Title:  Halfway There
Author: Kathryn Ramage
Email:  kramage@erols.com
Pairing: Frodo/Sam 
Rating: NC17
Summary: Frodo is having trouble sleeping and comes to Sam's room at 
night, but throws Sam into confusion when he will only go so far.

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.

Special Thanks: to Mia, for all her help and advice on what turned 
out to be a very difficult story.

June 2003 

!~|i|~!

Sam awoke late one night at the familiar sound of someone knocking 
on his bedroom door.  He shook his head groggily and lit the candle 
on the nightstand before he got out of bed to answer.  He knew who 
it would be.

When he opened the door, Frodo was standing there in his nightshirt.  
"I hope I didn't I wake you, Sam."

"It's no trouble," he answered, still drowsy, and pushed a lock of 
tousled hair out of his eyes.  "Can't you sleep?"

"No, I'm afraid not.  Do you mind if I spend the night with you?"

"Of course not, Mr. Frodo.  Come in."  Sam stepped back to let his 
master into his room.  Frodo climbed up onto the bed and, when Sam 
joined him, cuddled close.  

This had been going on for several weeks, beginning not long after 
they'd come to Minas Tirith and had moved into this house near the 
citadel with their reunited friends.  Frodo had first turned up at 
his door in the middle of the night, obviously in distress, with 
fresh tear tracks on his cheeks and a stricken look in his eyes. 
Sam had asked no questions, but immediately bundled him into bed 
and rocked him to sleep.  Thereafter, Frodo came to him before 
there were tears--not every night, but with increasing frequency 
until he slept here more often than not.

"Is it the same old trouble?" Sam asked.  

"Yes," answered Frodo, "and it's worse now that it's nearly summer. 
It's too warm to shut the bed-curtains and the fire's out.  When 
there's no moon, like there is tonight, it feels as if the darkness 
goes on forever.  Do you know how awful it is to lie awake with 
nothing to keep you company but your own thoughts?"  

No, Sam didn't know what that was like, but he had a good idea of 
what haunted his master in the dark.  Not nightmares--Frodo wasn't 
sleeping well enough to have dreams, even bad ones--but memories 
of their ordeal in Mordor.  It had all come out in bits and pieces 
over the nights following that first one: If it wasn't the brutal 
treatment Frodo had suffered at the hands of the orcs in Cirith 
Ungol, then it was that monstrous spider's lair or, worst of all, 
how his will had failed at the very moment when he needed to be 
strongest.  

"Tonight, I couldn't help thinking of that tunnel Gollum brought us 
to in the mountains," Frodo continued.  "It was darker there than 
any night could ever be.  We walked for hours, until we ran into 
those cobwebs.  And the awful smell of that place!"  He shuddered, 
and nestled closer.  "Do you remember, Sam?"

"I remember, and it's best if _you_ don't.  Put it right out of 
your mind, Mr. Frodo.  Try not to think of it anymore."  Sam would 
as soon forget about it himself, for that day had been the most 
terrible of his life.  While Frodo had never actually seen the 
grotesque monster that had stung him, _he_ had, and he had also 
known the horror of believing his master dead.  

He slipped one arm around his charge and went on soothingly, "It's 
over and done with.  You're safe now.  Do you want me to leave the 
candle burning to give us a bit of light `til you fall asleep?"  

"That won't be necessary."  Frodo lifted his head from Sam's shoulder 
and smiled at him.  "I never have trouble sleeping when you're here 
to hold me.  I don't know what I'd do without you."  And, stretching 
up, he bestowed a quick kiss on the cheek.  "Thank you."  

There'd been a lot of these kisses lately--always the same quick 
little pecks--but Sam thought he saw something specially encouraging 
in Frodo's smile tonight.  When Frodo lay down again, his face was 
turned upwards on the pillow, lips parted slightly.  Was he waiting 
to be kissed in return?  

