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Frodo’s heat came for him before he could pick up on the signs.
He’s been busy as of late, what with Sackville-Bagginses and their unrelenting desire for Bag End still crowding his doorstep despite the fine print, so he never really had the time to think about it. They’re very consistent, and never late or off schedule, but Hobbits don’t exactly have a calender. And who’s to say his sudden sweats were odd, or the dizziness, or the overheating, when he was just so stressed! Really, anyone could have missed it.
And you can’t blame him for the thoughts. He’s a lonely fellow, and it’s hard to find any hobbits who aren’t cousins, or second cousins, or third cousins, or… You get the point. So when he glances out his window at the smell of freshly tilled soil carried by the breeze, cool on his hot skin, you can’t blame him for being a little curious in nature.
When you have a mate-less, hard-working hobbit sweating his way through hard labor practically on your doorstep, especially when it’s somebody you know is faithful and courageous… Well, Frodo is but a man.
Samwise has been his gardener, and good friend, for quite some time. He’s a good hobbit, and well-fitted to be a mate, and anybody would dream of his attention. Frodo pushes it aside for the most part, but he especially has to bite his tongue when Rosie, a good-hearted lady of the Shire, flirts with him. He understands it, he’s not going to judge her or start any fights, because Frodo knows where his place is, but he can’t help the jealousy that runs through his veins sometimes. When Rosie looks at Sam, when Sam talks to Frodo about Rosie… it drives him a little insane.
But in moments like the aforementioned, as he watches Samwise work through his garden and smile at the beautiful flowers that have grown strong thanks to his green thumb, and his happy scent flows through the home like freshly baked bread, he can’t help but feel a little selfish and protective. He can’t help but want Sam for himself, wish that he could take him from Rosie and any other hobbit in the Shire who might want him.
It’s a foolish dream, he knows, but they’re his own to dwell on. Because how would the folk of the Shire react to a Baggins falling for his gardener, a Gamgee? They are very nosy people, and the Sackville-Bagginses would no doubt throw a fit. Despite the paperwork, they really cannot give up. But perhaps if one day they come around to kits playing in the yard with their father, Frodo watching happily from the door, maybe they could finally get the message.
But when Frodo’s heat comes one early morning in the Shire as he sits outside watching Sam card through the flowers he loves so dearly, it’s like a dam breaking into a riverbed, flooding all that rested beneath it. Suddenly all that Frodo can smell is the salty wisps of rain and freshly bloomed flowers. Sam is crouched with his back turned to Frodo, entirely unaware of the shift as he hums to himself. He feels slick leave him as he watches Sam, calloused hands matted with dirt and scraped from thorns working expertly through the plots.
Sam’s hair is a mess from today’s winds, his face flushed and sweaty from the heat, and his scent is heady as ever. His voice dances through Frodo’s ears, and he barely suppresses the faintest whine.
It isn’t until a breeze blows towards Sam that he smells it; aged oak and wine that he recognizes as often served at Baggins celebrations, or whenever Frodo has invited him in for a drink late at night or after a hard day of work. He turns around quickly, facing a scared looking Frodo who only stares at him with wide eyes. It takes a moment for Frodo to stumble back with apology, making his way for the door.
“I’m- I’m sorry, Sam, I’m-” His voice is frail as he backs into the Hobbit hole, collapsing against the walls of the hallway as his heat takes him by storm.
He quickly feels strong hands on his arms, comforting yet firm. His senses are flooded with concern, and it only makes Frodo feel worse as he opens his eyes to Sam’s worried own.
“Mr. Frodo, are you okay?” Sam asks, knelt down to Frodo’s side.
“I’m fine, Sam, I’m just…” He hisses as more slick leaves him, and he can’t resist grabbing his friend’s arm’s to contain himself. “Sam, you shouldn’t be here.”
He wants Sam there. More than anything, he wants him there; his body is screaming for his presence, his scent, his help. But Frodo knows better than to be greedy, to be selfish and force his hand. He has no right, and he could never, ever do that to him.
