West of the Moon

A Tolkien Fanfiction Archive



When Merry invites both Frodo and Sam to Buckland for Beltane, Sam finds that the Brandybuck knows quite a bit more than he lets on. Features voyeuristic!Merry, lots of dancing, and of course the bonfires.
Author: Amrunofthesummercountry
Rating: R


A/N: This fic is dedicated to the great Tigerlily Grubb and Ruby Nye, who first turned me on to Sam/Merry. The little blurb that Frodo sings is sung by the Medieval Babes, but I misplaced the lyrics case and cannot find the original lyricist ::slaps forehead:: Also, I replaced 'April' with 'Astron', as it is more hobbity. Same goes for the First of Thrimidge, which in our world is the first of May, or Beltane. Finally, I'm taking artistic license and allowing Sam to travel to Buckland, though I'm almost certain he hadn't been so far in Tolkien's works.


Sam's gaffer had always warned him that Buckland folk were queer. They were a rowdy bunch, and prone to fool wanderings, Sam had often been told. More often than not, these grumblings came about whenever Merry Brandybuck went to visit Frodo; Sam was hard put not to agree with his gaffer, then, what with Merry's fey and strange doings going on at all hours of the night. The last time Merry had visited Bag End, not a week earlier, an event even queerer than normal occurred: Merry invited Frodo to Buckland to celebrate to the first of Thrimidge, and what was more he had insisted that Sam come along as well. Oh, but the Gaffer had had some grumblings then. In fact, Gaffer Gamgee had managed to fluster his son so completely that Sam went to work in the gardens the next day with his mind made up to tell Mr. Merry that yes, it was a kind invitation and all, but no, Sam's duties wouldn't allow him to be gone for so long.

Of course, that had been before Frodo had come outside and lay out amongst the new spring flowers to watch Sam work. Could anyone work properly with those eyes on them? Ah, Sam had tried, but then his dear Master had begun to hum and then to sing to himself. Sam forced himself to continue his work, though the pure tenor of Frodo's voice was sending shivers through his body.

When the nightingale sings
And the woods wax green
I expect, the leaves and the blades of grass,
And blossoms to spring up, in Astron...

Frodo trailed off and remained quiet for so long that Sam cleared his throat and said 'Lovely song you've got there, Mr. Frodo. Is there aught I can do for you?'

Frodo smiled and blinked up at the morning sun. "Never mind me, Sam; I am simply basking in the quiet before Merry rouses himself from that cavern he has the audacity to call a bedroom."

Sam chuckled, and Frodo looked at him keenly.

"Am I going to have to tell him that the garden cannot be left for a trip to Buckland?" The tone was teasing, but Sam flushed and pretended to be fascinated by the weeds he was pulling.

"Now Mr. Frodo, you know I've not been out that far....and I wouldn't want to be taking Mr. Pippin's place on the way there..."

"Nonsense, Sam, didn't Merry tell you?" Frodo asked as he sat up. "Pippin caught a nasty bit of the flu and is currently under house arrest until he recovers."

"Daresay I don't envy whoever has the job of keeping him there," Sam muttered.

Frodo laughed. "Nor I. At any rate you wouldn't be taking anyone's place; I've wanted to invite you for a few years, now."

That brought Sam up short. "You have?" he asked incredulously.

Frodo's cheeks tinged pink, but he nodded. "Yes, but somehow I always forget or get too busy and well....to be honest, Sam, the days quite get away from me and by the time I remember the first of Thrimidge its already past." He frowned. "I suppose that's why Merry rode all the way here with the invitation..."

Sam was quiet for a moment, and then sighed inwardly. "Alright, Mr. Frodo; I'll see if I can't find someone to mind the gardens while I'm gone, then."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Valar had blessed this year's celebration, Sam thought as he watched the drummers take their places by the bonfire. He suspected it was sweltering by the fire; he worried faintly about his dear master, who was practically bouncing with excitement in the dancing circle. Frodo had asked Sam to join him, but Sam had steadfastly refused. He felt strange enough in Buckland, and was quite comfortable under a sturdy oak tree. There was a breeze that night. It brushed across Sam's cheek soothingly and made the leaves above his head sing and sigh. It also made the flames dance, and more than once lasses had to leap back with a squeal to keep their wispy petticoats and unbound hair from catching a spark.

