Love in a Mist
Sam/Frodo
PG, maybe.
Don’t own these hobbits. No offence intended or money made.
When Frodo woke, he was alone and, disappointed, he rolled over in bed, one hand outstretched as if hoping that Sam had somehow just managed to get lost in the crumpled sheets. His hand traced the dent in the pillow where his head had lain, and Frodo smiled, moving so that he was lying there, imagining he could still smell Sam around him. He shivered at the thought of being surrounded by Sam, of touching all that skin and muscle, and he smiled again.
How long he lay there he really couldn’t say, but a faint noise from the garden made him sit up, listening for the sound again. Outside his room, Bag End lay quiet, Bilbo still sleeping peacefully, Frodo guessed, for it was early yet. The noise came again, and Frodo slid off the bed, hissing in a breath as hard-used muscles protested the sudden movement.
He moved slowly to the window and leaned out, breathing in the fresh air, the scents of the garden, watching Sam as he moved slowly – and, Frodo was pleased to notice, just a touch more carefully than usual – amongst the flowers and shrubs. He smiled again, aware that it was a very silly smile indeed.
"Stop it," Sam said quietly, his voice insinuating itself into the not-quite-silence of the early morning. "I can see you smiling like a ninny, even though I’ve got my back to you."
"It hasn’t taken you long to start insulting me," Frodo said mildly, cupping his chin in his hands and continuing to watch the play of muscles under Sam’s warm skin. He felt the smile grow wider realising that he knew Sam’s skin was warm. Knew it was smooth and perfect. Knew the muscles were strong and limber. "I was hoping that after last night you would at least be filled with amazement at my athletic prowess. I think I may have pulled something." Sam looked over his shoulder and Frodo extravagantly rubbed a portion of his anatomy that was below the level of Sam’s vision, eyes open and innocent, and the tips of Sam’s ears turned bright red.
"Don’t mean nothing by it," Sam said finally standing up, digging his fists into his kidneys whilst he stretched in a way that made Frodo’s mouth water. "What I say to you. You know that." He sagged forward and turned around, moving to stand underneath Frodo’s window. "Never mean anything I say to you, ‘ceptin’ the good things." He stood quietly for a moment, and then smiled, shaking his head.
"What?" Frodo asked, his fingers twitching as he tried to stop himself reaching down and hauling Sam bodily through the window of his room, throwing him to the floor, since he doubted they would reach the bed – and doing all kinds of wonderful things to him.
"Look at us." Sam gestured vaguely. "Me standin’ under your window like some kind of lovesick fool." His eyes changed and Frodo’s insides tilted just a little bit. "Appearances don’t lie, then."
"You should be holding a gift for me," Frodo said. "A bunch of flowers, perhaps, like a true lover come a-wooing. What would you bring me? Roses?"
"Nothing so common," Sam said. "Not that roses aren’t a beautiful thing, but every lover knows about roses, and for someone like you – someone rare and lovely as you – roses aren’t enough." He glanced over his shoulder at his rose bushes, and Frodo knew that he was apologising to them for any possible slight.
"Roses are more than enough," he said, finally giving in to temptation and leaning down, his fingers touching Sam’s cheek. "I only need one thing as a gift, and that’s you. It’s all I could ever need."
Sam lowered his head, smiling, and then stepped back, out of Frodo’s reach, albeit reluctantly.
"I have to get on," he said, looking up once again. "Forgive me, love?"
"Oh, I’ll forgive you anything to hear you use that word," Frodo said. "Anything."
"Love," said Sam again, the smile turning into a slow burn, making Frodo shiver and clench his hands into fists. "My own love."
"My Sam," Frodo replied. "Always my Sam."
*
"Up at last!" Bilbo greeted him heartily as Frodo appeared in the doorway of the study. "Honestly, you could sleep the best part of the day away – in fact I think you already have."
"Sorry," Frodo said automatically. "I was tired." He smiled, his body tingling with remembered pleasure, recalling exactly why it was he was tired after the previous night’s activities.
He suddenly realised he had been quiet for what seemed a long time and quickly looked up, but Bilbo was deep in his books, and clearly hadn’t noticed anything.
"I’m going for a walk," he said. "I’ll take my book and a bite to eat, if that’s all right?"
"Of course, of course," Bilbo said, his voice far away. "Don’t get lost, you know what you’re like."
"No, I won’t."
Frodo made his way back to the kitchen and quickly picked up some bread and cheese and an apple or two, sliding them into a satchel, along with one of his favourite books, then he made his way out of the door and up towards the hill, heading for his favourite clearing in the woods. He saw Sam at the bottom of the Hill, obviously finished at Bag End for the day, and now deep in conversation with one of the Cotton boys. He raised his hand in a friendly wave and received a polite nod in return, then continued on his walk, half hoping that Sam would come and join him, and that they could exchange sweet kisses underneath the trees, but he knew that was unlikely, so instead he settled himself down, opened his book and, taking a huge bite out of one of the apples, set himself to a comfortable day reading.
