Title: Might I But Moor Series: Pagan Shire #4 Author: Timberwolf E-mail: timberwolf@frodo.com Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Frodo/Sam Category: Romance, Angst Archiving: Yes, to group Summary: Frodo and Sam encounter their first conflicts within their relationship. Disclaimer: This is written solely for my own entertainment and other like-minded souls, and is not intended to infringe on the rights of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. Notes: Thanks to Bron for encouragement and brainstorming during the early stages, and Zig, Cara, Andraste and Mat for their betaing help with various rewrites. Especial thanks to Mat for helping at the last minute with that fecking tangled first sentence. ;) For those of you just coming in on this, this series (the first three parts of which were posted back in February) continues on from Letters Over the Sea, which can be found in the archives of tolkien_slash, or email me for a copy. This is waaaay post ROTK, for any of you trying to avoid spoilers might want to give it a miss. It's primarily book-based, though I do visualise Frodo and Sam pretty well as they appear in the movies. After I saw the first still of Frodo Baggins, I couldn't see him any other way -- and ditto for Sam, once we got a good look at him. For those of you needing a timeframe, the series starts September 22 1428 in the Shire Reckoning. And without further ado: Might I But Moor by Timberwolf "Frodo, are you sure this is fitting?" asked Sam. They were, as before, stretched out on the cloak by the fire, though now they were both still damp from the sea, their drying curls encruisted with salt. Their skin was still dewy with moisture, and Frodo was bent over Sam, his attention wholly engaged in licking up the water droplets sparkling in his hair. Sam shifted under Frodo's busy tongue, repeating "Frodo…" "Hmm?" said Frodo, absently. Sam shivered at the resulting sensation, but nevertheless continued, "I said, are you sure -- " "I heard the first time," said Frodo, nuzzling into Sam's groin. "And to paraphrase you, dear Sam, I'll judge what's fitting, thank you." Sam laughed, but retorted, "And I'll remind you, dear Frodo, that there are *two* of us here and *I* don't think it's fitting." "Well, *that* seems to be enjoying it," returned Frodo, giving Sam's erect shaft a tap with his forefinger. "I don't think with *that.* Or I try not to. That's *not* what a twig and berries is for." Frodo, for one of the few times in his life, was left not only gaping, but momentarily speechless. "A -- *what* did you say?" he exclaimed, once he could. "Twig and berries. *That.* You know," said Sam, waving a hand in the general direction of his groin. "Twig... and... berries..." Frodo mused, before utterly astonishing Sam by bending over the erect shaft and trying to take as much as he could in his mouth. *"Frodo!!"* gasped Sam. "My dear Sam," said Frodo, coming up for air and rubbing his cheek along Sam's erection, *"that* is definitely *not* a twig." Sam drew a deep shaky breath, struggling to lift himself up to his elbows. "Frodo, *don't."* Frodo peered up at him, puzzled. "What? Didn't you enjoy it?" "It don't feel right." "Oh, it should," said Frodo, bending over him again. "Frodo, *NO!"* snapped Sam, scrambling backwards, narrowly avoiding kneeing a startled Frodo in the face. They froze, staring at each other in horror and astonishment, until Frodo rose to his knees, hands outstretched in supplication. "Sam? Sam, I am *so* sorry -- " That was all he had time to do as Sam flung himself into Frodo's arms and burst into tears. "Sam?" said a considerably startled Frodo. "Oh, Sam, shhh. Don't cry. Please." "I'm sorry," Sam wept. "Here you are back and -- and all I wanted was you back and I'm pushing you away -- " "Sam," soothed an alarmed Frodo, rocking him in his arms. "Sam, shh. Refusing something you don't want doesn't mean you're pushing me away." " -- and I do want it but I don't -- I mean it feels good but it feels wrong -- " "Well if it feels wrong we won't do it," soothed Frodo, rubbing his back. "Come on now, Sam. Come on. Shhh. Shh, now… " Frodo cradled Sam's head on his shoulder and rocked him gently, crooning into his hair until he hiccupped to a stop, then pressed his lips to his temple and continued to rock the now-limp Sam, passing his free hand over his hair. His first indication that Sam had recovered his composure was a slightly shaky chuckle. "We'd best wash off. Look at what I've got all over your shoulder." "I've had worse," said Frodo, pressing his lips to the bright hair. Sam chuckled and gave him a determined tap. "Come on, Mr. Frodo." "Coming, Mayor Samwise," said Frodo, pulling Sam to his feet. Sam chuckled, but fended off Frodo when he went to kiss him. "Don't. I'm all over -- " "Well let me kiss *something,"* said Frodo, leaning forward and kissing his forehead. "Though it makes me feel like your maiden aunt." "I haven't got none of those," said Sam, linking his arm with Frodo and leading him down to the shore. "Well I have -- had -- and that's just what they'd do. If they didn't rap you with a thimble." Sam gave a somewhat soggy chuckle, then, as they reached the shoreline, knelt down, splashing his face. Frodo, following suit, splashed at his shoulder, then upon realising that more immersion was needed, waded out into the water and dived in. Sam, upon realising what was happening, followed suit, snorting and gurgling as he ducked his head under in a way that made Frodo burst out laughing. Sam grinned, wading over to catch Frodo in his arms and take his mouth in a kiss that tasted of sea-salt. "What I don't understand none," said Sam, "is why you're so free with it all." "What do you mean?" asked Frodo, looping his arms around Sam's neck. "I mean," explained Sam, "you've got no worries about what's fitting and what's not. Or what to do or what not. You