elderberrywine | New Fic (Spring Thaw) part two

New Fic (Spring Thaw) part two

It was a bird’s nest. That was the conclusion Frodo and Sam had reached. The front room chimney hadn’t been drawing well as of late, and on the last occasion, had entirely smoked them out altogether. Yet when Sam had peered down from above, on a rare clear day, there had appeared to be no obstruction.

“A finch, right enough,” he declared to Frodo, pouring the steaming water into the teapot as he prepared their tea.

“And how would you know that, Sam?” Frodo asked Sam curiously, as he stood beside Sam in the kitchen of Bag End, slicing bread. The early evening dusk was darkening the sky rapidly without, and the warmth of the fire was welcome. The clouds had been building all day, and it was apparent that another snowstorm was due that night.

“T’was some sticks as I saw,” Sam explained, turning back towards the fire with the kettle, “They’d be the favorite…Oh! Frodo!” Frodo had turned around precisely as Sam had turned back to the fire, and the hot kettle had just missed Frodo’s outstretched arm. But Frodo’s eyes were not on the kettle, but rather on Sam’s face.

Sam hesitated, struck by the look on Frodo’s face. “Frodo?” he asked uncertainly, trying to interpret what he saw on that expressive face.

Frodo took the kettle from Sam, and turned his back, carefully placing the kettle back on the hook. “I’ve never heard you call me that,” Sam heard him say, very softly.

Sam stood still, finally realizing just what he had said.

“It’s been so long,” Frodo was continuing, still with his back to Sam, “ever since Bilbo set off.” There was another pause, and then Frodo went on haltingly, “There’s no-one left to call me by my name.”

“Oh, Frodo,” Sam responded, his heart moved by the tone of Frodo’s voice. “If ever I can..” and slowly he reached out, lightly touching Frodo’s shoulder.

And at that contact, almost imperceptible though it was, Frodo turned back, and his blue eyes intently searched Sam’s face. “I need a friend, Sam,” he stated quietly.

“That you have,” Sam answered without hesitation, his hand still lightly on Frodo’s shoulder. “That I am.”

It was the look in Sam’s eyes, shining golden in the flickering light, that look of buried hope, that made Frodo dare to go on. “And if I need more than a friend, Sam?” he whispered, and held his breath.

“Then that you have too,” Sam returned without any hesitation, and who was to know who had moved the first as their lips brushed together in a hesitant kiss. It was only for a moment, then each drew back, fearful that they had misinterpreted the other. But it was clear, so very clear, the instant their eyes met, that there had been no mistake. Frodo slowly drew a hand up to Sam’s cheek, brushing it slightly with the back of his fingers, and Sam turned into the touch without a word, his eyes never leaving Frodo’s.

And then they were in each other’s arms, clutching tightly to each other, as their mouths met again hungrily. Sam was obviously inexperienced, but willing and eager, holding tightly to Frodo as if not yet sure that Frodo would not somehow vanish from his embrace like the fading of a sweet dream. And Frodo felt the drought of so many years, the forced reticence and containment, being shed from his heart, like an old carapace no longer needed. He felt love and joy surge through his heart, and the feeling of Sam’s strong back beneath his ravenous hands, and Sam’s fervent return of his kiss, sent the blood rushing through his veins.

Sam slowly drew back then, gazing at Frodo as if in a daze, and spoke slowly, as if unaware that he spoke the words aloud, “All my dreams, Frodo..”

“Mine, too, Sam-love,” Frodo whispered, his heart soaring at Sam’s words. “Mine, too, dearest.”

It was late that evening when Sam finally made his way through the drifts of newly-fallen snow, and he cared not what his face showed when he returned to Number Three. He and Frodo had spent the last several hours curled together on the settle in front of the study’s fire, and there had been revelations, shared confidences, and numerous kisses exchanged. Sam’s heart was still soaring as he entered the small smial, and he felt as though there were nothing in all the world more that he could ever wish for than Frodo’s love. His gaffer was still spending a late evening at the Green Dragon, but Daisy gave him a sharp look, as he sought the privacy of his chilled room.