One of the drummers began to play, a simple, even beat. The lads and lasses that had been milling around waiting for the dancing to begin broke into a loud cheer. Frodo himself broke into a grin and let out a loud whoop. Sam smiled; it was rare that Frodo ever showed such lack of restraint. Too often Frodo was quiet and thoughtful, elvish in his speech and mannerisms. Not that Sam didn't love that side of his master; he did, and dearly. But this new, carefree side of Frodo that Sam got to see so rarely was exciting, and served to further enflame the fire of passion that burned within Sam's heart and mind.

Slowly, the other drummers joined in, building the music up, making it louder and louder until Sam could feel it pulsing in his ears in time to the beating of his heart. There was a blur of movement as the dancers rushed to join hands. Frodo was caught between a gangly young lad and one of the most beautiful lasses Sam had ever laid eyes on. Her hair swung about her shapely shoulders in wheat colored waves that seemed to change tone in the flickering firelight. The low plunging bodice of her cherry red gown showed off her long white neck and the swollen tops of her generous breasts. The skirt she wore was made of a light material that swirled about her hips every time she took a step. She smiled at Frodo coyly and her dark eyes seemed to flash when he smiled back. Sam felt a flash of jealousy as she threaded her fingers through Frodo's.

The drummers began to beat their instruments more swiftly, and the dancers began to circle round the fire. Sam noticed that one of the older ladies was also tapping a tambourine against her hip. With surprise he realized that it was Esmerelda, Merry's mother and Mistress Brandybuck herself. Merry's father was perched on a wooden stool next to her. A beautiful fiddle was in his lap, and after the dancers had circled several times he raised the instrument and began to play. Sam smiled to himself, full of wonder. Imagine the Master and Mistress playing music for the common folk!

By now the circle had been broken, and hobbits were dancing in couples. Frodo was partnered with the beautiful hobbit lass who seemed so set on wooing him for the night. His hands were low about her waist; any other night such a display would have been deemed unseemly by decent folk. Sam twisted his hands in his lap as Frodo swung his lass about then tucked her close into his body. They were a fine couple, to be sure; Sam wasn't the only one watching them. Several of those without partners were standing off to the side, clapping along rhythmically and plainly staring at Frodo Baggins and the lass Samwise couldn't name.

"Can I get you a drink, darlin'?"

Sam jumped and the servant girl who had startled him tittered. Sam blushed and ducked his head. The lass giggled again as Sam mumbled some sort of apology and absolutely refused to meet her eyes.

"You're sitting up here all alone, poor thing," purred the lass.

Sam shrugged his shoulders and heard the rustling of fabric as the girl sat down beside him.

"Why don't you tell me your name, eh?" the lass asked. Sam glanced at her quickly, just long enough to see that she was dark haired, pleasant looking, and grinning at him. He vaguely recognized her as the servant girl who had shown him and Frodo to their rooms when they arrived the day before. Sam bit his lip. He hoped that she didn't expect him to know her.

When Sam failed to answer, the lass pressed. "You're Mr. Baggins' quiet lad, aren't ya?"

*Mr. Baggins' lad.* Sam blushed redder at that, and nodded. The lass clapped her hands joyfully.

"I knew I remembered you from somewhere. You'll have to forgive me; I can't remember your name, darlin'."

"Oh...er...Samwise, miss."

"Samwise, eh? Good."

What exactly the lass meant by 'good' she didn't say. She only leaned closer to Sam and continued. "I'm Violet."

"Right nice to meet you, Miss Violet," Sam mumbled.

Violet was quiet for a minute, and Sam could feel her eyes on him. It made him dreadfully uncomfortable and he began to fidget where he sat. Finally he looked up at her, and that was apparently what the lass wanted for she smiled at him and turned her attention to the bonfire.

"Oooh," she breathed. "Isn't your Mr. Baggins a tasty sight..."

Sam jerked his eyes over to the bonfire. Somehow Frodo and several of the other lads had lost their shirts and were dancing about bare chested. Sam leapt up with indignation.

