Title:  Following Advice
Author: Kathryn Ramage
Email:  kramage@erols.com
Pairings: Frodo/Sam 
Rating: NC17 
Summary: A sequel to "Some Good Advice."  Frodo waits for Sam to 
return and follow up after their brief encounter the night before.

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.

March 2005

!~|*|~!

After breakfast that morning, Frodo saw Merry off at the front door 
of Bag End.

"Good luck," his cousin said, and gave him a hug before going on 
his way.  After Merry had gone, Frodo went to sit down on the bench 
in the garden and looked down the grassy hillside in the direction 
of Bag Shot Row.  He couldn't see Number 3 from here, but that 
bungalow, and one of its inhabitants, were foremost on his mind.

He began to fidget, and when he caught himself chewing his thumb-
nail--he had already bitten the other nails down to the quick--he 
wrapped his hands around his drawn-up knees to stop.  Here he was 
in a flutter of nervous anticipation at the prospect of seeing Sam.  
Sam, of all people!  How very odd that was.  They'd spent day after 
day in close company with each other for months, sleeping curled 
together, caring for each other, living as intimately as two people 
who weren't lovers could, and he'd never considered Sam as more 
than his dearest friend.  He'd never been nervous at the thought 
of Sam before.  Normally, Sam was a steady, calming, and comfort-
ing presence.  But now, everything had changed. 

This remarkable change had begun yesterday with Merry's unexpected 
visit.  They had gone out for an ale or two at the Green Dragon, 
and somehow ended up talking about his living alone.  Merry had 
proposed he turn to Sam, with the incredible words, "He's in love 
with you."
 
Merry had advised him to give Sam a little encouragement and see 
what happened.  Frodo had been doubtful and indignant at first, but 
once he'd left the pub ahead of Merry and gone home to find him-
self sitting on this same garden bench in the dark with Sam, he'd 
ended up doing just as his cousin suggested.  He'd kissed Sam--and, 
to his astonishment, Sam had kissed him back with a passion he'd 
never suspected existed.  And more astonishing yet was the passion 
he'd felt wakening in himself.  Who knew how far they might have 
gone right then and there, if Merry hadn't shown up and interrupted 
them?

Sam had promised to return this morning after Merry had gone.  Who 
knew how far they would go today, now that there was no one to 
interrupt?  They'd talk about their plans for the future.  There 
would be more kissing within the privacy of the house, and perhaps 
even...?

As his thoughts raced on ahead, Frodo felt a nervous thrill run 
through him.  He was fidgeting again, and could barely sit still.  

He was considering taking a walk to try and calm down, when the 
gate at the bottom of the garden creaked open and Sam came up the 
stone steps.  Frodo leapt to his feet, heart pounding.  He was 
pleased, and very touched, to see that Sam was carrying an arm-
load of white flowers.

"Oh, Sam!  For me?" he said, coming forward eagerly to take them as 
Sam reached the top of the hill.  "But there's nothing like these 
in the garden."

Sam's face went pink.  "No, there's not.  I've been growing `em 
down in the Row.  But if you like `em, I'll put some in the window 
borders for you."

Frodo didn't know if this was an offer from his gardener or from 
his prospective lover, but he smiled just the same.  "Yes, please.  
I think they're lovely."  He carried the bundle into the house and 
tried to find something to put the flowers in.  Sam followed him 
into the kitchen, where they located a pewter pitcher on top of 
the cabinet and filled it with water.  The cut ends of the flower 
stems were loosely wrapped in a damp handkerchief; Frodo unwrapped 
them and gave the handkerchief to Sam, who lay it out on the rim 
of the stone wash-basin to dry. 

"I've been waiting all morning for you to come," Frodo said as he 
set the flowers in the pitcher on the kitchen table.  "I was afraid 
you'd changed your mind."

"Nonsense!" said Sam.  "I came as quick as I could!  Only, I had 
to finish breakfast with Marigold and the Gaffer--they would've 
wondered if I'd got up from the table and left my plate half-
finished.  Besides, I thought I'd better wait `til Mr. Merry went 
on his way."

Frodo nodded, and realized that Merry couldn't have left more 
than half an hour ago, although it certainly seemed as if he'd 
been sitting much longer.  He began to fumble with the flowers, 
rearranging them.  "Have you considered my offer?" he asked.  

"Offer?" 

"To come and live here with me.  You know I've asked you before, 
right after we came home.  You wouldn't then, but things-"  He 
cast his eyes down shyly.  "Well, things are different now.  If 
you're worried about your father, I'm sure he'll understand if 
you explain it to him in the right way."

Sam stared at him, eyes wide.  "He'll never understand _this_!"

Frodo laughed.  "No, I didn't mean for you to tell him about 
_this_, only reassure him that you won't be far away if he needs 
you.  Tell him that I've invited you, and you've accepted--if 
you have accepted, Sam."  He turned to Sam.  "Do you?"

