Chapter Text
Warning(s): There is one small scene that involves questionable intentions, but after reading you'll see that it all makes perfect, loving sense.
Part 1 - A Storm is Brewin'
Today began like any other day. It was now summertime. The days were hot and humid without so much as a breeze, and Sam, just like any other day, would arrive at Bag End bright and early to start his workday tending Bag End's gardens. Long before Frodo was even awake. And today was no exception, though, truthfully speaking, you couldn't really call it early; it was already after elevenses, in fact, it was getting closer to lunchtime, but it was still early for Frodo.
Frodo was a late sleeper and this was mostly due to the fact that he generally went to bed very late; much later than most sensible hobbits in Hobbiton, and probably, all the Shire for that matter. Not that Frodo didn't have any sense - it's just that when he got to reading, and writing, and translating - especially the Elvish translating - well, time just always seemed to slip away, and before he knew it, his candle would be low and sputtering, as would the flame in the hearth; always a sign that he'd stayed up far too late - as usual. In fact, on many occasions, when Sam arrived, he would find Frodo still in his study with his head and arms splayed across his desk, having fallen asleep right in the middle of his work, with no blanket to keep him warm, and Sam would tsk tsk under his breath, shaking his head, and then gently wake him and haul a much sleep-deprived hobbit off to his room and put him to bed proper.
But, Frodo wasn't a farmhand so it wasn't all that important when he got himself off to bed really.
He stood looking out his study window watching what appeared to be an approaching storm. Sam, of course, was in the garden - which, truth be known, was Frodo's reason for stopping what he was doing and looking out the window to begin with - but an ominous dark cloud in the distance, on an otherwise bright sunny day, drew his gaze away from Sam. Surely, Frodo thought to himself, Sam is aware of this impending threat.
He turned his gaze back to Sam, with a roguish smile, as it suddenly occurred to him that this storm in the offing might be a good thing. Well, of course the storm was a good thing; at least for practical purposes anyways. The vegetation sorely needed it; they hadn't had any rain for weeks and the days were unusually hot, and the plants and vegetables and the grass and the trees were clearly beginning to show signs of stress.
But, that aside, the storm just might prove to be an even better thing for Frodo since Frodo's mind had already switched its focus and drifted away from practical at the moment.
So, Frodo quickly began contemplating and anticipating the most exciting possibilities that he could imagine in that already filled-to-the-brim imagination of his that could come from this so-called unexpected turn of events. Possibilities that might arise after Sam, of course, would be forced to come inside to wait out the storm. At least, that was what Frodo was hoping for.
Frodo sighed and leaned against the window frame crossing his arms in front of him, his hair ruffled by the smallest touch of a light breeze. He kept his gaze on Sam and marveled at the way Sam could completely immerse himself with whatever it was that he was doing. And then he chuckled softly to himself, thinking that he could completely immerse himself with Sam quite easily enough.
The approaching storm, however, didn't seem to slow Sam down one bit; in fact, Frodo noticed, his actions became more deliberate. And, in fact, if Sam knew the rain was coming - and surely he did - Frodo knew he would do as much as he could until such weather made it utterly and completely impossible for him to continue. That was Sam; dedicated, committed and unwavering. Frodo, on the other hand, was more easily distracted, and more of a dreamer; which was, in fact, what he was sort of doing now.
Common - and all too often overheard - remarks from gossiping townsfolk were, "It's a wonder the master don't trip over his own two feet, what with him having his head in them clouds all o' the time." None of it was said out of meanness really, Frodo supposed, but it was said nonetheless. Though, for the most part, this talk didn't really bother Frodo. Some of it was even true actually. His mind did wander, but, he was also a lot more aware of his surroundings and what was going on than most people gave him credit for. And, he was also quite used to the talk by now. It was drearily looking as if things were seemingly going to be no different for him than they were for his dear old cousin Bilbo, who he referred to as Uncle Bilbo and, who most folks thought to be quite mad; Mad Baggins they would call him, and now Frodo was beginning to fall prey to that epithet.
So, let them talk, he thought. None of them really knew him that well anyway - if they even knew him at all.
Except for ...
... Sam.
"Sam," he whispered low, still watching him, "I am so thankful for you, Sam."
~*~
Frodo's and Sam's relationship was somewhat new. Not new to each of them personally, but new in that they each now knew how they felt about each other. How they truly felt about each other.
