Author’s Name: Veronica 
      Title: Gone Fishin’
      Pairing: Frodo/Sam
      Rating: NC-17
      Synopsis: A fishing trip turns into a strange escapade after Frodo makes a meal 
out of one of their stranger ‘catches of the day’. After some panic, Sam acquires 
information about the problem at hand- and enjoys the after-effects.
      Disclaimer: Nooope, this is so made up, I don’t own a danged thing (except for 
the fish, that’s mine- yay!). The whole Lord of the Rings thing is SO not my idea. 
      Go on and send comments, flames, whatever you choose at 
vast_cool_and_unsympathetic@yahoo.com 
      
      
      Sam wasn’t too sure about his decision to take Frodo along with him on his day of 
fishing. So far, Frodo had no clue on how to fish at all. “So… we throw the hook in, and 
they bite it?”
      “Well… no. Not just the hook, meanin’,” Sam said as they got to the small shore 
of the pond. 
      “What else?”
      “Something for the fish to eat!” Sam said, pulling out his bait jar he’d packed 
together the night before. As he unscrewed the jar and began digging for worms, Frodo 
leaned over his small picnic basket.
      “Oh, good then!” he said, pulling out some lunch items. Sam watched him, a 
confused look on his face.
      “I know we get hungry quick Frodo, but we’d just eaten before we’d gone,”
      “Not us Sam. The fish,” Frodo said with an all-knowing tone to his voice, as if he 
suddenly knew everything about fishing. Sam looked from Frodo to the sweet cake he 
held in his hands, realizing Frodo’s mistake. He couldn’t hold back a laugh at this.
      “Frodo, I’ve enough worms for us both,”
      “Worms?”
      “Yes. Worms. That’s what fish eat.”
      “Oh.” Frodo said, putting the cake down. Sam walked over and brought his own 
pole and hook over. 
      “Now, you take the worm like this…” Sam went to say, holding up the hook to 
the worm. Frodo’s eyes screwed up in disgust, shaking his head as Sam stuck the hook 
into the worm, making it wiggle and squirm.
      “Oh, Sam… I don’t think I could do that to the worm,”
      “Um… Mr. Frodo? You’re about to catch fish by plungin’ a hook into ‘em!”
      “Well I KNOW that. But I’m not going to eat the worms. I WILL eat a fish, no 
mistake,” Frodo said, his face looking shocked yet amused. 
      “I can hook the worm for you if you like,” Sam offered. Frodo shook his head, 
picking up his cake again.
      “I’m going to use this,” Frodo said, going to break off a piece. Sam went to 
protest, saying that there weren’t ANY way a fish would take a liking to sweet cake. He 
decided, through his amused annoyance that Frodo would just find out for himself.
      “All right, Mr. Frodo. You use that sweet cake. I’ll stick with what I know,”
      
      
      Sam took a great sigh, staring at his motionless line in front of him, extended as 
far as it could go into the water. He made it bob slightly, trying to at least get a nibble. 
Honestly, you would think that the fish had grown legs and taken off for land; that is, if 
you didn’t see the hobbit standing nearby, pulling on a very excited and tense line. For 
about the twentieth time in the last hour. 
      “I think I’ve got another, Sam!!” Frodo cried, pulling relentlessly at the pole. Sam 
looked over slowly, watching his master dragging in another huge fish, its body flailing 
over the water, splashing madly. Sam forced a smile.
      “That’s very nice, Mr. Frodo,”
      Frodo grabbed the fish and took it from the hook. “Now… you’re sure you don’t 
want to try my own methods??” Frodo asked playfully, nodding to the half gone cake. 
Sam had refused thus far, his pride making him stave off of this new discovery.
      “Worms have never failed me before, Mr. Frodo,”
      “All right…”
      Sam turned back to the water suddenly, seeing the line moving now. “OH! I’ve 
got one!!” he cried out, standing up. Frodo rushed over after putting his fish in the basket, 
hopping up and down. 
      “Oh, good!!” he yelled. Sam pulled and pulled, his excitement growing. He 
twirled the line expertly fast into his palm, stretching it and pulling back. “I’ve got it! 
I’ve-“ he went to cheer then stopped; a large leafy branch suddenly emerged, Sam’s line 
intertwining around its twigs. Frodo stopped hopping, looking out over the water as Sam 
drug it to them. He sighed with a groan, dropping his line. 
      “Oh, Sam… I’m sorry,” Frodo said, though he had a small smile on his lips. Sam 
freed his line and threw the branch to the sand, frustrated. He felt Frodo’s hand on his 
shoulder, patting it gently. “Well, it’s bigger than anything I’ve caught.”
      “Don’t tease, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, yet couldn’t help seeing the humor in this. 
He smiled up at him, shaking his head. “This is ridiculous.”
      “It is.”
      
      
      Later in the afternoon Sam and Frodo sat on their picnic blanket, going to enjoy 
their lunches they’d brought. As Sam poured some honey onto a fat biscuit he smiled up 
at Frodo. “Well, Mr. Frodo… I’d say you won the day,”
      “Really, how?”
      Sam chuckled, looking over to the large pile of fish in Frodo’s basket. “How 
many did you catch, anyways?”
      Frodo shrugged, taking a bite of an apple. “About fifteen.”
      “Fifteen… I suppose anyone gone fishing here soon will be disappointed, now 
that you’ve gone and emptied the pond.”
      “I suppose, I suppose.” Frodo said, shrugging again. Sam watched him a moment; 
Frodo wore that sly little grin he’d have when he specifically wasn’t saying something. 
      “What?”
      “What…?”
      “Mr. Frodo, you can maybe hide out from everyone else in town. But your Sam 
knows when you’re hiding something. So spill it,”
      Frodo looked to Sam, his mischievous grin swelling to the farthest corners of his 
cheeks. “I suppose I can’t hide from you, dear Sam.”
      “Then what is it? Come on now.”
      “Well… do you honestly think this is my first time fishing??”
      Sam blinked as he stared at Frodo, who was now giggling profusely. “Mr. 
Frodo…?”
      “Sam, I grew up by a river.” He said, nearly choking on a bite of apple. “I hated 
worms then, and I hate them now; at least, using them on hooks and what not. I’ve 
ALWAYS used some kind of sweet treat to catch fish, and found it quite useful.”
