Title:  Soon Enough
Author:  Emma Keigh
E-mail:  emmakeigh@ithilas.com
Rating:  NC-17
Characters:  Frodo, Sam
Pairings:  Frodo/Sam, Sam/Halfred implied
Category:  PWP, First time, romance
Status:  new, complete
Date:  8 March 2004
Archive:  The Library of Moria and where posted; elsewhere please ask 
first
Series:  who knows
Website:  http://www.ithilas.com/chezemma
Summary:  A fine spring day marks a change for Sam and Frodo.

Disclaimer:  The characters and melieux from The Lord of the Rings are 
the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema (AOL). 
I only play with them from time to time for my own amusement and 
without compensation. No harm; no foul; no profit.  Anything or anyone 
new, however, is mine (left-overs again!).  Feedback will be cherished

Warning:  This story contains explicit scenes of sex between consenting 
adult male Hobbits.  A previous incestuous relationship between underage 
brothers is implied.  If you are under age or don't care for this, LEAVE 
NOW. Beta-read by Nikki Memmott.  Thanks, merci beaucoup, tapadh 
leibh, gracias, danke, grazie, spazebo, arigato, obrigado.  *italics* – 
**bold**

Notes:
1]  Though Hobbits don’t officially come of age until they reach 33, the 
Tween years (20 -33) would be the equivalent of the 18-21 time in a 
modern human’s life.  Therefore, although Sam is only in his mid-20s in 
this story, he is not a child.
2]  Halfred Gamgee is one of Sam’s older brothers.
3]  J.R.R. Tolkien is god and Peter Jackson is his prophet.


SOON ENOUGH
a Frodo/Sam story


**Hobbiton, The Shire:  Spring, 1402 SR**

It didn’t take long for Frodo to settle into a routine after Bilbo’s departure.  
The older Hobbit had been so reclusive in the months leading up to his 
eleventy-first birthday that Frodo had long become accustomed to seeing 
to his own day-to-day needs.  And besides, Sam was always there, ready 
to lend a hand at whatever needed doing, if not taking over the doing 
himself.  Sam looked after the gardens, of course, and saw to the upkeep 
of Bag End as well, oiling hinges and cleaning out fireplaces before Frodo 
could lift a finger.

“You’re going to spoil me, Sam,” Frodo commented one bright spring 
morning less than a year after inheriting Bag End.  He had arisen early, 
awakening to the sunlight beaming through the window and the sound of 
birds chirping loudly in the blossoming apple tree.  No matter that it was 
early, he found Sam kneeling at the parlor fireplace, scooping out the 
ashes of last night’s fire.  “You hardly leave anything for me to do around 
here.”

“Oh, you do plenty, Mr. Frodo,” Sam replied, not looking up from his 
task.  “Besides,” he went on, “Mr. Bilbo told me to look after you, beggin’ 
your pardon.”

“Well, if you put it that way,” Frodo said, sitting in the big wingback chair 
next to the hearth.  He had dressed, more for work or play than as a 
gentlehobbit, in grey trousers and a plain shirt, with no waistcoat over his 
braces.  He’d rolled up his sleeves in anticipation of cleaning the parlor 
himself, only to find Sam finishing up that task as he arrived.

As Sam scooped up the last of the cold ashes, Frodo leaned forward, his 
elbows on his knees, his chin on his fist.  “It’s a beautiful day, Sam,” he 
said.  “How about you and I pack a picnic and go walking?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Frodo.”  Sam stood up and lifted the bucket of 
ashes.  “That patch under the kitchen window wants weedin’ already, and 
I really should get those irises divided.”

“Sam, please?” Frodo pleaded, knowing he sounded more like a lad of ten 
than a grown Hobbit of some stature in the community.  “I wouldn’t enjoy 
it half as much alone.”

“Well, if you put it like that, Mr. Frodo…”  Sam smiled as he answered.  
“…how can I say no?”

Frodo felt a warm flush rise through his chest as Sam smiled at him.  Now, 
if he could get the stubborn Hobbit to drop the *mister* every time he 
spoke.

Sam trudged toward the back door with the heavy bucket in his hands.  
“I’ll just see to this mess, then I’ll pack us a lunch.”

