West of the Moon
A Tolkien Fanfiction Archive
Ready or Not
On his first Yuletide as master of Bag End, Frodo discovers that sometimes being "found" can be fun.
This story was written for the hobbit_smut
Livejournal Community "Games Hobbits Play" Challenge.
A/N: Special thanks to Shoe and Slip.
It can be seen
from anywhere in the whole of Hobbiton. The Hill is the
highest point in all the landscape for miles around, and
perched right at the top, leaning slightly in a constant
battle against the geography of its location and its
fighting instinct to seek the sun, is an ancient oak. The
trunk of the tree long ago split into three sections only a
few feet up from its base, forming a large hollow in
between, where mounds of leaves collect in the Autumn as
they fall from the branches above.
Right now, however, it is winter, and all the season's fallen leaves have long since blown away. Instead, I am crouched in the bowl of the tree, peering stupidly out through the thin gaps between the trunks, biting my lip anxiously and waiting.
The sound of small voices laughing cuts through the still air, and I know that if I slither out along the branches of the oak as I did when I was younger, I would be able to see the figures of many tiny hobbit children running backward and forward throughout the gardens of Bag End below.
It has been tradition since before I'm sure even Gaffer Gamgee can remember: each year, on the first day of Yuletide, every lad and lass in Hobbiton is invited to play Hide and Seek in the expansive gardens at the top of the Hill. This tree has been my hiding place since I was only twenty-one: the first year I came to live here, and it has not failed me yet.
I am thirty-three now: far too old and sensible to be partaking in such a game, and I feel rather ridiculous about it all, but, at the moment, I truly do not care. There is only one hobbit who will know to find me here -the children never come this far up the hill where the snow hasn't been shovelled to spare their young feet. Sam will know where to find me, of course. We have always hidden together here, right from the first year I played. He was only a child himself then, and I could hold him in my lap as we hid, laughing and talking in hushed voices.
It was only last year, when we were wedged in this space together that I realised what a fine lad he'd become. We were squashed together, as he had grown to be quite broad in recent months, both panting from the run up the side of the hill. But, I noticed, my own breathing was not slowing, and my heart was racing so fast it felt ready to leap right from my chest. I had never been so aware of anything as I was of Sam's body, pressed against mine, and, suddenly I felt very hot. Despite the frost-covered trunk at my back and snow at my feet, there was heat rising in my face and swelling in my belly like a fever. I would have thought myself ill if I hadn't recognised the way my blood pulsed and tingled through my veins and thrummed in my groin.
I had to leave then. Who knows what I could have done to my poor, unsuspecting young gardener if I didn't? I extracted myself from the tree, pleading sickness to Sam, and hurried back down the hill.
The following year has been very difficult: living every day with Sam so close to me, knowing that with every passing moment my affection for him only grew. He is nothing like the few interests in lads I had during my tweens. The other boys -my older cousins and friends- fascinated me because I wanted to be them. And though I will admire Sam Gamgee until the day I die, he's nothing I want to be, but everything I want to have.
Thinking back on the last year, it's hard to believe I have come here once more, this time waiting for Sam. What will happen when he comes, I don't know, but my blood is running hot at the thought. I wasn't planning to come back here at all this Yule, as it is my first year as master of Bag End, and I was expected to be the mature and respectable host. I have a lot to live up to: Bilbo had done a fantastic job at hosting the traditional Yuletide Hide and Seek game, and always managed to make the day memorable, even for the children's parents, who usually stood by watching and enjoying the food and warm ale Bilbo had prepared.
It is highly improper of me -to be crouched in a tree waiting for my gardener when I have guests at Bag End, but as it is, this day has turned out to be one full of surprises for me, and I have a feeling it has only just begun.
"Good morning, Sir!"
I groaned from somewhere under my pillow as I heard Sam stride across the bedroom in his usual manner and yank the curtains open with two expert flicks of his wrists. Had I had my eyes open to see, I would have noticed an extra spring in my gardener's step on this particular morning, and seen him place a small brown-paper wrapped package on the foot of my bed. "Beautiful day, sir. Time to be up to see it."
