Title: Hobbit Of My Dreams

   Author: Nfinity Nite (nfinity_nite_monaghan @yahoo.com)

   Pairing: Frodo/Sam

   Rating: NC-17

   Summary: After years of yearning, Frodo faces the truth about
Sam and decides on a life of passionate celibacy. But Sam has
something else planned. Companion to A Hobbit Fairy Tale.

Warnings: Hobbit Lovin’ abounds, and of course, this is slash (if you
didn’t know that then there’s something wrong with you ;) ) slight
depressive dream sequences.

   Disclaimer: I don’t own these scrumdidlyumptious beings; they
all belong to Prof. Tolkien, the Lord of Middle-Earth.

   Author’s Note: This is a companion piece to my Merry/Pippin
fanfiction, A Hobbit Fairy Tale. You don’t have to read the other to
understand this, but I think it will help understand what triggers
Frodo’s memories/dreams. This is also me first Frodo/Sam fic, and I
found it slightly difficult to write, so I hope it’s better for the trouble
I had writing it. Hope you enjoy this and uber-special thanks to Kylie
S. for the review and the encouragement.


   Hobbit Of My Dreams

   1. Uno

   Frodo Baggins was no longer a young man. Though by physical
appearances, he was hardly older than 33, he was really years older.
Though no one knew it, a tiny gold band that he’d inherited from
Bilbo caused his un-aging appearance. He enjoyed all the normal
comforts of a gentlehobbit, and spent most of his days reading a
book or taking a walk through the lovely gardens that his gardener,
Samwise Gamgee, had planted around his home. He was admiring
the new gladiolas that Sam had planted when the mess with Merry
and Pippin, his two dearest cousins, happened.

   Pippin had come to Bag End with his father, and, though Frodo
had been warned beforehand, it broke his heart to see the normally
sunny and buoyant Pippin downcast and frail. Pippin had poured his
heart out to Frodo, telling him of his love for Merry, and the incident
that Pippin called a ‘mistake’; he’d told Merry his feelings and
Merry had seemingly rejected him.

   All had worked out in the end, Merry had realized that he’d felt
the same way as Pippin and had offered him a Promise Ring, binding
them heart-and-soul together without an official ceremony. But
Frodo still felt that this happy occasion was bittersweet, and the dark
circles under his eyes were an indication that he was not his usual
cheerful self.

   Sam noticed the shadows under Frodo’s eyes, and that his
normally pale skin had a sickly pallor. But, as his servant, he kept his
mouth shut, though when he cooked breakfast that morning it was
set in a thin line. He set the food down in front of Frodo who gave it
a cursory glance but didn’t pick up his fork. That was all the
encouragement that Sam needed.

   “You need to eat Mr. Frodo. You don’t look very healthy, if you
beg me pardon for sayin’,” Frodo looked up at Sam, his blue eyes
glassy and unfocussed.

   “I’m fine Sam, you go ahead and eat and then you can show me
those lovely flowers you planted in the garden,” Frodo said, in a
voice that was to Sam, weary and small. Sam shook his head.

   “I think you’re coming down with something, Mr. Frodo, an’ I’m
not letting you up from this table until you eat at least half of that.”
He sat down across from Frodo and gave him the sternest look he
could give his master. Frodo smiled, a flash of his normal self, and
then he picked up his fork and forced himself to eat exactly half of
the contents of his plate. When he’d finished, he looked up at Sam
expectantly. Sam nodded, his worry temporarily assuaged. He
thought that perhaps a walk through the garden might actually be a
good thing for Frodo, so he got Frodo’s spring and fall jacket and
walked outside with him.

   “The flowers are lovely as always, Sam,” Frodo said in a tired
voice as he sat down on the garden bench. He was exhausted, having
not had much sleep in the past ten nights. Nightmares and shadows
chased him in his sleep; memories he’d hoped would stay buried
resurfacing to cut fresh wounds in his heart. Nothing he did could
chase them away, so he’d wake up in the middle of the night,
sweating and sometimes even crying out, tears usually streaming
from his eyes. By the fifth night, he’d forced himself to stay awake,
not daring to close his eyes for more than a second for fear of the
monsters that lurked behind his eyelids.

   “Mr. Frodo?” Frodo started; he hadn’t realized that he’d fallen
asleep sitting there. Sam was kneeling before him, worry reflecting
in his dark brown eyes, the breeze ruffling his sandy-blonde hair.
Frodo smiled a sad smile, knowing that the deepest secret in his heart
could never be fulfilled, shouldn’t even be mentioned! He averted
his eyes from those warm, trusting eyes, blushing slightly.

