West of the Moon

A Tolkien Fanfiction Archive



Sam has a task to complete before Frodo returns.
Author: Blackbird Song
Rating: NC-17


"There you are!" Carefully, slowly, Sam plucked his prize from the branch. It had to remain perfect, unmarred by carelessness. He examined it, smiled and eased it into the silk pouch that hung round his waist, searching the surrounding branches to be sure there were no more before starting his journey back down. The height was dizzying for him, the view breathtaking as the sun caught the water in the distance past the cloud-shadow on the hills. He felt as though he'd give anything to be able to set that sight in song or story, his mind thinking to set on trying, but he knew he shouldn't dawdle before returning to the one who could. He had a long journey home and a task awaiting him at its end.

He climbed down with great care, keeping the pouch away from the rough bark and stray branches. He didn't pause in his descent. He'd managed to keep the terror away long enough to enjoy the view from the top without thinking about the fact that it was the top. The memory of Frodo's response when he'd asked him to bugger him senseless kept his spirits light, as well. He smiled as he recalled Frodo's shock at such language, even though there'd been a twinkle in his eye that belied his prudery.

He turned his attention back to returning to the firm ground hand-by-hand and foot-by-foot, hoping that he would live to see Frodo again at the end of it. "Wouldn't do to fall out of this great tree after the journey here, would it, Samwise?" he muttered to himself, staving off a wave of fear as he caught another glimpse of the water in the distance. When at last he reached the ground, he set off for home, counting off the supplies in his head, then nodded, satisfied that he needn't stop along the way.

At home, he set himself to the task of laying everything he would need on the table of his small room, lighting three candles despite the bright light remaining. When he was sure that everything was ready, he sat down and pulled his harvest from his pouch.

Frodo arrived home late at night, as near to exhaustion after his journey as he could fathom. With a weary sigh, he shed his pack and hung his night-damp cloak near the door. He moved quietly, stealing into the kitchen for water and a piece of bread, which he chewed with gratitude. "Bless you, Sam," he murmured to himself. Stomach still rumbling, he cut off a thick slice of cheese and quaffed more water. "Perhaps now I can steal into bed without your waking him," he murmured, prodding his belly.

He pushed back with care from the kitchen table and crept into the corridor, leaving the dishes for the morning. I've broken a few too many for Sam's liking after such days, he thought, smiling.

He walked into the bedroom. It seemed strangely silent and cold, and he saw quickly that no fire had been laid that night, and Sam was nowhere inside it. The bed was still made, no water glass sat on the night table. "Sam?" he said, his quiet voice a thunder in his ears in the silence of the smial.

When he heard no answering voice, he made his way back to the corridor, searching the rooms as he went. There was no sign of Sam, despite his calls. As he began to worry, he caught a flicker of light under the door of Sam's rarely used private room. They'd set it aside when Sam had moved in, reasoning that everyone needed some privacy now and again. This room was the deepest in the smial, affording protection from the thunderstorms that still frightened Sam. Frodo smiled. "Of course," he murmured. He'd seen the lightning retreating into the distance as he'd returned, though he'd not encountered bad weather on his journey.

He opened the door without a sound. As he'd suspected, Sam had fallen asleep at the table. He smiled and moved to him, reaching to touch him on the shoulder. He stopped, though, letting his hand drop as he saw the knife, the bandage on Sam's hand and the feathers on the table. "S--!" He bit back the rest of the name as he saw more of the feathers. He looked more closely at the knife near Sam's bandaged right hand. He's been making writing quills! He plucked one of the quills from table and examined it. It had been tested, he noted, as there was ink colouring its tip. A broad smile overtook his face. He dipped the quill into the ink and found the test parchment Sam had been using. As always, he had to set his hand at an awkward angle, accommodating his missing finger. However, he took pleasure in feeling the smooth glide of the nib over the parchment as he wrote:

'This is a lovely quill, Sam. You must show me what you've written with all of these, once you're finished. In the meantime, dearest, please come to bed and let me cherish you and your poor hand. Frodo.'

He placed the quill over the edge of the parchment, and laid a soft kiss on Sam's temple, stealing from the room and back to the bedroom as quickly as he could, knowing that Sam would wake soon after the kiss to find the note.

