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Strawberries For Two
Sam eyed Frodo contemplatively. Something had definitely been
bothering Frodo as of late, and Sam thought that he had finally puzzled it out.
It had been his own coming of age, only a few weeks back, as did it, he
surmised. The event really hadn’t made much of an impression on Sam, since his
life had been happily and fairly well set for some time now, at least as far as
he was concerned, but apparently it had affected Frodo differently. It was not
that he had said anything in particular, really, but Sam caught a wistful glance
or two directed his way, which had immediately been concealed, and Frodo had
taken to staring sightlessly into the fire when he was theoretically working on
his translations.
Sam had decided that Frodo must be brought around somehow and that, since the
mid-spring weather was proving to be quite lovely, a short hiking trip might be
just the thing. Frodo had grumbled something about old bones and hard ground,
but agreed when Sam gave him a stern look and left to pack.
They set off following one of the tributaries that eventually fed into the
Water, flowing down from north of Bag End, and found the most perfect spot for
lunch; a grassy, sunny meadow, ringed by oak and fragrant pine. The brook ran
cheerfully through it, and Sam gratefully dipped his toes into the clear water,
for that last rocky slope had been dusty going. He dropped his pack on the
grass, and had announced it to be the ideal location for a bite to eat, to which
Frodo had, rather indifferently, agreed.
So it was that Sam was seated cross-legged by the brook, and Frodo lay not too
far away, with his arms crisscrossed across his chest, legs stretched out
straight and ankles crossed as well, in a bit of shade. His eyes were closed,
his breathing regular, and Sam had no doubt that Frodo thought him convinced
that he was peaceably napping. But there was a certain tightness to his face,
which was not present when Frodo was truly asleep, and Sam was not fooled at
all.
&&&&&
It was a direct hit to the nose that immediately seized Frodo’s attention. A
small enough object, apparently, and not particularly heavy, so Frodo’s eyes
blinked open in bewilderment. The sky above, as seen through the staggered
branches of the lofty pine, was quite blue, and the fluffy clouds were the
fluffiest imaginable, so it certainly was not an errant drop of rain, although
it had seemed a trifle damp, now that he thought back on it. He rapidly glanced
at his companion, but Sam was stretched out on his side, plucking at the grass,
and not paying him any attention whatsoever. Puzzled, but not willing to
investigate any further, Frodo closed his eyes again, and willed himself to
remain apparently peacefully asleep.
The second hit was to the cheek, and Frodo’s eyes flew open much faster this
time around. But when he gave Sam a suspicious glance, he found him rummaging
innocently in his backpack, apparently attempting to track down an errant
teaspoon, for it was that utensil that he held triumphantly aloft, only a moment
later.
Frodo therefore made no comment but gave a surreptitious look about, and it was
then that he noticed the unmistakably red object half-buried in the grass not
far from where he had been reclining. A strawberry, he pondered in bemusement.
Hadn‘t Sam shown him a fine crop of them just the other day? He could have sworn
that Sam had been speaking of making jam one of these afternoons. Yet there it
was, a fine berry lying in the grass, and decidedly incongruous here.
It was the third berry, immediately followed by Sam’s saucy grin, which sealed
the matter. There was no use to Sam playing the innocent this time around, as
Frodo sat quickly up, and glared at his companion. “Sam,” he stated firmly, “I
have no idea why you have decided to pelt me with fruit, as I am attempting to
nap, but it really is very childish of you.”
“Ah, then, you’d be too old for such nonsense; I’d be forgettin’ that fact,”
Sam’s round face was quickly drawn with attempted solemnity.
“Well, I’m not sure I’d put it quite that way,” Frodo automatically began to
testily dissent, when Sam’s smile flashed across his face just as wickedly as
ever.
“Oh, now, you’d be too ancient to be playin’ the fool with your food, as it
were, but be just eatin’ it, like the sensible hobbit you are,” Sam’s dimples
were now quite apparent, and Frodo felt his attention being wrenched instantly
from the issue of the strawberries, flying or otherwise, for he had always been
helplessly smitten at the rare sight of that attribute of Sam‘s. “So I’ll let
you be to nap in peace. But supposin’ you really want t’be tastin’ one, I’d
wouldn’t mind too much.”
“Actually, you know, I think I would,” Frodo’s voice was low and decidedly
husky, as he watched Sam closely.
And Sam did not disappoint, but rather rose and quickly covered the short
distance between himself and Frodo. “So you’d be wantin’ t‘taste,” he repeated,
producing, as if by magic, a plump ruby berry in one hand, crouching at Frodo’s
side.
“But only if you want to taste as well,” a slow smile was beginning to light up
Frodo’s face as he drew himself up on his elbows. “The first of the crop is so
very sweet, don’t you agree?”
“Aye, sweet it is,” Sam murmured, slowly drawing the strawberry tantalizingly
across Frodo’s lips, and then pulling it away just as Frodo began to nip at it,
substituting a quick kiss of his own instead. “But there’d be that which would
be all that much sweeter.”
“Sweeter than spring strawberries?” Frodo breathed, his smile widening. “Oh,
this you must show me, indeed, my dearest Sam.”
“Shared strawberries,” whispered Sam, before popping it in between his teeth and
bending over Frodo again.
With a sound that was a light laugh ending with a catch of his breath, Frodo’s
arms shot out and around Sam, and, his mouth meeting Sam’s, he rolled the both
of them to their sides, caught tightly in his embrace. The strawberry was indeed
sweet, as they ate it together, their tongues chasing bits of the fruit about in
each other‘s mouths, until the sensual exploration forced all other
considerations from their minds. Sam gave a blissful sigh, and pushing himself
against Frodo, began to run an alluring hand under the waistband of his
trousers.
