Title: No Friend's Kiss  (3/?) F/S, F/M  and S/P implied  
Series:  Coming of Age 
Author: Diamond (juweldom@yahoo.com ) 
Rating: PG-13 
Characters: Sam, Pippin, Frodo, Merry 
Category:  Angst, Romance, PWP 
Feedback:  Yes please--very new at this
Disclaimer:  Can I just have them all?  No really, all these 
characters are Tolkien's and I don't rightly know what he'd make of 
all this!  I do it all for love, not money.
Summary: Frodo struggles with his feelings for Sam and finds a 
most unexpected sight upon coming home . . . 
Notes: Frodo's perspective--yes this will be a bit different from his 
eyes.  Year is 1413 S.R., Frodo is 45, Sam is 33, Merry is 31 and 
Pippin is 23.  
 
 
Coming of Age Part 3:  No Friend's Kiss
 
 
**Frodo**
 
 
Sam was finally of age.  
Frodo sat with Merry and Pippin, watching as Sam took another 
turn on the dance floor with Rose Cotton, his round face bright and 
blushing as he turned her around while she squealed and clutched 
at his sturdy frame; Frodo had to close his eyes for a moment, but 
he quickly opened them again, punishing himself with the sight.  
To think of Sam's frame was to think of what was beneath his 
common clothes of white homespun cotton shirt and plain brown 
gardener's trousers.  He'd seen enough of Sam working shirtless in 
the garden to know *exactly* how the muscles across his back 
rippled when he used his big strong arms to lift something--as he 
was lifting Rose now--or how tanned his chest had become with 
the sun's rays, how sweat would trickle down the cleft of his back 
and down to his trousers . . . now Frodo truly had to turn away and 
fix his mind on something else; something that wouldn't make his 
loins tighten.
Merry and Pippin were trying to get Sancho drunk; between jibes 
at the young hobbit's overlarge feet and his apparent lack of wit, 
they were downing enough ale to drown the Four Farthings.  Pretty 
soon they'd convinced Sancho to challenge Sam to a wrestling 
match, then Merry and Pip tried not to choke with laughter as the 
young but very strong Proudfoot tackled Sam right in the middle of 
the dance floor and began an impromptu spar.  Frodo laughed so 
hard himself he had tears streaming down his face, but he was 
quite impressed; Sam not only managed to recover from the 
surprise but soon had the Proudfoot in an unbreakable hold with 
one arm behind his back and a scissorlock hold with his thighs on 
his dangerous kicking feet.  Oh, to be in a similar position himself 
with Sam . . . once more Frodo cursed his too active imagination 
and tried to focus elsewhere.
He was a wonder at tormenting himself.  Merry had remarked on it 
a time or two; why not simply ask the fellow or seduce him and get 
it over with?  But while being with Merry (before Pip became old 
enough to figure out things) had been comfortable and friendly, 
that would never be the case with Sam--more likely he would 
destroy the dear hobbit's life.  
It had been not too long after Bilbo's departure that he had started 
noticing Sam; before that Hamfast and Sam had been sort of a 
fixture together at the place, the same way that Bilbo and he were; 
tutor and student, and while he had been intrigued at Sam's 
attempts to learn his letters and listen to elvish poetry, he'd simply 
been too young for Frodo to consider him for anything else; plus at 
that time Frodo was still trying to figure out exactly what he was 
about himself--why Bilbo was had always remained a bachelor and 
what his own future would look like.  
But the loss of Bilbo--the terrible loneliness with Merry and Pip 
too often far away--Sam had responded to him like he was a rose 
in need of special care.  So loving, and so utterly selfless, the way 
he gave and gave regardless of the cost to himself, like the evening 
when a surprise thunderstorm had drenched Frodo coming home 
and Sam had come out of his own home, likely exhausted after a 
hard day's work, and walked Frodo home, sheltering him with his 
coat as he himself was drenched, then making him soak his feet in 
hot water, starting the fire for him and rubbing the warmth back 
into his limbs so he didn't take cold--it melted the hard shell he had 
attempted to put over his heart after the loss of his parents and 
Bilbo.  He would do anything to keep Sam happy and their 
relationship, such as it was, safe.
