Title: Bathing in moonlight Author: Melyanna_65 E-mail: hobbit.65@libero.it Rating: NC-17 Timeline: Pre-quest, before Bilbo left the Shire Summary: Sam discovers a new aspect of Frodo, in a hot summer night. First time. Disclaimer: Hobbits and the Shire are Tolkien’s (Eru bless him!). No offence intended and no money made. Archive: I don’t have my own homepage or LJ, but if you want to put this fic in yours, just ask, and I’ll be very glad! A/N: Dedicated to my wonderful beta Lei, for her precious help and encouragement. She did her best to improve this fic. Thanks a lot, dear!! A special thank to Notabluemaia, who first offered to help, but, for a series of unfortunate reasons, couldn’t at the end. BATHING IN MOONLIGHT Sam thought of himself as a very lucky hobbit. Having reached his tweens, he allowed himself a series of little pleasures which until then had been forbidden: he got permission to smoke his first bit of pipeweed and to spend evenings drinking strong ale at the Green Dragon. And he had started courting a sweet, pretty lass named Rosie Cotton. But the greatest joy, for Sam, was gardening. And, since his father had retired, he had been tending the most gorgeous garden in all the Shire: the garden of Bag End, the legendary smial of the even more legendary Bagginses. Very nice gentlehobbits indeed, those Bagginses. And no matter what speculations the voices at the Green Dragon were spreading about them. In Sam’s opinion, Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo were simply the finest gentry in the Shire, often inclined to share a word, a cup of tea or a good ale with him and the Gaffer. Especially Mr. Frodo. From the day of his arrival at Bag End, when Sam was still a child, they had developed a quite singular but strong friendship. Sam loved Mr. Frodo dearly, loved his charming manners and intelligence. The two young hobbits shared a passion for stories about Elves and far lands, told by Bilbo in the parlour during the cold winter days, or in the garden, when the season was good and the air pleasantly warm. These were the memories Sam mostly cherished: sitting with Mr. Frodo on the rug by the hearth, both of them listening in amazement to the soft, comforting voice of Mr. Bilbo, tales and adventures becoming real before their eyes, taking shape through the smoke of the older hobbit’s favourite pipeweed. In those days, Sam’s mind, only a child’s mind, had learnt to fly in wonder, towards unknown places outside the Shire: huge mountains, dark, mysterious forests and strange cities. He had never been more than just a few miles from his humble smial in Bagshot Row n.3, and it was while he and Frodo sat listening to Bilbo’s tales that he became aware that Middle Earth was immensely bigger than he had always thought. And that creatures he had believed existed only in fairy tales could actually be met far, so far, away. * * * Frodo, too, thought of himself as a very lucky hobbit. He enjoyed his simple life in Bag End with his uncle Bilbo. A comfortable, peaceful smial and a bedroom of his own, so different from the confusion of the overstuffed Brandy Hall. Of course, he missed his beloved cousins Merry and Pippin, but Bilbo was good company, with his sense of humour and his infinite dose of tales and adventures to recount. And his library … any sort of book, of various sizes and subjects, for Frodo’s unquenchable curiosity, just to pick up and read, sprawled on his bed or under a tree …. And there was Sam. Sweet, shy, reliable Sam. Frodo had loved him since the day they had met. A little child, with large eyes and a larger smile, eager to learn the secrets of herbs and plants from his father. Strong and gentle, he reminded Frodo of the good earth, its ripe fruits and scented flowers. Not only a gardener and servant, but a friend. His best friend. * * * “Morning, Mr. Frodo”. A cheerful Sam greeted him, framed in the open window of Bilbo’s study, where, sitting at the desk, Frodo was working on an incredibly long and difficult translation from Elvish. “Good morning to you, Sam”, Frodo smiled back at him, getting up from his chair and leaning on the windowsill. “It’s a wonderful day, not that hot, really, and it’s a pity to stay inside, if you don’t mind me saying so, Mr. Frodo. Why don’t you come outside, I can arrange your second breakfast in the orchard.” Frodo pondered the invitation. “Oh, that would be lovely, Sam, but I have to finish this chapter before Bilbo gets back home. I promised to help my uncle with this, but I’m stuck on a line, and I can’t go on.” Frodo sighed. A soft breeze pleasantly ruffled his curly hair, bringing the sweet scent of the garden flowers to his nostrils. “Maybe a tasty second breakfast in the open air would help. Master Bilbo surely won’t object anything about you getting out a bit, he’s often complaining ‘bout you spending too much time inside, begging your pardon, sir.” Frodo yawned. He was really tired of reading and his right wrist had begun to hurt from too much writing. And his stomach had started to protest. “You are right, Sam. But I’d like you to join me in the orchard and have your second breakfast too.” “I’d like that a great deal, thank you Mr. Frodo, but I’ve not finished with the planting yet.” “I’m sure that seedlings can wait for half an hour, Sam!” Frodo retorted “You always work so hard, I think you deserve a break from time to time.” Sam smiled and wiped the sweat from his brow with his shirt’s sleeve. “All right then, I’ll go and fetch something from the kitchen.” The atmosphere in the orchard was truly pleasant. The two hobbits ate their omelettes and buttered bread with marmalade, and sipped their tea in a companionable silence, relaxing in the sweet summer breeze. “So it’s hard work, this translation, Mr. Frodo?” “One of the hardest I’ve ever worked on, Sam. Bilbo bought this book last week at the market and he says it’s a rarity. But he has to translate it, and you know how stubborn a Baggins can be. He will not be completely satisfied until the transcription is complete. He took some annotations on scattered pages and translated a part of the book, but he had to ask me for help, because his right hand always hurts, when he writes. I think it’s some sort of arthritis.” “Oh, I didn’t know!” Sam looked genuinely concerned about the news. “Bilbo seems much younger than he is, but he will be 110 in a couple of months. He is really old Sam, sometimes I forget about it because of his vitality, but he is.” Frodo sighed and Sam detected a hint of sadness suddenly shadowing his clear blue eyes. “Mr. Bilbo is a strong and healthy gentlehobbit, Mr. Frodo, no need to worry about him now.” Then Sam got up from the bench and picked two ripe peaches from a branch on the nearest tree. Frodo stared at him, his eyes following every single movement that the other hobbit made as he reached the tree branches, the muscles of his strong arms and legs flexing and stretching. In the process, the shirt had slipped out of Sam’s breeches, revealing a portion of his tanned back to an enraptured Frodo. “Here now, Mr. Frodo, they’re just perfect. What a better way to finish our breakfast?” Frodo smiled. Gratefully he accepted the velvety fruit and slowly ate it, tasting its sweet and juicy pulp. “Well, maybe we’d better get back to work, Mr. Frodo” said Sam, collecting the plates and mugs from their breakfast. “Yes, Sam. You go now, I’d like to stay here some more, before returning to the books.” “Aye, Mr. Frodo.” Frodo didn’t avert his eyes from the gardener, until he disappeared around the corner. * * * Next day, Frodo was sitting with Bilbo at his study desk, writing down the translations as his old uncle dictated. It was a very hot afternoon, and the scent of flowers coming from outside the window was inebriating. But more inebriating was, for Frodo, the sight of Sam pulling his shirt out of his trousers, unbuttoning it and letting it open, in an attempt to cool his sweaty skin. Frodo had seen him shirtless many times before, when Sam was younger, but now it was totally different. Now Frodo was admiring a full grown and handsome hobbit, all firm muscles, sturdy chest, broad shoulders and rounded stomach. The perfection by hobbit standards. “Are you listening to me, Frodo?” Bilbo’s voice suddenly startled him from his reverie. “Oh, ehm, I’m sorry Bilbo, I was distracted.” Bilbo shook his head. “Dear lad, you haven’t written a word of what I’ve just translated. I’ll never understand where your mind goes sometimes, it really seems to fly away …” “Sorry Bilbo, it’s so hot today. Can you repeat the last