He undressed and slid between the sheets, smiling again as he heard the door to Sam's room open and close, and the soft padding of much-loved feet making their way towards the bedroom. He quivered in anticipation as the footsteps neared, and then frowned as they began to fade towards the kitchen. Was his hand worrying him? That must be it. It was all too easy to cut oneself while making quills, and from where the bandage had been, it looked as though the knife had bitten into the webbing between his fingers. Frodo winced in sympathy. Then he frowned. It was the right hand that had been bandaged. How could he have cut himself there whilst cutting nibs? He shook his head. It must have been a different sort of accident, altogether.

He heard the sound of water splashing in the sink. Sam must be cleaning the wound before bed. But why in the kitchen? Everything he'd need to do that could be found in the privy, if he didn't want to use the water on the washstand in their bedroom. Frodo sighed. "You're just impatient to see him after ten days away," he murmured to himself. He smirked, recognizing that he'd acquired Sam's long-standing habit of talking to himself. "Took long enough," he couldn't resist adding. He settled himself back against the pillows with a sigh as he realized that he would not be allowed to tend to Sam's hand. "T'ain't my place," he whispered with a smile.

Frodo woke a few minutes later to the feel of Sam slipping his arms around him and pressing his naked body against him. "Sam!" It was a sigh of love and relief.

"Frodo," sighed Sam against his lover's neck. "Welcome home, love."

Frodo pressed back against him, relishing the feel of him against his back for a moment before turning to embrace him, tangling their limbs together and kissing him deeply, breathing him in. "Oh Sam, I've missed you so."

"You're home early," murmured Sam, winding himself closer around Frodo and dropping kisses on his face.

"I couldn't bear to stay away longer. Silly, isn't it? After all this time." He nuzzled his face against Sam's, returning his kisses, pressing close against him.

"No more silly'n I am," Sam managed, finding Frodo's mouth and melting into his kiss.

Frodo arched against Sam, hardening further as cocks met and greeted each other. "Dearest Sam! What do you want, love? Anything..."

"You." He kissed Frodo. "In me." He rolled onto his back, taking Frodo with him without breaking their kiss.

Frodo gasped, his cock twitching hard against Sam's. "Nothing could make me happier," he said huskily against Sam's mouth. He kissed Sam deeply as he fumbled for the oil.

"Mmm... love..." Sam handed Frodo a flask. "I refilled it just now."

Frodo laughed. "So that's why you went to the kitchen! My Sam..." He caressed Sam's face and kissed him again, tenderly at first, though it quickly turned into more of a demand. Gasping, he unstopped the flask, pouring a little onto his fingers one-handed through long practice before replacing the stop and letting Sam put it on the night table. He took barely a moment to spread the oil over his hands before dipping his head down to kiss Sam's chest, nuzzling in the hair and caressing salty nipples to hardness as his hand made the familiar journey below Sam's balls to the tight opening. He teased at that with one finger before journeying all the way up the cleft to squeeze a cheek and pinch the other, exciting nerves and muscles and enjoying Sam's groans and gasps.

"Oh! Frodo, love, are you trying to murder me?"

"Only in the nicest of ways, my dear," said Frodo, his voice muffled against Sam's belly as he laved and sucked at his navel.

"Oh, well, that's all ri--Ah!"

Without warning, Frodo took Sam's cock deep into his mouth, sealing himself around it and pulling slowly up, relishing the twitch when he surprised his lover thus.

"I don't know why I don't expect that by now," gasped Sam. "You always startle me like that."

Frodo chuckled deep in his throat, causing Sam to groan and arch up into his mouth. It was then that Frodo inserted a finger into Sam.

"Ohhh! So good!"

Frodo moaned around Sam as he found little resistance and pressed a second finger close by. His own erection was aching, now, and he felt it nudge against Sam's knee, leaving a slick trail as it twitched. Then he felt Sam's hands in his hair, clenching and pulling, gently but with urgency. He pulled off, kissing the tip. "Too much?"

"I want to last..."

Frodo shifted, kissing his way up Sam's belly and chest, sealing his mouth over a nipple as he inserted a third finger and moaning as Sam arched into him.

