there was no mistaking that ivory complexion and raven-curled
head, coupled with the slender hips and leading to a finely shaped bum-the
gleaming object that was at this moment wiggling so obscenely in their
direction.
“I say!” cried Otho, considerably
shocked.
Lobelia followed each energetic
bobble with horrified fascination. “Does he think we’re blind?” she wondered
aloud.
The sharp rap of Otho’s stick on the
carriage roof startled her. “Stop!” he called. “Abson, stop this carriage this
instant! Stop at once, I say!”
Abson must have been truly
preoccupied, to miss Otho’s pounding and shouting. Lobelia plastered her face
to the window, as the thicket with its bobbing white bum receded round the
bend.
“Abson!” Otho bellowed, and
at last the team checked their stride. A scrubby knot of bushes intervened
between Lobelia and the offending thicket. She cursed her luck, as Abson guided
the team to a gentle halt.
Otho threw open the door the instant
they stopped. “What insolence is this, Abson?” he cried, letting down the step
himself in his impatience. “When I call for you to stop, I mean for you to stop,
not carry on for half a furlong!”
“I beg your pardon, sir.” Abson
climbed down from the box, as Lobelia desperately searched for a glimpse of her
naked relation out the rear window. No luck-drat!
“That were a blind corner,” the
driver explained, coming to the door just as Otho stepped down. “And an unsafe
place to stop.”
“In more ways than one,” grumbled Otho.
“Did you see that shameless Brandybuck?”
Abson looked puzzled. “The road was
empty, sir.”
“Not on the road, on the hill!” Otho
threw out his arm in the appropriate direction. “Waving his bare bum at us, to
show his disrespect!”
Abson seemed bewildered. “I can’t
rightly think of who you mean,” he said, in that plain, stupid way of his that
made Lobelia wild.
“The Brandybuck!” Lobelia shouted
from her seat. “Bilbo’s disreputable heir! He was mooning us from the hill!”
Abson stared at her. “That don’t
seem likely, Mistress.”
“Here, I’ll prove it to you.” Otho
snatched the servant’s elbow, and hurried back the way they had come. Lobelia
watched tensely through the rear window. They proceeded perhaps twenty steps,
then stopped. After some little conference, and much pointing on Otho’s part,
the pair returned to the carriage.
“Well?” Lobelia asked, plucking at
her skirt as her husband climbed inside.
“Gone,” Otho muttered, as Abson folded
up the step and closed the door.
“And Abson didn’t see it,” Lobelia
concluded bitterly.
Otho patted her hand. “Never you
mind, my dear. We’ll see that Brandybuck gets his due. Never fear about that!”
#
Robin Smallburrow liked his job.
The duties were light, the compensations in the form of ale and gossip delightful.
Then there were days like this one, when his role of shirriff took him way
beyond his usual sphere and left him wishing he were anywhere else. Nervously,
Robin adjusted his waistcoat. He’d put on his best outfit for his trip to Bag
End, but nothing would make this visit any less distressing.
As he neared the top of the Hill,
Robin noticed Samwise Gamgee, hard at work in one of the beds near the lane.
With relief, he took the opportunity to postpone his call at Bag End a few more
minutes.
“Afternoon, Sam,” he called.
Sam’s head popped up, and his curly
hair gilded from the westering sun. His squint turned into a smile. “Robin Smallburrow!
What brings you up the Hill?”
“Business, I’m afraid.” Robin
propped his elbows on the fence as Sam came up on the other side.
“Business, eh?” he said. “And you
need Mr. Frodo’s help?”
“Aye, I do.”
“Well, no need to look so mournful
about it. Mr. Frodo will be glad to help, I’m sure. He only got back this
morning, but he’ll be rested up by now.”
Robin felt a prick of anxiety. “He’s
been away?”
“Aye. Went up to Box Hill with his
relation, Mr. Merry from Buckland. It weren’t much of a trip, just an overnight
visit. He loves lying out under the stars, does Mr. Frodo.” Sam’s smile was
warm and indulgent.
Robin felt more uncomfortable than
ever. “So, he were up on Box Hill last night, and only got back this morning?”
“That’s what I said. They camped out
there.” Sam frowned. “What’s eating you, Robin? You look like you took a bite
of one of Miss Boffin’s green apples.”
“Nothing!” Robin hurried to say.