      Sam gawked at his master now, taken aback by his sneakiness. “You devil!” he 
finally blurted, making Frodo laugh even harder. 
      “That I am, Samwise. That I am.” Frodo said, winking. Sam blushed, looking 
away. In all honesty he knew his master to be a sly little thing at times, and it secretly 
thrilled him to know it. He’d tell him stories of growing up in Brandy Hall, all the trouble 
he and his cousins would bring upon the entire place. He’d sound wistful and bright, 
making Sam beam. Sometimes he’d wished he’d been older and grown up alongside 
Frodo and his band of troublemakers, instead of being brought up to never find any sort 
of trouble. Sometimes… sometimes he wished he’d been older and just with Frodo now, 
feeling more of an equal to him even with their roles as a gardener and a Master. 
      After their lunch they decided to head home. Before they did they inspected the 
fish, looking over what types they were. “That’s a nice trout, there,” Sam pointed to the 
long fish Frodo had taken out of the basket. 
      “Yes, it’s quite large. That will make a fine meal.”
      “What’s this one…?” Sam said, bringing out an odd looking fish. Frodo shook his 
head. 
      “I don’t know.”
      Sam inspected this creature; it had a rounded head and large lips, yet wasn’t a 
bottom feeder by it’s looks. Usually bottom feeders were slim and tight; this one was 
plump and rounded near the gills, all the way to its tail. He lifted it up and felt along its 
soft belly. “Oh, look here,” he said, pointing to an area of its underside. Both of them 
peered at it, finding a long wide line of bright and shiny pink skin. Frodo blinked.
      “Wow… it’s very pretty,” he muttered. Sam nodded.
      “Yea, it is. Not to mention heavy… perhaps we should ask Mr. Wally Fennel 
what kind it is,” Sam explained, referring to the town expert on fish. Frodo shrugged. 
      “Perhaps. For now, let’s head home,”
      
      
      “Wow!” Marigold cried as Sam entered his hole, carrying seven large fish with 
him. “You caught all those??”
      He shook his head. “I hadn’t caught a one,” he said. “Mr. Frodo did,”
      His Gaffer sat up from the kitchen table, peering at Sam curiously. “Mr. Frodo 
did? And… why do you have them, Samwise?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow 
suspiciously. Sam rolled his eyes and smiled.
      “Well, he certainly can’t eat fifteen fish before they go sour,” 
      “Fifteen??” Mari cried out, her eyes bugging. Sam shook his head and chuckled.
      “Yes, he’s very much the fisher-hobbit,”
      His Gaff smiled and chuckled. “Ah, sweet cake then?” he muttered. Sam frowned.
      “Yes. How’d you know, da??”
      “He’s imparted a few secrets to me hisself.”
      “Oh, that DEVIL!” Sam cried, laughing now. “Well da if you’ll let me, he’s 
invited me to have dinner at Bag End tonight. He wants me to help eat his haul.”
      His Gaffer sighed, sitting back in his chair with his pipe. “I suppose it bein’ a free 
day fer you, you may as well do as you want. But don’t be takin’ up yer Master’s time 
and all, and don’t overstay yer welcome,”
      “I won’t, thanks da,” Sam said, giving him a small hug. “You enjoy some fish fer 
dinner!” he called before leaving the hole, skipping in his steps. If the truth were to be 
told, he loved being with Frodo on his free days. It didn’t matter that he was there 
throughout the entire week tending the gardens, as he relished the time spent there. He 
knew Frodo to be ever so lonely, holed up there at Bag End without so much as one 
friend passing through the doors to share times with. He’d lament to Sam every time his 
cousins would leave to go back home, even before they’d gone, expecting to be alone 
later. It made Sam happy to spend time with him, making sure his master was well taken 
care of and happy.
      He was soon back at Bag End; before even getting to the back door leading to the 
kitchen he could smell fish being cooked inside, making him breathe deep. He knocked 
on the door. 
      “Come on in, Sam!”
      Sam entered the hole, getting a full blast of wonderful aromas. Rosemary and 
other herbs and spices, along with fine cooking oils mixed with the cooking flesh of 
delicious fish. “Oh, it smells wonderful in here!!” Sam cried out, feeling his mouth go 
moist with hunger. 
      “Yes, I’m using a good recipe from Bilbo’s listings. It had said that rosemary is 
one of the finest herbs to use with fish,”
      “Which ones are you cookin’, Mr. Frodo?”
      “Well, I’ve gotten two trout made already. I know you love trout, so you can have 
them,”
      “Oh Mr. Frodo, you don’t need to give me them. I’ll take any fish as long as it 
tastes good!” Sam said with a smile. “Anythin’ I can do to help?”
      “Yes, why don’t you set the table? I’ll be done with these next two soon,”
      Sam nodded, going to the cabinet holding all utensils and plates. He soon had the 
table set up elegantly as he could make it, even lighting a small beeswax candle. It felt 
right to, and made Frodo smile. “How romantic,” he said, giggling. Sam shrugged.
      “It’s just nice to have ‘round, Mr. Frodo,”
      Soon after Sam had set along napkins and cutlery, Frodo raised a giant plate of 
cooked fish to the middle of the table, placing it there elegantly. “And here we are! The 
fruits of our labor,”
      “Erm, YOUR labor, sir,” Sam said, smiling. Frodo waved his hand casually.
      “We can always say you caught at least one, to save face.”
      They settled into their seats, piling on the other foods Frodo had prepared of 
peeled boiled potatoes, spinach with butter, and herbed rice. Sam couldn’t believe how 
Frodo’s cooking skills had progressed. “This is all so grand, Mr. Frodo,” he said as he 
mixed some butter into his rice. 
      “Well, I have a lot of time on my hands. Good for practice,” Frodo said. “Now 
then, let’s tuck into this fish!”
      Sam allowed Frodo to take his then took the trout. He peered curiously to the 
bright pink flesh on Frodo’s plate. “Which fish is that?”
      “That curious one… the one with the pink belly,” Frodo said, looking over it. He 
sniffed over it and smiled blissfully. “Wish we knew what it was. It made the most 
wonderful smells in cooking it.”