   “Are you alright, Mr. Frodo?” Sam’s voice sounded anxious, and
Frodo involuntarily flinched when he felt Sam touch his forehead.
“I’m fine, Sam,” he said, trying to dodge the concerned look that
Sam gave him. He stood up and gave a huge yawn.

   “Why don’t you take a nap before luncheon, Mr. Frodo? You
look very tired.” Frodo nodded, not really wanting to sleep, just
wanting Sam to quit worrying.

   “I think that’s a god idea, Sam. Wake me up when it’s time for
lunch.”


   2. Dos

   He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He was sitting on the bed, reading
a book, trying to force himself to stay awake. If he closed his eyes
the nightmares would start again. He didn’t really know the moment
that he stopped reading and shut his eyes; all he was aware of was
suddenly not being in his bed.

   “Frodo, what’s the matter?” The voice again, the voice that
constantly haunted him. Bright green eyes flecked with brown and a
smile that could brighten up the cloudiest of days; thick blonde hair
framing a cherubic face, a mouth that was always pouty, even when
it was smiling. Frodo was young again, only about twenty, and this
hobbit was older by seven years. How he yearned to touch that face,
run his hands through that hair. “Frodo?” Frodo blushed for he was
staring.

   “I’m fine,” he answered, hoping to ease the other’s suspicions.
The hobbit in question raised a light eyebrow and stared at him
expectantly. He blushed again and looked away from those all-too
perceptive eyes.

   “I—I have something t—to tell you,” he stammered, staring at
the forest floor. He felt the sunlight warm on his back and the gentle
breeze tumbling through his hair. He had to tell him, had to now or
he *never* would. He snuck a glance up at his companion. His
features had changed. A slight build had turned to that muscular
body of a worker, his pale skin had tanned, his hazel eyes had turned
a warm brown, and his hair was a shade darker. “Oh, Sam,” he
whispered, his heart breaking as the words spilled from his mouth
unbidden. “I love you.” The look of horror on his companion’s face
broke whatever resolve Frodo had had and he turned, fleeing the
secret little grove.

   He woke up with a gasp of pain, tears falling from his eyes. The
dream had changed. Memory had melted into fantasy—only that
fantasy had become a *nightmare*. A sob rose in his throat, and he
forced himself to stop crying when he heard Sam’s footsteps outside
the door.

   “Mr. Frodo? I hate to wake you, but lunch is ready.” Frodo
hurriedly wiped his eyes and willed himself calm. “Mr. Frodo?” The
door opened just as Frodo got out of bed and he greeted the worried
look of his friend with a forced smile.

   “I’m awake Sam,” he said, picking up the book that had fallen
off the bed and setting it on the bedside table. He stretched and
accompanied Sam to the kitchen. They ate in silence, Frodo
focussing on his food, Sam trying to understand his master’s sudden
aloofness.

   “Is something troubling you, Mr. Frodo?” Frodo winced slightly,
knowing what his thoughts had been moments earlier. He shook his
head, not looking up from his plate. “You got a letter, Mr. Frodo.
From Mr. Pippin.” Sam got up and got the letter handing it to Frodo.
Frodo pushed aside his half-eaten meal and opened it. Inside was a
cordial letter talking about the normal affairs of the Great Smials and
day-to-day events. At the bottom of the letter was an invitation for
Frodo (and Sam, if he wished) to join Pippin and Merry at the Green
Dragon for a meal, or (if the weather permitted) a picnic by the river,
that Saturday. Frodo drafted a response immediately, saying that he
and Sam would be delighted to join them for a picnic, and he sent
Sam to post it.

   When Sam returned, he found Frodo outside, sitting on the
garden bench, reading a rather old-looking and large book. He
decided not to bother him, and went back to the daily care that he
gave his flowers. Frodo, who was not actually reading the book, was
waging an inner war with himself. His dream earlier was plaguing
him, and the recently uncovered feeling he’d long kept buried for
Sam.