While Sam was in his tweens, keeping his own desires locked 
away had been easy--there was absolutely no way he would warp 
the young fellow the way he himself felt warped--he knew the talk 
around town, but he was Bilbo's heir; it was almost expected that 
he would turn strange.  There was also the focus of that strange 
heirloom and Gandalf's visits and warnings to keep him busy, plus 
his own desire to travel--lately he'd been doing more and more of 
that, both to get news of what seemed to be a darkening world 
outside the Shire, and to stay away from Sam as he blossomed into 
a more and more enticing example of hobbitkind.  How he wished 
he could find news of Bilbo--he needed the old hobbit's advice 
now more than ever.
But now age wasn't an excuse any more; Sam was most definitely 
old enough to know his mind and his preferences.  And lately he'd 
been favoring Frodo with some looks that made his heart stop and 
his mouth go dry--looks that were *almost* enough for him to 
approach the subject . . . but every time he shied away and again 
locked away the urge.  Sam's parents were setting him up to marry 
Rose; his mother had mentioned with pride how the wooing had 
begun, and by Sam's attentions tonight, it was apparent he liked the 
girl and would likely be ready to settle down soon.  Frodo couldn't 
break that apart; he honored and respected the Gamgee family far 
too much.  He was destined to be alone, it seemed; but better that 
than destroy both Sam's heart and his future.
Sam bowed to applause after the wrestling match, and Merry and 
Pip rose to try out another of their jokes on him--something about 
worms in his pipeweed or some such foolery.  Hamfast Gamgee sat 
down beside Frodo and began talking about how Sam's work was 
coming on the new section of garden.  Frodo sighed inwardly; he 
would have liked to grab Sam for a moment and talk to him, but 
that would have to wait.  Part of him was urgently clamouring for 
him to do something tonight, a present of some sort for Sam's 
coming of age.
He lost track of time for a bit then, laughing at jokes the old Gaffer 
was telling him, then catching up on news with the Cotton boys, 
until suddenly he spotted Sam coming across the room with Pip in 
tow, both of them weaving rather alarmingly with excess of drink.  
Frodo's breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened; Sam 
looked so vital, so inviting with his hair tussled from the wrestling 
match and his face flushed with drink and a nice stretching in the 
fabric of his trousers allowing a little bulge there to be discernable 
. . . more than a little, actually.  And he was giving Frodo one of 
those looks again, the ones that made his blood boil and the room 
spin . . . 
He had to pinch himself to concentrate on what Sam was saying, 
"Pippin here's had a few too many--Merry's busy so I'm going to 
make sure he gets home all right.  I'm about through for the 
evening meself--thanks ever so much for the party, Da, Mr. Frodo, 
sir."  
A sudden idea occurred to Frodo; an image of him sneaking in on 
Sam while he was sleeping—a perfect opportunity to perhaps talk . 
. . or do more . . . "You're walking him all the way back up to Bag 
End?  You can sleep there, if you like, Sam--I've plenty of rooms."  
So many times he had asked and Sam had refused—oh he hoped 
maybe this one time Sam would stay.  Pip slept like the dead and 
Merry certainly wouldn’t mind any unusual noises—he clamped 
down on that thought before it could develop further.  No, they 
were just going to talk.  That was all.  He was his employer, for 
goodness sake!
Pippin spoke up encouraging Sam, and with his help it looked like 
Sam might perhaps stay.  Sam bowed his head and said a bashful 
thank you, then the pair were off, and Frodo continued his 
discussion to find out if the Cotton boys had only heard rumors of 
more dwarves or actually talked to them.  Not surprisingly, it was 
mostly rumor and conjecture.  He hadn’t expected news of Bilbo, 
but he was beginning to wonder if Gandalf was ever going to come 
back and tell him why he had to be so careful of Bilbo’s magic 
ring—Gandalf had never been away so long before, and with news 
of orcs breeding and darkness spreading, well, Frodo just hoped 
everything was all right.
He wasn’t sure just how much later—not very long, just long 
enough for him to finish his ale—Merry came in with Estella, the 
two looking about as guilty as could be, rather like how Frodo 
must have looked when Farmer Maggot caught him with the basket 
of mushrooms.  He smiled.  So Merry’s tastes were changing?  