sentences so I can write down them for you?” Both hobbits then concentrated on their work for several hours, until it was time for dinner. Bilbo had a real skill in cooking, due to his long years as a bachelor, so the task of preparing food was always on him, although sometimes Sam stayed longer at Bag End to prepare dinner for his two masters. But Sam was already at home that evening. While Bilbo was in the kitchen, Frodo went out in the garden for a smoke and a bit of the fresh evening air, and after a whole day spent between the walls of the smial he was finally able to concentrate on his own thoughts. How had he come to start having these feelings for Sam? He had never fancied anyone before, nor had he paid attention to his cousin Pearl, who had showed interest in him during his last days in Buckland. Lately, he had realized that Sam was not only amiable and charming as a person, but beautiful as well. Frodo could not avert his eyes from his gardener at work, and often, during the past few days, he had found himself staring at Sam, while the younger hobbit was gracefully moving between seedlings and plants, sweat on his brow, whistling cheerfully. And, when Sam was not around, the older hobbit could not stop thinking about his golden hair and his sweet, deep amber eyes, his warm smile and his sturdy body. And, above all, Sam’s hands, so strong when he worked with the shovel or lifted heavy loads, and yet so incredibly gentle when he tended the tiniest buds. How would it feel, Frodo thought, to taste that delicious mouth and have those skilled hands on his skin? But he knew he had to stop his mind from spinning. He knew Sam was in love with Rosie. The thought of Sam kissing Rosie made Frodo’s stomach tighten .. It was all wrong, he knew that, but how could he concentrate on other things, when his whole body and heart seemed to have a mind of their own? The realization of his feelings for Sam had confused him. At first he had refused the idea of being in love with his gardener, but then, as time went on he was accepting it as a reality, though he could not ask for counsel from Bilbo, and much less tell Sam. No, there was no solution. He had to keep his forbidden love well hidden deep inside his heart. As days passed, Frodo had become more and more withdrawn. He was unable to be near Sam without blushing and having his legs tremble and his heart beat furiously. So he decided that the best thing to do, for both of their sakes, was to try and avoid Sam, and be far from home as often as he could manage. * * * After a hard day’s work, Sam was heading back home, whistling contentedly, as usual. The sun was already sinking, and the sky above him, on his short walk from Bag End to Bagshot Row n. 3, was turning from its pale azure colour into an indigo blue. ‘A wonderful shade of blue tonight’ Sam thought ‘just like … just like Mr. Frodo’s eyes’. How beautiful his Master’s eyes were, innocent and mischievous all the same, almost breathtaking when they shone so bright in the morning light … ‘Oh my, why am I thinking of Mr. Frodo now? Of course he is a fine hobbit, no mistake, and very charming, but …’ He felt his heart skip a beat at the sudden idea of Frodo, dark hair, lips the colour of summer roses and those amazing blue eyes. Everything about him was a real wonder. For the first time in his life, Sam felt uncomfortable with his thoughts, and was more than surprised to discover that a certain part of his body was already reacting to the images of Frodo in his mind. He had always considered Frodo as his beloved Master and friend, but had never looked at him from a different perspective. Now he had to admit, with a mix of embarrassment and pleasure, that not only was he very fond of Mr. Frodo, but he also found him physically very attractive. * * * Frodo had trouble sleeping, but those summer nights, in which the air in the rooms of the smial was so hot that it was almost impossible to rest peacefully, were not the main reason. The rare times that he was able to fall asleep, his dreams were mostly made of Sam, naked skin, deep kisses and intimate touches. The following awakenings, inevitably, found the young hobbit a mess in his sticky sheets, still wanting and in an unbearable frustration. Sometimes, Frodo stayed awake at his desk, for several hours, trying to focus on the endless translations of Bilbo’s book, or writing down something of his own. He started writing poetry, in Elvish, short lines about desperate love … One night he had fallen asleep while working on a poem, and was still sleeping when, the morning after, Sam knocked gently at the door of his room. There was no way for Sam to talk to Frodo in these days, because his young Master was often away for hours, or else he was spending most of the day stuck inside the smial. Sam was suffering from the detached behaviour of his friend, for Frodo always seemed to avoid him, so the gardener thought that the best way he could try and see the older hobbit was to bring him breakfast. Having received no answer from inside, Sam pushed the door open and entered the room, leaving a fragrant stream of good tasting toasts, honey and mushrooms omelettes behind him. “Mr. Frodo I thought that you might like to take your breakfast in your …”. Sam stopped, and the word ‘room’ didn’t pass his lips. Frodo was deeply asleep, his head nestled on his arms, crossed on top of the desk, lips slightly parted and tousled hair partially covering his pale face. The quill was still near his right hand, and some ink had dropped onto a sheet of parchment on which Frodo had written something. Other sheets were scattered on the floor. Sam set the tray aside and approached Frodo, silent as only hobbits can be. He fought the urge to run his fingers through those silken curls, to caress that perfect, delicate face, to kiss that wonderful and inviting mouth. He kept all his desires deep inside him and remained still, watching his young master almost in adoration. ‘You are so beautiful,’ thought Sam ‘but you seem so distant lately, I miss you so …’. Then Sam left the room, without a word, and Frodo slept on, peacefully. * * * As soon as the translation was finished and Bilbo satisfied, Frodo started to take long walks around the Hill. He loved being in contact with nature, and hoped to find peace, on his own, in the vast series of cultivated fields of wheat and barley just outside Hobbiton. The young hobbit stayed there for hours, walking in silence through the rows of high ears that surrounded him with their golden waves, letting the sun shine on his pale skin and warm his tormented soul. One afternoon, tired of walking, he sat in the green grass meadow just in front of the cultivated fields, resting his chin on his knees, his arms encircling his legs. He savoured the smells of the ground and the sweet Shire summer, and enjoyed the pleasure of the breeze that gently stroked his dark curls with its invisible fingers. He let the silence fills his ears, the only noises that reached him being the lulling songs of cicadas or the far cry of a solitary bird. Absentmindedly, he caressed the green grass, so well tended by some unknown farmer … Sam … Always on Frodo’s mind, no matter how he tried … Sam, with his hair shining, golden as the golden fields right before him, Sam and his skin slightly brown from many hours under the sun … Sam, with his love for growing things and his skill to turn seeds into blossoming flowers or tasty fruits. In the end, Sam had planted a little seed in Frodo’s heart, and now it was growing, filling him with sensations that were so strangely appealing and uncomfortable at the same time. The cornfields, less than an hour’s walk from Bag End, soon became Frodo’s favourite place when he needed to be totally alone. He often returned there, mostly on late afternoons, when the farmers and their workers had already gone, and sometimes in the night. * * * One mid-summer night, out in the cornfields, Frodo was silently contemplating a wonderful moon that, surrounded by its bright halo, was reflecting its light on wheat and barley, turning their colour in a gleaming mix of silver and pale gold. ‘That’s the place where the sun and the moon meet…’, thought Frodo, watching, in amazement, the beauty before him, so perfectly natural, but somehow magical. He lay down in the green meadow in front of the fields and took a deep breath, staring at the moon and the myriad of stars around. He felt so small and desperate. He could not find peace and he felt as though he was constantly escaping: from Bag End, from Bilbo, from Sam. Only the truth was that he could not escape from himself and his feelings, and, worst of all, his sudden desire for isolation had lately started to affect his older cousin and his gardener. ‘Forgive me Sam’ Frodo told in a whisper to the sky above ‘I miss you so much. I know you don’t understand why I’m turning away from you, but I can’t reveal the truth to you. I must protect your innocence, I must spare you from my unnatural feelings, I will hurt you more, if you knew ….’ A little firefly passed by, in that precise moment, its delicate light well visible in the dark. Frodo took the tiny insect in his hand, allowing it to take a bit of rest on his palm. The hobbit smiled and pretended that was a signal of hope. When the firefly went away, following its own path through the grass, Frodo felt there was hope no longer. Then he got up and slowly began to walk back home. He needed to sleep, after several restless nights. * * * That same hot night, while Frodo was out in the fields, Sam was at home, but awake as well. It was too stuffy to sleep and the sweat had turned his tiny bed into a mess. But what was keeping Sam’s mind vigil was the constant thought of Mr. Frodo. Suddenly all had became so difficult. The nice gentlehobbit, greeting him every morning with a wide smile, talking with him while he was working in the garden, often sharing lunch with him and spending more than one drinking evening at the Green Dragon, was now avoiding him every time he could. Sam could not understand why, and the only answer that came to his mind was that lately he had been watching Frodo with different eyes. With desiring eyes, he had to admit, often peering through the window when Frodo was in his room, or following him with his gaze when he went out for his walks. Maybe Frodo had realized this and felt embarrassed, if not disgusted. This sudden thought was unbearable to Sam. He had to talk to Mr. Frodo and put the matter straight. He got up, dressed and went out of his smial, hoping, since he knew Frodo’s habits, to find him still awake. He had just passed the front gate on Bagshot Row, when he met Frodo, returning home from his walk. He looked so pale and tired, but immensely beautiful all the same. Sam felt his heart pounding madly and gathered all his courage. “Mr. Frodo!” Frodo almost startled at the sight of Sam, but tried to hide his embarrassment without stopping. “Let me go Sam, I’m tired and I need to sleep.” “Of course you need sleeping, begging your pardon, you spent a lot of nights awake …” “That’s none of your business, Sam.” Frodo sounded harsher than he had intended. But at least he had stopped and turned to face Sam. “Please Mr. Frodo, we can’t go on like this. Is there something wrong I did? You seem to avoid me, to escape from me anytime I’m near you.” The sad look in Sam’s eyes, and his desperate plea, made Frodo heart tighten with guilt. He wanted more than anything to throw his arms around his beloved friend, to tell him the truth. Instead, he heard his own soft voice, almost trembling, “No Sam, you did nothing wrong. Now let me alone, I want to be alone …”, before turning again towards Bag End. But Sam could not accept just letting him go without any explanation and, rapidly following Frodo, took him by the arm. Frodo hastily pulled it away from his strong grip, a mix of anger and sadness in his eyes, now fixed on Sam’s. “Why, Mr. Frodo? Is there something troubling you?” Frodo nodded. “So why don’t we talk, we’ve always been talking about everything, until …until now.” Sam’s eyes were so intense and he was so genuinely worried, that Frodo felt he was close to surrendering. But he couldn’t. “There’s nothing to talk about, you would not understand.” That said, Frodo turned his back on the other hobbit and walked quickly to Bag End. Sam stood by the gate of his smial in silence, his heart caught in a painful grip. It was true, he didn’t understand. When he turned to enter, he saw his Gaffer beside the door. “Come inside Sam, I think we need to talk.” * * * When Frodo entered Bag End, he was so tired that his legs refused to move, and it took him all his efforts to reach his bed. But, worst of all, he felt miserable, and guilty for Sam. Now he knew how he had hurt his best friend, he had seen that wounded look in Sam’s eyes. And that was the last thing he wanted in life. The next morning Frodo felt even worse, if that was possible, and he stayed inside all day, unable to do anything. His mind was totally blank, and his heart filled with remorse. Sam hadn’t come to Bag End and Frodo didn’t know if his absence was in some way related to the previous night. Only after sunset did he get up and decide to spend the evening at the Green Dragon. A good night of drinking, to sedate his pain and forget, at least for a few hours. But in the confusion of the Green Dragon, through his alcoholic dizziness, he could detect several pairs of mocking and hostile eyes, often set on him, and words not that gentle at all directed to him and his uncle. He had became a stranger in a strange land, uncomfortable even with himself and unable to deserve his best friends. He felt more alone than ever. When he got back to Bag End he was totally drunk, and stumbled more than once during his trip. ‘Maybe a bath would be of some help’, Frodo thought as he entered the smial, a last attempt to clear his mind before going to sleep. * * * That same day Sam hadn’t showed up at Bag End, having to go to the Market with his father and then to the Cotton’s farm. But that night, though he was tired, Sam was unable to sleep. ‘Hamson needs your help, you know …’ The words his father had said last night, when he caught him talking with Mr. Frodo, still resounded inside Sam’s aching head. The Gaffer wanted him to work with his oldest brother Hamson. He had to leave not only his home, but Bag End … and Mr. Frodo. All within a few days. As with the night before, he had spent a lot of time silently crying, in pain and frustration. He hadn’t wept before his father, but alone, on his small bed, he had let the tears fall unheeded. He didn’t want to go. He could not go like this, without a word from Mr. Frodo. He had to face him, to explain, to reassure himself that nothing had changed between them. He got up and went to the open window. It was a wonderful night, and the nearly full moon allowed him to clearly see almost every detail outside. Sam directed his eyes along Bagshot Row, and saw, in the distance, a little figure walking alone towards Bag End. Mr. Frodo! Sam hastily put on some clothes and left the smial, heeding his irresistible need to talk to his young master as soon as he could, and settle all things between them before he left. He knew his father would not have approved if he had discovered this nocturnal runaway, but for Sam it didn’t matter anymore. And there was no more time. When he arrived at Bag End he saw no lights inside, but he knew that Frodo had to still be awake. Sam decided not to knock on the green door because he didn’t want to disturb Mr. Bilbo, who surely was asleep at this late hour. So he managed to edge around the perimeter of the smial to reach the window of Frodo’s bedroom, hoping to find it open, so he could quietly make him aware of his presence. But the window was closed and latched from inside. His attention then was caught by a faint sound of splashing water, coming from the open window of the bathroom. Sam peered inside and the sight before his eyes let him breathless. Frodo was taking a bath. Never in his life had Sam witnessed such a stunning beauty, so pale, though gleaming in the moonlight. Eyes closed, lips parted, silken curls darker than the night itself dripping tiny streaks of water on his chest and shoulders … He was so perfect, so slender and fragile, almost a magical, ethereal creature, the finest creature in all the Shire. In a moment the pretty rounded features of Rosie Cotton were deleted forever from Sam’s mind. The gardener could not avert his eyes from Frodo’s naked skin, so creamy white under the moon, apart from the two dark spots of his nipples. If only Frodo had decided to watch in the direction of the window Sam would have been caught ….. But things were already difficult for him, so he decided to take the risk and didn’t move. Trying desperately not to think about the increasing and aching hardness in his breeches, Sam stood still and kept watching, savouring every detail of the sight in front of him. Suddenly his attention was caught by the strange movement of Frodo’s hands. Sam thought he was just washing, then realized …. Frodo