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Chapter Text

Merry Brandybuck would have been having a perfectly fine time at Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday party, as the ale was flowing freely, the music was light and cheery, and the promise of Gandalf’s fireworks was high on the horizon. The only thing lacking was the company, or to be more exact, one particular member of it. Samwise Gamgee was sitting next to Merry, heaving one deep, yearning sigh after another as he watched Frodo dance. Merry had been watching Sam steal longing glances at Frodo all night, and frankly he was getting tired of it.

Perhaps his patience wouldn’t have worn thin so quickly, if he hadn’t been subjected to Frodo giving Sam the same sort of looks for the past few months, if not years. The amount of times he had caught Frodo gazing wistfully across the table at Sam during a night out at the Green Dragon when he thought no one was looking was more than he could count on both hands. Not to mention the way Frodo’s face lit up when he caught sight of Sam working in the garden when he and Merry returned from their wanderings, and the doting look on Frodo’s face when he asked if Sam would like a cup of tea.

It was high time that someone gave the two lovebirds a push, Merry thought.

“Go dance with him, Sam,” Merry said, leaning across the bench conspiratorially.

Sam’s face turned a bright red, the vibrant hue spreading across his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“What? Oh no, I couldn’t- I mean, he doesn’t –“ Sam stuttered.

“You can and he might,” Merry said.

Before Sam could protest any further, Merry grabbed Sam and pushed him into the whirl of spinning hobbits.

Sometimes the push that was needed was quite literal.

***

Sam stumbled into the fray. A new dance was just beginning and hobbits were dashing about, grabbing partners. Oh, why had Merry done that? This was such a mistake. What would Frodo think? Surely he didn’t want him here. It was too presumptuous, throwing himself into the center of the festivities like this. Sam looked around desperately for a way out.

The band struck up the first few notes of the next song, an upbeat reel that was a favorite at these sorts of events. His window of opportunity to leave was rapidly closing. Suddenly there was a hand closing over his.

“Sam!” Sam looked up with surprise to see the hand belonged to none other than Frodo. His face was glowing bright as the sun, and Sam didn’t think he’d ever seen anything lovelier. Frodo smiled brightly as he pulled Sam into formation for the dance, Sam taking his place across the square from him.

The music plunged into a steady rhythm, the dancers launching into the complicated array of claps and kicks and spins. Sam struggled to remember the familiar steps. Something about Frodo’s blue eyes and bouncing curls was very distracting.

Even more distracting were the steps that required Sam to take Frodo’s hands and spin him around. Holding Frodo’s hands in his own sent a tingle through Sam’s skin, a spark that flared everywhere their skin touched. Sam started to feel dizzy, and not from the dance.

The first time their hands touched, Sam nearly stumbled, but Frodo gripped his hand with a steadying force, guiding him through the steps. Sam looked up to see there was a laughing glint in his eye, and Sam took to the dance with renewed determination. Sam’s heart skipped a beat whenever he caught sight of Frodo’s impish visage.

The rest of the dancers seemed to fade away until they were the only ones left in the world, nothing mattering except for the glittering of Frodo’s blue eyes, the soft touch of his hands against Sam’s calloused ones, the movement of Frodo spinning him around.

And then all of a sudden it was over. The band played the last few notes and the rest of the world came rushing into the silence it left. Sam stood across from Frodo in that moonlit field, each of his hands still held in Frodo’s. The evening air suddenly felt cool against his heated skin, the only warmth stemming from where Frodo’s hands held his.

All the other hobbits had dropped hands, wandering off as the band took their break. With a jolt, Sam realized they were the only two still left on the dance floor, and moreso the only two left holding hands. Sam quickly let go.

“I, er, I uh, um,” Sam began, words failing him. He started up again, only for his continued stuttering to be lost in a cough. He realized he was parched.

“Let’s get a drink, shall we?” Frodo said with a laugh, taking Sam’s hand in his own once again and pulling him away towards the drinks tent.

