The Watch had been by and it seemed the worst was past. The river had crested this morning, as they'd said it would, and then started receding. The lowest holes had washed out, as expected. Some crops in fields along the river were gone. But folks were warned and out of harm's way. And the mill wheel had withstood it better this time. From what his da had told them, the storm had done much worst damage than the flood.  There would be cleanup work in the days to come, but for now everyone just seemed to be catching their breath.

And the sunset was like nothing Sam had ever seen. He supposed so much rain had washed the sky so clean that the colours couldn't help but be bright and clear. The few remaining clouds were tinged with the hue of a ripe peach -- and hints of yellow and orange and even lavender. The afternoon's birdsong settled into the evening's sighs and settling calls, with the sound of the Water muttering noisily beneath it all.

The Widow'd come by a while ago to say they would likely escape any fever this time. She seemed not the least bit surprised or curious as she acknowledged both Halfred and Andwise sitting there at the table. She had reported that little Wisteria was doing well and that, although Mister Frodo had a lot of scrapes and bruises and his hands were a bit the worse for wear, he was fine as well, being as he was too smart a hobbit to attempt to breathe whilst underwater. She'd left Sam feeling a bit befuddled when she stopped and looked him up and down as she left with a brusque, "You'll do."

Mister Bilbo's two bottles of Old Winyards were mighty fine, and his uncle had toasted the Master a few times over the food and drink that he'd sent down the Hill, but Sam would always be partial to his ale and his smoke and a chance to get away from the girl's chatter, so he sat on the wall nearest to the road and just listened to the sounds of home from there. Number 3 was noisy, and that was good.

For most of the day, the family had been gathered around the kitchen table, Halfred and Andwise keeping up a steady stream of stories and news and the girls keeping up a steady stream of questions. At first May and Marigold had been tentative, watching the Gaffer for approval of almost every exchange, but Daisy was quick to catch on to how things now stood in the hole. Every once in a while, when the discussion came close to some old hurt, it was the Gaffer who spoke up, and, in his own gruff way, let it be known what was accepted and what wasn't. Like when Marigold, trying to work out her newly enlarged family tree, blurted out a question -- did she or didn't she have any grandda left anywheres? And the Gaffer had quickly answered "No. Ain't one old Gaffer enough for you girl?'"

The box of presents had been produced, with much time spent exclaiming over and examining lovely collars and shawls of delicate lace, doilies and all manner of female things that Sam saw no use for. His da muttered about fripperies, but accepted a soft brown scarf to match Sam's green one without complaint, then got real quiet when Sam presented Marigold with the cloth pony. But everyone was impressed when Sam pulled out his collection of rope. And of course, Sam's rope with the knot that Halfred had tied and used to save little Wisteria was produced and examined thoroughly.

Once in a while, Sam had caught Daisy looking first at the Gaffer, then at him with a worried expression. But after the story of the morning's double rescue was retold about three different ways, and the Gaffer spoke up once more to praise the future Master of Bag End, she'd stopped her fretting.

And Sam had heard his da ask Marigold to see her new pony.  He had watched as the Gaffer had touched the old toy reverently, stroking the cloth thoughtfully with his finger.  The look on his da's face told Sam all he needed to know.   Sam was still some worrited about what he would say, but it didn't frighten him no more.   

As he sat on the wall, puffing his pipe, he couldn't help but think of that dream he'd had of his mum, watching him on the Hill, smiling with approval. He knew she would be pleased with this -- with this laughter filling the hole again after so long, with Halfred sitting at the table once more. It was something he wouldn't have dreamed of, well, just a fortnight ago.

Perhaps it would be ended just like that. The horrible pact would be broken, just as the old hobbits what made it were broken by it -- and their family had near been broken by it.  His da would never be the way he was before their mum died.  Somehow that part of him was gone and all that was left was the Gaffer -- stubborn, gruff, and temperamental.  But Sam knew what love was -- and he was certain now that the Gaffer loved them all, in his own fierce way.

And although his da would never go back to Tighfield, he knew his Aunt Cammie would see the girls somehow. And the Gaffer would see his grandson. There would always be things not said, and awkward moments, but the bad memories would fade like a dream, buried behind the good ones that they could make, if they just worked at it some -- if they just moved past it.

