Title: A Harmless Prank
Author: Nienna (nienna_calaquendi@yahoo.com)
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Rating: NC17
Archive: List yes, others please ask
Disclaimer: I acknowledge that someone other than myself holds the
copyright to these characters. No profit has been made from this story.
Summary: Frodo and Sam trade roles for an evening; unexpected events
ensue.
A/N: Thanks to Res for the plot bunny.



When Frodo proposed that Sam accompany him on a visit to Tuckburrow, he
spoke of how pleasant it would be to get away for a few days to enjoy
the lovely spring weather. Secretly he hoped that a road trip, alone
and free of prying Hobbiton eyes, might finally bring him closer to the
gardener he had silently lusted after for so long. 

After two days at Great Smials, however, surrounded day and night by a
horde of relations, the joys of polite company were grating on Frodo's
nerves and he had quite run out of things to say. Sam was looking
uncomfortable in his best dressed-up clothes and would probably bolt if
one more person asked how the Gaffer was faring. The next day found
them escaping for a short detour to the town of Pincup, an outlying
village on the south edge of the Green Hills, only a day's walk from
Tuckburrow but far removed from most Shire doings. "Pincup is a strange
place, my lad," Paladin had warned Frodo sagely. "They're not like
proper Shire folks at all. Why, *dwarves* even pass through there every
so often, and you know what a peculiar lot they are!" 

Setting out that morning, Frodo felt his spirits rise at the thought of
being on the road, alone with Sam once more. He'd had to be quite
guarded around his Took relations; they could practically smell secrets
and Frodo wouldn't chance having his hidden passion found out. Not when
he and Sam had done nothing beyond gazing longingly at one another;
they had been dancing around the issue for some time now, to no avail.
But Frodo thought he might have found a rather creative solution to
that problem, and one that might help them understand each other
better, as well.

Near the end of their march, he stopped to shrug out of his fine
waistcoat and tuck it into his pack, wearing only plain trousers and a
rough homespun blue shirt. Sam, who rarely missed anything having to do
with Frodo's appearance--it being one of his favorite
preoccupations--gave him an odd look. "I don't remember packing that
shirt, sir."

"Oh, it...was a gift from cousin Eglantine," he fibbed, but it was
actually an important element of his plan; his usual dapper clothes
wouldn't quite do for what he had in mind.

Sam continued to eye him skeptically. "Don't look much like her style,
I reckon--nor yours." But he allowed himself to be led down the path
without another word.

For all its alleged oddness, Pincup looked like any other tiny Shire
village. Half a dozen wood and thatch buildings surrounded a small
square, with a few smials and houses trailing in each direction down
the main road. Frodo settled his pack more comfortably on his
shoulders, nervous anticipation starting to bubble up, before leading
Sam toward The Rusty Mug Inn. 

Crossing the threshold, they blinked blindly for a moment after coming
in from the bright late-afternoon sun. The little common room was
packed with hobbits, loud conversations vying with snatches of song.
Though it was just past the dinner hour, it seemed that Pincup
nightlife--such as it was--had already gotten under way. A portly older
gentlemen in a soiled apron hustled over to them.

"Good afternoon, folks! I expect you'll be wanting a bite and a sup?"

"Yes, sir," Frodo began carefully. "And a room for the night, if you
please. This is Mr. Frodo Baggins of Hobbiton, and I'm his servant,
Samwise Gamgee." Then he smoothly dropped back a pace or two so that
Sam stood ahead of him. The tavern-keeper nodded, directing his next
comments to Sam and shaking his hand vigorously.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Baggins, a pleasure to meet you at last! We've heard so
much about you! I'm Rudigar Bushey, by the way. Right nice folks, you
Bagginses, I think one of me cousins married into your line a few years
back." Frodo stole a quick look at his friend, who appeared to be
frozen to the floor. Their host took no notice whatsoever of the
stunned look on Sam's face. "Just step this way, sir, and I'll see
what's left in the kitchen." He waved the pair to a small table near
the hearth as Frodo unobtrusively picked up both Sam's pack and his
own. 