The next week fell into a blissful routine for Frodo and Sam. Sam would dutifully take care of his chores about the Gamgee smial during the morning. Much needed to be prepared for the spring planting season, as winter drew to a close. And there was always the need for the assistance of a fine strong lad such as Sam from their various neighbors. Sam gave his full attention to the job at hand, as always, and none could fault his cheerful contributions to his family and friends. If a path needed to be dug through the snow from the Widow’s smial to her outbuilding, why, Sam was there at the door with a good-humored smile and spade in hand. If the Cottons needed hay to be brought in from the covered stacks buried under the snow in the fields, Sam was a willing participant, with a chuckle and a merry word or two, to make the work that much the lighter. And none of his sisters could complain that they lacked his attention and devotion. Yet by late afternoon, every day, he was gone, and did not return until supper-time.

He would let himself in the kitchen door of Bag End, as he had for several years now, but there would be Frodo to greet him, and it would be the work of an instant to be in each other’s arms, locked together in a passionate kiss. And Frodo’s gentle hand would wind through Sam’s light brown locks, damp from the snow or rain outside, and Sam’s hand would stray across Frodo’s back, as Sam marveled at the feel of wire-tight muscle hidden under Frodo’s jacket. Then, finally, as the kiss had to be broken, they would smile into each other’s eyes, recognizing that the joy that each was enveloped within was mirrored in the other’s face as well. Laughing at their great good fortune, they would turn to the tea-table, that Frodo would have ready. He was conscientious about providing Sam with a substantial tea, knowing how hard Sam labored, but was content himself usually to sip a cup and eat only a slice or two of bread-and-butter, some dried apples, and perhaps a few slices of cheese. Once Sam had finished, chatting with Frodo all the while about the day’s doings and the latest indications that spring was truly on the way, they would clean the dishes together, and retire to the study.

Sam was sure that he had never imagined such bliss as he knew during these early evenings. They had found that the two of them fit precisely together on the settle in front of the fire with just enough room to spare for a soft blanket or two. Sometimes Frodo would read the passages that he had been working on through the morning, and sometimes they would discuss the latest Shire news and speculate as to their fellow hobbits’ thoughts and plans. But often enough, it was revelations of their own dreams and desires that were the topics of these shared confidences. No matter the topic though, there was reason enough to seek each other’s lips, and arms, and time for Sam to discover that to nibble on Frodo’s ear-tip could cause Frodo to gasp and sigh and tighten his hold on Sam, and for Frodo to determine that there was a spot on the side of Sam’s neck where, if kissed just so, invariably provoked a groan from Sam, and his eyes would slide shut, and he would clutch closely to Frodo as if to never let him go.

But Frodo never took Sam too far, aware of how new it all was to him, and the danger of letting Sam stay too long. But how he would ache, some nights, in his room alone, after Sam had left.

There came a night, late in winter, when the snow fell all night. Sam had barely been able to fight his way though the drifts that night, after he left Bag End, and by morning, those drifts covered the windows and doors of Number Three. The sky shone only faintly with the morning light, and it was clear that snow was going to fall for the rest of the day. By late afternoon, Sam realized that he would not be able to get to Bag End until this storm was over. All that night he tried to act as if naught was amiss, but his sudden silences and guiltily stifled sighs betrayed him to the one who chose to see. He retired to his room early that evening, despite the lack of heat there.

The storm continued for two days more, and Sam felt as if he had been cut off from all that was dear to him. It came to him suddenly as he shivered in his bed that night that this is how he would feel if he ever lost Frodo from his life and the thought terrified him. His dreams that night were all of searching and of loss, and still haunted him the next day.

By the time Sam was able to make his way to Bag End on the fourth day, he was near frantic with worry and desperate for the sight and touch of the master of Bag End. The sky had cleared momentarily by afternoon, and although snow clouds were still to be seen on the horizon, it seemed as though there would be a respite on the storm for a few hours at least. Sam set off as soon as he had eaten dinner, but it was long tedious work slogging his way through the snow drifted higher than his head. It was not until well into the afternoon that he, nearly exhausted, reached Bag End. Slowly he tramped his way to the kitchen door. He could scarcely see the outline of the smial under the frosty banks, gleaming pink with the afternoon sun, but he was heartened to see smoke rising from the chimneys of the smial. His strength renewed, he set to work shoveling the obstructing snow from about the door. And no sooner had he cleared out enough, than the door was roughly shoved outward, and a strong arm reached from within and hastily tugged him inside the smial. And then he had his arms full of warm hobbit, and his lips too, and sweet mercy, what was Frodo doing with his tongue?