Cautiously, Sam tried it.  He pressed his lips to the mouth offered 
him, then, when _that_ seemed to be accepted, pressed again more 
firmly.  Frodo did not resist, even responded at first, until Sam's 
arms tightened around him to pull him up closer and the kiss became 
more hungry; he began to squirm, and put one hand on Sam's chest to 
push him off.   

"No," he said breathlessly. 

Sam let go at once, surprised and alarmed at himself.  Had he gone 
too far? 

He expected Frodo to be angry at his presumption, to get up and 
return to his own bed rather than stay another minute, but the only 
rebuke he received was, "You're squeezing me too hard." 

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's all right."  Frodo sat up to blow out the candle on the night-
stand.  "Be more gentle the next time."  And he settled down to 
sleep.

The next time?

Long after Frodo had fallen asleep, Sam lay wide awake, bewildered.  
He'd never been more achingly aware of the body curled beside him, 
nor more uncertain of what Frodo wanted from him. 

He knew now what it was like to lie in the darkness with disturbing 
thoughts, but _he_ was not alone.

!~|ii|~!

Frodo was in a cheerful mood when they went to breakfast the next 
morning, but Sam was still weary after his uneasy night.  

Merry and Pippin were already in the kitchen, seated at a low table 
by the fire that had been cut down to hobbit-height.  The two were 
just finishing up--they were often up at dawn these days--but stayed 
once Frodo and Sam came in.  There were jokes about how nice it was 
to have second breakfasts again as they helped themselves to more 
toast and rashers of bacon.

As usual, Sam got breakfast for Frodo and himself.  He couldn't 
convince his master to have bacon and eggs with his cousins; Frodo 
only wanted tea and toast, and after some urging, agreed to a bowl 
of porridge.  Sam had just put a fresh kettle on to boil and was 
at the kitchen hearth, stirring the porridge, when Gandalf came in. 
The wizard seemed relieved to find Frodo at the table with the other 
hobbits.

"I've been looking for you," said Gandalf.  "You were not in your 
bedroom when I knocked awhile ago."

"I must have been in Sam's room," Frodo answered.  "I only went back 
to mine this morning to wash up and dress."

"Sam's room?"

"Yes.  I've been sleeping with him."

Frodo spoke so matter-of-factly that Sam nearly dropped the porridge 
spoon into the fire.  His face flushed red in guilty surprise.  

"What's the matter?" asked Pippin.  "Don't you like your own room?"
 
"It's all right," said Frodo, "but rather too large to be comfort-
able.  That bed's the size of my whole room at Bag End!"

"Oh, everything in this city's too big," Merry agreed.  "Even for 
the Big Folk, this place is huge.  I get lost every time I go out in 
the streets.  We'll trade with you if you don't want to stay there 
anymore.  Pippin and I could use more room."

"Is it really the bedroom that you find uncomfortable?" asked 
Gandalf.  "Or is there something else wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Frodo insisted.  "I'm fine."  But Gandalf con-
tinued to regard him piercingly, and at last he admitted, "It's 
only that I haven't been sleeping very well lately.  I've gotten 
used to having Sam nearby."  He threw a glance at Sam, who was 
slowly and carefully ladling out two bowls of porridge as if he 
were not listening.  "I miss hearing him snore," he added in a 
lighter tone.  "And I feel more at home in his room--It's almost 
a proper, hobbit size.  If I'm not in the next time you want me, 
Gandalf, you might try across the hall." 

No one thought a thing of it, Sam realized.  But why should they?  
Until recently, _he_ would have seen nothing remarkable in his 
master's coming to sleep in his bed.  How was it different from 
any other night they had huddled together for warmth and protect-
ion these past months?

But it _was_ different.  He couldn't say how or when exactly this 
change had come about, but somewhere in those nights, he had stopped 
thinking of Frodo as his master and begun to see him as the one he 
loved best.  Maybe that wasn't proper, but it was how he felt and 
there was no use in denying it.  Silly even to try after last night.

He would've kept his feelings to himself if he hadn't begun to 
believe that Frodo felt the same way.  That would have made it 
all right; he'd be brave enough for anything if it was what Frodo 
wanted him to do.

