Lord of the Rings fanfic: How Dark the Night
Romance, drama, angst
How Dark the Night
Before they’d entered Moria, Frodo hadn’t known what true darkness was. Night time in the
Shire had been full of light. Lanterns and candles flickering in the windows of inns and
Hobbit holes; starlight and moonlight a welcome guide to travellers on their way.
In Moria, there was only the small arc of light cast by Gandalf’s staff, but Frodo was sure
that the further into Moria they went, the dimmer that light grew. When they stopped to rest
for the night, it seemed to sputter, as if the darkness of Moria was absorbing even that
little bit of brightness, along with his hope.
Was it even night here? Frodo couldn’t tell without seeing the sky and stars. How could the
Dwarves stand it? He felt the weight of the mountain above him and tried not to think on it.
Not to be able to feel the soft brush of grass against his feet, nor the wind caressing his
cheeks. Not being able to gaze at the sky. Not being able to see the stars was the worst for
Frodo. He missed the songs they sang to his skin.
His fascination with the stars was unusual for a Hobbit, but ever since he could remember,
Frodo would find any excuse to go outside at night and stare up at the sky. When he looked
at them, it was as though his skin was tingling with the beginning of a song he didn’t know,
but soon, he would discover its meaning. He was filled with such yearning, as though he
wanted to climb into the sky and then fall slowly back down to earth, cradled by a net of
starlight. He stared about the gloom of Moria and sighed. There would be no starlight to
soothe him here.
He squirmed on the rock, trying to get comfortable, but no matter which way he turned, all
he could feel was bare stone. Sam was lying a few feet away from him, snoring softly. Frodo
smiled to himself. The snores didn’t annoy him like they had on the first few nights they
had journeyed together. Now they were a sense of reality in something that had become
exceedingly unreal as they days went by.
Merry and Pippin were on the other side of Sam, lower limbs tangled together as though they
were one entity, not two. Pippin was nestled in the crook of Merry’s arm, his head resting
atop Merry’s chest. Even in sleep, Merry caressed Pippin’s curls. Frodo felt a pang in his
chest at the sight. They looked as though they belonged.
Frodo didn’t know where he belonged anymore. What was he but a silly small Hobbit from the
Shire, who spent more time reading about life than actually living it? He wasn’t brave, nor
foolish, and wondered what had made him volunteer for this task in the first place. It was
an impossible task, yet he was expected to carry it out. What could he do?
He shifted again, trying to get comfortable, but it was no use. He thought longingly of his
big bed back at Bag End, with feather pillows and crisp sheets. Night shirt and sheet fresh
with the scent of lavender that Sam used to air all Frodo’s belongings. Maybe that was it,
he had too many clothes on to sleep well.
Frodo sat up, removing his cloak and overcoat. In the end he took his westkit off as well.
The coat, he bunched up and placed on the rock for a makeshift pillow. When he lay back down
again, his neck ached a little from the awkward angle, but at least it was better than bare
rock. He pulled the cloak up under his chin for a blanket.
He squawked when the light from Gandalf’s staff went out completely. In that instant, Frodo
Baggins realised something about himself. He was utterly terrified of the dark. He closed his
eyes to shut out the darkness of Moria, but was rewarded with the image of a fiery Eye
devouring him whole. His eyes snapped open again.
It was as though he had become suddenly blind. He could see nothing, not even dim shapes,
just blackness. He whimpered and turned his head, muffling his cries against his coat. There
was no need to wake the others and have them learn of his cowardice. But Frodo had forgotten
how keenly Elves could hear.
"Frodo?" asked Legolas, sounding nearby. "What ails you, little one? I hate to see you so
Bad enough to be discovered in his weakness, but mortifying that it was the brave Elf who
had discovered him. A sob erupted from somewhere deep inside Frodo’s chest and there was
nothing he could do to prevent it. Frodo sat up, hastily rubbing his eyes to remove any
evidence of his weeping, before belatedly realising that Legolas could see perfectly in
the dark with his Elven senses.
"Frodo?" the voice was a whisper this time, as if he did not want to wake the others. "Will
you not trust me with this?"
Frodo could hardly speak. His breath hitched in his throat as he tried to stop crying.
