Title: Untitled Party Vignette
Rating: NC-17
Author: Ruby Nye
Author's email: shmi@bantha.org
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Warnings: Tooks everywhere; unorthodox use of a foodstuff.
Disclaimer: I am borrowing Professor Tolkien's wonderful world and
characters for no other gain than the joy of playing in Middle-Earth for a
little while.



_At least it's a well-decorated party_, Frodo thought, turning his
eyes to follow an auburn-curled Took cousin as she bounced up to another
buxom relation and flung herself into her arms. Every teen and tween and
young adult in Great Smials was out on this late spring evening, dressed
in their best (and tightest), and Frodo watched them as he lounged by a
beech tree at the edge of the main dancing, holding a dry tankard. It
wasn't that he was bored---not at a party thrown by the Tooks, perish the
thought---and it wasn't that he didn't enjoy the sight of so many lads and
lasses, many with the sharp noses or the ruddy-shaded hair of Tooks and
all fresh-faced and feeling alive in the springtime so that flirtation
hung as heavy and sweet as jasmine in the air. Frodo considered that he
definetely enjoyed those sights, as he watched a lad with hair like flame
and freckles like nutmeg wind his arms round Pippin's waist and tug him
laughing from Merry's side; Merry waved, laughing also, and turned back to
the lasses that hung on each of his arms. Still, he found himself content
to stay out of the crush, to lean against the smooth bark and watch the
dancing, courting Tooks and assorted relations.

Then a flash of fair hair caught his eyes, and Frodo smiled, knowing its
owner anywhere, and not just by his rosy blush. Sam was trapped between
what looked to be siblings, from their similar chestnut waves of hair and
similarly sparkling grey eyes; Frodo recognized the lad as Ilberic, which
meant that the lass must be Celandine, he realized with a start, recalling
her as a skinny teen child. She wasn't skinny nor a teen any longer, that
was certain, as she laid her head on Sam's shoulder and wrapped his arm
round her waist, and Sam blushed all the more.

After enjoying the sight of Sam dealing with two handsome young hobbits
for as long as his conscience would allow, Frodo told himself that he
probably ought to rescue Sam before he grew too flustered and fled the
party. Swallowing a laugh, he waded through the crowd; when Ilberic and
Celandine saw him appproaching they favored him with identical glares, and
Frodo had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. "Hullo, Celandine,
Ilberic, may I borrow Samwise from you? I have flowers to show him."

"Certainly, Frodo!" Celandine said brightly, though her hair didn't hide
the furrow between her brows; she and Ilberic unwound themselves from Sam,
who all but fell into Frodo's embrace with relief but settled for
following him closely back to the beech tree. "Mr. Frodo, sir, I thought
they were about to eat me alive," he confided in a low voice, and Frodo
laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. 

Looking at Sam from the corner of his eye, the lantern-light in his hair
and warm on his snub-nosed face, Frodo kept his hand on Sam's shoulder
until the skin beneath it began to warm through the weskit and shirt. One
would never have thought that pink and gold went together so well, but Sam
always looked, if anything, even handsomer when he blushed; as if to prove
it, Sam noticed Frodo's regard and blushed again, and when Frodo kept them
going behind his beech and into the trees Sam gave a little grin and
turned a shade that made Frodo feel positively ravenous. "And what flowers
would you be showing me, sir?" Sam asked, keeping his face straight though
his voice was already husky, and Frodo carefully played along, picking a
path between the twilit trees as if they were gathering apples or looking
for birds, not searching for a tree far enough from the other couples
who'd already slipped away from the main dancing. "Well, Sam, I thought
you might know the name of the flower I saw. It was a rare one, sturdy and
golden and shining."

Sam chuckled. "I don't think I've ever seen such a bloom, sir.  Is it half
as fair as the great blue morning glories we have at Bag End?"