"Sam," I moaned into the mattress, "It's ridiculously early. How can you insist on being so cheerful at this time of morning?"
"Because it's Yuletide, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied happily, "what better time to be cheerful?"
"Yule!" the pillow sprang into the air as I jolted, flinging it from my head. "Already?"
"Aye, it's the first of Yuletide today sir," Sam grinned at me as I sat up, deliberately keeping his eyes on my face as I hastily re-arranged my flannel nightshirt where it had come unbuttoned in the night.
"You can't have forgotten?" he asked, but I'm sure he knew the answer to that already -that he had known for days beforehand I would forget.
Sam just smiled and shook his head fondly. "It's a mite cold, sir, I'll lay the fire for you to dress in front of, if you like."
I ran a hand through my curls -or tried to; they were frightfully tangled. What in the Shire had I been dreaming to get my hair into such a state? "Yes, thank you, Sam," I said.
My gardener nodded, and turned to see about the task. I rolled over onto my stomach again and dropped my head back into the pillow, squeezing my eyes shut and secretly hoping that Sam would forget about me and let me go back to sleep. But I was blessed with neither such luck, nor a gardener so willing to let the matter be.
Only a few moments later, I felt a hand gently lay on my back: pleasantly warm and heavy even through all the blankets.
"Come along, sir," Sam said, his voice surprisingly low. He cleared his throat. "The guests will be here soon."
"Now, you haven't forgotten about Yule tradition, have you, sir?"
"No, of course not," I replied, lifting my head. "I just forgot it was Yule.
Sam laughed. "Well, we can't put it off for tomorrow just because you forgot, Sir. Up." And he patted the blankets, making my eyes snap open, realising that, had he been a little better aimed, that could have very well been a pat on my bottom; no matter how many layers of fabric were in between. I bit my lip in a valiant attempt not to groan again.
It was getting dangerous to have Sam continue to wake me in the mornings, I decided as the gardener moved off to begin collecting the laundry that had somehow become scattered every which way about the room. If Sam wasn't careful, he could very well fail miserably at his attempts to get me out of bed, and find himself dragged right into it after me instead.
Very dangerous indeed.
Gradually, I dragged myself out of my deliciously warm sanctuary, and into the chill air. As quickly as my sleep-heavy feet could carry me, I hopped over to the fire Sam had built on the hearth and put my backside towards it, pulling my nightshirt up to my hips and holding it gathered there to warm the backs of my thighs.
There was silence for a few moments, in which I tried desperately not to watch the hypnotic movements of Sam pacing about my room. Then I heard him speak again.
"Sir..." he said slowly.
I glanced up. Sam was gazing at me peculiarly, and I suddenly realised what I was doing: standing there in nothing but a nightshirt, exposing the tops of my thighs to the poor lad. I'd probably embarrassed him to no end. I quickly released my shirt and smoothed it down. "I'm sorry!" I gasped.
"Oh, don't be sorry!" Sam said quickly. "You shouldn't be embarrassed, sir." I blinked at him. Suddenly, his voice lowered, and he looked me in the eye. "I don't mind. At all."
What on Earth?...
He grinned, and quietly left the room.
I stared for a few moments, disbelieving, at the absence Sam left behind. I couldn't even begin to figure what all that had meant. Perhaps, I decided, I shouldn't attempt to read into it -innocent situations like this happened all the time when Sam was around, and I frequently let my imagination get the better of me, conjuring longing looks in my gardener's eyes that simply weren't there, or letting heat burn like fire in my veins at the accidental brush of Sam's hand.
I stepped over to my dresser and picked up a wide-toothed comb, with which I made a vague attempt on my hair. The reflection in the mirror above my dresser proved that the situation was even worse than I had thought.
It was cold now that I'd left the immediate vicinity of the fire, but I thought the chill was more than welcome right now, as my mind was suddenly envisaging alternate ways my most recent encounter with Sam could have gone.
