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Sam stirs awake through his cold, hard sleep. The fire is now dim, a breeze striking his face. It is not yet dawn, but past midnight. He feels the moon watching him. At least it's what he thinks.
His eyes lift open to see Mr Frodo Baggins, up and far from his makeshift bed. The hobbit sits on a fallen, rotten log. He stares into an abyss, tired and sickly. “Mr Frodo..” Sam's words are slurred through the haze of sleep. “What're you doing up? Can you not sleep?” Sam uses his elbows to push himself upright. He brings his elven cloak to his dear friend and sits next to him. “It is cold, Mr Frodo.” Sam looks into Frodo's eyes. A small light reflects out of them. “Oh Sam… I'm afraid I cannot rest.” Frodo sits his head upon Sam's shoulders. Sam hopes to bring comfort to the hobbit, wrapping his cloak around the two of them. “I see Mr Frodo. Have you had much these past nights?” Sam asks. “No… I have not.”
Sam's heart sinks. He has rested each night without a thought Frodo may not be the same. Of course he would not sleep, his neck is torn with an evil that nobody should need carry. “I'm so sorry Mr Frodo, I hadn't o’realized.” Sam rubs circles into the hobbits back, releasing the tension built up inside. “Do not apologize, Sam, it was at my will to carry the ring, but I fear there is no turning back now.”
The two hobbitses sit in silence for a beat, watching the fire hold the last of its sparks. A small glow for them to seek warmth, or hope from.
“If it would help,” Sam speaks before thinking, “you may sleep closer to me. Warmth and comfort I wish to give to you Mr Frodo.” Although he suggested it, his face burns at the thought. They have been in close proximity for a while, but any closer Sam fears they may share a kiss! Well, fear may not be the correct word.
“I do not want to be intruding, Sam…” Frodo remarks. Sam shakes his head. “Nay, you are always welcome, your head rests near mine this moment!” The hobbit points out. This seems to satisfy the other, through his hum in agreement. Slowly, Sam guides Frodo back to their beds. He keeps him close before lying back down. Sam leaves his arm spilled out for Frodo to lay upon. A pillow, perhaps, will help with the hobbits' insomnia.
Both hobbits lay awake. Stiff and stubborn their bodies lay, a slight awkwardness bouncing off each other. Frodo's body radiates with a new warmth that Sam has not known. Although Frodo is cold, the touch they now have heats up his heart. “Sam,” Frodo starts. “Aye?” Sam hums. “I'm afraid to sleep. My dreamscapes are no longer dreams.” He admits. “Frodo… please don't let your dreams get to you. I am here for you, in reality. I hope in your dreams too.” He urges. Frodo rolls closer to Sam, circling his chest with his index. The moon lightens his porcelain skin. Sam believes Frodo holds the beauty of an elf, if he weren't a hobbit, he would be of ethereal hierarchy. “You are, Sam, you're always there.” Frodo murmurs before his eyes flutter shut. As soft as a butterfly, Sam thinks. As delicate as a lily.
Sam combs his hand through the hobbits' dark, soft curls. He hopes for a peaceful night between the two. For his friend to forget of the ring for a night, for no Gollum to wake him, and no wraiths to hunt him. Their bodies sink into each other, and finally, seemingly, Frodo is overtaken by slumber. “G'night Frodo, please sleep well.”
-
For the first time in a long time, Sam wakes to a bird singing. Frodo lays close on his chest, holding tight, still deep in his rest. This does not last long. “Wake up hobbitses! No time for cannoodles, we must walk! Walk! Walk!” Gollum interrupts the slither of peace Sam had. “Now you wait Gollum, let Mr Frodo wake and eat.” Argues Sam. Gollum scatters off into the forest. “Frodo?” Sam's hand is intertwined in the hobbit's hair. It is messy from sleep, and dirty from their journey. A wash may be needed.
Sam may hate to admit, but Gollum is right. They must fast track their way to Mordor.