Sam felt he ought to- well, he wasn’t sure what he ought to do. And then Frodo looked over his shoulder at him, with a broad smile on his lips, shining blue eyes, and flushed rosy cheeks, and Sam knew he’d follow Frodo anywhere.

***

Frodo passed Sam a mug of ale. Sam took it gratefully, taking a refreshing sip of the cool drink. He’d felt warm ever since the dance, and he hoped his face and ears weren’t as flushed as he feared they were.

Frodo looked about to say something, his pink lips parted. Sam’s heart beat fast at the prospect.

Presently the tent flap snapped open and Merry and Pippin rushed through, a huge red parcel being hauled between them

“Make way!” Merry said as the two disappeared into the night with their mysterious cargo.

“Pardon!” Pippin added as he smacked Frodo in the back with the tail end of the parcel, sending Frodo stumbling directly into Sam’s arms. Both of their mugs of ale lay discarded and forgotten on the grass.

Frodo blinked up at Sam, his hands flat on Sam’s broad chest. Sam was hypnotized staring down into Frodo’s wide eyes. They were like pools of clearest blue water, and Sam longed to dive into them. Sam found his arms were wrapped around Frodo’s waist, where he’d reached out to catch Frodo as he had stumbled.

Frodo made no move to extricate himself. Instead, he leaned closer to Sam, so close their noses were almost brushing.

“I’m glad you joined the dance, Sam. I’d hoped you would,” Frodo breathed, his voice low enough that only Sam could hear it.

And then Frodo leaned in closer, closing the small gap between them. His lips brushed against Sam’s, and suddenly Sam was kissing him and Frodo was kissing him back. Sam's eyes drifted closed.

The world once more condensed down to just the two of them, containing only the warmth of Frodo’s body under Sam’s hands, the press of Frodo’s chest against his, Frodo’s tongue licking into his mouth, the sound of Frodo’s breathy murmurs in his ears.

“Oh. Fireworks,” Frodo breathed as he broke the kiss.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, his eyes riveted to Frodo’s parted lips.

“Up there, Sam,” Frodo said with a soft laugh, nodding upwards. A shower of blue and gold sparks filled the sky above them. Gandalf must have started unloading his cart.

“Oh,” said Sam, a sinking sense of disappointment sneaking into his gut. Had Frodo moved on from their kiss so quickly? Maybe it was just a bit of fun for him. It had to be. It had just been a flight of fancy to believe Frodo might feel the same way about him, that for Frodo the whole world had disappeared too, leaving only Sam there.

Frodo’s eyes were still cast upwards towards the night sky. Before Sam could do anything else, he heard a shriek coming from behind them. He turned to see the wide-open maw of a red dragon streaking towards them, large yellow teeth coming nearer every moment.

“Mister Frodo!” Sam yelped, throwing them both downwards onto the ground, out of reach of the dragon’s teeth. The dragon rushed over them, mere inches above the two hobbits.

They watched as the dragon soared away over the horizon, erupting into a burst of sparks greater than any firework Sam had ever seen before. Gandalf had truly outdone himself. Gasps of laughter and delight echoed from the rest of the party-goers.

In pushing him out of the dragon’s path, Sam had ended up nearly on top of Frodo. His hands bracketed either side of Frodo’s chest, their legs lying entangled together in the grass. Frodo’s black curls framed his face like a halo against the grass. Sam found that Frodo wasn’t staring at the dragon at all, but instead was gazing up into Sam’s eyes.

“I liked our fireworks better,” Frodo murmured. He reached up a hand, his fingers tangling into Sam’s sandy brown hair. Frodo pulled Sam down to meet him, bringing him into another kiss.

***

Merry and Pippin were scrubbing dishes while the rest of the shire was enjoying the last merriments of the evening. Gandalf had grabbed them by the ears almost immediately after they’d set off the red dragon and had hauled them here to clean up as a punishment for stealing his grand finale and setting it off somewhere in the middle.

