Title: Tales From Middle Earth: Home Again, Home Again Author: MJ Email: bonarbridgemj@yahoo.com Pairing: Frodo/Sam Rating: R Summary: Upon their return to Bag End, Frodo has plans and Sam gets a surprise. Note: Follows TFME: My Old Dad Says. (Related to TFME stories under Merry/Pippin and Gandalf/Radagast.) Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and his heirs. I have merely borrowed them for these adventures. Category: Romance, AU, Humor 5 - 7 September, 3017 "Oh, it's beautiful, it is." The stiff breeze snatched up Sam's words, scattering them in all directions, but he only laughed, his face alight in the late afternoon sun. "Isn't it wonderful? And isn't it just the very best place to live?" They were standing on the highest point north of Hobbiton, but still some twenty miles away from that fair town. Below them lay the Shire, spread before their eyes in all of its Autumn glory. Even this far away, they could count the patchwork squares of green and gold, where the late harvest stood ready for the scythes, racks and wagons. In between each patch ran the deeper greens of borders and hedges, with every now and then a copse of multi-hued foliage raising heady colors in celebration of the cold weather to come. Far in the distance, just on the edge of sight, shone a glint from the Bywater, lazing its way toward a rendezvous with the Brandywine, while closer than those chilly waters, yet distant enough to appear out of reach, rose the thin wisps of chimney smoke that marked the town of Hobbiton. And sewing it all together, like little brown threads from the Maker's loom, were the roads and byways that not only led the walker from door to door of family and friend, but also carried in their quiet dust the call of far off places, where a pair of eager feet might journey to see what adventures the rest of the world had to offer. Frodo drew in a deep breath and held it a moment before puffing it out all at once. "Yes! Yes, it is. The most wonderful place ever. And as for you..." He squeezed Sam's hand and raised it to his lips, planting a sound kiss upon the weathered skin. "You are the most wonderful hobbit ever. And I shall love you beyond the remaking of the world." Sam grinned, his cheeks going a shade pinker than the stiff breeze had already made them. "Old Mrs. Bracegirdle might say as how you don't know what you're sayin'. Considerin' she thinks my brain is addled, all because I never would pull up her turnips." He reached for Frodo's other hand and pulled him close enough to shiver the soft hair around his ear as he whispered, "And I never could get her to understand she'd never planted them turnips." A burst of laughter left Frodo gasping, but he grabbed Sam and squeeze him as hard as he could. "Oh, Sam. My dear Sam!" And then they both overbalanced and with a very solid 'thump', went rolling tail over end back down the other side of the steep hill, laughing all the way to the bottom, where they came to a gentle stop at the base of two elderly pines. Frodo quickly pulled himself up to straddle Sam's waist. "You'd better be prepared to treat Mrs. Bracegirdle with more respect than that, Sam Gamgee! Perhaps I'll make her the guest of honor at our party and the whole notion of turnips would cause no end of trouble." He saw the tiny frown appear on Sam's brow and stopped, saying in a softer voice, "But if you really don't care for Mrs. Bracegirdle..." "No, it's not that." Sam thought for a moment, still frowning. "It's just... I've been thinkin'. About that party." Frodo smiled. "If you don't like the idea, just say so." "I know. But you... But I..." Frodo's eyes were the blue of the Bywater Pool on a high summer day and Sam would have fallen in and drowned gladly. "When you mentioned it, last night after we..." A flush of red crept up his cheeks and he took a slow, deep breath. "Last night you seemed right pleased about havin' one. And I didn't want to say the wrong..." Leaning over quickly, Frodo stopped Sam's words with a kiss. "Oh, Sam. I don't believe you could *ever* say the wrong thing." He looked at Sam for a long moment, then slowly sat up. "I love you. And I don't really want a party, because I have everything I need, right here..." He grinned. "...where I'm sitting. So, we shall eventually tell the people that matter the most to us and let Mrs. Bracegirdle learn it from her turnips." Sam snorted and began plucking stray leaves from Frodo's hair. "She'll have to learn it from her radishes, then, 'cause I don't doubt she still hasn't planted them turnips since the *last* time she didn't plant 'em." Then, as quickly as only a hobbit could, Sam darted his hands under Frodo's coat and flipped him over, and for the longest time, all that could be heard on the late afternoon breeze was the sound of joyful laughter. * * * "Sam?" "Mmm." Frodo suspected he could count every star in the sky, they shone so clear and bright. "Didn't you ever want to have children?" Sam sighed and pushed his head further under Frodo's