"It is what you want?" Sam asked back.  He wasn't asking simply 
about the invitation, but all that it entailed.

"More than anything," Frodo responded, and took a step forward.  
"Oh, Sam..." but here he faltered.  Worse than his nervous fidgets 
was this infuriating feeling of awkwardness that put a barrier 
between them.  He could see that Sam was also unsure, and was 
waiting for him to give some sign of what _he_ wanted.  Frodo 
did know just what he hoped would happen today, but didn't know 
how to begin.  Why was it so difficult?  He and Sam had been 
close for so long; they should be able to discuss this change 
in their friendship frankly, without embarrassment, and then go 
on.  

He hadn't felt this awkward last night--but he'd been more than a 
little tipsy when he'd kissed Sam then.  Maybe that was what he 
needed now, even if it was barely ten o'clock in the morning.

"Let's go into the parlor," he suggested abruptly.  "We can sit 
and talk more comfortably there."  There was also a decanter of 
wine on the sideboard, left from his dinner last night with Merry, 
sitting ready if he needed a sip.

Sam looked perplexed, but nodded and followed him.

In the parlor, Frodo drew the curtains over the window, and Sam 
crouched to make up the fire.  The ashes in the hearth had gone 
gray and cold, with no live embers to be found, and he put a few 
fresh logs and tinder in.  Frodo took a small ceramic cup full of 
matches from the mantlepiece and knelt beside him.  He struck a 
match, but his hands shook as he tried to light the fire.  Sam 
reached out to help him hold it steady.  As their hands touched, 
Frodo dropped the match and drew back.  

He scrambled to his feet, trembling so hard that he wondered if he 
were going mad.  He'd been slow to recognize his own feelings, but 
now that he did, those suppressed emotions and desires he'd barely 
acknowledged before last night were bubbling up beyond his control.   
He wanted so badly...  

Sam was on his feet also.  "Frodo, what is it?  What's wrong?"

"I-" He gazed desperately into Sam's eyes, and remembered Merry's 
advice of last night:  *Throw yourself at him... Sam will be 
certain to catch you.*

And, without another thought, Frodo did so.  He flung himself; Sam 
caught him and tumbled backwards onto the settee, Frodo astride 
his thighs, holding Sam's head between both hands and kissing him 
hungrily.  

After a few minutes, Sam broke off the kiss to gasp aloud, "What's 
got into you, Frodo?  Why're you doing this?"

"Don't you want me to?" Frodo asked back, playful now that he had 
broken through his awkwardness.  

"Yes!  Only, why now?  You never did before."

Frodo laughed.  "Merry told me to."

"Mr. Merry?" Sam echoed, baffled. 

"That's right."  And, between more nuzzling kisses on Sam's cheeks 
and lips and the points of his ears, Frodo explained, "When he was 
here last night.  He said I looked lonely, and I didn't need to 
be.  He said you were in love with me--you are, aren't you, Sam?"  
The answer to this was an eager kiss.  "Merry told me I should 
speak to you, before it was too late.  And when I came upon you 
last night... well, I took his advice."  Frodo sat back and smiled.  
"I'm very glad I did, aren't you?"  

Sam agreed that he was too. 

All during this explanation, Sam's hands were on his back, moving 
down from his shoulder-blades to hold him by the waist then, as he 
wriggled close again, lower still until each buttock was cupped by 
a span of outstretched fingers.  This touch was a maddening tease; 
Frodo began to rock his hips slowly, but the stimulation created 
as he thrust up against Sam only increased his excitement, and was 
ultimately unsatisfying.

He tried to shift himself from Sam's lap onto the settee, so that 
he could lie down, when he lost his balance.  As Frodo toppled 
backwards, he grabbed Sam by the shirt-collar, and pulled him off 
the settee too.  

They fell to the hearthrug.  Sam put out his hands to keep from 
landing on top of Frodo with his full weight.  

"You're all right?" he asked.

"Perfectly fine," Frodo responded, and wound both arms around 
Sam's neck to draw him down.  As they kissed again, he plucked 
the braces off Sam's shoulders.  "I've never felt better.  Do you 
know, I think I've been in love with you for months, but was too 
foolish to admit it, even to myself."  He managed to unfasten a 
few shirt buttons.  "I don't want to be alone, Sam.  I've wasted 
so much time, and nearly lost you.  I don't want to lose another 
minute.  As a matter of fact..."  He had wrapped one leg around 
Sam's to tickle the back of a bare calf with his toes and, as 
he spoke, pressed up against Sam in little surges, but found no 
relief.  It was impossible for him to manuever any further from 
this position--especially with his clothes still on!--and the 
tension that was building within him was becoming too much to 
bear any longer.  "If you don't give me a good rogering right 
now, I think I shall lose my mind."