Merry thought it was a fair toss. He’d just wished they’d had more time to steal a few more fireworks before getting pinched. After all, they’d only stolen one rocket, and there were an awful lot more than one dish that needed washing at this party.

“Where’s Frodo? Maybe he can convince Bilbo to let us off early,” Pippin said, staring sadly into the murky soap bubbles.

“Don’t think there’s much chance of that happening,” Merry replied, pointing over towards the back gate.

There in the distance went Frodo and Sam, hand in hand. Frodo was pulling Sam through the gate with a hushed giggling. When the two had made it through, Frodo put his hands on Sam’s cheeks, kissing him once more before they disappeared up the hill that led to Bag End.

“Well! That’s a surprise!” Pippin exclaimed as he watched the two sneak off together.

“I think it was a long time coming, Pip,” Merry said smugly. He was quite proud of himself, certain the little push he’d given Sam earlier had no small part in this. There’d be no more desperate, pining stares to endure between his two friends now.

Chapter Text

Sam thought he might die of bliss, and he’d be quite happy to really, right there in Frodo’s bed. Frodo was sprawled out on top of Sam, his comfortable weight pushing him down onto the mass of blankets. One of Frodo’s slender hands was sliding up under Sam’s shirt, caressing his hip and moving upwards over his ribs. The other was tangled in Sam’s hair.

Sam’s hands were drawing lazy circles over Frodo’s back, tracing the lines of his shoulder blades, then dropping down the curve of his spine into the dip of his lower back. Their lips were thoroughly entangled, leaving no space for conversation other than the occasional sigh. Sam was eager to explore every inch of Frodo, from his tongue licking the inside of Frodo’s mouth, to the roaming of his hands across Frodo’s narrow frame.

Sam would have been content to lie like that forever, their hands left to their easy explorations, their lips pressed together. There was nowhere else in middle earth he’d rather be.

Frodo uttered a soft, happy sigh. His mouth curled up into a smile against Sam’s lips. He pulled back, gazing at Sam’s face with such loving tenderness Sam thought his heart might burst. Frodo traced Sam’s cheekbones with his thumb, chuckling softly.

“I never thought I would be lucky enough for this to happen, even though I admit I’d dreamed about it often,” Frodo murmured, pressing a kiss to Sam’s brow, his cheeks, his neck.

“What?” Sam gasped, struggling to wrap his head around what Frodo had just said.

“I never thought you’d return the feeling. Not for me, anyway. I’m just a strange old Baggins, and you’re so dashing,” Frodo said, laying his head down on Sam’s chest and gazing up at Sam with his bright blue eyes.

“That’s utterly ridiculous,” Sam huffed, “You’re the dashing one, with your high cheekbones,” Sam brushed his fingers against those cheekbones, “and your fine elven nose” and here he tapped Frodo on his nose, “and your soft skin, pale as cream,” Sam ran his hand over Frodo’s arm, pushing up his shirtsleeves.

“What about your golden hair, I always liked that best,” Frodo said, running a hand through Sam’s curls, “or your strong hands,” Frodo interlaced his fingers with Sam’s, “or your strong everything, really. I’ve watched you lift so many things working in the garden. I’m certain you could carry me easily.”

“How long have you been watching me in the garden?” Sam teased, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Frodo’s cheeks flushed pink and he buried his face in Sam’s chest. “Oh, don’t ask me that, my dear Sam. I can’t properly remember when I started. Feels like I’ve been doing it forever. Isn’t that embarrassing?”

“Not at all,” Sam reached down and tilted Frodo’s face upwards so he could gaze back into those blue eyes, “I can’t remember when I started sneaking glances at you, either.”

“Oh, Sam,” Frodo sighed, leaning forwards and kissing him again.

***

The moon was high in the sky and Sam feared the first rays of dawn weren’t far off. Sam was still in Frodo’s bed, Frodo himself curled up next to his chest, their arms still wrapped around each other.

“I ought to be going now, love,” Sam whispered, kissing the top of Frodo’s head.