Now it was Frodo's turn to blush and grin. Judging that they were far
enough into the woods, he turned and pressed Sam back against another
smooth-barked tree, feeling those strong broad shoulders under his own
thin hands. "Fairer," Frodo whispered against Sam's mouth just before he
kissed him; Sam wrapped his arms round Frodo as he returned the kiss,
pressing them together, and when Frodo pulled back a little to look at him
his smile was mostly warm and only a little embarassed. "I didn't know
they danced this way in the Tookland woods, too," Sam murmured, his hand
sliding up Frodo's back.

"Where do you think the rest of the Shire got the idea?" Frodo winked,
closed both eyes, and kissed Sam again, winding his arms round Sam's neck
as Sam's hands slid to each end of his spine, tangling in his hair and
cupping his rump. This was what Frodo had wanted as he watched the
dancing, he thought with a far corner of his mind as most of his wit was
occupied in feeling Sam's warmth, soft flesh over firm muscle, all down
his front; amidst all the firey Tooks what he'd wanted was his familiar
sunny Sam, here away from home where they could be slightly different,
rather less the master and servant, and yet themselves.  

Then Sam pressed his teeth gently into Frodo's bottom lip, and that last
thinking corner collapsed into sensation as sunlight shuddered into flame,
as Frodo moaned and sealed his mouth over Sam's, sucking on his tongue,
wanting Sam inside him any way possible. He pressed his knee between Sam's
thighs, and Sam trembled all over, gasping into the kiss, and Frodo could
feel his knees weakening; Frodo released his mouth for a breath, trailing
his mouth across Sam's jaw as Sam managed, "Oh, Mr. Frodo, I'd sit, but,
grass stains---"

Frodo laughed and nipped at Sam where jaw met throat, delighting in the
squeaky little moan that won him. "Oh, bugger the grass stains, they're
but clothes," Frodo said wickedly, watching Sam's brown eyes widen at his
rough language even as he could feel the effect on the rest of Sam. "In
fact, I think that's what I want. Tup me, Sam."

Sam's breeches were in danger from more than grass stains, Frodo could
feel against his thigh, even as Sam's eyes grew rounder. "What, sir, here,
now? Without---" Frodo kissed Sam in answer to the questions, and Sam made
a little protesting noise but kissed him back all the same, though the
look on his face when Frodo lifted his head was distinctly
reproving. "Mr. Frodo, I'll not hurt you."

Frodo glanced up, and smiled. "It's late spring, but there are a few
birds' nests still. I'm going to climb up and get as new of an egg as I
can find."

"An egg? _Oh_." Sam grinned as he caught on, and kissed Frodo
again. "But I'll go, Mr. Frodo. You're in no state to climb a tree." Frodo
opened his mouth to protest that Sam had no right to talk, and ended up
gasping when Sam closed a hand around him, warm even through two layers of
clothing; Sam _smirked_, a shocking delight, and kissed Frodo once
more, open-mouthed and probing and hot, then gently pushed him away. Frodo
clenched his fingers to keep from touching Sam as he closed his eyes and
took a deep breath; it would hardly be a pleasant evening if Sam fell out
of the tree or otherwise did himself an injury, after all. Even if he just
looked so _touchable_, mouth wet and red with kisses, the hollow of
his throat exposed by an undone button, that broad chest filling with
another deep breath....Frodo folded his arms to trap his hands, and Sam
opened his eyes and smiled, and swung one-handed up into the tree.

The view of Sam from below was quite nice as well, Frodo reflected as he
unbuttoned his weskit with shaking fingers; Sam was wearing an open vest,
a much more sensible choice of clothing. Soon enough, Sam was back down,
an egg carefully cradled in his grip, and Frodo launched himself at him
again; Sam wound his free arm around Frodo, untucking his shirt, as he
guided them down to lie on the deep moss between two great roots of the
tree. "We're going to look a sight," Sam warned Frodo's collarbone, and
Frodo laughed as he pushed his hands beneath vest and shirt to stroke
Sam's skin. "We'll look like we've been dancing," Frodo replied to Sam's
hair, and Sam snorted but kept kissing and unbuttoning.