Well that would certainly please his parents—they worried over 
who he was going to marry and whether he’d ever settle from his 
wild ways to become Master of Buckland.  And Fatty’s sister!  
Frodo took a quick glance to see if Fatty was occupied—well, even 
better; he was passed out.  He liked Estella—sensible lass.
Merry said something to Estella, gave her a peck on the cheek, and 
hurried over to Frodo, and Frodo frowned now--something was 
wrong.  Both of them seemed a little upset.   He stood and stepped 
away from Hamfast and the others to take Merry by the hand. “Is 
something the matter?” he asked in a gentle voice.
Merry shrugged, trying to smile and failing miserably.  “Pip and I 
had a few words we probably shouldn’t have had, and maybe I did 
something wrong; I’m not sure.  I think I need to go talk to him.”
Frodo nodded, wondering what could have come between the 
cousins—since they were tiny they’d been together.  "Sam took 
Pippin home.  I'm sure he's just fine.  I'm about ready to leave 
anyway—I'll walk with you."  He itched to ask about Estella, but 
that would be intrusive; no need for the older distant cousin to be 
prying into things that weren't his business.
Merry licked his lips, a worried look on his face, and muttered, 
"Yeah, I saw them leave.  I do hope they're all right."  He gave a 
laugh without mirth.  "You haven't seen Pip in one of his sulks; 
he's acting the true tweenie tonight.  You remember how I used to 
be?  He's worse."
Frodo laughed and rubbed Merry shoulder, trying to ease some of 
the tension there.  "Sam's got the patience of an elf.  If anyone can 
handle Pip, he can.  Hang on—let me get my coat."  He grabbed 
his coat from the chair and shook Hamfast's hand.  "Merry and I 
are off—this was a wonderful party—and I hope you'll be all right 
heading home . . . "
"Not to worry, Master Frodo!  And thank you for offering your 
hospitality to my Sam tonight—he's right pleased to be officially 
taking over the gardens now that he's of age—not that we don't 
know he's been doing it by himself for quite some time.  You're a 
kind soul, sir, to have put up with my ailments and Sam's training, 
but I'm certain we'll be making it up to you in the course o' time.  
Good health and good evening, Master!"  Hamfast bobbed his head 
and shook Frodo's hand most enthusiastically, obviously free from 
pain thanks to a steady supply of ale tonight.  Frodo made his 
departure as quickly as he could in all politeness and as Merry and 
he began walking down the path towards the Hill, he was finally 
able to ask  a few questions.
"So what was Pippin upset about?  I don't suppose Estella has 
anything to do with it—the two of you looked quite close there 
when you came in."  It was a beautiful evening, the moon high 
overhead in a sky bright with stars, only the barest wisps of clouds 
blurring their patterns.  
Merry didn't seem at all impressed with the sights, keeping his 
head down and his eyes straight ahead as he walked, his hands in 
his pockets in a posture so like those 'sulks' he'd had in his own 
youth that Frodo had to fight the urge to laugh aloud.  He shook his 
head, scowling.  "I guess I should have seen it coming, but he's 
always seemed so innocent and young, but he's growing up now, 
have you seen?  I look at him and I don't see a child any more, but 
he's a far cry from being a full grown hobbit as well.  It confuses 
me sometimes, and I say things I shouldn't.  I don't know where he 
gets those ideas in his head—probably listened too much to Ted 
Sandyman or something, I shouldn't wonder—unless you told him 
something?"  He stopped and  eyed Frodo suspiciously.
Frodo was taken aback.  "About what?  
Merry resumed walking—running, almost, and Frodo had to hurry 
to keep up with him.  "About you and me—what we used to do 
together.  He was asking whether I'd ever taken a thought to do 
anything-ahem-pleasurable with another lad before.  Seemed kind 
of important to him, but I'm afraid I reacted badly—I don't know 
who he's taken a fancy to, but he's too young!  I won't have anyone 
take advantage of my Pip!  Anyways I got all bothered about it 
myself just talking and had to take care of things, so I used Estella, 
which probably wasn't good either, but mind you, I do like her.  If 
I'm ever going to marry anyone it would be her—she's got a 
strength to her that makes her seem more like a lad than a lass.  But 
the truth is far worse, Frodo.  I'm falling in love with my own 
cousin.  What in the blazes do I do about that?"
