Midsummer’s Night

Sam/Frodo

AU post-quest. Sam and Frodo are together and happy.

Sam straightened up with a half-suppressed groan, digging his fists into his back as he tried to ease out the aches that seemed to settle deep in his muscles these days.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tilted his head to squint at the sky, the sun bright in an almost impossibly blue sky. It was still early, not even time for second breakfast, but the heat was already building. It was less than a week since they had last had any rain, but the ground was feeling hard underfoot.

Sam walked over to the pail of water he had drawn from the well and dipped his handkerchief in it, sighing in relief as the cool water trickled down his neck. He half-wished that he hadn’t promised most of the day away to neighbours further down the Hill; surely he wasn’t the only able-bodied hobbit able to dig a trench or caulk a leak?

He shook his head. "Not worthy, Samwise," he said softly. "And anyroad, a promise is a promise when all’s said and done."

"Samwise Gamgee." Sam smiled, but didn’t react in any other way. "I’m talking to you and I know full well that you’re listening."

With a final wipe of his face, Sam dropped the kerchief in the pail and stretched again, this time not entirely because of the kinks and aching in his back.

"Now that is a rare sight indeed." This time the voice had an edge to it that was distinctly approving. "What are you doing awake so early?"

Finally, Sam turned in the direction of the voice and felt the usual tightening in the muscles of his stomach, the clenching of his heart.

Frodo was no longer as strong as once he had been, the hobbit who had raised more than a few eyebrows with his antics was deeply hidden now, hidden behind a more careful demeanour. Only Sam was privileged enough to be shown where the old fire still burned so stubbornly, deep in Frodo’s heart.

But he was still the fairest hobbit in the Shire, of that there could be no doubt, even when – especially when – he was leaning out of the window of their bedroom, nightshirt slipping from one shoulder, hair tousled and wild.

"What are you staring at?" Frodo followed the line of Sam’s gaze, glancing down at his nightshirt. He looked back at Sam and shrugged, the soft material sliding even further. He then very deliberately did the same with the other shoulder, shrugging until his nightshirt was sliding down both arms revealing enough pale flesh to make Sam swallow hard..

"Frodo Baggins," he said somewhat breathlessly, "are you trying to seduce me back into bed?"

"Not at all," Frodo said immediately. "I was just about to get dressed actually. I have to finish the letter to Merry today – the one about the tithes, remember? The one I tried to start several times yesterday, but for some reason was unable to finish." He pushed himself upright, looking down as if just realising that his nightshirt was halfway off, and without another glance at Sam he turned away and shrugged out of it, affording Sam a delightful view of creamy skin, only marred by the scars, and on this glorious day even they seemed paler than usual.

Sam threw his head back and laughed like a hobbit still in his tweens, for no other reason than he was here, with Frodo. He still woke up in the night sometimes, remembering things he would as soon forget, but they always vanished with the day, and Frodo.

He heard Frodo’s answering laugh from somewhere deep inside Bag End, and turned back to the garden, tallying up what he still had to do. Truth was, the garden almost ran itself at this time of year, a blaze of colour that was the envy of all of Hobbiton, and other than a few basic tasks here and there, Sam had very little to do. Plenty of time to offer his help to neighbours. Plenty of time …

"Sam?" Frodo’s voice was strangely tinny and Sam tilted his head, trying to name why it was different.

"Frodo?" he answered cautiously.

"How can I possibly be expected to wash my own back? I’m not as flexible as I once was, and I need your – hands."

With a last smiling glance at the garden, Sam headed into the cool, dark interior of Bag End. His home. It was hard to remember a time when he hadn’t known this place, harder still to remember a time when he didn’t live here, didn’t have a right to do what he wanted.

"I was just remembering," he said as he approached the open door of the bathroom. "how you and Mr Bilbo used to treat me like one of the family even before … oh."

"Hello, Sam."

"Oh."

Frodo tilted his head and smiled softly, and Sam’s fingers itched to reach out and touch him, run his fingers through dark, silky hair, then move down and stroke the other dark curls; curls he could just see as Frodo, completely naked, perched on the edge of the bath, his hands crossed demurely over his lap. Or at least it looked demure; Sam could see the devilish glint in the blue eyes, and knew differently.

"You used to treat me as if I were the most important thing," he continued, his voice softer, gentler, as he slowly approached Frodo. "I don’t ever remembering either of you so much as raising your voice to me."

"Sam…"

Sam moved closer until the worn material of his breeches was pressing against Frodo’s naked skin. With a smile, Frodo parted his legs, letting Sam move closer, wrapping pale arms around Sam’s sturdy waist.

Sam gave into temptation and let his fingers tease Frodo’s hair, stroking it back from his forehead and tilting Frodo’s head up at the same time so that the curls reached almost past his shoulders.