By the time they had seated themselves, Sam's face had gone from dead
white to bright red. He stared at Frodo for a long moment, utterly
speechless, before leaning across the table and hissing, "Mr. Frodo!
What in the Shire are you doing?!"

The next table over abruptly fell silent and Sam ducked his head.
Stifling his giggles, Frodo shushed him as discreetly as he could.
"Come on, Sam. It's a harmless prank; it'll be fun." He gave Sam his
best wide-eyed, innocent look, the one that always--*always*--got him
out of trouble. "After all, you wouldn't want to embarrass me in front
of all these people and the innkeeper too--would you?"

Sam's muttered reply was lost as a pretty blonde barmaid glided over.
With a smile she placed two foaming mugs of ale on the table and,
leaning close to Sam's ear, breathed, "A *pleasure* to meet you, Mr.
Baggins. If there's *anything* you need, just let me know." He managed
to nod an acknowledgement, face even redder than before. Frodo smiled
into his ale until she swished away, having given him not the slightest
notice.

Sam appeared to be well and truly uncomfortable now and Frodo felt a
quick pang of regret. Oh, he'd known this would be dodgy, but to make
him *this* unhappy... "Cheer up, Sam," he said encouragingly. "We'll go
straight upstairs after dinner, all right?" Somehow that didn't sound
quite right, either, but it did seem to lift his friend's spirits.

In due course Bushey appeared with two well-laden plates and a loaf of
freshly baked bread. They tucked into their dinner, famished after the
day's long walk, and conversation subsided for a while. The barmaid
came and went with another round of ale and more flirtation, and
finally they pushed back from the table, content. Frodo pulled out pipe
and weed and loaded the bowl, passing it to "Mr. Baggins" with a little
smile. Sam took it hesitantly, puffing as Frodo held a match to the
weed and giving him a look that plainly said the order of things was
all wrong. 

Bushey ambled back over to inquire if they needed anything further,
then added, "Your room's all ready at the top of the stairs, Mr.
Baggins, and a fine room it is. You linger here as long as you like,
and when you're ready to go up you just let me know and I'll show your
boy to the servants' quarters out back."

Sam choked at that and found his voice, forcing himself to meet the
innkeepers' sharp little eyes. "No!" he exclaimed, hastily clearing his
throat. "That is, no, he should have a room of his own. Near mine." 

Bushey glanced from Sam to Frodo and back again, a conspirator's smile
playing at the corners of his mouth. "Why, of course, sir!" he said
quickly. "I reckon I should've figured...that is, he's a nice-looking
lad and I expect you'll want to keep him...uh...close. Real close. I'll
go see to it right now." Frodo studied the inside of his mug intently
for a moment before he trusted himself to look up. Sam was staring at
him, shocked.

"Did he mean...?" Sam spluttered. "That is, he thinks...!"

Frodo let his breath out slowly to prevent a nervous laugh. "I'm afraid
so, Sam." He couldn't resist testing the waters, giving Sam a sly,
teasing look that surely would have addled his friend's wits--if he had
any left. "Do you mind?" 

"No! I mean... oh, I don't know what I mean." Sam drained his mug in
one long gulp and thumped it onto the table. Frodo sipped at his ale,
watching over the rim as an older fellow nearby stood and approached
them. 

"Mr. Baggins?" he asked, looking between the two of them. 

Sam raised his eyes reluctantly. "Aye."

"Name's Gorbulas Willow, sir. Don't expect that you know me, but I
heard your name. You're old Bilbo Baggins' nephew, ain't you?"

Sam had that frozen expression on his face again. Frodo nudged his foot
under the table. "Uh, cousin. Bilbo is...my cousin."

"Ah, that's right. You look like him, lad, I can see the resemblance
now. Bilbo used to stop in here ev'ry so often and we'd sit and talk.
Loved to tell stories, he did." He gave Sam a searching look. "You know
any of them stories?"

"Well, after a fashion," he stammered. " I don't reckon I could recall
any well enough to tell 'em, though." 