      Sam began cutting into his fish, carefully spreading the flesh from the bone. He 
looked up, seeing Frodo taking his first bite of fish. He smiled as Frodo’s eyes closed, 
shaking his head slowly. “Yes, this is nice,”
      “Good, good. We’ll have to go to Wally soon, see if they’re too uncommon to 
catch again,”
      Frodo nodded, taking another bite. Sam enjoyed his own dinner, crunching into 
the tasty skin of the fish. He grabbed his mug of ale that Frodo had placed there, drinking 
down a few large gulps. This dinner was truly one of the best he’d had in awhile. 
Looking to Frodo he was surprised to see his fish half gone already, Frodo taking more 
bites of it eagerly. Sam laughed. “Slow down, Mr. Frodo! Don’t want to get a bone stuck 
in your throat!”
      Frodo laughed low. “I can’t help it, it’s so good!”
      “Still, just watch yerself,” Sam warned. Frodo didn’t seem to heed it as he 
continued eating at the same pace. He hadn’t even touched the other dinner items, Sam 
noticed. “Frodo, is it really THAT good??”
      “Oh you don’t even know,” Frodo said, his voice going low and deep. Sam’s 
eyebrows rose; Frodo then extended a small bite to Sam upon his fork. “Here. Try it.”
      “Oh sir, that’s yours-“
      “I insist,” Frodo said, a curious look on his face. Sam shrugged lightly and bent 
forward, taking the bite. Frodo smiled upon him strangely, sliding the fork slowly from 
his lips. Sam had to admit, this fish had produced such delight in its flavor, making Sam 
chew it slowly to relish it. 
      “It is very good,” he mumbled through his eating. Frodo nodded slowly, going to 
the underside of it. He usually didn’t like the skin of fish, Sam realized, but he was 
surprised as Frodo cut into it and began eating away, taking the pink skin to his lips 
hungrily. Sam had noticed the look in his eyes, so peculiar. “Mr. Frodo, why don’t you 
eat some of those potatoes? I’ve noticed you haven’t even started in on ‘em yet,”
      Frodo shook his head. “I’m fine with just this for now.”
      Sam blinked as Frodo finished up the fish, leaving nothing but the spiky tender 
bones behind. Frodo sat back now, looking more pleased than Sam had ever seen him. 
Sam finished his own meal as Frodo sipped his mug of ale slowly. “So,” Sam said, 
wiping his mouth. “Is there dessert?”
      “Oh, you can take anything you like. I’m full,”
      Sam stood up slowly, taking their plates. Frodo was looking up at him strangely, 
curling his finger around the mug’s handle slowly. Sam turned to another plate and 
emptied Frodo’s unfinished dinner onto it, then placed the empty plates in a small basin 
of water. He grabbed up a small slice of sweet cake, one left behind from their lunch. 
“Well, that was an excellent dinner, Mr. Frodo. Thanks for having me over for it,”
      “Wouldn’t think of not having you with me,” Frodo said. Sam extended a slice of 
cake to him. “Oh, no thank you.”
      Sam shrugged and walked back to his seat. Their dinner now over, he figured he’d 
bring up the subject of new plants he planned on putting into the garden. “So, I was 
thinkin’ of puttin’ in some new verbena in the back part of the gardens. They smell so 
nice in the summer, and the leaves are great for the bath- Mr. Frodo?”
      Frodo had sunk low in his seat, both hands on the table. He wore a blissful smile, 
his eyes half closed. “Yes?” he barely whispered. Sam looked at him edgewise now.
      “Are… you all right?”
      “I’m fine, I’m fine. Perfectly fine.” Frodo said, moving slowly to be more upright. 
He slid his elbow on the table, putting his head upon his hand, a dreamy look over his 
eyes. Sam nodded slowly. 
      “Okay…” he drawled. He continued describing his plans for the garden, yet kept 
halting in words as Frodo would shift from one elbow to the other, his legs moving upon 
the underside of the table making the mugs tremble slightly. He was acting so strange; 
Sam couldn’t help but admit to himself. He began to worry; what if that fish was making 
his master sick? He really should have known better and went to ask Wally about it 
before having Frodo eat it. 
      Suddenly, just as Sam was about to talk of the rosebushes (partly as a distraction 
from the odd behavior in front of him, as he’d gotten the rosebushes in order the day 
before) Frodo sat back fully, moaning lightly. “Oh Sam…” he mumbled out, shaking his 
head from side to side slowly. “I feel so… I don’t know…”
      “Oh no, are you sick?” Sam said.
      “I don’t know… I don’t think so,”
      “Well, is your stomach hurting?” he asked; he wondered if he’d be able to forgive 
himself if Frodo got violently ill. Frodo shook his head however, his lips parting slightly 
as he sighed deeply. 
      “Not at all.”
      “What about your head? Is that aching?”
      “No…” Frodo murmured. One of his hands rose to his shoulder; he rubbed at it 
slowly, kneading his fingers deep into his skin. “Ah, that’s nice…”
      “Mister… Frodo?” Sam went to say, blinking at Frodo who was now biting his 
lower lip and grinning. Something was most definitely not right with this. 
      “Sam… I’ll be back… all right? I just need to… “ He trailed off as he stood up. 
He stumbled to his bedroom and shut the door. Sam stood up and went to the dishes, an 
odd feeling swelling in his stomach. If Frodo wasn’t growing ill, then what was going 
on?? He figured a tea was in order now as he began boiling some water. 
      Before he had the chance to wipe his hands, an odd noise came from the bedroom. 
Sam turned, trying to listen. Frodo sounded as if he were in pain; oh no, he thought. He 
was sick. Sam turned from the dishes and pot, going to the bedroom. “Mr. Frodo?” he 
called out. He now knocked on the door; he heard Frodo beyond it, panting heavily. He 
didn’t wait for any response as he opened the door, going inside.
      He gasped. Frodo’s hand darted from his breeches, looking to Sam. “What…?” he 
asked blissfully, his eyes opening and closing slowly.
      
      
      The walk to Wally Fennel’s was awkward; Sam had Frodo’s arm slung over his 
shoulders as if he’d gone too deep in his cups, trying to keep their awkward gait they 
made straight, failing miserably. Frodo’s head was at his shoulder, his voice purring low 
and light.
      “Sam… it feels so odd,” he said, just as they’d gotten to Wally’s hole. Sam peered 
at the small porch, lines and lures hanging from the eaves. He passed by his fine crafted 
poles as he knocked on the door, trying to keep Frodo from slipping onto his knees now. 
