Title: An Eye-Opener and No Mistake
Author: Tasarinan (tasarinan@mail.com)
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Rating: NC17
Summary: Sam gets an eyeful.
Disclaimer: These characters were created by J.R.R. Tolkien and are 
owned by several people who are not me.
Feedback: Can't live without it.
Archive: Ask me first, please.
Warning: Extreme wankage.

Author's Notes: #1. In the books, hobbits seem fairly casual about 
nudity, but for this story I'm making them a bit less so.  #2. I 
picture Frodo as the quiet type, so sue me.  #3. I hope I did okay on 
the Sam-speak.  #4. I can't believe I'm doing this!

-

It's me again, Mr. Frodo.  Your Sam.  Bless me, but I am glad to see 
you looking more like yourself again, though you still haven't awoken.  
Master Elrond says it might be tomorrow morning, or it might even be 
tonight.  So I'm staying right here until I see your eyes open.

In the meantime, finally I can let myself hope, as I sit here by your 
bed and hold your hand in both of mine.  It's still cold, but it's 
warmer than it was, if that's not just a fancy o'mine.  

'Twas your hands I noticed when I first met you, I 'member.  After 
your eyes, o'course.  You've probably heard this and that about your 
eyes all your life, how big and blue they are.  Well, you've got to 
admit, Mr. Frodo, they *are* kind of hard to miss.  But I bet no one's 
ever gone on to you about your hands.  I ain't going to be the one to 
start, that's certain!  You'd laugh, like as not, just like you always 
do when anyone says anything to you about your looks.  It's like you 
think they're joking, or maybe it's more like you just don't know how 
else to handle it.

But they're not joking, Mr. Frodo, and nor am I neither.  Leastways I 
wouldn't be if I was ever brave enough or drunk enough to say it to 
you out loud like I'm saying it to you right now in my head.  You're 
beautiful.

Just thinking the word to myself makes me feel funny somehow.  Oh, if 
you could see me now, Mr. Frodo, you'd think someone could fry an egg 
on my face.  It don't make me think it any less, though.  And lawks, 
but those other thoughts are starting as well, turning my insides to 
water like always, and doing other things too.  Like that one time, 
the very first time I remember thinking that word about you.

I'm not sure exactly when it was, though I'm thinking it weren't too 
long before old Mr. Bilbo went away, because I know I was old enough 
to notice things happening to my body, but too young still to know 
what to do with them.  And there was no one I could ask.  My Gaffer's 
not the sort you can talk to about...things.  Ham was moved out and 
gone, and Hal would've made all sorts of fun of me if I'd tried going 
to him.  As for the Cotton boys, the oldest of them wasn't no older 
than me, so they'd not be any help.

The only one I might ha
ve talked to about it, who wouldn't laugh at 
me, probably would have been you.  But I would have sooner chewed my 
own foot off than bother you with such things; you seemed beyond them, 
somehow, and you were my master besides.  So I was on my own.

Anyway, it was summertime, a hot bright day.  I'd woken before dawn 
with my heart pounding and my sheets sticky.  I knew there'd been a 
dream, but it was already slipping through my fingers in the way that 
some dreams do.  I hadn't the foggiest idea what was going on, or what 
the stickiness was.  I was scared maybe I was dying.  With those kinds 
of thoughts running around in my head, there was no use trying to get 
back to sleep.  So I went early up to Bag End to start my work, and 
was there even before my Gaffer hobbled up the hill.

Since I'd started so early, it stood to reason that I finished early 
as well, and my Gaffer gave me the rest of the day off, not long after 
noon.  Sometimes on light-work days like this one, you would be about, 
watching, and we'd go off together to read stories or talk.  But I 
didn't see you.

I decided to pass the afternoon fishing, not that I was likely to 
catch anything, but I liked it anyway, and I might have gotten lucky.  
So I took myself off to a little pond I knew, with my rod, reel, and 
bait-bucket in hand.  It was a nice private place for fishing or just 
thinking, since most people preferred the bigger pond nearer the road.

But when I got there, I found someone was there before me.  I didn't 
see them, but I saw their clothes, in a pile beside a low bush.  It 
was mighty puzzling to me at first.  Folk around Hobbiton don't go 
swimming if they can help it.  I'm the same: the most water I ever 
want to be in is as much as can fill a bathtub, thank you kindly.

Then I recognized the clothes as ones I'd seen you wearing.  Of 
course.  You were from Buckland, where plenty of folk swam, daft as 
that was -- begging your pardon.  I was still a mite surprised, 
though.  Knowing how your parents died, it was a wonder you'd be 
wanting to have anything to do with bodies of water, Bucklander or 
no.  But clearly you did.

I saw your clothes, but not you.  I began to get scared: what if you'd 
drownded?  Then another thought came to my mind, and wouldn't leave.  
If your clothes were here, and you weren't, then wherever you were, 
you were stark naked.

As I was thinking that, suddenly a noise came from the water.  I 
nipped behind a tree that stood near.  Whether it was you I wanted to 
save from being embarrassed, or me, I couldn't say.