Later he'd tell Daisy the whole of the tale. And together they could decide if May or Mari needed to hear all of it. But Daisy-- Daisy deserved to know and she'd ken best if her sisters did as well.

Now and again the wind would shift and Sam would hear voices carrying down the Hill from up at Bag End. Nothing worrisome though. He closed his eyes so as to listen better. Just Bilbo's voice and another he suspected was Old Snivey. But mostly Mister Bilbo. Likely they was sitting on the porch up there smoking as well. And Frodo was no doubt wrapped up in front of the fire, or maybe even in his warm bed, lulled to sleep by one of the Widow's potions.

Warm and safe, and waiting for him. Oh, and he did ache to go up there and crawl into that bed. To reassure himself that Frodo was warm and breathing, not cold and blue and coughing up river water. To wrap himself around--

"Me and Uncle Andy are goin' to check on the ponies afore we turn in."

Sam sloshed ale out of his mug and nearly dropped his pipe.

"Whoa brother. Sorry to give ya a fright." Halfred was standing before him smiling, his uncle at his elbow.

"You sure you can walk straight, with all that fine wine in you?" Sam quipped, dusting ale off his breeches.

"Oh, that wine! Old Master Baggins is still as sharp as ever, eh Samwise? Sending two fine bottles and a barrel down the Hill today." His Uncle gave him a wry glance and a wink. "Let's go see if that young Horace took good care of our cart, Halfred. And maybe find my pouch of Old Toby while we're about it."

Smiling as he watched them weave their way down the Row, Sam hoped they could find the barn. He watched them disappear around the bend and then looked back up towards the Hill tree, silhouetted now against a darkening sky. Doubtless Mister Bilbo's drink had helped ease things along in there, but--

"We're needing to talk," came a gruff voice. "Afore you take off up that hill."

Sam grimaced. Oh, and the Gaffer would catch him looking up the Hill like some moonstruck calf.

"Sir." He slid off the wall and stood until the Gaffer settled on the bench then he sat back down.

Through the doorway he could see the girls bustling around cleaning up, likely worriting over who would sleep where tonight.

Daisy slipped away from the bustle with a mug in one hand and a pipe in the other, handing the mug to her da and the pipe to Sam as he sat his own mug and pipe on the wall. Her hand slid up and brushed through Sam's hair so quickly that the Gaffer didn't see it, then she was gone.

The volume of noise in the kitchen went up once more.

Leaving his own pipe and mug alone, Sam filled his da's pipe and lit it for him, then handed it to him and sat down.

The Gaffer sat quiet for a while, puffing and watching as the lights winked on down the Hill Road.

After a while, Sam thought he might have to start the conversation, although just blurting out I'll not lose Frodo! likely weren't the right way.

The darkness around them deepened and the evening chorus of crickets and frogs tuned up.

"No one ever pegged me for a fool and I can see you ain't inclined to give him up.  That's plain," the Gaffer said quietly.

Not daring to blink or make a sound, Sam was certain the Gaffer could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest.

"And your sisters--" he continued.  "I thought on it quite a bit whilst you was away, and I ain't worrited-- Well, they been raised right and I ain't thinkin' they'll get no wrong ideas."

The Gaffer took a slow pull on his mug and Sam took a shaky breath. 

"Mister Frodo done good whilst the Master was laid up.  He's a fine gentlehobbit that un -- Though he's a tad old for tweening, it's no one's business. None of mine neither, but--" The Gaffer gazed up the Hill. "Well, there's others done it later. Kept on doin' it, truth be told."

Sam didn't dare glance up there. Not now.

"Your mum and me, we--" His da took a deep breath. "I-- Well, if'n you're gonna tween, don't sneak about it. Sneakin'-- Well, I won't have you sneakin' like it's sommat bad you're doin'. It'll come to nothin' good and it'll set a bad example for your sisters." He peered at Sam. "As long as he ain't askin' you to sneak--"

"No sir. He-- he wanted it all out in the open and honest-like. I--" Sam swallowed hard. "I was the one-- I was afraid you'd--"

The Gaffer blew out a breath. "Boy, I ain't never gonna be the kind of da my brother is. I ain't made that way. And truth be told, when Bell--" He stopped and looked towards the hole then down at his feet. "Well, I just ain't gonna be, that's all."