Gorbulas looked disappointed. "Well, that's a shame. Old Bilbo loved to
talk about them dwarves he traveled with way back when. Good stories,
they were." He lowered his voice confidentially. "We still get dwarves
through here now and again, but I ain't seen Bilbo nor that dwarf he
favored for a long while now."

Sam and Frodo exchanged a puzzled glance. "The...dwarf he favored?"
Sam's voice came out sounding a little pinched.

"Well, aye," Gorbulas went on. "Couple times a year him and Bilbo would
meet here an' stay a few days. A stout, gruff fellow he was, with a
long white beard. Quite the pair they were."

Sam just nodded, unable to formulate an appropriate response. Frodo
smiled into his mug again. 

"Well, I reckon I'll leave you lads in peace. Pleasure to meet you,
sir. Give Mr. Bilbo my regards." He wandered away.

"Frodo," Sam said with a pleading note in his voice, "Can we *please*
go?" 

Hoping his friend wasn't as desperate as he sounded, Frodo nodded,
prompting, "You'll need to have Mr. Bushey show us to our rooms."

Sam took a deep breath and squared his shoulders as if going into
battle. He shot Frodo a look that spoke of accounts to be settled
later, then stood and located Bushey behind the bar. "Well, here goes."

Sam strode to the bar, hoping he didn't look as panicky as he felt. He
caught the innkeeper's eye and beckoned him over.

"Ready to call it a night, Mr. Baggins? Your rooms are ready, and right
next door to each other they are. Very convenient." Bushey winked,
grinning. "I reckon that handsome lad of yours is right handy to have
around the house, if you know what I mean. Probably takes real good
care of you, sir. You're lucky to have him."

Sam forced a smile, sure that his face was flaming red again--but as
much from a flood of unbidden mental images as the man's bold words.
"Aye, that I am," he managed.

"You just follow me."

Frodo fell into step behind them as Bushey led the way upstairs. Their
host pushed open a heavy wooden door to reveal a cozy room tucked under
the eaves. A large featherbed stood against one wall and a small fire
crackled on the hearth. Sam looked around, wide-eyed, as the innkeeper
watched him closely, beaming.

"Will this do, sir?"

"Aye, it will. Thank you." He edged into the room as if to escape. 

Bushey turned his keen eyes on Frodo. "You're right next door there."
He bid "Mr. Baggins" a good night and strode away.

The two stood stock-still until his steps retreated all the way down
the hall. Then Sam grabbed Frodo by the arm and yanked him into the
room, slamming the door behind them. His hands shook and he was
breathing hard as if he'd run a footrace. Frodo couldn't help but break
into peals of helpless laughter, dropping their packs and collapsing
against the closed door.

"Oh, Sam," he managed to gasp. "If he only knew!" He wiped his
streaming eyes and looked up to find Sam sitting on the edge of the bed
as if his legs would no longer hold him, running a hand distractedly
through his golden curls. He was not laughing.

"Sam?"

His friend looked up with an odd expression, mingled relief and
outrage. Frodo expected he was going to get a lecture, judging from the
stubborn set of Sam's jaw.

"I'm not gonna ask what possessed you, Mr. Frodo, though I know you
like a joke as well as the next fellow. And aye, the joke would be on
old Bushey if he knew. It's just..." His brows drew together in a
fierce look. "I near couldn't stand it, sir, that old fool talkin'
about you like you wasn't even there! Disrespectin' you like that! And
what he said...he had *no right* to assume such things." His voice
caught on the words and he bit his lip.

Frodo sat down next to his friend, searching his eyes as if trying to
read his turbulent thoughts. As his own thoughts were a bit scattered
he sat silent a moment, considering. At last he said simply, "I didn't
mind what he said, Sam."

"You didn't mind that he thought we...?" His voice remained indignant.

"No," Frodo said firmly. "It doesn't matter what he thinks; the only
thing that matters is what we think. What you and I think, Sam." Though
softly spoken, those last words seemed to hang heavily in the air
between them. Frodo found himself holding his breath.

Sam stared at him as if bewitched. "What do you think, sir?" 

Frodo drew a deep breath, seizing the opportunity to finally speak his
mind. "I think that I would be very proud to share your bed or anything
else, Samwise Gamgee. And... what do you think?"