"I - I do trust you Legolas. It’s just - it seems so silly now. I am a grown Hobbit after
all." Frodo peered into the gloom trying to make out shapes. He thought he saw a glimmer of
silver, which could have been the Elf’s hair, so he directed his voice there. "I - I fear
the dark," he admitted quietly. "I feel so ashamed."
"And why does this shame you, gentle Hobbit? For to admit one’s fears is the first step on
the road to conquering them. We all have fears, Frodo. All of us."
"Even you?" Frodo found it hard to imagine that the brave being would fear anything.
"Yes, Frodo, even me."
"I’m scared to sleep," said Frodo, feeling more confident now that he had someone to talk
to about what was bothering him. "When I close my eyes, I see him. His Eye, always on me.
I fear that if I sleep, he will do something to me. Something I won’t know about."
"I sense it isn’t the darkness you fear, Frodo, but what might be within it. You fear the
unknown, as do we all. What dangers may lurk that you cannot see?"
"Yes, that is it, Legolas. I can’t see anything. Not even you."
"Lie down, Frodo. Let me see if I can ease you enough for you to sleep this night. It is a
long and dangerous road ahead, and little Hobbits need their sleep!" Frodo had to imagine
the smile, for he could not see it in the dark. He wondered what Legolas had in mind, a
lullaby perhaps? But maybe that would wake the others.
Frodo lay down on his right side, facing away from Sam. He heard Legolas settle into the
space between the two Hobbits. Frodo tossed and turned, trying to find the most comfortable
spot and he heard Legolas chuckle in his ear. Frodo stilled completely when he felt the Elf’s
hand stroking his back.
"Legolas," he breathed. "What are you doing?"
"I am trying to ease you, Frodo, but you are as wriggly as a new caught eel! No wonder you
cannot sleep. You must be still. Relax, Frodo. Imagine you are on a deserted beach. Listen
to the sound of the waves on the shore."
"I don’t know what the sea sounds like, Legolas. I have never been there."
"A river then, think of how the water laps against the bank ever so gently. Breathe with the
water, Frodo. Feel yourself in the current. Breathe."
Frodo’s eyes fluttered closed as he listened to the soothing tones of the Elf and felt the
hands make small circles on his back. Although he still wore his shirt, and the mithril one
beneath it, he could almost fancy that the felt the Elf’s hands on his bare skin and he
shivered at the delightful sensation. There was no Eye now, just Legolas’ voice and Legolas’
hands caressing him, stroking him to the edge of sleep. Frodo sighed deep in his throat. He
had turned to water, he was the river and he was floating away downstream, stars wheeling in
the sky above him. Frodo snuggled deeper under his cloak and into slumber. But before sleep
could fully claim him, he felt the soft brush of lips against the back of his neck and he
sucked in a gasp.
"Goodnight, meleth," whispered Legolas before Frodo knew no more.
Frodo was lying at the base of the pedestal holding Galadriel’s mirror when he heard footsteps
behind him. Curled up in a little ball, his body was wracked with sobs. The voices of the
Elves still singing a lament for Gandalf were almost in counterpoint to his tears. He had
failed. He had let Gandlaf die. He would never be healed of this grief. Never. How could such
a small body contain such sorrow? He would never feel himself again. Never.
Frodo did not even need to turn to know who it was who crept up behind him, leaves barely
rustling as the Elf made his way to where Frodo lay. Ever since that night in Moria when
Legolas had comforted him, Frodo had sensed the Elf’s presence whenever he was near.
The Elf did not speak, but Frodo could hear his even breathing as Legolas crept nearer to him.
Frodo was lifted from the ground, cradled against the Elf’s chest like a babe. He turned his
head, muffling his sobs against the silky material of Legolas’ tunic, feeling his tears dampen
it. Frodo had never felt so small and insignificant.
Legolas moved with Frodo still clinging to him and sat down, holding Frodo against his body
and rocking him, murmuring soothing sounds against his head. Frodo’s hands reached out almost
of their own accord and gripped the tunic fiercely.
It seemed natural when Legolas’s soothing voice against his head became a kiss in his hair.
It seemed natural when Legolas bent his head and kissed Frodo on the forehead, lips cool on
Frodo’s heated skin. It seemed natural that Legolas should continue those kisses against
Frodo’s damp eyelids, on his tear streaked cheeks, on the tip of his nose. It seemed natural
when Frodo tilted his head up to receive the benediction of the Elf’s kiss on his lips.