chin. "I did at that. And if I'd loved a lass well enough to marry her, then I'd of had as many as we could fit into a tidy little hole. And maybe a shed." He yawned. "Or two." Frodo chuckled. "I would hope the lass had got a chance to breathe a little now and then or she'd be too exhausted to feed you!" "Then I could feed her. And I would, too, if we had that many pretty babies." "You would have the prettiest babies in the Shire." Frodo couldn't help but feel a stirring of sadness. "But not now." "Oh, I don't know." Sam raised up on one elbow. "You and I, we could make some really handsome babies, what with your fine looks and all. And don't you laugh." He rolled until Frodo lay beneath him. "We've got most of the right parts, and places to put 'em, so we'll just keep practicin' and see what happens." "And I know that *you* know better, Sam Gamgee." Frodo's voice shook as he tried not to laugh. But the tips of Sam's fingers were drawing patterns up and down his left thigh. "You've known since that day at Farmer Cotton's cow pasture..." And the tip of a warm, wet tongue was licking at the base of his throat. "...what goes where, and why, at least to have babies." Frodo groaned softly, trembling beneath the body sprawled across his own. Sam had his own wonderful scent: sharp and sweet, all at the same time. "Well, as for knowin'..." Sam wriggled a little and dropped one leg between Frodo's, pressing gently. "I expect this here's one o' those parts." He lifted himself for just a moment, then settled against Frodo's belly again and whispered, "And this here's another. So if you'll just tell me again how it all goes, I'll be that pleased." Frodo gasped and buried his fingers in Sam's hair, pulling him down to tell him, all wrapped up in a kiss, what they would do for the rest of their lives and how delightful it would all be. And then both of them had so much to say that every blanket was scattered by the time they had talked it all over and the last shout had spun away into the darkness. For a very long time, Frodo lay quietly with Sam asleep in his arms. Although it was late, he found that he was wide awake, his throat tight with unshed tears. When the chill crept into his bones, he stretched as far as he could to snag the nearest blanket and pull it snugly around them both. His heart was filled to overflowing and he hardly knew how it could hold the unmeasurable joy his days and nights had become. The life he'd led before now seemed to belong to someone else. For although he had certainly been happy enough, and known both contentment and joy, many, many times in his life, this was the very first time he'd felt so filled up with light, from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. Branches rustled sharply overhead as a stiff breeze blew through the dell and Frodo pulled the blanket tighter. Even Sam was changing. Maybe he would still fool many of those who'd known him all his life, with his same soft, careful voice and the same sweet, honest face. But Frodo knew better. This new Sam was no less than a startling wonderment. And as the days passed, Gaffer's youngest son shone with new strength and confidence, and his clear voice rang with bright, sudden laughter. Frodo closed his eyes and chuckled softly. Sometimes there was so much heat between them, he thought they might both burst into flames. Fluttering the tips of his fingers down Sam's back, Frodo breathed in the scent still lingering on the chill night air. Deep inside, he knew this was indeed the same young Gamgee who for years had dogged his heels and jollied his garden, who'd known the best places for blackberries and how to keep tea hot in a delicate, fragile cup. Exactly the same. And yet... Frodo touched the cluster of silken curls brushing against his lips. This new and wonderful Sam had a spring in his step that had only been hinted at before. And there was an edge in his voice that set Frodo's heart racing, whether they were comparing the various merits of turnips and rutabagas or confessing the many ways one could fall in love. The yawn caught Frodo by surprise and he shifted to press his face against the thick, damp curls. This was a Sam to be reckoned with and he tucked this discovery deep into his heart, holding it close as he drifted off to sleep. * * * And now here they were, at the tail end of their journey, striding up the road from Overhill with thoughts of a big supper, a warm fire, and a comfortable bed filling their heads. Or rather, these thoughts were filling Frodo's head. Sam's thoughts were a bit more muddled and as he walked, he kept his eyes straight ahead, planting one foot carefully in front of the other. His cheeks were hot and his voice shook a little as he said, "We'll have a mushroom and bacon omelet, half a loaf of toasted oatbread with marmalade, a dish of hot cinnamon apples swimming in fresh cream, and three pots of tea." The Hill was just ahead, not a quarter of a mile away, filling their sight with its huge, green