"I don't mind. At all."
...Sam stepping over to me, moulding himself against the front of my body, his mouth fastening to my neck and his hands, oh, his hands creeping under the hem of my nightshirt, sliding hot and firm up my bare thighs, curving up towards my hips...
Glancing down, I sighed. Cursing my rebellious body, I strode over to my wardrobe and flung it open, doing my best to imagine Mayor Whitfoot delivering a long, boring speech in nothing but his drawers.
I was pulling on my final layer of many clothes -my warmest dress coat, when I turned and noticed something at the foot of my bed.
It was a package -a Yule gift left for me to find. I picked it up. There was no tag indicating whom it was from, though I knew of course that only Sam could have placed it there. I slipped it into my coat pocket, deciding that I would open it later when I had found out from Sam who had asked him to sneak it to me.
The gardens looked wonderful. Almost unnoticed by me, Sam had been working steadfast long hours on them for days, making all the usual preparations for Bag End's Yule. Each row between every flowerbed was carefully shovelled free of snow, allowing access to all the best hiding places. Numerous tables and benches were set up on the front lawn, groaning with the weight of food, and a bon-fire had already been built to help ward off the cold for the spectators of the pending game.
Sam must have been up since long before dawn to have this all ready. How he had moved through the smial quietly enough not to wake me as he lugged out the food and ale supplies we'd ordered weeks ago, I'll never know. Steam-clouds billowed into the air from my mouth as I sighed and smiled, thinking.
I turned to see Sam in the doorway behind me, a bundle of red and blue woolen shapes in his hands. These turned out to be my mittens, scarf and a red cap with a large bobble sewn onto the top of it that I had never seen before.
"Here, Mr. Frodo, put these on before you go out into that cold," Sam said, gesturing for me to hold out my hands. I did so, and the gardener helped me into my mittens. I tried desperately not to let our fingers brush, shivering when they did anyway.
Sam grinned, his lashes low and bashful on his cheeks. He finished tugging the mittens into place and playfully attempted to thread our fingers together. I gasped, feeling like I was about to fall over.
"And where are your mittens, Samwise?" I asked, trying to grin as I drew my hands away.
"I'll put them on in a moment, sir," Sam smiled, reaching up to pull the woolen cap onto my head and down over my eyes. Perhaps it had to do with Yuletide, but Sam's mischief today was delightfully heartwarming, for all that it made me want to pin him against the doorframe and forget about Yule tradition all together.
"Sam!" I laughed, but before I could reach up and pull the cap from my eyes, the gardener tilted it back for me. I had to take a deep breath amongst my laughter. Sam's hands were warm on the sides of my head, adjusting the cap so that it covered my ears properly. When he was done, he cupped the outline of them gently in his palms and I was positive that this time I was about to collapse.
"S-Sam," I trembled. The younger hobbit's face was so close to my own that our misting breaths curled about each other where they collided in the air. Sam held my eyes through the steam and I struggled to find words that didn't detail exactly how much I longed to kiss him right now, or didn't result in me doing exactly that. "Wherever did you find this hat? I haven't seen it before."
"It's mine, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied, moving back as if remembering himself and handing me my scarf. "Daisy knitted it for me. I know you don't have one of your own."
"Well, then you should be wearing it," I insisted, and made to pull it off. But Sam placed a hand on top of my head, preventing me from doing so.
"Nay, leave it on, sir," he grinned, "I reckon I'll be plenty warm enough. I'd only take it off anyway."
"Warm enough, Sam?"
"Aye sir," he lowered his head, shifting his weight forward a little so that his thigh was almost close enough to brush against mine. He glanced up at me through his lashes. "I plan on being plenty warm today."
Not even able to process that properly, I nodded and, flinging my scarf about my neck, stepped back to follow my gardener outside.
By Elevenses, a steady flow of hobbits were trickling up the Hill to Bag End. I greeted them all at the gate: children and parents alike, wishing them a happy Yule and prosperous New Year.