"Mr. Frodo, what's he doing out there like that! Folk are gawking at him; he oughtn't be out there like-"

"'Course folk are gawking at him!" Violet exclaimed, standing up as well. "He's a fine body to gawk at! You worry too much, and you're too quiet." She put her hands on her hips and regarded him critically. "Are all you Hobbiton hobbits so concerned with the modesty of your masters? Surely you're not so young that you don't know what this festival is about?"

"Surely you ain't so cheeky a lass as to ask a hobbit you scarcely know those questions," Sam retorted, half expecting Violet to storm off in a huff at those words. Instead she giggled again and reached out to grasp his arm.

"I'll go grab you a mug, Samwise, then I'll leave you be. I can see in your face that you're given to another, though if that other leaves you cold tonight I'll let you know where you can find me."

Then with a wink she was gone, off to the beer taps that were being steadily emptied as the night wore on. When she brought him his ale, Sam thanked her and listened politely as she told him where she'd be for the rest of the evening. He even dutifully repeated her when she asked him to. She skipped off to join the dancers, and the site of Frodo dancing in the firelight drove any thought of the bold Violet from Sam's mind.

For all her beauty, the hobbit lass that Frodo was dancing was but a weed next to the rose that was Frodo. His dark curls glinted red as he spun about with his partner. His dusty nipples stood out on his pale skin, and as the couple spun faster Frodo threw back his head and laughed, exposing a white throat covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Ah, but he was lovely, from the laughter in his eyes to the swaying of his narrow hips.

 The figures around the fire became blurred against the bright light. Sam started, and, realizing that he had been staring, felt his face grow hot. He had been losing himself to daydreams and had completely lost track of the passage of time. How long had he been sitting there, staring into the fire and imagining that it was not a lass dancing with Frodo, but Sam himself...

Sam shifted on the grass and took a long gulp from his cup then looked back at the bonfire to find Frodo staring directly at him. The lass had gone off somewhere, leaving Frodo looking rather lonely by the fireside. In fact, many of the hobbits had seemingly vanished; only a few couples remained dancing. From the other side of the tree, a sudden girlish giggle came; Sam realized with a blush where the other hobbits had gone. It was the first of Thrimidge, after all, and it was more than the fields that needed blessings for fertility....

Sam's blush intensified as Frodo's lips curled up into a soft smile that made Sam's heart speed up and his palms sweat. Sam swallowed heavily (oh, but Frodo was beautiful, so beautiful...) and shyly smiled back. Frodo's own smile grew at that, and he opened his mouth as if to say something.

*He's going to ask me to dance with him.* Sam's entire body tensed and his breath caught. Frodo, dance with him on the first of Thrimidge? The excitement was almost too much. Only the absolute terror of tripping over his own fool feet kept Sam rooted to the ground. Let Frodo speak first. Let him give the invitation, then...

Out of nowhere ran young lass, a Took judging by her flaming red hair. With a squeal of delight she grabbed Frodo by the hand and dragged him into a dance. Frodo laughed, and cast Sam what looked like an apologetic look over his shoulder before returning his attention to his new partner.

Sam let out his breath with a sigh of disappointment. He'd been imagining things, of course. Frodo was most likely going to give a friendly shout to him, like 'Fantastic night, isn't it, Sam?' or worse yet 'Sam, have you any clue as to the whereabouts of that beautiful young hobbit I was just dancing with?' Of course; that had to be it. Sam had been a fool to think otherwise, a fool to believe even for a moment that Frodo would ever-

"Don't you want to have a dance, Sam?"

At the sound of Merry's voice, Sam jumped a mile for the second time that night and immediately regretted it as the Brandybuck let loose a boisterous laugh and sat down beside the frazzled gardener.

"I would think you'd be quite good at it, Sam, old boy. You've put out quite a few of the lasses, you know; ignoring their simpering looks and staring at Frodo all the night long." Merry chuckled at Sam's mortified look and stole Sam's cup from Sam's hand, downing it with a single swallow.

