It was pouring. The raindrops fell from the sky in sheets, causing Sam's roses to droop their heads and suck in the sweet water. The rain wasn't so sad, for hopeful rays of sunshine scattered through the many clouds. Instead, the rain seemed like a cleansing of all that had come- and gone. The hard-working hobbit was still outside, tending the gardens. He didn't mind the rain so much. Something about Frodo's presence calmed him in a way no one else could. He knew that his master was inside, reading by the fire, but the simple knowledge that he was nearby was comforting.
Sam smiled and picked up his hedge-clippers, carefully trimming a nearby bush down to size. The bush wasn't too rambunctious; it only took a matter of minutes before Sam was satisfied with it. When he was done he stood back and admired his work. He smiled to himself and walked over to the bush, taking one of its leaves in his hand. The bush was conveniently placed right next to the window to Frodo's living room. Sam inched over to it casually, and pretended to be looking at his handiwork. Instead, he discreetly moved towards the window and peeked inside. Frodo had apparently moved out of his rocking chair by the fire. His book was on a nearby table. Sam leaned in closer, trying to find Frodo, who had mysteriously disappeared. He turned his head this way and that, at awkward angles, trying to peer into the kitchen and hallway. Frodo wasn't in sight.
"Hmm... funny," he muttered under his breath.
"Sam?" a voice questioned from behind. "Are you still here?"
Sam jumped a bit, then flushed beet-red, and turned around to meet whoever had snuck up on him. His ears flushed and he slouched his shoulders when he saw Frodo standing behind him, and smiling.
"Are you still out here? You poor thing!" Frodo looked worried, but chuckled to himself. "Had I known you were still out here, I would have invited you in. it's raining! You must be freezing!"
Sam tried to stutter a reply but couldn't get the words out. Frodo took him by the arm and led him to the front door.
"Come inside. You can warm up by the fire." He swung open the front door and the dripping hobbits were engulfed by the warm, sweet scent of his tiny home.
"Thank you very much, mister Frodo but. . . well, you don't have to. I mean- I don't mind the rain much, I can keep tending the gardens." Sam shifted uneasily and looked about the house.
"Nonsense, Sam. It's quite all right. I won't have you standing out here all dripping wet in the rain!"
Sam smiled. It was hard not to in the presence of the one who had captured his heart. Frodo was always so kind to him, he sometimes didn't think he deserved it. After all, he was just the gardener.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Frodo asked, waking Sam from a trance.
"No thank you, Mister Frodo. I wouldn't want you to have to make a cup just for me." He looked up at Frodo. The hobbit was now in the kitchen, watching a teapot fill with water.
"I'm making some for myself, so it wouldn't be a burden," he said, taking cups and saucers down from the cupboards.
"Alright. If you don't mind, that is."
"Of course not."
Sam shuffled his feet, still dripping on the floor.
"Come on in, Sam. I won't bite."
Sam smiled, and shook his head, dismissing some rather strange thoughts that those words had invited...
He walked into the kitchen and sat in a chair as Frodo beckoned him to do so. He fiddled with his teaspoon, uncomfortable in the awkward silence. After noticing that his spoon was making a rather annoying clank-ing sound against the table, he stopped and looked up at Frodo. Frodo was looking at him intently, resting his head in his hands and wearing a sort of pleased smile on his face. Sam averted his eyes, and shifted in his chair. Frodo took this as a sign to stop, and he did so. He looked away, and muttered to himself.
"Foolish me."
Sam heard the words, and looked up again. Frodo was leaning back in his chair, hands on the table and palms upward, as if he were expecting something to fall into them. Sam didn't know anyone else who sat like that. It was a trademark of Frodo, and he found it rather... cute. He leaned into the table once more and played with the placemat between his fingertips.
"Mister Frodo, I'm afraid I'm not able to come down here the day after tomorrow. It's family business, and my gaffer needs me to do some work for him." Frodo looked disappointed, but shrugged it off.
"Alright, then. Can't argue with your gaffer, can I?" Frodo smiled, and moved his hands the slightest bit, causing his fingertips to brush against Sam's. He tuned an odd shade of red, and pulled his hands away. They both looked up for a split second, and held each others' gaze.
If only. . .
Their eyes wouldn't move. Usually, when this happened, they would give in to their embarrassment and avert eye contact, but this time neither would back down. It was a dreamy sort of gaze and neither seemed to realize that the other was watching. All that mattered was studying the others' features. The skin, soft and longing to be touched, the lips, tender, and full with unspoken desires. And the eyes. Oh, the eyes, that seemed to draw you in to another world where no one else mattered, just the one who saw their true beauty.