      “It’s all right, Mr. Frodo, I’ve got you,”
      “Good, good,” Frodo murmured, burying his face into the crook of his shoulder, 
still purring lightly. Wally then emerged, opening the door to find them there. His long 
arms folded across himself, resting on his stout little belly. 
      “Hello…?” he said, looking at the state of the two of them. “Ah, Samwise 
Gamgee, and Mister Baggins… how do you fare today?”
      “I’m not sure, actually. I’ve got some important questions to ask of you.”
      “Well, come inside then. Is he… all right?” Wally asked, nodding his head to 
Frodo.
      “I’m not that sure, that’s why we’re here,”
      Sam and Frodo entered the small hole, decorated in everything that would 
surround an avid fisher-hobbit. Plaques holding the bodies of large fish were on the walls, 
along with prizes he’d won during fishing tournaments. Sam brought Frodo to the small 
couch nearby, placing him down on it gently. “I’m sorry to bother you like this. I just 
figured you know everything there is to know of fish, and that’s what I’ve come for; 
anything you could tell us would help,”
      “All right. Let me make us some tea then,”
      Wally left them there next to the fire. Sam sat at the other end of the couch, 
wringing his hands nervously. He looked over to Frodo whose arms were over his head. 
He moaned low, putting his head back.
      “Sam…”
      “Yes, Mr. Frodo?”
      Frodo didn’t seem to want to talk however; he made his chest rise and fall hard as 
his body slid down the couch, his head sliding off the pillow it rested on. His feet were 
now at Sam’s left, his toes pressing into Sam’s thighs hard. Sam blinked, looking him 
over carefully. A strange smile rose on Frodo’s mouth, his tongue licking the upper lip. 
“You’re so strong, you know that? I love watching you in the garden. You make me 
jealous,”
      “Um… all right,”
      Wally then came back, balancing three mugs of tea on a small tray. Under his 
other arm was a thick book. “All right then,” he said, seeming to ignore Frodo’s strange 
behavior. He sighed, putting the teas on the table. He went to sit across from them on the 
small chair there, opening his book. “I take it you have a question about fish,”
      “Yea, I do,” Sam said. “We’d been out today and Mr. Frodo here caught a lot of 
fish, and one of them I hadn’t seen before,”
      Wally nodded, looking through his book. “Describe it. There ain’t a fish I haven’t 
seen yet, at least I’d think so anyways,”
      Sam nodded. “Well, it was quite large. It had a round face with big lips,”
      “Not a sucker fish?”
      “No, I told that much,” Sam said, shaking his head. Frodo’s ankles were now on 
his lap, moving slowly back and forth. Sam coughed, clearing his throat. “It had odd 
colorations, never seen ‘em before on a fish. Its underside had a bright pink to it, gone 
down in a long line from neck to tail…”
      “Oh?”
      Wally’s voice sounded as if he knew what he spoke of. Sam nodded quickly. 
“Yes. Do you… know what it is? Is it poisonous??”
      Wally’s face went from serious to amused. He flipped open to a page; Sam peered 
at it; this must have been a book he’d drawn up himself, the drawing and descriptions 
writ there in an accurate yet rustic scrawl. He turned it to Sam’s eyes. He stared a 
moment, reading alongside the picture which was in fact what Frodo had caught and then 
eaten. “Pink Oyster?” he said slowly. Wally nodded. 
      “Yea, exactly. This is the one then?” he asked. Sam nodded, looking to Wally’s 
smile. “Well then. Mr. Baggins is in for a long, odd night,”
      “What? What is it??”
      “Well…” Wally said, leaning up in his chair and lighting his long stemmed pipe. 
He let it leave his lips, blowing out a long line of smoke. “Do you know the effects of 
oysters, Samwise?”
      Sam shook his head. “I’d never eaten one.”
      “Ah. Well, oysters are known as a ‘lover’s food’, one may say. The effects of an 
oyster makes one amorous and eager, a well known aphrodisiac,” he explained. “This fish 
is named after that because… well, its effects are quite potent. Well more potent than a 
barrel full of oysters.”
      Sam swallowed. “Where do they come from?? I’d never seen one before today!”
      “Oh, it’s odd that you’ve come across one.” Wally said, chuckling to himself. He 
flipped to another page, where he’d drawn up handmade maps. He pointed out a few 
brooks that led to the pond Sam and Frodo had fished at. “A long time ago, probably well 
before you were born, dams were built up at these two brooks,” he said, pointing out their 
locations on the maps. “These brooks lead up into other areas, rumored to be Elvish 
lands. It’s been said that strange little creatures come around from there and have traveled 
as far south as our own lands. Almost none of them truly dangerous, but…” he went to 
say, glancing over to Frodo with an amused grin. “They have odd effects, no doubt. So, 
dams were built up to keep these brooks to come into our waters, only trickling in enough 
to give the pond enough life, yet not letting anything else come through. I suppose 
they’re old and need some rebuilding…”
      Sam stared at the book in wonderment. “So… do you know of this fish enough 
then? I mean… what do we do?”
      “Nothing you can do, really. It’s not known what there is to counteract this sort 
of… thing.” He said, closing the book and sitting back. “Some teas and other things can 
calm it perhaps, but only for a very short time. This fish has been known to stay in the 
system and not be bothered with anything one might try to get rid of it with. But I’m sure 
glad to let you know that no, Mr. Baggins is in no danger. He’ll just be a little… odd,”
      Sam looked back to Frodo; my, he looked a sight. His hands were rubbing at his 
neck, purring loudly into his shoulder. 
      After thanking Wally for his wisdom and insight, he led Frodo back down to Bag 
End. Again it was hard but he rushed with new vigor, knowing that he wasn’t going to go 
ill and die on him. Once there he set a fire in the hearth and stood up. Frodo lie on his 
stomach on the couch, his leg hanging down to the floor. He stared at Sam with a great 
smile. Sam turned away to go make some tea, the pot already warmed enough for it. He 
poured the water into a kettle and made up their tea, returning to the room where Frodo 
was. He was now on his back, his chest a few inches from the cushions. Sam cleared his 
throat. “Here you are, Mr. Frodo,” he said extending a mug. “You might do better sittin’ 
up, though,”
      “Mmm,” Frodo murmured, sitting up slowly. He didn’t take his odd gaze off of 
Sam as he took it to his lips, sipping slowly. Sam sat by him, making sure he wasn’t 
touching him. He didn’t truly know how to think on this, or what to do.
