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When Frodo awoke that morning, he found himself feeling unexpectedly Tookish.
It didn’t happen very often. In his younger days, he often lost himself in daydreams of the daring and adventures he read about in books; of dragons and warriors, of wizards and elves, of castles and pirate ships, of distant lands full of mountains and waterfalls, where anything was possible. But now that he had lived that kind of life, and carried the scars with him every day, he couldn’t be happier to wake every morning in the same warm bed, with the same soft sheets, and the same village beyond the window of their own little smial. And, most importantly, with the same hobbit by his side.
The very hobbit, he feared, who would fall victim to the worst of his Tookishness.
It was rare that Frodo woke first. Sam couldn’t bear to miss out on an early morning’s gardening, to which he credited most of his level of peace and serenity. He always took great pains not to wake Frodo as he extracted himself carefully from the sheets and got dressed in the dark, before silently pulling the door to behind him. But today, sprawled flat on his back, Sam slept on, mouth slightly open as he snored gently. Turning onto his side to face him, Frodo’s heart swelled as he watched him dream; his own dear Sam, to whom he credited what little of his own peace he had left. He was so lovely in the weak morning light, so peaceful, so lush…How could Frodo bear to wait another second? And so, he bent over his sleeping face, beamed, and woke him softly with a kiss.
“Mmm…” As the kiss broke, Sam murmured groggily, frowning as his eyes flickered open. When at last they focused on Frodo’s face, they softened, and his lips stretched into a drowsy smile. Oh, nothing compared to this. Every day, his Sam was truly, and unabashedly, happy to see him. It was a privilege he never took lightly, and it never failed to turn his heart to butter. “Morning, m’dear.” Sam croaked, his arms automatically reaching out and pulling Frodo close until he was practically on top of him. “What a lovely way to wake up…” Cuddling Frodo to his chest, he yawned, and his eyes slid closed once again. “You’re just…too sweet…you are…” A few seconds later, his breathing began to deepen once more.
“Come on, Sam!” Impatient, slightly squashed, and feeling more Tookish by the moment, Frodo kissed him again, eliciting a tired grunt. “Time to wake up!”
“Urrggghhh…” Sam groaned, his face contorting. “Give us a minute, will you?” Still, he did not seem annoyed, patting Frodo clumsily as he came to his senses. “You’re up bright and early.”
“Yes, well…” Frodo snuggled into Sam’s soft chest. “I don’t like it when you’re asleep and I’m not.” he murmured, fluttering his eyelashes at him. “It means I’m left all on my own...”
“Ah, pet.” Sam gave a sleepy chuckle. “You’re so funny, you are…” Finally, he resigned himself to his fate, sitting up straighter on the pillows and forcing his eyes to remain open. “Well, I think you’re lovely when you’re all curled up and peaceful. Like a little hedgehog.” He pulled Frodo closer and kissed his forehead. “Though sometimes you get yourself into such a tight little ball that it’s hard to see if you’re breathing or not.”
At this, Frodo blinked in surprise. “You check that I’m breathing?”
Sam gave a guilty smile. “I know it’s right silly, it is.” He yawned again. “But I used to get so wound up worrying about you on the road that I got into the habit of making sure your little chest was rising and falling just as it should be at night. I knew that even if nothing else was alright, you were breathing at least. That way, I could get a little sleep. And now I can’t seem to break the habit.”
“Oh, Sam…” Frodo could not have imagined that he would ever be so important to someone. Safe, cared for, and loved, there was nothing he could do but cover Sam in kisses. Climbing on top of him, Frodo cupped Sam’s face in his hands and kissed every part of it he could reach. Mmm…he was so soft, and warm, and so damn comfortable that it was like lying on a well-stuffed sofa. It was the greatest feeling in the whole world, and it only made his kisses wilder.
“What’s got into you today, ah?” Sam laughed, cheeks turning pink as Frodo kissed from one to the other. “Not that I’m complaining, mind.”
“…I was thinking…” Frodo planted a kiss on his nose. “We still have all those lovely strawberries from yesterday. Why don’t I make some scones to go with them, and we could have a picnic?” A trip, a little trip out, that’s what he needed, and a good, healthy meal – otherwise, Sam was looking so delicious that he was sure if they remained in this bed, he would have to just eat him up, piece by piece…
To his delight, and relief, Sam beamed.