Sam waited, not knowing what his da was trying to say.

"Life's hard. It ain't soft and easy, so I ain't. If'n you lie or cheat or hide things-- If'n you're not honest with me, I'll wallop you one. If'n you're up front with me, I'll try to hear what you say." He pointed his pipe at Sam. "But don't go runnin' off to Tighfield or some place every time I growl at you, else we'll be wastin' too much time on all this -- folderol. And you'll be givin' them wagging tongues in town things to wag about."

"I'm-- I'm sorry, sir."

The Gaffer waved his hand dismissively. "Eh, there's them that'll talk ill about you whether or no. This mornin' was proof enough'a that." He gave a mirthless snort. "Ninnyhammers."

The coal in the Gaffer's pipe flared and died as he took a puff.

"But no need ta give 'em more ta chew on than ya have ta, I say.  Some things is best kept indoors, ta my way a thinkin'."

Sam thought of the Hill and felt his face heat a bit.

"You caused a lot of fuss around here, that's certain."

"I didn't set out to--"

"No, I 'spect you didn't, but what's done's done." The Gaffer looked towards the door. "Some of it needed doin', seemingly."

Sam pressed his lips together, keeping his silence as the Gaffer took another long drink of his ale.

"The girls missed ya right fierce."

Glancing towards the hole, Sam saw Daisy sweeping near the door. The same place she'd been sweeping for a while now.

"And it's gonna take a heap a work-- a heap a work ta get the Bag End gardens set to rights again, I'm thinkin'. The S-Bs weren't as bad, but some needs replantin'." The Gaffer's head shook wearily. "Startin' over this late--"

"We can manage it-- Da," Sam said softly.

"It's a hard life, boy. Not much time for tweenin' in it. You have to make a future for yourself and your'n. Time spent with his like -- fine as he may be -- ain't time spent buildin' that future."

Sam couldn't answer that. It was the only future he could see.

"What're you aimin' to be boy?" The Gaffer turned towards him, silhouetted in the flickering light slanting out of the kitchen door. "He certain ain't gonna make you his heir."

Sam closed his eyes and in the darkness behind his eyelids he saw something barely shimmering. He would always remember that light. The light of a million stars in Frodo’s eyes.

He took a steadying breath and opened his eyes; sure of what he would say now.

"I don't know, Da. It's a ways off yet. But I know, whatever I am or do, it won't be worth much without him."

The Gaffer let out a long sigh. "Well-- I won't have you disrespectin' me, boy. That's one thing I won't abide."

"Yessir. I know that."

"I ken you do."

Those hazel eyes seemed to be looking through him now. He suspected his da could see the stars too.

The Gaffer shook his head. "But you're just a tween. And tweens think they know everythin', but mostly they just know one thing and can't see much else."

Sam couldn't see much but those stars prickling behind his eyelids. His heart was thrumming all the way to his toes.

"Or hear much else, seemingly." The Gaffer waved his hand in Sam's face. "You better remember what I'm sayin' boy."

"Yessir," Sam stammered, not sure exactly what he was agreeing to.

"We'll need your bed tonight anyways. But you better be back down here afore breakfast."

Sam blinked in disbelief. "Sir?"

The Gaffer leaned forward. "Get!"

Sam's heart was halfway up the Hill before his feet caught up.

***

"So tomorrow, I'll write you something and you can put your mark on it and we'll send it via Post to your daughter in Whitwell. It's not far. We should hear back pretty quickly and, one way or another, we'll see you both get there." Bilbo walked in from the front porch, followed by Old Snivey, limping in and lurking in the doorway, clearly uncomfortable. "That's close by where my mother's family lives. Frodo here has cousins there and would be glad to take you and Wisteria, if need be."

Old Snivey's rheumy eyes looked from Bilbo to where Frodo sat by the fire. Frodo actually felt a sight better than he looked sitting there with a throw across his lap like some old gaffer. Of course, the Widow's potions always made him feel a bit muzzy-headed, but Old Snivey looked even more uncomfortable.

"I'd be more than happy to," Frodo said quickly.

"We will miss you and your cart, I must say. No one quite has your knack for finding those unique treasures." Bilbo walked on into the parlour, but Old Snivey didn't move from the door. "But, as you said, the road is not an easy place to raise a little one."