   He remembered how happy Merry and Pippin had looked when
they finally admitted their feelings, and he yearned to find that
happiness. More than anything, he wished to get the weight of his
secret off his chest, but the memory of the last encounter he’d had
with forbidden love left him cold with the fear of Sam’s impending
rejection. *But*, his heart countered, *what if he doesn’t reject
you?* That thought left him even more frightened than Sam
rejecting him. Their simple friendship would be changed forever,
and they would have to face many difficult challenges, should their
relationship be found out. *He would probably just be horrified at
the notion of you loving him*, his mind told him, *So why worry
about those things when they probably won’t happen?* He shied
from that cold voice, wanting desperately to believe his heart.

   He heaved a heavy, sad sigh and shut the book, getting up and
walking back into Bag End, the matter still unresolved.


   3. Tres

   Saturday arrived with blue skies and a warm summer breeze.
Merry and Pippin came around lunchtime, with a picnic basket and
warm smiles. It was obvious that they were in love, and anyone who
couldn’t see it deserved to be called daft.  They both hugged Frodo,
and Merry commented on how tired Frodo seemed. Frodo played it
off as nothing more than a slight cold and smiled brightly. A little
too brightly to Pippin’s perceptive gaze. As they gathered things and
put them in the basket along with the things Merry and Pippin had
brought, Pippin took Frodo aside.

   “Is something troubling you, cousin?” Frodo glanced away from
those knowing green eyes; Pippin had become a little wiser with
love, and Frodo *did not* want to talk to Pippin about his affections.
He shook his head and smiled a genuine smile.

   “I’m fine, Pippin,” he said. Seeing Pippin’s skeptical look, he
added quietly, “I’ve been having trouble sleeping, that’s all.” Pippin
opened his mouth to speak, but Merry called them over and he shut
his mouth, giving Frodo a ‘we’ll talk later’ look as they headed out
the door.


   4. Quatro

   The picnic was just what Frodo needed. It cheered him up to
have a carefree day spent with his three friends laughing and talking
and eating with leisure. Frodo soon forgot the dreams that plagued
him and the growing yearning in his heart. He simply enjoyed the
company of his friends and the beautiful summer day.


   5. Cinco

   All too soon they were staggering to the front door of Bag End,
well aware that comfortable beds and even more comfortable ale was
waiting for them. Each let out a contented sigh as they settled
themselves in the livingroom chairs. Frodo went to the kitchen as
Merry and Sam got out their pipes and Pippin followed him.

   Frodo turned with the four full mugs of ale and found himself
face to face with Pippin. He sighed and tried to move past him.
Pippin wouldn’t let him.

   “Not tonight, Pippin,” Frodo said irritably. “I’ve had a good day
and I’d like to keep it that way.” Pippin took the mugs of beer from
Frodo’s hands and set them on the table.

   “I’m not letting you out of here until you tell me what’s the
matter.” Frodo sighed again and sat down.

   “Why does it matter, Pippin? I’m a grown hobbit. I can take care
of myself.” Pippin stared at him with a patient look and waited
silently. “All right!” Frodo was beyond exasperation, acting as if
Pippin had pestered him to no end. “I’ll tell you, but you must swear
that it stays here.” Pippin grinned a grin that was typical to his
lineage and Frodo gave a mock scowl that turned into a small smile.
Then he sighed.

   “I’ve been having dreams about…*him*,” Frodo said in a low
voice. Pippin’s eyes widened. “And they remind me about all of it all
the time and I haven’t been getting much sleep lately. But, I’m
getting better,” he finished lamely. Pippin looked sceptical.

   “That’s not all that’s wrong,” he said. Frodo frowned. He’d
hoped he could convince Pippin it was just the dreams bothering
him. “Why don’t you tell him?” Once again Frodo marvelled at the
change in Pippin, how finding his love had slowed his rambunctious
nature a little, how it’d made him more attentive to what was
happening around him. At the same time he wondered if he was
really *that* transparent.

   “Tell who what?” Frodo asked, trying, and failing, to appear not
to know what Pippin was talking about. Pippin scoffed and stood his
ground. Laughter came from the living room and Frodo caught a
glimpse of tussled sandy curls. He expelled a breath and looked at
the floor. “He’s….” his voice caught and Frodo was amazed to find
tears welling in his eyes. He forced himself to stay calm and started
again. “He’s too young. And,” he continued, quelling Pippin’s
protests, “he doesn’t need the confusion of me loving him. No,” his
voice had an audible catch and he cleared his throat, trying to force
the lump from it. “He’ll get married and have as many kids as he
deserves.”

   “But—“ Pippin started but Frodo cut him off.