magnificence. All they had to do was follow the path round the western side and they'd have a clear view of Bag End. Frodo grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him along a little faster. "No stopping now, lad. We're in sight of home so no dawdling allowed." Drawing in a sharp breath, Sam tried to settle the flutter in his stomach. "Or maybe I'll fix up somethin' special, like squash and elderberry pudding, and smothered chicken, and maybe some new taters with butter and asparagus, and a bit of peach cobbler for after." They were rounding the bottom of The Hill now and it was all Sam could do to keep his feet moving. "I could mix up a vegetable stew in no time, with some fried crusts to top it off..." "Let's just get inside first, Sam, then we'll decide what's for supper. And make that four pots of tea, two for each of us." Frodo could see the big green door now and his heart flipped suddenly in his chest. He was home. "And blueberries, Sam, lots and lots of blueberries." He lifted the latch on the front gate and pushed Sam through ahead of him. "Did you hear? We must have blueberries as well,and four pots of...Sam?" Sam had come to an abrupt stop, mouth and eyes wide open. There it was. The big green front door. His own, his very own front door. To go in and out of as he pleased. He drew in a deep, slow breath. And behind that door... "It's Bag End." Frodo looked at Sam in bewilderment. "Well, yes..." "Your own dear hole. Your garden and your path." Sam couldn't find enough breath. "Your windows. Your door. Your home..." His voice died away in a whisper and he tried to blink away the sudden tears. Frodo turned Sam to face him and then held out his hands, smiling as a warm, rough grip clasped his own. "This is your home, too, my dear, wonderful Sam. We shall spend all of our days together within this snug hole and eat and laugh and tell so many stories that it will be a wonder if we ever get to bed." Sam frowned, but his eyes were smiling as he gazed at Frodo. "I don't rightly know if that's the way of it, for if I don't miss my guess, it'll be a wonder if we ever get *out* of bed." He finally grinned. "So to speak." Frodo laughed and leapt up the steps, shoving the big round door open. Slipping his own pack from his back, he tossed it into the hall. "Here we go, Master Samwise!" Reaching for Sam, he pulled him through the door and hauled the pack from his back, then snatched him up in a hug so tight, he yelped. "I love you with all of my heart, dearest Sam. And I think..." Frodo hesitated and his mouth curved in a remarkably wicked smile. "...to celebrate our homecoming, and more specifically to celebrate your change of address, I shall give you a chance..." He pushed the door shut with one hand and grabbed Sam's jacket with the other. "...to be served breakfast in bed for a week, starting from tomorrow. But we need the bedroom." He tugged a flustered Sam down the hallway. "And we need to take off as many clothes as possible." Sam had no idea quite how it happened, but within the time it takes to fill a deep mug with beer from a slow tap, he was lying in Frodo's bed with less than a dim memory of his clothes. He gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to hiccup. No, it was *his* bed, now. His and Frodo's. The hiccup busted loose and he yelped, arching desperately into the ten busy fingers tormenting his scattered wits and sending gooseberries rolling up his back. Frodo watched the changes flicker across Sam's face, then bent down to run his tongue up the sturdy length cradled in his hands. "Now, this is how it shall be." A stolen glance showed him Sam's flushed face framed by three deep pillows "I shall serve you breakfast in bed for a week, oatmeal with summer honey and cream, if you can say 'Sackville-Baggins' while I do this..." Frodo made a circle of his lips and took a deep breath. Trying not to grin, he slid his mouth slowly down the wet heat standing stiffly up in his fingers. He felt Sam tremble, then his entire body went rigid as he croaked, "Sack..." Frodo sucked hard and slowly pulled his tongue up the underside of his mouthful, chuckling around the silky length. "Sackvi..." Sam gave up on words, bleating something unrecognizable as he shivered against the covers. Crowing with laughter, Frodo sat back, still holding Sam firmly in his grip. Old Crookfoot had made exactly the same sound as he'd come barreling down the lane not a month past, feathers fluffed like thistledown, defending the rest of Farmer Cotton's flock of geese from an unwary intruder. "Oh, no, that won't do, Master Gamgee. You must try harder or no summer honey for you!" Sam gripped the blanket with both hands and shuddered. But he managed to gasp "Right you are..." before arching back up into the waiting fingers. Frodo grinned and shifted his grip, carefully drawing the little cup of skin down before lowering his head. Once...twice...three times he ran his tongue round the edge of the tender bared flesh before filling