      “Are you feelin’ all right?” he asked.
      “Quite.” Frodo replied, his voice thick. 
      “Would you… like me to tell you a story to pass the time?” Sam said, trying to 
recall any sort of story he’d heard in his lifetime. Frodo shook his head.
      “No.”
      “All right…” he mumbled, sipping. His eyes blinked suddenly; Frodo was sitting 
up close to his ear. He didn’t say anything; he just sat there, moving his head back and 
forth. Sam sat shock still, blinking hard. “What are you… doing?”
      “Smelling your hair.”
      “Oh.” Sam replied as if that were an entirely normal thing for Frodo to be doing. 
He kept sniffing, his nostrils flaring, lips parting to let out small purrs. Sam coughed and 
sat up straighter, moving away from Frodo slightly. Frodo stared at him a moment, a 
faraway look in his eyes.
      “I’m… sorry,” he mumbled. “It just smelled nice, from where… I sat,”
      “It’s all right. You just made me itch a bit,” Sam said, pulling the thread of his 
hair that clung to his cheek; it’d been the moist breath from Frodo’s lips that made it 
stick, and that fact sent shivers down his back. “Let’s, um… play a game!” Sam said 
loudly and a little too cheerfully.
      “What game,”
      “Um…” Sam said. He stood up and reached up to the top shelf of Bilbo’s old 
bookcase. “How about the marble game?” he said, extending the small box.
      “Okay.” Frodo said slowly, still not moving from his spot. Sam breathed a sigh of 
relief, figuring a nice pleasant game would take Frodo’s mind off his state. Of COURSE 
it would work! He sat back down and placed the box on the table. Once it was opened 
Sam smiled.
      “All right then,”
      Frodo moved to put his legs over the edge of the couch, staring at Sam with a 
glazed look as Sam set up the board. He realized how unsettling it was, just to be looked 
at with those eyes, him knowing what lay behind them. “Right. Shall it be my turn first?”
      “No. Mine.”
      Sam nodded and sat back. Frodo leaned forward and grabbed a red swirled 
marble. He paused here, staring at it. “It looks a bit like the fish.” He said in a strange 
tone that made Sam blink.
      “Well… sir, it’s a marble,”
      Frodo nodded slowly. “I know.”
      “Well all right then! You’ll be red, and I’ll be green…” Sam said, leaning over to 
catch up his set of marbles. Looking to Frodo now nearly made him drop the bundle he’d 
collected. 
      Out of nowhere, Frodo’s tongue had emerged from his mouth; the marble was 
held at the tip as it moved slowly around the red-ribboned orb, his eyes closed yet lashes 
shuddering. Sam swallowed hard. “Sir?” he implored in a tense, squeaky voice. The 
marble lowered, Frodo’s eyes opening, lips still parted.
      “Yes?”
      “I… wouldn’t do that. You can choke if you… put it in your mouth.”
      Frodo nodded dumbly, putting the marble down. Before Sam thought to turn back 
to the game Frodo huffed. “I don’t want to play this game.”
      “Okay,” Sam said, putting the game back and going to place it onto the shelf. 
      “It’s too hot in here,” Frodo complained. Sam looked back to him; even though 
Bag End had remained cool with the summery heat outside, he was in fact sweating at his 
brow. 
      “Would you like me to draw you a cool bath?” he asked. This made Frodo’s 
uncomfortable face ease, a smile on his lips. 
      “Maybe.”
      “Well it’s yes or no, if you don’t mind, sir,”
      Frodo contemplated a moment. “No then… it might make things… worse,” he 
replied softly. 
      “Well, why don’t you change into your nightshirt?”
      “Too hot, too hot,” Frodo said. Suddenly his hands grabbed at the arms of his 
billowy shirt, raising it in a swift movement above his head. Sam’s eyes sparked open a 
moment, seeing his master disrobe. He stared at the naked flesh of Frodo’s chest, his 
heart feeling as if a long, tight rope was tugging it, stretching and squeezing it. It made 
his breath hitch as Frodo lie down on the couch, stretching his arms and legs seductively. 
His eyes turned to meet Sam’s, biting his lip. “I’m so… so sorry, Sam. I know how…. 
Uncomfortable this must be, but… I can’t… can’t help it,”
      “Its fine, sir. Don’t worry yourself none.”
      “You can… go if you like.” Frodo answered. “I’d rather you didn’t, but you can,”
      “No. No, I’ll stay right here to tend to you,” Sam said, betraying himself slightly 
in what he’d really, really honestly meant by ‘tending’. Oh, if his Frodo could read his 
mind right now it just may shock him back to… wait. 
      If anything could make Mr. Frodo come back to his senses, perhaps having Sam 
propose… some sort of naughty tryst would do it. Even if it meant being turned away, 
yes, he could just say it was PART of that ‘tending’, and it’d been only Frodo’s welfare 
he cared for. It was a half-truth, making Sam feel a little selfish. But he thought, with 
Frodo the way he was right now, maybe he could sate his own desires in one simple 
touch, while at the same time bringing Frodo back down to earth. “Sir?” he finally 
managed to say, his mouth watering at the prospect of what he was about to do.
      “Yes, my Sam?”
      Oh good glory, if that wasn’t an invitation… Sam walked carefully towards him, 
those gorgeous wide eyes staring up at him. Frodo seemed to have some sort of 
expectations rising. Sam sat beside him and sighed shakily. He put one hand on Frodo’s 
ankle and massaged him. “Oh…”
      “Mr. Frodo?” Sam implored, seeing Frodo’s eyes go behind heavy lids, his tongue 
darting out to lick his upper lip. Mercy. 
      “Do you know… what just… that…” Frodo said, his chin nodding down to where 
Sam was touching. “Is doing, to me?”
      “Well… I can make a stab at it,” Sam said, nerves firing. Before he could think 
Frodo’s eyes opened quickly, his torso rising from the couch to meet Sam’s. 
      “You know… what I’m thinking about? It’s what I think about a lot. A lot.” He 
said in a mindless manner. It almost made Sam flinch, his directness and unsubtle intent 
writ all over his face.
      “What?”