   “*No*, Pippin, it’s what he deserves.” Tears splashed on his
cheeks. “It’s all I can give him.” Pippin opened his mouth to say
something, but closed it, sighing deeply.

   “If that’s what you want Frodo,” he said solemnly. “But are you
sure that’s what Sam wants?”

   6. Seis

   Darkness surrounded him. It pressed into him, permeating his
very skin. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. He was going to
drown in this darkness; die without anyone. He wept and the
darkness echoed his sorrow, pounding into him with every beat of
his heart. He needed air, blue skies, and a recognizable face. It
squeezed into him and he was fading, plunging headlong into the
dark abyss with eager abandon, anything just to be free…

   “Mr. Frodo!” Frodo was awake in an instant, the oppressing
darkness lifted by a single flame, a lit candle. He was breathing
heavily, sweat coated his skin. He sat up and looked for the source of
the familiar voice. “Mr. Frodo?” There Sam was, wearing only a pair
of breeches, a worried expression on his face. Frodo forced himself
to breathe normal, and the stricken look passed from his face,
revealing a very exhausted visage.

   “I’m alright, Sam,” he said wearily. Sam shook his head.

   “No you’re not, Mr. Frodo, you’re not eating, you’re losing
weight, you haven’t gotten enough sleep in nigh over a week.” A
hurt look passed over his eyes, but it was quickly replaced again by
worry. “Won’t you tell me?” He stopped, struggling to find the
words. “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong, Frodo? Maybe, maybe I
can help you.” He looked so sad that Frodo felt guilty for hiding his
problem. He almost told him, right then and there, but he stopped
himself. Sam couldn’t know. He wouldn’t understand and Frodo just
knew he’d leave and never look back.

   “I—I don’t know, Sam,” he lied. “I guess I’ve been having odd
dreams of late. It’s nothing to be worried about.” He looked outside.
“Has the storm gotten worse?” Thunder clapped outside and
answered his question. He faked a yawn and smiled wanly at Sam.
“You should get some sleep, Sam. Don’t worry yourself over an old
hobbit like me.” He lay back down again and prayed that Sam would
go before Frodo had time to let his eyes rove over Sam’s chest, the
sculpted muscles brought into sharp relief by the candle. He closed
his eyes and heard Sam sigh, a sad testimony to his worry. He waited
until the door closed and the darkness pulled around him again
before sitting up. He’d get no more sleep this night.


   7. Siete

   Days passed and the weather continued to be unnaturally dreary.
The storm had subsided to a steady rain, causing farmers and
gardeners everywhere to sit in alehouses, grumbling amongst
themselves about their crops and gardens being flooded. Frodo
didn’t mind it; the weather was suiting his mood. Time cloistered
inside gave him time to think about his conversation a week ago with
Pippin, and the last words Pippin had said. *Are you sure that’s what
Sam wants?* The question had been spinning around in his mind,
bothering him, daring him to figure out the answer. You’ll never
know unless you ask, a secret, hopeful voice kept telling him. He
ignored it. He’d been down that road before. No amount of longing
would make him bare his heart on his sleeve like he’d done before.

   He was sitting at the window, watching the rainfall, deep in his
musings, when Sam came in, completely soaked and mumbling to
himself.

   “There ain’t nothing for it, Mr. Frodo,” he said, drying himself
off with a towel. “If this rain doesn’t stop, my flowers will die.”
Frodo turned to Sam and felt the accustomed lurch of his heart. The
worry and fear in Sam’s eyes made him smile.

   “Don’t worry, Sam, I’m sure the rain will stop before that
happens.” He watched the towel make its passes on Sam’s skin,
filling his eyes with the vision of wet Sam before turning back to the
window. “You’ll see, it’ll stop.”

   By mid-afternoon the rain did trickle down to only a drizzle, and
the general mood of Bag End lightened. After a good supper, Frodo
and Sam sat in the living room in front of the empty hearth, Frodo
reading out of a book, and Sam puffing lightly on his pipe.

   “Tomorrow I’ll have to go out and weigh up the damage, I
suppose,” Sam mused, accenting the remark with a puff of his pipe.
Frodo nodded absently, sneaking peeks at his gardener. He knew it
was childish, but he couldn’t help himself. He *needed* to fill his
eyes with Sam’s hard country beauty. Hard muscles, hidden beneath
a thin layer of hobbit fat, that strained and bulged with hard work,
creamy skin that tanned in summer and turned pale in winter, sandy
hair that varied shades with the different seasons and warm, nut
brown eyes that shone with a sharper intelligence than many gave
him credit for, Sam was nothing if not beautiful.