Sam looked astonished by the language even more than the senti-
ment, but he was not at all reluctant to comply.  Once they had 
gotten out of their clothes, Frodo turned to lie on his side, 
Sam behind him, exploring tentatively as he tried to figure out 
the best way to do as requested.  One hand traveled down the 
length of Frodo's thigh, then slipped under his knee to draw 
it slowly up toward his chest.   

Frodo shut his eyes and hid his face in the crook of one arm.
He tried to keep very still. 

At the first thrust, he felt a moment's panic and fluttered 
against the hearthrug, suddenly afraid that he'd made a terri-
ble mistake.  He'd gone too fast, asking for this so soon; he'd 
never done anything like it before, and he wasn't prepared.  It 
wasn't possible.  It couldn't be done.  He bucked his hips to 
try to throw Sam off, and was about to ask him to stop, when-  

"Ohhh!"  A low moan escaped him.  The sound of it surprised him 
as much as the cause--the remarkable sensation of Sam sliding 
deep inside him. 
 
Sam's breath fell in hot bursts against the back of his neck.  
Frodo was barely breathing himself.  He remained very still, 
but his muscles were working, clenching and unclenching almost 
reflexively as he got used to this odd new feeling of being 
fully pierced.  Once the initial pain had subsided, what was 
left was a rather strange fullness that was not uncomfortable, 
and not unpleasant--no, _not_ unpleasant at all!----and yet 
it wasn't enough.  Something spectacular was just beyond his 
grasp, if only he could reach it.

He moved his hips slightly, carefully, and as Sam began to move 
with him, he reached down with one hand to fondle himself.  Sam's 
hand covered his, and Frodo guided him, showing his lover where 
and how he wanted to be touched.  The caress of those strong, if 
somewhat uncertain, fingers was exquisite.  His hips bucked more 
urgently.  Almost there.  Almost...

And when he unexpectedly located an extremely sensitive spot 
within himself, the sudden, incredible intensity of sensation 
overwhelmed him.  "Agghhhhh!"  Surely _he_ couldn't be making all 
that noise!  No, he wasn't, for Sam was moaning too, thrusting 
harder to try and hit that spot again--and then, too soon, there 
was a gush of wetness spilling into him and onto his and Sam's 
hands all at once.  For one confused moment, Frodo thought they 
were the same.

!~|*|~!

Afterwards, they lay curled on the rug before the fire.  And there 
was a fire; the dropped match must have landed amid the tinder, for 
a small blaze rose from the pile of logs on the grate, casting the 
room in an orange-tinted light.  The two hobbits were comfortably 
warm without their clothes.  Frodo was in no hurry to put his back 
on.  He was happy here, with Sam lying close behind him, nuzzling 
the nape of his neck. 

When Sam's arms tightened around him, he twisted his head over his 
shoulder for a kiss.  

"Was it just as you wanted?" Sam asked him.

"Yes, it was, thank you.  As good and proper a rogering as anyone 
could ask for."  He would have been content to stay like this for 
the rest of the day, and he was surprised, and a little dismayed, 
when Sam sighed and sat up a few minutes later to reach for his 
trousers.  "You're going?"

"I don't particularly want to," Sam explained, "but there's a lot 
that needs doing.  I ought to be packing my things to bring up, 
if I'm to be settled in here tonight.  And the Gaffer's got to 
know."

"Sam!" Frodo sat up, delighted.  "Then you are coming to live with 
me?  I'll have you here by me all the time, and we'll do this 
every day?"

"Twice a day, if you like!" Sam answered with a laugh.  

Frodo beamed at him, and threw his arms around Sam's neck.  "Won't 
it be wonderful?"  After a moment, he drew back and asked, "What 
will you tell your father?"

"That I'm needed here, and it's where I want to be."

"Is it, Sam?" Frodo asked him eagerly.  "Is it, truly?"

"More'n anything!"

"Why didn't you want to... before?"

"I did, before," Sam told him.  "I always did.  You don't know how 
hard it was, saying 'no' when you first asked, but I couldn't've 
stood it.  It'd be too much for me, living in the same house with 
you, and not being able to have you."  He ducked his head, fiddling 
with his shirt buttons as he fastened them, and confessed, "I never 
thought I could, not `til you kissed me last night."

"I should have done it ages ago," said Frodo.  "I'm sorry, Sam, 
that I took so long."

"Don't you fret over it.  It's done now, and it's all come out all 
right.  We'll make up for whatever time we lost."  He put a hand 
to Frodo's cheek, kissed him, and then promised, "I'll come back 
as soon as I can."   

"I'll be waiting for you."  As Sam left, Frodo felt that trembling 
thrill of anticipation again.

Quickly, he pulled on his shirt and trousers and went to the front 
hall.  From the open door, he could watch Sam going down the hill 
to get his things from the bungalow and tell the Gaffer that he was 
coming to live at Bag End.

!~|end|~!