"Oh, don't take on so, Sam!" Merry exclaimed. "I highly doubt that anyone but me has noticed. You staring at Frodo, I mean. I'm certain everyone saw those silly mooning eyes the lasses were making at you..." He paused and looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye. "If I was not so sure that you'd think it rude, I would say that you've sat in this same spot all evening."

Sam bit his lip. He *had* been sitting in the same spot nearly all evening; it hadn't occurred to him that it may appear rude to these Buckland folk, especially to Merry who had invited him after all.

"I didn't mean no harm by it, Mr. Merry," Sam said, pulling at his curls nervously. "Just didn't want to be puttin' myself forward where I wasn't wanted, more like....and I'm clumsy, see? I wouldn't want to be troddin' all over anybody's feet, least of all-"

Merry interrupted him with a much exaggerated sigh. Sam shut his mouth quickly and ducked his head, feeling generally stupid and uncomfortable. But then Merry turned to him with a grin and chuckled.

"Poor Sam," Merry said with a shake of his head. "I'm making you feel even worse, aren't I? Well, you shouldn't worry about it. I only noticed because *I've* been watching you most of the night."

That made Sam look up with a jolt. He looked at Merry suspiciously, but Merry was regarding him with an amused look. What an odd thing for Frodo's young cousin to say. Why should Merry be watching Sam?

"Sir?" Sam queried cautiously.

"I think that you're lonely," Merry declared. He scooted closer, so that his thigh was touching Sam's, and leaned forward conspiratorially. "I know Frodo is lonely. And neither of you have to be."

Sam stared at Merry, completely aghast. What was this foolhardy Brandybuck getting at? Frodo, lonely? Why should he be? With a sickening knot in his stomach, Sam began to wonder if this was one of Merry's less amusing pranks. However, Merry's face was serious as he continued.

"I care for you both. Yes," Merry slid even closer, so that now his entire side was pressed along Sam's. "You as well, Sam. Frodo is my dear cousin, and you make his face light up with joy whenever he so much as speaks of you. No, don't try to argue otherwise. I used to be jealous of you, Sam."

Sam was feeling uncomfortable again, but now it was for an entirely different reason. Merry's voice had gotten lower and lower as he spoke, and he had moved his face closer and closer to Sam's as well. The feeling of warm, wine spiced breath against his neck sent a pleasant jolt through Sam's body. And had Merry just said that he used to be jealous...of *him*, Sam Gamgee? Perhaps that wine had been stronger than previously thought...or maybe it was the Gods having a little Thrimidge fun. Either way, Sam realized that he hadn't said something in quite some time, and that he was most likely sitting there gaping like a buffoon.

"Me, sir?" Sam's voice sounded huskier than he would have liked it to, but Merry didn't seem to notice.

"When I was younger, of course," Merry said. "I thought you were stealing my cousin from me. Whenever he'd come to visit, he would always have scores of new stories about the adventures you two would have."

Sam chuckled. "Can't say as I remember any 'adventures', Mr. Merry."

"No? Frodo always told me about walking tours you would go on, or books that you would read together, or incidents that would happen at the Green Dragon. None of that happened?"

"Oh, aye, we did those things, sure enough. Never thought of them as 'adventures', though." Sam smiled, remembering. "Though once Mr. Frodo did fend off a mean old badger in the orchard one day, and he was as fierce as any elven hero in Mr. Bilbo's tales at that. Threw an apple at the poor thing from twenty yards away, he did, and hit 'im too."

At that, Merry threw back his head and laughed so loudly that several of the few couples remaining looked over with raised eyebrows. Sam laughed quietly to himself. He felt better than he had only minutes before. Both Merry and Frodo seemed to have a talent for making people feel at ease; with fondness Sam thought that Merry must have picked it up from his elder cousin. Frodo was that special.

"Sam my lad, the way you said that..." Merry trailed off, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. Beaming, he slung an arm around the gardener's shoulders as if they'd been good friends for years.

"Let me tell you a secret," Merry whispered. "I know..." His fingers played at Sam's collar absently; Sam wondered fleetingly just how much wine Merry had had. "...that Frodo cares more for you than he does anyone else in the Shire."