Well that was a surprise . . . and yet somehow it wasn't.  Thinking 
back to all the time he had seen Merry and Pip together, it seemed 
like the most natural thing in the world—but of course Merry was 
right; it wasn't.  Oh, the Bucklanders and the Tooks together would 
be having fits if they knew.  Merry was right to fight it, the same 
way he fought his own love for Sam.  Pulling hard on Merry's arm 
as they climbed the winding path up the Hill, he managed to get 
Merry to stop long enough to pull him in for a fierce hug.  
"I don't know, Merry, but I know how it hurts.  I guess you'll just 
have to do the best you can to explain things to him, if he's already 
starting to have feelings of his own.  Gods, I can't believe he's 
already that old—hah, I remember how old you were, and how 
young and foolish I was.  I'm truly sorry if I caused this in any 
way.  The same way you and Pip are best friends now—well, that's 
how you were to me then.  And I just needed someone at that 
time."  He looked into Merry's mercurial eyes, at the stubborn tilt 
of his chin and his snub of a nose.  He still loved him.  Not like 
Sam—everything with Sam was so much deeper, bound to his 
soul, it seemed at times, but Merry was still one of his best friends 
and closest family.  Had he hurt him when things cooled off for 
them?  He didn't think so, and yet there was always the possibility.  
"I never hurt you, did I, Merry?"  he asked in a near whisper.
Merry cracked one of his wicked smiles; the ones that hid his 
emotions so well. "Of course not, Frodo—we were just 
exploring—I knew that.  I'll admit I was a *little* jealous when 
you started talking about Sam, but only a little.  I can't even 
describe how strong my feelings are for Pip.  It scares me to my 
roots.  If anyone has the power to hurt me, he does.  I have to talk 
to him."
On impulse, Frodo leaned forward and kissed Merry; only an 
intimate friend's kiss, a show of support, a sweet memory of things 
that had been and a hope of things to come for both of them; all his 
longings for love went into that kiss.  It wasn't long, but it was 
enough to send both of them to tears; hugging each other, they 
struggled to regain composure and began walking again.  
"It will be all right, Merry, you'll see.  We'll both have our talks, 
and we'll both have the strength to do whatever's best for our 
loves.  Come on, then—we're almost there," Frodo said in a 
quavering voice, eyes tearing up anew at the way his beautiful little 
garden gleamed in the moonlight as they walked up to the door.  
Sam already gave him so much.  It was enough.  It had to be 
enough.
"I just hope Pippin hasn't done anything stupid—you didn't see him 
and Sam leave the Green Dragon—I didn't tell you that part—" 
Merry broke off talking as they opened the door, staying close by 
Frodo's side as if afraid of what he would find.
Frodo lit a candle against the dark of the hallways."I'm sure they're 
all right, Merry; here we can check in on them.  Sam?  Pippin?  
Did you get Sam to stay?"  
"It's just not like Pip to leave early like that," Merry began--he 
seemed about to say more, but then they heard voices and 
movement coming from Pippin's room.  They walked down the 
hall to the room and looked to each other wondering if they should 
knock or just open.  Merry swallowed, a look of fear and 
expectation on his face, and opened the door.
Frodo heard Merry gasp beside him, but he was too busy goggling 
at the sight before him to register much else.  Sam, his hair tussled 
and his skin bright red, was struggling to button up his shirt as Pip 
sat in the middle of a rumpled bed looking somehow smug and 
defiant at the same time, his arms crossed over his chest and his 
only clothing a shirt draped across his lap.   A familiar scent was in 
the room, and Frodo's mind blanked, trying to comprehend what he 
was looking at--could they really . . . had they . . . 
Pippin spoke before anyone else could.  "Yes, we bedded each 
other."  It was not an admission, it was a challenge, and he was 
delivering it to Merry--his eyes were locked on his cousin. 