Now, he didn't know what to think.  All that cuddling and kissing 
had given him hope, but after Frodo had pulled away from him last 
night, he had to wonder: had he made a mistake?  Things were differ-
ent for him, but were they for Frodo?  Maybe all Frodo wanted was a 
little comfort, and the rest of it was nothing more than friendly 
play.  He'd told Gandalf about their sleeping together without a 
blush.  He was even making jokes about it! 

Was Frodo laughing at _him_?

Sam went over to the table, still pink at the ears, but no one 
noticed him.  All their attention was on Frodo.

"Why don't we sit up with you?" Merry offered.  "We can take turns, 
can't we, Pip?  There's no reason for you to wake up poor Sam and 
crowd him out of bed every night."

"Oh, Sam doesn't mind.  He's always good about letting me in.  You 
never mind anything I do," Frodo smiled up as Sam set down a bowl 
of porridge at his place.  "Do you, Sam?"
 
Sam turned his face away so he would not show his hurt as he an-
swered, "No, Mr. Frodo."

!~|iii|~!

But he was so quiet and pensive for the rest of the morning that, 
after the others had gone out on their usual business in the city, 
Frodo sought him out to ask what was wrong.

"It's not like you to be sulky, Sam.  Something must be bothering 
you.  Now, what is it?  Tell me."

Under this prompting, Sam finally admitted, "There has been some-
thing on my mind."  He'd been thinking the matter over, and knew 
what he had to do.  They would have to talk about it sooner or 
later, so he might as well speak up now.  "It's got to do with 
what you said about us-"

"About us?" Frodo looked puzzled.  "Oh, at breakfast?"  

"You told them all how you came to me when you couldn't sleep, 
like it was nothing but a joke to you.  Was it?"

"Is that what's wrong?  I hurt your feelings?"  The puzzled ex-
pression faded, and Frodo was immediately contrite.  "I'm sorry. I 
didn't intend to.  When they all began to ask so many questions, I 
thought it would be best to make light of the situation."

"Was it all a joke to you?" Sam asked again.

"No, Sam.  If I treated it as a joke, it wasn't to embarrass you."

Lost as he'd been in his own mortification, Sam only realized now 
that Frodo had given the others a much lighter explanation of the 
problem than the one _he_ had heard.  There were things Frodo had 
told him during those nights that he would tell no one else, not 
even Gandalf.  Didn't he know better than anyone the horrible 
things Frodo had suffered in Mordor?  After all, he'd been there, 
at Frodo's side nearly every step of the way.  He'd seen it all, 
and he alone understood how these things still tormented his master.

While it mollified him to know that Frodo had confided in him alone, 
it didn't change his mind.  Maybe Frodo hadn't meant to make fun of 
him, but the nights they spent together just didn't mean as much to 
him as they did to Sam.

"I only wanted to keep everyone from making a fuss over me," Frodo 
went on.  "You know how I hate a fuss.  They all worry so if I don't 
look like I'm recovering quickly enough.  If they knew how badly I 
was sleeping, or why, I'd never hear the end of it!"

"I worry for you too."  Sam could see for himself that Frodo wasn't 
as well as he should be, and this sleeplessness wasn't helping him 
to get better. 

"_You're_ allowed to," Frodo responded affectionately.  "It's your 
place to look after me.  You wouldn't be my Sam if you didn't fuss."  

He darted in to bestow another light peck, but Sam stepped away 
quickly, so that the intended kiss just missed his mouth.  "I wish 
you wouldn't do that."

"Why not?" Frodo was puzzled again.  "I thought you liked kissing." 

"You shouldn't do it, not if you don't mean it."  _That_ had been 
difficult enough to say, but the next part would be harder still.  
Taking a deep breath, he declared, "And I don't want you coming to 
my room at night anymore."  
 
Frodo's eyes grew enormous.  "I _did_ hurt your feelings. Sam, I 
honestly didn't mean to," he spoke very meekly.  "Please, forgive 
me.  Don't be angry."