“Mmmmph,” confirmed Frodo happily, making a slight but significant adjustment in
his alignment with Sam. Sam’s hand, by this point, had moved to the front of
Frodo’s trousers, which had unaccountably fallen open. But just as Frodo gave a
contented grunt of anticipation, that clever hand left off its tantalizing
downward arc, and journeyed back up again. Frodo’s eyes, which had closed
ecstatically at some point in the proceedings, blinked open, and he gave a
reproachful glance to his partner.
However, Sam’s green eyes were glinting warm and gold, and his deep chuckle was
tender beyond words as he quietly laughed, “Patience, m‘dearie. Haven’t we all
the time in the world? Look, I’ve not run out of strawberries yet.”
And indeed he had not, as he miraculously produced another. But this time, he
raised himself over Frodo, who had fallen on his back, and rapidly unbuttoning
Frodo’s fine linen shirt and, smoothing it to either side, carefully placed the
delicate fruit in that alluring indenture that lay at the center of Frodo’s
rounded belly. “Oh, Sam,” Frodo began to helplessly giggle since, as Sam knew
very well, he could be quite ticklish at times.
“Hush, now, love, you’ll be poppin’ it out,” Sam gave him a quick grin and then
eyed the berry with mock sternness. “For all you’ve finally got a bit of proper
hobbit softness over those bones, there’s still not enough to…” but that thought
was interrupted by his diving unexpectedly down and curling his tongue around
the berry. That startling sensation caused an unmistakable shriek on the part of
the recipient, which would have shocked many who thought they knew the proper
Mr. Baggins of Bag End, should they have been in the vicinity. Fortunately,
though, only a nesting quail stirred sleepily under the redbud, and discounted
the sound immediately, settling back into her slumbers.
With a quick flick of his tongue, and a by now quite decided smirk, Sam gathered
the sweet berry into his mouth, crushing it slightly, and continued downward, to
Frodo’s intense gratification. “Oh, Sam, oh,” he gasped, undulating under that
close embrace, those strong hands cradling his hips, and this time Sam did not
tease any further. He descended as Frodo thrust himself upward with want, and
that tender, sure mouth closed about Frodo. And yet, even now, Sam was not of a
mind for rapid satisfaction, but rather tempted, tantalized, drew back from the
brink again and again, until Frodo thought that surely he would lose his mind
for the glorious craving and yearning. But finally Sam did not draw back at the
very last possible moment, and instead met Frodo’s moves with a wonderful warmth
and strength and exaltation, and Frodo’s eyes flew open in unaccountable wonder
as he surrendered to Sam’s love.
&&&&&
It was much later that afternoon, with the redness on the horizon unmistakably
signaling the close approach of dusk, when Sam sleepily opened his eyes. Cradled
in Frodo’s arms, the last thing that he wanted to do was stir about, but there
was a cool breeze on his bare skin, and it was time to make some sort of
preparations for the evening. Carefully lifting his head, attempting not to
disturb Frodo, he glanced upwards to find Frodo gazing down on him with a fond
smile. “Yes, I’m awake,” he confirmed with a light kiss to Sam’s forehead, “but
you certainly had a fine nap.”
“And not you?” Sam queried gently, raising a loving hand to his cheek.
“Oh, yes, indeed I did,” Frodo hastily assured him. “I’ve just been thinking a
bit, that’s all.”
Sam felt his heart unaccountably sink at that, since it was that from which he
had been hoping to rouse Frodo by this hiking excursion. “Thinking about what,
dearie?” he asked, somewhat hesitantly.
“About how you’ll be feeling about me when I’m quite old, and you are still in
your prime,” came the quiet response.
Sam drew himself up level with Frodo then, and gazed deeply into his eyes.
“M’dearest, I can’t imagine you as ever being anything other than the most
beautiful creature as ever was,” he stated firmly. “And as for me, I’d be
thinking’ that the gaffer’d give you a fair look at my future. Now if you can
tell me you’d not mind snugglin’ up to him, I think I can brave whatever you
turn out t’be like, Frodo, my own love.”
Frodo’s lips twitched for a moment as he tried his best to remain serious, but
it was a lost cause. “The gaffer?” he laughed, as Sam answered his smile and hid
his thankfulness at Frodo’s response. “Oh, my dear, you are so right,” he
exclaimed at last, drawing Sam quite close and kissing him warmly. “Your father
really is quite handsome, for a hobbit of his years,” he added hastily, with a
loving smile, “but, Sam, that really is quite a thought.”
“ ’Tis my future, I have not a doubt in the world,” Sam responded with a solemn
face, and then smiled tenderly at Frodo. “So, m’dear, you’d be seein’ my point…”
“How did you become so very wise, my dearest?” and Frodo caught him up again in
a kiss.
“Well, if I were really that wise,” Sam’s voice was rather breathless as they at
last drew apart, “I might be mentionin’ that we didn’t really go that far today,
what with the late start an’ all, and the moon does look as if she’s going to be
nearly full tonight, and there is a feather bed back in Bag End, not that this
isn’t a fine grassy field, but…”
“Now, that quite settles it; you are the wisest of hobbits,” Frodo laughed and
quickly rose, Sam’s hand firmly caught in his. “Someday, my love, we’ll take a
delightful long trip all about the Shire, and perhaps even past, but for
tonight, our bed sounds absolutely lovely.”
And before the moon was high in the night sky, a wisp of smoke was rising from
the bedroom chimney at Bag End, and two hobbits were lovingly entwined once
again in their wide feather bed.
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