Sam flushed and looked down at the earth beneath his toes. Still, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Now, I wouldn't go sayin' that, sir. There'd be you and Mr. Pippin as well, and you're kin of his."

"And," Merry continued as if Sam hadn't spoken. "I know something else. Would you like me to tell you, Sam?"

That last was spoken with a deep, smoldering ring. Sam felt heat course through his body; Merry had slipped into a voice that normally would be reserved for the bedroom. With a gulp, Sam raised his eyes to meet Merry's. They were dark in the firelight. The drums had stopped. Sam's voice seemed to have vanished as well.

Suddenly, Merry's lips were on Sam's, hot and dry and as familiar as you please. Just as suddenly they were gone, and if it were not for the tingling of his lips and belly Sam would have doubted it happened at all.

"Would you like me to tell you?" Merry repeated. Somewhere off among the trees a masculine cry rang out. The dancing may have stopped, but the festivities were just beginning. Where had Frodo gone to? Was he out there with some lass, celebrating? The thought made Sam's insides twist with jealousy, but Merry was still looking at him expectantly. Sam licked his lips, and nodded.

Merry smiled. "Very well. I shall tell you. Watch the fire."

Sam frowned, but did as instructed. The circle was nearly deserted, save for a few old hobbits who were minding the blaze. Suddenly Merry's arm and warmth were removed. Disappointment sparked in Sam for a moment, but then the heat settled at Sam's back. After some readjusting, Merry's hands rested on Sam's shoulders and began kneading gently.

"A week ago, on the first day I came to visit, do you remember?"

"Aye, that I do," Sam replied. Oh, what his gaffer would say if saw the future head of Buckland giving a Gamgee a shoulder rub. Still, it was difficult to feel guilty when skillful hands were melting away a day's stress. And it was a holiday, after all, and Merry was a friend, wasn't he? A gentry friend, but a friend nonetheless.

"Well, that night it was very warm if you'll recall. So warm in fact that I tossed and turned all night."

"Aye, it was at that." Sam had been awake as well, but that had been mostly due to the knowledge that Frodo usually slept in the nude in hot weather...that and what that knowledge had led to. But Sam dared not say that to Merry, even if the Bucklander's hands were now moving down over Sam's shoulders and working at the buttons of Sam's rough homespun shirt.

"I gave up at last and got up to stretch my legs and perhaps open a few of the blasted windows; you know how Frodo forgets to open them...." Three buttons were open, and Merry's fingers were stroking lightly over the exposed skin. Sam gasped, and Merry gave a low chuckle.

"He...he doesn't like it...." Sam struggled to regain his thoughts. "..doesn't like the wind blowin' his papers about."

"Of course he doesn't; but a hot smial needs air...anyway, I walked down the hallway as quietly as I could. I had no wish to disturb my dear cousin, after all...."


Merry's questing fingers slipped beneath the shirt and found one taut nipple. Sam gasped again as it was stroked and pinched.

"As I walked," Merry continued, his voice gone husky. His lips were very near to Sam's ear; Sam barely managed to suppress a moan as warm air tickled his ear lobe. "...I passed Frodo's room, and I heard the strangest sound. Like a muffled cry, really...."

Merry's legs slid to either side of Sam's hips and it was rather obvious that he was in the same state as Sam. Merry's hands finished unbuttoning the shirt and suddenly there was hot skin against Sam's back: Merry was either shirtless or nude. Sam did not dare move his hands to his friend's legs to see. He kept his eyes trained to the fire, and struggled to keep his breathing under control.

"At first I thought nothing of it." Sam shifted slightly and it was Merry's turn to gasp. He paused to catch his breath, and then continued. "I thought nothing of it at first, but then I heard it again. Frodo's voice; it was unmistakable. And it was not just some wordless cry; it was someone's name...the door was open a crack, just the tiniest bit and I...I caught a glimpse. He was crying someone's name as he stroked himself."

"Frodo!" The name escaped in a breathless gasp before Sam could stop it. He must be dreaming. There was no possible way that this could be real. He had had too much to drink and was asleep under that tree, most likely murmuring all kinds of embarrassing things. It was a dream, a wonderful, beautiful dream....

