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Swimming Lessons 2
Tolkien Fanfiction

Warnings: References to hobbit genitals might offend silly people who shouldn't be reading slash in the first place.
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: Eighth story in the series inspired by "Letters Over the Sea" on the Rescue Frodo web site.


"Brrr!" Sam snuggled closer against Frodo's warm, soft skin. "Seems the summer fled in the night. Too bad. I'd hoped we might go for another swim."

"We still can," said Frodo, nuzzling his chin. "The water won't have got cold that quickly."

"Mm." Sam's hand strayed idly up and down Frodo's back. "Beneath the blanket's warmer."

"Now, Sam," chided Frodo. Flinging away the blanket, he rolled back from Sam and onto his feet.

"Hey!" cried Sam, staggering against drowse as Frodo, laughing, ran into the lake.

"It woke you up," said Frodo, grinning.

"Hm. No," countered Sam, pulling Frodo to himself in the water. "*This* is waking me up."

"Mmmm." The grin mellowed. "I see your point."

"See, or feel?" murmured Sam, touching his nose to Frodo's. Frodo answered by slipping his mouth over Sam's and his hand between Sam's legs.

"Mmm." Sam closed his eyes, a lethargic bliss suffusing his face. "Mm. I must say, sir, you are quite good with your hands, sir."

"Mm." Frodo favored him with another lingering exploration of his mouth. "Least I could do for hizzoner the Mayor."

"Here." Reluctantly Sam moved Frodo's hand away. "I've an idea. Put your arms about my neck."

A little smirk played at the corners of Frodo's mouth. "All right," he agreed, flinging his arms about Sam's neck.

"And," Sam reached behind Frodo's thighs, "we'll just pull up your legs, like so -- wrap 'em around me, if it please you, Mr. Frodo, sir."

The smirk broadened. "It pleases me, indeed, Mr. Mayor, sir." He rubbed his groin against Sam's, making them both gasp and go a bit dizzy.

"That -- that's the idea," murmured Sam, pressing his mouth to Frodo's. He let his tongue gently caress Frodo's, let his mouth fall away just enough for Frodo's tongue to trail languidly along his lips, gently clasped Frodo's tongue with his lips and drew it back into his own mouth.

"Half a minute." Sam reached between them. "Let's just do a bit of arranging of the bits and pieces, here--"

Frodo started. "Bits and pieces?"

"Mm-hm," answered Sam. "My Jon Tom, your Jon Tom--"

"My what?" Frodo burst into hysterical laughter, losing his hold on Sam and falling back with a sploosh into the water, floundering about in a desperate attempt to regain his footing.

Watching him, Sam guffawed. "Here, now," he said, lending Frodo a hand and helping him back to his feet. "Don't tell me they raised you that proper that you never heard of no Jon Tom?"

Frodo shook his head, as much to clear the water from his eyes as to answer Sam. "I never did," he confessed, gasping.

"I see." Sam's face was flushed with mirth. "Well, then, Mr. Frodo, sir," he put his arms about Frodo and drew him close to steady him, "just what would be the *proper* word for it, then?"

Abruptly Frodo grew still, pondering. "Do you know," he admitted, looking wide-eyed at Sam, "I don't think there is a 'proper' word for it."

Sam snorted. "Begging your pardon, but -- if that don't beat all," he chortled. He made a valiant attempt to sober himself. "All right. The thing that we don't dare name -- hold on!" exclaimed Sam, tightening his grip as Frodo exploded into another round of laughter.


"If we keep going at this rate," Sam dryly remarked, "we'll not be able to walk for a week."

"Mm." Sleepily Frodo smiled, nestling in the curve of Sam's throat. "Who needs to walk?"

"Well, we might, if we're ever going to be getting on home--"

"I am home," murmured Frodo, lethargically pressing his lips to Sam's chest.

Sam smiled and lightly drew his fingers through Frodo's hair. "That you are," he softly agreed. "But you'll need more than me to shelter you against the cold and snow -- and we're a fair piece north of Hobbiton."


"Reckon we'd better start riding south come morning."


"Beautiful country, the Northfarthing. You never did venture much that way, did you?"


"Beautiful country, 'specially this time of year. Blazing orange and gold and red -- and green, green cedars and pines -- like this." He drew in a vigorous breath and let it out. "Ahh. It'll be a lovely journey, no mistake."


"And the inns -- I'm partial to Bywater, mind you, but there's some good ale and cider to be had in the Northfarthing: the Golden Hen, the Birch and Pine, the Robin's Nest. Hm. That'll be your first taste of a proper beer in a long time, won't it, Frodo?"


Sam pulled his head back, looking down his nose. "All tuckered out, eh?" Grinning a lopsided grin, he rumpled Frodo's hair. "Love you," he murmured, arranging the blankets extra close about Frodo's shoulders.