*
As was always the way, he lost himself in the magic of words, and it wasn’t until the sun had begun to sink that he finally blinked himself back to reality, glancing around startled at the length of the shadows. The rumble in his belly made him realise how late it really was, and with a muttered oath, he stood up and quickly gathered his belongings together, walking quickly towards Bag End and hoping Bilbo was still locked in his study, not noticing the time.
No such luck. Bilbo was leaning against the gate, sharing a pipe and a quiet conversation with Gaffer Gamgee, and they both glanced up as Frodo appeared.
"At last!" Bilbo said. "I was beginning to think I would have to come and search for you." His casual posture gave the lie to the remark, and Frodo smiled.
"I’m sorry. I got …"
"I know," Bilbo said. "Do you think I don’t know how easy it is to lose yourself in words? Inside with you now; there’s food on the table, and something else. Young Samwise dropped something off earlier, said he found just the thing, and that you’d understand."
Quirking an eyebrow, Frodo trotted up towards the open door, ridiculously pleased that Sam had thought of him, had brought him a gift when none had been asked for.
He almost fell over a huge pot full of flowers which had been placed just inside the door. A riot of colour and beauty, blues and purples, reds and pinks, all the most delicate of flowers, lovingly gathered and placed for him to find. In amongst the colourful display was a delicate looking plant Frodo didn’t recognise. He dropped to his knees, his face wreathed in smiles as he looked at the display set before him, the display Samwise had left for him.
Roses aren’t enough, Sam had said, and Frodo gathered the flowers toward him, burying his face in them, inhaling their scent.
"Beautiful, aren’t they?" Bilbo said as he entered the kitchen. "Can’t imagine what possessed him to spend his afternoon picking all these for you. What have you been talking about with that lad?"
"Nothing, I swear," Frodo answered. "I just asked him what flowers he would give me – I didn’t think he would do it." He touched the plant he didn’t recognise. "What do you think this is?"
"That?" Bilbo leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied it. "Oh, I recognise it. Let me think…" He paused long enough for Frodo to glance up and catch the twinkle in his eye.
"That’s love in a mist." He reached down and put one finger under Frodo’s chin, making it impossible for him to move his head away. "Love in a mist." He was silent for a long minute, gazing deep into Frodo’s eyes, before nodding and releasing him.
Frodo stayed where he was, his face burning.
"Well," Bilbo said at last. "If he had wanted to make his statement any more clear it would have been hard. What about you, lad? Is it mutual?"
"What do you mean?" Frodo asked, not looking, but hearing Bilbo’s sigh.
"Don’t treat me like some kind of simpleton, boy. You and Samwise Gamgee …I ask you again, is it mutual."
"Yes," Frodo said immediately, finally standing up and turning to face Bilbo, regretting that he had ever prevaricated. "I didn’t mean to treat you like a simpleton, I’m sorry."
"Don’t look at me like that, I’m not going to judge you," Bilbo said. "Have you … been with him?"
"Yes," Frodo said again. "He comes to my room almost every night…"
"Don’t!" Bilbo held up a hand. "Oh, too late. You do realise now I’ll be listening for every noise? I have images in my mind that really shouldn’t be there!" He smiled. "Come, lad. Sit down, have some food."
"Do you mind very much?" Frodo asked. "Have I disappointed you?" He sat opposite Bilbo, not willing to eat until he knew.
"Disappointed? How so?" Bilbo looked genuinely perplexed. "You think I don’t understand how it feels? The rush of blood to the head – and other parts? The dizziness, the anticipation? I’m old, Frodo, not dead!" He smiled and then sobered again, glancing over at the bucket of flowers. "I understand how you feel." He reached across the table and patted Frodo’s hand. "I’m glad you’re not alone."
"Of course I’m not!" Frodo said. "I have you, and I have Sam. I’m a rich hobbit because of my friends." He sobered. "Don’t talk about being alone. You’re hale and hearty. You’re not going anywhere."
"No," Bilbo said. "Of course I’m not. No." He smiled, though to Frodo it seemed a little preoccupied, but that could have been the distraction of the food, of course.
*
"He was remarkable," Frodo said later, one hand slowly stroking the long muscles of Sam’s arm. "He may not have given us his blessing, but nor did he demand we stop seeing each other." He reached forward to kiss the portion of skin he had just been stroking. "I’m glad he knows." He lay back, warm and sated in Sam’s arms, and smiled. "Thank you for the flowers."
"My pleasure," Sam murmured, his lips warm against Frodo’s temple. "Said you deserved something special, and I hope they were."
"They were, they were beautiful." Frodo’s eyes began to droop. "Can you stay all night? I hate waking up to find you gone."
"Aye, I can at that," Sam said, moving to settle next to Frodo. "I never sleep so well as when I’m here, with you safe in my arms like this." He rested his lips against Frodo’s hair. "You sleep, me dear. There’s no harm as’ll come to you while I’m with you."
"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
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