"Not so flexible, eh?" he whispered, his voice echoing off the walls. "You were flexible enough last night, me dear."

Frodo laughed and leaned forward, resting his head against Sam’s belly and purring his contentment, pushing into Sam’s touch.

"I will never get enough of you," he said, and Sam could hear the quiet wonder in his voice. "I used to watch you when you were younger, working in the garden." He laughed and nuzzled Sam’s belly. "Spent a lot of my time watching you, much to Bilbo’s annoyance! He could never understand how I could spend so much time apparently studying with so little to show for it. Little did he know that it was you I was studying."

"I remember." Sam’s fingers continued to play with Frodo’s hair. "I used to try and attract your attention. If you smiled at me, it made my whole day brighter." He suddenly dropped to his knees, startling Frodo, and pulled him close. "It won’t ever fade will it? This – miracle – we have between us?"

Frodo reached out, still held safe prisoner, and cupped Sam’s broad, honest face, kissing each cheek softly.

"I have loved you from the first day I saw you, the first day I understood what it was I felt." He kissed Sam’s lips. "It will last until we go over the Sea."

"Will we?" Sam asked. "Will we go over the Sea together?"

"Oh yes." Frodo brushed his hand softly over Sam’s chest. "You carried it, too. It’s your right."

Sam buried his face against Frodo’s soft belly, biting the skin softly and making Frodo jerk and laugh, then let his tongue reach out and lick across the top of the springy curls growing between Frodo’s legs. With a grunt, Frodo pressed his hand on the back of Sam’s head, pushing him lower. Sam shifted his balance, spreading his own knees for some kind of stability, and reached around Frodo’s hips, holding him safe on the edge of the bath.

"No! Stop, Sam." Frodo pulled Sam’s hair. "I’ll fall into the bath if you do that now."

Sam growled his frustration, and glanced around quickly then dropped a kiss on Frodo’s belly. He let go and moved over to the pile of towels stacked neatly on a nearby shelf. He grabbed a handful and made a nest on the floor, then looked over at Frodo with a wicked grin.

"Oh, Sam." Frodo slid off the edge of the bath and crawled over to the makeshift bed, collapsing onto his back and laughing up at Sam. "Now what?"

"Just lie still," Sam said, his hands pressing against Frodo’s belly. "Let me take care of you." He moved until his knees were either side of Frodo’s thighs and shifted his balance again, leaning forward until his lips were almost touching Frodo’s.

Frodo’s head arched back against the towels as Sam loomed over him, strong arms holding his weight. Frodo ran his hands up the muscles in those arms, digging his fingers into the firm flesh, before hooking a hand around Sam’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss, losing himself in the familiar taste.

Sam reached up and pulled at Frodo’s arms, pushing them to the floor, their fingers interlinking above Frodo’s head and they smiled at each other, comfortable and easy.

"Oh," said Sam quietly, lowering his head. "Oh, my dear."

*

"It’s so hot." Frodo leaned more comfortably against Sam’s shoulder, eyes at half-mast as he watched the sunlight dance across the garden. "Was it so hot last year? I can’t remember."

Sam raised Frodo’s hand to his mouth and kissed the palm before folding it safely in his own, his thumb rubbing gently over the smooth stump they never talked about.

"It’s almost midsummer," he said, leaning back against the tree under whose branches they were sheltering. "If it isn’t hot now, when would it be?"

"Mmmm," Frodo grunted. "It wasn’t a question that needed answering, my heart."

"When I was young, my gaffer told me a tale," Sam began softly, and Frodo muttered something unintelligible, his head sliding down Sam’s chest to his lap, hand resting on the soft fur of his belly. Sam looked down, eyebrows raised.

"You don’t tell me tales often enough," Frodo said, his voice slurred with comfort and the heat of the day. "You always let me do all the talking. I like to listen to you." He rubbed his hand across Sam’s belly. "You’re hobbit-shaped again, did you know? It took a long time."

"And you’re still too thin," Sam said gently, his hand on Frodo’s shoulder, rubbing at the place where the Morgul scar marred the pale skin. "But then, you always were."

"Tell me your tale." Frodo curled himself up and closed his eyes. "What did your gaffer say?"

Sam began to run his fingers through Frodo’s hair, the silky strands catching on the rough skin of his fingers. He had always loved Frodo’s hair.

"A long time ago," he began slowly, and Frodo smiled. "What?"

"The best kind of beginning."

"A long time ago," Sam repeated. "When midsummer came around, the lads and lasses in the Shire – the whole of the Shire – would celebrate the longest day, the height of summer."

"How?" Frodo asked, his fingers still moving against Sam’s belly, his words soft as the movement of Sam’s hand in his hair slowly lulled him further into his half-doze.

"Loving." The word was soft, barely more than a sigh. "The most daring would go into the woods, or some would use their gardens."