It happened about four months back. Almost six months to the day after Bilbo had left the Shire. It was the 21st of Rethe, to be exact. They had both been having the same feelings for each other for quite some time, they had later discovered, but neither was able to confront the other for fear of this, that, and the other. But Frodo had become quite lonely after Bilbo had left. He had spent far too many nights alone and this particular evening he had been feeling a little down anyway, thinking about Bilbo and missing him and all, so when Sam came in after finishing his work to tell Mr. Frodo he was heading home, Frodo decided that the time for telling Sam how he felt was now or never. So he did just that - with sweaty palms, a flushed face, a pounding heart, and a choked voice - and just about every emotion that came along with it. He winced a little at the memory. Though, looking back, he was quite glad he had managed to overcome his nerves - or was it that bottle of Bilbo's Old Winyards he indulged himself with beforehand? Well, whatever it was, it had worked out much better than Frodo could ever have hoped for, which was why his and Sam's relationship was what it was today.
Yet, even though they were lovers now, time was not on their side. Sam still had his heavy workload in the gardens and Frodo still had his reading and translations and matters with the accounts and dealings with said account holders. And when the day was done, Sam was still expected to help out at home. He would stay with Frodo as long as he could but they still found that they had to grab hold of any romantic, intimate moments whenever they could.
~*~
Frodo reluctantly pulled himself away from the window, not wanting to take his eyes off Sam but knowing that he'd better get started on his plans. This was going to be one of those aforementioned moments he was not going to let slip by. He headed towards the kitchen deciding his first plan would be to surprise Sam by preparing lunch for the two of them. It shall be an indoor picnic, he thought. And it wasn't that he had any real set plans, as such. He just simply wanted a day full of Sam and no one else.
He opened the sideboard cupboard and pulled out Bilbo's old picnic basket. Frodo and Sam had used it on a couple of occasions already and the memory quickly brought a smile to his face. He reached in and pulled out a red and white checkered linen cloth, then spread it out over the table. He set his place on one side of the table and, thinking it would make it much easier for him to stare at Sam - and stare he will - he set a place for Sam straight across from him.
Frodo felt his heartbeat quicken. Just the thought of him and Sam spending the rest of this stormy day together sent a wave of heat and excitement throughout every inch of his body. He willed himself to calm down, and then took a deep breath.
The heat in the kitchen was quite stifling but there was a much welcome, steady breeze blowing in the window now. He opened the first couple of buttons on his shirt and pinched the front of it, pulling it to and fro from his skin trying to fan himself. He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands then set about the task of preparing the meal.
He began by placing a large loaf of bread and a crock of butter on the table. On a large platter, he spread out small chunks of cheese, some sliced ham and roasted beef, some sliced onions and tomatoes, some carrot sticks and a bowl of crisp apples, cut into wedges. It wasn't anything fancy by any means, but Frodo knew Sam would appreciate it nonetheless.
Frodo could feel the wind picking up and hear the faint rumbles of thunder off in the distance. The sky had darkened considerably. No doubt the rain would be falling soon so he stopped what he was doing to dash through the smial and shut all the windows. The kitchen window he left open. Upon returning, he placed a saucepan on the stove and began frying up some mushrooms in butter sauce. And as he stood there frying the mushrooms, his mind wafted on that refreshing, cooling breeze blowing through the kitchen.
In his mind... he was watching Sam in the garden as the rain began to fall. Sam was soaked through to the skin within seconds and his shirt clung to every inch of him like a glove. It was almost as if he had no shirt on at all. Frodo could see every muscle and every ripple with every movement Sam made. And just as suddenly as Sam had appeared, he himself appeared and now, he saw them both standing in the rain; both being drenched by the cool, pelting droplets splashing off their heated skin and trickling from their hair. He saw himself pressed up against Sam, their mouths crushing together in a passionate kiss. He saw himself feverishly stripping Sam of that shirt and running his hands all up and down those strong, wet, hard-muscled arms of his; then those same strong arms grasping him and yanking him up close again and taking him to the ground.
He felt a sharp pain shoot from his gut to his groin, startling him out of his reverie. He let out an audible gasp and then sucked it right back in and closed his eyes as strong arms slowly wrapped around his waist, hugging him tight and pulling him sideways away from the stove. Then he heard a low, husky voice in his ear...
"Could you be... needin' a hand, Mr. Frodo?" murmured Sam. Frodo's breath caught and Sam felt Frodo's knees buckle and held him tight, Frodo's head falling back against his shoulder.