A moment later, I saw you, bursting through the surface like a big 
fish, drops scattering everywhere.  There was a patch of sun where you 
came up, and it turned the drops to diamonds, glittering as they flew 
off your skin.

You bobbed back down in the water, and tossed your head to get your 
wet hair out of your eyes, sending more drops flying.  You stayed 
there a few moments, with spots of light bouncing off the water and 
dancing across your face, then you ducked under, coming up with your 
hair slicked back, and headed for the shore.  I watched as you heaved 
upward and stepped onto the bank.

I'll never forget it: your whole body right there in front of me, all 
of you, shining in the sun, without nothing hidden.  Your eyes, bluer 
than the sky; your dripping hair; your smooth skin; your nipples the 
color of ripe berries.  But most of all, I'll own, my eyes kept going 
to what was between your legs.

Not too big, it wasn't, nor too small neither: smooth and slender and 
dark pink, and in back of it, two round, nice-looking bollocks, like 
plums.  I couldn't tell from where I was if what you had was bigger 
than what I had, or smaller.  Not that I reckon it mattered.  It swung 
a little as you walked over to your pile of clothes.

You bent down and moved the clothes aside; underneath them was a pack, 
which you opened, pulling out a towel.  I thought you'd be drying 
yourself off and putting your clothes back on, but you didn't.  
Instead, you spread the towel out on the grass, turned around -- I 
couldn't help staring at your behind -- and laid yourself down on it, 
still wet.  I could see the whole front of your body and your right 
side.  Your arms were crossed behind your head, which rested on them 
like on a pillow; your head was toward me, but your face was turned 
away.  You didn't move for a long time.

I thought maybe you'd gone to sleep there, and it crossed my mind that 
I could go.  I should go.  If I stayed, I might make some noise and 
wake you, and you might see me and be angry with me for spying.  But 
on the other hand, I might make a noise if I tried to leave, too.  And
I was drinking in the sight of you like a flower drinks in the rain, 
so much that I decided it wouldn't do no harm to stay a while.  You 
looked so peaceful resting there, your body dappled with sunlight, the 
breeze brushing your skin.

But you weren't asleep.  By and by, you brought your right hand out 
from behind your head, and laid it on your belly.  It stayed there for
a minute or so, then it started to move.  Slowly, round your belly 
button a couple of times (I noticed you had an innie, like mine), then 
drifting up toward your chest.  Fingers circling round the center, 
then up to your throat for a moment, and down and over toward one of 
your nipples.  You rubbed it for a bit, and I saw it stand up, then 
you took your hand over to the other one and did the same there too.  
Every move you made was smooth and lazy, like you weren't in any big 
hurry to do anything else if you were going to.

You went back and forth several times.  Then your hand finally left 
your chest, heading down again.  My breath seemed to stick in my 
throat, and suddenly I realized I was hard inside my trousers, and 
getting harder, though I didn't know why.

Your fingers reached the patch of hair above your cock, hair as dark 
as the hair on your head but wilder looking.  There you stopped again, 
running your fingers through it, twirling it, as if you were lying 
there watching the water and thinking about what to have for tea 
later, and the fact that you were outside naked had nothing to do with 
anything.

After another little while, you finally moved your hand further down 
still, trailing your fingers over your cock, where it lay against your 
left thigh.  It looked bigger now than a few minutes ago, and longer.  
It seemed to jump up a little when you touched it, and I heard you 
breathe in through your nose, sharp-like.  But you kept your hand 
steady and slow, just petting it with your fingertips, like you would 
a cat.  I wondered what thoughts you were having, what you were 
feeling.

It seemed like you could have kept on doing that forever, but your 
hand finally got a mite impatient, I guess, and wrapped around your 
cock, lifting it so it was pointing at the sky, with the sun hitting 
it.  I could see by the way it stood up that it was all the way hard.  
You stilled, and it seemed you were taking a moment to just look at 
it, like it was something new to you.  Then you laid it down across 
your belly, gently, and stroked it with your whole hand, up and down,
slow, in control.  Every so often you would stop and just run your
thumb around the head of it.

Seems funny now, but I'd never thought to do what you were doing, 
until then.  I'd touched myself, o'course, and it had felt kind of 
good, but I'd never sat and kept touching and done nothing else.  Now, 
I felt my own cock hard and aching down there something fierce, like 
it wanted to jump out of my trousers.  And I did dearly want to know 
what it was like to do what you were showing me.  So as quiet as I 
could, I reached down, unfastened my trousers, and put my hand around 
myself.

Oh, my!  So that was it!  I think I must have whimpered a bit, just at 
how wonderful it was, but luckily you didn't seem to hear, being off 
in your own little world at this point.  I kept on watching you, and 
did almost exactly what you did, with my other hand clamped tight over 
my mouth so I wouldn't moan out loud at the tingly feelings rushing 
through me with each glide of my hand.