was caressing himself, his slender fingers encircling his own erected shaft, stroking it in a slow, but firm movement of his wrist. Sam held his breath, making an effort not to groan, totally intoxicated by the amazing vision before him and by the scent of lavender from the bath. The younger hobbit let his right hand slide down, gently squeezing his own trapped member, wanting so much to release it from the tightness of the rough fabric. Suddenly Frodo’s eyes, now half open, seemed to turn, for a brief moment, in the direction of the window. Sam immediately knelt down, his heart jumping in his throat, waiting for the worst to come and almost forgetting to breathe. Then, seeing that nothing was happening, he regained his courage and carefully got up, with the firm intention of walking back home. But a series of moans, coming from inside, made Sam unable to go away. He couldn’t help but peer once again through the window, just in time to witness Frodo tilt his head back and surrender to the pleasure, his pearly seed coming out from the head of his member and spilling on his stomach. This was too much for Sam, who feared to come in that precise moment, inside his trousers. His own need was so strong that he had to run away. As he hit Bagshot Row, he knelt behind the first available shelter, undid his breeches, and stroked himself almost in a frenzy, until he reached his climax and came spectacularly, unable to contain a long wail of pleasure, fear, rage and frustration. When his breathing calmed a bit, he sat down and started to weep, shivering uncontrollably. It took a long time for Sam to regain control of himself. Now he had no doubt. He was madly in love with Mr. Frodo, the simple thought of what he had just witnessed made his head spin and his heart pound madly in his chest. Frodo, so beautiful, so perfect, so … arousing, lost as he was in his own pleasure. And impossible to reach. * * * Frodo awoke with a throbbing headache, the hangover from the previous night of excessive drinking taking its toll. He tried to get up but was caught by a wave of nausea as, through unfocused eyes, he saw the room and everything inside its walls spinning around him. He decidedly felt too sick to get on his feet and have a proper breakfast, so he remained in bed, trying to fall asleep again in hopes of regaining some force and getting some relief from the pain. He was soundly snoring when his sleep was interrupted by Bilbo and the Gaffer having a quite animated conversation out in the garden. Their voices were clearly heard from the open window, and their words, one by one, slowly crept into Frodo’s mind, taking the shape of something wrong, too wrong to be believed. “Master Bilbo, me Sam will go to the North Farthing to work with my oldest son”, said a very serious Hamfast. “But you have naught to worry, Sir, ‘cause I will take care of all the chores meself, ‘til you find another gardener.” Frodo’s heart sank. He was still feeling sick and dizzy, but he was sure he had caught the words exactly as they were spoken. So Sam was going to leave… He paid no mind to his insistent headache and kept focusing on what was happening in the garden. He had to know the truth, even if it was more like a nightmare to him. * * * Bilbo looked at both Sam and the Gaffer in astonishment, unable to believe what he had just heard. The Gamgee family was an institution at Bag End, and Bilbo had always been very fond of Hamfast and his youngest son. “Oh, surely this is the last thing I ever thought could happen! Do you really want to go, dear Sam?” asked Bilbo. “This would be a great loss, for not only are you the best gardener in all the Shire, but …” The old hobbit paused, looking straight into Sam’s eyes. He saw sadness in those amber depths, and no determination at all. “Well, Sam,” he continued, “you know how fond we are of you, Frodo and myself. You’ve been with us since you were just a child. Why have you decided to go?” “Master Bilbo …” Sam tried to speak, to steady his trembling voice, now no more than a whisper, but the Gaffer interrupted him. “Hamson needs some help, and who would be better than Sam?” He patted Sam’s shoulder. “The rope business is becoming more and more demanding, so another pair of strong hands will be appreciated.” Bilbo was not convinced at all. “Sam?” Sam bowed his head, unable to speak, and swallowed. It took all his strength and will not to burst into tears, not to tell Bilbo and the Gaffer that his place was there, in that garden that he loved with all his heart, that he had tended for years, as a gift of love for Frodo. Sam had realized it too late. All his days of hard work and sweat: every single flower, leaf, tree and fruit in that garden, all was meant to match the beauty of Frodo, to make his young Master smile, to see those amazing eyes wide in surprise and appreciation. Now Sam knew for sure. And now it was too late. “Sam?” Bilbo asked again. “Are you feeling well, lad?” The young gardener regained his composure, looking directly into the older hobbit’s eyes, his voice firm. “I’m fine, Master Bilbo.” Sam had never been able to go against his father’s will, no matter what his feelings or thoughts were. The respect for his old father had always been a steady point and rule in his life. A rule never to be broken. “I’ll do as me Gaffer said. I just came to … inform you about this decision, and … to thank you, sir, for you have been the best Master to me.” “If this is what you have decided .. ” said Bilbo, shaking his head. “I’m not going to force you to stay, although I’m quite sorry about it! When are you planning to go?” “In a couple of days, presumably,” was the Gaffer’s answer. “One last thing, Sam. Are you definitely moving on, to stay with your brother, or are you going to come back, sooner or later?” Sam didn’t dare speak. He already knew what he was going to face, but to say those words would have been the affirmation of a reality he didn’t want to accept, that he would not have accepted if only had he been in the position to refuse it. “Sam will stay in the North Farthing with Hamson”. That was the Gaffer’s decision, pronounced with the tone of someone who admitted no question. * * * Frodo thought he could have easily died on the spot. All the strength had left him, even breathing seemed the most difficult of tasks. He had never felt so horribly sick in all his life. It was as if both his body and mind were rejecting that awful reality. He had avoided Sam, not talking to him for days, with the conviction that it was the best for them both. But Frodo had always taken Sam’s presence for granted. He simply knew that Sam was there, always to be found in the garden of Bag End. Now that the young gardener was going to leave, Frodo realized that he couldn’t do without him. He had already experienced loss and separations, he knew how painful it was to be parted from the people he cherished most. He had to say farewell to his beloved parents when he was twelve, and had suffered from being far from Merry and Pippin, his young cousins, whom he loved with all his heart. And now Sam. It seemed like a cruel joke. Warm tears started to streak Frodo’s face, soaking into the pillow. He let them fall freely, surrendering to the sharp pain that was tearing his soul and the guilt that was threatening to suffocate him. Sam, dearest Sam. Unable to do anything else, Frodo gave in to his desperation, and cried until he was asleep again. Hours later, a gentle knock on the door awoke him. The sun was already sinking, her last rays warming the room in a red-gold glow. “Frodo, my lad, you’ve been in bed all day! Are you feeling sick?” Bilbo sounded quite worried, and his hand began to gently stroke Frodo’s slightly sweaty forehead. Slowly, Frodo opened his swollen eyes and tried to focus on Bilbo. The old hobbit was gazing at him, barely hiding a genuine concern with his fond smile. “Don’t worry Uncle, I’m afraid I drank too much last night. I’m feeling better now.” His head had relented its merciless throbbing, and Frodo got out of the bed. But as he tried to stand, his legs failed him and he had to sit again. Bilbo steadied him, holding his shoulders. “Here, Frodo, you definitely have a huge hangover. Dear lad, this will not do. You are almost of age, you have to learn when to stop.” The master of Bag End sighed at the careless behaviour of his young nephew. “Now, if you put some clothes on, I will help you out in the garden. A bit of fresh air will do you some good.” Frodo muttered something unintelligible, dressed up, and leaning on Bilbo, made it outside to the