Title:  A Secret Shared
Author: Kathryn Ramage 
Email:  kramage@erols.com
Code:   Frodo/Sam
Rated:  NC17
Summary: Frodo feels guilty about his relationship with Sam, and is
anxious to keep it a secret.

Disclaimer: The characters and overall storyline are certainly not
mine.  They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien's estate, and I'm just playing
with them to entertain myself and anyone else who likes this kind of
thing.

October 2004

!~|*|~!

He always went to Sam's room, since his own was next to Merry's and
Pippin's and they might overhear if he invited Sam to him.  He would
feel so terribly ashamed if anyone found out what he was doing.

Frodo shut the door to his own bedroom carefully so that it made no
sound and crossed the hall.  He had brought no candle, and felt his
way along the dark passage with one hand on the wall, until he came
to Sam's door.  He tapped once, softly, and went in without waiting
for an answer. 

"Ah, Sam- good.  You're up."  He saw even as he spoke that this was
obvious: the candle on the nightstand was still burning and Sam
wasn't even in bed, but had only just changed into his nightshirt
and was laying his clothes over the back of the chair by the hearth.
"I didn't want to wake you," Frodo plunged on.  "I only wondered if
you wouldn't mind- That is, I was hoping..."  He blushed and let the
sentence trail away, feeling like an utter fool.  Why was it always
so hard to speak?

But Sam understood why he was here.  "It's all right, Mr. Frodo," he
said as he placed the firescreen before the glowing embers of the
fire.  He climbed into bed, and held back the bedclothes to invite
Frodo to get in beside him.  "Come on." 

Still blushing, keeping his eyes down, Frodo climbed up to join him.   

Once Frodo was in bed, Sam reached around behind him to blow out the
candle. The room was cast in a dim, orangish glow from the shielded
fire--not enough to see clearly by, but Frodo preferred that the
light not be too bright.  When Sam's arm went around his waist, he
leaned in, yielding to the embrace.  Sam nuzzled the side of his
throat, finding that sensitive spot just below the ear; Frodo lifted
his chin, and moaned softly.  The kisses moved slowly down his neck
to his collar, and then Sam unfastened the top buttons of his
nightshirt to go even lower.  By now, Sam had a good idea of his
needs and was generous in indulging them.  Frodo knew that he would
be handled exactly as he wanted to be touched, and that Sam would
keep whatever occurred between them in these dark hours a secret.

When Sam came up from the hollow at the base of his throat to kiss
his mouth, Frodo met him hungrily.  As they kissed, he let one hand
fall to Sam's knee.  Tentative fingers inched beneath the hem of
Sam's nightshift and, as he pulled Sam closer to him, his hand slid
up and around to Sam's back, shoving his shift up out of the way.  

He broke off the kiss to whimper, "Please."    

Sam was tugging up on his shift as well; after a brief struggle to
pull it off over Frodo's head, he tossed it on the floor.  His own
nightshirt soon followed.  He lay down beside Frodo, then lowered
his head to place kisses Frodo's tummy, pausing to play with the
dimple of his navel before turning to nuzzle at the taut skin inside
the curve of his hip-bone.  Frodo watched him in the dim light,
knowing where Sam intended to go next.  He was close enough
already--his cheek brushed the dark patch of curls, and he had only
to turn his head slightly.

"Sam, no."  Frodo reached down to stop him.  "Not that way."
Perhaps later, but it was not what he wanted right now.  Sam knew
very well what he did want, what he had come here for.  "_Please?_"

Sam didn't reply, but lifted his head to consider Frodo for a
moment. His hands were already on Frodo's hips; now, he rose to
crouch over Frodo on his knees and, with another kiss higher on his
chest, moved in a long, slow caress up either side of his body, from
waist to ribs to beneath his arms, then lifted him to place Frodo's
head and shoulders on the pillow.  

Frodo stretched both arms up to Sam eagerly, and drew him down for
more hungry kisses.  When he felt a knee nudging gently high on the
inside of his thigh, he opened his legs to bring Sam between.  As he
felt the weight settle carefully on top of him, he held his breath,
waiting for that first wonderful moment of penetration.  _There_!
The tightness of his body relaxed, giving way to let Sam slide into
him.  There was no other sensation like it. 

"Yes!"  He released his breath in a delighted gasp.  His hands
twined in Sam's hair, grabbing it by the fistful.  His hips bucked
to meet Sam's thrusts, to impale himself more deeply until he was
completely, blissfully filled.  Just as he wanted.  "Oh, Sam, yes!"

This was shameful behavior--a proper gentlehobbit did not go
creeping to his servant's room in the night and beg to be taken this
way--but the most shameful part was how intensely he enjoyed it.

!~|*|~!

This affair had begun on their way into Mordor. Frodo had been cold,
frightened, tormented by the Ring, and he'd turned to Sam for
comfort.  During those awful days, he'd grown to rely on Sam's
unfailing strength and support.  As the Ring claimed him, he'd
wandered in a shadow-world, but Sam gave him something real and warm
and physical to cling to.  At the end of each long, miserable day of
hiking through stony gullies and bleak marsh and finally a green
wilderness, all he had to look forward to were the few hours when he
could rest in Sam's arms.