"Sa-aam!" Frodo said, his voice hoarse and choked. He slowly twisted in Sam's arms to face him, the relaxed expression on his face suddenly turning to that of surprise and confusion.
"It's rainin'. Rainin' hard, sir," Sam stated. "I had to come in. Didn't ya hear it? I knew it were comin' but, seems like it just dropped out of the sky all at once like."
Frodo just stared, dazed for a moment, then spoke quietly, his throat parched, "No, Sam. I guess I didn't. I... I...I was..." and then he quickly turned toward the stove.
Sam pulled him back, "Not to worry, sir. I already took 'em off the fire. They was done for sure."
Frodo hadn't burned the mushrooms, thanks to Sam coming in when he did. Although, if he hadn't, Sam thought, with the state Frodo was in, Frodo might be feeling intense heat in a not-so-pleasurable way. He would get on him about that later, he thought. He knew it wasn't his place to be scoldin' Frodo or nothin', but it could so easily have gone wrong and Frodo could have really gotten hurt. But he would let it go for now. He knew Frodo was trying to surprise him and he didn't want to spoil it for him. Besides, Sam thought, Frodo looked right pleasing with his flushed face and his state of confusion; not to mention, those tantalizing beads of sweat across his upper lip and trickling down his face and neck that made Sam just want to lap them up with his tongue.
Frodo dipped his head, raising his arm at the same time, and wiped the sweat from his brow on his upper sleeve. "Sam-I... I thought we'd have an indoor picnic. I wanted to surprise you."
"Well, that you did, Mr. Frodo," Sam chuckled. "In more ways than one too, I might add."
Sam was touched that Frodo had gone to this much trouble and he told him so.
"You ought not to have gone to so much trouble, Frodo," he said very appreciatively, "but it was right thoughtful of you and I thank you for it. It looks mighty delicious... ", he said, as he pulled Frodo close, one hand around Frodo's waist and the other bringing Frodo's head to his lips. Then he kissed him on the temple and breathed into his hair, "...and so do you," he finished, rather breathily.
Frodo closed his eyes and swallowed hard. His lips parted shakily on a sigh and then he felt Sam shift and then Sam's soft, warm mouth was over his. He leaned into the kiss, his mind taking off again, spinning and spinning it was. He wrapped his arms tightly around Sam's neck and pressed his body as tight as he could against Sam's. He was so aroused already that his hips instinctively began a gentle thrusting. Sam braced himself and Frodo clung tightly to him and began thrusting harder. Sam could feel Frodo's desperation; could feel his body trembling with pent up want and desire. He clutched Frodo tighter against him to still his movements, causing Frodo to groan aloud with frustration.
"Eeeeasy, Mr. Frodo," he soothed. "I'm thinkin' you might want to slow down just a bit or it'll be over 'afore you're wantin' it to be." He stepped back a little. Frodo let out a soft, quivering sigh and Sam shot him a compassionate look. "Seems you've gone and gotten yourself all worked up now, haven't ya?"
Frodo slumped back against the counter and sighed heavily. "Well-I... I." He glanced down feeling slightly embarrassed. "Well... um... just a little." Then he looked back up at Sam with that adorable, flushed face and a huge grin and said in jest, "Well, yes, Sam, I did see that storm coming if that's what you mean."
Sam chuckled. He cupped his hand around the back of Frodo's head, brought him up close again, and whispered gentle and low in his ear, "Seems to me you've got a bit of a storm brewin' yourself," he teased, while his other hand rubbed the hard bulge in Frodo's breeches.
Frodo's breath caught in Sam's ear and his hands fisted in Sam's shirtsleeves. He could feel Sam's arousal against his hip and it made him weak in the knees again. Evidently, Sam was no better off then he was.
"So... ", Sam continued, as he gave Frodo a gentle squeeze causing him to push up hard into his hand. "... let's do this proper like shall we?" He slowly stepped back, again at Frodo's reluctance, grabbed one of Frodo's wrists and started leading him out of the kitchen.
Frodo suddenly halted, pulling back with the arm in Sam's grasp at the same time, "Wait, Sam," he said, as he glanced over at the set table and back at Sam.
Sam winked at him and continued tugging, "I reckon that can wait just a bit. But I'm thinkin' you're in a bit of a fix, and more likely you can't."
Frodo felt his face colour and he felt a slight twinge of embarrassment again but he didn't let it bother him too much because, quite frankly, Sam... was right. He was in a bit of a fix.
TBC