"Why not use their beds?" Frodo asked. "Why did they have to be outside at all?"

"To thank the earth, my dearest. To thank her for being fertile and for letting us live off her bounty."

Frodo shifted over onto his back, his head still in Sam’s lap, and opened one eye, squinting upward. Sam shrugged, his cheeks colouring slightly. "Not much of a tale."

"Did you?" Frodo asked, reaching up to trace the shape of Sam’s lips. "Did you ever – thank the earth?"

"No." Sam shook his head, opening his mouth slightly and letting Frodo’s finger slip inside.

"Why?" Frodo watched in fascination as his finger vanished into the warm wetness of Sam’s mouth, pulling out with some slight disappointment so that Sam could speak.

"I wanted to do it with someone I love," he said. "The one person who would be by my side for life." He closed his eyes, and Frodo could see his eyelashes trembling. He was oddly moved by such a vulnerable sight.

"Sam," he said softly, but Sam shook his head, not opening his eyes. "Oh, Sam…" Frodo levered himself up and wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck, kissing him softly on each closed eyelid. "I understand, of course I do. It’s almost time, and I would be honoured to lie with you." He kissed Sam’s cheek. "Why do you still feel like this, after all this time? Do you think I’m going to vanish like the mist?"

"Sometimes," Sam muttered, burying his face in Frodo’s neck, pulling him so close that Frodo winced. "I watch you … looking at the sky, listening to the water…" he trailed off and pulled Frodo in even closer, only releasing him when Frodo gasped a plea.

"Sam." Frodo framed Sam’s face in his hands, smoothing back unruly fair hair. "Do you remember earlier, when we were talking about how it was when we first knew each other?" Sam nodded. "Shall I tell you something? I didn’t feel I was worthy of you. You were strong and handsome, a catch for every lass in the Shire, and I was the bookish, strange-looking hobbit who lived up the Hill. I would dream of being you, of having your strength and your beauty." He kissed Sam’s nose. "I know I’m – distant, sometimes. But it isn’t you, Sam. You tie me to the earth. You make me so happy that it hurts." He kissed Sam again, properly this time, no longer light. "You," he said against Sam’s lips, "are the reason I stayed."

"I’m not like you," Sam muttered finally, his hands moving to tangle in Frodo’s hair, holding them pressed together. "You are beauty and light. You’re like a dream."

Frodo snorted, a sound very un-dreamlike.

"I am no dream, Samwise. You’ve seen me on a morning when I don’t want to get up. You’ve seen me when I’ve had too much ale." He moved to hug Sam close. "You’ve seen me when I had no hope left. When all I could hold on to was you. I’m not a dream, I’m just a hobbit. I’m the same as you." He pulled away and knelt in front of Sam, taking his hands. "So stop thinking of me as fragile, or dreamlike or elven. And ask me what you want to ask."

Sam sniffed slightly and slowly opened his eyes, concentrating on his lap, studying the way his fingers fitted so comfortably with Frodo’s. If he moved – just so – he was able to hide the wound, and Frodo looked whole again.

"It’s part of me," Frodo whispered, moving so that his damaged hand was in full view. "Don’t try and hide it." He squeezed Sam’s fingers. "I’m still waiting for you to ask."

"Frodo Baggins …" Sam cleared his throat. "Would you lie with me on Midsummer night? In our garden, in this clearing, anywhere you choose. Maybe even by the banks of the river." He glanced up and shared a smile with Frodo. "Will you celebrate with me?"

"Samwise Gamgee," Frodo said seriously, recognising the importance of this moment as far as Sam was concerned, "I have lain with you under the skies of Mordor and the trees of Lothlorien. I have loved you within hearing of the Anduin and the light of Rivendell. Why would I not lay with you here, in the place we both belong? I have much to celebrate. Much for which to be thankful." He raised Sam’s hands and kissed them. "In the meantime, do you think we could practice? In our bed?" He tilted his head and smiled, and Sam came back from wherever he had been, and smiled as well.

*

"But it’s cold," Frodo whined. "And damp. Why is it damp? It hasn’t rained for days."

"It isn’t damp," Sam soothed. "You’re feeling the breeze from the west, you’re tasting the rain that’s coming."

"Humph." Frodo shifted against the grass, glancing up at the cloudy sky. "It won’t rain tonight, will it?"

"No," Sam said patiently. "The moon will be out from behind the clouds soon enough."

Frodo glanced up, trying to see the sky through the trees. It looked cloudy to him. Blessing the earth, indeed. The earth was quite fecund enough without him risking gout from lying on damp – it was damp, without a doubt – grass.

He looked back at Sam in order to continue his mini-tirade – this wasn’t a good day for him, he was feeling his old wounds and he wasn’t sure that he didn’t feel just a little bit silly doing this – but he never got past the first syllable.