Sam broke the kiss abruptly, panting. "Now! Please, Frodo, now! I've missed you so much. Want you so much..."

"Sam..." Frodo prepared himself as quickly as he could and positioned himself.

"Please, Frodo!" Sam's legs parted further, wrapping loosely around Frodo's waist.

Frodo looked deep into Sam's eyes as he entered him, groaning as Sam's legs tightened around him and pulled him in in one long stroke. "Sam! You feel so good."

"I've dreamed about this for so many nights," rasped Sam, pulling him in even further, legs locking him there and arms stroking Frodo's back and shoulders, a hand flowing over his face.

"My Sam," whispered Frodo, bending down for a slow kiss. And then, his cock was aching to move inside of Sam, begging to bring them both to completion. "Sam, I--"

"I know, love. Please, I want you to move. I want to feel you moving inside me." Sam writhed beneath Frodo, thrusting slowly against his belly and impaling himself further on his lover.

Frodo groaned and pulled back, returning fast, then slow, now shallow, now deep, setting up a rhythm between them, familiar yet long-missed, captured anew whenever they made love, as though it had been a long age between. He leaned down, his weight on his elbows, hands cupping Sam's face. "You are beautiful, Sam," he murmured after a deep thrust.

Sam gasped and thrust up against Frodo. "Not like you," he managed, wrapping a hand around Frodo's neck for a kiss.

"No," agreed Frodo, thrusting in short bursts, "More so than I."

"Frodo," gasped Sam, "we're not going to Ah! argue about this n- Oh! now, are we?"

Frodo shook with silent laughter, which made Sam lock his limbs around him all the more tightly and moan. "No, my dear (thrust) beautiful (thrust) Sam!" He reached between them to grasp Sam's cock and clasp it against his belly for an instant before stroking it in time with their rhythm. "We're going to make love, now, until we lose ourselves in each other and I see the Sun in your eyes, even in this dark room, and the Elves hear our cries deep in Valinor. We- Oh! We'll argue in the mo- morning!"

"All--" Sam gasped and swallowed as Frodo flicked his thumb over the slick head of his cock. "All right, then," he managed, alternately thrusting into Frodo's hand and pressing down onto his cock. "Think I'm pretty well go- gone! Oh! Fro- Frodo!"

Frodo lost himself in Sam then, thrusting erratically, held in the only embrace he'd craved for so many years, swelling inside the one he'd loved and wanted for longer than he could imagine. He heard a voice crying Sam's name over and over, recognising it distantly as his own, and thrust deeper, deeper as the heat pooled and boiled between them. He didn't know who came first, only that at one moment they were blazing and crying out as release took them and sunlight met his eyes in Sam's beloved face as he slipped into white oblivion.

As he came slowly back to himself, Frodo blinked, seeing that Sam's face was limned by the first rays of dawn shimmering through the window. "Oh, Sam," he whispered, framing a cheek glistening with sunlight and sweat.

"What, love?" Sam thumbed gently at the moisture that sometimes gathered in Frodo's eyes when they made love.

"If I say anything more, I'll sound like an elf-lass," said Frodo, smiling.

Sam drew him down for a kiss.

"The Sun shining on your face like this... This is what I dreamt of whilst I was away. I'd wake up and ache for you when I'd find my bed empty. All of this just to visit a library. I don't care if I never see another book again."

"Now Frodo, don't you be saying that! I told you I'd go with you, no matter how... what was the word you used?"


"Not matter how frowsy those old books might have been."

"Not to mention the librarian," said Frodo, ruefully.

"Well, meaning no disrespect, mind, but how can anyone be a librarian in this place without being a bit frowsy?"

Frodo looked out the window to the sea and sighed. "I do see what you mean, my dearest Samwise." He withdrew gently from Sam, kissing him to ease the parting. "I wanted to spare you that rather dull fetish of mine. I think of myself as quite frowsy, at times."

"Now you listen here," said Sam, taking Frodo by the shoulders. "You ain't got a frowsy bone in your body, Frodo Baggins, and don't you forget it!"

Frodo smiled. "Only because you're here, Sam. Did you know they offered me the chance to look after those books?"

"Well, you are well-read, after all--"

"And I nearly took them up on it?"

Sam was silent.