There was no passion in the kiss, no fire, just the offering of comfort, but Frodo’s body
had other ideas and he felt himself harden at the Elf’s kisses. Frodo was beyond wanting, or
needing comfort. He tried to pull away, out of the Elf’s embrace, but Legolas held him firm.
"Legolas, please," begged Frodo, although he wasn’t quite sure what he was requesting from
"Frodo? What would you have me do? What do you wish?" asked Legolas softly.
What did he wish? Oh, there was a question that he could find no answer for. What did he wish?
He wished he had never gone to live at Bag End. He wished Bilbo had never found the Ring. He
wished he was still safe at home in the Shire. He wished Gandalf had never fallen. He may as
well wish for the stars and the moon too, for none of them would ever be true.
"I want to feel alive, Legolas," whispered Frodo against the Elf’s chest. He could feel
Legolas’ heart thrumming beneath his ear. For as he said it, Frodo realised that he felt dead.
Almost as if he had fallen into the Abyss with Gandalf, was still tumbling towards some
unforeseen but inescapable doom. Fate had chosen him for good or ill and he still railed
"Frodo?" asked Legolas again, stroking his hair softly. Frodo angled his head into the caress, feeling
the urge to purr like a kitten. Frodo glanced up, meeting the Elf’s eyes, pools of blue ice
that chilled and warmed Frodo at once.
"Touch me, Legolas. Please." Frodo shifted in the Elf’s lap, reaching up and cupping Legolas’
cheeks in his hand, before pulling Legolas down for a hungry kiss. Legolas made a startled
sound in his throat before he pulled away and frowned at Frodo.
"Frodo, stop this. You do not know what you are doing."
"I do. I need. I want…I want this. I want you." Not sure when he had suddenly become so bold,
Frodo reached out for the Elf’s left hand and guided it between his legs, evidence indeed
that Frodo’s body knew exactly what it wanted.
To Frodo’s surprise, Legolas did not immediately remove his hand, but let it linger there,
caressing Frodo through the velvet of his breeches. Frodo gasped at the touch, delicious,
unknown sensations darting throughout his body and pooling as liquid fire between his thighs.
He had long been knowledgeable about what his own hands could do, but who knew another’s
touch could feel this good?
"Frodo, I am flattered, truly I am," said Legolas, still stroking Frodo’s length absently.
"But I do not desire you like that. You are dear to me, as are all of our Fellowship, but my
heart has long belonged to another."
Frodo tried to concentrate on what the Elf was saying, but rational thought had long since
fled when he had first felt Legolas’ fingers on him. Something about desire.
"Frodo?" the fingers on him stilled and Frodo let out a whimper.
"Please don’t stop," he pleaded and looked up at Legolas, seeing himself reflected in the
Elf’s eyes, mouth slightly parted, eyes hooded and almost black with arousal.
"Just listen for a moment, Frodo. Then I promise I will… ease you."
Frodo could not prevent the soft moan escaping his lips at the words the Elf spoke. He nodded,
an indication that he was listening, despite his body’s obvious attempts to distract him.
"Frodo, I like you, but I do not desire you as one would a lover. You are a friend to me,
and what I can offer you is as one friend to another. Nothing more. Can you take what I can
give, Frodo? Or do you wish to forget about this and… and take care of yourself?"
"I would like to take whatever you are willing to give, Legolas," whispered Frodo, unwilling
to let the Elf’s touch leave him just yet. Yes, he could take care of matters himself with his
own hands, but it wasn’t just release he wanted. He wanted to be held, to feel a connection
to someone else.
Legolas smoothed Frodo’s curls away from his forehead and traced Frodo’s skin with his fingers,
all the while staring at Frodo. Frodo swallowed and returned the gaze.
"You are beautiful, has anyone ever told you that, Frodo?" The Elf leaned forward and kissed
Frodo softly on the lips. Frodo’s mouth opened, eager to accept any touch from him, however
small. Frodo shifted in Legolas’ lap, his breeches were getting uncomfortable and he almost
willed the buttons to open on their own accord.
But Legolas seemed to sense Frodo’s distress and without breaking the kiss, his hand moved
between Frodo‘s legs. As deftly as any ladies’ maid Legolas made short work of the buttons
and slipped his hand inside, caressing Frodo through the cotton of his underlinens. Frodo
gasped and bucked up into his hand, not wanting this to ever stop.
