Sighing, Sam hitched backwards, inching deeper into the sparse shelter they had found, and looked up at the full, bright moon, not sure if he begrudged it its place in the cloudless sky or if he were grateful for its presence. No matter how much Mr. Frodo coaxed or Sam threatened, Gollum steadfastly refused to travel under its brilliant face after their scare with the winged Wraiths, skulking off when he became annoyed with their attempts. It seemed a shame to waste such good light for traveling, but at the same time Sam was grateful for the extra rest, especially since Mr. Frodo had sunk into a deep, calm sleep - his first in far too long.
Sam felt as if he could sleep for hours and hours himself. Their journey seemed to be dragging on interminably; each day saw them both more exhausted. But he didn't trust Gollum, not by a long sight, and felt obliged to keep watch when he could, particularly when the wretched thing was in an ill mood. Not that he minded watching over Mr. Frodo; not at all. It comforted something deep inside Sam to see him so peaceful, escaping the terrible burden he carried, if only for a short while. Though the presence of The Ring seemed to be seeping into Frodo's dreams more and more, making each night's sleeping just a continuation of the day's horrors, this evening he slept undisturbed.
Instead of restless tossings and murmurs, he lay quietly on his side only a few feet away from Sam, comfortably wrapped in his Elven cloak, one hand pillowing his fair cheek, the other stretched out as if seeking something. Not the Ring, either, Sam noted with approval; for once it was tucked under his shirt, out of sight. Frodo wore a faint smile, as if revisiting better times and places, erasing the lines of fatigue and pain that had pinched his mouth in recent days.
He was beautiful under the caress of moonlight and slumber, Sam decided sleepily, remembering when they had left Bag End and how Mr. Frodo had looked bathed in silver radiance that night. So perfect, touching him seemed almost wrong, yet Sam had wanted very badly to feel that perfection under his fingertips. Almost had, too. At the time he had thought himself too forward, too bold by far for considering such a thing; he had pushed away even the memory of his desire.
Now, he could if he wanted, confident that Mr. Frodo wouldn't take it amiss; he might even be glad for it. Though he hadn't turned to Sam for pleasure since Lothlorien - no wonder, given the lack of privacy and hardships he'd endured - he had never once objected to the small intimacies that Sam couldn't help but take here and there. Not that they amounted to much; brushing away an errant curl from his eyes or lying a comforting hand on his shoulder as they walked.
Sam longed for more, much more, but it was not his place to ask. He was just a gardener, little more than a common laborer. Mr. Frodo was as far above him as the moon shining overhead: an educated hobbit of means and position. Sam had no doubt that if the situation wasn't what it was, Frodo would never have considered taking him to his bed.
The first time had simply been an act of kindness on Frodo's part, one of many bestowed on Sam. Every time since then Frodo had only been seeing to the natural needs of a healthy hobbit in his prime with the only companion available to him. Those treasured nights didn't mean the same to Frodo as they did to Sam. He accepted that, accepted that it would never happen again once they were safely back in the Shire.
For now, though, he had this quiet watch and the liberties that Mr. Frodo allowed because of their circumstances. Sam took advantage of his privileges by tucking the cloak closer to Frodo's neck so that a chill wouldn't seep under. Frodo sighed Sam's name at the tender attention, and shifted toward him as if seeking his warmth. Heart thudding once hard in his chest at the trust implied in that small movement, Sam couldn't stop himself from bending to brush a kiss over Frodo's curly head.
To Sam's surprise, Frodo tangled his hands in his shirt and opened eyes that were dreamy and warm with sleep. "Oh, again, please, Sam."
More than willing to oblige, Sam whispered the lightest of kisses over each of Frodo's cheeks, then drew back enough to be sure of his welcome before bringing their lips together. With a tiny cry that went straight through Sam's loins, Frodo turned the kiss into something hungry and demanding, effortlessly dragging Sam along with him into passion. Frodo turned onto his back to wrap his arms around him, and Sam found himself on his elbows and knees, trying not to put his full weight on his master, who had grown far too thin.
Just when Sam thought he might find his release from kisses alone, Frodo broke away and licked a path to the hollow of his throat to fill it with a suckling bite. He murmured against Sam's skin, "I was dreaming of the Shire. Waking to find you kissing me was like having a bit of that dream come true."
As he spoke, his clever fingers found their way past buttons and fabric, and Sam couldn't have moved or spoken if his life depended on it. "I could almost see the sunshine bright in your hair - feel the warmth of it pouring off you and into me."
Frodo inched further under him, his lips following where his fingers led, down the plane of Sam's breastbone. "You taste of home, too. Honey sweet and butter rich."
Head hanging almost to his chest, Sam whispered, "Frodo, me dear...."
"Shh, shh. Let me dream a little while longer. Please?" Not waiting for wait for an answer to his plea, he licked at the nub he'd found on Sam's chest, murmuring in satisfaction when it perked up. He nursed at it until it ached, until it was not the only part of Sam aching with need, then moved toward the other.
"You smell like you just came in from working in the garden," Frodo said so quietly Sam wasn't sure he understood him. "Earthy from good, rich soil; sweaty from hard, honest work. Ah, Sam, what that scent does to me."
"What..." Sam asked, stopped to clear a voice thick and raw with desire, then went on. "What do you want?"
"This." Frodo cupped Sam's maleness, fingertips lightly stirring the soft sac underneath. "I want to taste all of you."
"Oh."
Taking that as the yes Sam didn't have the wit to say, Frodo latched on the neglected nipple while his hands delved into Sam's trousers, freeing his hardness. For the life of him, Sam couldn't look away, and he watched as Frodo slowly slid farther down to take him in his mouth. The wet heat exploded through Sam's mind and body, but that didn't arouse him half as much as the sight of his length sliding past Frodo's lips. The rapt bliss on his beloved's face was too much to take, and his body moved without his command to thrust in time to Frodo's attentions on him.
His release stormed up through him, and Sam moaned a warning even as he stiffened, fists digging into the mulch under them. Frodo only drove himself farther down, tongue stroking and teasing as his throat tried to open to accept Sam's hardness. Sam was barely aware of it - barely aware of anything except the exquisite pleasure owning him and Frodo's beauty lighting his heart and mind.
Finally he was spent. Just before his trembling limbs could betray him into crashing down onto Frodo, slender arms and legs wound around his torso and turned him to his side. Frodo buried his face in the curve of Sam's shoulder and softly said, "Thank you, Sam. That was wonderful."
Sam let out a long, shaky breath, wrapping Frodo in his arms and cloak as he did. "Not exactly the word that comes to mind."
Frodo laughed for the first time in longer than Sam cared to remember. "What would I do without you?" he said sleepily, cuddling closer.
"Never going to find out, are you?" Sam said quietly, but he didn't think Frodo was awake enough to hear him, which suited him just fine.
Tired and sated as he was, Sam wasn't willing to give up his watch. He cautiously shifted, not wanting to become so comfortable that he would be lured into following Frodo into slumber. A glint of gold caught his eye: the Ring resting in a fold of fabric at the back of Frodo's collar. For an instant he thought he heard a rumbling, grumbling voice in his head, like when he met The Lady of the Wood. Without hesitation he tucked the hood of the Elven cloak around Frodo's neck, hiding the Ring.
He didn't need to listen to its empty promises. He already had all he wanted or needed.
finis