The shovel clanged to the flagstone kitchen floor, dropping unnoticed from Sam’s hands as he swept them tightly around Frodo. Willing to follow Frodo’s lead anywhere, he opened his mouth to the insistent pressure of Frodo’s tongue against his teeth, and then, he lost thought of all else but the sweet taste of Frodo, the exhilarating pressure of that clever tongue searching his mouth, the heady sensation of tea and pipeweed and the essence of Frodo.

Finally, Frodo broke away, leaving a rather dazed Sam swaying slightly in Frodo’s arms. “Oh, Sam, I’m sorry,” Frodo looked contrite, lovingly stroking Sam’s arm. “After all that work to get here, too. It’s just that -”

Quickly turning, he reached for the kettle to pour some tea into a mug for Sam. He had never meant… Had he pushed Sam too far? Apprehensively, he turned back around with the mug for Sam.

But he never need have worried. Sam was gazing at him with such a look of wonder and glowing happiness that it nearly broke Frodo’s heart to see. “Oh, Sam, please stay for supper?” he asked impulsively, searching for any reason to keep Sam longer this evening.

“Aye.” Sam gratefully took the mug from Frodo, and quickly swallowed the warm liquid. “Then I’d best be off.”

Looking back up at Frodo’s puzzled expression, he explained, “I must needs tell my sisters, lest they think their great noddy of a brother managed to lose his way, and come to a bad end in a bank.” Turning around and picking up the shovel once more, he resolutely headed for the door. “I’d best be making my way back afore it comes down again and I have to beat out a new path.”

But as he reached the door, he turned again and looked steadily at Frodo. “You’re not just inviting me for supper, are you now,” he stated softly, his eyes searching Frodo’s face.

“No,” Frodo whispered, his heart suddenly lurching to a halt.

“Good,” Sam returned, with a quick sweet curve of his lips. “I’ll be back, never fear,” and he was gone.

It was nearly night when Sam returned to the Gamgee smial, and Daisy was awaiting him. Quickly intercepting him before he could enter the kitchen where May, Marigold and the gaffer sat near the fire, she led him to the far corner of the cold and dark front room. “Well, Sam?” she asked crisply.

Sam hesitated a moment, but then took a breath and replied, “I’ll be going back up the Hill this evening. Mr. Frodo’ll be needin’ me t’dig him out come morning.”

Daisy stared steadily at him, but Sam held his ground, although he colored a bit at Daisy’s intense stare.

“Do you know what you’re about, Samwise?” she finally asked, her lips tight.

“Aye,” he breathed, watching his older sister steadily.

“And if you find all is not as you thought?” she continued. “What then, Samwise?”

“Then I’ll take what I am given,” he quietly stated. “And I’ll have it for the rest of my days, and no-one could never take that from me.”

“Oh, Sam, t’will break your heart,” she murmured gently, laying a hand on his shoulder with infinite sadness.

“My heart’d be in his hands,” he slowly replied, searching her eyes for the understanding that he had always found there before. “And I’d naught be havin’ it otherwise.”

She bowed her head at that, and said no more.

Frodo nervously surveyed the pantry. He dearly wished to have something special to offer Sam, but the prospects of that, after a long winter, and especially the last several snow-bound days, were rather dim. Well, it would have to be potatoes, and fortunately there was still the heel of the loaf Frodo had been saving for his breakfast, and perhaps some cheese… But surely he could offer a bottle of Old Winyards. Frodo returned to the kitchen, and buried the potatoes in the warm embers at the edge of the kitchen fire.

Walking slowly back down the dark hall, he then entered his bedroom. Staring unseeingly about the familiar room, he tried to not think ahead, but he could not stop his fears. Doubt and desire swirled together through his mind and would not be denied. He knelt by the bedroom fire, lit it, and watched the kindling suddenly set about by flame, and refused to envision the night before them. Suddenly he was struck with the dangers of what lay ahead. “Don’t let me lose him, Lady,” he breathed, closing his eyes and feeling cold apprehension seize his heart. “Oh, please, don’t let me lose him.”

Then there was the sound of the kitchen door opening. Sam had returned. Frodo felt frozen, all his former boldness dissolved into uncertainty. What could Sam ever want with him? Sam was so young, so vital, such a gentle and loving spirit. He was meant for more than the love of a solitary and lonely hobbit such as himself. Yet the thought of Sam’s smile when he had left could not be forgotten, and Frodo left the room to meet him, with a desperate hope in his heart.