“But Mr. Frodo, you need help! You’re under the weather, sweatin’ enough to flood the river, sir! I can’t leave you like this, I won’t.” He moves to pick Frodo up.
“No, Sam-!”
“You need rest, Mr. Frodo.” Sam carries Frodo into his arms as if he is weightless, and it makes Frodo keen. A sound akin to pain, but very much not of the same vine, passes his lips at the radius of his friend. Rain surrounds him, salty and fresh, and he can almost picture the drops of water on the flowers of his garden. “And I will not be lettin’ you sleep on the floor when you are ill!”
Frodo curls into his neck subconsciously, breathing in the beauties of spring. “Sam, I’m not… This isn’t…”
Before he knows it, Sam is setting him onto his bed carefully, soft pillows feeling like heaven against his burning skin. Sam is quick to raise a palm to his forehead, frowning at the temperature. “Oh dear, Mr. Frodo… I’ll get you a wash cloth to cool you down, you just stay right here.”
He leaves the room, and Frodo all but crawls after him. He feels like he’s burning alive, and his slick is soaking his pants, so he decides that simply ripping all of his clothes off is the only option. He throws the clothing onto the floor by his bed and looks around the room, noticing one of Sam’s coats that he’d left there a couple of days back that he forgot to remind him of. Frodo leaps off the bed and grabs it before laying back down, tucking it close to where his head laid so that the scent could stay near. It’s old, and has begun to fade, but it makes it feel like Sam is right next to him, which is soothing enough.
Frodo writhes painfully atop his sheets, his insides beginning to ache with no release. His cock has begun to strain against his belly, and so he turns over onto his belly and fists Sam’s jacket to his face, breathing in deeply as he ruts his hips with a gasp of relief. Slick leaks steadily from his rear, but he doesn’t care for it. The smell of Sam as he rolls his hips against the bed is heavenly, faint like last week’s rain still clings to the shoulders, but still so intoxicating.
He only pleasures himself for so long until the creak of floorboards sounds from the door, and Frodo looks up from his shame to see Sam staring wide-eyed with his hands now clean and holding a wet washcloth.
“Oh my…” Sam breathes out, walking over to Frodo slowly. The fresh smell of rain and flowers comes back, and Frodo leans his way to chase it, a whimper catching in his throat. “Mr. Frodo, I thought I were just imaginin’ things, bein’ silly, I didn’t think you were… Gosh…”
“Sam…” Frodo pleads, head falling back against the bed.
Sam races to his side like it was an order, setting a cool hand onto his burning face carefully. “What is it, Mr. Frodo?”
“Please, Sam… It hurts.” Frodo leans into his touch, beginning to pant. “I need…”
Sam emits an audible gulp, his scent thick like a storm cloud filling the room. His hand lowers by just an inch, something that would have gone unnoticed if it weren’t for Frodo being aware of his every move.
“Frodo, I…” He shakes his head, releasing his hand to the edge of the bed like he were breaking a rule. “I can’t, sir, it’s not fair to you,”
“Mmm, no,” Frodo hums, shaking his head into the now sweat and slick-soaked sheets of his bed. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Sam. Needed you.” He hears Sam gasp quietly beside him. “Selfishly wished to have taken you as mine… Despite knowing that it was wrong.”
Sam can’t take his eyes off of him, his hand now ghosting Frodo’s as it grips the sheets beneath him.
“Nothing wrong ‘bout it, Mr. Frodo, nothing…” He trails off into a whisper, and Frodo whines as his hand finally rests again on his hot skin.
The touch almost feels hotter, but he wants it to never leave. He wants to chase the burn, engulf himself in it. He wants the hot touch of Sam to surround him and scar unto his skin so that it may stay forever, so that he may stay forever. Sam’s hand begins to slide its way up Frodo’s arm, resting on his shoulder before splaying wide and carefully inching its way down his shoulder blades, curious.
