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Samwise Gamgee was as plain a hobbit as they came. There was nothing unhobbity about him, nothing unexpected or unusual to be said, nothing that would have brought unpleasant attention upon him or his family. Sam, with his sturdy body and round face, his good sense and bright curly hair, his position as gardener of the richest gentle-hobbit of Hobbiton, was probably one of the most eligible bachelors among the working hobbits.
And yet, there was not a hobbit-lass in the whole of Hobbiton or its surroundings who could claimed to have ever kissed him. Nor was there any lad, for that matter. Despite his good humour and pleasing looks, Sam remained desperately unapproachable when it came to anything related to love. That was probably the only oddity to be noted about him.
Indeed, finding a special someone and getting together to have a family (or set up a business, like old Misses Lilac and Peony who raised goats and sold goat-milk products) was as fundamental to being a proper hobbit as having curly hair on one’s feet! There were some who remained resolutely uninterested in love-related business, but they were regarded as queer and often improper. Mr Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, Sam’s former employer, was one of them. But he had disappeared (quite literally) about a year before and some speculated he had, as a matter of fact, gone to see some former dwarf-lover of his, though such a thing had never been confirmed by anyone.
To the hobbits of Hobbiton, having an imaginary dwarf-lover seemed more acceptable than having none at all, so the rumour was left at that and Bilbo’s disappearance became less odd than his whole life as a bachelor under the Hill.
Mr Bilbo’s smial was transferred, along with all his worldly possessions, to his young heir Frodo Baggins, who also inherited his reputation as a weird bachelor uninterested in the things of love and Sam’s services as a gardener. Thus, Frodo’s and Bilbo’s peculiarity was often incriminated when it came to Sam’s own lack of interest in any sort of seduction business. He spent most of his time up the Hill to work and the lasses (and some lads) who felt wronged by Sam’s disinterest said that it was what made him so dense when it came to romance.
But the truth, as often, was somewhat different than what the hobbits of Hobbiton made it out to be.
Sam was both aware of his own popularity among the hobbits his age and as interested as any of them in love and all that came with it. As a matter of fact, he was interested in getting the attention of one particular hobbit. The only problem was, the hobbit in question was precisely the one he could not get.
Frodo Baggins was beyond his reach, both for being his employer, above him in status, and for being resolutely impervious to all manner of seduction. And the Valars knew he had tried.
Pushing a wheelbarrow back and forth, sweating and shirtless, in front of Frodo’s study window had proved as useless as gifting him with flowers or baking his favourite pastries. Sam had been flirted with many times, and though he had never responded favourably, he knew every trick. But none of them seemed to work on Mr Frodo who would just smile and say “Thank you, Sam” when given something or modestly avert his eyes when too much of Sam’s skin was on display.
So, as months passed and Sam’s attempts remained unsuccessful, he gradually gave up. The gifts of flowers and pastries did not cease, but they were made without any second thought, just because Frodo really liked them and Sam loved to see him smile. He would still take his shirt off in the hot weather but would not make a show of it in front of his master. And when he received his dues at the end of the week, his fingers did not linger on Frodo’s more than necessary.
Little did he know that this change of attitude would be noticed by the Heir of the Hill.
It was one sunny afternoon. Sam was supposed to be off-duty but had climbed up the Hill anyway because he had brought down one of his tools for repairing at the smith’s and wanted to put it back in Bag End’s tool shed right away so as not to mix it up with his Gaffer’s old tools. He had taken to coming and going as he pleased in the gardens, much to his father’s dismay, and had not announced his presence to Frodo. The latter was entertaining guests in the parlour, the window flung right open, and Sam could hear them talking and laughing. No doubt they were Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, by the sound of merriment that poured out the window.
The idea of eavesdropping would have never crossed his mind, were it not for a word that caught his attention. His name. He thought he had misheard but it was repeated many times, by Frodo and his guests. Curious, Sam creeped close to the window and listened.
‘… must have done something that he noticed,’ Frodo was saying.
‘What kind of thing?’ Peregrin asked.
‘I don’t know, something that obviously made him uneasy.’
‘I don’t think Sam’s sudden modesty and shyness in front of you his due to his being uneasy!’ Meriadoc exclaimed, amused. ‘The lad just got tired of your ignoring him.’
He laughed and Sam heard a soft slapping sound, probably Frodo weakly hitting his cousin on the arm.
‘I think Merry’s right, Frodo,’ came Peregrin’s voice, full of sympathy. ‘Sam’s been thirsting after you for months, you were too dense to believe it and seize your chance. There’s a line of hobbits from here all the way down to Michel Delving waiting to grab a hold of him.’
Sam turned beet-red but remained as silent as could be. He was not that popular. But what really moved him was the implication behind the conversation: did Frodo wish to be courted by Sam? Had he really not noticed all Sam did to impress him?
‘It’s precisely because nobody has ever grabbed a hold of him, like you say, that I never tried anything!’ explained Frodo. ‘Sam is not interested in that kind of things.’
Meriadoc and Peregrin snorted.
‘Right, and I’m not interested in second breakfast,’ said Frodo’s youngest cousin.
‘It never occurred to you that maybe he was not interested in others because he only had eyes for you?’ came Meriadoc’s soft voice.
There was a long silence and Sam realised he had probably heard too much. Or at least enough to device a new plan.
The following day, Sam came up the Hill wearing his best shirt and carrying a small basket of hazelnut shortbreads. His plan was quite simple, really. Subtleties had not worked (if you called walking around half-naked subtle), so he might as well just speak his mind, plain and simple. The idea made him quite nauseous but it was probably the best way to know once and for all if he had any chance with Frodo.