Sam looked about the kitchen uncertainly. He noticed that there were potatoes in the embers, and a bottle of Old Winyards on the table. Yet Frodo was not here. Anxiously, he hung his wet cloak by the fire and sat at the kitchen table. But when he looked up, there was Frodo in the doorway, and never had he seen Frodo looking more beautiful than now, by the firelight. And how strange it was to admit that he thought Frodo beautiful, but ah, he did. The firelight burnished that fair skin, and those startlingly blue eyes had always seemed to Sam as though they could read his every thought. Frodo’s fey features were like those of no other hobbit Sam had ever known, and had always made him think of fair elves, distant lands, and perilous journeys. And to have that same wonderful creature look at him as Frodo was now looking at him, well, Sam knew that he was well and truly captured.

Without thought, he rose and walked to Frodo. And then Sam’s arms were around Frodo, and his lips were on Frodo’s, and as Frodo felt Sam’s touch, his caress, all doubt fled Frodo. The joy came bubbling up from Frodo’s heart like sweet laughter when he felt Sam’s tongue hesitantly pushing against his own teeth. The lad certainly was a quick study. Eagerly, he welcomed Sam’s unskilled yet heartfelt advances, embracing Sam closely all the while.

When at last they broke apart, breathing heavily, Frodo ran a loving hand through Sam’s curls and down the side of his face. “Why, Sam,” he murmured with a glowing smile, “you’re rather good at this.”

Sam immediately ducked his head down, and became quite rosy, but his radiant expression betrayed his pleasure.

“Come, Sam,” Frodo whispered, slowly breaking apart from their embrace and leading Sam by the hand down the darkened hallway. “Come with me, love.”

The one lit candle by the bed cast shadows on the walls, and the well-banked fire glowed warmly in the hearth, as Sam found himself back once more in Frodo’s bedroom. Once more, Frodo was holding his hand and pulling him towards his bed. But this time, it was no act of sheer weariness. This time Frodo’s eyes were on him, gazing at him as though he was fair beyond words. This time, Frodo held him close, standing before the fire, and kissed him tenderly. This time, Frodo had called him “love”. Sam felt that his heart would fair burst with bliss. And when Frodo’s hand slipped inside his jacket, easily slipping it off, Sam knew not what to do other than to clutch tightly to Frodo’s shoulders as soon as his arms were free, and gasp, “Oh, Frodo!” in a rather shaky voice.

Frodo laughed tenderly at that, his eyes glowing, and replied, “Yes, Sam-love, I know.”

And now those clever fingers of Frodo’s were working open the buttons of Sam’s homespun shirt, one by one, and ah! The shirt was pulled out of Sam’s trousers, and Frodo’s hands were on his skin, caressing, teasing, sweeping over his chest, tingling wherever they touched. Sam moaned, frozen in place, still clutching tightly to Frodo’s shoulders, unable to keep his eyes open through the flood of sensation that was sweeping over him. Lovingly, Frodo grasped his hands and, gently pulling them down, coaxed Sam’s shirt off.

Sam’s eyes opened again at that and he was helpless to do aught but stare into Frodo’s eyes, luminous with passion. And then Frodo was again holding him so closely, kissing him lightly on the mouth, the cheek, the side of the neck, and further down, oh, sweet Lady! Sam moaned unconsciously, clutching Frodo tightly once more, and when Frodo’s hand slid under Sam’s waistband and down, there was no help for it. With an unintelligible cry, Sam snapped his eyes shut and bucked uncontrollably into Frodo’s hand.

Moments passed, Sam knew not how long, and the shuddering had almost stopped but he was not able to lift his shamed eyes to look at Frodo. How could he have let Frodo down so? Gradually, though, he became aware that Frodo had been holding him tenderly, stroking his back, and whispering words of comfort in his ear.

Sam squared his shoulders finally, and pulled himself up resolutely. “I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo,” he murmured, tears that he could not control filling his eyes.

“No, Sam, no!” Frodo cried out at that. Softly, he took Sam’s face between his hands and stared intently at the younger hobbit. “No, dearest Sam, never feel like that. I am the one who should ask your forgiveness. I was too hasty with you. Oh, my sweetest Sam, I should have known better.” He unfastened Sam’s trousers, and let the damp garment slide to the ground. Leading Sam over to the bed, he continued softly, “Here, Sam. Just lie down for a bit.”