“Mr Frodo?” Sam peers once again. The hobbit finally shifts, but his brows furrow and his arms tighten around Sam's body. Inconvenient, maybe, but oh so utterly cute. Sam would kiss the man on his forehead, cheeks, button nose and maybe lips if the hobbit let him. A slight peck in his dark curls is nothing but tempting…
Sam brushes his finger across Frodo's forehead lightly. Touch shall do. Control is needed.
“Sam…” Frodo muffles into the bigger hobbit's chest. It is nice to know that Frodo has not only slept but wants more of it. “Gollum will leave us if we're not quick with it.” He warns as he combs through Frodo's hair. His concerns are met with sassy grumble. It causes Sam to huff a small laugh. “I’ll get you some lembas bread. Lay ‘ere.”
After their first, and only breakfast, they track to Mordor.
Gollum hums to himself, Frodo is quiet, Sam is too. Deep in thought he is, for Sam is beginning to fear his affection towards Frodo. Mr Frodo Baggins. He has always cared deeply for his friend, and shown him much love and respect. On this journey, there is no denying they have grown extremely close. Sam fears their closeness, connection, and contact will drift away once they return to the shire. No cold will push Frodo into his arms, no danger will push them to stay attached. As insane it sounds, Sam will forever appreciate how this journey has united them together.
They trek through the deep forest before arriving at a stream. A clean and rejuvenating stream. “Sam,” Frodo begins. “Maybe we could stop here. Wash up, Smeagol may grab some fish. I feel sticky with sweat and rough with calluses.”
“Yes Mr Frodo, that sounds like a good idea.” The larger hobbit nods. “Master! Master no!” A sorry voice cries out. “Master, we cannot stop. It is still a long way to Mordor! Aurgh!” Gollum squeals and squirms and ushers Frodo to continue. “Gollum! If Mr Frodo wishes to stop we will! You stink. You needa wash up aswell.”
“Aughhhgaah naughhh! Agggggg!” The Gollum wines. A child, he is. A whiny baby creature child, that indeed stinks.
“Smeagol, go find some fish to eat. We won't be taking too long.” Frodo gives a caring push towards Gollum, encouraging him to explore the stream. He crawls away, glaring evils at Sam. He could have sworn he heard ‘fat hobbit’ muttered under his breath.
“That deals with him.” Sam's fists rests upon his waist as he stares out at Gollum. Frodo slowly approaches the river bank, before beginning to remove his layers. Sam avoids his gaze to give his friend some privacy, with the little they have. He follows Frodo in the removal of layers, and they both submerge into the stream. The hobbits are left in undergarments; Frodo with the ring still tied around his neck. Frodo is adorned with new scars. Scars in his chest from the Morgul blade, and burnt marks around his neck where the one ring lays. The ring is starting to physically damage him. Gosh Sam would do anything to take that away.
“Your… neck, Mr Frodo.” The hobbit inquires. His fingers seem to reach out, pulled to brush across his injuries, but Sam stops himself. “Hmm. I had not noticed.” Frodo peers down at himself to see a red evil under the rings necklace. The hobbit looks towards Sam, who is already staring at Frodo. Pale fingers reach out to a tanned, calloused hand. It takes it with care. The hand guides Sam's towards his neck, where he may brush his fingertips along his scars. “Oh Frodo…” words spill out of Sam's mouth. “I cannot protect you from this.” He whispers, he's not sure Frodo could hear. Blue eyes flutter shut, Frodo takes in the sensation of Sam stroking his injuries. “May you… clean them? For me?” Frodo asks. “Ofcourse… aye, anything Mr Frodo.”