Legolas broke the kiss and looked at Frodo once again, smiling down at his young companion.
Frodo could not take the intensity of that gaze and he had to close his eyes, aware of nothing
but the sounds of his ragged breathing and the steady pressure Legolas was applying to his
length. And with his eyes closed he could pretend that it was not the Elf’s whose hands were
Frodo felt a sharp tightness in his belly and knew that he was going to fall over the edge
far too soon, but he did not want the Elf’s caresses to stop. This was too good to stop. His
back arched like a bow and suddenly he was coming, starlight bloomed behind his eyes. He
opened them as he felt the first spasms take him, watching as drops of pearl bathed Legolas’
"Gandalf!" wailed Frodo, grief and pleasure intermingled so that it was hard to know where
one ended and the other began. His heart thumped wildly in his chest and he wondered if he
was indeed going to die now. His hands clutched at the Elf’s tunic, his grip so fierce that
his knuckles turned white. Breathing was little more than a gasp.
"I’m sorry," mumbled Frodo against the tunic.
"What are you sorry for?" asked Legolas, tilting Frodo’s head up to look at him.
"It all happened so fast. I did not get to tend you." Frodo tried to kiss Legolas again, but
the Elf moved his head away. Legolas shook his head.
"No, Frodo. This was a gift to you. You do not need to tend me."
"But I thought that when two people…" he trailed of, unsure what to say next.
"So you have never been with another before, Frodo?" asked Legolas gently. "I have to say
I am surprised. I had the sense that although your body welcomed my touch, that you were
thinking of another."
"Is it that obvious?" asked Frodo.
"Only to me, Frodo. Elves can sense things that other races can’t. But tell me, why haven’t
you told him how you feel?"
Frodo shifted, taking out a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to Legolas to wipe
his hand. He buttoned his breeches and refused to answer. What could he answer?
"It’s difficult. In the Shire, liking another lad, well, it just isn’t done," said Frodo
finally. And how he had wanted it to be done, to feel that he wasn’t alone in his yearnings
for someone of his own sex.
"You’re not in the Shire anymore, Frodo."
For the next three nights, Frodo found excuses to leave the camp and hoped that Legolas
would follow. He returned to camp disappointed and more than a little frustrated. There
were no more nights of comfort in Legolas’ arms.
On the fourth night, he promised himself that if Legolas did not come to him, he would give
up and settle down to sleep at the camp like a good Hobbit, even though it pained him more
than he cared to admit.
When he heard leaves rustling and twigs cracking behind him, Frodo turned and gasped in
It wasn’t the Elf who had followed him that night.
Frodo knew even before he turned that his follower couldn’t have been Legolas. The Elf was
light on his feet and almost moved silently. Broken branches and the crunch of leaves
betrayed the person as someone other than an Elf.
Frodo was a little dismayed, but not surprised to see Sam. Sam had been worried for him
ever since they’d left the Shire and it was a wonder that he hadn’t followed Frodo
"Sam, what are you doing here?" asked Frodo.
"I might ask you the same question, sir," said Sam, who made no move to leave, instead
walked even further towards Frodo, who backed away. His retreat was cut off by the trunk
of a tree. He could go nowhere else. There was something in Sam’s gaze that held him there,
like a rabbit held fast in the eyes of a snake. But who was the snake and who was the rabbit
"You’re waiting for him, aren’t you Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam softly.
Frodo swallowed and could not answer. He tried to look away, but Sam’s golden gaze was
such that it was difficult. How could he deny his eyes the sight of Sam’s honey coloured
hair, the softness of his lips? It would be like denying a man dying of thirst a sip of water.
"I don’t know what you mean, Sam," Frodo tried to protest. Sam snorted in disgust.
"That’s a big a lie as ever I’ve heard Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon. I saw you. Both of you."
"You saw us?" Frodo ground out between gritted teeth. "And when you saw us, why didn’t you
leave and give us some privacy?"
"I did. I only saw you both for a moment. What, did you think I would have stayed and
watched? Something so private?"
"I don’t know, Sam. You seem to be full of surprises tonight. Anything else you’d like to
"I saw his face, Mr. Frodo. I saw how he looked when he touched you. How he looked at you.
Legolas was touching you as if it were a chore, not as if it was something joyful. I don’t
understand. Why would he even try to seduce you if he didn’t enjoy it?"