It took a few more minutes of kisses and cuddles for Sam to extract himself from the sheets. But soon he was washed, dressed, and, with a final kiss pressed to Frodo’s forehead, out the front door to see to the most urgent jobs in the garden, leaving Frodo free to bake. Bubbling with excitement, he could not stay in bed a moment longer. Unwinding himself from where he had become twisted in the sheets, he practically skipped over to their wardrobe and threw it open to find a clean shirt. But instead of his own, Frodo found himself picking out one of Sam’s. It was an old one, much frayed and repaired, and the cheap material was not as fine as Frodo’s own clothes. But it was warm, it was soft, and it smelled of fresh air, soil, and biscuits; in short, it smelled of the hobbit he loved. He simply had to pull it over his head, becoming engulfed with wonderful Sam-ish smell as he did so. It was far too big for him, falling almost to his knees, but as he wrapped his arms around himself and breathed in its scent, it was as if Sam was holding him close. And so, not bothering to put on anything else, Frodo drifted into the kitchen, washed his hands, and begun to make their picnic.
It was the work of less than ten minutes to make the dough, kneading it gently with his good arm and rolling it out, before cutting thick rounds and placing them on a baking tray. He brushed the top of the scones with egg wash, and slid them carefully into the oven. There were far too many, he thought, far too many for just the two of them, but no matter; Sam loved his baking, and he took great pleasure in feeding up the hobbit he loved best. It was in this mindset that he whipped up every drop of cream they had, and decanted it into a large jar, before washing off the strawberries in the sink and packing them with sugar. By the time he had found their picnic hamper and lined it with a red and white checked napkin, the delicious smell of baking was already in the air, filling the smial with a mouth-watering warm aroma. Impatient, Frodo checked on the scones, and finding them still pale and doughy, he abandoned them to their bake and made his way towards the front door.
The sun was just beginning to warm the garden path as Frodo stepped out into the morning air; it was a great yellow orb in the endless blue of the sky. The slightest breeze rustled the leaves of the trees and bushes, but it did little to cool the air; today promised to be a glorious summer day. Perfect picnic weather. Frodo closed his eyes, breathed in the meadow-sweet scent of the garden, and smiled.
“Alright, there?”
His smile grew as a familiar voice sounded from near the flowerbeds. Sam was kneeling on the lawn, a little basket of crabgrass and clovers beside him as he carefully weeded the garden. “Nearly done.” he grinned. “Though we won’t be winning any prizes for the tidiest lawn. I can’t bear to pick the daisies, I can’t. I know they’re weeds and all, but don’t they look so pretty 'mongst the grass? As pretty as when girls thread them through their hair…”
He looked so lovely, Frodo thought. So…hobbit-like. His browned skin from working in the garden, his sun-bleached curls, his roughened hands, his rounded cheeks…He was the epitome of a healthy hobbit, and so it only stood to reason that Frodo found him absolutely irresistible. Not to mention those eyes. Those kind, dreamy eyes that he could just fall right into…
“What’s all this?” Sam chuckled, as Frodo threw his arms around him and kissed him so desperately that he was almost knocked over. Frodo gazed up at the hobbit he loved so much, swooning a little in his arms, and thought about just how lucky he was.
“Just appreciating my handsome Sam.”
At this, Sam spluttered with laughter. “You’re right daft, you know that? Hey - is that my shirt -?” But Sam’s question was cut off as Frodo grabbed him by the collar and kissed him squarely on the mouth.
“Come on.” he murmured firmly, pushing the weed basket to one side. “There’s nothing in this garden that needs you more than I do right now.”
“Right so.” Sam agreed at once, catching him in his arms and holding on as only he could. “Just as you say, dear.”
“Mmm…” Frodo ran his hands through Sam’s curls, along his strong arms, down his softly rounded sides until he had begun to shiver. “I love you, Sam. So much.” He kissed each corner of his mouth, before returning to his plump lips. “I just can’t get enough of you!” Throwing his arms around his waist, he kissed him as if he would never kiss him again. By the time the kiss broke, Sam’s cheeks had blushed from pink to scarlet.
“I love you too!” he managed to gasp out, gazing at him with a sort of wide – eyed disbelief, as if Frodo was a vision, an angel, a god. “With all my heart, I do. Frodo –?”
“Mmm…” Remembering just how wonderful it felt to lie on him, Frodo pushed Sam backward onto the grass, where he landed with a soft, surprised bump. “My darling Sam…” he half-moaned, kissing him all the way down into the earth itself –
“Frodo!” Half laughing, half embarrassed, Sam struggled to sit up, taking Frodo’s hands and holding them tightly enough to stop him in his tracks. “The neighbours will talk!” he hissed, glancing furtively around.