“It’s just that… Box Hill overlooks the lane that runs to Bywater.”
“I believe it does, in back.” Sam
had lost his good humor. “Now see here, Cock-robin! What are you getting at? Why
are you so interested in where Mr. Frodo spent his time?”
Robin drew back from the fence. “It ain’t
for me to say, Sam. This is a matter between the shirriffs and Mr. Frodo.”
“You’re investigating Mr. Frodo?”
Sam looked appalled.
“I never said I was!” Robin backed
up hastily. “It’s just… there was a complaint. A rumor, actually.” Sam was
staring with his mouth open. Robin swallowed and bulled on. “I’m sure there’s
naught to it. It just… might have been better if Mr. Frodo had been home last
night.”
Sam’s face set like iron. “You’d
best tell me what the trouble is right now, Robin. Or I’ll be planting your
face in this bed of mine instead of the petunias!”
“You’re not supposed to threaten me,
Sam. It ain’t proper.”
“Neither is investigating Mr. Frodo!
Why, he’s done five times as much for this village as any other hobbit ever
did, saving perhaps Mr. Bilbo.”
“I know that, Sam! But I’ve got to
ask him some questions, all the same.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “It’s those Sackville-Bagginses,
isn’t it? They’re always after Mr. Frodo for one thing or another, ever since
Mr. Bilbo left Bag End to Mr. Frodo and not to them. Come on, which one is it
this time? Miz Lobelia? Mister Lotho?”
Ironically, Sam’s tirade helped
Robin to relax. “I’m sure that’s what it is, Sam. Just malicious gossip.”
“You bet it is!” Sam snorted, his
fury banking down with Robin’s submission. “Sorry to have you run up here on
such a fool’s errand. As if Mr. Frodo would do aught improper. The very idea!”
“You’re right, Sam. I’m sure it’s naught
but hot air.”
“That’s what it is, all right.”
Fuming, but quietly, Sam started back towards his plantings. “You just come by
when you’re done, and let me know all is well.”
“I’ll do that, Sam. Don’t fret
yourself.”
Robin walked on, leaving Sam
growling and attacking the earth with a trowel behind him.
#
Robin fidgeted outside Bag End’s
green door in the long interval as he waited for someone to answer his ring at
the bell.
Mr. Frodo must be very soft-footed
indeed. Without warning, the door swung abruptly open, framing the young new
master in the doorway. He looked surprised, but not alarmed. “Shirriff Smallburrow!
What brings you to Bag End? Please, come in.”
Feeling more uncomfortable than
ever, Robin stepped inside the doorway.
“There’s tea in the kitchen,” Mr.
Frodo said, shutting the door. “I’m sure you’d like a cup.” He walked quickly
to precede Robin down the hall. “Oh, Merry. Cut another slice of that apple
tart, would you?”
“Already done,” came the muffled
reply.
Robin followed Mr. Frodo round the
corner to see Mr. Merry Brandybuck just setting a plate at an empty place at
the table. The Buckland heir took in the feather in Robin’s cap. “What’s the
trouble, Shirriff? Someone’s sheep stray out of their fold?”
“This is Robin Smallburrow, Merry.
He looks after us all in Hobbiton. Now, Robin.” Mr. Frodo gestured for him to
take his place at table. “What can I do for you?”
Robin’s embarrassment increased. He
felt heat creeping over his face-doubtless a deep blush that was easily
apparent to both gentlehobbits. He swayed in place, too bothered to take the
seat so kindly offered him. “If you’ll forgive me, Mr. Frodo, I’m afraid I must
ask you some direct questions.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Frodo looked amazed,
from what Robin could see from the tail of his eye.
Robin cleared his throat. “I
understand you were up on Box Hill last night.”
Mr. Frodo grew still. “What business
is it of the shirriffs where I might have been last night?”
Robin wanted to vanish through the
floor. He forced himself to continue. “This morning I received a… complaint.”
At the table, Mr. Merry ceased all
movement. The tension in the air was thick. “What kind of complaint?” asked Mr.
Frodo softly.
Robin forced himself to bring his
gaze up to Mr. Frodo’s face. He could hardly learn the truth staring at his
suspect’s toes. “Mr. Frodo-sir-I had a report… That is, it was suggested…”
Robin took a deep breath, and plunged on. “Mr. Baggins, were you waving your
bare backside at passersby on the old south lane anytime round about sunset?”
