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MICHEL DELVING
"Welcome to the Mayor's Delving." Sam unlocked the front door of the hole, and motioned for Frodo to step inside. "Our home away from home, as it were."
Frodo paced around the entryway. "You don't use it much, I suppose?"
"Mainly when I've business in Michel Delving." Sam unfastened his cloak and hung it on the nearest hook. "Here," he said, reaching for Frodo's cloak and hanging it next to his own.
Sam prepared a simple supper, which they ate at the kitchen table. Afterwards, he poured two glasses of deep garnet wine, and handed one to Frodo. "To us," he said, lofting his glass. Frodo smiled and raised his glass, letting it ping delicately against Sam's before lifting it to his lips and sipping.
Outside the wind was sharp and chill, rattling the panes of the small round kitchen window, but inside both wine and fire kept Sam and Frodo warm. They passed some time in conversation, but it was not too late in the evening when Sam stretched and rose.
"If you'll pardon me a moment," Sam said to Frodo, "I shan't be but a few minutes." Frodo leaned back in his chair and sipped leisurely at his wine, letting his thoughts drift till Sam returned.
"Well." Clasping his hands in front of him, Sam beamed at Frodo. "About time for bed, I should say."
A slow smile spread across Frodo's face as he drained his glass and stood. "To bed, then," he said, slipping his arm into Sam's. He let Sam lead him through the corridor to a small round door at the end.
"This," Sam told him, turning the knob and pushing inward, "is our bedroom." The large, round room had no windows, but did boast a large fireplace set in the sloping wall. In the soft orange glow of the fire Frodo could see a small wardrobe to one side, and next to it a plain wooden chair, and, on the other side of the hearth, a wide feather bed with two plump feather pillows at its head. Sam looked to Frodo. "Of course you'll have to have your own room when we get back to Hobbiton, but whenever I've business in Michel Delving..." He let the words trail away into a smile. Frodo's eyes shone at him in the firelight; without a word Sam drew him over the threshold, then pushed the door shut behind them.
Sam turned to face Frodo, letting both arms encircle Frodo's waist. "My Frodo," he whispered, pulling him closer.
"My Sam," Frodo whispered back as Sam's mouth met his. Their lips pressed gently, parted, pressed and parted again, in a series of unhurried kisses. Sam's hands worked Frodo's shirt loose from the waist of his breeches; one hand slipped around front to unfasten the buttons of Frodo's waistcoat while the other hand slipped beneath the shirt and slid up and down Frodo's back in smooth, firm strokes. The last button gave way, and Sam pressed his hand against Frodo's chest, caressing as he reclaimed the last kiss, deepening it, smiling as he sensed Frodo's lips softening, yielding, beneath his own. Their mouths opened, melded, tongues circling and stroking in time to the lovers' labored, insistent breathing.
Letting out a low groan, Sam let his hand fall from Frodo's back to his buttocks, clasping Frodo's hips snugly against his own. Frodo gasped, breaking their kiss as his head fell back, and Sam's mouth claimed his exposed, pale throat.
"Oh...oh...bed..." Frodo weakly pleaded, his legs faltering.
"Mm-hm." Sam let his tongue trail around to the side of Frodo's neck. Frodo let out a soft whimper, clutching Sam and pulling him with him as he fell back onto the bed. Sam let out a low, throaty chuckle, but said nothing. He pushed himself up from Frodo long enough to wriggle the waistcoat and shirt off and fling them toward the door, then pressed himself flat against Frodo, tending to the other side of Frodo's neck with the ministrations of lips and tongue.
"Mm," moaned Frodo, reluctantly pushing Sam away. "Buttons," he protested, fumbling to unbutton Sam's waistcoat.
"Here." Gently Sam brushed Frodo's hands away; swiftly he removed both waistcoat and shirt, cast them aside, and lowered himself once more to rest on Frodo, skin against skin.
"Mm, yes." Hazily Frodo smiled, rubbing his bare chest against Sam's. "Better. Now, as you were."
Sam snorted. "Yes, Mr. Frodo, sir," he murmured, sliding his tongue along Frodo's jaw to press into the hollow behind the ear. Frodo gasped sharply, sighed, began to move his hips slowly against Sam's. The pressure intensified, and, too, the rhythm.
"Mm...wait." Despite Frodo's sounds of protest, Sam lifted himself off Frodo and rolled onto the bed. "We're going to make this one last, tonight."
"Don't be an ass, Sam."In one quick flip Frodo was on top of Sam, kissing him passionately. "If this one's quick, we'll make the next one slow."