Sam cups his hand under the glistening water, gently pouring it onto his friend's sore neck. Sam watches for a reaction, but Frodo stands still. Large hands begin to carefully glide across the delicacy of the hobbits neck. He will treat Frodo like porcelain if he must. Sam ensures to redip his hands in water, keeping a slick surface between him and Frodo. His hands make their way towards his collarbones, where the ring res-
Frodo grabs Sam's arm. Tight. Stopping his tracks. Sam's eyes rush to meet a panicked, icy Frodo. “I- I'm sorry Mr Frodo… have I hurt you?” his heart shattered at the thought. Harming him is nowhere near what Sam aims to do. “N- no. It's okay…” Frodo slowly lets go of Sam, backing away slightly. “Sorry Sam, for the fright.” His blue eyes avert Sam's gaze. “No need Mr Frodo, I seem to have frightened you too.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem Frodo.”
They continue their bath quietly.
-
They set up camp for the night. It is nice to finally rest Sam's hobbit feet. Their surroundings are thick with bush and leaves. Gollum has perched himself on a nearby rock, because who would want to sleep on the soft leaves of a makeshift bed anyways.
The two hobbitses have been quiet on their journey. They communicate when needed, like when they are on a toilet break or stick hunting. Sam has been okay with this, a comfortable quiet. An understanding that small talk is not needed to fuel the bonds of their relationship, but today has seemed different. And awkward feeling pools at Sam's stomach. He would almost push it off as nothing, but what his gaffer taught him, ‘the hobbit has the most intuitive gut, that's why we must eat.’
Luckily for Sam, Frodo breaks the silence first with a small question. “Same as last night?” He asks. Sam's eyes glow and his heart skips. “Aye, same as last night.”
In bed, Sam's arm wraps around Frodo, dark curls burying into his chest. “This… very much helped me sleep. Last night.” Frodo says. “Mmm? That's good. It helped me too, Mr Frodo.” A smile is painted across Sam's tanned, tired face.
“I dreamt of you, Sam. A dream I had.”
“Really?”
Frodo nods into Sam's chest. “You were in a garden. You were bright, and playful. It reminded me of Bag End." The hobbit explains. “Is that so? It must've been where the garden came from.” Sam's words are slurred. He thinks back to Bag End, knocking on the door to see Frodo's face every morning. “Maybe.”
“Maybe…”
Sleep takes over Sam.
-
Sam is pushed awake from Frodo jolting up. His breath is heavy, and body is in cold sweat. “Frodo?” Sam sits up to rub his hand across Frodo's back. “Are you alright?”
Frodo's continues rushed breaths, heaving air out of his chest. “It's okay Mr Frodo… you are safe. I am here.” Sams squeezes Frodo into a side hug. Frodo's head rests on Sam's shoulders. His hands reach his teeth, biting away what nail he has left. Sam reaches up to hold Frodo's quivering hand, he does not want him developing bad habits. The larger hobbit takes long deep breaths, hoping for Frodo to follow along. Follow along he does.
“I'm right here.”
Tears fall down pale skin. They reflect moonlight and stars, wiped away by tan hands.
“The ring… I am going to hurt you. Sam. It will make me hurt you.” Frodo sobs. Sam's brows push to a concern. “I won't let that happen. I'm here to keep you in reality. I know you wouldn't wanna do that. And if you did, never would I take it to heart.” Sam says. “It's that damn ring.”
“I- I don't want to hurt you. I almost had today. You- I had to stop myself.” The small hobbit crumbles into Sam's side. “I see, Mr Frodo. It is okay. I am unscathed.” He brushes Frodo's hair, massaging his crown. “Sam… hold me tight. Please. I cannot hurt when you are holding me.”
Sam holds onto Frodo for however long he needs. It might've been minutes, or hours, until he had calmed. All Sam knows is he stayed awake till he was absolutely sure Frodo was resting. He kisses him on the top of his head before nodding off to sleep.
-
The two hobbitses sleeping arrangements stayed consistent from there on out. Sam will welcome Frodo into his side, and they will find a comfortable, warm position from there. It is calming for both of them. Frodo now has a mattress to lay upon, and Sam has his dearest friend close to him. Sam knew this would be a habit after the second night. Frodo's words before they initially slept reassured this would be a common thing they do.
