claudia603 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
claudia603) wrote2003-03-01 06:39 pm
claudia603) wrote2003-03-01 06:39 pm
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Um...yeah. I wrote a F/S. I hope Lily won't kick my butt if I post it to f_s, too. Not likely if I promise her Frodo/Aragorn sweetness with chocolate on top next. :-)
Title: The Enchantment of Snow
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Rating: R/NC17
Summary: Sam and Frodo enjoy a rare snowy day.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Story notes: pre-quest, a few years before quest. Inspired by our seemingly endless winter. Um…This is my first Frodo/Sam.
The Enchantment of Snow
Frodo pulled his down blanket up to his icy nose. He could see his breath, even under the blanket. The fire which had kept his room toasty warm while he had been reading in bed the night before had burned out in the early hours of the morning. He wished there was a way to magically ignite the fire without having to leave his bed. Where was Gandalf when he was really needed?
He missed Bilbo with a sudden ache in his chest. On cold mornings like this, Bilbo always got the fires going and had a pot boiling for tea long before Frodo even opened his eyes. Frodo had to admit that it was sometimes difficult being his own master.
A sharp knock on the bedroom window startled him into a deep gasp, and his lungs filled with cold air. He rolled on his stomach, still under his cover, and peered out his round window, wondering who in Hobbiton would dare rap on his window at this hour. This behavior seemed even beneath the Sacksville-Bagginses, though if it turned out to be Lobelia, Frodo grinned at the idea that she would see him in naught but his nightshirt.
Instead he saw Sam’s round, cheery face, and just beyond him -- his blue eyes widened in delight.
During the night it had snowed heavily. Unlike rain, which pounded against the windows and clattered against the stone wall, the snow had fallen in faint whispers, gently dappling the hedges and hills in white powder. No hobbit hole was spared, and Frodo pitied anyone who had to drive a wagon that morning.
“Why, there’s not a blade of grass in sight,” Frodo said to himself. Wrapping his blanket around his shoulders, he pulled himself into a sitting position and creaked open the window.
“I’m sorry to disturb you and all, Mr. Frodo,” Sam sounded breathless and delighted. Frodo loved that about him. Sam saw the world with such fresh joy that Frodo could not help but be pulled into it. “I couldn’t hold it inside no more. Never seen nothing so beautiful!”
Sam looked at Frodo with such open joy that heat crept over Frodo’s cheeks.
“I don’t mind that you woke me,” he said. “I’m glad you did.” A patch of sun broke through the gray clouds, dazzling Frodo’s eyes as the sun caught the icicles clinging from tree branches.
“Like the elf magic in old Mr. Bilbo’s tales, it is,” Sam said. His cheeks were rosy, and he rubbed his coarse hands together.
Frodo nodded. “You’re right, Sam. Won’t you come in and have a bit of tea? I fear you’ll freeze to death out there with no gloves on your hands and naught but a light cloak on.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout me,” Sam said. “I’ll leave you to your tea and go shovel off your walkway for you.” Sam smiled and made a quick hand movement as if he were tipping an imaginary hat at Frodo.
Frodo laughed as he closed the window. His heart pattered restlessly. Sam had awakened him because he could think of nobody else to share in the beauty of a rare snowfall.
There was indeed a magical feeling to the morning. The glittering snow made Frodo giddy, and he could all too easily picture his tongue loosening his innermost feelings at last. He hummed as he got dressed, feeling detached from how numb with cold his fingers grew just from buttoning his linen shirt. Sam had shared the most beauteous of moments with him. An excited knot formed in his stomach, and his original plan to relax by the window with a cup of tea and eggs no longer appealed.
After lighting a fire in the sitting room, Frodo put on his jacket and cloak and stepped out into the snow. His feet sank into the cold snow. He grinned, wriggling his quickly numbing toes, staring down at feetless legs that seemed to have disappeared into a white nothingness.
“It’s a wonder to sore eyes and no mistake.” Sam wiped the sweat from his forehead and leaned on his shovel.
Frodo looked around Hobbiton in wonder, blinking as snowflakes caught in his long lashes. “I’ve never seen it blanket the grass like this. Bilbo used to tell tales of harsh snowstorms that plagued the folk in Bree now and again. And of course there was the Fell Winter of 1311 when the wolves crossed the Brandywine. But I never thought I’d see it in my life.” Frodo shook his head in wonder. “It’s beautiful.”
“That it is.”
“Sam, forget the shoveling,” Frodo said, cautiously taking another step and letting his foot sink again into the fluffy cold crystals. “Come, let us take some enjoyment out of this!”
“Mr. Frodo…”
Frodo was not certain, but he thought perhaps Sam had turned a shade redder.
“Well…” Sam said.
Frodo made his way on the walkway that Sam had mostly cleared of snow, but when he had nearly reached Sam, his foot caught on a piece of ice and he slipped. Sam caught him around the waist, steadying him. “Whoa, Mr. Frodo. Careful now. It’d never do to have you break your leg out here on the ice.”