While their parents attacked the food tables, the younger hobbits wasted no time in immediately beginning their hide and seek game. The bossy children quickly took charge, and informed the rest who would be first at being 'It', and where they would stand whilst they counted and the rest hid. It soon became apparent, however, that only a handful of them could count very high, so whoever was 'It' resolved in hiding their face until they heard echoing cries of "Ready!" from across the garden, or simply grew tired of waiting.
By the time the flow of arriving guests had ebbed and seemed to come to an end, I was hungry enough for an early lunch. I excused myself from the gate and made my way over to join the large gathering of adult hobbits, whom were all eating and drinking, talking loudly over the shrieks and giggles of their offspring.
Once I had reached the food table and acquired my goal: a fat egg sandwich, it took me some time to manage to escape the small talk descending upon me from all sides -most of which revolved around my two least favourite subjects to talk about: Bilbo, and how it felt to now be master of Bag End.
Finally alone with my sandwich and ale mug, which had been pleasantly warmed on the coals of the fire, I let my eyes follow the small figures that were darting to and fro before me, ducking behind trees or under bushes, all of them with grinning faces and pink cheeks, dressed warmly in snow coats, scarves, mittens and hats. It was at this point that I suddenly remembered I was still wearing that ridiculous bobble-topped red cap. It was hardly an asset to the mature master image I'd been trying to project, but I found that I didn't really care. Sam had wanted me to wear it, so I would. I would do anything for Sam.
I suddenly looked about, and spotted the gardener standing by the fire. I started. He was staring right at me. My heart and stomach seemed both about to escape my body. I quickly faced forwards again.
A few moments later, Sam appeared at my side, and sat on the bench next to me. I clutched my mug so hard I feared I'd break it, and I wouldn't have been surprised if I had suddenly burst into flame. Ridiculous, really -I had been much closer to Sam countless times before. But there was something about him today that made me quake and shiver and wonder if I would ever get through the day alive without completely disregarding my guests and dragging him to the bedroom by his shirttails.
Now really, what had he done to deserve such treatment?
The silence between us was stretching uncomfortably, so I blurted: "Thank you so much for all your help today, Sam. It would have been a disaster without you."
"Ah, that's all right, sir. I've been helping Mr. Bilbo out with Yule since as long as I can remember, so I know what's meant to be done and when to do it."
"Oh, but it's more than that, Sam," I said quickly, hoping I sounded sincere and not lovesick. "You did more than your fair share in organising it all. In fact, I would have forgotten about Yuletide all together if it weren't for you."
Sam smiled and looked back at his ale.
"You could have simply done your job and left me to disgrace myself," I went on thoughtfully, "but you didn't, Sam. You didn't."
"Aye, because that'd be the last thing I want to see happen. It's only been a few months since Mr. Bilbo left, after all. I knew you'd be needing my help -Yule's a big thing to plan, and this being your first year as master and all... Don't worry, sir. Next year you will remember." But I wouldn't. Sam knew I wouldn't, I could tell. I would always need him. And not just at Yuletide.
I decided to change the subject, and pulled the package I'd found on the end of my bed out of my pocket.
"So, Sam -are you going to tell me who this is from?"
Sam glanced at the item in my hands and grinned. "Me, o'course, sir."
My eyes went wide. "You, Sam?" I blushed. We'd never, ever exchanged gifts on Yule before.
"Aye, sir. Well, are you going to open it, then?"
I nodded and obeyed. My hands shook as I tore off the string surrounding the package and pulled the paper away to reveal a woolen cap exactly like the one I wore, except deep blue to match my mittens.
I couldn't help but laugh happily. "Oh, Sam."
The gardener grinned. "I knew you didn't have one, and should be keeping yourself warm today -but then when I saw you hadn't found it yet, I gave you mine to wear anyways."
"Thank you, Sam," I breathed, "so much." I hesitated, then quickly pulled him into a one-armed hug. The feel of his chest pressed against my own could have been terribly addictive, so I hastily moved away. "I'm afraid I don't have anything for you," I said apologetically, "If I had known, I would have prepared you something."