Suddenly there was liquid heat at the crook of Sam's neck. He shivered pleasantly as Merry licked and suckled at the sensitive skin. With a sharp intake of breath Sam tilted his head to allow Merry better access. Soft bronze curls tickled his throat, and Merry's hands slid deliciously up Sam's sides.

"Hmm..." Merry hummed, removing his mouth with a wet smack of his lips. "I've not told you the best part yet." His hands slid back down Sam's sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. "The name that Frodo was saying..." Nimble fingers danced over Sam's thighs, heading closer and closer to the place that Sam so longed to be touched. "Can you guess..."  Merry drew a single finger over the cloth covered ridge between Sam's legs, eliciting a sharp whimper from the gardener. "...what it was?"

Sam shook his head, his breathing coming fast. Merry's fingers continued to ghost teasingly over hot and swollen flesh and it was driving Sam mad. Merry chuckled and Sam felt the vibrations from it against his back. Merry wanted to play, did he? Well, two could play at this game. Sam growled low in his throat and pressed his lower body tight against Merry's. The Brandybuck gasped and his fingers faltered. Sam smiled triumphantly and moved his hips ever so slightly. Merry groaned and gave Sam a light swat on the shoulder.

"Let me finish telling you, you wicked Gamgee," Merry protested, applying his mouth once again to Sam's neck.

"Wicked Brandybuck," Sam retorted cheekily. His eyes fell shut and he moaned softly as Merry nipped him, then soothed the spot with his tongue. There was a feather light touch against Sam's cheek, a tender caress that Sam leaned into.

"Frodo..." he whispered.

"Sam," a voice whispered back, breath tickling Sam's cheek. It was not Merry's voice. Sam's eyes flew open and met with blue eyes dark with desire. Frodo knelt beside them. One hand caressed Sam's face; the other gripped one of Merry's hands. Sam stared into Frodo's eyes. He could not breathe for the beauty and love he saw shining in them.

"Sam," Merry mumbled, giving Sam a kiss on the cheek. "How do you feel about Frodo?"

Sam's mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments before he finally managed to speak. "Oh," he said. "Oh, but I love him. I love him."

Frodo broke into laughter and flung his arms around both Sam and Merry, hugging them tightly. Then Frodo grabbed Merry by the back of the neck and pulled him into a rough kiss over Sam's shoulder. Sam watched with a tiny bit of jealousy and quite a bit of desire as the two cousins delved into each other's mouths. Finally, Frodo pulled back.

"Thank you," Frodo whispered to his cousin. Merry simply grinned.

Frodo stood and regarded Sam and Merry warmly for a moment. "You are lovely, both of you," he said. "And I love you so." With that he began to shuck off his breeches. Merry kissed the back of Sam's neck and moved his hands to Sam's trouser buttons.

"I daresay we shan't be needing these," Merry purred. Sam's breath was ragged, his skin alive with sensation. He could not take his eyes off of Frodo as the elder hobbit slid his breeches and small clothes down over his slender hips and onto the ground.

"Oh, glory..." Breathed Sam.

"Glory indeed," Merry whispered. Frodo was already flushed and aroused; his skin looked scarlet in the firelight. In all his life, Sam never forgot that image. Nor did he forget the feeling of anticipation and fear that coursed through him as Frodo walked over and straddled Sam's lap.

"Frodo..."Sam raised his hands timidly to Frodo's waist. Frodo's skin was warm and impossibly soft. Sam had a sudden urge to lay kisses all over it, and whimpered at the thought that he was going to be allowed to.

"Oh, Sam," whispered Frodo. He took Sam's face gently between his hands and ever so softly brought their mouths together. They broke apart for a moment, and then came back together, mouths open and desperate. Sam had never been kissed in that way, and he worried briefly that his inexperience would put Frodo off; but Frodo made a sound of pleasure and moved his arms around Sam's neck, pulling him in closer still and turning his head so they fit together better.

Merry's hands were now trapped between Frodo and Sam, and a sudden flick of his wrist caused Frodo to break away from the kiss and gasp his cousin's name.

"Did you forget about me, Mr. Baggins?" Merry asked with laughter in his voice.