There was nothing Frodo wanted more in this world than to shove Sam back down, climb on top of him, and kiss him to within an inch of his life…But he respected the boundary Sam had just set. Still, that didn’t mean he was happy about it. ““Oh, they’ll just be jealous that I get you all to myself…” he teased. “Mmmm…” He brought Sam’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Sorry, I can’t help it. You’re just so delicious, I could eat you up!”
“You daft thing.” Eyebrow raised, Sam fixed him with a knowing smile. “Trust a Took.”
For a moment, they gazed at one another, hands clasped on the lawn. As he lost himself in Sam’s eyes, there was a certain glint within them that confirmed that there was a part of him that wanted to throw caution to the wind as much as Frodo did. An exhilarated shiver passed over his skin…the fact they could not was almost more exciting than the act itself.
“Come on, get shifted.” Sam said at last, with a bracing pat on Frodo’s curls. “Much as you look absolutely gorgeous, you can’t go walking around in naught but my shirt.”
By the time Frodo had finished tucking Sam’s shirt into his own trousers and tightening his belt, Sam was already waiting by the door, picnic hamper in hand and tartan blanket beneath his arm.
“I’ll take the –“
“I’ve got them.” Sam smiled, just as Frodo had known he would. This was a dance they knew well; never in his life had Sam allowed Frodo to carry something.
“Well…” He smiled coyly up at him as he held the front door open. “You are stronger.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, and no mistake.” Sam drawled back; but it was with a spring in his step that he followed Frodo out of the gate and along the little winding lane that led out of the village. As they walked, once more, Frodo felt his Tookishness biting at him, and there was nothing to be done but to slip his hand into Sam’s. He loved the way they looked; his pale little hand in Sam’s large brown one, the callouses on Sam’s fingers rough against his soft skin, and the way that Sam softly squeezed it to let him know that he would not let go. As long as Sam was holding his hand, for a little while, everything was right in the world. And so, like that, they walked together away from the little hills and mounds of the village, and into the woodland beyond.
Neither of them needed to ask the other where they were heading.
A little way outside of the village, close enough that the walk did not tire them, but far enough away that they would not be disturbed, there hid one of the best-kept secrets of the rural Shire; a magical little glade. Shrouded by forest, a stretch of unkempt meadow lay half-forgotten by the world, rich with yellow buttercups and dotted with clumps of daisies. In the centre, an ancient spreading willow tree stood recumbent over a tiny pond, where frogs hopped from lilypad to lilypad above the little goldfish bubbling below. But for the twittering of birds and the buzzing of bees as they visited the flowers, there was only the gentle whisper of wind through the branches, and the rest was perfect peace.
Giddy with joy, Frodo threw himself down in the soft, thick grass, and breathed it all in. Above his head, little wisps of cloud floated lazily in swirling shapes. As the grass tickled his bare shins, he felt the sun warming his skin as it did his heart. He gazed, and gazed, and gazed up at the endless blue wash until his vision grew blurry and his heartbeat had slowed to a stroll.
“Lot of help, you are.” Sam teased him as he set the picnic basket in the shade of the willow tree and lay the blanket down. “C’mon, pet. I’m just about ready to gnaw my own hand off!”
The scones were still warm, firm on the outside and tender within, and they smelled absolutely divine. It was all Frodo could do not to stuff one into his mouth plain. Still, the longer he waited, the more delicious his first mouthful was sure to be, and so he took his time cutting one perfectly in half, spreading the perfect amount of whipped cream, and topping it with the biggest, brightest strawberries. Oh, it was a thing of beauty. The red, the white, the sweet smell of fresh baking…Frodo’s mouth was watering something terrible.
That was when he offered his creation to Sam.
“Oh no!” he predictably protested. “That one’s gorgeous. You eat up, and I’ll make my own, I w-mmm…” The rest of Sam’s words were lost as Frodo thrust the scone towards him. Forced to take a bite, as Sam’s mouth filled with warm scone, sweet cream, and fresh strawberries, he closed his eyes, and let out a sigh. “Mmmm!”
“Good?” Frodo delighted in his enjoyment.
“Unbelievable.” Sam swallowed, licking the last drops of strawberry juice from his lips with relish. “I don’t know how you do it, m’dear. No one bakes like you do.”