wooden bench beside the green door. “Now, stay here, and I will fetch you a mug of my old remedy. It never fails putting a hobbit’s stomach right again”. After he had finished Bilbo’s awful draught and breathed deeply in the fresh evening breeze, Frodo had to admit that he felt decidedly better. Some strength had returned to his legs, so he ventured to the well to pump a bucket of cold water so he could wash his face. When he returned to the bench, Bilbo was puffing smoke circles from his pipe. “You know about Sam, Frodo?” “I know, Bilbo. I heard him and the Gaffer talking to you.” He sighed and felt his stomach turn upside down again. “It’s strange, really strange to me,” said Bilbo. “Do you think there is a reason for this?” Frodo did his best not to blush in front of his uncle. “I don’t know, Bilbo, but I’d like to find out!” That said, he got up and disappeared inside Bag End. “Now, where are you going?” asked Bilbo, still concerned for his cousin’s health. “I want to talk to Sam!” Frodo answered from the smial. Mere seconds later, his curly head showed out from the study window. “Don’t worry Bilbo, I’m fine now. But I need a bath before I go.” * * * Inside his smial Sam was restless. He had tried to talk to his father once more, but it had failed to change his decision. If there was a living legend of hobbit stubbornness, it was certainly his Gaffer. Seeing no other chance to avoid the departure, Sam decided to go to Bag End once again and try to talk with Frodo, try to bid him a proper farewell. After last night’s failure, he had hoped to have a word with him in the morning, but without success. Sam was halfway up Bagshot Row when he saw Frodo, heading in his direction. They stood staring at each other in a silence heavier than stone, for what seemed like an eternity. They could see signs of worry on each other’s faces, and the dark circles under their eyes spoke clearly of several sleepless nights. It was Frodo who spoke first, his voice merely a whisper, but steady nonetheless. “Please, forgive me Sam. I’m so sorry. I’ve treated you very badly. I’m having a difficult time, but there are no excuses for my horrible behaviour. You don’t deserve it.” “Don’t you fret ‘bout it, Mr. Frodo. There’s no need to worry, now.” Sam paused and took a deep breath, his eyes filled with sadness. “I’m leaving Mr. Frodo, I’m going to …” “I know Sam,” Frodo interrupted him with a deep sigh. “I overheard you this morning.” Seeing Sam so distraught nearly made his heart break and he tried to reassure him. “Don’t worry, Sam. You will be all right with your brother, you are a strong and clever lad, you’ll get through it fine …” But he could not go on. Suddenly Frodo felt a lump in his throat and was unable to hold back his pain. “I feel so bad Sam. You are my best friend, you’ve always been, and I don’t want you to leave.” “I don’t want to go either, Mr. Frodo, but I don’t know how to avoid this.” Then Frodo closed the distance between them and hugged Sam, who immediately returned the embrace. They wept together for a while, and all the tension between the two hobbits melted away with their tears. “Can’t you talk to your father … convince him to let you stay?” said Frodo, still holding him. “I tried, Sir, but he thinks it’s better for all of us if I go … I’m not of age, and I can’t decide meself...” When they untangled from the embrace, Frodo cupped Sam’s face between his hands with immense tenderness. He stared into the gardener’s amber eyes, so honest, sweet and full of devotion. Then, without thinking of consequences, heeding an irresistible need, he brushed his lips, the lightest of touches, upon Sam’s. Caught by surprise, Sam didn’t move or say anything. When Frodo realized what he had just done, he blushed furiously and tried to babble a sort of apology. “I’m … I’m sorry Sam, I don’t know why I did it. Please, forget about it … and forgive me …” Overwhelmed by embarrassment, he turned his back to the younger hobbit and started walking, at a very quick pace, towards Bag End. Frodo was near the front gate of his smial when a pair of strong arms reached from behind and encircled him around his waist, holding him tight. For some seconds, everything was silent and still, as if the world had crystallized. Then the soft voice of Sam, almost a whisper in his ear, came. “It’s so hard to forgive you, Mr. Frodo …” He paused. “In fact it doesn’t fit well for a gentlehobbit like you …” Another pause. “Turning away and leaving me there … without kissing me properly!” Frodo stopped breathing. Sam’s mouth was warm and moist upon the curve of his ear. “No Sam, please, let me go, it was a mistake, I can’t …” Sam’s strong and gentle hands made Frodo turn and face him. They stared at each other, eyes still filled with tears and desperate need. It took the briefest of moments for their mouths to meet, their lips caressing, tentatively at first, then daring more, much more. Frodo’s lips parted under the gentle pressure and he welcomed Sam’s tongue, hot and searching. Moaning with pleasure at the exquisite intrusion, Frodo returned the kiss, loosing every chance of thinking clearly, feeling himself melt into liquid fire. The two hobbits kissed for a long time, hungrily tasting sweetness and exploring warm, unknown corners: licking, biting, caressing, holding onto each other’s breath as if that was their last chance for survival. When they finally broke apart they were dizzy and still incredulous, uncertain of what to do or say, their hearts pounding madly. Frodo smiled, shyly. “It’s always you, Sam. You always know what to say, when all that I am able to do was run away, refuse my own feelings. You are braver than me, dear Sam.” “It’s not that I’m brave, Mr. Frodo. It’s just that … I think I love you, Sir, and I can’t deny it any more.” Sam spoke, and his voice trembled. Frodo felt his heart skip a beat. “I thought you were in love with Rosie!” “I’ve believed that once, but I was wrong.” Sam was smiling at him, the sweetest smile Frodo had ever seen. “It’s you I’m in love with … and I don’t see how I couldn’t be, because you are the most special hobbit I’ve ever met.” Frodo caressed Sam’s cheekbone with the back of his fingers. “I love you too, Sam, but I was afraid to show you and that’s the reason I’ve been avoiding you lately. I’ve never felt this way for anyone, but I believed you had Rosie, and I feared you would be embarrassed by me, or disgusted …” “Never, never me dear. Don’t say that, Mr. Frodo. You are a gift to me, the most precious gift …” Frodo sighed. “I’m afraid I’ve ruined it all. Maybe if I had spoken to you before … had the courage to tell you the truth … Oh Sam, I’m afraid it’s my fault that your father is sending you away …” “Shh, nonsense, Mr. Frodo. It’s not your fault. My brother needs my help, that’s all…” Then Sam pulled Frodo close to him and held his slender frame in a tight embrace. He felt a surge of love for his friend and master, stronger than anything he had experienced before. A joy so pure that it nearly reduced him to tears again. But it was a strange sensation, because Frodo, although older than him, sometimes seemed so fragile and vulnerable that Sam found it impossible to be near him without feeling the strong urge to take care of him, to protect him, even if there was nothing to be protected from. His master was simply different from anyone: so sweet and delicate, so funny and extravagant, so clever and well mannered, so strong and yet so unsure. So special. So completely Frodo. His precious Frodo. And now that he had discovered their mutual feelings, Sam could not lose all this … not now. But he had to go … “Sam?” Frodo interrupted his reverie. Sam looked startled, and they both laughed. “Sorry, Mr. Frodo. I was just thinking. I’ve never felt so happy in my life, but I can’t stop my mind from worrying about tomorrow, about our future. I’ll be gone in a couple of days, at most. What are we supposed to do?” “I don’t know, Sam. But the one thing I know for sure is that I won’t let any regret torment me in days to come. Tonight I don’t want to think about anything else. Only you Sam, only you. Tonight I want to be with you, if you want it too.” “Of course I want it, Sir.” “Then come with me, Sam.” They started walking, slowly, enjoying sweet talk and each other’s presence, pausing here and there to share a kiss or a hug. “There’s one thing I must confess, Mr. Frodo,” the gardener suddenly said in a low voice. “And I’m so ashamed, but I want to be honest … please, don’t be angry with me …” “What is it Sam? Tell me.” “I saw you, Sir, last