Sam obeyed, murmuring, “Aye, Mr. Frodo,” and took the blanket Frodo offered him, wrapping it all about himself.

“Sam…” Frodo said in a low voice, sitting beside him on the side of the bed and then stopped, staring at his hands clasped before him. “Sam,” he then started again, still not looking at Sam, “that’s not my name, you know.”

And even through Sam’s mortification, he heard the note of sorrow in Frodo’s voice. “Oh, Frodo, I am sorry,” Sam replied immediately, at once only concerned with erasing that hurt. Quickly, he sat up, the blanket falling around his waist. “Pay no attention to such a noddy as I’d be,” he pleaded, gently stroking Frodo’s arm.

“Only if you forgive me for forgetting how young you are,” Frodo answered seriously. He stared at Sam for a moment longer, and then took a deep breath, as if coming to a decision. “We can stop now, Sam, “ he said quietly. “I’m pushing you too hard on this. It really is irresponsible of me, and not your fault at all.”

“No.” Sam said at once, his tone suddenly quite firm. His grip on Frodo’s arm had tightened. “I’m not too young for this, no ways. Me and one of the lads,” he said slowly, before hesitating for a moment. Then making up his mind to go on, he continued in a rush, “Me and one of the lads, we tried it out once, so to speak. So as to be ready, you know. Some o’it worked better than other bits,” he went on, turning a bit red, but resolutely watching Frodo’s face anyway. “But I would never kiss him,” he finished decisively, “even when he says as I must.”

Frodo did not reply immediately, but, raising a hand slowly, carefully brushed one of Sam’s curls from his forehead. “I, too, tried it out once,” he finally responded softly. “But I did kiss him. You see, I thought I was in love with him.”

Sam said nothing but watched Frodo carefully.

“I was about your age,” Frodo continued, still in a soft voice, his finger-tips lightly caressing Sam’s temples, “and nothing else in all the world mattered to me but him.”

“What happened?” Sam suddenly asked with apprehension.

“Well, I found that I really wanted to be in love more than to actually love,” Frodo said, almost dreamily, still stroking Sam lightly. “He became bored with me, and I found that my heart wasn’t really broken, after all.”

“That would never be a mistake I’d be makin’,” Sam stated suddenly, drawing himself up straight.

“I would have said the same, when I was your age,” Frodo answered carefully, his hand stilled.

“Perhaps so,” Sam responded, boldly lifting his hand to join Frodo’s. “But mayhap, you weren’t awatchin’ this lad all your life. Mayhap, this lad weren’t in your thoughts every day, and your dreams at night as well. Mayhap just t’have him look at you and smile didn’t fill your heart fair to burstin’. And mayhap you wouldn’t be thinkin’ that there was never anyone in all the world as you could love near as well.”

“Are you that sure, Sam?” Frodo whispered.

“About how I’d be feelin’ about you? Aye, that I would.” Sam stated simply, closing his hand gently around Frodo’s. “I love you, Frodo Baggins, that I do. And I’m as sure o’that as that I’m sure that the sun will be in the sky come morn. Naught in all this world will ever be changin‘ that.”

“And I would never ask it to change,” Frodo breathed, suddenly folding Sam into his arms. Sam’s arms tightened possessively around Frodo’s back, and his mouth opened instantly, invitingly, to Frodo’s exploration, and Sam’s hands, those strong, sure hands, were unexpectedly at Frodo’s jacket, tugging it off his shoulders. And then those lithe fingers were at the buttons of Frodo’s shirt, tugging them, worrying them, until, at last, they were all free.

Once Frodo’s shirt had been opened and was off, Frodo somehow suddenly found himself on his back on the bed. And there was Sam, kneeling beside him, with a smoldering expression that Frodo, in all his life, never forgot. Then it was Sam’s lips on him, caressing him, Sam exploring him with both his hands and his mouth, kissing and tasting him wildly and passionately, moaning Frodo’s name all the while. And then Sam’s eager hands moved towards Frodo’s trousers and pulled. Frodo hastily undid the fastening, and between the two of them, the garment was tugged off, and thrown to the floor.