Frodo hopped down from the chair and followed Sam down the hall.  “I 
have a better idea,” Frodo suggested.  “We can head for Bywater and have 
luncheon at the Green Dragon.  My treat, of course,” he added, knowing 
that tavern lunches, while not expensive, were an extravagance Sam 
seldom indulged in.  Oh, he’d spend half the evening in the pub, always 
leaving a few extra coins on the table for Rosie, but lunch was more often 
than not a chunk of meat cold from last night’s supper, a slice or two of 
bread, and an apple.  Hardly proper fare for a Hobbit, Frodo had often 
thought, and had frequently tried to convince Sam to share a meal or two 
with him.

Before setting off, Sam insisted on preparing breakfast, and at Frodo’s 
suggestion, grilled a few extra sausages to take with them for second 
breakfast, and wrapped up yesterday’s apple-cinnamon muffins for 
elevenses.  Frodo produced a leather rucksack he’d often used when 
visiting relations in Buckland or Tookburrow, and they carefully packed 
the snacks along with a couple of flasks of cider.  Sam insisted on 
shouldering the pack, tucking in a pair of apples at the last minute.  “We’ll 
need an afternoon snack on the way back,” he explained to Frodo’s raised 
eyebrow.

“That’s fine, Sam,” Frodo assured him, patting his shoulder.  “Leave it to 
you to think of such things.  I’d have gone hungry until we got home for 
supper.”  He pulled the kitchen door closed behind them and they set out 
down the path.

In the first five minutes on the road the pair encountered no less than a 
dozen friends and acquaintances, each of whom wanted to pass the time of 
day, but Frodo always waved off any long conversation saying, “So nice 
to see you, we really must be going now.”  He knew he was already 
thought of as slightly odd, due to his relationship to Bilbo, and this very 
unHobbit-like behavior served to reinforce that reputation.

“Let’s go cross country,” he suggested to Sam.  “It’s such a fine day, 
everyone is out and about.”  They left the road and made their way across 
fallow fields and overgrown pastures, skirting the darker woods to stay in 
the welcome spring sunshine.  Once out of easy sight even of Hobbiton’s 
most outlying smials and cottages, they found an inviting spot and enjoyed 
their second breakfast, cold sausage in biscuits that left their hands 
slippery with grease.  A couple deep swigs of cider washed everything 
down, and soon they were back on their trek to Bywater.  The route they 
took was hardly the most direct way from one village to the next and they 
paused frequently as Sam strayed to take a closer look at this flower or 
that sapling, his enthusiasm for new plants contagious to the older Hobbit.  
Nebulous plans for changes to the gardens at Bag End started to take form, 
and Sam soon took over the conversation with his descriptions of flower 
beds and vegetable gardens.

Frodo enjoyed listening to Sam talk.  It was plain as the nose on his face 
that the young Hobbit loved his work, and had a true calling as a gardener.

By the time they stopped for elevenses, the day had turned quite warm, 
although the shady spots still held a chill after more than a few moments.  
Staying in the sun, Frodo and Sam sprawled on a south-facing bank, high 
enough so they could see for miles across the West Farthing.

Tendrils of smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and a plume of dust 
marked a cart’s journey along the Great East Road.  The only sounds they 
heard though, were the breeze wafting through the trees and the singing of 
birds.

“It’s going to be a glorious summer,” Sam offered as he gave Frodo his 
choice of the sweet, dense muffins.

“You think so?” Frodo asked.  He broke the muffin in two and jammed the 
larger part into his mouth.

“Definitely,” Sam answered.  “The last frost was a good two weeks early 
this year,” he explained.  “And the widow Bolger saw a sign in the fire, I 
heard tell.”

While Sam explained more about the possible meaning of old lady 
Bolger’s vision, Frodo lay back on the grassy bank, his hands tucked 
under his head.  He watched the big, fluffy clouds scudding across the sky, 
and wondered if that’s what ships sailing on the sea looked like.  He’d 
seen drawings of the white-sailed ships of the Elves, but he’d never been 
to the ocean’s shore.

“Look, Sam,” he said, pointing to the sky.  “There’s a flock of snow geese 
headed north.”  The faint honking calls affirmed that the distant birds were 
indeed geese.  They flew in an open wedge, each bird taking a turn at 
flying at the point.