Mr. Frodo’s eyes widened with astonishment.
Mr. Merry stared, then gave a bark of laughter and clapped his hand over his
mouth. Mr. Frodo started at the noise, then glared at his cousin.
Mr. Merry wheezed his words between
guffaws. “Oh… Frodo… that’s so very… you!” He dissolved into laughter
again.
Robin’s nerves came out in a sharp
tongue. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Brandybuck, it ain’t no laughing matter. We
have rule of law about such things here in Hobbiton.”
“Ah,” gasped Mr. Merry, not in
control of himself yet. “It’s such a problem in these parts, you must enact
laws about it. Please, Shirriff, do continue. I would not interrupt you for
worlds.”
“It ain’t a common problem,”
Robin said, starting to become angry in earnest. “But there’s old laws about it
on the books, and the S-s-s-the complainants, asked me to look into the matter.”
Mr. Frodo grew rigid. His voice was
a mere whisper. “This complaint came from the Sackville-Bagginses?”
Robin felt his cheeks bloom with
fresh warmth, but boldly continued. “Now, you know I can’t confirm that, Mr.
Frodo. Please don’t ask me to. But I do have this accusation, and I must do my
best to clear it up. So, you were on Box Hill last night.”
“With my kinsman, camping out.” Mr.
Frodo looked bewildered. “But we weren’t anywhere near the road.”
“Where were you camped, if
you don’t mind my asking?”
“At the top. There’s a lovely little
glade there, perfect for star gazing.”
“A perfect little glade,”
echoed Mr. Merry, with a dreamy smile.
“And you weren’t naked at any time
up there?”
“I-“ Mr. Frodo broke off, and his
eyes grew round. “Naked, did you say?”
Robin looked at Mr. Merry. The smile
had been stricken off the gentlehobbit’s face. Both cousins had gone rigid.
Scarlet spots flamed on Mr. Frodo’s
cheeks. He said lamely, “I thought you said I was supposed to have been… er,
mooning people on the road, or something.”
“That’s true. But according to the…
witnesses, your bottom weren’t the only thing what was bare.”
The two gentlehobbits stared at him,
still as stone. Robin persisted, “You weren’t naked up there, were you,
Mr. Frodo?”
The Master of Bag End opened his
mouth to speak. Before he could say a word, Mr. Merry leant forward. “Sunset,
did you say?”
“Near enough,” Robin answered him.
Mr. Merry turned briskly towards his
cousin. “Oh, I think I know what happened. I had spilled that ale on your
jacket-remember, Cousin? It went down your front, and right down your trouser
leg.”
Mr. Frodo looked confused. “Ale.”
“From our flask. Just butterfingers
on my part, Shirriff Smallburrow. I wouldn’t even have remembered such a
trivial incident had you not reminded me. Anyway, Frodo and I were setting out
the supper, and I tripped on a stone or something, and the ale went all over
him. He just… stepped into the bushes to shake it out of his clothes.”
Robin turned towards Mr. Frodo, who
was looking at Mr. Merry with amazement. “Is that true, Mr. Frodo?”
Mr. Frodo abruptly came back to
himself. “Yes. Yes, I remember the incident now.”
“So he was shaking off the moisture
in the bushes,” Mr. Merry continued. “Unfortunately, by the purest chance, the
S-Bs must have been passing by on the road at the exact same instant.”
“I see.” Robin looked back at Mr.
Baggins. “Why didn’t you just wipe up the spill with a cloth?”
Mr. Frodo opened his mouth, hesitated.
“Velvet!” cried Mr. Merry. “You
can’t just rub it. You need to rinse it and shake out the nap, or it crushes.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Frodo dully. “You
must go carefully with velvet.”
Robin looked from Mr. Frodo’s
perplexed face, to Mr. Merry’s perky one. He asked, “So you didn’t yourself see
that Mr. Frodo was naked?”
“Well, he was in the bushes. It
wasn’t likely I would go in after him.”
Mr. Frodo murmured, “I hadn’t any
idea I was anywhere visible to the road.”
Mr. Merry spread his hands. “There
you have it. It was a simple misunderstanding. You can’t arrest a hobbit for
trying to salvage his wardrobe, can you? Not at the prices those fellows
charge.”
