Summary: Frodo decides to seduce Sam, but that's easier said than done.
Categories: FPS > Sam/Frodo, FPS, FPS > Frodo/Sam Characters: Frodo, Sam
Type: Humor, Romance/Drama
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 4200 Read: 1084
Published: January 08, 2013 Updated: January 08, 2013
Written in diary format. Pre-quest and before Bilbo's departure.
1. Chapter 1 by Kaybrand
An Excerpt From the Diary of Frodo Baggins:
Despite my great love of literature, I find that I am a tad weary of books. Some divertissement is called for; therefore, I have decided to seduce the gardener. A bold and shocking statement coming from a bookworm like me, perhaps, but one should never judge a book by its cover. Just because I have big blue eyes and have led a rather sheltered life doesn't mean I'm the innocent everyone takes me for.
For shame, Frodo Baggins, trying to make yourself sound worldly and sophisticated to your own diary!
Granted I've never seduced anyone before, but how difficult could it possibly be? After all, Cousin Merry seduced Cousin Pip, though Pippin swears it was the other way around, but given the copious amounts of ale and stolen carrots involved it is all too understandable if confusion clouds the issue. Besides, I happen to love Sam. He is the first thing I think of every morning when I wake and the last I think of when I close my eyes at night, and he fills my dreams so that sleep has become a beautiful, agonizing torment. And I really can't wait any longer for him to seduce me. I've a feeling Sam might think such an action presumptuous. He seems to set such great store by the master and servant relationship and what Hobbiton society considers fitting. Myself, I couldn't care less, I'm already well on the road to acquiring an eccentric reputation.
I feigned a headache and stayed in bed all day plotting my strategy. By day's end I actually did have a headache so I asked Sam to make me a cup of chamomile tea and apply soothing compresses to my aching brow. He was so comforting and tender (in a strictly platonic way) that now I ask myself does boredom (and lust) outweigh the twinge of guilt I feel about my plan? Never mind. I'll think about that tomorrow if I can't find something else to think about instead. Right now, all I want to think about is the touch of Sam's hands, roughened from work yet so gentle...I would rather the feel of his bare hands on my flesh than the softest velvet gloves!
Monday: Trifling incident in the kitchen involving the preparation of toast, may set down the details later, though they really aren't worth mentioning.
Sam proposed a picnic. He said the fresh air would do me good, especially after yesterday's illness, and this morning's mishap in the kitchen.
We had such a pleasant time eating strawberries and cream by the river and talking that I quite forgot my plan. The pleasure of his company drove all thoughts of seduction right out of my mind.
Frodo Baggins, I fear you are growing as scatterbrained as your cousins Pip and Merry!
What luck! Uncle Bilbo informed me over dinner that he will be away all day tomorrow on business and has asked Sam to look after me and make sure I don't lie in bed all day or burn the house down while attempting to make toast again. He says he's worried about the alarming tendency towards absentmindedness that has been afflicting me of late. I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea what he means! As for the incident with the toast, that's been blown entirely out of proportion! I was merely distracted by the sight of Sam's strong and capable hands peeling apples for a pie. I really do believe that is the only time in my life when I've wished with all my heart to be an apple, which is odd since the idea of having the skin peeled off of me with a knife and then being sliced into pieces, garnished with cinnamon and sugar, and put in the oven really doesn't appeal to me at all, in fact, I find it quite horrifying. Uncle Bilbo shouldn't be so judgmental! After all, philosophy is a noble pursuit, and what could be more philosophical than wondering if apples experience pain? Besides, I'm told kitchen fires are the most common sort of fire, and an accident is apt to happen to anyone. Fortunately he did not notice my intense observation of Sam, having had his nose buried in a book, but even if he had, he surely could not fault me. What if someday I should want to bake a pie and no one is around to do it for me? And what better way to learn than by observation?
What a naughty little liar you are, Frodo Baggins! Trying to convince your own diary that you really had the fine art of baking on your mind! You couldn't bake a pie if your life depended on it, and you know that perfectly well!