night. I came to Bag End to talk to you, about us … The bathroom window was open so I peered in …”At this point Sam blushed furiously. “… And I saw you, taking a bath and …” Frodo smiled, half amused and not surprised at all. “So it was really you at the window!” “Whaat? Are you saying that you caught me watching?” Sam’s already flushed face burned even more with shame. “Well, not exactly, Sam, I don’t know how to explain. Maybe I really saw you, but I was so drunk that I thought I had just imagined you, watching me …” The laughing tone of Frodo’s voice then turn into a softer one. “But it was a good sensation indeed…You know, I was thinking about you … and I liked it.” “Liked it …?” “Yes Sam, to be watched by you, to have your eyes on me, on my body … It felt so good, so arousing …” Frodo stopped and nibbled at Sam’s earlobe, then asked in an impossibly husky voice, “Tell me Sam, what exactly did you see?” Sam gulped, his heart beating madly. “You were bathing, Sir, and … you were … ehm, touching yourself, begging your pardon, Sir.” “Yes, Sam”. A quick flick of that clever tongue into Sam’s ear. “And I imagined it was your hands on me, stroking me, like …” Sam summoned all his courage. He placed a hand on Frodo’s waist, then lowered his trembling fingers, slowly following a path downward. Frodo gasped at the sensation of Sam’s touch. “.. Like …” “Like this, Sir?” He gently squeezed Frodo’s groin, fully aware of the hard, distinct shape of Frodo’s member, even if it was still inside his breeches. He felt his own arousal throbbing in response. “Yes, Sam,” Frodo whispered. “That’s so good, so good …” Their mouths met for a slow, deep kiss, then, feeling his legs failing him in the intense pleasure, Frodo leaned on Sam to balance himself. Sam continued to massage the entire area, causing Frodo to moan and nibble at Sam’s ear and neck. “Stop Sam, stop please…” Frodo suddenly pleaded. “Don’t you like it, Sir?” Sam asked in puzzlement. “I like it far too much, Sam. I’m about to come in my trousers!” He regained some control. “Just … not here, Sam, not yet. We have to walk a little more, and then you’ll see.” “See what, Mr. Frodo?” Frodo took the younger hobbit’s hand in his. “There’s a special place I want to show you, a place where the sun and the moon meet.” They walked away in silence, until they reached the fields of wheat and barley. That night was exceptionally bright and a generous full moon bathed the plants in that particular shade of pale silver-gold. Frodo smiled as he saw Sam totally enraptured by the magical atmosphere of this place. “Oh, it’s wonderful, Sir! I’ve always watched the fields in the daylight, under the sun, but I’ve never been so far from home, this late at night … The moon, I’ve never seen it so clearly … I don’t know why, Mr. Frodo, but it reminds me of you, of the paleness of your skin …” “Just like the sun reminds me of you, dear Sam. But it’s not true that the sun sweeps away the moon and the moon chases away the sun. They can mix together fairly well, as you can see. Just like the two of us …” Frodo turned towards Sam and kissed him passionately. They held each other tight, both under the magical spell of love and a breathtaking summer night, surrounded by total silence, save for the singing of the crickets and the whisper of the breeze among the high ears. Above all, there was the insistent drumming of their heartbeat, and their held breath, suspended in anticipation and waiting for release. They reached the green meadow in front of the fields. Frodo rested his head on Sam’s shoulder, while Sam was delicately caressing his silken curls. When they stared into each other’s eyes, Sam started tracing his fingers along Frodo’s brow, over his thin nose and soft lips, each touch followed by a feather kiss. Frodo closed his eyes, savouring the most tender of moments, and Sam kissed his eyelids. “So perfect, so beautiful …” whispered Sam, without stopping his exploration of Frodo’s face with fingers and lips. Sam was totally lost in his feelings. He could not believe that the adorable hobbit, the creature he loved more than his own life, was in his arms, in love with him, totally trusting him, and longing for his kisses and caresses. “It’s so sweet Sam …” Frodo breathed in response. Then he opened his eyes and slowly began the same treatment on Sam, brushing his lips over each inch of that beloved face. When their mouths met again, they willingly opened to each other, letting their tongues stroke and entwine, drinking their juices as the sweetest of nectars. Then Sam reached the buttons of Frodo’s collar and stopped, staring silently at him, asking for permission. “Don’t stop Sam, don’t stop! I want to feel your hands on me.” With shaking fingers, Sam slowly started to unbutton Frodo’s shirt, until it was totally open and out of his breeches. The young gardener parted it, revealing the white, soft skin of his master’s chest. Frodo smiled shyly and let the shirt drop from his shoulders and fall onto the grass. What Sam had admired breathlessly from the bathroom window was now exposed before him, ready to be touched. Sam waited no longer. Wrapping his arms around that fine, slender body, warm and silky to his hands, he held Frodo close to him, dropping a trail of butterfly kisses along his neck and shoulders. He felt his master’s body tremble in his embrace, like a tiny flower in the breeze. “Oh Sam, how I wanted to feel this, to feel your hands, so warm …” Then he bent his head and kissed Sam’s neck, licking his ear, taking the tip into his mouth and sucking it gently. Sam let out a soft moan, which fell warm and moist on Frodo’s shoulder. “Your clothes, Sam,” Frodo whispered in his ear, pulling the shirt out of his lover’s breeches and sliding a searching hand up his back. “I want to feel you skin, I want to see all of you.” There was no need to repeat the invitation, because Sam was already taking off his own shirt, revealing his golden tanned chest. With trembling hands, the two hobbits worked on their breeches, letting them slide down to their ankles and pushing them aside, so that there was no more fabric on their bodies. Then, they lay down on the soft grass and their love making began. Their hands moved in a series of caresses, slender fingers and calloused palms dancing on arms, shoulders, bellies and legs, on skin of pale moon and golden sun, searching for secrets and finding pleasures, while their mouths were leaving wet trails across both their bodies. Frodo was lost in his feelings. Sliding his lips over Sam’s chest, stroking his fingers in the soft, golden curls, kissing his neck, licking his puckered nipples; he was drunk with love and wanting, inebriated by the warm and earthy scent of Sam’s skin, a faint smell of musk and sweat barely detectable. Most of all, he was being driven mad by the sensation of Sam’s erection, hard against his hip. Sam could not stop stroking Frodo’s fine torso with both his palms, licking and kissing that white, smooth skin, the scent of fresh lavender tickling his nostrils. He was caressing his master with desire, but also with care and reverence, as if he was the most precious creature in all the Shire. And for Sam, Frodo certainly was. He concentrated on Frodo’s rosy nipples and was really amazed by the way they reacted to every stimulation, how they hardened inside his mouth when he was sucking them, making Frodo arch his back and reach almost in a frenzy for his hair, pulling him closer, moaning with pleasure and whispering Sam’s name. “How can it be, Mr. Frodo? How can you love me?” asked Sam in wonder. “You are the finest hobbit I’ve ever seen, even finer than the most beautiful lass, while I’m just a gardener, and not beautiful at all …” Frodo silenced him with a kiss and entwined his legs with Sam’s, furry feet gently stroking his calves. In the process, their arousals met and brushed for a brief moment, hot and moist, and the exquisite friction made both hobbits gasp. “Stop saying such foolish things, Sam, I don’t want to hear them … I love everything about you, because you can talk to my heart, because you love and respect life. Because you give sense to my own life. I love the way you look at me and make me mad about you … You are beautiful to me Sam, and the way my body is reacting should tell you that.” Frodo then reached between them to caress Sam’s length, to feel it throbbing in his palm. Frodo was amazed to have the most intimate part of Sam in his hand. He stroked his lover’s member, strong and beautiful as Sam’s himself, savouring the sensation of that pulsing heat and