Frodo mumbled something Sam couldn’t catch and held Sam tighter.

“My gaffer’ll be expecting me,” Sam tried.

“It’s too late for you to be walking home now, Sam,” Frodo said, not relinquishing his hold.

“What would Mr Bilbo say?” Sam asked.

“Stay, Sam, please,” Frodo whispered.

“Well, alright,” Sam assented, nestled down further into the pillows. He hadn’t really wanted to go in the first place, anyway.

***

The sun was high on the horizon as Sam attempted to sneak out of Bag End the next morning. Bilbo was bustling about in the kitchen, the sound and smell of bacon frying wafting through the hobbit hole. Sam and Frodo were moving as silently as they could manage through the hallway, but their best efforts were no use against Bilbo’s keen ears. They were nearly to the front when Bilbo called out from the kitchen.

“Ah, so you’re finally up, Frodo my lad. Did you overindulge in the – Oh. Sam.” Bilbo stood in doorway, taking in the scene of the two young hobbits before him. Sam was sure he made quite a sight in last night’s outfit, now thoroughly rumpled from having been slept in. His face felt warm with what was sure to be a pink tinge creeping up his neck.

Sam glanced to Frodo, who was equally pink in the face.

“Well, you’d better stay for breakfast, then,” Bilbo said, toddling back into the kitchen.

***

Sam and Frodo sat beside each other at the breakfast table. Frodo held Sam’s hand in his own under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze whenever Bilbo threw an inquisitive look at Sam.

Bilbo kept the conversation light, keeping to relating the festivities of the previous night as he laid the table. There were eggs and bacon and toast with butter and fresh fruit and porridge and tea with milk and sugar, just something light for first breakfast.

Once they had all broken their fast, Bilbo turned his full attention to Sam. He folded his hands in front of him on the table, looking down his nose at Sam like a cook might inspect a potato they were contemplating adding to that night’s dinner.

“Now, Sam, what are your intentions towards my nephew?” Bilbo asked seriously.

“Uncle!” Frodo protested.

“They’re all honorable, I swear!” Sam yelped immediately.

“You don’t have to answer that, Sam,” Frodo said.

“Yes, he does,” Bilbo said, turning his most serious gaze on Frodo for a moment before looking expectantly at Sam.

“I…I intend to do right by him, Mr Bilbo, I swear it. I’ll stay by his side and protect him no matter what comes. Wherever he goes, I’ll follow.”

Sometime during the course of this speech, Sam had turned to face Frodo. It was true, everything he was saying, and he meant every word. Frodo squeezed his hand once more under the table, his blue eyes glittering with affection as he gazed back at Sam.

Bilbo looked between the two lads and nodded with approval, unfolding his hands from in front of him and leaning back in his chair.

“I suppose that’ll do. I am eleventy-one, after all. Frodo’ll need someone to look after him one of these days.”

“Uncle, don’t say such things-“ Frodo began, but Bilbo cut him off with a wave.

“Why not? It’s true. This old hobbit will rest easier knowing you’ve got a stout fellow like Samwise about the place.”

“I’ll do my best, sir!” Sam said earnestly.

Bilbo chuckled at his enthusiasm. “I’ve no doubt you will, lad.”

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“It’s disgusting,” Merry said, watching Frodo stare after Sam as he went up to the bar to collect the next round of ale.

“Don’t listen to him, Frodo,” Pippin chimed in.

“I just mean that the two of you have been together for what, going on five years now? And you still stare after him like he hung the moon,” Merry huffed.

“There’s not much chance of that changing, I’m afraid,” Frodo said, grinning as Sam returned with their half-pints.

“What are we talking about?” Sam asked.

“We’re disgusting, apparently,” Frodo replied, throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulders and kissing him on the cheek. Merry groaned in annoyance.

“He’s just jealous,” Pippin said, nudging Merry.

“Come off it, Pip,” Merry said, nudging him back somewhat fiercer.