The action draws a moan from Frodo’s lips, and Sam shutters. “Is- Is this okay, Mr. Frodo?”
“Yes!” Frodo cries, panting into the coat that still lay beneath him. The scent is dull compared to what Sam is letting out next to him, and it makes him frown. Frodo brings a hand out to Sam and pulls him towards the bed desperately, catching the gardener by surprise. “I need more, Sam, please… I need you.”
Sam’s face flushes impossibly red before he nods and crawls onto the bed without hesitation, being quickly dragged down onto Frodo’s chest, cloth meeting bare, sweating skin. Frodo is quick to dive his nose to his friend’s throat, breathing him in deep as his hands climb up Sam’s back to pull him impossibly closer. Sam keens at this, unable to resist the desire to nuzzle into Frodo’s neck as well.
The room begins to smell of an oak forest just after a storm, and Sam finds himself drunk on the scent of fresh wine as if he had just drunken the whole bottle. Frodo whines into his neck, his legs beginning to lock around Sam’s hips, and Sam has to quickly pull himself from Frodo beneath him.
“Mr. Frodo, I have to ask you, is this what you really want?” Frodo attempts to pull him back down, but Sam holds strong. “I mean, seein’ as you’re all clouded, and such… I can’t fool myself into believin’ that you may actually want me! And if you keep sniffin’ me like one of Farmer Maggot’s dogs, I worry I won’t be able to stop myself.” He’s panting by the end, visibly resisting ravishing Frodo with all of his strength, and it makes Frodo impatient.
He whimpers before pawing at Sam's shirt, attempting to pull at the buttons and gasping when his fingers brush against the soft hairs on his chest.
“Sam,” Frodo whines out. “If you do not touch me now, I fear that it may be the death of me.” Sam watches him intently, chest swelling with every breath. “I have wanted you for so long, Samwise Gamgee, I’ve longed for your eyes and your touch… More than anything do I want this.”
With that Sam finally begins to strip his clothes, dropping them piece by piece to the floor beside Frodo’s bed. Soon he is bare like Frodo beneath him, and Frodo is quick to pull their chests together, whining at the contact. The smell of newborn jasmine is suffocating as blonde curls nestle beneath his nose, and he would die by it should he have the option.
Sam settles into his neck with a sigh of relief, breathing him in deep like he were starved of it. His hands are quick to roam Frodo’s body, and he all but cries out at the gesture, repeating his name like a chant as he pleads for more. Slick flows out of him like a lively river and he can feel it soaking the bed beneath him. His scent continues to fill the room, leaving Sam a panting mess on top of him as he slowly lets himself give in to his desires.
Frodo threads his fingers into golden curls, pushing Sam deeper into his neck with a whine.
“Please, Sam.” He spreads his legs further, hooking a knee over his friends back to pull their hips together.
Frodo’s straining desire meets Sam’s, head spinning as he feels his thick cock press against his stomach. It’s not particularly large, no, but it’s sure to split him in two, and the very thought sends him reeling. He grinds his hips into the air immediately, giving Sam no time to think before he’s moaning breathlessly into the crook of Frodo’s neck, grinding back against him. They move like that for only a little, savoring the limited pleasure as they breathe each other in, before Frodo is back to pleading. He brackets his thighs around Sam’s waist, attempting to push him down.
“Mr. Frodo…” Sam whines, backing away from their grinding to look down at the pleading hobbit. “I’m not sure I can hold myself back any longer…”
“Don’t.” Frodo shakes his head, bringing a hand to his chest and splaying it over the flushed skin. It’s tanned from working so long in the sun. “Give yourself to me, Sam, if it is what you want as well.”
Sam drops his head with a whimper before shifting, leaning over Frodo with a hand on his cheek. “More than anything, Mr. Frodo. I’ll take care of you if you’ll have me, sir.”