What Sam had not realised is their closeness now occurs outside of their unconscious state. During their minimal rests, they sit much closer to one another. Their knees will brush, which will send a shiver through Sam's body. Whilst they walk, Frodo will hold onto Sam's hand. Perhaps for support when walking, but it does make Sam's mind race with unwelcomed waving thoughts.
On this particular night, Frodo will lay his head in Sam's lap as they watch a fire crackle before them. Sam can't help but have a rose colour burn his face. The heat of the fire, or situation? Sam thinks. Mind out the gutter, he pushes. Frodo is nothing more but content with where he lays. There is nothing of this. Sam wants to regret sitting cross legged, welcoming, and in the perfect position for his friend to lay down, but he can't. He can't when he can gaze down to see the beautiful hobbit that lies before him. He can't when his hands are welcome to comb through the hobbits hair. He can't when he can see a smile pinch at Frodo's cheeks. If Sam knew better, he may say it was a mischievous smile–like he knows the havoc this is causing Sam's mind.
“Sam?” Frodo perks up. “Yes Mr Frodo?”
A beat
“Nothing…”
“Okay Mr Frodo.” Sams brushes his fingers across Frodo's cheek. “That’s okay.”
The fire will later dim but the heat in the night stays. It is quite hot for such cold circumstances. And yet, Sam thinks of how the ring seems to have a lesser impact on Frodo. He is resting, eating, and willing to have some fun. It is an incredible blessing to see Frodo Baggins smile after such a long time. Maybe the heat of the night is yet another blessing. Some hope the return to the shire is soon.
As the hobbits crawl into their bed, they notice maybe the heat is not as welcoming as they thought. “It is really hot…” Frodo mentions. “Aye…” Sam agrees. “Maybe… tonight we have to sleep separately." Sam hates the idea, but it is the most logical. Their body heat is not helping their situation. “Mmm. Maybe.” Frodo hums. It is not a convincing hum. Sam doesn't believe he agrees as such. That is okay, he thinks. He can most definitely stick out a hot night to hold Frodo in his arms. Maybe it will be nice. There is something strangely satisfying waking up in a pool of sweat, Sam believes. To see a sweaty Frodo may actually be appealing-
Sam, mind out the gutter.
He mutters a small groan at his own thoughts.
Frodo… Frodo is up to something. He keeps adjusting and squirming in Sam's arms. “You alright?” He asks. “It is hot.” Frodo mentions again. “Frodo, I don't like the idea as much as you but if we must we can sleep separate-”
Frodo is not listening. Rather acting. He is sitting up, and tugging away his shirt. “I- I- Mr Frodo!” Is the heat the reason Sam's cheeks are impeccably flushed? “Is this okay?” Frodo asks. His voice is vulnerable. “A- aye Mr Frodo. I am just flustered. That's all.” Sam could avert his eyes, or stare at the glowing skin in front of him. He chooses the latter. “Good.” Frodo replies. Frodo adorns a cheeky smile as he lies back down.
What has he gotten himself into? Falling for his best friend, on a journey with no turning back. A journey that causes said best friend shirtless, in the same bed, cuddled up to his side. A foolish boy you are Sam. Foolish loverboy.
Frodo circles Sam's chest with his finger, as he had their first night sleeping close. It is killing Sam inside. May he be shirtless too, to feel the warmth of skin to skin contact. Too much. That is too much for Sam to handle. Frodo's hand glides down Sam's side. His eyes are closed, but he is searching for something. His hand slips under Sam's shirt before he asks, “are you okay?” Sam shudders. “Aye.” He manages to breathe out. Frodo glides his hand across Sam's stomach, finding its resting spot just below his chest. Sam is full of butterflies and haze. What is happening? Why can't Sam's trusty gut read this situation?
“Frodo?” He blurts out. “Mm?” Frodo hums. “I- I… you…” he tries to spill out any sentence, but nothing in his mind makes sense. Frodo lets out another hum in return, he almost seems content in the state of Sam. Content?! How is this any fair.
“I am worried, you have no protection on, you know… if Gollum decides to strike-”
“He won't.” Frodo sits up to look at Sam's face. His elbow props him up whilst his other hand begins rubbing against Sam's chest, skin on skin.