   “Mr. Frodo?” Frodo was startled out of his daydream by Sam’s
uncertain question. He looked over at Sam’s worried face and
frowned.

   “What is it Sam?” Sam opened his mouth and closed it, clearly
trying to find the right thing to say.

   “Well,” he said slowly, and hesitantly, Frodo noticed. “I want, I
*need* to tell you something.” He shook his head. “You probably
don’t want to hear it, though.” Frodo closed the book he hadn’t
really been reading and set it aside, giving Sam his full attention.

   “What is it, Sam? Whatever it is, you know you can tell me.”
Sam nodded, but still looked unsure. Frodo reached over and
touched Sam’s hand reassuringly. “I won’t turn away from anything
you have to say, Sam.” Sam nodded again, looking a little surer.

   “I well, I’ve been wanting to tell you for the longest time, Frodo,
about—“ Sam blushed. “Well, I suppose the best way to say it is just
to say it, but it’s not proper, you see, and I don’t know how you
feel.” He took a deep breath and let out in a great whoosh, “Frodo, I
think that I love you. I mean, I know I do and it’s okay if you don’t
feel the same, it’s just, I can’t bear to keep it secret anymore.” Sam
stopped when he saw Frodo smiling, chuckling even.

   “Oh, my Sam,” he said softly, light coming into his eyes. “There
are so many things you don’t know.” He got up and walked to Sam,
crouching beside him, his hand on Sam’s arm. “Oh, blast what’s
proper, Sam. I love you too. I was so afraid you’d reject me, that I
kept my peace for years now, ever since you were a young tween.”
His eyes were shining and he smiled at Sam’s equally bewildered
and comprehending expression. Frodo continued, confessing about
his dreams and the reasons behind his fear and of his long-hidden
love.  He watched Sam take it all in and revelled as Sam wiped away
the tears that were trickling down Frodo’s face, sorrow and joy
mixed in those droplets. Once purged of all the fear and doubt and
pain he’d hidden for so long, Frodo felt better than he’d felt in many
weeks.

   “Frodo,” Sam said reverently. One look into Sam’s eyes and
Frodo stood, beckoning Sam to follow him. He led him into his
room, closing the door behind him. He turned and was enveloped in
those strong arms, warm lips pressing against the sensitive skin of
his throat. He moaned, feeling the reverberations on Sam’s lips and
gently extricated himself before things got *too* out of hand.

   He smiled, nervous in front of his love-soon-to-be-lover. “Let’s
take it slow, for the moment, Sam,” he said breathlessly, feeling his
presence even though he was more than a few inches away. Frodo
closed the gap between them and hesitantly brought his lips to
Sam’s. Sam wrapped his arms around Frodo, pulling him as close as
possible, and Frodo *wanted* to be close to him. The kiss turned
passionate and Sam, taking the initiative, began to manoeuvre Frodo
towards the bed. Sam kept deepening the kiss, exploring the cavern
of Frodo’s mouth with his tongue, delving deep and causing Frodo to
moan into his mouth. The backs of his knees hit the bed and, without
breaking the kiss, Sam gently lowered Frodo down, still holding him
tight. Frodo hissed through his teeth as Sam’s bulk pressed against
his very obvious erection and he felt an answering bulge. “Oh, Sam,”
Sam’s mouth moved from his mouth to his cheeks, his eyes, his ears.
His tongue flicked out against the shell of Frodo’s pointed ear and he
shuddered, shifting against Sam and consequently rubbing their
erections together.

   Frodo soon decided that this was too slow and took matters into
his own hands, so to speak, flipping Sam over skilfully and sitting on
his hips, one leg on each side of him. Sam’s wide-eyed look of
surprise soon turned to a sultry look as Frodo rocked his hips
purposefully, to get his point across. Frodo leaned forward and his
deft scholar’s fingers made short work of Sam’s smaller shirt buttons
and soon Sam was shirtless and flushing under the heat of Frodo’s
hungry gaze. Frodo realized that Sam was completely at his mercy
and that thought made him giddy. He also realized though, that if
Sam wanted to, he could flip Frodo over effortlessly and have his
way with him. That thought was appealing.