Soon enough they were bare enough, not undressed but at least with the
clothes out of the way, and Frodo spread his hands across Sam's chest as
they kissed, just feeling him, his weight pressing the backs of those
hands into Frodo's own chest; then he slid those hands up and around,
feeling the muscles of Sam's shoulders working, pulling him closer. Sam
made a muffled sound and pushed back a bit. "I need to---I don't want to
stop, me dear, kissing you is a glory, but I need both my hands."

"Mine too, I think." Frodo reluctantly let go of Sam, who got his knees
beneath him, Frodo's legs draped over his, and considered the egg in his
hand. "It's not so big."

"Oh, I think it's plenty big," Frodo said slyly, making quite clear with
one hand what he referred to, and Sam blushed mouthwateringly and wrapped
his broad hand round Frodo's wrist to tug the teasing hand
free. "Mr. Frodo, if you turn aside what small wit I have and I lose this,
where will we be? Now, let me see." Sam cracked the egg expertly on the
tree, and split it into two equal halves; Frodo caught the white as it
drizzled out. "That it?"

"Think so." Frodo set about smoothing the egg white where it needed to be,
and Sam closed his eyes and trembled under his touch, looking so
beautiful. "Feels queer," Sam whispered, tossing aside the shell and yolk
to free his hands for Frodo's hips. "Sticky and slick at once."

"It'll work, though." Frodo hitched his knees higher as he played a
teasing hand over Sam's own eggs, and Sam smiled and gasped at once. "I'm
ready, Sam. Come here."

Gratifyingly, Sam didn't need to be told twice, and Frodo reflexively
closed his own eyes and bit his lip as Sam pushed his legs up, pushing
into him in one steady thrust. Ache, breathe, breathe, _there_; Frodo
moaned as the pain receded and pleasure flooded in to take its
place. "Yes, Sam, yes."

"Frodo," Sam groaned, and Frodo wanted to look up at him, see his eyes
moving beneath his lids and the sweat just sheening his brow, but Sam
pulled back and thrust, a little harder this time, a little deeper, and
all he could do was arch his back and cry out. Sam pressed forward,
wrapping his arm round Frodo's shoulders to pull him up to his mouth, and
Frodo dimly thought that his knees shouldn't feel quite so comfortable by
his ears, and Sam all but slammed his hips forward this time, and Frodo
cried out into the kiss, his peak already building within him as if he
were a pre-tween newly come to this sort of pleasure. Sam gasped in
return, his other hand embracing Frodo's prick again, his thumb moving in
a sparking circle, and just like that Frodo was undone, digging his
fingers into Sam's shoulders as he peaked with a wail, wrapped in Sam.

"Oh, oh, oh..." Sam's mouth was working against Frodo's cheek, his arm
tightening beneath his shoulders, lifting him, near crushing him against
Sam's chest. Frodo drew a deep breath, then another, till he could speak
again to whisper, "yes, Sam, yes, peak for me, my Sam," and Sam held him
close and tight, hips working hard, and moaned and peaked, for a long
suspended quivering moment. Coming down, Sam rocked forward on knees gone
unstrung, slumping against Frodo, and Frodo gasped for breath beneath him
even as he delighted in Sam's solid warmth atop him.

As soon as he could move, before he was even done trembling, Sam made an
apologetic small noise and slumped sideways, out of and off of Frodo,
draping his arm across Frodo's belly; Frodo curled into him and they lay
together, drinking down air and feeling their hearts slow, aftershocks
occasionally causing one to quiver and the other to softly caress. 

Eventually, though, the evening breeze penetrated the warm glow they'd
made, and Frodo felt himself rather sticky and starting to dry,  so he
shiftted so he could reach his breeches and draw out a couple of
handkerchiefs. Sam raised his head when he noticed, reaching for them, but
Frodo shook his head and kissed Sam to quell him as he cleaned them up,
folded the kerchiefs small, and tucked them into a different
pocket. "There. Mmmm, that was nice, Sam, wasn't it?"

"I don't think I'll be able to have an egg without blushing, now," Sam
mock-protested, eyes sparkling all the same, and Frodo laughed and kissed
him again.