“O- or if the enemy is coming, they could be hunting us right now…” The flustered hobbit continues. Frodo's face has fallen closer towards green eyes. The gap between them is small. Their breath mingles with one another.
“But Sam, I am hot.” Frodo states.
“Very hot…” Sam replies.
He doesn't know who did it, but the gap closed between them. Frodo's lips against Sam's. Their eyes flutter shut, eyelashes delicately kissing their cheeks. Their lips are soft against one another, lingering their connection for as long comfort lets them. Frodos pulls away slightly, gazing into Sam's eyes. Everything comes crashing down once Sam pulls Frodo into a much harder, passionate kiss. Their teeth clank as they meet, and quickly build a rhythm they follow together. Sam pushes up, taking in as much of Frodo he possibly can. Frodo clenches onto Sam's shirt, holding the two together. The larger hobbit manages to sit up and take hold onto Frodo's waist. His brows furrow, deepening their kiss with an open mouth. Frodo prods his tongue against Sam's wet lips. He asks for entry, Sam welcomes. They move in tandem with one another. These moments of pining for Frodo has led to this moment. He may need to pinch himself to ensure it's real.
Frodo pulls away for a second to catch his breath. They heave air out their chest. Sam laughs at how tired they sound, Frodo smiles with him. Their breath of air does not last long, as Frodo is already chasing Sam's lips again. The hobbits can't help but smile through the kiss they share. Sams pushes frodo down onto his back, where he begins to kiss the jaw of the hobbit underneath him. He travels to his neck, being careful around where his scars sit. “Frodo…” Sam breaths hot air onto Frodo's neck in between kisses. One hand is tangled through his hair, the other holding a tight grip on Frodo's waist. “Sam…” Frodo replies with a groan echoing his words. “Frodo… I love you… I do.” Sams confesses. He gently nips at Frodo's neck, heavily intending on leaving a lovemark there. Who will see, Gollum? It will be nice to see a bruise not from injury. “My dear Sam, I love you too.” Frodo's hands brush through Sam's golden locs. He whimpers as Sam licks another lovebite into his neck. “Oh Sam.” He breaths.
Finally Sam meets Frodo's lips again, in a soft loving kiss. How much relief may he have to tell Frodo how he feels. How much relief he may have for knowing he feels the same. “You know…” Sam pulls back. “You don't need to remove your clothes to kiss me, Mr Frodo.” He laughs. “You must admit, the heat must be getting to you.” Frodo replies, tugging at the bottom of Sam's shirt. “Maybe another night Mr Frodo, I won't be having you shirtless and dirtying up on the forest floor. Plus I prefer your safety over danger…”
“You believe I am delicate?” Frodo asks
“I care too much to see you firstly here. I would rather have you first on a bed of specially picked flowers then dirt and leaves.”
Frodo raises a brow at his words.
“It may be arranged.” Sam adds. An array of laughter comes from the two. “I cannot wait.”
A few kisses later Sam finally convinces Frodo to wear his shirt. Protection is important in times like these. Frodo digs his face into Sam’s neck, where he will rest for the night. His lips brush against the tan soft skin. Sam feels a smile stretch across Frodo's face. It is safe to say they will rest well tonight. As the ring takes over Frodo, may he find peace in Sam's arms.
-
Sam and Frodo wake on their own rather than a whining Gollum. Peace at last. During the day, he stays awfully quiet, and travels at the hobbitses pace.
Frodo tugs on Sam's hand to whisper into his ear. “Do you think he was awake last night?” Sam looks out to see a horrified Gollum, who is humming insanity to himself. “I think so.” Sam answers. They both giggle.
“I love you, Sam!” Frodo exclaims, giving a wet kiss upon his cheek. His intentions are clear–torture Gollum. “I love you too, dear Frodo!” He teases. The hobbitses look towards a mumbling, coughing Gollum. “Fat hobbit…” He whispers.