Groaning, Sam lifted Frodo off himself. "No," he said, not sounding as decisive as he might have wished. "I want to take my time, enjoy every bit of you--"
"My dear Sam," countered Frodo, looking down at him with a mixture of amusement and barely-constrained desire. "If you 'enjoy' any bit of me right now, I'm all but gone. I think," he decided, "you'd best lie back and let me enjoy you for a while."
"Oh...all right," Sam agreed quite amiably. He closed his eyes and settled back into the rumpled blankets. Reclining next to Sam, Frodo let his fingers trace languid paths over Sam's chest through thick, bristling curls, around the domed belly, up again to brush the nipples lightly. Sam sucked a sharp breath through his teeth.
"Hm." One corner of Frodo's mouth tugged up into a little smirk. He bent over Sam, bestowing light kisses along the curves of his jaw and cheek, playfully planting one on the rounded tip of his nose, solemnly bussing each eyelid, brushing his lips along the brow, all the while stroking Sam's nipples with delicate sweeps of his fingertips. Sam's breathing quickened as Frodo's lips descended from brow to temple to ear, and when Frodo began to stroke Sam's neck with his tongue, Sam let out a little "ah!" of pleasure.
"Well, Sam," murmured Frodo against Sam's neck, "I never knew."
Sam gulped. "Neither -- did I," he managed to gasp faintly.
Frodo's head snapped up. "Truth?"
"'Struth." Another sharp breath as Frodo's lips returned to Sam's skin. "I'm -- I'm rather used to -- to the doing -- not the being done to -- if you -- take my meaning, sir."
Frodo covered Sam's throat with firm, wet kisses before answering, "I do. And if you call me 'sir' again--" What consequences would have befallen Samwise were abandoned as Frodo's mouth skimmed down Sam's throat to his chest and covered the nearest nipple.
"Oh, half a minute." Drawing up to his knees, Frodo impatiently fumbled with the fly of his breeches, wresting the buttons loose. "I am sorry, Sam, but it's getting damned uncomfortable--"
Sam chortled. "I can see why," he murmured as Frodo wriggled out of the breeches and cast them to the floor.
"Indeed." Frodo glanced at him wryly. "No doubt you'd like to do more than see--"
"Don't you be doing that to me," objected Sam, pulling Frodo back to himself. "I said we'd be making this last, and you know it won't if..." His voice faded into a sigh as Frodo drew Sam's nipple back into his mouth.
Frodo breathed deeply, the scent of Sam and earth and sage mingling with desire and nearly finishing him without a single touch. He distracted himself by gliding his lips across a sea of curls to enclose the other nipple; gently he sucked, letting his tongue flicker over the tip, feeling Sam's heartbeat quicken as he shifted his weight onto Sam so he could free his other hand to creep up Sam's side and caress the moist, abandoned nipple.
"I think we've found what Mayor Samwise likes," Frodo softly teased.
"Hm," grunted Sam. "'Mayor Samwise.' I'll--"
A quiet chuckle arose from Frodo as his mouth pressed upon Sam once again. "Mm-hm. And let's see what else Mayor Samwise might like." He moved down Sam's chest with a series of kisses, some light, some firm, then allowed the tip of his tongue to glide smoothly along Sam's belly. Meanwhile, he moved his nearest hand to the fly of Sam's breeches and fingered loose the buttons, one by one, and with Sam's help tugged the breeches off Sam's hips. Frodo bypassed the thick hair at the base of the belly, instead sliding his tongue to the smooth skin at the join of hip and leg. The answering twitch brought another smile to Frodo; he cupped one hand gently against the straining flesh while he drew his tongue down along Sam's soft inner thigh.
"Ohhh. Frodo. Ohh -- Oh!" Sam's body clenched as Frodo's mouth slipped over the head of his hard member and began to slide and stroke with lips and tongue. "Ohhh, no. Ohhh, yes. Oh. Ohhh."
"Aaahh!" cried Frodo, snapping up suddenly.
Slowly Sam opened his eyes. He began to laugh quietly as he watched Frodo wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "And what did you expect?" he chortled.
"I--" Frodo looked at him helplessly, then began to laugh with him.
"C'mere." Sam reached for him, and Frodo willingly fell to the bed beside Sam, curled up against him in shared mirth.
"I'm sorry, Sam," gasped Frodo between fits. "I didn't mean it. I just -- it just--"
"Never you mind," Sam assured him, hugging him. "I know what you mean."
Presently the laughter subsided, and all was quiet.
Frodo gazed up at the curved ceiling, its oak paneling gleaming richly in the glow of the hearth fire. "Did you like it, Sam?" he softly asked. "In spite of me?"
"Mm." Sam smiled to himself. He pulled his arm out from around Frodo, rolling him onto his back. "You tell me," he said with a mischievous gleam in his eye as he lowered his head to Frodo's body.
***END***
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