“No, I can’t say I would.” Robin
looked from Mr. Frodo, who with heightened color was gazing at the floor, to
Mr. Merry, who was looking at Robin with disarming earnestness.
Robin took a breath. “Well, that’s
settled. I’m sorry to trouble you, sir, about such a trifle. I’m glad to see
you got all the ale stains out, anyway.”
Mr. Frodo fingered the cloth of his
deep blue trousers. “Oh, yes. Quite out, everything is quite all right now.”
“Of course, he wasn’t wearing those
trousers.” Mr. Merry glared at his cousin. “The stained ones must be somewhere
in the back-aren’t they, Frodo?”
“Yes!” cried Mr. Frodo. “Of course
they are. We took a bath upon our return this morning. Separate baths, that is.
And of course we dressed fresh afterwards. I was only holding the material here
to show you where the stain had been, had it been there-which it wasn’t,
because I rinsed it out immediately and set the nap right afterwards. On the
other pair of trousers, which aren’t here.”
“I see.” Robin collected himself.
“Well, Mr. Baggins, I reckon there’s naught more to say. You seem to have been
caught out by a mere mischance, the way Mr. Brandybuck says.” He bowed his
head. “Sorry to have troubled you.”
“Don’t run away, Shirriff Smallburrow!”
Robin halted at Mr. Merry’s cry. The gentlehobbit was scurrying towards the
plate he had set down earlier. “If you must go, at least take this bite of
apple tart with you. No, no, I insist. It will ride perfectly well in this
cloth. There. Here’s a nibble of cheese to go with it. I’m sorry to have taken
you so far out of your way. Here, I’ll show you to the door. Frodo is a bit
overcome by the discovery of his public nudity, I’m afraid. His accidental,
completely unintentional nudity. It’s quite taken his speech away, but you know
how private Frodo is. Nothing flamboyant about him. Very well. Goodbye, Shirriff!
Have a pleasant evening!”
And before Robin could respond, he
found himself bustled onto Bag End’s front step. Mr. Merry waved cheerily, and
closed the door upon him. Robin stared at the green paint. Then he looked at
the bundle in his hand, so prettily arranged and smelling delectable.
“Knock me over with a feather,” he
murmured.
#
Merry hastened back to the kitchen
to find Frodo sunken onto a bench, looking shocked. “The Sackville-Bagginses! Oh,
Frodo.” He giggled. “If only they knew the truth!”
Frodo turned quickly on his seat to
clasp Merry’s hand. “That they must never do. Oh, Merry.” He groaned. “To
think that we should have been seen!”
“I know. It’s tragic. I much prefer
to be felt.” He sank onto the bench beside Frodo, and began nuzzling his
ear.
“It’s no laughing matter, as Robin Smallburrow
said. Consider, Merry, how narrow was our escape. If the S-Bs had actually seen
you kneeling before me-“
“Sucking you in to the back of my
throat,” Merry murmured, dropping feather kisses upon Frodo’s neck. “Driving
you into a frenzy…”
“-they should have broadcast the
news all over town, and your parents would never let you come upon a visit to me
again. Oh, my dear.” He turned towards Merry, leaning into the kisses-and
coincidentally spreading his legs a little further apart.
Merry gripped the mound that was
swelling between his cousin’s legs. Frodo moaned. “My insatiable cousin,” he
whispered. “You have the shortest fuse in the Shire, and I love you for it.”
Frodo rocked his hips into the
caress. “You are not exactly standoffish yourself, most excellent of Brandybucks.”
“Yet, what do you tell the world?”
He stroked the stiffening tissue, delighted to feel it firm up beneath his fingertips.
“Separate baths?”
Frodo tipped back his head,
surrendering his throat to Merry’s kisses. “Hardly as suggestive as butterfingers,
my dear hobbit.”
Merry squeezed, and Frodo arched
into his touch. “Is that what you would like? Butterfingers?”
Frodo shuddered with desire. Merry’s
own fuse lit at the sight of it, just that quick.
Frodo began fumbling with his
buttons. “Off, off! I want you to take me on the bench, now. On the bench,
Merry-hard, with butter.”
Merry began shucking off his own
clothes with all speed. “Frodo, I shall pound you into the most satisfied hunk
of hobbit that ever draped itself across a piece of kitchen furniture. Now, get
those trousers out of the way! We wouldn’t want to crush the nap.”
Continued in Part 2