I am about to retire for the night, but feeling bad about causing Uncle Bilbo such distress, and minor fire and water damage to the kitchen, I explained to him the philosophical quandary that had been preying upon my mind at the time of the accident, carefully omitting any reference to my passion for Sam, of course. Uncle Bilbo smiled and patted me on the shoulder and said, "Ah, Frodo-lad, I can tell that you are a deep thinker just like me!"
I feel so much better, and now I can sleep with a clear conscience and enjoy my erotic dreams of Sam in peace.
Darling Sam brought me tea and a blueberry muffin while I was still abed. He really is so thoughtful! My heart is singing like a bird!
He came softly into my room and thrust apart the curtains, saying, "Good morning, Mr. Frodo, it's a beautiful day!"
"Mmm..." I stirred groggily, burrowing deeper into the bed, "why did you have to wake me now? I was having the most wonderful dream! Something very interesting was about to happen." And with a lingering sigh I rolled over onto my back, the sheets sliding away, my arousal evident. And oh the look on Sam's face! For a moment I actually feared that he would fall down dead of apoplexy, and at such a young age! He was so astonished by my brazen behavior, and his face had turned an alarming shade of red, rather like a strawberry. I love strawberries, but not as much as I love Sam!
"Why Sam, what's the matter?" I innocently inquired.
"I...I..." he stammered, hastily averting his eyes, and his hands, grasping the tray, began to tremble, "I'm very sorry, Mr. Frodo, sir, I...I didn't realize you weren't decent."
"Oh?" I sat up. "You don't think I'm decent? That grieves me very much, Sam, for I have always tried to be a good and decent Hobbit."
Poor Sam continued to blush and his mouth gaped open and closed like a fish out of water. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but that's not what I meant..."
"It's what you said," I pouted.
"Rest assured then, that I misspoke, beggin' your pardon, Mr. Frodo, sir, for it was not your ways I was referring to, only...only I...I didn't realize when I came in that you were in a state of...of..." he blushed and his eyes darted about frantically, looking anywhere but at me, "...undress, sir. I...I'll be sure and wait a moment next time after I knock before I come in, j-just in case."
"That's very thoughtful of you, Sam," I smiled, nestling back happily against my feather pillows. "But you needn't be embarrassed, we're both lads, you know."
"Y-Yes sir, I...I'm very aware of that, sir. Would you like your tea now? And I've brought you a muffin as well, fresh out of the oven it is, knowing as how blueberry is your favorite, I...I thought you might like one right away."
"Oh Sam, you are good to me!" I exclaimed. And taking pity on that poor, sweet, flustered soul, I carefully rearranged the bedclothes, and after another very tense and awkward moment he placed the tray on my lap, supremely aware of what lurked just beneath the covers, and then beat a hasty retreat back to the kitchen.
"My dear Sam!" I whispered and lay back against the pillows basking in the memory of my interrupted dream. Sam had just called me a "teasing little slut" and slammed my back against the wall, and then his lips were upon mine, kissing and devouring with bruising intensity, while his calloused hands gripped my naked hips. "I'll learn you a lesson for tormenting me!" he snarled, his breath hot against my neck and his lips a mere whisper away from the pulse pounding beneath my hot skin. Then a knock on my bedroom door banished that lovely illusion and brought me back to frustrating reality.
"Sam!" I called. "I should like a bath! A very cold one! Would you draw the water please?"
"Right away, Mr. Frodo!" he replied.
Now at the end of the day as I sit here writing, I fear I may have gone too far. For the rest of the day Sam was so blushing and bashful, stammering and avoiding my eyes, and he found many pressing matters in the garden that urgently required his attention. And in the tool shed too, he seemed to spend a great deal of time sequestered in there with the door closed. On such a warm day that cannot have been pleasant! My poor Sam! I hope I have not frightened you away!