 Sam looked ready to dig himself a tunnel and climb in; Frodo had 
never seen him so distressed before.  *Oh Sam, please tell me he 
didn't force you to do anything*, he thought, his heart clenching, 
but before he could say a word to tell Sam everything was going to 
be all right, the stout hobbit was burying his face and bustling past 
him to run down the hall towards the door, sobbing, "I'm sorry!"
Frodo looked to Merry--there was obviously a very *big* problem 
here, but he didn't know if he needed to help with his cousins or 
chase after Sam--his heart screamed to run, not let Sam get out that 
door . . . 
"I'll handle Pip," Merry whispered, his face ashen, but with shock, 
anger, or guilt, Frodo couldn’t tell.  Once Sam was under control, 
he'd have to find out more about this--he'd never even seen it 
coming--that Sam and Pip . . . who had started it?  Had it been 
mutual?  He had to know!
There wasn't time to say anything; he simply nodded and ran after 
Sam who had already opened the front door and was fleeing out 
into the night.
"Sam!" he cried, cursing himself for not seeing this coming, for not 
telling him about his feelings sooner.  Did Sam love Pip?  Please 
no, he begged, it couldn't be--his heart would utterly shatter if that 
were the truth, but he had to know.  "Please Sam, stop!" he cried; 
he was catching up, but slowly, and the night was cold to be 
running off half dressed--and he could hear Sam crying--each sob 
tore into him with little knives.  "Turn around, Sam, and look at 
me!"  His own voice was thick with tears; they were flowing freely 
down his cheeks now.
Ahead of him, Sam staggered and fell to one knee, his face still 
buried in his hands.  "D-don't worry, Mr. Frodo, I'll resign; I c-can't 
believe I dishonored you so."  His broad shoulders were hunched 
and shaking, as if he thought he could shrink that powerful frame 
into something insignificant, curl up into a ball and roll away just 
like one of those 'tater' bugs he fished out of the garden at times.  
Frodo gasped with relief that he had stopped and nearly plowed 
into him, throwing his arms around his back and burying his head 
against him.
"No, no, Sam--there's nothing to apologize for, truly!  Come back 
into the house; we need to talk, and no, I'm not angry!  Please Sam, 
will you look at me?"  Frodo put one hand on each side of Sam's 
face and tried to force it out from the crook of his arm to look up at 
him, but his strength was no match for Sam's, and the younger 
hobbit was keeping his eyes tightly squeezed shut, trying to block 
him out.
Despairing, Frodo did the only thing he could think to do.  He 
nestled under Sam's arm and kissed him on the lips. 
He felt Sam gasp in surprise and felt a shock of fear--what if he 
rejects this?   But the next second Sam was wrapping his arms 
around him in an almost painful hold and returning the kiss with 
sudden passion; Frodo forgot to breathe, forgot to even *be* as his 
whole world seemed to merge with Sam, those powerful arms 
crushing him to a broad chest and those full lips pressing into him, 
devouring him in a surge of need so strong he felt his legs collapse; 
it was fortunate Sam was holding him up.  As their tongues met 
there was a giddy euphoria sweeping through him, purest bliss 
which made his fingertips tingle and his essence throb with 
dizzying need.  He feared he might faint and had to break off the 
kiss to gasp for air.
Sam's brown eyes were locked onto his, scouring his soul.  "Please 
tell me that weren't no friend's kiss, sir--I'd be ever so ashamed--" 
Tears still leaked down his full cheeks; Frodo wiped them away 
with a fingertip and grinned through his own tears, trying not to 
laugh with the joy of finally having him, being in his arms.  This 
certainly wasn't how he had planned on doing this, but the 
moonlight, the cool breeze blowing Sam's soft curls, the soft song 
of crickets in the lane--it would do.  Oh yes, it would more than 
do.  "I love you, Sam.  I've always loved you this way.  I was 
simply too afraid to show it.  Do you forgive me?"
For an answer, Sam simply smiled and drew him in for another 
kiss, whispering breathlessly at his ear, "I love you too, sir, I love 
you, my dear master.  I don't never want to be with anyone else 
again."
Frodo thought for a moment of Pippin, then Sam's lips were 
erasing all thoughts from his head.
*****
TBC