Title: Dawn

Author: Romy Brandybuck

E-mail:Hobbitmistress@books-of-bag-end.net

Feedback: Would be lovely ^_^

Pairing(s): Frodo/Sam

Rating: NC-17

Summary:  Hmmm, we shall see *wink* Will I tell you who it is?  Maybe, then again, 
it rather adds to the fun not knowing.

Disclaimer: Hobbits not mine, and I get only perverse pleasure from writing this.

Warning: Torturous, oh indeed!!

Author's note (if needed/desired):  Ok, now somebody please get a shovel 
and get these damn plot bunnies off of me, this isn't funny anymore >.<!!  
Second thoughts, I really quite like them just where they are!!


~*~*~

The first shafts of light had just began to creep into Frodo's bedroom at Bag End, 
and he sighed and rolled over dreamily. 'Mmmmmm', it was lovely this time of the 
morning, quiet and cool, the gentle summer breeze creeping through the open widow 
and caressing his skin lightly.  He stretched out and sighed, content as a cat.  
Stepping quietly out of his bed, he made his way to the window and looked out, 
hoping to catch the last faint glimmers of the stars as they were quashed slowly 
by the creeping daylight.  Breathing a contented sigh, he looked out and  sure enough, 
a few faint stars, still bright enough to be seen by his keen eyes, shone proudly 
in the sky, twinkling to him as if in invitation.  He held there for a moment, and 
then his eyes began to wander through the gardens as the dark night was banished 
in the first red glows of the dawn.  He did not expect, however, to see the figure 
that sat upon the bench that Bilbo had placed among the beds of flowers and shrubs, 
and he peered closely, trying to make out who the silhouetted form belonged to.  
But with the sun behind, Frodo could see nothing but an outline.

Perhaps Sam, he thought, he often came to work early, if there was a lot of work 
that needed doing that day, and especially in the summer, when the afternoons could 
get so hot.  Whoever it was, they were leaning against the back of the bench quite 
happily, as if thinking upon some dream that had passed through their mind during 
the previous night's slumber.  Frodo was about to turn away or call out when his 
attention was caught by the figure's arm, or more precisely, their hand. It looked 
to Frodo in the dim light as if  they were caressing their own lips with their fingers.  
'Curious' he thought to himself, but then he looked down at his own fingers, their 
nails bitten to the quick, and he laughed silently, chiding himself in his head, 
'why Frodo Baggins, do you really think you are the only one who bites their nails?'  
He looked back at the silent outline again, 'curious though,' he thought, 'I never 
move my hand that way when I bite my nails, perhaps if I were licking...'

He turned his attention back to the person on the bench, his eyes caught on the 
motions of the anonymous stranger's hand; there was no doubt about it, this person 
was sucking their own finger.  For some reason Frodo  found himself quite 
enthralled by this sight, and was unable to take his eyes off of it, and he 
noticed that he could see the figure's chest rising and falling deeply as the 
hand moved.  

The light grew a little in the sky, and Frodo was now able to make out more of 
what was happening. He could see the outline of a tongue, as it traced its way 
lazily around the tip of the finger. A moan caught in his throat and he found 
his own breathing was coming a little rapidly as he stared in amazement.  The 
tongue curled its way around the tip, and then gently down as the mouth closed 
around the finger, sliding over it and then back off again. Frodo bit his lip 
as he felt his arousal grow under his nightshirt, the sight was strangely erotic 
to him, and he stood transfixed at his window, his eyes wide now with passion.  

The light had grown more still, and Frodo was now able to make out that as the 
finger slipped inside the mouth, the other fingers gently touched the face, moving 
in little circles on the skin until they moved away again, and the other hand was 
gently caressing between thighs. At this Frodo had found himself doing the same, 
shuddering as his hand touched his own taut flesh, but still he stood and stared, 
unable to move away, as though his eyes were held by some magic.

The light grew more still, and Frodo could see the first faint touches of features 
upon the face, and heard that the figure was now making low moaning sounds, throaty 
and full of passion. Hardly able to stop it, he choked back a similar sound from 
himself, his hand now moving in unison with the person in the garden.  He closed 
his eyes momentarily, and as he did so, he thought of what it would be like if 
that mouth were on him and almost released right there, but stopped himself at 
the very last moment, and turned his attention back to the bench.

Now it was fully light, and Frodo recognized exactly who was doing such things 
in his garden, but by this point he no longer cared, he only cared for the 
sensations and the heat that it brought to him to watch.  By now, he was on the 
edge of a very powerful release, but his hand was still matching the pace of the 
hobbit on the bench, and he seemingly was in no rush for the slow torment of his 
skin to end, stroking slowly at his own erection, the fingers still sliding in and 
out of his mouth, gently, pausing every now and then for the artful tongue to flick 
across the tip before returning into the soft, moist, suction.  

Frodo was wild with desire, the deadly suspense of it all was making his breath 
come in ragged gasps and he pressed his hand against his mouth to try to stifle 
the wanton noises that were choking their way out of his throat, but it didn't 
seem to matter now, for he could hear the same noises coming from outside.  He 
had found his eyes fixed once again and his hand matched the pace of the one he 
was watching, and Frodo had found out exactly how useful a finger in one's mouth 
can be at stifling the cries of intense release.  He threw his head back, no 
longer needing to watch, needing, and feeling that mouth on himself as he 
cascaded over the edge, his cry muffled by his hand, and outside at the exact 
same moment, he heard another cry matching his in intensity.  He laid his head 
against the sill for a moment and then moved away from the window and lay back 
upon his bed until his breathing returned to normal.  'Perhaps I should try to 
see the stars everyday,' he though to himself.

FIN