"That's quite alright, Mr. Frodo," Sam grinned, "wasn't much, anyways."
"Oh, but it means the world to me, Sam," I replied, "it's only fair that I should give you something in return. Something to remember the first disastrous Yule having me as master." I was surprised by my boldness, but I couldn't help reaching over and drawing the blue cap down onto his head, adjusting it over his quite icy ears. "What would you like, Sam? Anything at all."
He took a deep breath. My hands fell to his shoulders, mittened fingertips brushing gently against his neck as if I couldn't get enough of him, couldn't stop touching him, no matter how wrong it was.
He shifted a little in his seat, and his knee pressed against mine. "There is something I'd like, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, his voice low.
"Yes?" I breathed, "What's that?"
"For you to play with me."
I choked. "I'm sorry?"
"Play with me. Hide and seek," he gestured across the gardens, never breaking eye contact with me. "Like we used to, but only just you and me."
I blinked at him. And here I was thinking he'd ask me for a new rake, or something for the garden.
I was the master of Bag End now, and the host of this gathering -I couldn't just run off. Besides, I was most certainly not dressed for crouching in the mud and frost somewhere, and it would hardly be becoming for a young gentlehobbit like myself to get about covered in muck. I opened my mouth to tell Sam all this.
"Yes," I said, huskier than I'd ever heard myself as I moved closer, my leg sliding along his. "Yes, all right."
Sam smiled. "But is that what you want, sir?"
I gazed at him, and for one breathtaking second, I saw the gardener in a way I never had before. Open and exposed and wanting. What he wanted, though was certainly not a nostalgic game of Hide and Seek, and it was exactly what I wanted, too. I could feel it. Suddenly, the urge to close the small gap that still lay between us was an ache. Sam had known all along. How had he? How did he manage to always get everything so right?
"Yes, Sam," I breathed, leaning even closer to him, and knew I was agreeing to much more than an innocent game. "I want it so much. More than anything."
Sam lowered his head a little, face shining with a brilliant smile.
"S-Sam, I want you to know-"
"Hush," he said gently, and took my hand into his own red-mittened one. "Not here. Why don't you go hide, and I'll come find you?"
I nodded, bemused, and forced myself to my feet, which protested shakily under my weight. "Go," I heard Sam's gentle voice as if from another world, and nodded again, not able to look at him as I made an attempt at collecting my wits enough to walk off across the frosty lawn.
But as I went, I could have sworn I heard Sam say: "Ready or not, Mr. Frodo -here I come."
I let my head fall back against the trunk and close my eyes. Sam will be here soon. He has to be. Where else would I hide? I bite my lip, feeling terribly foolish. Perhaps I'd read the situation all wrong after all?
My hand brushes absently against the rough bark behind me, and I press impulsively back into it, imagining a firm body, light pressure on my backside as I slowly slide down, feeling coarse, callused skin, palms gliding up my sides-
Just look at yourself, Frodo Baggins, I scold silently, moving away from the trunk and crouching. I draw my hands into my lap, trying not to press too high up. All of a bother, and Sam's not even here yet.
He will be here. He will.
"You're a naughty lad, Mr. Frodo," an amused voice reaches my ears, "-hiding all the way up there where I can't reach you."
Sam! I almost gasp it out loud. But I have to laugh, opening my eyes. 'All the way up there' is only a few feet off the ground, after all. Not even out of an arm's reach.
I glance down at him, and Sam puts his hands on his hips, looking me up and down in a way that immediately makes me forget my doubts of reading the situation wrong, and want to leap right from the tree into his arms.
"Well, I think I've found you, but are you going to make me come up and get you myself?"
"Of course, Sam," I reply boldly.
He gives me the slyest look I think I have ever seen, and lifts his hands to begin pulling himself up into the tree. I can't help myself: I reach down and offer him a hand. Sam takes it, and once he has placed a knee up on the lip of the bowl, right between my knees where I am crouched, I am able to hoist him up to me.