dripping wetness, until Sam was moaning with pleasure. The pleasure Frodo was giving him. “If you knew how I wanted this, Sam, love, how I wanted to see you and touch you like this. I can’t believe I’m doing it now, I’m afraid it’s only a dream.” “Tis not a dream, Mr. Frodo, and no mistake … Now, let your Sam take care of you …” Then it was Sam’s turn to caress Frodo, almost in trance and adoration. He started massaging Frodo’s sac with one hand, while with the other he was pulling and pushing the velvet soft skin of his master shaft, up and down, rhythmically covering and revealing the swollen red head, which was already leaking. Then he dared more. That liquid pearl was so inviting, and the need to taste Frodo’s inner essence so strong, that Sam could not resist bending down to kiss Frodo member, to lick its tip, delicately swirling his tongue on and around it, eliciting soft cries from the other hobbit, who was madly tangling his fingers in Sam’s blond curls, holding him close to his groin. “Oh Sam, yes! So .. so good ..” Frodo moaned, feeling Sam’s mouth engulfing him, taking him in until he could, until he hit the back of his throat. Then Frodo suddenly begged Sam to stop. “Don’t you like it Sir? I’m sorry if I did something wrong …” He looked at his master in worried puzzlement. Frodo struggled to calm his ragged breath. “No Sam, dear, don’t worry, that was the most wonderful sensation I’ve ever felt. But I want it to last. Tonight is ours, Sam, and I want everything…” He stared at Sam with eyes full of love and wild desire. “I want to make love with you Sam … I want to be yours, completely…” “You mean …” Sam dared not hope so much. “Yes Sam, you know what I mean. I want to feel you … inside me … if you want it too.” “Of course I want it …” Sam smiled shyly, then continued, “I love you, Mr. Frodo. And I want you, more than anything …” “Just Frodo, Sam … please. At least for tonight, just Frodo. Let me hear it, Sam. Say my name, please … ” At this, Sam kissed Frodo, tenderly stroking his dark curls. “I love you, Frodo.” His own name had never sounded so sweet to Frodo. “And I love you, Samwise, my dearest Samwise.” Without another word, Frodo took the younger hobbit hand in his, and holding his eyes on Sam’s, inserted two fingers in his mouth and began sucking on them hungrily, tasting the faintest trace of earth and salt. Then he spread his legs and guided Sam’s hand towards his opening. Sam forced the tight entrance and slid inside it, first one finger, then adding another. He gave Frodo time to relax and get accustomed to the new feeling, before starting to move back and forth, in the most intimate of caresses. When Sam hit the little gland inside, Frodo’s chest started heaving, and he arched his back, crying out with pleasure. Almost trembling from the strong sensation and surrendering to the desire to try more, Frodo begged, “Come here, Sam, let me taste you …” Sam started moving, kneeling near Frodo’s shoulders. “Don’t stop with your fingers, Sam,” came again the husky plea. “Come nearer, but don’t stop…” Sam felt Frodo’s hand on his aching hardness, encircling him at the base and pulling him towards his face. Sam held his breath in anticipation as he saw Frodo’s swollen lips parting and his pink tongue darting out of its lair to lick his member’s head, to dance teasingly around it. Frodo’s eyes never left Sam’s, staring at him mischievously, while he was hungrily lapping the rosy tip of Sam’s full erection. Sam thought he could lose his mind in that precise moment. He could not say if it was just his own imagination, fuelled by an overwhelming pleasure, or some sort of blissful delirium, but it seemed to him that Frodo was different, like he was not Frodo anymore. Sam saw a burning light in those eyes that he had never seen before. His lover was now claiming him, engulfing him, beautiful and wild as a divinity, and somewhat frightening… And arousing … so arousing … Sam felt his breath leaving him as he saw his own member totally disappear inside the glorious mouth that was hungrily sucking at him, threatening to empty him of all his own essence. Then, just when Sam was near the brink, Frodo released him. And, in Sam’s eyes, he was Frodo again, a sweet, charming hobbit expressing his love for him with all his being. “Now, Sam, please, take me. I’m ready.” Trembling with desire, Sam replaced his fingers with his member and, with a firm thrust, was halfway within his master’s body. Frodo let out a sharp cry of pain. “Wait, Sam, please, wait just a moment, it hurts!” He breathed heavily, trying to relax his muscles. Sam looked at him in concern. “I’m sorry, Frodo, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Frodo smiled, “It’s quite normal Sam, the first time. Please, don’t worry. I want it, I want it more than anything, just give me the time to adjust myself …” “Yes, me dear, all the time you need.” Then he bent to kiss Frodo’s mouth, to reassure him with sweet caresses, before taking Frodo’s member in his hand, stroking him, until he relaxed and was ready to accept Sam, who entered him with one single fluid thrust. They stared at each other in silence, their eyes filled with tears of love and emotion. “Can you believe it, Sam? Now we are one, we really are as one body. I feel complete, for the first time in my life. Oh, dear Sam, I love you so …” “Yes, me dear. We are one. Now I’m here, with you. I’ve never been so happy, Frodo, love.” There was nothing else that night except for Frodo and Sam. They were totally lost in their newly discovered world of love and passion, warmth and pleasure. Everything seemed to fade around them, and they became one with the vast heavens above them, a part of that magical night itself. Their love making was like a sensual arousing dance, a mutual exchange of taking and giving, slow and sweet at first, then in an accelerated rhythm, a swirling vortex of desire, moans and panting breath, until they reached their peak and climaxed, wave after wave of warm shivers, their seed the seal of their love. They cried out each other’s names when they came, Frodo first, spilling his hot fluid into Sam’s fingers, and then Sam, unable to hold a moment more at the sight of his lover’s pleasure. They collapsed into each other’s arms, whispering sweet words, until their breathing calmed down and their bodies relaxed. They kissed hungrily, again and again, not wanting to stop. They could not stop, they had to keep tomorrow at bay, to make that night last forever. At last they were forced to untangle themselves from the embrace, because they had started shivering. “Better put our clothes on again, Mr. … ehm, Frodo.” “Do you want to go home Sam?” “No, not yet. But it’s getting a bit damp, and you are shivering …” “Just as you are, Sam.” They smiled, cleaned themselves the best they could with a handkerchief and dressed. Then they laid down again in the grass. “What about us, what about tomorrow?” Sam’s concern had surfaced once more. “I don’t know Sam, but I promise we will find a way.” “I don’t want this to end, Mr. Frodo.” “It won’t end Sam. Maybe I’ve read too many tales, but I always thought that real love occurs only once in a lifetime, and it is forever.” Sam held him with all his strength. “I love you so much …” “I love you too, dearest Sam. And I need you, to feel complete myself.” * * * It was a sensation Sam would never forget. Never in his life had he felt such a complete pleasure and joy, such a pure love pulsing in his veins. He had made love for the first time in his life. And it was with Frodo. Now he was holding him against his chest, delicately caressing his dark curls. Frodo Baggins, his master, his friend, his lover. Sam could not believe it yet. He knew Frodo was different and special. Tonight Sam had discovered that that gentle and reserved hobbit was, in truth, a very passionate and lustful creature. He looked fragile, his skin was smooth and delicate, but there was force in those finely muscled arms and legs, in those skilled hands that had caressed him without pause during their love making. Sam kissed him on the top of the head. Now he knew. He was made for loving Frodo, totally and unconditionally, to help him and protect him. “Don’t you lose him, Samwise Gamgee” he thought. And it was a promise never to be broken. He would be by his side, even if it meant that he had to wait until he was of age to get back to Bag End. * * * Frodo lay with his head on Sam’s chest. He could hear Sam’s heartbeat, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Sam, his gardener, best friend and lover. Frodo