“I’ll have you,” Frodo promises with a whine, bringing his hands to Sam’s curls once again and pulling him close. “If I could have you for every second of my life, I would, Sam. Every day I crave your touch, your scent. I see others look at you and I just can’t stand it, I crave you selfishly, my dear Sam. If I could have just one thing it would be to have you with me in every moment, to be only mine,” he then adds a whispered and dreamy; “My dear Sam…”
Sam watches him for a beat, eyes wide and heavy with lust, before a dopey smile breaks his lips and he leans in closer, a hair from crossing a point of no return.
“As you wish, Mr. Frodo,” Sam says before finally leaning down and joining their lips together.
Frodo is quick to deepen the kiss, feeling fireworks explode under his skin like the ones Gandalf would bring to his birthday party. He feels the heat of the soaring dragon under Sam’s exploring hands as they spread all across his body, the blonde’s need growing steadily.
Drunk off desire, Sam ruts his hips absentmindedly, chasing pleasure, and presses right against Frodo’s rear. The action punches a gasp out of Frodo, breaking their kiss as his fingers grip hard at Sam’s golden curls.
“Sam, do that again!” Frodo begs, and so Sam does.
He grinds against Frodo again, his cock wet with Frodo’s slick, and the scent floods his senses. Sam grunts and shutters, his angle shifting so that he begins thrusting into the crevice that joins his thigh and his hip almost uncontrollably, chasing the sensation of Frodo’s hot skin against his slick and needy cock.
It barely lasts before Frodo is shoving him off with a displeased sound and grabs Sam’s hand;
“Touch me,” He orders, and Sam is quick to listen.
Sam brings his hand to Frodo’s entrance, gathering up warm slick on his fingers. He looks up at Frodo, eyes weary. “Is this okay, Mr. Frodo?”
Frodo nods frantically, leaning back against the bed. “Yes, Sam!” He writhes impatiently, hips held still only by Sam’s free hand.
Finally, two thick fingers press inside of him, punching a high-pitched sound of relief from Frodo. His muscles are relaxed, his body desperate and prepared, so they slide in with ease enough for Sam to quickly add a third finger. His muscles strain, if just for a moment, before he’s able to relax once again against him. Sam begins to move his fingers around carefully, slow as to not hurt his master. He looks up to see Frodo illuminated by the morning sun, beams of light shining around him like a halo. His face is twisted with pleasure and his chest is arched into the air. He meets Sam’s gaze,
“More, Sam…!” Frodo pleads, his hips trying to cant up into the air against Sam’s hold.
His fingers begin to spread out inside of Frodo, and the brunette drops his head back into the pillows with a blissful moan as he grazes something inside of him.
“Oh, Sam! Right there, do that again!” Frodo cries.
Sam brushes against that same spot, earning the same mewling response. He feels slick rush all around his fingers like a river, making a squelching sound with every thrust of his hand, and it makes his cock strain against his belly. He widens his fingers, thrusting them deeper and then out again, repeating the actions until Frodo is a pleading mess beneath him.
“Sam, please! I need you now, it hurts so much!” Sam retracts his fingers and watches Frodo intently. “I need you in me now!”
Sam wastes no time as he gathers more slick onto his cock, jerking himself slowly as he keeps his eyes on Frodo beneath him. The brunette watches him with focus, glued to the motions of his wrist as his hips cant into the air with no gain, whining and clenching around nothing. He makes a sound of frustration as Sam makes no effort to move, pleasuring himself at the mere sight of his master.
“If you don’t get in me now, Samwise Gamgee, I will see to it that all of the Shire knows of it!” Frodo grumbles, about ready to shove him in himself.
Sam chuckles at that before releasing his hand, lining himself up to Frodo’s entrance. “Alright, alright! … Is this okay, Mr. Frodo?”
“Yes, Sam! Now get on with it!” The pain and irritation has grown immensely in Frodo, and it’s become unbearable. The cure to it all is just standing there, quite literally with his dick in his hands, like a fool! Frodo ought to take him for himself, do all the work for him. He can’t stand to wait any longer.