"I'm not angry."  Sam almost gave in at this wide-eyed appeal, but 
he knew that he couldn't bear another night of lying awake, wanting 
what he had no right to.  Last night had been agony enough.  "If 
you can't sleep, I'll come and sit up with you.  I'll tell you bed-
time stories, or make you a nice mug of warm milk, but you can't 
get into bed with me.  It's too dangerous." 

"Dangerous?" Frodo echoed.  "I don't understand." 

"We've been getting too close in the wrong way, and it's got to stop 
before it goes too far.  Last night, when I hugged you so hard--Did 
you want that to happen?"  He was still frightened at how eagerly 
he'd crushed Frodo in his arms once he'd had the chance.  It wasn't 
right to touch his master that way, not if Frodo didn't want him to. 
"It might the next time, and more." 

"You wouldn't ever do anything to hurt me, Sam."

"I don't want to hurt you.  I want-" He couldn't say exactly what it 
was he wanted; he didn't have the words for it, only vaguely formed 
imaginings from the hours he'd lain awake the night before.  But he 
was never any good at hiding his feelings.  Whatever Frodo saw in his 
face now, it must tell the whole story.  Sam could see comprehension 
waking in his eyes.

"You want me..?"  Frodo's voice was barely more than a whisper, as 
if he couldn't say the words out loud.  "You want us to be lovers."

Sam blushed furiously as he answered, "That's right.  And unless 
it's what you want too, you'd better stay away."  

"Sam," Frodo was apologetic again, "I'm so sorry, but I can't."  He 
stepped backwards.  "I can't!"  Then he turned and fled.  Sam did 
not go after him; he had his answer.

!~|iv|~!

The agony of his last night with Frodo was nothing to the heart-sick 
misery of that night that Sam spent alone.  

It was long after midnight when he was startled from a restless, 
tearful half-sleep by a knock at his door, more soft and tentative 
than usual.  It couldn't be... could it?  Sam scrambled out of bed 
to answer it.  

Frodo was standing there in his nightshirt.   

This was the last thing Sam had expected after their awful scene 
that afternoon.  They hadn't spoken since.  He'd kept himself busy 
in the house, and watched Frodo on the terrace gardens below from 
various windows; his master had paced fretfully, then sat curled 
on one of the benches until he was called in at dinnertime.  Sam's 
heart had ached for him.  He'd wanted to go and apologize to Frodo, 
say he didn't mean it, tell any lie that would make things all right 
between them, but it was too late to take it back now.  

He'd also been afraid that, if he did go out to Frodo, he would be 
spurned.  Frodo had run from him once today, and he couldn't bear 
that twice.  He'd already made enough of a mess; better to keep his 
distance...

And yet here Frodo was, at his door again.  He had come back.   

"Couldn't you sleep?" asked Sam.  Frodo hadn't been crying, but he 
looked as distressed as he had that first night he'd come looking 
for comfort. 

"No, I've been tossing for hours.  I can't rest with this trouble 
between us, Sam--and you can't either, can you?  I'd like to talk.  
May I please come in?"

Sam stepped back to let him in.  He shut the door and lit the candle 
on the nightstand and, when he turned to invite Frodo to sit down, 
he found that his master had taken a seat on the foot of the bed.

"I'm a very selfish creature, Sam."

"No-"

"I am," Frodo insisted over his protest.  "I let you do everything 
for me.  You're always there to tend to my needs, and I never give a 
thought to what you might need from me in return."

"That's as it should be."

"No, it isn't.  It's horribly unfair.  I owe you so much, even my 
life a dozen times over.  I've taken you entirely for granted.  Your 
generosity, your good nature," he paused, glancing at Sam shyly, 
"your love.  I didn't really see until today.  I should have before
--at least, I should have seen it last night.  I'm sorry to be so 
stupid and ungrateful."

"I don't want your gratitude!" Sam answered fiercely, stung that 
Frodo could suggest such a thing.  "I never did anything for you 
because I was looking for a reward."  Tears started in his eyes as 
he went on, saying what he knew to be true.  "It's not your fault, 
Frodo.  You can't help it if you don't love me the way I love you."

