"Aren't you going to finish that?"
Frodo looked up from the bowl of potato-and-leek soup he'd been half-heartedly stirring with his spoon; Sam stood at the kitchen hearth, watching him, as he so often did during meals.
"I'm afraid I haven't got much of an appetite," he answered. "I'm sorry, Sam. I know you must have put a lot of work into making this."
"Oh, that doesn't matter!" Sam insisted. "You aren't eating as much as you ought to. You're too skinny for a hobbit--'tisn't healthy. You lost a lot of weight on your travels, and we've got to do our best to put some of it back on you. If the soup's not to your liking, I'll fix something else. Whatever you want."
"No, Sam." Frodo gazed up at that face, full of concern for his welfare. "I don't want anything else. The soup will be fine." Under Sam's watchful gaze, he took up his spoon to finish the soup. When Sam cut off a slice of bread and buttered it for him, he accepted that too. He didn't leave the table until Sam was satisfied that he'd eaten enough.
"You're not going out like that, are you?" Sam asked as Frodo headed toward the front door shortly after dinner.
Frodo paused with his hand on the doorknob. "I thought I'd take a walk," he answered. "I want a breath of fresh air before it gets dark." He also had something important he had to think over. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"Nothing. Only, it looks like it'll rain before long. If you're going to be out awhile, you'd best take your coat."
Frodo took his heavy tweed coat down from the hook nearest the door and put it on.
"And mind you button that up," Sam said. "There's a chill wind rising." He came forward to help; Frodo stood still and let Sam do up his coat buttons, but he couldn't help smiling. At last, he had to laugh out loud. Sam looked at him in surprise.
Frodo explained, "When I asked you to come and look after me, Sam, I never imagined you'd take to the job so keenly! You fuss over me like a mother hen with only one chick."
Sam lowered his hands from the front of Frodo's coat. "I didn't mean to overstep myself," he mumbled, abashed.
"No, you haven't overstepped," Frodo assured him. "You've only done what's in my best interests. It's just that I never saw this side of you before we went away on our quest, and I've grown rather to like it. As a matter of fact," as he opened the front door, he turned to smile back at Sam before he went out, "I wouldn't have it any other way." And he shut the door behind him.
Frodo walked down the lane in the direction of Bywater, but he had no destination in mind. He only wanted to walk, to be by himself while he sorted the thoughts that had been tumbling through his head lately.
He'd been slow to see. All during the quest, lost in his own terrors, he'd relied on Sam unthinkingly as if it were most natural thing in the world to have that support. In the days afterwards, as he'd recovered under Sam's nursing and careful attention, he'd had his first inklings that there was something more than a friend's affection or servant's devotion behind it. It had taken a very long time, but at last he'd come to under-stand that what Sam called "looking after" him was actually the most tender expression of love he'd ever been given.
Now that they were home again, he had invited Sam to come to Bag End and continue looking after him--and Sam was doing so with remarkable diligence. Frodo did not resent the constant coddling and bullying; to the contrary, he was surprised at how much he enjoyed it. Maybe because he'd had more than enough of the harsh world outside the Shire, or maybe because he was no longer strong, but he found he was grateful, even happy, to submit himself to Sam's care. He lived within it, wrapped up as warmly and securely as if it were a down comforter... or a pair of sturdy arms around him.
His breath caught at this last thought. A shiver ran down his spine and he hugged himself, not entirely because the day was growing cold. Frodo turned up his coat-collar and looked up at the dark clouds gathering overhead. Sam was right; it was going to rain.
A moment later, the first droplets pattered on his face. Should he turn back? No, not yet. The important question still lay unanswered: What was he going to do?
He felt the power of Sam's love for him daily. He had surely been claimed by it. What he wanted now was to be possessed. Did he dare to ask? How would Sam respond if he did?
As he came to the end of the lane, the wind rose in a sudden gust and the rain began to fall harder. He had no choice but to turn and go home.
When he returned from his walk in a downpour, Sam was waiting for him in the front hall. The minute Frodo was in the door, Sam began to get him out of his wet things; before he knew what had happened, he was stripped to his small-clothes, wrapped in a dressing gown, and bundled off to sit swathed in shawls and blankets in his favorite chair before the parlor fire, where tea had been laid out for him.