Strange enough, you weren't moaning either, even though as far as you 
knew there wasn't anyone within two miles of you.  Thinking about it, 
maybe when you first started doing this, you were still in Brandy Hall 
with relatives underfoot everywhere.  Either that, or maybe Mr. Bilbo 
was a light sleeper, back then anyway.  Whatever it was, I could see 
how you could get into the habit of keeping yourself quiet, and not 
get out of it.

Even so, I could tell by watching that you were feeling the same 
things I was feeling, and they must have been getting stronger, just 
as they were for me.  I heard your breathing, and saw your ribs rising 
and falling deeper and faster.  Your legs started to twitch and your 
toes curled and uncurled.  Your hips moved more and more.  You rolled 
your head from side to side, and I saw your face looking a bit pinker, 
almost glowing.

And your hand kept stroking, up and down, up and down.  You seemed to 
be trying to keep to the same pace, but every time you would slow back 
down, your hand would speed up again after a minute or so.

Your left arm uncurled from behind your head, and that hand reached 
down as if to help the other one.  Its fingers ran over the inside of 
your thigh, and dipped down further, holding your bollocks, or maybe
touching something behind them.

Suddenly your whole body went stiff, arching up so it seemed only your 
head and your heels were touching the ground.  You finally made a 
noise, a strange little bark, as if you was crying, or getting 
strangled.  And a sort of white liquid came spitting out the end of 
your cock.

You seemed to freeze for a long moment, except for your hand, which 
was still going on your cock, until it finally stopped and you 
relaxed.  You were breathing hard, like you had just run a mile.  The 
white stuff made a pool in your belly button, though drops of it had 
gotten as far as your chest.  You still had your hand around your 
cock, but it looked smaller and softer now.  You gave a big sigh, 
sounding happy.

I'd never seen anything like that.  Somehow I felt all awed, like you 
had just let me see a side of you no one else had.  That was a silly 
thought, because you didn't even know I was there, but still you had 
shown me, well, *something*.  Something about living that was new, 
leastways to me.

Right then, though, I was near to bursting, my cock still hard in my 
hand.  I was scared to move too much, because it looked to me like you 
were coming back to this world, and you might hear.  The most I could 
let myself do was move my thumb up and down, shiver at the feeling 
that gave me, and wait.  But thankfully it wasn't too long before you 
got up, and I got to see your behind again as you went walking back to 
the pond, to wash yourself off.

While you were underwater and couldn't hear, I grabbed the chance you 
gave me.  I yanked at myself as quick as I could, because I didn't 
know how long it would be before you came back up.  I thought about 
the way your behind had moved just now when you walked away.  I 
thought about your hand moving on your cock.  I thought about you 
feeling the way I was now, tightening up, tingles building and 
building 'til you couldn't stop them if you tried, and then finally 
bursting like a million firecrackers were going off inside you.  As my 
own white stuff came shooting out to decorate the tree I was hiding 
behind, I let out a moan, a loud one.

It had been a minute, maybe two, since you went down in the water.  I 
looked over, and my heart nearly stopped when I saw your head above 
the surface.  I froze.  I was mortal afraid that you'd heard me.  But 
you only took a deep breath and went under again.

I lost no time stuffing my cock back into my trousers, picking up my 
fishing things, and beating a quick retreat down the path.  I stopped 
a ways down, waited some while, then turned back.  By now you would 
have had a chance to get dressed, and if you hadn't, I would leave 
again, hopefully without you seeing, and give up on the idea of 
fishing for today.

When I got to the pond again, you were still there, dressed, sitting 
on the towel and reading a book like nothing had happened.  Your hair 
was just starting to dry and getting its curl back.  Thank goodness, 
this time I could let you know I was there.  I stepped on a twig, and 
you looked up and smiled.

"Sam!  Bit late for fishing, isn't it?"

"Afternoon, Mr. Frodo.  Reckon so, but I've got a bit of time off, so 
I thought maybe I'd come here and sit, and if I catch something, all 
the better."

You laughed.  "Can't fault the logic there, Sam.  I hope it won't 
bother you if I stay a while."

"Not at all, sir."

And so we spent the rest of the afternoon together, and I never told 
you what I'd seen or what I'd done.

I felt terrible about it, Mr. Frodo.  I still do, to this day.  I know 
how you like your privacy, a lot more so than most folks.  Maybe that 
comes from the way you grew up -- seems ever since you were orphaned, 
you were like a magnet for gossip.

Now, there you were that day, with your guard down, thinking you were 
all alone and safe with no one to see you or judge.  But you weren't, 
because I was spying on you.  I hadn't set out to do anything of the 
sort, but I didn't leave, did I?  Not until you and I were both done.

If you ever found out, I wouldn't have nothing to say for myself 
except I was young and dumb and curious, and you were the most 
beautiful thing I'd ever laid eyes on.  You still are, but never more 
so than you were on that day with the sunlight on you, doing nothing 
but taking joy from being in your own skin.

If I could, I would say thank you, because you taught that joy to me 
as well.

Maybe after you wake up, we'll have a long talk, and I'll tell you.  
Not only what I saw then, but how I feel now.  Maybe.

-

The End