his mouth once more. "Sack...ville..." Sam gasped the brief syllables out, then flipped one side of the blanket over his head, stuffed a fistful of the rough weave between his teeth, and bit down hard. Frodo was laughing and the novelty of the hum running through Sam's groin was almost more than he could bear. But he was a Gamgee and no Gamgee ever... Then Frodo did something wicked with his teeth and for a long moment, Sam forgot the rest of his own name. "Summer honey, Sam love." Frodo brushed his lips down the underside of Sam's erection. Stifling a sneeze as soft curly hairs tickled his nose, he let the barest edge of his bottom teeth follow his tongue all the way back up. "And fresh cream. Mmmm." "Grnnh... Sa... Sam..." Damn. Summer honey. And cream. Sam took a deep, deep breath. "Sack...Sackville... FrodoFrodo... Bagnnr... Bagglerg..." Oh, Frodo had never done that before. Or that... Sam's fingers scrambled frantically through the air and like ten desperate claws, landed deep in the middle of Frodo's curls. Colors burst like fireworks behind his closed lids and Sam knew that any second now, one splendidly spectacular firework was going to knock him right out of the bed. Taking a firm grip on the curls winding round his fingers, he snagged his teeth and unlocked his jaw just as the wicked mouth began its journey once more. "Sag...Sack... Frodo!" Blue stars. And green ones. "No... Bag...gahrgl... Oh, Frodo..." And purple lightning. "Sag... Sagvi..." Too late, too late. The stars and the lightning were all mixing together in one huge...shiny... "Frodo!" Then the colors exploded and the whirlpool gathering in Sam's belly drained right down through his back... "Sackville-Baggins!" Sam jerked upwards with a shout and Frodo's mouth filled with a rush of hot, sweet/bitter liquid. For long seconds, he rode the jerks and shudders of Sam's body, forehead braced against the soft mound of his belly. When Sam finally lay quiet, except for the soft whimpering of his breath, Frodo sat back, took in the scene before him, and grinned. Crawling carefully up to straddle the familiar waist, he rested his hands on either side of the curly head nestled among the pillows and whispered, "You can uncross your eyes now, Sam. You won." The strangled snort he got in reply was just enough to set him jigging up and down. Gasping softly, he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the tip of Sam's nose. "My dear Sam. Please. I love the touch of your fingers far better than my own..." Smiling shyly, Sam lifted one hand and brushed a ragged handful of curls out of Frodo's eyes. "Oh, I do love you best, Frodo Baggins. I do, I do." His mouth opened quickly to Frodo's sudden kiss and, snugging one arm around Frodo's neck, he sent his other hand unerringly to its goal, gripping the warm flesh already leaving streaks and spatters of heat across his own belly. "You move just as you wish, my dear," he whispered. "Your Sam's right here." A darting tongue filled Sam's mouth as Frodo drove himself into the waiting calluses, gasping Sam's name between desperate kisses until finally, with a ragged groan, he buried his face in Sam's neck and let the rough-tipped fingers bring him slowly and gently back to his senses. Neither Frodo nor Sam made any effort to do more than breathe for the next several minutes. In fact, supper was quite forgotten until Frodo's stomach growled very softly. "If you're a bit peckish, I could whip up a nice omelet." Sam yawned as wide as he could. "No. Not yet." Frodo smiled, wrapping his legs around the only shin he could reach. "I'm not leaving this bed for anything. You could promise me the Moon on a platter of stewed chicken and I'd not budge." Silence flowed comfortably through the room for several minutes more. "I did it, didn't I. Summer honey and cream." Sam's whisper fluttered against Frodo's cheek and he laughed deep in his throat. "Oh, Sam. I never doubted you would. And if you hadn't managed it..." Frodo stretched as well as he could, considering how tangled up with Sam his legs now were. "...it would only have been fair to give you a second chance." "I don't doubt that one bit, Frodo Baggins." Sam shook with silent laughter. "You're a fair piece of work, you are." Frodo snorted softly, then kissed the tender skin on the chest beneath his hand. "I love you, Sam Gamgee. Welcome home." "Oh, I am home, aren't I." Sam sighed happily and flipped the blanket up and over them both. "We'll make it just fine, you and me. For I love you too much to have it any other way." And as those were the last words Frodo heard before falling asleep, his dreams were deep and bright and full of the sorts of wonders that leave one singing right through breakfast and on past lunchtime. But far away from Bag End, tucked up neatly on her over-stuffed mattress in the oldest and biggest bedroom, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins snorted sleepily and wondered where in the Shire that ridiculous nightmare had come from. End.