“Well, no one grows strawberries like you.” Unable to wait a second longer, Frodo finished the scone. The soft, cakey texture, the thick, rich cream, and the fruity burst of strawberries coated his tongue with the taste of summer. It was sweet, creamy, and delicious, so wholesome and so plain damn good that he felt as though he could have wept. “Oh, I’m so glad I made extra…”
Although there was no way that even two hobbits could possibly finish the mountain of scones and cream that Frodo had made, they made good headway nonetheless. But not a single piece of fruit remained; Sam’s homegrown strawberries were simply beyond description, and Frodo felt as though he could eat them forever. He thought about the weeks and months of effort that went into a day’s strawberry harvest; each one was like taking a bite of Sam’s heart. But safe, full, and deliriously happy, Frodo felt he needed another reminder of the real thing.
“You’re on one today, and no mistake.” Sam’s lips were as plump as strawberries, and tasted of sugar and cream. Emboldened by the seclusion of their little glade, he caught Frodo in his arms and pulled him onto his lap. The next kiss, as slow and warm as the summer day, took Frodo’s breath away. And when Sam pulled back, he sounded rather breathless himself. “You don’t know how beautiful you are just now…” he murmured, running a finger reverentially along Frodo’s cheek. “Well, you’re always beautiful, whether or no, but now you’re just as merry as a robin and as peaceful as a swan...well…I couldn’t possibly think of enough poetry to do right by you.” He kissed him again, and sighed. “Would that we could stay like this forever…”
He knew well enough what he was getting at. But Frodo did not want to think about anything unhappy, or traumatic, or frightening. He had more than enough of those days. Today – today was special. Today, all he wanted, all he needed, was his Sam, as many strawberries as he could eat, and as many kisses as he could get.
“We’ll stay like this today.” he whispered, before their lips met once more. For now, that was all that mattered.
Frodo did not know how much time had passed in that meadow on that sunny summer morning. It could have been hours, days, or even weeks. For once, time seemed to leave them alone as they spent the day wrapped up in nothing but one another.
By the time the sun hid behind a cloud, the first chill of the afternoon sending the willow branches rustling, Sam was lolling contentedly against the bark, with Frodo curled up between his legs, leaning back on his soft belly. Sam was better than any pillow, and he suddenly found himself close to dozing off. That early start, and his own full stomach, were beginning to catch up with him. His eyelids were growing heavy enough to flutter closed…but as he settled in, ready for a good long afternoon nap, he realised that the arms that had been wrapped around him were now preoccupied with something else. Every now and again, Sam would reach down, and pluck something from the grass, seeming to twist them together to form…
It was a few moments before Frodo realised what exactly it was that Sam was doing.
“Is that a daisy chain?”
Sam chuckled. “That it is, alright. M’sister taught me how to make them when we were little.” He carefully poked a hole through the stem of the daisy with his nail, and slipped the next daisy through it. “Ain’t they just lovely?”
“Mmm...” Frodo agreed, turning over and leaning his elbows on Sam’s chest to watch as the daisy chain took shape. Watching Sam enjoy life’s simplicities was his favourite pastime, and he felt he would only grow tired of it once he grew tired of Sam’s strawberries. Daisy after daisy joined the train, until it almost hung down to the blanket. Finally, when he was satisfied, Sam took the two ends of the chain and linked them together, making a perfect daisy wreath.
“It’s so pretty.” Frodo beamed at Sam’s creation. “You clever old thing.”
Blushing slightly at the compliment, Sam grinned. “It’s right pretty, and no mistake. But I know how to make it prettier.” He reached over, and gently placed the daisy wreath in Frodo’s hair. Shivering as Sam’s fingers brushed his temples, Frodo felt the crown come to rest amongst his curls, and a new warmth spread through his veins to the very depths of his heart. “There, now.” Sam smiled, kissing his forehead where the daisy petals gently tickled his skin. “As pretty as anything could possibly be.”
He had eaten Sam’s love in each strawberry, tasted Sam’s love in each kiss, and now, he wore Sam’s love on his head. It was as though every fibre of his being was wrapped in the world’s warmest, safest blanket, and Frodo, too, found himself wishing for an endless summer morning. This was the only adventure he ever wanted now. And he wanted it, over and over again.
With that, he threw his arms around his Sam, and kissed him so hard they almost passed through into the trunk of the tree. Well…he was still a little bit of a Took, after all...