"I think that I've had one too many surprises tonight," he said
sternly, but then the corners of his mouth twitched upward. He lifted
his chin almost challengingly, with a wild light kindling in his eyes.
Though Frodo moved first, Sam met him halfway, mouths meeting in an
impulsive kiss and arms tangling in an unplanned, awkward embrace. 

They clung together tightly for a few shuddering breaths and a barrage
of eager, urgent kisses. Breaking away finally, gasping, they fell back
against the plush mattress. Frodo hovered over his friend, drinking in
his flushed face, his kiss-reddened lips, and the desire flaming in his
eyes. He couldn't resist a gentle tease. 

"Now what do you think, Sam? Should we stop?"

Sam's throaty chuckle surprised him. "Stop! After the mischief you
caused tonight! Don't think you're gettin' away *that* easy, me dear."
Frodo laughed out loud in delight, throwing his head back. Sam didn't
miss the opportunity to rain kisses along the curve of his throat and
to nibble at the soft juncture of neck and shoulder, pushing away cloth
to reveal tender skin.

Despite Frodo's secret hopes, he'd never dared expect this, never
thought Sam would be so willing, so eager. He eased Sam gently onto his
back, sprawling partway across his chest. With shaking fingers he
opened one by one the buttons of Sam's fine linen shirt, trailing
feather-light caresses over newly exposed skin, firm and tanned brown
by the kiss of the sun. He traced a path of warm, damp kisses from the
corner of Sam's mouth to his chest, then slid the shirt off Sam's broad
shoulders. Pressing his cheek to the cluster of coppery curls nestled
in the hollow of Sam's chest, he could feel his heartbeat and the rise
and fall of his breath. 

Sam's strong hands stroked up and down Frodo's back through the rough
homespun shirt. Unexpectedly he pulled away and Frodo's eyes flew open,
startled. Sam looked mildly amused as he tugged at the shirt.

"A gift from your cousin, hmm?" he demanded playfully. "You planned
this all along, didn't you? Had it all worked out."

Frodo's eyes sparkled impishly. "I don't know what you're talking
about, and I certainly didn't plan *this*!"

"I think this whole trip was naught but an excuse to get me out here in
the middle of nowhere and seduce me. Wasn't it?" He reached down and
gave Frodo's behind a sound pinch, drawing a surprised squeak.

With a devilish smile, Frodo rolled his slender body atop his friend's
stockier one. "Then you should hush and let me get on with the
seduction, shouldn't you?" He assumed Sam's surprised gasp meant "yes."
Though Frodo lay quite still, their bodies met in places that were
quickly becoming impossible to ignore.

Sam cupped a hand at Frodo's neck to pull him down for another
lingering kiss as he sought out his shirt buttons. Unfastening them
slowly was maddening for them both and Frodo soon made short work of
removing the meddlesome garment before settling back onto Sam's chest.
The first glide of skin against skin caused them both to shiver. Sam
stroked Frodo's fine, lithe body with reverence, taking in his pleased
smile and brilliant, shining blue eyes. 

Frodo settled himself more snugly against Sam's hips, beginning to move
in an unhurried, tantalizing rhythm that caused Sam to close his eyes
helplessly and grip Frodo's shoulders with tense fingers.

"Oh, you...!" Sam arched up strongly, then with a playful growl he
abruptly rolled them both over, coming to rest with Frodo underneath
him, a wild grin lighting Frodo's face.

"What do you want, Sam? Oh, *anything.*"

Sam's smile was positively wicked. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I
should be takin' care of you, not the other way round." He leaned down,
nuzzling the soft skin of Frodo's throat, kissing and nibbling there
until he drew out little wordless cries of passion. Encouraged by the
enthusiastic response, he trailed kisses down Frodo's chest, sucking at
his dark, peaked nipples and causing a sharp gasp. Then he dipped lower
yet to press moist, loving lips against his flat belly. He glanced up
to check Frodo's response; his eyes were squeezed shut, a soft,
wondering smile lingering on his lips. Sam's sure hand sought out the
hard length in Frodo's breeches. He stroked steadily through the cloth,
causing his friend to gasp again and buck into him.