I awakened to the gentle sounds of Sam moving about the kitchen preparing my breakfast so I quickly yanked my nightshirt over my head and cast it onto the floor, then lay back down and waited for dear Sam to come and rouse me. He came in softly and set my breakfast tray down on the table beside the bed and then went to fling open the curtains, flooding the room with golden light.
"Good morning, Mr. Frodo, it's a beautiful day!" he exclaimed.
My heart was beating so I could hardly speak, and I wondered if he could hear it too for it was loud like a drum. Finally, I pulled myself together and smiling, said, "Good Morning Sam!" and, stretching luxuriously, like a wanton little cat, I kicked the covers down about my feet. "It really is a beautiful day!"
Sam blushed cherry red and hastily averted his eyes. "It is that, Mr. Frodo," he replied. "But there's still a bit of a chill in the air left over from last night's rain," he added meaningfully as he picked up my blue silk dressing gown. Still avoiding looking directly at me, he stood there expectantly, holding it up, waiting to help me into it.
Naturally I can take a hint, so I sat up, slowly, taking my own sweet time about it, stretching, yawning, and smoothing my hair, and then I stood and let him help me into my robe. His fingers brushed feather light against my bare shoulders and my knees nearly buckled as if they were made of butter.
I'm beginning to think I'm not very good at this seduction thing after all. Not that I intend to give up. After all practice makes perfect, and I am rather enjoying this practicing! It's so very stimulating!
I spent the next few hours in the study futilely attempting to get some translations done. I had to read every sentence over again at least five times before the gist of it even began to sink in. Finally I gave up and went out into the garden. It took some effort, but I finally managed to scratch my back on a rose bush then went in search of Sam and asked him if he would mind taking a look at my back, as I felt a dreadful stinging there and feared I had been stung by a wasp. It wasn't a complete lie, the scratches really did sting! Sam was alarmed at the sight of blood on my clean white shirt and whisked me back into the house, and had peeled my shirt off, and was cleansing the wound and applying ointment before I could even collect my thoughts. He really is so sweet! His concern brought tears to my eyes. Real tears, I swear I wasn't faking, nor had I inhaled the fumes of an onion. And at the sight of them he took me in his arms, patted my back, being careful to avoid the scratches, and made my heart melt by repeatedly saying, "There, there, Mr. Frodo, everything's going to be all right, your Sam will take care of you."
"Really?" I whispered, my head reeling and feeling so light I feared it would detach from my neck and float away.
"Of course I will!" he answered. "Doesn't your Sam always take care of you?"
"Oh yes!" I sighed and laid my head on his shoulder. I never realized until then how much I loved his shoulders, so broad, sturdy, and strong, but more heavenly and inviting to my head than the softest feather pillow. Oh to sleep the whole night through with my head on Sam's shoulder! If only dreams came true!
It was then that I quite forgot myself and cried, "Oh Sam, take me to bed!" And he did, but nothing happened. He just tucked me in for a little rest and sat with me for a while before returning to the garden.
Uncle Bilbo is annoyed with me again. We had tea together in the study. I was so absorbed with watching Sam through the window, kneeling amongst the flowers, and noting the way the sunlight highlighted the various colors in his hair—the warm, honey gold, richly veined with strands of carrot and brown, that when I offered him cream I inadvertently reached for the inkwell instead. Uncle Bilbo says if he didn't know better he would swear I was in love. Oh well, isn't there some saying about ignorance being bliss?
Things just aren't progressing as well as I hoped they would, and Uncle Bilbo's concerns are mounting. Teatime seems to bring out the worst in me. Sam joined us and I was so distracted that I spooned so much sugar into my cup that it overflowed. Uncle Bilbo grew exasperated and snapped, "Really Frodo, why don't you just take the sugar bowl and dispense with the tea altogether?"
I can't help it if I like my tea sweet, though honesty compels me to admit that I may have overdone it just a little bit.
I am longing madly for the touch of Sam's hands! Sitting here in the garden swing I see I have no choice—I shall have to throw myself out of the swing and hope for the best! Uncle Bilbo is inside having his nap, and Sam is just around the other side of the house tending the flowerbeds, so, everything should go well, provided I don't break my neck, or anything else, of course.