"So that’s what you think you saw, Sam. A seduction," said Frodo.
"Wasn’t it?" demanded Sam, arms held on his hips, his legs braced on the ground in front of
him, as though he thought to stay there until he received a satisfactory answer from Frodo,
even if it meant waiting all night.
It was all so tangled and Frodo did not know how to unravel the threads that kept him bound.
How could he speak of this to Sam, of all people? The one person he could not talk to
For Legolas had been right, Frodo had been thinking of someone else as the Elf touched him.
Had been thinking of a honeyed haired gardener with rough hands and a body that he had long
desired pressed up against his own. But he could not speak of this to Sam. Sam, who was so
young and to Frodo’s eyes such an innocent that he could not bear to be the one who took
that innocence away.
Sam was looking at him now, with such hurt and such anger in his eyes that Frodo had to look
away. He felt so ashamed that Sam had seen him with Legolas, had seen him with anyone, when
he knew that his heart belonged to Sam. He felt as though he’d betrayed Sam, even though
they were not lovers.
"That wasn’t a seduction, Sam," sighed Frodo. "It was comfort."
"Oh, Mr. Frodo," said Sam walking towards Frodo and gently laid a hand on his cheek. Frodo
hardly dared breathe, hardly dared move at that soft touch. Sam. Touching him. He stared
into Sam’s eyes. Sam stared back, not moving his hand, just letting it linger there on
Frodo’s skin. Frodo could feel the heat from Sam’s body, so close to his, yet not touching,
but just a few more steps and they would be.
"Oh, Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered. "If you were after comfort, why didn’t you turn to me?"
Frodo could do nothing but stare at his friend and gardener. He had heard rumours of some of
the gentlefolk using the servants for bedroom favours, but he had not thought that those
rumours had reached Sam’s ears too. And to think that Sam would have been willing to do
that, as he had been willing to do everything else for his master. It was almost more than
Frodo could bear.
"Sam, I would not ask you to - to please me like that. It is not part of your duties and it
never will be."
"Who said anything about duty?" asked Sam, lightly tracing his finger along the line of
Frodo’s jaw. "I may be young, but I’m not that young. I know you look at me. I know the
way you look at me and it’s not the way friends look at each other, if you take my
Frodo felt his blood turn to ice in his veins, could almost feel ice crystals forming
flowing into his heart, crushing it. He thought he had hidden his feelings well, for he
could not reconcile them with himself. Sam had shown no interest in being with males and
Frodo did not want to embarrass or shame his friend.
"Oh, Sam," he looked at the ground, unable to bear the hurt in Sam’s eyes any longer. "I’m
so sorry. It was wrong of me to think of you like that. I-"
"No, Mr. Frodo." Sam stilled Frodo’s words with a finger on his lips. "What was wrong was
you feeling like that about me and then seeking comfort elsewhere. That’s what was wrong."
"So what are we going to do about it?" Frodo shivered as Sam’s fingers rubbed against his
In answer, Sam leant forward, his face a mask of purpose. Frodo would have backed away even
further if he hadn’t been hindered by the tree. Sam grabbed Frodo by the waist, who yelped
in surprise, before Sam’s mouth pressed down on his in a crushing kiss. Frodo’s legs ceased
to resemble blood and bone, instead they seemed to have turned to something the consistency
of jam, which would no longer support him. His knees buckled and he would have fallen if not
for the joint support of Sam’s strong arms and the tree behind them.
"Sam, what are you doing?" mumbled Frodo once Sam had released his claim on Frodo’s mouth.
His mouth felt swollen from the force of Sam’s kisses. He found himself wanting more of them.
Wanting even more from Sam. He stifled a groan.
"I was kissing you, why what did it feel like?" Sam was smiling at him. Frodo licked his
lips and watched in rapt fascination as Sam echoed the gesture. Who knew Sam could be so
forceful? That he tasted of grass and sunshine and something spicier that was uniquely Sam?
"It felt like you were kissing me," agreed Frodo. "But why were you kissing me?"
"Wasn’t it good, then?" asked Sam, his brow furrowing. He still hadn’t relinquished his hold
on Frodo’s waist. Frodo found he didn’t mind at all. "I - I’ve never done it before. Maybe I
need more practice." Sam leaned forward, his eyes closed, but instinctively knowing the way
to Frodo’s mouth.