   “I want to see you,” Sam said, his voice low and husky. He
reached up and undid the buttons on Frodo’s shirt and Frodo pulled
it back, revealing his pale chest. Sam leaned up and ran his hands
over his master’s chest, his lips and tongue following behind his
fingertips. Frodo’s groans and soft exclamations told Sam he was
doing the right thing. Frodo bucked his hips and Sam groaned, the
need plain in his voice. Frodo got up, leaving Sam laying there
spread eagle. When he returned he was completely naked, a bottle
with clear liquid in one hand. Sam gasped and Frodo blushed.

   “Oh, Frodo,” Sam breathed. “You’re so beautiful.” Sam’s
reverent tone made Frodo blush further and he bent down, slowly
trailing his long fingers down Sam’s golden chest to the top of his
breeches, slowly undoing the buttons, licking his lips in anticipation.
He pulled Sam’s breeches off and now Sam was flushed, exposed to
the world and Frodo’s dark blue eyes glittering with love and lust.
Frodo softly touched Sam there, in that most private place, gently
stroking his length. A shuddering moan came from Sam’s parted lips
and Frodo pulled his hand away, making Sam whimper in protest.
He loved this new sensation, feeling as though they had all the time
in the world to explore and love each other. But Frodo’s own
pressing need belied that sentiment. He uncorked the bottle and
poured some of the cold liquid onto his hand. He touched Sam again,
smearing the oil up and down his length, teasing Sam just a little,
eliciting soft cries and pleading moans and exclamations of love. He
stopped and handed the bottle to Sam who looked confused through
the haze of heat.

   “I want you to make love to me Sam,” Frodo breathed. The haze
left his eyes and he blushed, his eyes widening, the brown almost
obscured by the dilated pupils.

   “But, Frodo, I… I’ve never, what if it hurts you?” Sam stumbled
over his words and finally stopped as Frodo put his finger to Sam’s
lips.

   “I know it’ll hurt at first, dear Sam,” he said in a calm voice.
“But it’s what I want.” His eyes pleaded with Sam, whose conviction
was wavering rapidly. “Don’t make me beg, Samwise Gamgee.” But
he was begging and Frodo knew that Sam’s inhibition was slipping
away and he smiled softly. “I want to feel you… inside me.” Those
words, and the earnestness and need in Frodo’s voice, completely
shattered any protest Sam might have voice and he groaned, tipping
the bottle over and spilling the oil on his hand. He touched Frodo’s
erection, softly, as if petting a kitten, and then reached lower,
stroking his balls and then proceeding even lower. A soft hiss
accompanied the intrusion and Sam stopped as he saw the slight
flicker of pain on Frodo’s face.

   “Don’t stop, Sam, I’ll be alright.” He continued moving his
finger and he nearly stopped again when Frodo let out a hiss of
surprise, and he shifted, causing Sam’s finger to brush a hard spot
again and Frodo moaned. Sam, apt student that he was, inserted a
second finger, making sure to hit that spot as much as possible, to
insure that the pain was outweighed by the pleasure in Frodo’s voice.
A third finger stretched Frodo enough and Sam withdrew after a few
minutes, to mewling protests from a sweaty, flushed Frodo. He
readied himself and, at Frodo’s nod, entered him. The discomfort
quickly vanished as Frodo got used to the sensation and he shifted,
indicating that Sam could start moving. They quickly found a
suitable pace and their passions mounted. Frodo felt like he’d never
felt before, the pleasure and knowledge that this was *Sam* making
him feel this good, this was his love giving him all of this pleasure
sending him over the edge, unable to get back to the real world, and
he gasped, crying Sam’s name over and over in a hoarse husky
shout, and released, spilling his seed between them. Sam continued
moving, holding Frodo’s hips with strong, calloused hands and
moving him at a steady paced. Soon after Frodo had climaxed, he
too released, filling Frodo with his seed, with his passion, and with
his love.

   They lay together, panting for breath, one breathing in as the
other breathed out, so that it seemed they were sharing life, sharing
their souls with one another. Frodo was the first to recover and he
slid off of Sam, curling up against Sam’s side and covering them
both with a cool sheet.

   “Oh my Sam,” he sighed, more content than he could ever
remember feeling in his life. “I love you so much.” Sam smiled and
curled his fingers in Frodo’s damp hair.

   “I love you too, Frodo. Always have and always will.” They
drifted off to sleep together, the drizzle outside stopping and the grey
clouds that had hovered, swollen and discontent, moved away,
revealing a gorgeous sunset of violet and mauve, gold and azure, and
the last rays of the sun warming their heads as they slept.

   FIN