by grievous angel
F/S, PG13
"What a strange thing to say," Frodo mumbled, already half asleep. "What could harm us here?" He started slightly as a distant rumble of thunder sounded, and then laughed. "Certainly not the thunder."
"No," Sam agreed, pulling the sheets over them. "Not the thunder." He rested a hand on Frodo's hip, pulling him close, and Frodo murmured his approval, his own hand moving to rest against Sam's chest.
The pot of flowers, carefully placed outside the door to catch any moisture, rustled softly in the growing breeze, the love in a mist seeming to speak quietly, raising its head to the coming rain, whilst inside, the lovers slept, unaware of the light burning late in Bilbo's study as complex plans were made.
The End