"More practice," murmured Frodo as his own eyes closed. Sam’s kiss was more tentative this
time, barely a brush of lips and Frodo sighed into Sam’s mouth. Oh, how could he have survived
this long without knowing the taste of Sam’s lips? Frodo moved his arms to Sam’s head,
relishing the softness of Sam’s hair as he buried his hands in it.
Sam pulled away, breathing hard. Frodo still had hold of Sam‘s head, and pulled his friend
down towards his mouth once more, unwilling to forgo Sam’s kisses just yet.
"Oh, Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered, close to Frodo’s ear, his voice husky with want. Frodo
hardened instantly, arching his hips towards Sam even as he brought Sam‘s head closer to
his. He had heard Sam call him "Mr. Frodo" for more years than he cared to remember, but oh,
the way Sam said it just then. It was a wonder Frodo could still stand upright.
As they kissed again, Sam moved his hands from Frodo’s waist, making a short journey to his
rear and pulled Frodo hard against him. Frodo could feel Sam’s erection against his stomach,
as he was sure Sam could feel his. He moaned, low in his throat, his hands clinging to Sam’s
neck. It was nothing like being with Legolas. Legolas had been the shadow of a candle, Sam
was the flame itself, scorching Frodo’s skin wherever he touched it.
Sam’s lips left his for a moment and Frodo gasped in frustration, but it turned to a moan of
pure pleasure when he felt Sam’s lips against the hollow of his throat. Kissing softly at
first, but then sucking. Hard. Frodo bucked up against Sam feeling faint. Could you die from
too much pleasure? "Oh, Sam," he groaned as Sam’s lips kept sucking on his pulse point,
almost as if Sam wanted to suck his heart right out through his skin. Frodo guessed there
would be a bruise there tomorrow, Sam was sucking so hard, but he was so aroused that it
didn’t feel painful at all, just unusual.
Sam looked up at him, licking his lips and grinning like a madman. "You don’t know how long
I’ve wanted to taste you, me dear." Even as he spoke, Sam took the lead again and began to
unbutton Frodo’s shirt. Frodo tried to return the favour, but his hands were shaking so much
that it was an impossible task. Just the thought of seeing Sam next to him without his shirt
was almost enough to undo him. He stilled his hands and let Sam do what he would.
"Do you ever dream of me, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam as he finished with the first button, then
planting a kiss on the bare skin he had just revealed.
"D - d - dream?" rational thought was taking flight as quickly as Sam made short work of
Frodo’s buttons. Each time a button was popped out of its hole, Sam bent to kiss Frodo’s
chest. Frodo was surprised not to find burn marks on his skin when he looked. He felt so
hot and flustered and if something did not happen soon he was going to explode.
Sam paused on the last button, undoing it ever so slowly to Frodo’s mind. Frodo looked at
Sam again, saw the grin and had to stifle one of his own. Samwise Gamgee, shy master gardener
of Bag End, was teasing him. And it was working. "Sam, if you don’t touch me right now - I -
I - I’ll - ah!!" Frodo arched into Sam’s hand, as Sam touched him right where he needed to
be touched. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out.
"Do you like that, Mr. Frodo?" asked Sam, gently rubbing the length of Frodo through his
trousers. "I think you may like something else better."
Frodo wasn’t sure that anything else could feel better. What could be better than standing
here being touched by his Sam? Nothing could be better than that. But when Sam deftly undid
the buttons of Frodo’s breeches, reached in and pushed aside his underlinens, Frodo had to
re-evaluate that thought. Sam’s hands on his bare skin was a lot better.
"I dream about you, Mr. Frodo," Sam said softly, stroking along Frodo’s length as if they
had all the time in the world. His touches were barely there, making Frodo writhe in an
agony of frustration.
"You do?" gasped Frodo, amazed that he could even answer the question with what Sam’s
wonderful fingers were doing to his body.
"Aye, I do. I dream of you all the time. After those dreams, I wake up so hard that I just
have to touch myself, even though my Gaffer might come in at any moment. I think of you and
about the dreams. I think of you when I come, Frodo. Only you."
"What happens in your dreams, Sam?" asked Frodo, a little breathless now.
Sam’s hands stopped and he gazed deep into Frodo’s eyes. "I don’t know if I have the words
for it, Mr. Frodo. Best if I show you, I reckon." He was smiling again and Frodo felt his
heart pound even louder in his ears. What was he letting himself in for?