      “Give me that hand. That one,” 
      Sam looked down at the hand caressing Frodo’s foot. He lifted it and brought it to 
Frodo, who took it with both of his. He stared at it a moment then slowly but surely 
brought it down, lower and lower. Sam swore he felt it brush along the skin by his navel 
before he realized that Frodo had gotten to a destination. 
      Sam’s eyes widened as they dared look down at where his hand lie, feeling 
something engorged and hard. It was most certainly pressed betwixt Frodo’s legs, 
Frodo’s fingers urging his own to close around him. In all Sam’s life, he’d never 
imagined he’d be doing what they were right at this moment. “Sir… are you sure… 
that…”
      “I’ve been wanting to do this for years.” Frodo’s voice rushed out. “I’ve wanted 
to take your hand and make you touch me, even if you didn’t want it. I’ve imagined you, 
tied to my bed, my body straddling yours and loosening the ties of one wrist so I could 
force your hand to me, making you grasp me, hoping and praying that somewhere you 
could look past my indecent actions and find that you really, really liked it.”
      Frodo’s voice was so hurried and frantic; Sam could see that Frodo was near mad, 
yet still full of direct intent. 
      “I dreamed of being your master, however improper. I’ve fantasized in such 
delicious, horrible ways, making you bend to my will, using your job as leverage…” 
Frodo’s desperate voice stopped dead here, staring at Sam intently. “I’d never. I’d never 
do that to you. Ever. Never. But it gives me such a thrill to think on. Please don’t hate 
me… especially now,”
      Sam couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “How…” he choked out the 
words. “How long have you thought of that…?”
      “Since I first really, really looked at you. Years ago. You’d gone from being a… 
young lad, with nothing but carefree thoughts, childish and begging for stories. That time, 
when you’d fallen into a mud pile near the shed, slipping. I laughed at first and so did 
you, remember?”
      “Y-yes,” Sam stammered. Frodo nodded slowly, unbuttoning his breeches with a 
free hand, the other still holding Sam, groping himself with Sam’s fingers.
      “And I insisted you take a bath, and hadn’t thought of the repercussions until… I 
accidentally passed by and the door was open a crack… oh by the Valar…” Frodo nearly 
yelped out, so loud and sudden Sam’s eyes widened. Had he…?
      “Did you watch me?”
      “You were stepping into the tub, wincing at the heat of the water, pausing… you 
eased your body so slowly into the water, I could SEE…” he paused, closing his eyes and 
swallowing hard. “Your sac… dangling from behind, inches above the water. I swore I 
saw it recoil and relax… then your beautiful, long yet soft…”
      Oh heavens. Oh by everything good and plenty. Oh…
      “Sam you can hate me. I watched you and you didn’t know. My latest dinner or 
no, I’m speaking like I’ve always spoke to myself about you, out loud, TO you, and I 
hate myself for it, and I love myself for it…”
      “I don’t hate you, Frodo,”
      “You don’t?”
      “No. Not one bit.” Sam said. The smile on Frodo’s lips as he looked upon him, 
eyes coming open in a small crack…
      “Sam… would you like to be with me, as I am now? Oh please…”
      “Yes.”
      Frodo’s face relaxed. “I love that fish.”
      “Don’t think I haven’t sneaked a glance to you either, you know.”
      Frodo’s eyes flew open with shock and intrigue. “Tell me.” He said, the voice 
gone into a deeper, wanton tone. Sam’s smile went broad.
      “You’ve… had your fantasies, right? Me being all tied up… when I had the same 
vision of you. Especially…” Sam said with a great, memory induced sigh. “When you 
got tangled up into your cousin’s mischievous trick of being pinned down on this very 
floor in front of us, tickling you madly. They were unrelenting, they were. And I watched 
on laughing, head full of pipe-weed and ale, just… looking at you, tears streaming down 
your face, begging for them to stop. In my mind I was on you… and you begged for 
more.”
      “Oh…” Frodo uttered. That was all it took.
      Sam swiped Frodo’s hold on him and pulled back. Frodo stared at him, eyes wider 
than they had been. Before he could say anything on the matter Sam pushed him down 
roughly onto the couch, watched him bounce once and then climbed atop of him, his 
knees wedging around his hips tight to keep them both from toppling onto the ground. 
“How do you want me, Frodo love? I’ll be anything for you.”
      “Hard… in more ways then one,” Frodo said, his head digging into the couch as 
he arched his neck, smiling and biting his lip. 
      “That I am, already. I can be harder. In more ways…”
      “Ravage.”
      “What?” Sam said, taking a soft kiss to Frodo’s hand that lie on the couches back 
in a tight grip into the velvet.
      “Ravage… me. Make me yours,”
      “You already are.”
      “More.”
      “Oh Frodo, love,” Sam murmured. He dug into the core of himself, going past the 
gentle, shy Sam to find his hidden desires… remembering this lovely creature flailing the 
way he had that night, tangled in his youthful, crazy cousins… his sweet submission that 
stemmed out of the rough tickles…
      And how impatient he was, straining his head up stiff to grab onto Sam’s lips; this 
first kiss given in complete disarray, hungry and pushing onto him like an earthquake, 
diving in then out, nearly cracking every sense Sam had within him. Frodo moaned and 
writhed; creating an image Sam had only ever daydreamed about. “You’re an insatiable 
one,” Sam said roughly as they drew back, his voice thick. 
      “Sate me, just do your best at it, please,”
      Sam grabbed Frodo’s shoulders and pulled him closer, bringing his neck to Sam’s 
lips. Frodo moaned out so loud as he bit into the soft skin, loving the taste betwixt his 
teeth. He teased gently with the tip of his tongue, smoothing over the nubs of flesh 
pressed so tight. He would leave Frodo many reminders of this night. When that meal 
was gone, leaving Frodo breathless and back to his senses, he would make sure nothing 
was forgotten. He left mark after mark, each time causing Frodo to wince and buck 
wildly. Lines of forming bruises and welts formed, creating such a lovely portrait. He 
wished for a moment that an expert painter entered now, making them frozen in time with 
paints and canvas. 
      His mouth became gentle, letting Frodo’s arched back ease down onto the velvet. 
He wanted to savor him as he would a grand meal, licking and gnashing teeth ever so 
gently into the intoxicating skin. Frodo tossed his head from side to side slowly, curls 
draping over his forehead and shoulders, creating more fine images for Sam to look upon. 