Frodo laughed merrily as he clutched Sam until he could stand on his own. Sam’s arms were powerful from the demanding physical work he did year round and his embrace had sent an odd tingling through Frodo.
Frodo sank to his knees in the snow, gathering snow in his bare hands, rolling it into a ball. “It packs quite nicely.”
“What are you doing, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked.
Without warning, Frodo flung the ball at Sam, who had not time to dodge out of the way before the snow splattered over his chest.
“Now, Mr. Frodo…” Sam looked at his chest in dismay. “This is a children’s game! For shame…your poor hands will get frostbit.”
“Does that mean you’re too frightened to fight back?”
Sam’s eyes lit with a fire that sent warmth into Frodo’s groin. “Frightened? Now wait just a moment, Mr. Frodo!” Sam pulled together his own ball of snow and hurled it at Frodo. Laughing, Frodo ducked out of the way, but he tripped, landing on his backside in a pile of snow.
“Are you all right?” Sam called out, but his concern cost him dearly. He was bombarded by two balls, one of which hit his face.
Spitting melting snow from his mouth, he wiped his face with this sleeve and looked at Frodo under his bushy brows. “You’ll see no mercy from me now,” Sam said.
Frodo laughed as Sam chased him into the corner of the little gate that surrounded Bag End. Sam stuffed a handful of snow down Frodo’s shirt, laughing as Frodo pulled him down so that they were both crouched in a deep pile of snow.
Now that they were soaked, Frodo needed no better excuse to invite Sam in for a nice pot of hot tea. They could settle in front of the fire, and then Frodo could tell him how he felt. He was almost certain Sam returned these feelings that would be deemed unnatural by most in the Shire.
There had been far too many times when Frodo had looked into the garden while reading one of Bilbo’s old tales in time to catch Sam staring at him with naked longing. When Frodo had met his eyes, Sam had turned back to his work, red splotches covering his cheeks. Since the summer, Frodo had yearned to run his hands over that coarse, hot skin, longed to see Sam’s yearning brought to joy.
Frodo shifted under Sam’s weight, and something hard poked into his thigh. With a sharp gasp, he met Sam’s brown eyes. His heart pounding so hard he could barely breathe, Frodo let his hand slide over the hardness. His own groin grew warm and swollen in response.
“Frodo,” Sam gasped hoarsely, the bright light of mischief gone from his face.
“Let us go inside and dry off,” Frodo said, his heart banging so loudly that he could barely hear himself. Sam nodded, still panting, and climbed to his feet. He helped Frodo up, ducking his head down, unable to meet Frodo’s gaze.
Once inside Bag End, Frodo flung himself against Sam, kissing his icy lips with frantic vigor, feeling them warm beneath his own lips.
“Mr. Frodo, we’re still wet…”
“Never mind.”
Frodo jammed his hands under Sam’s sopping shirt. Melted snow pooled around their reddened feet. Frodo squeezed against Sam, rubbing his dripping leg up and down Sam’s thigh, emitting harsh gasps from Sam. Sam’s hands slipped into Frodo’s breeches, settling over his slender hips. “Are you sure?” he asked in a breathless croak.
Frodo nodded.
“Really?” Sam said. He looked dazed, like a child who had just received an unexpected toy. “Then it’s like a dream.”
Sam closed his eyes, the grin still on his face. Frodo’s stomach tingled and he sank to his knees, pulling Sam down with him. He edged himself on Sam’s lap, rubbing his chest against Sam’s, his knees on the ground on either side of Sam’s thighs. He massaged his arousal against Sam’s belly, locking lips with him, grinding against him. Sam slid Frodo’s braces from his shoulders and fumbled with the buttons to Frodo’s drenched vest.
Frodo closed his eyes until they were jarred open by the sensation of strong hands gripping his shoulders and pushing him on the floor in front of the fire. Sam leaned over him, supported by his forearms, panting just over Frodo’s lips. Frodo realized that his breeches had been pushed to his knees and there was nothing between Sam’s hardness and Frodo’s flesh. The very thought caused his own arousal to quiver. He closed his eyes again, barely able to breathe.
“Sam,” he gasped, his lips parting as he thrust his hips into Sam’s. Sam did not respond, and puzzled, Frodo opened his eyes again.
A melancholy expression was on Sam’s face as he stared down at Frodo’s flushed face.
Frodo tugged at Sam’s arms. “Sam, what is it? Do you not want this?”
“I do, Mr. Frodo. Looking at you just about makes me burst into pieces inside. I love you…always have, ever since that day you moved into Bag End with Mr. Bilbo.” Tears welled in Sam’s eyes and for awhile, Frodo heard naught but the crackling of the fire.
“So what is the matter?” Frodo asked.
“It’s just that…this…well, it’s like this.” Sam wiped a tear from his cheek. “This means the world to me and I don’t want it to be some hurried rushed thing like a couple of tweenagers in the field.”
