Feedback: Of course.
Archive: Anywhere anyone is crazy enough to take it, as long as you let me know where and post the series in order so people can follow the storyline.
Warnings: Melodramatic angstfest ahead.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien; I am merely permitting you to glimpse what they do in my wicked dreams, not claiming that the Professor would approve.
Notes: Sixth story in the series inspired by "Letters Over the Sea" on the Rescue Frodo web site.
"Well, now we've done it."
Frodo stirred, rubbing his cheek against the curls on Sam's chest. "Done what?" he murmured. His question was met with silence. Blinking, Frodo gazed drowsily up at Sam, who was favoring him with a wry glance.
Frodo frowned. "You said you wanted to."
Laughter murmured through Sam's chest. "Oh, I did -- do. But how'm I going to explain it, is the thing."
"Explain...oh." Frodo looked away over the lake. He drew a deep breath, let it out with a sigh. "Sam, this isn't going to work," he said, pushing himself up to sit. "Perhaps it would be best if I go now, find a nice place in Buckland, perhaps--"
"Stop that," snapped Sam in a voice sterner than Frodo had ever heard him use -- certainly when addressing him. He heard Sam scuffle about, felt his sturdy arms encircle him. "Scarcely back, and you're already talking about running again. That won't fix nothing, and you know it." Sam reached for Frodo's chin, and Frodo let himself be turned toward Sam, who rested his lips on Frodo's for a long moment.
Drawing back, Sam fixed his eyes upon Frodo's. "If not even the sea could take you out of my heart," he hoarsely whispered, "there's no place you could go in this wide world that'd do it. So no more of this talk of running, or I'll just have to hold you tight to see you don't get away."
A corner of Frodo's mouth turned up. "Would you, Sam?"
"I would, indeed," replied Sam, the morning sun gleaming in his eyes.
"Oh." The smile broke forth. "In which case, I shall have to talk of running at every opportunity."
"In which case," said Sam, his breath warm upon Frodo's mouth, "I shall have to hold onto you very tight, indeed." His arms crushed around Frodo as he pressed his mouth possessively upon Frodo's. Frodo's mouth opened, welcomed Sam's tongue as it stroked his teeth, circled his tongue, drew back to trace his lips lightly and deliberately. "Lie down," murmured Sam, his hands gripping Frodo's shoulders and guiding him back onto the cloak. Then his lips were upon Frodo's again. "Settle back," he murmured between kisses. "Just lie still a while."
Gently he framed Frodo's face with his fingertips, brushed a tender kiss upon cheekbones, eyelids, brow, skimming Frodo's face with his lips, letting the tip of his tongue trail along the contours of Frodo's jaw and down to his throat. Little sighs and whimpers escaped from Frodo as Sam worked over every inch of skin from neck to brow. Returning his mouth to Frodo's, Sam settled his weight along the length of his body, and Frodo at last wrapped his arms around Sam's girth and hungrily returned his kisses.
As Sam broke away to catch his breath, Frodo chuckled. "It seems you're ready for another go round," he murmured, eyes twinkling up at Sam.
"Yes," answered Sam, smirking as he pressed his hips into Frodo's. "It seems *we* are."
"You know," said Frodo afterwards, "this isn't helping us decide how you're going to explain it to Rose."
Groaning, Sam rolled off Frodo and pulled him to his side. "Well, Frodo," he said thoughtfully, "I don't rightly know as it's the *making* love so much as just the loving that'd make her jealous -- and you," he added, glancing shrewdly at Frodo.
"Me?" Frodo's eyebrows shot up.
"Oh, don't," muttered Sam, rolling his eyes. "When you asked at the wedding if anyone had objection, I was surprised you didn't raise your own hand there on the spot."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Sam! What do you take me for?"
Sam shrugged. "Someone who once thought he'd be the only one in my heart, and was sorely hurt to learn he wasn't."
Frodo's face twitched. "Sam--"
"You kept thinking it had to be one or the other," Sam went on falteringly. "I kept telling you it was tearing me in two, hoping you'd take the hint, and instead..." He blinked. "Damn it, Frodo, telling me I'd get over it someday -- that was cruel."
Tears filled Frodo's eyes; he didn't trust himself to speak.
Sam's gaze shifted to the turquoise October sky. "You said it would heal, Frodo." He swallowed, blinked rapidly. "It didn't." Sam drew several long, shaky breaths.
"Sam." Hesitantly Frodo reached for him. "I'm back now."
"It don't change that you left!" snarled Sam.
The threatening tears began to flow. "Oh, Sam..." Abruptly Frodo pushed away, but just as abruptly a strong hand clamped upon his arm.
"Stop running," intoned Sam, his dark eyes fixed sternly upon Frodo.
"But," sobbed Frodo, avoiding his gaze, "I *had* to, Sam. The Ring--"
"It was *you*!" Sam barked. Frodo tried to wrench away, but Sam held him fast. When Frodo ceased struggling, Sam quietly and firmly repeated, "It was you, Frodo."
"No..." Shaking his head, Frodo hunched his shoulders, breaking down into ragged, gut-wrenching sobs.
Sam hesitated only a moment, then clutched Frodo to his own sobbing breast, and together they wept until, exhausted, they fell back into slumber.