This conversation had been going on all afternoon. Getting the peddler to agree to Wisteria having a hot bath and going off to bed in one of the spare rooms was one thing, but having the Widow look her over thoroughly and gifting her with clothes from the Gamgee girls was quite another. Of course, all their belongings except the very wet clothes on their backs had gone down the river somewhere, along with the cart and the peddler's entire livelihood.  He finally seemed resigned to the idea of settling in with his youngest daughter in Whitwell, as long as he could be with Wisteria.

"Now, would you like some brandy or a bit of cordial?"

It was a relief for Frodo that Bilbo's focus had shifted from fussing over him to arguing with Old Snivey. After being quite thoroughly soaked in hot water, marinated in potions, and baked, Frodo had begun to think that someone had mistaken him for the evening meal. At least he had managed to draw the line at having his hands bandaged up. The rope burns were nothing on top of all the abuse they had been taking for the last few days. The Widow had agreed, but only if he used Bilbo's healing oil on them and, while he was at it, on all his bumps and scrapes.

But he had finally escaped, allowed to get decently dressed and stay out of his bed only if he would sit by the fire and keep warm. And between the heat and the oil, the stiffness and soreness did seem to fade.

It had taken a bit more effort to get the peddler to agree to a hot bath and fresh clothes. Frodo wasn't sure the fellow had so much gotten in the bath as used it as a giant wash bowl. But his clothes had disappeared somehow while he was managing the bath, and he was now dressed, uncomfortably, in some of Frodo's old things. The whole process of dunking in the river and actually bathing with soap had revealed a completely different looking, and smelling, hobbit. Frodo was surprised that Wisteria recognised her gaffer at all, but she did.

"Nosir. I'll be going on back down to the barn, I'm thinkin'. I can sleep down there just fine."

Bilbo shook his head and stepped around the peddler to the door. "You can't do that. Little Wisteria would wake and be looking for her gaffer. And him down the Hill? She's had enough frights for one day, I think."

Bilbo shut the door with finality. "You can sleep in her room. Marigold already made up a little cot in there. I'm afraid it's not as comfortable as the barn, but we have to think of Wisteria."

Frodo smiled. Bilbo, the master manipulator.

"So, come into the kitchen and I'll make us a nice toddy and some warm milk for the little one. Without the threat of a flood hanging over us, I hope we can all sleep soundly tonight."

Bilbo led the way across the parlour, winking at Frodo as he went.

"Have I told you the story about my ride down a river on a barrel? Not in one, mind you. On one. Frodo's little jaunt in the river this morning was nothing to this tale."

Frodo tried not to grin as Old Snivey gave a strange awkward dip in his direction and followed Bilbo across the parlour and into the kitchen, where Bilbo proceeded to tell him the tale of the burglar and the barrels, with much embellishment and elaboration.

So much had changed in one day. The flood had come, without as much damage as there might have been. Old Snivey's life had certainly changed, and thankfully, not in the horrifying way that it could have changed. As Bilbo had said, things wash away, but all manner of things tend to show up as well.

Like Sam. Frodo kept reliving that moment when he had seen Sam on the shore and known he was home and safe. Nothing would replace that feeling except the thrill of hearing Sam's whisper, warm against his hair, as he lay shivering on the tree limb -- "I love you and I'll not leave you again." Sam was home.

And he had no doubt Sam would be up the Hill as soon as he could work through that Gammidgy Knot, hopefully tomorrow.  Bilbo had sent all manner of lubrication down the Hill, in bottles and barrels, enough to loosen any knot, certainly.  And the Widow had informed Bilbo, rather cryptically, that "things are back as they should be in Number 3", whatever that meant.  

But at least Sam was home.  Frodo knew he would finally sleep well tonight just knowing Sam was safe. 

Frodo smiled, thinking of how Sam would have reacted to the smell of the healing oil he had rather liberally applied. Then he realised, at some point, with the sound of Bilbo's voice droning from the kitchen, he had closed his eyes. It was likely time for him to totter off to bed.

"I'm going on to bed, Bilbo." He pushed the throw off and heaved himself up, starting out a bit stiffly on his way towards the corridor and his bedsmial.

"Good. Sleep well, Frodo lad," Bilbo called.