I fall back against the trunk, dragging Sam, his body landing heavily against my chest as I wrap both arms tight about his neck and kiss him.
"Mmmph!" Sam takes a moment to steady himself, regaining his balance before he winds his fingers in my coat and draws back. My heart clenches in fear that this has all been a mistake, but then his breath puffs hot against my face in an exhalation that sounds like it might be my name, and his head is tilting, his nose gently brushing along my cheek as he kisses me softly, then lunges forward and presses his open mouth against mine.
My arms wind tighter about his neck and he's kissing me hard, his tongue sweeping against mine and making me moan over and over. I have wanted this for so long. He is kneeling between my crouched legs, pushing me back against the trunk with the force of his kiss. I delve deep into his mouth, taking all of him. His heat is all around me and I'm dizzy with want. Wanting more, so much more. My mouth wanders down his jaw and neck, clumsy fingers pushing his scarf aside to allow access to the slightly moist skin beneath. His hands brush all the way up my sides, and I arch my back with the touch until he takes my red bobble-topped head between his palms and inhales deeply.
"Sam, Sam." I push my hands up into his hair, sliding under the blue cap on his head until it suddenly falls off, disappearing behind him somewhere. Sam makes a small sound of distress, and moves to fetch it, but I stop him. Get it later, Samwise. I lift my hands again to his hair.
But, bother, my mittens are in the way -I quickly bring them to my mouth and tug the offending garments off with my teeth and finally, finally my bare fingers touch his skin; caress his neck as I slide them up to thread through his hair.
His body pushes into mine, hot against the hardness in my trousers, and I throw my head back, shouting at the leaves above.
"Shh!" he hisses against my lips, then moves back slightly to press his fingers there. "Quiet, sir," he breathes, "or else we'll have bairns up here to check what the noise is about 'afore we know it."
I whimper piteously.
"It's hide and seek, remember, sir? We don't want to be found." His free hand slides slowly down my stomach and over the front of my breeches. "Can you be quiet for me?"
I jerk into his touch, gasping as he gives a light squeeze.
"Sam," I moan, and writhe as he starts rubbing along my length with the flat of his palm.
"Quiet, sir. Can you do that?"
I nod, and he lunges forward and kisses me, his tongue sweeping deep into my mouth. I clutch at him frantically, lifting my hips into him where he's hot and hard against me. Our mouths break apart, and he drags his lips down my throat.
"Hmm?" I don't even lift my head from where my tongue is exploring the skin behind his ear.
My hands dive under his jacket, tugging at his shirttails and sliding under, and oh yes, there's so much more skin here. He gasps, jerking into the touch of my bare hands on his chest.
His fingers are scrambling to slide between us, tugging off his mittens as he fumbles to get underneath my waistcoat and pull the shirt from my breeches. I arch back to allow him room. Yes. Yes, Sam. My hands glide up and over his nipples, and he moans into my shoulder, even as his callused palms finally reach my skin.
"I think," he swallows and tilts his mouth towards my ear, "that now you're It, Mr. Frodo."
I have to laugh, and move quickly to kiss him. He chuckles into my mouth, and I swallow it all, dragging him against me again as his rough palms slide over my skin.
But too soon, too soon, he's moving back, drawing himself out of the circle of my legs -when had I wrapped my calves around him? And I whimper in protest.
"Up," he's tugging on my collar, and I blink bemusedly at him for a few seconds before I realise he wants me to stand. Clumsily, I draw my feet under myself, and gradually, he manages to pull me upright.
"Now," he says, "if you can be quiet, I want you to do sommat for me."
"Do what?" I ask, paying far more attention to the hand that is slowly sliding down my stomach to my breeches buttons than to what he is saying.
"Close your eyes," the fingers of his free hand sweep over my eyelids, and they flutter shut, "and count to twenty."
I glance at him, cocking one eyebrow. He grins wryly.
"All right," I say distractedly -he is now gently easing my buttons from their holes, and I grope for him to attempt the same, "but why ever for, Sam?"