Finally Frodo feels Sam press against his entrance, the head thick and heavy. He can barely resist the urge to force himself down onto it, avoid all the drama and get it over-with, but Sam keeps a firm hand on his hip, already anticipating his impatience. Frodo whines at that, desperate and hungry for release. His cock lay straining painfully atop his belly, steadily leaking precum even from being left untouched.
His whimpers fill the room as Sam finally begins to move in slowly, head pushing past his rim with a groan from the younger. And Frodo was right, he truly does feel like he’s being split in half, but it’s the most incredible feeling in the world. He is slowly filled to the brim with Sam’s length, and by the time their hips meet flat it feels as though it’s in his throat. And if he were to allow himself the thought; as though he were complete.
Sam’s large body drapes over him like a shield as Frodo’s legs curl around him, bracketing him in and holding him in place as he bottoms out, adjusting to the stretch. The blonde hobbit’s face is twisted in pleasure, mouth agape as he revels in the feeling of Frodo stretched tight around him, wet and hot and perfect. Sam brings a hand to Frodo’s face, cupping it softly as he looks at him through golden curls, his bangs messy around his eyes. They’ve begun to frizz from the humidity of the room, and Frodo can’t resist the urge to push them out of the way, sighing as his green eyes come into view, highlighted by the morning sun.
They sit there for a minute before Sam moves his hips slightly without thought, desperate for more, and Frodo responds with the pull of his legs around Sam’s waist to pull him deeper, a signal.
“Gosh, Mr. Frodo… You feel so good, I…”
Frodo whimpers before bringing his hands to Sam’s back, petting them along his tanned skin softly. “Move, Sam.”
With that Sam slowly pulls out, careful not to hurt Frodo, before slowly pushing back in. Frodo moans loudly at the action, his nails digging into Sam’s back as his legs squeeze around the other hobbit. His thrusts quickly increase in haste, growing rougher and rougher with every rut. Sam’s breathing turns into panting, his grunts mixed with moans as Frodo clenches down around him. By the time Sam’s pace is rapid and consistent, Frodo’s cries could be heard in the Old Forest he’s sure!
“Harder!” Frodo cries. His pleas drown into meaningless mumbles as Sam follows every order Frodo leaves him, doing everything he can to satisfy his master. “Please, Sam, faster!”
The room is suffocating with the scent of old wet forests and jasmine-infused wine, and Sam’s unsure if he’ll ever be able to live without it again. Frodo just feels so perfect, Sam selfishly thinks that he might’ve even been made for him by the Gods themselves, and he can’t believe that he went so long resisting his desires. So many glances at Rosie just so he wouldn’t find himself staring at Frodo, bringing up Rosie whenever he found himself talking a little bit too much about Frodo… All that time, his master, his friend had been thinking of him too. Oh, the bliss! Mr. Frodo wanted him too, just maybe he could have this harmony for the rest of his life! His old Gaffer will laugh at him ‘til the ends of his days, but so be it!
Quickly he grabs a pillow and lifts Frodo’s hips into the air, setting it beneath him before releasing his grip. The change in angle has Frodo throwing his head back and his back arching with a high-pitched moan of his name, and now they’re sure that if anyone hadn’t heard them by now, the whole Shire must be aware. The Green Dragon ought to be fun tonight, Sam thinks to himself.
“Sam!” Frodo cries out to the heavens, his nails scraping down Sam’s back. “Sam, right there! Don’t stop, please!”
Sam pants as his thrusts deepen, his eyes dark and glued to Frodo’s bliss before diving down to meet his throat, placing wet and messy kisses against the burning skin as he takes in the heady scent. He can’t resist the urge to bite, starting with only a small nibble before he can’t stop himself. He leaves what will soon be red and purple splotches all long his throat, his chest, the blade of his jaw, like he were laying claim, and so what if he were?