"But you're wrong, Sam.  I do love you.  You are dearer to me than 
anyone--surely you must know that?"

"I know," said Sam, "but it's not the same, is it?  Not the same 
wanting."

"Isn't it?"  Frodo was thoughtful.  "Would it surprise you, Sam, if 
I said that I understand what you're feeling?"  He cast his eyes 
down and confessed, "It's only natural that I should feel... very 
close to you when I lie in your arms."

This was astonishing news.  "If _that's_ how you feel, then why do 
you keep pulling back?"

"I've been confused," Frodo answered.  "I was slow to realize what 
was happening to us and when I did see it, it frightened me."

"What were you frightened of?" asked Sam. "Me?" 

"Oh, no!  It's me.  I don't know if _I_ can do this.  You want so 
much, maybe more than I can give.  The choice I have to make isn't 
an easy one."

"What choice?"  He was bewildered once more.  What could Frodo be on 
about?  "Either you want to, or you don't, if you take my meaning."

"It isn't so simple as that."  When Frodo lifted his eyes, Sam saw 
a yearning there that took him by surprise.  "I wish I could give 
you everything you want, Sam.  It's no more than you deserve.  But 
what if I can't?  Would it be fair to you?  Should I even try?"  He 
shook his head, then let it fall into one hand.  "No matter what I 
do, it may not be fair in the end."

Sam still didn't quite understand, but he could see how upset Frodo 
was, and it made him feel ashamed of himself.  He was the one being 
selfish.  Hadn't poor Frodo had a hard enough time, after all he'd 
been through, without having to worry about what _he_ wanted? 

"Why don't you let me say what's fair to me and what isn't?" he 
said.  "Never mind what you can give me.  What do _you_ want?"
 
"I'd like to stay here tonight," Frodo answered after giving the 
question serious thought.  "Will you hold me, just as you used to?  
What I want more than that, I cannot tell.  The only thing I am 
certain of, Sam, is that I couldn't bear it if I didn't have you 
to turn to."  He gave Sam another wide-eyed look of appeal, upper 
lip trembling.  "Please, don't send me away."

"I won't turn you out, Frodo," Sam told him.  "I couldn't."  And 
that was the truth of it, no matter what else he said; he was simply 
unable to refuse when Frodo asked him for help.  While it wasn't the 
answer he had hoped for, if this was what Frodo wanted, then it was 
what he would do.  What else could he do, but what he should have 
done in the first place: care for his master when he was troubled, 
keep his mouth shut, and not let his private feelings get in the 
way of his duty.   

Frodo moved back onto the bed.  When Sam joined him with a small 
sigh of resignation, he settled down, head on his chest.  He did 
not shut his eyes, but lay staring into nothing and rolling one of 
the buttons on the front of Sam's nightshirt thoughtfully between 
the fingers of his undamaged hand.  

It would be all right, Sam told himself.  As long as they were lying 
here quietly with no cuddling and no kissing, he was comfortable.  
He wouldn't think about Frodo being so close: how nice that warmth 
and weight felt curled half on top of him, how there were just two 
thin layers of nightclothes between that other body and his, how the 
hair on Frodo's toes tickled his ankles.  He wouldn't remember the 
last time they'd lain together like this, or all those wild ideas 
he'd had about what he'd like to do with Frodo if he were allowed.

No, he wouldn't think about those things.  If he put them out of 
his mind, then he could do this.  He might even be able to go to 
sleep.  If only Frodo would quit fidgeting.

He closed one hand over Frodo's to make him stop playing with his 
shirt buttons; at the touch, Frodo lifted his head to consider him 
for a long minute, then stretched up to give him a swift kiss on 
the mouth.

"Enough of that!"  Provoked beyond endurance, Sam caught him by the 
shoulders and rolled him flat onto the bed.  There was a lot he'd 
put up with, but _this_ was the limit.  How could Frodo deliberately 
tease him this way?  It was too much; he could stand it if Frodo 
didn't care for him, or only wanted to be close to him as a friend, 
but he wouldn't be played with.  "What do you think you're doing?" 
he demanded.  "You know what it does to me when you kiss me like 
that!"