Sam shaded his eyes and followed Frodo’s pointing finger. “Aye, that’s 
snow geese, for sure.”  He lay on the grass as well, his body at an angle 
away from Frodo’s, their heads nearly touching.  “Where do you think 
they’ve been all winter?”

“Far to the south, I’d imagine,” Frodo said.  “I think Gandalf once said 
they spend the winter in the south of Gondor.”

“Wherever that is,” Sam mumbled.

“We’ll have a look at some of Bilbo’s old maps when we get home,” 
Frodo suggested.  Sam didn’t know much about the world outside the 
shire, Frodo knew, but Bilbo’s tales of far lands and exciting adventures 
had captivated both of them for as long as either could remember.

Lunch at the Green Dragon wasn’t fancy, by any means, but the fresh 
baked breads and smoked meats and cheeses that covered the board were 
tasty and filling.  Sam and Frodo filled their plates and sipped a half-pint 
of ale apiece, chatting with the Bywater folk who frequented the tavern at 
midday.

They lingered at the Green Dragon nibbling on custard pie and carrot cake 
longer than they should have, for the fine spring morning had given way to 
threatening grey skies and a rumble of distant thunder.  Though they kept 
to the road, taking the most direct route back to Hobbiton, by the time they 
reached Bag End they were drenched and shivering.

“Let’s get you into a hot bath,” Sam insisted as they dripped their way 
down the back hall.  He left Frodo to undress while he put water on the 
kitchen stove.

Wrapping himself in a wooly blanket, Frodo stoked the small fireplace 
that heated the inside room.  Dug into the hillside with no windows, it had 
once been a storeroom until Gandalf had presented Bilbo with the huge tin 
tub, long before Frodo had come to Bag End.  The wizard had helped 
Bilbo bring water to the tub with an ingenious system of pipes running 
from a cistern on the hill above.  All Frodo had to do was open a valve, 
much like the tap on a keg of ale, to let the water run into the tub.  He let 
the cool water run until it was almost halfway up the sides, then filled a 
large kettle and hung it over the fire to heat.  It was just beginning to 
bubble when Sam returned with another steaming kettle.

“Good, you’ve got water on the boil here, too.”  He carefully poured the 
hot water into the tub.  “This tub is so big it takes loads of hot water.”

“It had to be big enough for Gandalf to bathe in — that’s why he brought 
it, Bilbo always said.”

Frodo added the second kettle of hot water, bring the water up the sides 
even further.  Sam stuck a finger in the mixture and pronounced it, “Warm 
enough,” then refilled one of the kettles from the cistern and replaced it 
over the fire.

While Sam’s back was to him, Frodo dropped the blanket which covered 
him and climbed into the tub, sitting shoulder deep in the warm water.  
“Sam,” he said, “you’re soaking wet, too.  Take off your clothes and get in 
— there’s plenty of room.”

“Oh, Mister Frodo,”  he replied, “I don’t know…”

“I mean it, Sam.”  Frodo was insistent.  “I won’t have you catching your 
death of cold from having a walk with me.”  He flicked his wet fingers at 
Sam, spraying him with a few drops of water.  “Besides, Rosie would 
never pour me another ale if I let something happen to you.”

Sam blushed all the way to the points of his ears and acquiesced.  He 
*was* cold, and the tub *was* roomy.  Quickly he peeled off his wet 
clothes and settled himself at the opposite end of the tub from Frodo.

“I haven’t taken a bath with nobody since Halfred grew up.”

Frodo leaned his head back, letting himself slip down until his chin 
touched the surface, but pulling up his knees to give Sam more space.  
“I’m warming up already,” he said lazily.  He opened his eyes and lifted 
his head, to see Sam sitting bolt upright, his shoulders and half his chest 
above the water’s warmth.  His teeth still chattered, and Frodo could see 
the gooseflesh on the exposed skin.

“Relax, Sam” he said.  “Sit lower in the water.”

“T-t-that’s all right, Mr. Frodo,” Sam stuttered.  “It’s just, well, I never 
have learnt to swim, and I’d just as soon keep my head above water.”

Frodo shook his head at Sam’s obstinance.  “I won’t let you drown, Sam.  
You can be sure of that.”

Sam considered the situation for a moment, then nodded his head at 
Frodo’s promise, and tentatively lowered his body further into the water.  
Once settled with his chin a generous inch from the lapping water, Sam 
breathed deeply and relaxed, leaning back and letting his head rest on the 
rim of the tub, his legs stretched toward Frodo.