He smiled to himself as he lifted his face from his blushed belly, reaching up to Frodo’s 
wrists. His mind bent to the idea of teasing this wonderful creature, to bring him to his 
fish-lusted-needs, so silly yet effects so enticing. He felt so bold and daring, like he could 
simply take what he wanted without consequences; which, as it was being proved right 
before him, there weren’t. He couldn’t quite explain it, but it didn’t matter once again.
      “S-Sam… please come back,” Frodo purred up to him, bending his head back to 
bare the tense lines in his neck. Sam smiled.
      “For what, Frodo m’dear?”
      “You know exactly,”
      “Explain it to me. In great detail… what you want, that is,” Sam told him, 
bending low with a grin. “It’s not that often I get to be hearin’ such things from ye, 
y’now,”
      Frodo swallowed and opened his eyes, tilting back to face Sam. “I want more 
pain.”
      “Ah, you’re one of those…”
      “Mmhmm,”
      “Has anyone ever inflicted that on you?”
      “Only myself,”
      Sam became intrigued. “Yourself? How so, darling?”
      Frodo smiled, almost bashfully. “I once took a belt…” Frodo started, his smile 
vanishing as he spoke. “I wanted to see... to see what pain could feel like in the most 
private of places,”
      “Oh?”
      Frodo nodded quickly, biting his lip. “I worked the strap around... oh... Sam it’s 
so difficult to explain,”
      “I’m getting a right fine picture as it is,” Sam said, grinning. Oh if he only knew 
his master to be so wild!! 
      “I hope you don’t think it’s...” Frodo paused, looking into his trembling hands. 
“Disgusting,”
      Sam shook his head slowly. “I wouldn’t be thinkin’ that, not at all,” he said 
quietly. Frodo nodded, eyelids closing and opening slowly.
      “Sam?”
      “Yes?”
      Frodo bent his head up to Sam’s shoulder, brushing his lips against the sensitive 
skin. “Hurt me. Please...”
      This request would normally be seen as something Sam could never do. He 
couldn’t explain however the drive to do so in hearing his master’s voice, urgent and 
trembling from want. The want to have Sam’s hands on him in such a callous way; Sam 
couldn’t explain it, not at all... until he remembered....
      “Here. Try it.” 
      He too had gotten more than Frodo as an intoxicant. The sudden realization made 
one hand crawl to his neck, rubbing it gently at first, running firm fingers over the smooth 
skin. Frodo’s body tensed, waiting. Sam stopped rubbing and kneaded, working down to 
his collarbone, onto his chest....
      There. One hand cupped over the slightly raised flesh... fingers curled inwards, 
feeling the raised lump of Frodo’s nipple, so peaked and perfect. Frodo let out a breath in 
halted, raspy gasps in feeling Sam’s touch on him. Before Sam could get the idea to 
tease, his Frodo’s request came to his head sharply; his thumb met his pointer finger 
around the sensitive nub and without warning, clenched. 
      Sam had never seen that look on Frodo’s face before. His eyes went wide, wider 
than Sam had ever seen them, staring up at the ceiling as his head went back, mouth open 
in a soundless cry. Sam furthered the intensity by twisting his finger’s hold, pulling and 
flicking the very end of it with his middle finger. Frodo dropped onto his back and wailed 
out loud now, his eyes closing shut. “Oh... o-oh...” Frodo gasped out in panting breaths. 
“Harder... and- the o-other...”
      Sam obeyed. Both hands with both sets of fingers went busy sending the lovely 
creature below him into beautiful pain. He leaned forward and bit down onto his neck 
harshly, making Frodo’s arms flail out and grab the couch. His knuckles went white as 
those hands shook, holding onto the velvet tight. “Yes… yes… yes…” he said over and 
over; Sam could see tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t stop however, knowing 
what those tears represented; ecstasy, lust, and release. Sam had never felt like this in his 
life, ever. He had all rights to Frodo just as he was; wanton and lost inside a mind 
intoxicated with a passionate drive. Sam didn’t wait for any more requests; one hand left 
his chest and moved down in one sharp, precise movement past the waist of Frodo’s 
breeches and grasped him- Frodo threw his head back and stilled completely, nostrils 
flaring with long hisses of breath. As Sam moved his hand slowly upon his shaft Frodo 
opened his eyes and looked at him. “Tell me that I’m yours,” his shaky voice requested. 
Sam could have passed out then and there, but knew better. He started to rub at him 
harder, Frodo’s legs opening slowly to allow more room. Sam smiled as he caressed 
Frodo’s cheek lovingly. 
      “You’ve always been mine, m’love,” Sam told him, kissing his cheek softly. “In 
every dream and thought. Always mine.”
      Frodo’s eyelids clenched tight hearing the words, his mouth shuddering open. 
Sam couldn’t help from kissing his cheek up to his ears, absolutely loving the feel of 
Frodo’s skin. Did he really realize what a beauty he was, all tangled up on this couch 
underneath him? He began mumbling something, going unheard by Sam. “What?” Sam 
asked, kissing at his earlobe.
      “Undress me,”
      Sam smiled warmly. He leaned upwards, putting both hands at the laces of his 
breeches, looking down at him. “You are a beauty, you know.” Sam murmured, staring at 
the lustful expression on Frodo’s face. 
      “Thank you,” Frodo said, not smiling back. “Now, off,”
      Sam laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a demandin’ one, aren’t you? Perhaps we 
should go out and fish again. I like you like this,”
      “Sam-“ Frodo went to protest; However Sam had started unlacing his breeches 
with slow, accurate movements. “Faster,” Frodo made another demand. Sam was finding 
it hard not to chuckle; even with the act he was now performing he found it hard not to 
want to laugh. Getting them fully untied he slid them down Frodo’s legs, savoring the 
sight of Frodo’s pale skin coming to view. Next were Frodo’s small clothes; once that 
was done the smile faded from Sam’s lips. Oh, he was marvelous. Better than he’d 
fantasized in dreams. His long, pinked shaft was hard and firm, standing to attention as 
Sam brushed a hand over it. “Now you,” Frodo breathed the words, looking betwixt 
Sam’s legs with a hungry look. Sam narrowed his eyes and smiled, reaching to his 
restraints. He pulled the waist of his breeches and small clothes down together, letting the 
head of his hardened cock release itself. Frodo’s eyes went wide, lips parted with a look 
of shock. “Sam… you’re huge.”