just do it. And here I am the married one and you're the -- Frodo. Is there something you've not told me about?" Frodo smiled, blushing slightly. "Well it's been a while, but…" "But…?" said an astounded Sam. "Well, let's say I'm not *entirely* innocent." Sam gaped at him. "What … when? Who?" "Sam!" Frodo laughingly protested. "A gentlehobbit does not kiss and tell." "And there ain't no kissing as I can see," muttered Sam. "Sam!" Frodo protested laughingly. "Are you jealous?" "No! Well yes. Well more that I didn't know nowt." "Sam," said Frodo softly, resting his forehead against Sam's, "you were just a lad when I had my wild days. I wasn't going to tell you then, was I?" Sam fixed him with a look. "Just a lad?" "Sam…" "And just what were you up to?" "Sam!" "Well have you -- no, I shouldn't be asking none." "Well considering what we've been up to and are going to be up to, I'd say you have every right to ask, Sam." "Welll..." "Of course, I may not answer." "I was only going to ask if you'd ever done aught like *this."* "Of course not. Would I have thought it seemed strange if I had?" queried Frodo, perhaps a little more sharply than he intended. Seeing Sam's eyes widen, he tightened his embrace and murmured against Sam's lips, "Only you, dear Sam. Only you." "Oh," murmured Sam brokenly as his mouth opened under Frodo's. Frodo murmured contentedly, settling into Sam's embrace, twining his fingers into Sam's hair. Sam slid his arms around Frodo's waist as the kiss went on and on. The interlude was rudely broken as a wave swept against them, making them stagger. Sam yelped into Frodo's mouth, making Frodo chuckle. "Well you'd've yelped," retorted Sam, "if that wave had gone where this one went." "Poor Sam," said Frodo, still grinning. Sam gave him a tolerant look. "And you'd've been saying 'poor Sam' if I'd spent the rest of the night in the bushes." "Oh dear." "That's as what made me yelp. Here -- we'd best get out," he added as a wave nearly knocked them off their feet. "We had," said Frodo, loosening his embrace, leaving one slung over Sam's shoulders as they began to wade out. "Are you all right?" "Just chilled." "Poor Sam," said Frodo, kissing Sam's cheek and leading him out. Sam wrapped his arm around Frodo's waist again as soon as the water got down that far. "But what you were saying before, Frodo…" "Yes?" "Well, it do seem odd that you thought it was odd and I thought it seemed natural, but now we've started in you feel it's all natural and I feel it's odd -- " "I suppose," said Frodo slowly, kicking thoughtfully at a shell as they reached the shallows, "now that we've done the deed -- " "Once we've jumped *that* fence, the other bits don't matter? Like what's fitting and what's not?" "It's not that," said Frodo slowly. "At least I don't think so. It's more... it's like the lid is off the box, and *now* all I have all these delicious thoughts of what I can do to your delectable body -- well, it *is*," he said, stopping Sam, turning him and grasping him by the shoulders, and eyeing him up and down. "Damn it, Frodo," retorted Sam. "You make me weak at the knees when you say things like that." "Do I?" said Frodo. His voice was so wistful, so vulnerable that it was Sam's turn to smile reassuringly at him and draw him into an embrace. "You do," he said, stroking through Frodo's wet hair. "And I do love you. And I'm just *so* -- " he punctuated this with a squeeze that tested Frodo's ribs, " -- glad to have you back. And I do -- want you, as you put it. But -- I just don't feel right with *that.* And not *you* doing it, neither." "Well, Sam," said Frodo kissing him in return, "if it was up to me, I'd kiss every inch of you from scalp to toes and then go back for seconds. But there are *two* of us here, don't forget. And if *you're* just putting up with it because I enjoy it, I *won't* be enjoying it. So," he concluded, as Sam's eyes widened, "will you *swear,* if you don't like something, to *tell* me, right off?" Sam held Frodo's solemn gaze with his own, and slowly nodded. "I will." "And besides," said Frodo, laughing suddenly, "we've only done it once, after all! It's still bound to feel strange." "But good," said Sam, stroking his face. *"So* good." Frodo gave him a searing kiss which Sam returned with interest, running his hand up Frodo's back. Frodo gave a tearing gasp and pressed even closer, sliding his hands from Sam's shoulders to his hips, grasping him by the buttocks and pulling him closer, an action which drew moans of approval from them both. "Come on," murmured Frodo, tugging at Sam. "We can't do it in the shallows." "Can we make it back to the fire?" "Can you walk that far?" "With *this?"* Frodo glanced around wildly. "Shoreline." "We'll get sand all over." "I don't mind if you don't." "Well we won't have far to rinse off," conceded Sam, tugging at Frodo. "Come on!" The two stumbled to the nearest patch of dry sand and all but fell down in a slow writhing tangle of limbs as they kissed, clung, clasped and caressed each other. "Sam," whispered Frodo, as they reluctantly came up for air. "What?" gasped Sam, who was still panting. "You don't mind *hands*, do you?" "No..." said Sam slowly. "Hands seem fine somehow. Why -- oh. You've got an idea, haven't you." "Mm," said Frodo, treating him to a deep, ravishing kiss. "Well... what did you have in mind?" asked Sam, somewhat dazedly, as their lips separated. "Well," said Frodo, reluctantly unpeeling himself from Sam and turning him to lie flat on his back, "it might be best to do it this way. Then I can use *both* hands." "Both -- ?" queried Sam, then gasped as Frodo straddled his thighs, took both their straining erections in his hands and caressed them together with his long, clever hobbit-fingers. *"Yes,* Frodo. Yes, please. Oh yes." The subsequent cries of ecstasy caused the grazing ponies to snort, toss their heads, and swish their tails.