Sam had taken off his shirt, and even in the faint light, he glowed, giving off strength and warmth and peace.

Frodo shifted to his knees, moving to rest his hands on Sam’s hips, his fingers twitching, but not yet reaching.

"There’s a blanket, Frodo," Sam’s voice was soft, and Frodo felt suddenly ashamed for his carping. How often did Sam ask for something? Never. And this obviously meant so much to him.

"I don’t need a blanket, Sam." He began to move his hands gently on Sam’s hips. "Why would I?" He looked up at Sam, and the moon chose that moment to show her face, breaking through the cloud cover and bathing the garden in her light, a strange monochrome effect that gave the night a feeling of magic.

Sam dropped to his knees and pulled Frodo to him, kissing him, his tongue delving into Frodo’s mouth, familiar and welcome. Frodo made an indeterminate noise in his throat and tilted his head until their mouths fitted together perfectly, and the kiss stretched out as they lost themselves in each other.

A shout made them both pull apart and look around, startled.

"Out in the lane," Frodo whispered, pressing close to Sam. "It sounded like Rosie Cotton."

"She’ll be going up into the woods," Sam replied, kissing along the length of Frodo’s jaw. "Don’t worry," he soothed as Frodo jumped at an answering, male shout, "nobody can see us."

"I wouldn’t care if they could," Frodo answered, twining his arms around Sam’s neck.

"What? You’d put on a show for them?" Sam’s voice was quiet and amused.

"In the market place at high noon, as long as the show was with you," Frodo replied, tilting his head so that Sam could kiss his neck, groaning with pleasure at the sensation.

"I wouldn’t share you," Sam muttered, his lips brushing Frodo’s neck while his fingers slowly began to unfasten the fine linen shirt. "I’ve had to share you too much in the past." He pushed gently until Frodo was lying on the grass, and continued to unfasten his shirt, pushing the edges apart, blinking as the moonlight reflected on Frodo’s pale skin.

"Had to share me?" Frodo asked, spreading his hands to either side and arching his back slightly, offering himself. "With whom?"

"With dwarves and elves and men," Sam said, lowering his head to kiss Frodo’s belly. "For a year or more I had to watch as that thing took you over, took you away from me." He stopped, and when he spoke again his voice was scratchy. "Never again."

Frodo rested his hands on Sam’s hair, stroking gently, but he didn’t speak, didn’t try and offer comfort. They both knew Sam spoke the truth. He felt Sam heave a great sigh, and tugged gently on his hair, pulling him up until they could kiss, warm and familiar, but with an edge between them, something beginning to grow.

As Sam worshipped him with teeth and tongue, Frodo dug his fingers into the earth, fancying he could hear her start to sing. As his hips arched and he thrust himself into Sam’s warm mouth, he opened his eyes and watched the moon smiling down at him, the stars dancing on their endless journey; and as Sam covered him, pushing into him, he forgot everything else but what was happening; his body moving with and against Sam’s in their own dance; a dance as ancient as time.

*

Breathless, they lay together in the garden of Bag End, the moon slowly moving across the sky as the short night drew to its close, Sam’s head resting on Frodo’s chest, both of them awake but neither willing to speak.

Frodo laughed softly as, somewhere in the hedge, a bird began to sing, hesitantly at first, then with more vigour, being joined by more and more, until the world was suddenly full of sound.

"Thank you," Sam said quietly. "Thank you for this."

"I should be thanking you." Sam shifted his head until he could look at Frodo, a quizzical look in his eyes.

"Why?"

"Because you said that you only wanted to do this with someone you loved, someone who would be with you forever." Frodo tugged on Sam’s hair. "You have no idea what that means to me."

"It’s naught but the truth." Sam smiled, his shy, beautiful smile; the one he saved for Frodo. He rested his head against Frodo’s chest again, and Frodo caught the muffled, "Blessed be," as he placed his hand against the dew-damp grass.

"We did that for the earth," he said mischievously, "now, do you think we could retire and do it again? For us?"

Sam pushed himself away, and stood up, holding out a hand for Frodo, who willingly took it, pulling himself upright, and they stood together for a long minute, clasped in each other’s arms.

"Look," Frodo said. "The moon and the sun are in the sky at the same time."

Sam glanced up, pulling Frodo against his side. "They are," he said. "But the sun’s tired, see? Rain soon." He turned and began to lead Frodo toward the back door. "Shall we leave them to their chat? Would you like some breakfast?"

Brought back to the mundanity of everyday living, Frodo realised that he was, indeed, quite hungry, and suddenly breakfast sounded like a good idea. He pulled away from Sam, claiming that they couldn’t both get through the door at the same time, and pushed Sam ahead of him.

As he turned to close the door on the burgeoning day, he smiled up at the sky. "Blessed be," he whispered.

The End

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