Dear Diary, wish me well! I shall confide what happens tonight, unless I have suffered grievous bodily injury or death!
Success! Well, of a sort. My yelp of pain and the thud of my body striking the ground brought Sam running. Unlike Uncle Bilbo, he did not waste time interrogating me about how I had managed to fall out of the swing and instead ran his hands swiftly over my body checking for broken bones. Sighing with relief that I was all in one piece, he gathered me up in his arms and carried me to my bed.
Uncle Bilbo, still grumbling about being awakened so abruptly from his nap, thanked Sam for his trouble and took over. I was so disappointed I nearly burst into tears. "I'll not coddle and fuss over you for doing such a fool thing," he said, and handed me a jar of ointment, "here, tend to your bruises yourself!" And then he left me. I flung the jar of ointment at the wall and burst into tears and had to bite my pillow to keep from keening Sam's name at the top of my lungs. So in the end all I got for my pains was pain, and some nasty bruises on my back and hip.
Sam was so sweet this morning, chatting amicably about the garden and local gossip while washing the ointment off my bedroom wall and picking up the broken pottery shards that had once been the jar. Unlike Uncle Bilbo, he seemed perfectly satisfied with my explanation that I had tripped and the jar had gone flying from my hands and crashed against the wall with astounding force. After all, anyone's apt to trip!
Almost a week now and my amorous intentions have come to naught! All I have to show for my pains are one very vexed Uncle, bruises, and some scratches on my back (from a rosebush and not my beloved's fingernails).
I made the mistake of brooding over my failure at teatime and spooned salt into my tea instead of sugar this time. Uncle Bilbo flatly refused to let me pour lest we all be drenched and scalded. Sam patted me on the shoulder and said sympathetically, "There, there, Mr. Frodo, you're just having a bad week, that's all!" I could not have said it better myself! And when he spoke, his brown eyes were so kind, so loyal and loving, that it was all I could do not to throw myself into his arms.
After Uncle Bilbo returned to his study, I lingered in the kitchen, nursing a fresh cup of tea Sam poured for me, toying with a slice of lemon cake, and watching Sam wash dishes. I was so desperate for his touch again, and to hear his warm, reassuring voice, that I seized the opportunity to drop and step on my cake fork. Sam was so solicitous, concern furrowing his dear sun-kissed brow, as he knelt before me, examining and massaging my foot, that I felt as if my heart, not to mention my trousers, was about to burst. If just a foot massage can do this to me imagine if he should ever make love to me! I might actually die of delight! I shall have to make a point of stepping on sharp objects more often!
Here I am back at Saturday again, and thus far my plan has been a failure. Sam has been naught but his normal sweet, caring self. And oh how I adore him! Mayhap he does not fancy me in a sensual sort of way? Or perhaps he does not know that such things are possible between two lads? Or is it me that he does not fancy? I shudder with despair to think of that possibility, therefore I shall not think of it.
Desperate times call for desperate measures! And has anyone ever been more desperate than me?
I waited until Uncle Bilbo was about to go out then feigned another unfortunate kitchen mishap. Alone in the pantry I took drastic action and poured a jar of marmalade over my head, shuddering as it slithered, sticky and cold, over my head and body, down the open collar of my shirt, and even bracing myself as I grasped the waistband of my trousers and allowed some to flow inside. Then I cast the jar to the floor and screamed as it shattered. Just as I hoped, Sam, and Uncle Bilbo, came running.
"Mind the broken glass!" I cried. "Careful where you step!" then hastened to explain how I happened to be standing alone in the pantry drenched in marmalade. "I was reaching for the raspberry jam and..."