"Never," gasped Frodo. "But Sam...I want...oh!" He kissed Sam again and rocked against him. Sam moaned and suddenly, but gently, pushed Frodo back.

"Frodo, I...need..." He tugged at the waistband of his trousers helplessly.

Frodo smiled. "Off." Sam swallowed heavily and nodded.

"That," Merry said indignantly, "is exactly what I was *trying* to do." He untangled himself from Sam and stood up, which gave Frodo room to ease Sam onto his back on the grass. As Frodo worked to get the stubborn clothing down and off, Sam cast a glance backwards at Merry. The Brandybuck shot him a fiery look and leaned back against the tree, fumbling to get his smallclothes off (which was all that he had on; that was one mystery solved). Frodo paused his frantic hands to give his cousin a curious look.

"No worries, Frodo," Merry said with a gasp as he kicked his smallclothes to the side and took himself in hand. "I..." He gave himself a long, slow stroke and let out a shuddering breath. "...want to watch."

Sam groaned, his mind dizzy with arousal. "Frodo," he whimpered, running his hands over his beloved's back and delighting in the shiver that his ministrations caused.

"Say that again," Frodo pleaded, placing a wet kiss first on Sam's willing mouth and then on his throat, working his way downwards.

"Frodo, me dear," cried Sam, lifting his hips as Frodo gave a final pull and off came the last bit of fabric separating them. Frodo hooked his legs around Sam's and slid his body back up Sam's so that their lower bodies aligned. The touch of Frodo's most intimate spot brushing his own was too much for Sam, and Frodo kissed him as he came, swallowing his cries with tongue and lips.

It was a while before Sam could see again, and what a sight it was. Frodo still sitting atop him, his ebony curls shining in the firelight; Frodo's lips were swollen and red, and small pleasure noises escaped from between them as he thrust needfully against Sam's sated body. Still half in a daze, Sam raised his hands to grasp his lover's bottom, running his fingers over the soft flesh and down to the back of Frodo's tense thighs.

"S-sam," cried Frodo. "Say my name again for me, please."

Sam smiled and raised one hand to trace Frodo's flushed and sweat dampened cheek. "Frodo, love."

Frodo threw back his head and arched his back, shouting something in elvish that Sam didn't quite understand. Warmth spread between them once again, and Sam leaned up to kiss Frodo's mouth, but missed and kissed his shoulder instead. Frodo collapsed on top of Sam and buried his face in his love's shoulder, still breathing rapidly.

"Sam," Frodo stammered. "Sam...my Sam..."

"Yours." Sam turned his face to nip and lick at the side of Frodo's neck. Happiness coursed through him like a heady wine. At that moment the sky could have fallen and Sam would have thought nothing of it.

Frodo let out a long shuddery breath, then chuckled. "We've made quite a mess of ourselves," he said at length. "Haven't we, Master Gamgee?"

"Oh, are you two finished for the moment?" Merry's voice was wavery and a little bit sleepy. Frodo rolled so he was laying along side his lover, and he and Sam looked over at the Brandybuck. Merry was grinning at them from beneath smoky eyes and running his hands over his own thighs languidly. His sweat glazed chest was still rising and falling quickly and his cheeks were flushed, but he had already peaked on his own and was basking in the afterglow. "I would never have guessed. You certainly are a quiet one, cousin."

Frodo caught the sarcasm and blushed. Sam wondered if Frodo's skin tasted any different, flushed red like that. Nothing for it; there was only one way to find out (not that Sam was opposed to that one way).

Frodo looked fondly amused when Sam sneaked around his shoulder to kiss his cheek. When Sam continued to plant moist kisses along Frodo's jaw and behind one pointed ear, the amused look melted into one of warm contentment. With a hum of pleasure Frodo turned so he was facing Sam, and stretched luxuriously up against the younger hobbit, finding Sam's mouth as he did so.

"Ah!" Merry exclaimed. "Is he purring yet, Samwise?" Merry's tone was teasing, but his voice had gone husky all over again.

Frodo tore his mouth away from Sam's long enough to extend a hand back towards Merry and say "You, voyeur, come here."

Merry chuckled deep in his throat. "As you wish."


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