There was not a bit of doubt left in Frodo’s mind at this point. Sam might be young, but it was clear that he was very sure about what he wanted and Frodo was of no mind to deny him anything. Quickly, he rolled over the both of them on the bed, and kissing Sam again deeply, braced himself on one elbow, with his hand behind Sam’s neck. The other hand he ran slowly down Sam’s side. Sam moaned, even as he eagerly returned Frodo’s kiss, and with both hands firmly grasping Frodo’s back, gradually lowered them. Frodo gasped free of Sam’s mouth at that, undone by Sam’s firm hold on him, that curiously rough yet gentle touch of Sam’s that he had thus far only felt on his hands. Oh, it had been so long, and yet he had never felt this degree of intense craving, this yearning passion, before.

Sam was moving under him now, instinctively rocking against Frodo, clutching Frodo tightly, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, his hands holding Frodo fast to him. And now there was no more time for thought, as Frodo thrust himself against Sam’s sturdy body, faster and faster, finding the certain spot, ah! There! And as he cried out Sam’s name, his head flinging back, and even in the midst of his passion‘s release, he knew. Never would he feel what he felt now with anyone else. Sam was his heart, his life. There would never be anyone who could move him, heart and soul, like this.

He found himself lying next to Sam then, his breathing only gradually returning to normal. Sam was in a similar condition as his eyes slowly blinked open and, turning his head towards Frodo, gazed at him with a rather dazed expression. “Would that always be the way o’it?” Sam whispered, staring at Frodo.

And Frodo smiled lovingly at that, and tenderly caressed Sam’s face with a gentle hand. “No,” he replied fondly. “Only when you are truly in love, my dearest Sam.” He drew the coverlet over the both of them, and they fell asleep in each other’s arms as the snow outside fell soundlessly against the window, and the candle slowly guttered out.

The morning broke gloriously blue. The wind was from the west, and the scent of spring was finally in the air. The icicles hanging from the eaves began to slowly turn liquid, water dripping inexorably into the snow below, creating ever-widening craters in the snow. Rabbits in their burrows stirred, restlessly, and popped their heads out to survey the landscape. Unassuming crocus thrust up through the loosening grip of frost. And everywhere, there was a change in the air.

But inside the bedroom of Bag End, there were two hobbits unaware that the long frozen winter had finally come to an end. Tight in each other’s arms, they held each other fast. And nothing that spring had to offer would be as beautiful as what they had found in each other’s hearts.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

This was just what I needed to wake up to! Thank you!

Thank you very much! And a good morning (17 days and counting....) to you too.

Oh, it's so nice to see this moment in your series. Beautifully written as always, terrific descriptions that really situate the story in the Shire, nice cameo by Daisy. And soooo romantic. I like very much the way you deal with the age difference: Frodo has more experience, Sam is a fast learner. Very sweet and lovely first time.

Thank you! Yes, Daisy and her sisters (as well as the gaffer, who has been lurking in the background) are going to be a larger presence in the next part, wherein Sam's family is going to figure it out.

And it seems to me that the age difference would only matter initially to F & S. They're too perfectly matched for it to matter for long.

Elderberry Wine-sweet and satisfying for those who have a deep unquenchable thirst for F/S first times. And this is one of my favorities-very nice to have the vingette of the three sisters-who know their brother's heart long before he does.

Can I rec. this on my LJ-and friend you as well?

Thank you!

Thank you! And of course you can rec *bows, blushing* and friend, and I'll friend you too.

Glad you liked the sisters, they'll be back. (May, by the way, hasn't got a clue.)

Read this lovely offering late late last night and couldn't fall asleep for hours. I just adore your Frodo and Sam. Reading a S/F by ElderberryWine is like putting on warm fuzzy socks straight out of the dryer on a cold morning. I'm a huge sucker for a Frodo who's aware of how careful he needs to be with young Sam. Sigh. Love that take on him. I also love it when their first kiss to first sleep-over takes a long long time. Shiver. Happy hum. Lots and lots of sweet hobbity kisses. The very best. You touched my heart! (And other parts with Frodo's sudden use of tongue! eeeeeeee). Hugs!

And thanks to you too, because it was your comment aways back about the window scene in Blossoms and Memories that got me thinking about this one. So I reeealy tried to take it slow. Heh, and yeah, the tongue. That had to be a shock for Sam. But he adjusts so well. Lucky Frodo.