"I wouldn't've let you go out if I'd known it was going to come pouring down like this," Sam said as he sat perched on the arm of the chair and rubbed a towel over Frodo's dripping wet hair. "If I'd known which way you'd gone, I'd've gone after you, but it didn't make sense for both of us to be running about in the rain and getting soaked. And you are soaked, Frodo! Almost as if you'd fallen into a pond. You should've found shelter if you couldn't get home right away. You've only yourself to blame if you catch cold..."
Frodo listened to this scolding complacently, knowing that Sam enjoyed it as much in his own way as he did; Sam wouldn't truly be happy unless Frodo gave him something to make a fuss over.
"A nice, hot bath's what you need," Sam went on. "That'll take the chill out of your bones. Then you're to get straight into bed--no sitting up reading tonight!"
"I won't," Frodo promised.
"Here now, drink your tea while it's hot." Sam turned to the tea tray and poured out a mug for him. "Do you want honey? Better have some. It'll be good for you." He added a dollop to the tea and stirred it in.
As he handed the mug to Frodo, Frodo lay one hand over his, looked earnestly into his eyes, and told him, "What I said to you earlier, Sam, about clucking like a mother hen. You know I was teasing, don't you?"
"I know," Sam answered, momentarily shy and uncertain.
"I'm very glad that you're here to take care of me. I do appre-ciate it, very much. Thank you," and he stretched up to give Sam a kiss on the jaw.
Sam drew back, startled at the soft touch of lips, and stared at him in surprise and confusion; his face began to color, then he quickly got up from the chair's arm. "I'll go draw the water for your bath," he mumbled as he headed for the door that led to the kitchen. At the door, he paused to give Frodo one last puzzled look, then hurried away.
Frodo smiled to himself as he sipped his tea and extended his toes out toward the fire to warm them. That last look of Sam's had told him all he needed to know.
By the time Frodo finished his tea, Sam had his bath ready for him. After that kiss, Sam was shy and a little nervous; he blushed as he fumbled at the knot tied in the belt of Frodo's dressing gown, and didn't seem to know where to put his eyes while Frodo undressed. Normally, Sam stayed with him while he bathed to talk to him and to scrub his back. Frodo looked forward to it--especially tonight, when it would give him the perfect opportunity to further matters between them--but to his disappointment, once he had gotten into the tub of hot, soapy water, Sam left him to soak alone.
Sam only returned to the bathroom to bring in Frodo's flannel nightshirt when it was time for him to get out of the tub. He held up a large towel to wrap Frodo in from shoulders to ankles the instant he stepped out of the water, then dried him off with a series of brisk pats, more brisk than usual.
This was nearly too much for Frodo. In his present state of mind, the sensation of Sam's hands on his body had an alarming effect: his head swam, his heart hammered with excitement, and he was very glad of the concealment the towel provided, for he was dangerously close to an embarrassing accident.
When he began to feel weak at the knees, Sam caught him by the shoulders. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." He looked up into Sam's eyes--there, he saw that same puzzled look... and perhaps a spark of something else?
Is he going to kiss me? Frodo wondered, hopes rising. It would make things so much easier if Sam would only make the next move. He leaned forward slightly and shut his eyes. Their faces were very close. He could feel Sam's breath on his face. This is it! he thought. He's going to! He's going to...
Sam didn't. "Your face is all flushed," he said as he lay his fingers on Frodo's warm cheek. And, as Frodo let his head fall to Sam's collar with a small cry of frustration, "You're near faint! I let you sit in that hot bath too long."
Frodo let the towel fall to the floor as Sam pulled his night-shirt on over his head. The danger had passed, but he couldn't bear this any longer. He must be the one to take the next step; Sam wouldn't do it without a definite invitation.
I will ask, he decided. Tonight.
Blasts of wind and rain rattled the closed shutters on the round window in Frodo's bedroom, but the fire had been lit and the bedclothes turned down to receive him. Once Frodo had gotten into bed, Sam tucked the comforter around him.