Carefully Frodo extended his legs again, angling to one side of Sam’s.  He 
watched Sam’s face as the heated water warmed the young Hobbit.  His 
teeth stopped chattering, and the muscles in his neck relaxed.  Keeping his 
eyes on Sam, Frodo tentatively touched Sam’s leg with the side of his 
foot.

Slowly the green eyes opened and returned Frodo’s gaze, but he didn’t 
move his leg away.  Frodo felt the calf muscles tense, then the light touch 
of Sam’s foot against his own leg.  A hint of a smile crept across Sam’s 
face, and a blush rose in his cheeks.

“This is nice, isn’t it, Sam?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Frodo,” Sam replied, and lowered his eyes.  

Sam’s formality made Frodo chuckle.  “Sam, you don’t have to call me 
*sir* or *mister*.”

“It’s just that…” Sam stammered.

“It’s all right, Sam.”  Frodo crooned.  “I know it’s because you work for 
me.  But we’re friends, too, aren’t we?”

Sam nodded solemnly.

They reminisced, bringing up memories of carefree, happy times as they 
were growing up.  “Sometimes I thought of you as a younger brother,” 
Frodo admitted. “But you had your real brothers and sisters at home.”

“I envied you bein’ the only one livin’ here with Mr. Bilbo.  Havin’ a 
bunch of brothers and sisters isn’t always a great thing.

“I’ll wager your brothers taught you all about growing up and… things.”

“Aye,” Sam admitted.  “Halfred taught me a lot about….”  His voice 
trailed off.  “It’s strange talkin’ to you about such things, Mr. Frodo.  You 
bein’ older than me and all.”

“But I never had any older brothers,” Frodo explained, trying to put Sam 
at ease.  “All Bilbo told me was to wash every day and wear clean 
underclothes.”

Sam laughed.  “That’s about all the Gaffer ever said, too.”

“So what did Halfred teach you?”

“Well, first he told me how to take care of — well, when you wake up and 
you’re hard?”

Frodo nodded.  “That happens to everyone, Bilbo told me.”

“I guess so.  First Halfred showed me what to do, then watched me.  
Then...” Sam took a deep breath and went on.  “…then he let me practice 
on him.  So he could tell if I was doin’ it right.”

Frodo listened quietly.  He tried to picture Sam and Halfred together, but 
could only imagine Sam touching him, or himself pleasuring Sam.  “Did 
you like that?”

Sam ducked his head.  “It felt good, I guess,” he said.  “But sometimes I 
wished it was somebody else, not Halfred.”

Hope flared in Frodo’s heart, and the flesh between his legs stiffened.  
“Oh?” he asked.  He wished silently it wasn’t Rosie Cotton that Sam 
dreamt of.  “Who?”

“Ah, Mr. Frodo, don’t you know?”  Sam slid forward in the tub, closer to 
Frodo.

Tearing his gaze away from Sam’s green eyes, Frodo risked a glance at the 
other Hobbit’s groin.  Sam’s member jutted stiffly out from his body, and 
Frodo drew in a sharp breath.  “Oh, Sam,” he sighed.  “I’ve hoped for this 
for the longest time.”  He pushed himself away from the end of the tub to 
meet Sam in the middle.  He lifted his hands to either side of Sam’s face, 
then cautiously kissed him on the lips.  As he drew back he felt Sam’s 
hands on his shoulders, felt them pulling him into the embrace he’d 
dreamt of for years.

They kissed again, sitting awkwardly side by side in the tub, turning so 
their chests pressed together so tightly they could each feel the other’s 
heart beating.  They opened to each other, tasting and exploring, moans 
and gasps of pleasure from both of them the only sounds.

“Sam,” Frodo sighed as Sam trailed kisses across his jaw.  “Oh, Sam, I’m 
so glad you feel this way, too.”  He stroked Sam’s golden curls, holding 
the teasing, nipping lips close to his neck.  He felt Sam’s tongue lap at a 
sensitive spot, and he shuddered with anticipation.

“I know I’m not keepin’ to my place,” Sam murmured.

Wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulders, Frodo assured him “Your 
place is with me, Sam.  Don’t ever think otherwise.”  He kissed Sam’s 
temple, then drew back.  “The water’s getting cold.  Let’s find somewhere 
else for this.”