felt protected and loved in Sam’s arms, those strong arms that encircled him. Frodo had already experienced some sex, with lasses and lads, but it was just for fun and curiosity, and he had never been able to give himself completely. This was a totally different sensation. He was truly in love for the first time in his life, and he knew he couldn’t choose a better lover. How stupid it had been for him to avoid Sam for so long. He had wasted days and days of happiness; now he knew that. But there was no time for regret. “I won’t let you go, Samwise Gamgee” he thought. He closed his eyes and smiled, then planted a tender kiss on Sam’s chest, just near his heart. He felt at home. Home was wherever his Sam was. * * * The first rays of dawn found them peacefully asleep, curled in each other’s arms. When they awoke, later that morning, they unwillingly got up and prepared for the uneasy task of facing both Bilbo and the Gaffer, and their inevitable reproach. After an unforgettable night of love and pleasure, the harsh reality was awaiting for them in the familiar garden of Bag End. “Where on earth have you been, lads? We’ve been so worried!” Bilbo called to them as they approached the smial. They didn’t answer, only stared silently at both the Gaffer and the Master of Bag End. “Come on, Sam” said Hamfast, “we’ve got to get back home now, there’s plenty to do afore you leave!” Sam sighed and turned away with his father. “It’s all my fault, Gaffer!” said Frodo. “I could not sleep, so I asked Sam to keep me company. Please, don’t be angry with him ..” “Mr. Frodo!” Sam protested. “Go Sam, go with your father.” * * * “So lad, what’s going on between you and Sam? You’ve been behaving so strange lately. Does this have something to do with Sam leaving?” “I don’t know, uncle,” answered Frodo, pouring himself some tea left from Bilbo’s first breakfast. Bilbo watched Frodo with worry and tenderness. He loved his young cousin a great deal. “You love him, don’t you?” “I said I don’t know!” Frodo snapped harshly, then calmed down. “I’m sorry Bilbo, I don’t know what’s happening to me, I feel so bad now … I don’t want him to leave, Bilbo, I can’t bear this!” Last night he’d had the firm intention of fighting for Sam’s love, but now, before Bilbo, all his resolution seemed to have left him and he felt fragile and exposed. All sort of doubts had assailed him, leaving him uncertain and guilty, especially for Sam’s future. “You do love him!” “Yes!” At this, Frodo was overwhelmed by embarrassment and fear, because he sensed that everything that had seemed so beautiful and strong the night before was in fact totally wrong. Or maybe it wasn’t wrong at all … Frodo couldn’t tell anymore, it was so hard now, and Sam was leaving. He started to weep. “There, there, dear lad, please!” Bilbo sounded alarmed and offered Frodo his handkerchief. “I’ve never felt this way for anyone Bilbo,” confessed Frodo. “I tried to deny it, but it was too strong, and I was so scared. I wanted to talk with you about this, but it seemed so strange to me. So good, but also so strange … and wrong, in some way.” “There’s nothing wrong with love, Frodo.” “It seemed wrong to me all the same. I was afraid for Sam, for everything. I was afraid that you would have not understood!” “Why, you should know me by now. You should know what people call me, Frodo. They call me Mad Baggins. Maybe the reason is that I see things differently. I’m not as thick and dull- minded as most of the hobbits here, for Eru’s sake.” A pale smile appeared through Frodo’s tears. “Yes Bilbo, that’s why I happily agreed to live here with you.” “Yes, dear boy, and, like me, you have an open mind, as well as a great heart. You are definitely more of a Baggins than a Brandybuck.” “But now what can I do to get Sam to stay here? The Gaffer seems immoveable in his decision … I’m so afraid I’m the cause of all this mess.” “No Frodo, don’t say that,” Bilbo replied, trying to reassure him. “You know, Sam doesn’t want to go either. He loves us both, and Bag End, and this garden. He is not interested in working with ropes. I have to stop him, in one way or another. I can’t let him go, Bilbo, I can’t ..” Bilbo felt his own heart tighten. He had never seen Frodo so desperate. “I will talk to the Gaffer, dear Frodo,” Bilbo said, stroking his cousin’s dark curls. Frodo dried his tears. He knew how Bilbo could be quite convincing. “Now lad, if you would be kind enough to fetch me these things at the market …” Bilbo handed Frodo a list on a sheet of paper. “I will go to Bagshot Row n. 3.” Frodo smiled, gratefully. “Thank you Bilbo.” * * * When Daisy went to open the door, she was surprised to see the Master of Bag End himself. “Morning, Master Bilbo, Sir. Please come inside.” “Good morning, Daisy. Is your father in?” The Gaffer appeared in the doorway. “Master Bilbo, please, take a seat.” The Gaffer held out a chair for him. “Daisy, go prepare some tea.” Bilbo looked around, but Sam was nowhere to be seen. “I sent Sam to the Cotton’s.” Hamfast explained, answering Bilbo’s unspoken question. “He has to finish his work in their garden.” Bilbo nodded. “I think you can guess why I’m here, Hamfast.” The Gaffer took a deep breath. “Me Sam hasn’t been properly behaving, lately. Please, accept my apologies for him, Master Bilbo, Sir. I’ve heard him talking to Mr. Frodo, discussing what, in Sam’s opinion, the young master should or should not do. I felt so ashamed. It’s not proper for me Sam to be talking with Mr. Frodo in that way. He has to remember his place, he has to be respectful!” “Hamfast, your lad is very respectful! In fact, he might even be too respectful!” Bilbo stared at the Gaffer reproachfully. “Now, what’s the real problem here? You know me too well to worry about this. Ah, the same old story about masters and servants. I’ve heard it too many times. All rubbish to me, that’s what I think about it, and you know!” The Gaffer listened in silence, as Bilbo continued. “I’ve always treated all people as equal, no matter if they are gentries or gardeners. And I’m proud that my Frodo thinks the same. You Gamgees are a respectable family, no less than we Bagginses. And there’s always been respect between us, and, as far as I know, between Frodo and Sam. You see, Hamfast, they’ve been together since the day Frodo arrived here, when Sam was just a child. They’ve grown up so close, and are so fond of each other. And I’m fond of Sam, too … Oh, Daisy dear, thank you!” Bilbo took a sip from the cup of tea Daisy had just handed him. He remained silent for a while, choosing the right words. “Now, I don’t want to interfere with your decision, but I want you to know just one other thing … I’m going to leave, Gaffer … Frodo doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to stay in Rivendell, with the Elves. Frodo will be of age next year, he will be the Master of Bag End. But he is still so carefree, and sometimes it seems to me that he really has his head in the clouds.” Hamfast was looking at him with concern. And a bit of pain, for he too was fond of Bilbo. “I really would like your Sam to stay here, with Frodo. Sam is young, but he is a strong and practical hobbit. I’m sure Frodo will need his help, when he is alone, as well as his comfort, I’m afraid.” Then Bilbo finished his cup of tea, waiting for the Gaffer to speak. * * * On his way back home from the market, Frodo found Sam loading the Gamgee’s old cart. His heart dropped, and he felt the despair rising through him once again. “So you are going, Sam. Bilbo promised me he’d talk to your Gaffer.” Sam smiled. “He did. I’m leaving tomorrow Mr. Frodo, but just to pay a visit to my brother, and help him a bit, while I’m there. I’ll be away a month, at most …” Frodo’s face lightened up. “That’s to say you’ll stay here, with me … ” “Aye, Mr. Frodo. I’ll be back sooner than you can miss me… I’ve got a garden here to tend … as well as my most precious flower.” They hugged and shared a quick kiss, hoping no one was around. * * * From his bedroom window in Bag End, Frodo was gazing at the stars, thinking about Sam and the night of love they had shared. Then he fell into a peaceful slumber, the first after a long series of restless nights. * * * In his tiny bed in North Farthing Sam was having his well deserved rest, after a day of travel and hard work. His last thought before falling asleep had been for his beloved Frodo. * * * The next day the sun rose high in the Shire, drying away the last traces of dew. A wonderful summer morning: it brought the promise of a future full of love for Frodo and Sam. End