Then, one chilly night in Ithilien when they were lying close
against each other, Frodo had snuggled a little closer.  He was
already half-demented--it _must_ have been madness to do what he'd
done next.  He'd reached up to wind an arm around Sam's neck, and
brought his head down for a kiss.  Sam had not pulled away.  Even
then, he seemed to understand what Frodo needed from him.  

Frodo had whispered, 'Please' on that night too: "Please, Sam, will
you make love to me?"  Sam had looked astonished at the request, but
he'd done as Frodo asked.  

Thereafter, they'd made love at every opportunity.  The desire, the
pleasure, gave Frodo a thin line of reality to hold on to; lost
deeper in darkness with each day, he'd clung to Sam desperately for
as long as he could.  And Sam had gone on giving him whatever he
asked for, patiently putting up with his requests just as he put up
with Frodo's outbursts of temper and other odd behavior.    

It should have ended once the quest was over, but even after the
darkness had gone, the desire remained.  Once they'd been brought to
Minas Tirith and were given separate rooms in this house, Frodo
found it impossible to sleep without Sam.  He missed having those
sturdy arms around him.  He missed making love.  There was still an
empty ache inside him that needed that physical contact to ease it.

He'd lain awake restlessly night after night, until he could stand
it no longer.  At last, he'd summoned his nerve and ventured down
the hall to knock on Sam's door.  His hand had trembled, so afraid
was he that Sam would refuse him--_that_ humiliation would be too
great to bear!--and once the door had opened, he had no idea what to
say, but Sam wasn't very surprised to see him standing there; he'd
welcomed him in.  

Frodo went to Sam's room regularly after that--not every night, but
often enough that Sam expected him.  Sam never reproached him, never
complained no matter how late he came, and never turned him away.

!~|*|~!
 
After they had finished, Sam pulled the blankets up to cover them
both to the waist.  "D'you want to sleep here?" he asked.

"For awhile, but I mustn't stay too long."  Frodo rolled to his
side, turning his back to Sam.  "I ought to be out before morning.
I don't want anyone to catch me slipping back to my own room in the
early hours."  Sam moved closer behind him, tugging the blanket a
little higher over Frodo's torso and wrapping an arm around his
waist; when he started kissing the nape of Frodo's neck, Frodo shut
his eyes and sighed.  He would have liked to lie here the rest of
the night like this, but he knew that he couldn't.  "I'm sorry, Sam.
I wish I didn't have to sneak around.  I wish we didn't have to
pretend..."

Ashamed as he was of the desires that drove him here so often, Frodo
despised himself more for the off-hand way he was compelled to treat
Sam during the day.  It was necessary to keep a discreet distance
between them.  They had to be careful when there were other people
around; if they were too openly affectionate, someone might see and
guess the truth.  Frodo could imagine what a disgrace that would be!
Fortunately, Sam accepted that night and day were two different
things for them, and behaved just the same as he had before they'd
become lovers, or perhaps a little more formally.  He was always
careful to address Frodo as "Mister" whenever others might hear, and
never betrayed his master by a misspoken word or overly familiar
touch.  But that didn't make Frodo feel less guilty about it.

"I don't mind," Sam told him, and placed another kiss on his bare
shoulder.  "I see why we've got to keep it a secret."

"I wouldn't blame you if you told me to get out of your bed, and
never come back."

"Frodo, no!"  Sam took him by the arm and turned him to lie flat on
his back, then frowned down at him at puzzlement.  "I'd never do
that.  Whatever makes you say a such thing?"

"Because of the way I use you," Frodo explained.  "It isn't right.
This isn't how a gentlehobbit should treat his servant.  Buggering
the master isn't usually part of a gardener's job." 

To his surprise, Sam laughed.  "It's no chore--honest, it isn't!
Most of what I've done for you since we left the Shire isn't what a
gardener's supposed to do, but it's what you needed of me, and I was
glad to do it."

It consoled Frodo to know that Sam did not look on this nightly
activity as an onerous part of his duties.  "You like doing this?"

"Yes, of course!"  The puzzled frown returned.  "Did you think I
didn't?"

"I wasn't sure," Frodo confessed.  "You've always been so kind and
patient with me, no matter what I do.  You wouldn't tell me if I was
asking too much."

"I never minded doing what you asked, Frodo," Sam insisted.  "I
don't.  Tell you to go away?  No!  Some nights I lie awake, hoping
you'll knock on my door.  There's nothing I'd wish for more,
only..."

"Only..?"

"Well, _you're_ not any happier for it," Sam answered.  "I can see
that plain enough.  You come to me and you have your pleasure, but
afterwards, you're as miserable as before, just as you are now." He
gazed down at Frodo with wide, sorrowful eyes, as if Frodo's
unhappiness were his own.  "Isn't there something that'd lift your
heart again? If I knew what it was, I'd do it.  I'd do anything for
you, Frodo.  I'd take your pain if I could.  I'd hold onto you-"  He
did so, gathering Frodo up to hold him close.  "And I wouldn't let
you slip away in the middle of the night.  I'd keep you here, and go
on loving you just as you like, all the time, if it'd mean you'd
never know another minute's sadness."  