"I'd no idea how much time was passing, as you know, but there came a point when I felt as though more than a hundred years must have gone by since I'd seen you last and that you'd never be able to come to me, now." Frodo spoke quietly. "I thought then that I should be better off spending my remaining time amongst books, reading and writing the histories of Arda and the Undying Lands." He laughed. "I nearly wore a channel into my hand where the quills sat."

"Yet I haven't seen you writing all that much since I came here," said Sam, an odd note in his voice.

Frodo smiled. "No, you haven't," he agreed, kissing Sam firmly.

"Have you lost interest altogether?"

"No, not at all! It's just that I didn't want to spend all of my time writing about life here when I could live it. Though lately, it's come to my mind to jot down a few things..."

Sam's eyes lit up.

"Sam, what did you have in mind to write with all those quills? And what happened to your hand? Wait! Where's the bandage?"

Sam opened his mouth to answer the first question, shifted his gaze at the second and cast his eyes down at the third, blushing. "Well, I..." He trailed off.

"Sam?" Frodo peered at his lover, turning his name into nearly four syllables.

Sam swallowed and took a breath. "Well, I thought since you were going to be at the library for a fortnight that you might be more interested in writing, like. Only I've seen how much your hand hurts, after... Oh, just wait here a bit! I'll be right back."

Sam had thrown on a dressing gown and left the bed and the room before Frodo could protest and returned a few seconds later with a long, carved box. "You came back earlier than I'd thought you would, but then, I was finished earlier than I thought I'd be." He handed the box to Frodo and stood with his hands behind his back, nervous as he had been on the quest just before he'd recite a poem.

Frodo looked up at Sam and down at the box. "Sam, I--"

"Go on," said Sam, his voice steadier than his face would have suggested, "open it."

Frodo did as Sam asked, his eyes widening when he caught sight of the silvery feather inside. He gasped. "Sam! It's beautiful! Where--"

"The Lady Galadriel told me of it. She said I'd have to go on a quest to get it, and that I'd come face to face with terror, which I did, but that if I could capture it, it would make the best writing quill in all of Eru's creation."

"So all those other quills?"

"Were for practice. The first ones were just to practice with the knife, and all, seeing as how I'd never made a quill before, if you take my meaning. After I made one that worked, I wanted to get the angle just right for you, only I couldn't, because I've got all me fingers, begging your pardon. I tried holding that finger under, only it's right hard to do that without the little one following, if you see what I mean. So, I used a bandage to hold it down while I tested the angles of the nibs. I know I ain't got such a fine hand as yours, but it were the best I could do--"

Frodo leapt off the bed and into Sam's arms. "Oh, Sam! My dearest Sam!" He held Sam close, his eyes squeezed tight shut. "I am going to write you a love sonnet such as the Elves have never even dreamed possible," he murmured, thickly.

Sam flushed, his face hot against Frodo's. "Oh, now," he soothed. "I don't need nothing like that. Not that I wouldn't be honoured, mind," he added. "Only, I'm about the least important thing for someone to write about 'round here."

"You are the most important person to write about," countered Frodo, swiping at his eyes before pulling back. He picked up the box again, opening it to stare at the feather. "Where in Eru's name did you find this?"

Sam shuddered. "In a nest," he answered, his eyes wandering.

"Sam?" Frodo raised an eyebrow at him. "Where was the nest?"

Sam sighed. "The Lady said to look in the highest tree atop the highest mountain on Tol Eressëa. So, I did. Only I didn't think it would be at the top of the tree..."

Frodo's eyes widened. "You climbed that high? Sam, you're afraid to climb an apple tree!"

"The Lady said I'd come face to face with terror," muttered Sam. "But the view was fine, leastways."

"I think I'd best change that love sonnet to an epic poem!" Frodo closed the box again and put it on the night table before slipping his arms around Sam again. "And now, my dearest, bravest Samwise," he hooked a finger into the belt loosely tied around Sam's waist, "I think you should come back to bed and sleep in my arms until you wake up enough to bugger me senseless."

Sam's chin dropped. "Why, Mr. Frodo! You never--"

Frodo laughed. "Just taking a page from your book, love." With that, he closed his mouth over Sam's and drew him back into bed.


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