"You said I wasn't to do it if I didn't mean it," answered Frodo.  
"What if I do?  What if I give you what you want?"

"I don't want any rewards from you!  I don't want your pity either, 
and if that's all your kisses are, then I don't want _them_!"  He 
gave Frodo a shove, sending him deeper into the feather mattress.  
"Either you do it because you want to, or you don't do it at all 
and leave me in peace.  Can't you understand I love you too much to 
have you halfway?"

"It's not pity!" Frodo shot back, more indignant at the accusation 
than Sam's shouting at him or holding him down.  "If I kiss you, 
it's because I like it."  He plucked at Sam's wrists to try and 
break his hold, but he was too firmly pinned. "Will you please get 
off of me?"

"Not `til you promise to behave yourself.  You want to stay?  All 
right, then you'll lie still and go to sleep--and no more kissing!"

"I won't promise," Frodo said defiantly.  "When you let me up, I'll 
kiss you again, and again.  As many times as I have to, until you 
believe me."

"You're saying you want to do this?"  Still doubtful, Sam released 
him and sat back on his heels.  

"I want to try."  And, true to his word, Frodo kissed him.    

Sam's head was swimming.  This couldn't be happening.  Frodo 
couldn't be kissing him as if he really meant it, wrapping both 
arms around his neck, wriggling up to perch on his knee.  Had he 
fallen asleep, and was all of this a dream? 

The words Frodo whispered in his ear were impossible:  "Will you 
make love to me, Sam?"  

It must be a dream!  

He drew back to look at Frodo, question in his eyes; Frodo met his 
eyes, and nodded.

"I don't know how far I can go tonight, Sam, but I want to give 
you as much as I can--not out of pity or gratitude--" he added 
quickly, "but because I do love you.  I'd like to try and make 
you happy, if you'll let me."  And, taking one of Sam's hands, he 
brought it to his own flank, up under his nightshirt, which had 
ridden up around his hips.  "Will you let me?  Is that fair?"

This sudden turnabout was too strange, too wonderful; Sam still 
couldn't quite believe it.  He had no idea why Frodo had changed 
his mind and, right at this minute, he wanted him so badly that 
he almost didn't care.  "Fair enough," he answered.    

"Then show me what you want.  Whatever you like." 

"What if you don't like it?"  

"Then I'll say so.  But I trust you."  Frodo slid off his lap and, 
eyes still on Sam's, lay back on the bed and waited to see what he 
would do.

Sam lay down beside him and gathered him up, careful not to squeeze 
too tightly this time.  What did he want to do?  First, to cover 
Frodo with kisses.  While they embraced, he tugged up on Frodo's 
nightshirt, then lowered his head to the bared belly; he heard a 
surprised intake of breath, and one hand gripped a fistful of his 
hair.  He nuzzled upwards, pushing the nightshirt ahead of his 
nose inch by inch as he went along, until it was bunched beneath 
Frodo's arms.  Between kisses, he made soft sounds of adoration.  
He wanted to tell Frodo how he felt about him.  He'd learned new 
poetry on his travels, even composed a poem or two of his own, but 
now that he tried to find the right things to say, all those grand 
and beautiful phrases went out of his head.  The only words that 
seemed fitting were the simplest: "I love you."  And he said them 
over and over.

When he lay a hand on Frodo's chest, he could feel his heart hammer-
ing wildly, almost as if he held it in his grasp.  He looked up and 
their eyes met; Frodo was still watching him, a little nervous, but 
unafraid.  

Sam came up to kiss him.  One hand dropped to caress at Frodo's 
waist, traced the line of hip, moved slowly over the tummy, until 
his fingers brushed lower--Frodo started upright with a gasp.

"You're all right?" asked Sam, frightened that he'd hurt him.