Frodo mewls at the attention, fisting Sam’s curls as he thrusts his hips against Sam's uselessly, trying desperately to get him deeper, to gain more friction against his own cock. Every thrust has him dragging his thick cock against the spot that makes him see stars, and he feels drunk off of it. No ale from here to the heavens could ever compare to this moment, he’s sure of it.
Once Sam feels satisfied with his work, he brings his lips to Frodo’s, kissing him deeply and swallowing every moan and plea that leaves Frodo’s tongue with each thrust. He can feel his the swell of his knot begin to catch on his rim, and Frodo whines with each cant. The pleasure is too great, and Sam can feel his body becoming weak.
“You feel so good, Mr. Frodo, so good…” He pants against Frodo's lips, mumbled and barely legible. “So perfect for me… I’m so close, I can feel it…”
Frodo whines into his mouth, pulling him closer by his locks as he kisses him deeper. A moan rumbles in his throat before he pulls an inch away and whispers; “Come for me, Sam.”
It hits him like the crash of a waterfall. Before he can say anything he’s near-folding over as his body gives way, releasing into Frodo like a broken dam floods the waiting riverbeds below. His knot swells in an instant, locking inside of Frodo as he continues to spill into him. Frodo clenches around him, milking him of every drop as he pulls their chests together, and Sam feels like he could pass out from the bliss.
Frodo is overwhelmed with it all, feeling his heat dim with satisfaction as Sam continues releasing into him with soft, broken moans, but he never wants it to end. His cock is still straining between them, and he’s sure he’s bound to break soon as Sam continues to rock into him slowly, riding out his orgasm idly as his high still ceases to fall. Sam’s belly presses against his cock with every movement, and it feels like torture as it’s still not quite enough. And he can’t use his hand to do it himself because he’s trapped around Sam, and he wouldn’t dare let him go.
Soon enough Sam’s orgasm finally passes, and he’s panting into the crook of his neck like he just ran a lap around the entire Shire. He kisses Frodo’s throat softly, a silent greeting as he comes back to Middle-Earth. His knot is still swollen between them, so he makes no effort to move; even if he dared wish to.
“Sam,” Frodo croaks, barely a whisper.
“Yes, Mr. Frodo?” Sam returns, his voice broken as well.
“I’m still...” He looks down at their joined bodies, and it takes Sam a second before he’s leaning back, noticing Frodo still straining.
“Oh dear! Mr. Frodo, I hadn’t noticed! I thought you’d… When… Well, you know.”
Frodo shakes his head with a weak chuckle before turning them onto their sides so they could stare at each other properly; and so Sam could rest a bit. He glides a hand along Sam’s arm before his gaze deepens, desire still so fresh and alive in his blood.
“My Sam,” Frodo says innocently. The nickname makes Sam blush, and he shifts nervously in his arms. “Do you think you could help me?” the last words are just a whisper, as if anybody else were around to hear should he speak just a little louder — and knowing the Shire and the Hobbits that reside there, there very well could be.
Sam’s eyes widen and his body stiffens before he’s nodding rapidly, a sparkle in his eyes. “Yes! Of course, Mr. Frodo, anything for you!”
He puts distance between them, which serves difficult when your hips are locked, before finally bringing his warm calloused hands to the base of his cock, which had turned an angry red from neglect. He glides his hands up slowly, gathering the trail of precum as he goes to glide easy, and then down. He repeats the motions a few times before thumbing the head, pressing into it teasingly and soaking in the tired whine that passes Frodo’s lips.
Frodo nuzzles into Sam’s neck, panting loud against his skin as he breathes in his scent. The sensation of his hands on his cock combined with feeling Sam inside of him, warm and thick as his release fills him up, satisfying the ever-hungry cravings that swarm him, overwhelm him. It isn’t long before he’s coating Sam’s hand and their chests with his own release and he’s moaning deep into Sam’s throat, muffled against his soft skin.