Just dropping by to say what a lovely and utterly hobbity romance you have created. I adore the way Frodo's concerns are met with such delightful certainty on the part of Sam once they finally finish the journey that they started that day in the rain.

Why, thank you, and Sam is definately a hobbit who knows what he wants, especially as it sits in front of him, despite a bit of beginner's embarrassment. Decisive, that's our Sam.

This story was absolutely wonderful. I just adored every moment of it -- the details of life in the Shire, the slow-growing changes in Frodo and Sam's relationship, the changes in their relationships with others, most notably Sam's family, everything. And their first time was so beautiful and sweet and deeply, deeply romantic. As it should be.

And this passage:
“But mayhap, you weren’t awatchin’ this lad all your life. Mayhap, this lad weren’t in your thoughts every day, and your dreams at night as well. Mayhap just t’have him look at you and smile didn’t fill your heart fair to burstin’. And mayhap you wouldn’t be thinkin’ that there was never anyone in all the world as you could love near as well.”

-- it just knocked my socks off. How eloquent dear Sam is in his love.

Thank you so much.

Ah, thank you too. Yes, I think our Sam is very much a "still waters run deep" type of hobbit. I would rather think that he had made up his mind long before Frodo, but just didn't think he'd ever have the ghost of a chance.

I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed this story. Your Frodo and Sam are wonderful, and so are Sam's sisters -- we don't see much of them interacting in fics.

My favourite part was Frodo asking Sam to stay:

But as he reached the door, he turned again and looked steadily at Frodo. “You’re not just inviting me for supper, are you now,” he stated softly, his eyes searching Frodo’s face.

“No,” Frodo whispered, his heart suddenly lurching to a halt.

“Good,” Sam returned, with a quick sweet curve of his lips. “I’ll be back, never fear,” and he was gone.

Thank you!

Thanks!

And, heh. Sam just likes to get things straight.

*huge, happy sigh* That was like a breath of fresh air amidst all the movie-angst that's floating around, so thank you for that. Your Frodo and Sam are so skillfully written! I adore the direction this took--there are so many stories that take the first declaration of love directly into a lovemaking scene, which is fine, but I honestly think Frodo would have a care for young-Sam more than that. The two of them taking it slow is so perfectly...well, it's them, it's what they'd do. I think that first hug in the parlor was one of the most beautiful moments, along with Frodo's "It's been so long...there's no one left to call me by my name." Heartbreaking and lovely and simply Frodo and Sam to the letter. Kudos!

...Mind if I friend you?

Oh, that would be great - and I'll friend you too.

Yes, I think that not only would Frodo be cautious on behalf of Sam, but he would also be cautious by nature, as well as due to his personal background. That's what comes into play later on as he becomes the Ringbearer. One would really have to earn his trust, I should think, much less his love. That would require someone as straight-forward and guileless as Sam.

So glad you enjoyed it!

Had this marked to go back to it, finally got around to reading it. Lovely stuff, just right for this time of year, too! Definitely a good thing when Frodo and Sam both know what they want and don't waste too much time dithering about how to get it -- also liked the slow period of gentle exploration and kissing before they worked their way up to actually sharing a bed, rather than the more usually written leap between the sheets once they're sure of one another...

Ah, thank you. I rather think that this Frodo and Sam, both for their own reasons, aren't going to jump into this relationship quickly, but soon as each is sure about the other, well...

What a lovely story, again there it is - your heart and your love for Sam and Frodo.
I printed the story (part 1 and 2) last night for bedtime, read it again at dinner break and again right now.
I can't tell you how much I love it.

"“I need a friend, Sam,” he stated quietly.

“That you have,” Sam answered without hesitation, his hand still lightly on Frodo’s shoulder. “That I am.”

This made me tremble ...

“And if I need more than a friend, Sam?” he whispered, and held his breath.

“Then that you have too,”

this knocks me out...

Beautiful written as always, so tender, so romantic and I LOVE unexperienced Sam so much but ... he's a quick learner *smiles*

Very touching my dear. Very lovely.

Thank you ever so much!
*hugs you very hard*

Dear Sam, so young and green, but so very willing.

I don't do much "first time", so this one had to be what I based Shire Morns on.

Thank you very much!

*hugs you back*

i really enjoyed reading this. :)

Oh, thank you!

My one Official First TimeTM - ;D
so it's definitely a pet of mine.

Thanks again for reading and commenting!

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Happy Sighs

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