Uncle Bilbo was in no mood for excuses. "Honestly Frodo, must I engage a fulltime nursemaid to keep you out of harm's way?" he stormed. "How many times this week have you come to the brink of serious injury?" With that he began to enumerate all the annoying little instances, most of which I have detailed here and need not repeat. "Samwise, I know this goes beyond your duties, but I'm late already and must be going," he dug inside his pocket for some coins and insistently thrust them into Sam's hand, "here, take care of him will you, get him cleaned up, if I left it to him he'd probably drown in the bath! Farewell, Frodo, I'll return in a fortnight. We'll discuss this more then, if you're still among the living!" And he patted my shoulder, frowning when he brought his hand away with marmalade on his fingers. He licked them clean and sighed, "What a shame! That was such delicious marmalade, why couldn't it have been the mint jelly instead?"
"I'm sorry Uncle," I said softly, for truly it was very good marmalade. I wished then with all my heart that I could go back in time and sacrifice a jar of blackberry jam to this worthy cause instead. And, come to think of it, that rich, dark color would have looked striking with my eyes!
Uncle Bilbo just nodded and forced a smile, "that's alright my lad, I'm just glad you're all right. Please try to be more careful."
And with that he left us. Alone at last! My heart sang.
"Now you just stay right where you are, Mr. Frodo," Sam enjoined, "and let me clear up this broken glass, and then we'll see to getting you cleaned up."
"Oh Sam!" I breathed. "I can hardly wait!"
Sam gazed up at me from where he crouched on the floor, gathering up the glass, and gave me a perplexed look. "Well, Mr. Frodo, if you're that impatient, I reckon the glass can wait, but just you be careful now, but seeing as how accident prone you've been of late..."
"You are right, Sam," I nodded solemnly, "I shall wait. After all, patience is a virtue!"
Sam gave me an odd look then nodded, "it is that, sir," then went back to picking up the glass while I stood there dripping marmalade and grinning like a fool. Oh the things we do for love (and the hopeful anticipation of sex)!
Then we were in the bathing chamber and darling Sam was helping me disrobe, and expressing amazement at the presence of marmalade inside my trousers. In no time at all he had me comfortably ensconced in a hot bath. I leaned back, blissfully content, while he scrubbed the marmalade from my hair and face. And then his hands were upon me, as gentle as a mother bathing her newborn child. And oh how I shuddered, shivered, squirmed, and sighed as he washed me, every crevice, every orifice, every protuberance, and part of me with meticulous care. Then he stood and held out his hands to me, to help me rise. I stood and stepped from the tub and straight into his arms and the embrace of a big fluffy white towel.
"Oh Sam!" I sighed. "I feel weak!"
No sooner had I spoken than he swept me up in his arms.
Our eyes met for a long moment and then he leaned forward and kissed my forehead, and then the tip of my nose, and finally, and oh so sweetly, my mouth. Afterwards we gazed deep into each other's eyes and smiled. Both of us were at a loss for words, but there was really no need for them. I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes as he carried me to my bed. He would have left me there, but I reached out and clasped his hand and drew him back, and down, to me.
"I love you, Sam," I whispered, glorying in the delicious weight of his body atop mine.
"And I love you, my dear, my very dear, Mr. Frodo, my love," he said as his calloused hands tenderly caressed my face.
"Oh Sam!" my heart was in my throat and my eyes swam beneath a veil of tears. "I thought this day would never come! However did you know?"
"Well love," he said as he settled comfortably beside me and gathered me in his arms so that I could feel his heart beating against mine, "you really shouldn't leave your diary lying open on the kitchen table to a page where you've written about intentionally throwing yourself out of the garden swing just to get me to touch you! A skinny little Hobbit like you without so much padding as me," he patted his plump torso, "could do himself a serious injury, or even get himself killed! And honestly, Mr. Frodo, I don't know what I'd do without you! Don't you know there's no need for reckless stunts like that? I've wanted to touch you for so long! Don't you know I dream of you day and night too? All day long out in the garden I think of nothing but you!"
"Oh Sam! I've been so foolish!" I cried.
"That's all right, sir, we all behave foolishly at times," he patted my back reassuringly, "and I reckon love makes idiots of us all."
And then, Dear Diary, I did not seduce Sam after all—he seduced me!
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.