Frodo hoped he wouldn't dream about the river again tonight. He'd had enough of dark, cold dreams of swirling water, but when he pushed open the door to his bedsmial, he walked straight into his dreams again.

Sam, in his arms, smelling of sun and leaf, mould and flower, and the river. He buried his face in that silky hair and just breathed in, wrapping his arms around the sturdy form.

"Oh, Frodo. I was so afraid," came the tear-clogged voice. "When I saw you in the water. And me thinking I'd never touch you again. I'd never get to tell you I love you."

"Sam," Frodo whispered. "My Sam. I've missed you."

He was suddenly held carefully at arm's length. Blinking, he tried to see Sam clearly in the dim light from the corridor.

"You're all right then? The Widow said you was, but-- Am I hurting you?"

"I am fine, Sam, thanks to you."

There was a wordless sob and he was pulled into a desperate embrace.

"I'm all right, Sam," Frodo managed. "But you're shivering." He rubbed his hands up Sam's back and realised, with a shudder, that Sam was shirtless, his braces dangling. He felt his knees go weak and backed into the door, shutting it firmly.

Sam followed, burying his face in Frodo's hair, kissing that spot under his ear that made Frodo's toes curl.

"I love you." Sam repeated huskily against his throat, kissing his hair, kissing up his jaw, bracketing his face with his hands and leaning in to capture his mouth.

Frodo couldn't breathe, couldn't think. This frantic creature in his arms wasn't Sam. But that taste -- he shut his eyes -- he knew that taste. It was like drinking sunshine -- warming him all the way to his toes. And those rough fingers, rasping across his skin -- sending frissons of heat straight to his core. He knew this body -- the heated length pressed against him -- like he knew his own.

"I love you," Sam repeated, tugging down Frodo's braces as he kissed down the side of his throat to the hollow of his neck.

Frodo could only gasp and wrap his hands around broad shoulders as eager fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Sam wouldn't be here unless he had solved the Knot, unless he had settled things with his da. He wouldn't have climbed so boldly over the windowsill and waited, shivering, half-dressed--

"S-- Sam?"

The gold head bent below his, intent on his task, silky hair brushing Frodo's chest until he shuddered with need. When the buttons were undone, insistent fingers tugged at the shirt, pulling it down and trapping

"I love you." A greedy mouth closed over one nipple, sucking hard.

"Ngggh." Frodo closed his eyes and gasped as lips skated across his chest and an "I love you" sighed against his skin, before the other nipple was captured and suckled as well.  

"S-- Sam," Frodo sighed and squirmed.

Then the shirt was yanked free at last, and there were hot kisses down his stomach, and Sam's arms around his hips, rubbing a wet, salty cheek across sensitive skin.

"I love you."
 

"You-- You smell all over of that Elvish stuff," Sam whispered, shivering and reaching up to take Frodo's fingers from his hair. "And-- And your hands. The Widow said your hands was hurt." Sam stood up, keeping Frodo's hands in his own as he stood.

"Oh-- glory, Sam. I'm fine. I'm better than fine," Frodo whispered. And he was. All the aches and pains had faded into insignificance beneath Sam's searing touch. He pulled his head away from the door with an effort. "Just. Don't. Stop."

Cupping Frodo's hands in his, Sam dropped a kiss in the palm of each one, then slipped his arms around Frodo's back. "I ain't gonna stop," he whispered, and proceeded to kiss Frodo so thoroughly that his head spun; greedily sucking his tongue into dark sweetness, pulling him forward across the room, then turning him until Frodo felt the backs of his knees against his bed.

Before he could sink backwards, Sam knelt and rapidly finished his work on the buttons of Frodo's breeches and then the ties of his smallclothes, pulling both down around his ankles with a long smooth tug.  Then he stroked back up Frodo's legs, up his thighs, and lingered, cupping his buttocks, his fingers just brushing the crevice -- a long slow caress with both hands that left Frodo sweating and shaking, reaching for the bed beneath him.

Sam leaned forward and Frodo felt the moist heat of his breath brush across exquisitely sensitive skin. "I love you." Then he was pushed back onto the bed, sliding up silky sheets.  The bed was already turned down.