      Now Sam laughed heartily, looking down on himself. True he was well endowed, 
he knew that much. Looking back at Frodo he laughed even harder seeing that his 
expression hadn’t changed. “Too big?” he teased. Frodo looked to Sam’s face now, 
licking his lower lip.
      “I want it.” He muttered. Then without warning Frodo slid his body downwards, 
moving his mouth upon the hardened flesh instantly. Sam’s eyes flew wide open then 
closed, all in one movement. If he’d kno0wn how far his master could swallow… oh, this 
would have happened ages ago…
      “You…” he croaked out, swallowing hard. “Have a very… talented mouth,”
      Frodo hummed at the compliment, making Sam’s entire body tense with pleasure. 
He felt hands reaching behind him and grasping the small of his back, working 
downwards. He nearly fell in a crash at what Frodo was doing now; his fingers brushed to 
the cleft of his backside, pushing past the skin as if searching. Sam wanted to ask what he 
was doing, but all that was uttered from his mouth was a choked “Ungh!” as Frodo found 
what he was looking for. One of his fingers was tracing around the firm muscle of his 
entrance, gently prodding. Sam felt Frodo’s mouth slide back up, leaving him slightly to 
speak.
      “Sam…”
      “Yes, yes?”
      “Tup me,”
      Sam looked down past his chest, seeing Frodo’s blissful expression. He moved 
downwards to face him, touching his cheek with his fingertips. “It would hurt… wouldn’t 
it?” he asked. One of Frodo’s hands slapped at the table, fingers flying along it’s edge. 
He found the drawer within it and pulled it open hastily. Sam watched with a confused 
frown as Frodo searched around, finally coming out with a small jar. 
      “It’s a balm… use it for calloused fingers…” he breathily replied, handing it to 
Sam. “Ready me. Please.”
      Sam opened the jar, finding a peppermint-scented balm. He put two fingers into 
the oily mixture, finding it smooth and deliciously warm to the touch. Yes, this would 
work wonderfully. He worked some onto his fingers, rubbing it around as he reached 
downwards. “Have you… done this before?”
      Frodo nodded slowly. “Once. Back home… oh Sam…”
      His fingers had found their mark, sliding the oil onto his tense entrance and 
inside, reaching with delicate movements upwards. Sam watched as Frodo’s eyes 
fluttered closed, showing white past the lashes. He smiled, resting his head on Frodo’s 
chest. “What was it like?”
      “Odd.” Frodo muttered. Sam chuckled.
      “How so?”
      “Stop talking and fuck me.”
      Sam drew back, looking upon Frodo with a wide-eyed gaze. “MY… your 
MOUTH!”
      “Considering what my mouth was doing just a few moments ago, I don’t think we 
need worry about what I say.” Frodo rushed out, his voice cold. Sam smiled nonetheless 
and sighed.
      “Just like that then? I’m not quite sure yer ready-“
      “Do it.”
      He surely liked this demanding tone- that was true. “All right then.” Sam said; he 
then moved his body down and moved his throbbing shaft to its destination. 
Remembering that Frodo seemed to relish the pain of erotic acts he didn’t even think as 
he slid himself inside in one, hard thrust. Both their bodies stilled at this, Frodo letting 
out a high-pitched whimper. Sam didn’t ask or say anything; he simply looked down on 
him, waiting for him to either beg or protest. 
      “More.”
      Given all permission, Sam began to move within him, sliding in calculated 
movements. Frodo’s arms trembled as they brought themselves to Sam’s sides, clutching 
him tight. “Yes… oh yes… harder… please, more…” he begged, making Sam’s head feel 
dizzy. That voice; the things it did to him right now as he thrust in harder, deeper, 
“More…” oh good glory… 
      His movements started going more animalistic as he grunted, pushing as deep as 
he could possibly go. Frodo’s body writhed and pushed and pulled, his head thrown back 
and caught there by his hair. Sam growled and leant down, biting his tender, already 
bruised skin. Frodo’s hands grabbed his hair forcefully, pulling him closer until they may 
as well have been one body. “I love you Sam…” Frodo’s shuddering voice told him, tear-
filled and straining. Sam closed his eyes.
      “By the Gods, I love you…”
      The two of them were one body of rhythmic pulse, moving in and around each 
other. They embraced tight, clutching to each other as if one may fall and never be seen 
again. Sam held his breath as he felt his enormous climax rise to the surface, beginning to 
fire off in heavy breaths and movements. Frodo was there already as he started screaming 
out in shrill cries, words gone incoherent as he pushed his hips upward, making Sam dive 
into him forcefully. They shuddered together as Sam held onto Frodo desperately, feeling 
his release, Frodo’s warm entrance gone hotter and wet with his come. He pushed a few 
last times, head reeling with absolute ecstasy. He would have collapsed onto Frodo if he 
weren’t already completely joined with him. 
      They lay there for a moment, breathing hard and deep. Sam lifted his head, seeing 
the curls at his brow shaking past his eyes, one small drop of sweat falling onto Frodo’s 
neck. “That was…” he said with a swallow, staring at him. Suddenly Frodo moved up, 
knocking Sam onto his back and leaving him. He straddled Sam’s hips and smiled 
wickedly down at him. 
      “Your turn.”
      
      
      To say that both Sam and Frodo were completely overcome by lust and 
exhaustion hours later would be a definite understatement. “That was…”
      “Four…?”
      Sam shook his head. “More than that. Much more.”
      They’d ended up on the floor somehow, though Sam could not recall when. It 
didn’t seem to matter as he looked to Frodo as he breathed hard on the rug, body splayed 
out in such a delightful pose of a lad overcome by lust, eyes closed, lips smiling.
      “Thank you, Sam. This has been…” Frodo started, chuckling a little. “A day to 
remember.”
      “Aye.” Sam uttered, going to lie on his side. “Looks like we may have to go 
fishing more often.”
      Frodo now laughed aloud; he seemed to be gaining his senses back; Sam didn’t 
know whether to be relived or resentful. He turned to Sam and smiled. “Might not… need 
to. If I’d known how… wonderful you were with…” he said softly, looking betwixt 
Sam’s legs. “Dear Gods.”
      Sam laughed, moving closer to him and cuddling Frodo to his chest. “Anytime, 
love. Anytime.”
      “Mmm,” Frodo said. Sam knew he was fast asleep before he took his next breath.