"You'd do that?"  But Sam sounded so earnest, and was clasping him
so tightly, that Frodo could not take this for hyperbole.  Sam would
do it, or certainly give it his best try.

"I'd do anything," Sam repeated.  "That's how I love you, Frodo.
Didn't you know?"

Frodo couldn't help knowing that Sam was deeply devoted to him, but
somehow he had not considered it in connection with what they did
here.  He'd thought that Sam was so indulgent with him out of pity
or kind-heartedness, or an exaggerated sense of duty.  It hadn't
occurred to him that Sam looked forward to these nights as much as
he did... and with the same desires?

He saw it all now from a different perspective, one he might have
seen before if he had not been so lost in his own shame.  Sam wasn't
simply being accommodating of _his_ needs; from that first kiss, Sam
had never refused him whatever he wanted, because Sam had wanted it
too.

As understanding dawned, he drew back to stare at Sam with wonder.  

"Didn't you know?" Sam asked him again.

Frodo shook his head.  Tears welled in his eyes, and he suddenly
found it impossible to speak.  The only word he could get out was a
choked, "Sam..."

As the tears spilled down, Sam lifted a hand to brush at his cheek.
"Oh, don't!  I didn't mean for you to cry, Frodo!  I wanted to you
to be happy."

"But I am," Frodo sobbed in a voice still choked with emotion.  "I
am.  Dear Sam!"  And he threw his arms around Sam--not out of
desire, but from an irrepressible burst of affection and incredible
feeling of relief.  That aching emptiness inside him had been
filled, and not by the physical means he'd been so desperately
trying through so many nights.  

!~|*|~!

Frodo went down to breakfast late the next morning somewhat bleary-
eyed, for he had only returned to his own room at daybreak.  Sam had
done his best to keep him, as promised--except that Frodo did not
insist on having his own way this once, but let Sam do whatever _he_
wanted for a change.  In spite of the danger of discovery he'd
risked by leaving Sam's room so late, no one had seen him.

When he entered the kitchen, he found that Sam was up and making a
fresh pot of tea from the kettle from the hob.  Frodo beamed at him.
"Good morning!"  He usually felt shy with Sam on the mornings after,
but not today.

"G'morning, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied with the friendly but polite
reserve befitting a servant, just as he usually did.  "You've slept
in so late, I was going to bring your breakfast to you."

"That won't be necessary, Sam," Frodo answered, playing the master
in response.  Then he asked, "Has everyone else gone out already?"

"That's right--no one's here but you n' me."

"Good!"  And Frodo came forward to give Sam a quick kiss.  They had
a quiet breakfast together, and during the hours they spent alone
that day, said a few things that should have been said long ago.

In the evening, Frodo slouched drowsily in a chair before the
fireplace; his cousins were seated on the hearthrug, arguing
playfully, and Sam was crouched by the fire, stirring the low embers
into life.  As Frodo watched his friend over the tips of his
outstretched toes, he smiled to himself and made plans to go to
Sam's room again that night.  The thought did not make him feel
ashamed.  Quite the opposite.

Everything was precisely the same as it'd been yesterday... and yet
it was all different.  _He_ was different.  Now that he understood
Sam's feelings for him--and saw that he had a lover, not an
endlessly patient servant--his guilt had evaporated.  He was no
longer so afraid of what others might think. 

"What're you going to do, Frodo?" Pippin asked him.

"Me?" Frodo was jarred from his reverie.  "About what?" 

"When you get home.  Weren't you listening?  I said the first thing
I would do once we got back to the Shire--after I showed my family
that I wasn't dead--was go to the Green Dragon and drink myself
sick!"

"You can do that here, Pip," said Merry.

"Not with Shire-brewed ale, I can't!" Pippin retorted.  "_You_ said
the thing you wanted to do most was fill up a pipe and smoke."

"Well, I've been out of pipeweed for weeks!"

"I'm afraid I don't have any such plans," Frodo told them.  "It's
simply my home I want to see.  And I've been thinking: once I'm back
at Bag End, I'd like nothing better than to find someone to settle
down with."

His cousins looked surprised and curious at this unexpected
announcement.  "Anyone in particular you have in mind?" asked
Pippin.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Frodo answered with a smile.  Sam
turned to look over his shoulder and met Frodo's eyes as he went on,
"But I don't know if I'll be accepted.  Who would have me?"  Sam
returned his smile for an instant before turning back to tend the
fire.  The others did not see it.

"I had no idea you were sweet on anybody," Merry said in amazement.
"You never seemed like the marrying sort.  Who is it?"

Frodo laughed, and refused to tell.  To all of Pippin's and Merry's
questions, he answered, still laughing, "It's a secret!"

But it wasn't his secret alone, and never had been.

!~|end|~!