"I'm fine." But Frodo was flushed and breathing hard.  He lay one 
hand lightly on his own chest, just beneath the rolled-up band of 
cloth.  "I- I never imagined..."  He lifted his eyes to stare at 
Sam with a wild look, then flung both arms around him to pull him 
down and kiss him again, more urgently than before.  "Go on, Sam," 
he whispered with the same urgency. "Make love to me now--_please_."  

Not that Sam needed any more encouragement.  He didn't know what 
he was doing, only that he wanted and, at last, he could have.  
Frodo seemed to have a clearer idea; once they discovered that 
it felt very nice to rub against each other, he reached up under 
Sam's nightshirt, around to the small of his back, to try and 
guide him.  They began to move together, slowly at first, then 
more frantically.  

It ended far too soon.  They were just learning how and where to 
rub, when Frodo cried out suddenly as if he'd been caught com-
pletely by surprise.  Before he knew what had happened, Sam was 
jolted himself by a dizzying, delicious burst of pleasure, and 
it was all warm and wet between them. 

They lay in a tangle.  As Sam rested his head in the hollow of 
Frodo's shoulder, dazed and panting for breath, he felt the rapid 
rise and fall of the other's chest beneath him grow slower and 
more even.  One hand cradled the back of his head; fingers twined 
in his hair.  To his surprise, Frodo laughed softly and said, "I 
never knew that people could feel like this.  That _I_ could.  
Dear Sam-"  

When Sam lifted his head, Frodo's hand came around from his curls 
to stroke his cheek with tender wonderment, then drew him into a 
kiss.  They clung to each other for a long moment before moving 
apart to lie side by side.  

"I'm so glad we did this," Frodo went on, "and that's it's turned 
out so well."  He turned his head on the pillow to face Sam and, 
more solemn now, confessed, "I didn't think I'd be able to see 
this through to the finish--that I might be too afraid, or that I 
couldn't love you enough, not in the way you wanted me to."  

Sam began to understand.  "Is that what was upsetting you so much 
when you were going on about making choices and not being fair?"

"Yes, that was it."  He reached out to take Sam's hand.  "If things 
went wrong--if I could only go 'halfway,'--you'd be so disappointed, 
and you'd blame me for it.  Yes, Sam, you would.  No arguments.  
You'd never let me try again, and this one time would always be 
between us."

Although Sam hadn't admitted it to himself before, all through 
their love-making, he'd held a lingering suspicion that Frodo was 
only doing this out of some misplaced idea of being kind to him.  
If he still thought that were true, he would feel betrayed.  Things 
couldn't ever be the same between them, just as Frodo had said. Oh, 
they might still be friends--Sam knew that he'd even go on loving 
Frodo--but it'd be a very long time before he could trust him as 
he once had.  He'd certainly never let him back into his bed.  

Now, the last of his doubts disappeared.  "But that's not what 
happened," he said with an overwhelming feeling of relief.  "It 
didn't go wrong."

"No," Frodo answered, "it didn't."  And he smiled.  "I do love you 
enough, Sam.  I absolutely adore you!  Isn't it marvelous?"  He 
pulled Sam into another kiss--then, as they pressed close, drew 
back quickly and looked down at himself.  "But we've made an awful 
mess."  

As Frodo took a handful of bedsheet to blot the cooling wetness 
from his belly and thighs, Sam noticed that his own shirt, which 
had not been pushed up so high, was damp down the front.  He took 
it off and used it to clean himself up before tossing it to the 
floor.  "I'll put some fresh linens on before we go to sleep."

"We can sleep in my room."  

"You don't mind spending the rest of the night there?"

"Why not?  It's a perfectly fine room, not a thing wrong with it." 
Frodo tugged his nightshirt modestly down.  "Besides, you'll be 
here with me, and that makes all the difference."  His eyes, when 
they lifted to meet Sam's, were twinkling with a playful light.  
"But we needn't go right away.  There's no reason to make a mess 
of two beds tonight."  

"You mean you want to do it again?"  But Sam knew, even before 
Frodo threw his arms around him, that it was a silly question.

!~|end|~!