"All right, Sam," he sighed. "Show me."
And Sam did.
He pushed Frodo’s braces off his shoulders, leaving them dangling at Frodo’s sides. Next, he
eased Frodo’s shirt half way off down his back, leaving Frodo’s neck and shoulders exposed to
Sam’s hungry gaze. Sam stared enraptured at the skin he could see and licked his lips, his
eyes never leaving Frodo’s. Sam looked as though he wanted to devour Frodo whole, and by the
Valar if Frodo didn’t want to let him.
Sam bent his head and kissed the skin of Frodo’s left shoulder. Frodo jerked upwards at the
touch, he hadn’t known his shoulders were so sensitive. He imagined this was how it must feel
to be struck by lightning. Sam was the lightning and Frodo was willing to stand there and
be consumed until there was nothing left of him but smoke and ashes.
Sam suckled on his shoulder and Frodo almost jumped right out of his skin when he felt a
gentle nip of Sam’s teeth, he didn’t think Sam drew blood, but there would be a mark. It was
as though Sam had branded him. You are mine.
Sam glanced up at Frodo, his eyes cloudy, but his mouth still busy with Frodo’s shoulder.
Frodo wriggled against Sam trying to relieve the pressure that was building up steadily
between his legs. He didn’t think he’d ever felt this aroused in his life. Frodo heard a
strange sound and in his lust induced haze it took a while for him to place it. Sam was
humming. Sam was humming against his shoulder. Frodo could feel the vibrations right down to
his toes. They curled in the ground and he arched upwards, his body awash with need.
"Sam, please!" he begged, unsure what it was that he wanted.
"You didn’t talk in the dreams, sir," said Sam, no longer kissing Frodo’s shoulder, but his
mouth still hovering a few inched from it. Frodo could feel Sam’s hot breath on his already
heated skin. Sam’s eyes were twinkling with some mischief, Frodo thought. "You didn’t talk,
but you were very vocal, like."
"Vocal?" Frodo almost squeaked, as Sam’s hand increased its pace along Frodo’s length, stroking
a steady rhythm. He arched shamelessly into Sam’s hands, all thoughts about propriety long
forgotten. His whole body was thrumming with need, every sensation heightened by the fact
that it was Sam who was doing this to him. Frodo’s hands fisted at his sides, sometimes
scraping against the bark of the tree supporting him.
"Let me touch you too, Sam," pleaded Frodo. Sam shook his head, standing up straight and
moving slightly away from Frodo. Frodo felt bereft without the solidity of Sam pressed
Sam was staring at him, taking in every part of him that his eyes could reach, lingering the
longest on Frodo’s chest and neck. Frodo had never been the object of such scrutiny before
and he writhed under Sam’s steady gaze. It was as though Sam could see right down to his
soul and he thought it beautiful. Then Frodo realised what Sam was looking at. The Ring.
Frodo yanked the chain over his head and threw the accursed thing onto the grass, as far
away from them as his arm could reach. "Sam? Can I touch you?"
"Not yet, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, his voice shaky. His pupils were so wide that his eyes looked
almost black, a dark pool rimmed in gold. "There’s something I want to do, but if you touch
me I’ll be lost. I’m that close, Mr. Frodo."
Frodo felt a flood of desire so strong at Sam’s words that he had to lean back against the
tree before he fell. "What do you want to do, Sam?" he panted.
Sam’s answer needed no words, he sank to his knees in the grass in front of Frodo, pinning
Frodo’s hips with his hands. Sam’s mouth was so close to Frodo’s aching flesh, he would just
have to turn his head and he would be able to kiss Frodo there. Frodo moaned
anticipating just that. Sam glanced up at him, his eyes questioning. Frodo nodded, beyond
the capacity to speak. Is that what Sam dreamed about? Tasting him?
Frodo had long imagined the sensations of Sam’s mouth around him, but nothing could compare
him for the reality of it. Sam kissed the tip tenderly, before he took Frodo’s length
halfway into his mouth. Sam’s mouth was so soft, warm and slick, Frodo tried to stop himself
from thrusting ruthlessly forwards, but he had been on the edge for so long that it was
difficult. He deliberately scratched his hands on the bark behind him, needed something to
keep him grounded. He would float away at any moment. He felt the familiar tightness low in
his belly, knowing that he was going to come soon and tried to should a warning to Sam, but
all that emerged from his mouth were incoherent grunts and moans. Oh, Sam was too good at
this. He didn’t want it to end.