The annoying, high-pitched sound of the whistling teapot ruined the moment. Frodo jumped, and ran to get it. Sam shook away any stray thoughts or hidden desires that had floated to the surface. They seemed to do that all too often nowadays. He watched as Frodo fumbled with the teapot and nearly spilled the hot water on his feet. He somehow managed to pour enough water into two cups to make decent servings of tea. Sam surrendered the spoon he had been fiddling with, and they fixed their individual cups to their likings. Not a word was said, and no eye contact was made as they sipped their tea in silence.
The quiet wasn't uncomfortable, rather it was calming. Each hobbit had so much to think about, and they just needed time to sort things out. Hobbits are, of course, simple minded creatures, and dealing with such strong emotions doesn't come easily to one inexperienced.
Before they knew it, the tea was gone and the dishes needed to be put away.
"Well, that tea seemed especially calming, don't you agree?" asked Frodo. He looked out the window thoughtfully. "I wonder if it's still raining." He got up and took his dishes in hand. Walking around the table, he reached for Sam's cup and saucer, but was stopped by the stubborn young hobbit.
"Oh, don't you worry, Mister Frodo, I'll take these for you." He jumped up, grabbing his dishes and stumbling over Frodo's feet while pushing his chair out of the way. The dishes fell to the floor with a crash, and Sam jumped to retrieve them, sputtering apologies.
"Oh, Mister Frodo, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean, I wish-oh, I. . ."
Frodo kneeled down near Sam, picking up pieces of broken ceramics from the floor.
"It's all right, Sam. I-" The two caught eye contact once again. Their gazes were held and their eyes were locked. They both reached for the same broken piece of glass, and their hands fell atop one another. But neither moved. Still holding his gaze, Sam blinked back what appeared to be tears.
"Mister Frodo," he whispered. "I-" He was cut off by something surprising, but pleasing- Frodo's lips. His eyes closed on their own, and his mouth opened, slightly, inviting Frodo to continue. Still pressed together, he fell backward against a chair, and Frodo leaned in to him, wrapping his arms around Sam.
Slowly and reluctantly, they pulled apart and took slow, deep breaths. They never once took their gazes from each other. They were overcome with emotions, but apparently the chair was unable to cope with the pressure, for it slid away once more, and the two hobbits fell to the ground. Frodo laughed, and ran two fingers across Sam's cheek. He took Sam's face in his hands and pulled him in for another kiss. The tiny hobbit complied, and their lips met once more. It was like putting your lips to a flower petal, slightly moist, and warm with sunshine. It was something completely new to both of them, but something deep inside told them what to do. They held together, in each others arms, Sam's fingers running through Frodo's curls. As their lips parted once more, they opened their eyes and fell into each others' gaze all over again. Frodo smiled and left tiny kisses running along Sam's cheeks and forehead. Sam let out a childish giggle.
"Well, I guess there's not much to be said anymore, is there?" he asked.
"No, no there's not," Frodo answered, kissing the tip of Sam's ear. Sam smiled and turned his head, blushing. His face fell next to Frodo's hand and he kissed each fingertip, carefully. He took Frodo's hand in his own.
"I love you, Mister Frodo," he whispered, faintly.
"I love you too, Sam." The two hobbits smiled, and attempted to sit up.
Bang.
Sam hit his head on the table and gave a small yelp. He sat, rubbing his head with a pout. Frodo chuckled to himself. He pulled Sam closer and kissed the newly born bump on his head. Sam smiled. He pulled Frodo in for a hug, and they sighed, content in each others embrace. Once again, Sam managed to hurt himself. He tried to shift his leg, but ended up jabbing his foot with a piece of broken glass. Frodo laughed.
"Maybe the floor isn't the best place to be right now."
Sam muttered a reply and blushed, rubbing his foot and attempting to stand. Frodo gave him a hand and guided him to the couch by the fire.
"Sam. . ." He looked into Sam's eyes. They were fixed on his own, so he continued. "I love you. I always have." He took Sam's hands in his. "Will we be together forever?"
"Of course we will." Sam squeezed his hands. "I'll stick with you, sir. No doubt about that!"
Frodo smiled and kissed Sam on the forehead.
"I can always count on you, Sam." Their lips met once more. The fire blazed next to them, and the rain pattered on the roof. Between fire and water, they were happy. They would be together forever, and their love would last the whole time.
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