Together they climbed from the tub and wrapped up in large, fluffy 
towels.  “I know just the spot,” Frodo suggested as they made their way 
toward the bedrooms.  They passed by Frodo’s room as well as Bilbo’s, 
finally coming to an oversized door.  Frodo pushed open the door to let 
Sam enter.

The room was high-ceilinged, for a Hobbit hole, at least, and held the 
largest bed Sam had ever seen.  It was nearly twice the length of a Hobbit, 
and wider than either Sam or Frodo was tall.  It was covered with a plump 
comforter and matching pillows were piled against the carved headboard.  
“This is Gandalf’s room,” Frodo explained.  “Bilbo had it built specially, 
and had the bed brought from Bree.”

“It looks comfortable,” Sam said.  “But it’s chilly in here.”

“Why don’t you start a fire,” Frodo said, “and I’ll be right back.”  Frodo 
left Sam for just a moment while he hurried to the pantry for a bottle of 
wine and glasses.  He couldn’t believe this was happening, but somehow 
had always known it would.  He believed with all his heart that he and 
Sam were meant for each other and wanted to celebrate.

Sam almost had the fire going by the time Frodo returned.  Setting the 
bottle and glasses on the bedside table, Frodo poured wine into both 
glasses, watching as Sam bent over and blew on the kindling,  In a 
moment the fire blazed up, and Sam added more wood.  “This’ll go for a 
while,” he muttered as he stood and turned to Frodo.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”  Frodo offered one of the glasses to Sam, their 
fingers brushing as he took it.  Their eyes met again as they touched their 
glasses.  Frodo sipped the wine, noticing that Sam waited, watching him.  
“Is something wrong?”  He couldn’t bear the thought that Sam might 
change his mind, that they might never share the love he held in his heart 
for the younger Hobbit.

“No,” Sam answered quickly.  “No, it’s just that I don’t usually drink 
wine.”

“I don’t have any ale in the house, Sam,” Frodo lamented.  “I think you’ll 
like this.”  He sipped again to encourage Sam to try the deep red wine.

It was as though some of Gandalf’s magic filled the room, as Sam and 
Frodo came together, dropping their towels to the floor.  Their hands 
roamed over each other’s bodies, stroking and caressing, as they kissed 
again.

The bed welcomed them — Frodo lay back against the pillows, letting 
Sam continue to kiss and caress him, the slightly roughened hands of the 
gardener exciting him more than he thought possible.  The heat in his 
groin increased with each touch, whether to his neck or his shoulder, and 
when Sam’s hand found its way to his hip, he twisted his body to bring his 
aching need to the questing hand.  A low moan of pleasure escaped his 
lips as Sam wrapped his fingers around the stiff shaft.

“Oh, yes,” he cried, lifting his hips off the bed, throwing his head back.  
Not even when he pleasured himself had he felt such intense ecstasy.  No 
longer could he think, all he could do was let the feelings wash over him, 
taking him to such dizzying heights that when release found him he cried 
out Sam’s name over and over.

He held Sam close, rubbing his hand over the younger hobbit’s back.  
“Sam, Sam,” he sighed.  “That was incredible.”  Sam’s heart pounded 
beneath his hand, his breathing ragged, and Frodo realized he had done 
nothing to pleasure Sam.  Softly he kissed Sam’s forehead, then slid his 
hand down the sweat-slickened back and over the hip to find Sam’s 
erection weeping and throbbing.

Sam’s sigh told Frodo his touch was welcome, and he stroked the 
hardened column of flesh slowly and gently at first, then faster, his grip 
firmer.  Sam’s breathing quickened, his hips bucking into Frodo’s, then he 
clutched Frodo tightly as his seed flooded between them, mingling with 
Frodo’s.

They lay in each other’s arms until the fire died low, leaving the room in 
darkness.  Frodo pulled the down-filled comforter over them, and they 
snuggled together, keeping each other warm as the spring night cooled.

“I think we need another bath,” Sam muttered sleepily, his head pillowed 
on Frodo’s shoulder.

“Morning will be soon enough for that,” Frodo answered as Sam began to 
snore softly.  “Soon enough...”


The End


© 2004 Emma Keigh
3,504 words


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