He was about to knock on Bag End’s green door when it opened suddenly upon a very dishevelled and blurry-eyed Frodo, wearing a blue dressing gown loosely tied around his waist. And not much else, apparently.
‘Sam!’ he exclaimed, closing his gown more tightly about himself. ‘You look… early, you’re here early,’ he blurted out.
‘Hullo Mr Frodo. Sorry for scaring you. I… I brought you some shortbreads, sir.’
Frodo’s eyes lit up.
‘Hazelnut?’
‘Of course,’ Sam smiled.
‘Do come in,’ Frodo invited him. ‘Sorry for receiving you in such a… state. My cousins and I had a bit of a late night. They’re still asleep.’
‘Weren’t you heading out?’ Sam asked, feeling like he had interrupted Frodo somehow.
‘Well, only to stretch out my limbs. But tea and shortbreads sound much more alluring to me. You’ll have some with me, won’t you?’
Sam nodded and followed Frodo to the kitchen. He put the basket on the table and started to pour some water in a kettle to boil, but Frodo stopped him.
‘Please, sit down, Sam. Let me do that for you, you’re my guest.’
‘It’s no big deal,’ stammered Sam, feeling the heat radiating from Frodo’s body almost pressed into his side.
Frodo insisted and Sam reluctantly sat dow, swallowing as he tried not to think about what was barely concealed by Frodo’s dressing gown.
As he busied himself making tea and laying out china and cutlery, Mr Frodo seemed to get out of his sleepy (and somewhat hungover) state. When he finally sat down in front of Sam with a steamy pot of tea and a plate of biscuit between them, his cheeks were rosy and his eyes shone with mirth.
‘It’s a nice surprise you made me so early in the morning, Sam,’ he chuckled as he took a bite of shortbread.
Sam was about to answer but a loud moan of delight escaped Frodo’s lips and his dressing gown slid off of his right shoulder.
‘These are heavenly!’ Frodo groaned with a full mouth.
A stammer was all Sam could reply before he bit into his own biscuit and washed it down with a sip of tea that almost burnt his tongue. He had come up here to speak his mind but all his brains seemed to have gathered in his nether regions and he did not know what to say anymore. Frodo’s shoulder was exposed, silky white and slender, and as Frodo kept on relishing on Sam’s biscuit (quite literally, to his profound dismay), the dressing gown slowly slid down more. When the rosy ghost of a nipple appeared, Sam almost choked on his tea.
He thought back on what he had overheard the previous day. Was Mr Frodo trying to seduce him, now? Or was he just innocently enjoying a bit of breakfast, half-undressed, in front of his gardener? But Sam had never seen him acting so immodestly before. He decided this was his chance. He opened his mouth to speak but Frodo stood up to fetch a bowl of fruits on the counter. Oddly enough, he did not bring it back to the table but remained standing by the counter, his back turned to Sam.
‘I am making a fool of myself, am I not?’ he whispered, pulling the robe back up on his right shoulder.
Sam saw him cross his arms around himself and shudder slightly.
‘Mr Frodo?’ he asked in return, not knowing what to make of Frodo’s statement.
Frodo turned around, a sad smile on his face. Sam felt his heart fall at the bottom of his chest. His brains had made their way back to where they belonged. He stood up and crossed the distance between Frodo and himself.
‘I brought you your favourite shortbreads, sir,’ he began, his voice unsure. ‘I put on my good shirt. If you assumed I came up here to court you, you were no fool.’
His face was bright red and Frodo remained silent, his eyes round with disbelief.
‘Am I making a fool of myself assuming you decided to show me all this skin for a purpose?’
Frodo hid his mouth behind his hand and snorted, shaking his head in denial. Mirth was shining back in his eyes.
‘A beautiful pair of fools we’ve been, then,’ Sam went on. ‘I’d given up hope, almost, I couldn’t get your attention.’
‘Believe me, your wheelbarrowing up and down the lawn shirtless has not escaped my attention. I just thought… I thought it meant nothing to you.’
‘Why did you not try anything?’ Sam asked.
‘You’re my gardener, Sam! I did not want to use my position to take advantage of you.’
He turned quite red as he said this and Sam took one step closer. They were almost touching.
‘What if I want you to take advantage?’ he growled. ‘Does it count, then?’
Frodo whimpered and, without warning, he threw his arms around Sam’s neck. Their lips came crashing together, in a messy and enthusiastic first kiss. Sam felt his knees buckle as they got weak and he braced himself on the counter, pressing Frodo into himself even more.
The kiss became more sure, lips opening to let tongues dance together. When they finally broke apart, they were both flushed and panting.
‘We’d better stop,’ Frodo said, reluctant, ‘if my cousins walk in on us…’
‘You’re right. Maybe there’s a place where we could get more privacy.’
‘My room could do,’ Frodo mused. ‘Though I do like the idea of respectable Samwise Gamgee acting all improper with me on the kitchen counter.’
Sam groaned loudly and grabbed Frodo’s hips, pulling him close to his own. They kissed again.
In the end, Sam picked up Frodo and took him to his bedroom, where they carried on the business started in the kitchen. Frodo’s cousins did wake up at some point, and they ate the biscuits and drank the tea, pretending they did not hear the sound coming from down the hallway.
But to the many hobbits who walked past bag End that morning, it became quite clear that, if young mister Baggins was still suspected of being queer, it was certainly not the “uninterested in love-related stuff” kind of queerness.
As for Samwise Gamgee he became even more, if possible, the epitome of what a proper hobbit should be.