"I was thinking of making you a hot water bottle," he told Frodo, "but I don't suppose you'll be wanting one after that bath?"
"No, Sam." Frodo sat up and wrapped his arms around his drawn-up knees. Regarding his friend expectantly, he took a deep breath and announced, "I think I would like something more substantial to cuddle up to--that is, if you'd care to join me?"
Sam's mouth dropped open.
"Will you have me, Sam?" he offered boldly. "You can, any time you like, whatever you like. I am yours already--I know that as well as you do. You've made it quite plain to me how you feel."
"Wh-? How-?" Sam sputtered in protest. "I never said any such a thing!"
"You didn't need to," Frodo answered. "You'd never be so pre-sumptuous as to say it out loud, but you believe it to be so--I see it. It's how you love me..." The sentence trailed away uncertainly. Sam stood at the bedside, gaping at him. Frodo had seen his friend blush many times, but Sam's face had never turned that brick-red color before! And that look on his face: Sam didn't look pleased by his offer, nor merely surprised, but stunned as if Frodo had struck him hard between the eyes. This was not the reaction he'd hoped for.
A horrible thought occurred to him: Was he wrong about the reasons for Sam's tender care of him after all?
He hugged his knees closer against his chest, suddenly afraid that he had just humiliated his dearest friend and made an enormous fool of himself.
"That is how you feel," he asked meekly, "isn't it?"
Face still very red, eyes shyly on Frodo's, Sam nodded. "It's true," he admitted, "just as you said. Only," he lowered his voice, "I didn't think you'd see it. However did you guess?"
Frodo laughed out loud in relief. He wasn't wrong! "You've never said it in so many words, but you didn't need to," he explained. "It's in everything that you do for me: When you watch over me to be certain that I eat. When you insist I wear my warm coat buttoned up when I go out, and have tea ready for me when I come back in. When you put me to bed." There was a note of amusement in his voice, as if he were still teasing, but he meant every word. "It's perfectly clear: I belong to you, body and soul. Dear Sam-"
He kicked off the comforter to get out of bed when, to his delight, Sam ordered him, "You stay under those covers! You've taken one chill today, and I won't have you catching another if I have anything to say about it."
"Yes, Sam." Frodo obediently tucked his feet back beneath the comforter, but his eyes were sparkling. "Will you get in with me?" he invited again. "Keep me warm tonight?"
As Sam gazed into his eyes, that dazed look slowly faded. He smiled. "I'll come."
He sat down on the bed. When he reached out to touch Frodo's face, Frodo leaned in toward him eagerly and shut his eyes. He didn't have to ask: The first kiss was the lightest brush of lips upon his, then a flurry of them fell on his upturned face and throat. Frodo tried to respond in kind, but Sam was moving so quickly that his own kisses never landed where he meant them to. At last, he grabbed Sam's head in both hands to deliver one good kiss on the mouth.
When they moved apart, Sam took him by the wrists to draw his hands away. "This is how you really want it, Frodo?" he asked. "Me loving you in my own way?"
"Please!" Frodo laughed. "I've let you have your way with me in everything else, and I've never had cause to regret it." Then he met Sam's eyes and spoke more seriously. "I know you'll do whatever's right this time too."
"I'll give it my best." And, lifting Frodo's hands, Sam kissed the palm of one, then the other, before lowering them to rest on Frodo's lap and holding them there. The grip was gentle; Frodo could break free easily if he wanted to, but he was not inclined to try. For the moment, he was glad to be held cap-tured and to have more of those soft, swift kisses on his face like pattering raindrops, until Sam's mouth was on his again, more insistently now. He opened to it, ready to complete his surrender. So very ready...
A shiver of anticipation ran through him, and Sam's kisses stopped.
"You will catch cold if you aren't careful," he said as he pulled the comforter up to cover Frodo, then pressed him to lie down; once he'd undressed, he joined Frodo beneath it and wriggled closer to take him in his arms. As the kisses resumed, Frodo sighed happily, for he had what he wanted. This was what it meant to truly belong to the one he loved.
!~|end|~!
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