The gardener could not avert his eyes from Frodo’s naked skin, so creamy white under the moon, apart from the two dark spots of his nipples. If only Frodo had decided to watch in the direction of the window Sam would have been caught ….. But things were already difficult for him, so he decided to take the risk and didn’t move.
Trying desperately not to think about the increasing and aching hardness in his breeches, Sam stood still and kept watching, savouring every detail of the sight in front of him. Suddenly his attention was caught by the strange movement of Frodo’s hands. Sam thought he was just washing, then realized ….
Frodo was caressing himself, his slender fingers encircling his own erected shaft, stroking it in a slow, but firm movement of his wrist.
Sam held his breath, making an effort not to groan, totally intoxicated by the amazing vision before him and by the scent of lavender from the bath.
The younger hobbit let his right hand slide down, gently squeezing his own trapped member, wanting so much to release it from the tightness of the rough fabric.
Suddenly Frodo’s eyes, now half open, seemed to turn, for a brief moment, in the direction of the window. Sam immediately knelt down, his heart jumping in his throat, waiting for the worst to come and almost forgetting to breathe. Then, seeing that nothing was happening, he regained his courage and carefully got up, with the firm intention of walking back home.
But a series of moans, coming from inside, made Sam unable to go away. He couldn’t help but peer once again through the window, just in time to witness Frodo tilt his head back and surrender to the pleasure, his pearly seed coming out from the head of his member and spilling on his stomach.
This was too much for Sam, who feared to come in that precise moment, inside his trousers. His own need was so strong that he had to run away. As he hit Bagshot Row, he knelt behind the first available shelter, undid his breeches, and stroked himself almost in a frenzy, until he reached his climax and came spectacularly, unable to contain a long wail of pleasure, fear, rage and frustration.
When his breathing calmed a bit, he sat down and started to weep, shivering uncontrollably.
It took a long time for Sam to regain control of himself. Now he had no doubt. He was madly in love with Mr. Frodo, the simple thought of what he had just witnessed made his head spin and his heart pound madly in his chest.
Frodo, so beautiful, so perfect, so … arousing, lost as he was in his own pleasure.
And impossible to reach.
Part 2
Frodo awoke with a throbbing headache, the hangover from the previous night of excessive drinking taking its toll.
He tried to get up but was caught by a wave of nausea as, through unfocused eyes, he saw the room and everything inside its walls spinning around him. He decidedly felt too sick to get on his feet and have a proper breakfast, so he remained in bed, trying to fall asleep again in hopes of regaining some force and getting some relief from the pain.
He was soundly snoring when his sleep was interrupted by Bilbo and the Gaffer having a quite animated conversation out in the garden. Their voices were clearly heard from the open window, and their words, one by one, slowly crept into Frodo’s mind, taking the shape of something wrong, too wrong to be believed.
“Master Bilbo, me Sam will go to the North Farthing to work with my oldest son”, said a very serious Hamfast. “But you have naught to worry, Sir, ‘cause I will take care of all the chores meself, ‘til you find another gardener.”