With a strange dizzying rush, Frodo realised that Sam had carefully turned back the sheets and started to undress as he waited at the door. Not blushing, not hiding. Sam had been standing there in the shadows with the door into the corridor cracked open, just waiting for Frodo to finally come to bed. The thought made his mouth dry. This creature wasn't his Sam.

He had fallen asleep in the chair in front of the fire. He was dreaming this, while Bilbo droned on about barrels out of bond. Squeezing his eyes shut, he hoped he wouldn't awaken.

He heard the rustle of breeches being hurriedly removed and the bed creaking as Sam climbed up him, moist slick skin sliding upward, tugging at rigid flesh.

"Oh, Sam," Frodo groaned into Sam's mouth as Sam leaned in and plundered Frodo's mouth again.

And the litany began once more. An "I love you" trailing kisses down his throat. An "I love you" nipping at his chest. An "I love you" licking at his navel.

Only Sam's weight on his legs kept Frodo from pumping his hips into the air as another "I love you" was whispered over his aching arousal.

His hands stung as he plunged them into Sam's hair, but the pain was forgotten as Sam's mouth closed over his flesh, sucking him in, then pulled back slowly, his tongue swirling maddeningly, and thrust downward again.

Frodo gasped, frissons of white heat skittering up his spine as he pushed upward into that insatiable mouth.

Then Sam's weight shifted and Frodo heard something clatter on the bedside table. He rolled his hips up unconsciously, waiting for slick fingers, but instead Sam rolled beside him, pulling him over and kissing him hungrily.

"I want you inside me," Sam whispered.

Frodo almost came undone with those soft words breathed against his mouth. He shuddered, leaning his forehead into Sam's shoulder.

"But are--" Sam breathed anxiously. "Are your hands--"

"No," Frodo panted. "My hands will do. But Sam, are you sure?"

"More'n anything. I need you -- inside me."

"Oh, Sam. Love."

At that whispered endearment, there was a sob of sound and then Sam was kissing him again -- fevered, searing kisses. His slippery fingers reached down between them and encircled hardened flesh, stroking, entreating.

Frodo buried his face in Sam's neck, groaning. Then he reached for Sam's fingers, slicking his own.

He rolled over onto Sam without warning, pressed him into the mattress and kissed him hard and long, plunging into Sam's mouth and sucking at his tongue until Sam began to shudder, his legs shifting open and his arousal hard and slick against Frodo's hip. Then Frodo kissed down along his neck and slid down to nip lightly, first at one nipple, then at the other.

"Frodo. Please." Sam's voice was tight and hoarse. "I need--"

Smiling against the moist salty skin, Frodo kissed across Sam's heaving chest and then along the trail of sparse fur that arrowed downward.

Sam groaned and shifted as Frodo's hand slid beneath his hip. Frodo leaned in to lick up the rigid shaft while circling his finger teasingly, then just when Sam started to beg, lowered his mouth over the hard flesh as he pushed one finger in slowly.

"Fr-- OH!" Sam's hands were in his hair.

Sam's panting cries urged him on. He nearly forgot the need to be gentle as he tormented and teased with his tongue while sliding in another.

Sam began to move jerkily, up into his mouth, and down onto his fingers.

"P--Please, n--now," Sam begged.

Frodo slipped in a third and the movement up and back stuttered and slowed. Then he twirled his tongue and breathed out hard and Sam clutched at his head then began to stroke -- back into his fingers and forward into his mouth.

"Now!" Sam demanded, and pulled Frodo up towards him, wrapping one leg around his waist as Frodo eased the other up over his shoulder, pulling his fingers out slowly as he moved.

In the dim light from the open window, Sam seemed some golden creature with molten eyes and glistening skin writhing beneath him -- panting for breath -- his head thrown back on the pillow.

If he was dreaming, it was a good dream.

Burying his face in that lovely golden neck and breathing deep, Frodo pressed in slowly.

Sam stilled beneath him, gasping and lifting his head at the intrusion.

Frodo's legs quivered with the need to move, to plunge into that slick heat, but he satisfied himself with shifting up to capture Sam's mouth and thrust in with his tongue.

Then Sam's hands began to restlessly tug at Frodo's hips, his flesh hardening again with the slip and drag of heated skin. And Frodo pulled out, muscles protesting, so slowly he ached with it. Hot fingers clutched and pushed at his shoulders and Sam pulled his mouth away, groaning.