He bats my hands away from his buttons, jerking a little as I let them slide over the ridge beneath. "Because," he breathes, "You're It, Mr. Frodo, and I always play by the rules. Quietly now -one to twenty."
"Very well, Sam," I close my eyes once more, wondering what on earth he's up to. "One, two-"
Both of his hands slide to my breeches, one dipping just below the waistband as the other flicks the last button from its hole.
He pushes the flap down, reaching inside, and oh, how humiliating -I forgot: I'm wearing flannel underwear. Sam doesn't seem phased, however, and is quickly pulling them aside.
His rough palm reaches the skin of my lower belly, and I press up into him, arms winding about his neck as his fingers thread through curls and lower...
"S-sssix... ssseve Sam-"
"Shhh," he breathes against my mouth, then begins kissing his way over my jaw and down my neck as his fingers curl about my hardness.
"Shh!" he hisses again, and suddenly, he is sliding down. I let my head fall against the tree trunk at my back. "Nineteneleventwelve-" I breathe in a rush.
He's on his knees, and his fingers release my shaft so it stands up stiff in front of his face. Yes, yes -I need this so much right now.
"Sam, please!" I breathe.
He glances up at me. "Keep counting." And he moves forward, mouth grazing along my hardness.
Whoever said it was an unlucky number? His hands are on my hips, guiding me and holding me steady as he brings his mouth to the tip of my arousal and kisses it lightly.
Fourteen hisses through my teeth, and one of my trembling hands buries into his hair. Fifteen -his lips slowly part over me, and he must know I won't last long. I'm leaking already; he laps it up with his tongue, and oh, if he thinks I'll keep quiet...
"Shhh," he breathes onto my flesh, and holds me up by my hips as he plunges down onto me, taking all of me inside. My forearm flies up to my mouth, and I bite fiercely on my coat sleeve, trying not to bellow so loud the whole of Hobbiton will come charging up the Hill.
"Seventeen," I choke around my sleeve, "Sam, I can't! I can't I can't-"
He strokes my hip and hums sympathetically. I want to scream. Oh, I don't care if the whole Shire finds us, just as long as he keeps doing it -keeps bobbing up and down along my length, lapping and suckling, his throat working every time I'm thrust deep inside.
"Eighteennineteen!" I can't believe I'm still counting. Both of my hands wind deep into Sam's hair, urging him faster. I'm panting hard, my throat aching from holding back the screams. Almost, almost-
"Twenty! Twenty, Sam!"
He must have been waiting for it -with twenty he increases his pace and suction. My hips jerk franticly, and I let out a loud moan.
Ready or not, Sam -here I, here I...
My head rolls on my neck, slamming hard against the tree as white flashes across my eyes and I peak spectacularly, spilling into Sam's mouth, bursting until I'm empty, riding the waves of my spasming muscles as I'm completely spent and fall, right out of the tree and into oblivion.
When I open my eyes, I'm sitting in the oak's bowl -oh, so I didn't fall out- and Sam is before me, gently stroking my face. My whole body is buzzing. He's looking at me with such concern and care that I can only smile at him.
"Here I come," I whisper.
He grins. "That you did."
I raise my hand to rub at the aching spot on the back of my head where I struck it against the tree and find that, amazingly, the bobble-topped hat is still in place.
"Frodo? Are you all right?"
"Never better," I breathe softly, and it's true. My heart is swelling in my chest, knowing that this moment will be one I lock away in my mind, to be called upon in every dark hour for the rest of my life.
But all isn't quite perfect yet. My eyes rove down, lingering on the prominent hardness in his breeches. I lean forward until my nose brushes along his cheek and breathe into his ear: "Soon, Sam, I'm going to walk with you down the hill, and we will say farewell to our guests. Then, I am going to pull you into Bag End, and we will spend the rest of the day celebrating Yule properly. But for now..." I slide my hand up the inside of his thigh, and he quivers and jerks under my touch. "You're It, Sam."
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