Frodo felt as though he was hurtling over the edge of a cliff. Sam took him deeper into his
mouth. He was dimly aware that Sam’s hands had left his hips and he could hear the rustle of
fabric, not his clothes. Sam’s. Frodo opened his eyes and glanced down, Sam was touching
himself through the material of his breeches, while his other hand was busy with Frodo.
Doing this to Frodo was exciting Sam. This was no duty, no chore. The knowledge was enough
to send Frodo plunging headlong over the cliff.
He screamed as the waves crashed over him and broke on the beach of his shaking body,
spilling himself inside the warm cave of Sam’s mouth. He dimly felt Sam’s hands on his
thighs, holding him against the tree as they both waited for the spasms to subside.
"Frodo, are you all right?" Sam asked, gently removing his mouth and Frodo wondered what had
prompted the question, before realising that tears were dripping down his face.
"I'm - I'm fine, Sam. That was just so - so. I can't describe it. I'm overwhelmed."
Sam pushed himself up and hugged Frodo. Frodo could feel Sam’s body trembling next to his.
Frodo kissed him and tasted his own seed in Sam’s mouth, salty but slightly sweet too. Or
maybe Sam was the one who tasted sweet. Frodo broke the kiss and smiled at Sam. "Samwise
Gamgee, where on Middle-Earth did you learn how to do that?" Frodo managed to get out between
gasps for breath.
"In a dream," said Sam, resting his head on Frodo’s shoulder and beginning to nibble on his
earlobe. Frodo wriggled against him, feeling desire curl in his belly, but he knew that he
would be slow to quicken again. He was not as young as Sam and it would take time for his
body to recover. Not that he minded Sam’s efforts, no not at all. He brought his mouth close
to Sam’s ear, licking the pointed tip. Sam groaned and arched against him.
"Sam, I love you," whispered Frodo. "You do know that, don’t you?"
"Aye, I reckon I do at that, Mr. Frodo. I love you too."
"Well, now that we have that sorted out, there is another matter we need to resolve."
"There is?" Sam stiffened in his arms, worried if Frodo was any judge.
Frodo reached down and tugged Sam’s head up, cupping Sam’s cheeks in his palms, just gazing
into his eyes. "Yes, my dearest Sam. It’s about time that the master of Bag End took care of
Sam’s eyes widened as Frodo pushed him against the tree. Sam flung his head back as Frodo’s
knee pressed between his thighs. Frodo could feel the dampness seeping through Sam’s breeches
and onto his own. Frodo leaned close to Sam’s ear and growled softly. "I think it’s about
time I discovered how you taste."
The moans from Sam were all the encouragement Frodo needed as he knelt on his knees to tend
Legolas found the new lovers quite by accident. He was just talking a walk, as was his
custom before settling down for the night. He loved wandering in the woods of Lorien, so
different from his home. The light was different, almost difficult to tell whether it was
day or night.
Sam and Frodo were in a small clearing, sleeping peacefully at the foot of a mallorn tree.
He did not disturb them, his steps were so light, but he made his way carefully over to
them, curious. Sam was lying on his back, his shirt unbuttoned to the waist, curled up
against his left shoulder was Frodo, who was completely shirtless. His shirt lay next to
him, crumpled and discarded. And next to the shirt was the Ring.
Legolas tore his eyes away from that siren and stared at the two sleeping Hobbits. He had
never seen them without shirts before and he was fascinated by the downy hair that covered
their chests. Elves did not have hair on their chests and it was such an unusual site for
the Elf that he was sorely tempted to run his hands over the softness there, just to see
what it felt like. His hand was almost on them before he tugged it back. No, it was wrong to
What was right was the fact that these two had finally found each other. Perhaps they could
comfort each other in the long days ahead, for Legolas knew their task would not be easy. It
was right and if Legolas got hurt in the process, then what did that matter? For the
Fellowship had a higher purpose and he should not dwell on things that were never meant
Legolas had told Frodo the truth that day, but not all of it. It was true that Legolas’
heart had been stolen, but he had refrained from mentioning by who.
The thief lay on the forest floor, his arm curled protectively around Frodo.
Legolas had fallen hopelessly in love with Samwise Gamgee.