Sam rests his head onto Frodo’s, nuzzling him softly as a comfort as he works through his own orgasm. Frodo is panting into his neck, open-mouthed and run-through, before he presses a hot, messy kiss onto the flushed skin. It quickly turns into bites of many a variety, but they’re both sure they’re bound to mark, and they’re also both sure that they’re well past that worry by now. Frodo ventures all around his throat before finally making his way to his lips, gnawing on the already puffy and spit-slick skin, and kissing him deeply. Sam moans into the kiss, sighing against his lips.
It isn’t until Frodo’s high finally comes down and he’s breathing steady that one speaks, and Sam’s voice is nervous as he fidgets with one of Frodo’s curls.
“Mr. Frodo…” Sam says softly, eyes full of hope. “Might it be too soon to say… er, well… No, it’s silly.” He turns away.
Frodo quickly sits up, leaning over Sam. “No, Sam, what is it? I doubt it’s as silly as you say.”
“I just…” He sighs before turning back to Frodo. “Well, I was just thinking and, well…”
Sam shifts further into the bedsheets, looking up at Frodo sadly. Frodo lays back down beneath him, bringing his arm around his waist to bring him closer. Sam follows the gesture, bringing their chests together and leaning their foreheads against one another, noses brushing like horses. Sam thought it cute.
“I know it may be silly, being I was just helpin’ you out n’ all, but I was thinking about what you said earlier, and well…” Sam nuzzles further into Frodo, noses bumping against each other like a dance. “I hope this isn’t too much, but I’m starting to think that I might be in love with you.”
The words hit Frodo like a sudden storm, punching the air out of his lungs. He just stares at Sam, wide-eyed.
“And I- I know it may be too soon, if you want we can forget any of this ever happened and nobody has to know about it! But- Er, if you would like… I wouldn’t mind making this more than just a… helping hand, I suppose,” Sam’s words echo throughout Frodo’s head before he smiles fondly at him. “All my life, you’ve been such a good friend to me, Mr. Frodo, and these feelings… They’ve scared me, I ran from them foolishly. But now, now that I know you might think of me too, I reckon it’s worth a shot! Now if you- If you don’t feel the same, then I understand, Mr. Frodo. If you just needed some help and not anything more then I won’t hold it against y—”
Frodo brings his lips to Sam’s, and Sam is quick to kiss back with a smile. His hands card into Frodo’s brunette curls to pull him closer, and their legs entangle as if they were about to become one. After a minute they pull away, both wearing grins as bright as the morning sun that continues to cast over their lax bodies.
“I love you too, Sam.” Frodo cups Sam’s cheek, smiling softly. “My dear, beautiful Sam.”
Sam’s face brightens impossibly. “You do!? Oh dear heavens, I thought you’d never say so! Only in my dreams have I heard those words from you, Mr. Frodo.”
His rough hands are joyous against Frodo’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer.
“I have for a long time, I think. I never understood it until now, but it’s clear as today’s skies. I did not lie before, Sam. I have wanted you for many years now.” he presses a soft kiss to Sam’s grinning lips. “And now that I have you, I couldn’t be happier.”
“Oh my… You are everything a poor fool like me could ever dream of, Mr. Frodo! A walking dream… I’ll make sure of it that every day, for as long as you will have me, you will have everything you could dream!”
Frodo smiles softly before pecking a kiss on his lips. “I already have you.”
Sam blushes at that before chuckling nervously, averting his gaze as he shifts around him. It’s then that he notices his knot has swelled down, and he pulls out of Frodo carefully with a hiss. His release quickly falls from Frodo, and something deep inside Sam frowns at the notion before he looks back up at Frodo sheepishly.
“I reckon we ought to run a bath, don’t we Mr. Frodo?”
Frodo laughs, dipping his head into Sam’s shoulder. “Yes, I suppose we do, my Sam.”
Sam beams at the name again, and Frodo considers keeping it forever, never calling him anything else just to get that shining smile. They shift to rise, but something catches Sam’s eye. He pauses and looks down onto the bed beneath them curiously, his brow furrowed.
“Hey, is that my coat?”