With impatient hands Frodo reached for the buttons of Sam's trousers.
Sam tried to do the same, but was hampered somewhat by the fact that he
still lay partly atop Frodo, who refused to let him pull away even
slightly. Finally, in mock-exasperation, he caught Frodo by the wrists
and extended his arms over his head, pinning them one-handed to the
coverlet. The other hand went back to its task unhindered, unfastening
Frodo's buttons quickly and efficiently, pushing trousers and linens
down far enough to take his swollen member in hand. Frodo laughed up at
him, eyes dancing, delighted at Sam's new-found boldness and thrilled
speechless by his touch. 

Finding his self-control rapidly slipping, Sam soon released Frodo's
wrists and reached for his own trouser buttons. Frodo's quick hands
darted lower, tugging at the fabric, wrapping Sam in a tight grip that
caused him to gasp. With his other hand Frodo grasped a handful of
thick blond curls, urgently pulling Sam's head down for a breathless
kiss and crushing their bodies together. Sam settled himself firmly and
deliberately against Frodo, moving slowly at first, finding a rhythm,
building in intensity, thrusting hard and steadily until Frodo cried
out sharply into the quiet. Soon afterward Sam's whole body tensed, a
sheen of fine sweat breaking out on his brow, and grinding down against
Frodo he found his own release.

They lay unmoving, arms and legs entwined, tangled in damp,
half-removed garments. Frodo struggled for breath, his face buried in
Sam's neck, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse. When Sam finally moved
to lie next to him, cradling Frodo's head on his arm, Frodo felt bereft
at the distance, slight as it was, between them. Sam combed a hand
through dark silky curls, pressed a kiss to Frodo's forehead, and they
lay wonder-struck for a long while.

Frodo had almost dozed off when he heard Sam laugh softly. He looked
up, curious.

"You're one surprise after another, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo smiled against Sam's shoulder. "Pleasant surprises, I hope."

"This particular surprise, aye, more than pleasant. That one you pulled
downstairs, though..."

"I'm sorry about all that, Sam. Really. I thought it might...help us
understand each other a little better. And I thought it might be fun.
The last thing I wanted was to make you uncomfortable."

"Aye, it was that! But it's all right, I reckon. I never realized what
it must be like for you, bein' old Mr. Bilbo's heir and the center of
attention like that, havin' to deal with people comin' up to you all
the time, and half of them likely wantin' somethin'."

"Oh, I'm used to it, I guess, and I try to be gracious--though it can
be an annoyance. For my part, it suprised me that once I'd said I was
your servant, Bushey ignored me altogether. As did everyone else in the
room."

Sam snorted. "Aye, that's normal enough, though Bushey was better about
it than some I've seen. But that may be because he liked the looks of
you."

"He *what*? What did he say to you?" Frodo sat up, the better to look
into Sam's eyes.

"What he said in front of you was bad enough! I ain't gonna repeat the
rest."

"Come on, Sam," Frodo pleaded playfully, gazing at him wide-eyed.

"You stop that!" Sam laughed. "I can't deny you a thing when you look
at me like that, with those pretty blue eyes of yours."

"That's the idea." Frodo traced a fingertip around the dark perimeter
of Sam's nipple, pleased to watch it tighten under his touch. "Tell
me." Sam grabbed Frodo's hand to still it, but Frodo quickly dropped
his head to caress the stiff nub with his tongue. 

"Oh, you're a rascal! But you've gone and proved that something he said
was right, even so." Sam paused for effect, smiling mischievously. "He
seemed to think you'd be good between the sheets." 

Frodo raised an amused eyebrow. "And?"

"And I think you're that and more, sir." He leaned up to place a gentle
kiss on Frodo's lips. "But I still didn't like him sayin' it. We oughta
go next door and mess up your bed so that nitwit don't feel quite so
smug once we've gone, assumin' things like he did."

"Yes, we should do that, but let's mess it up...properly." Frodo
chuckled, running a hand suggestively up Sam's thigh.

"Mmm," Sam sighed, "My thoughts exactly."


-end-