The air in the room around them was hot and wet and shimmering. Frodo could feel it, pressing on his skin, bearing down. He pushed in and heard Sam say his name urgently, over and over, his voice raw.

"I love you, Sam," he whispered. "Now, touch yourself. For me."

He felt Sam take a gasping breath. Then Sam slid his hands eagerly down Frodo's ribs, his thumb brushing Frodo's nipple, eliciting a throb from within that made Sam's eyes go wide and wild. Frodo groaned at the sudden hot clench of flesh around him and nearly lost control, pushing down hard on his hands and relishing the flash of pain that pulled him back from the brink.

But he was shaking now, seeing Sam's face, so needy and desperate below him, feeling Sam's hands grasping and stroking between them as his breathing quickened and his body shuddered against Frodo's.

"Oh Sam. Yes! NOW!"

And Frodo moved, thrusting with the rhythm of Sam's strokes, feeling it like a pounding wave at his back, pushing him down and in, pulling him up and back. He heard Sam's sobbing yell of completion, felt the heated throb against his stomach, the pulsing grasp of slick flesh, and he shattered, pumping wildly and crying out Sam's name as he came.

***

"Dreamin' on somethin' warm and happy, I'm thinking." Sam's fingers stroked down his cheek.

Frodo blinked sleepily. Sam lay next to him, his face so close that his warm breath fluttered in Frodo's hair.

Frodo's own summer day, right here in bed with him.

In bed with him. He turned his head to look at his window and smiled when he felt the gentle tug of Sam's fingers in his hair. There was the barest hint of grey touching the sky outside as a lone songbird tuned up for the day somewhere in the thicket below. Sam had stayed the night.

"So, you have come home," he said, turning to find Sam watching him solemnly.

He felt Sam's arm curl around his waist and one leg slide over his as Sam settled his chin on Frodo's shoulder.  "I have."

Frodo barely managed not to smile at the implication. But not until he knew-- "All is well down on the Row, then?"

"As well as can be expected," Sam said quietly. "Me and Da have -- an understandin'."

"Good." Reaching out to cup Sam's jaw, Frodo stroked his cheek gently with his thumb. "I'm glad."

"I'll tell you all about it, once it's all settled down in my head some," Sam responded thoughtfully.

"A good story for some lazy summer afternoon on the rock, once the Water's settled down some," Frodo replied.

Sam grimaced.  "I'll ne'er forget how scared I was when I felt you let go of that rope."

"I'm sorry, love."

"No, but you had to," Sam said firmly.  "I remembered what you said.  You had to let go and save your strength.  I knew what you was doin'."  Sam cupped his hand over Frodo's against his face.  "I had to let you go so I could get you back," he said softly.

Frodo closed his eyes and thought on that for a while.  "So did I, love," he whispered into Sam's hair.  "So did I."

He felt Sam move in his arms and the warm press of lips to his own.  For a long lovely moment there was nothing but the feel of Sam's mouth moving slowly against his and the beat of Sam's heart against his ribs.  His own pulse accelerated wildly to catch up. 

"I love you."  Sam whispered into Frodo's cheek as he pulled away.

Opening his eyes, Frodo found Sam pushing himself up on one elbow, smiling down at him. 

"I learned how to make rope whilst I was gone."

Frodo smiled back.  "I think I am particularly thankful for that, if that was your rope yesterday."

Sam nodded. "It was."  

He reached out and took one of Frodo's hands in his, examining the reddened skin. "That healing oil of Mister Bilbo's really works, seemingly."

Frodo felt a twinge at the thought of that oil, but it wasn't in his hands.

Rubbing his finger gently over Frodo's palm, Sam whispered. "I made some other rope too. Softer."

When Sam looked up with smouldering gold eyes, Frodo knew the hard evidence of his own interest in the subject was prodding quite firmly against Sam's thigh.

"And what do you plan on doing with your soft rope, Samwise Gamgee?" Frodo asked, feeling a little dizzy.

Sam seemed to be thinking on the question. "I was of a mind to test some knots."

***

To EPILOGUE

Back to THE GAMMIDGY KNOT - CHAPTER LIST

Back to ADULT FICTION LIST