“Oh, Sam,” Frodo said, cradling him gently until his head fell on Frodo’s bare chest. Frodo stared at the ceiling, his body reverberating with need, and he knew he would later have to use his hands to relieve his throbbing arousal. “Then let us not do this now. We have plenty of time. We shall get dressed into dry clothes, come sit by the fire, and drink some tea. What do you say to that?”
Sam smiled, relief giving his face a radiant glow. “That sounds like the best possible way to spend a snowy day.”
Frodo continued to cradle Sam in his arms with a content smile. He watched the glitter of sunlight over icicles that hung like Elvish jewels over the round window, evidence of the enchantment that had come to be that morning.
END
Title: The Enchantment of Snow
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Rating: R/NC17
Summary: Sam and Frodo enjoy a rare snowy day.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Story notes: pre-quest, a few years before quest. Inspired by our seemingly endless winter. Um…This is my first Frodo/Sam.
The Enchantment of Snow
Frodo pulled his down blanket up to his icy nose. He could see his breath, even under the blanket. The fire which had kept his room toasty warm while he had been reading in bed the night before had burned out in the early hours of the morning. He wished there was a way to magically ignite the fire without having to leave his bed. Where was Gandalf when he was really needed?
He missed Bilbo with a sudden ache in his chest. On cold mornings like this, Bilbo always got the fires going and had a pot boiling for tea long before Frodo even opened his eyes. Frodo had to admit that it was sometimes difficult being his own master.
A sharp knock on the bedroom window startled him into a deep gasp, and his lungs filled with cold air. He rolled on his stomach, still under his cover, and peered out his round window, wondering who in Hobbiton would dare rap on his window at this hour. This behavior seemed even beneath the Sacksville-Bagginses, though if it turned out to be Lobelia, Frodo grinned at the idea that she would see him in naught but his nightshirt.
Instead he saw Sam’s round, cheery face, and just beyond him -- his blue eyes widened in delight.
During the night it had snowed heavily. Unlike rain, which pounded against the windows and clattered against the stone wall, the snow had fallen in faint whispers, gently dappling the hedges and hills in white powder. No hobbit hole was spared, and Frodo pitied anyone who had to drive a wagon that morning.
“Why, there’s not a blade of grass in sight,” Frodo said to himself. Wrapping his blanket around his shoulders, he pulled himself into a sitting position and creaked open the window.
“I’m sorry to disturb you and all, Mr. Frodo,” Sam sounded breathless and delighted. Frodo loved that about him. Sam saw the world with such fresh joy that Frodo could not help but be pulled into it. “I couldn’t hold it inside no more. Never seen nothing so beautiful!”
Sam looked at Frodo with such open joy that heat crept over Frodo’s cheeks.
“I don’t mind that you woke me,” he said. “I’m glad you did.” A patch of sun broke through the gray clouds, dazzling Frodo’s eyes as the sun caught the icicles clinging from tree branches.
“Like the elf magic in old Mr. Bilbo’s tales, it is,” Sam said. His cheeks were rosy, and he rubbed his coarse hands together.
Frodo nodded. “You’re right, Sam. Won’t you come in and have a bit of tea? I fear you’ll freeze to death out there with no gloves on your hands and naught but a light cloak on.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout me,” Sam said. “I’ll leave you to your tea and go shovel off your walkway for you.” Sam smiled and made a quick hand movement as if he were tipping an imaginary hat at Frodo.
Frodo laughed as he closed the window. His heart pattered restlessly. Sam had awakened him because he could think of nobody else to share in the beauty of a rare snowfall.
There was indeed a magical feeling to the morning. The glittering snow made Frodo giddy, and he could all too easily picture his tongue loosening his innermost feelings at last. He hummed as he got dressed, feeling detached from how numb with cold his fingers grew just from buttoning his linen shirt. Sam had shared the most beauteous of moments with him. An excited knot formed in his stomach, and his original plan to relax by the window with a cup of tea and eggs no longer appealed.
After lighting a fire in the sitting room, Frodo put on his jacket and cloak and stepped out into the snow. His feet sank into the cold snow. He grinned, wriggling his quickly numbing toes, staring down at feetless legs that seemed to have disappeared into a white nothingness.
“It’s a wonder to sore eyes and no mistake.” Sam wiped the sweat from his forehead and leaned on his shovel.
Frodo looked around Hobbiton in wonder, blinking as snowflakes caught in his long lashes. “I’ve never seen it blanket the grass like this. Bilbo used to tell tales of harsh snowstorms that plagued the folk in Bree now and again. And of course there was the Fell Winter of 1311 when the wolves crossed the Brandywine. But I never thought I’d see it in my life.” Frodo shook his head in wonder. “It’s beautiful.”
“That it is.”
“Sam, forget the shoveling,” Frodo said, cautiously taking another step and letting his foot sink again into the fluffy cold crystals. “Come, let us take some enjoyment out of this!”
“Mr. Frodo…”
Frodo was not certain, but he thought perhaps Sam had turned a shade redder.
“Well…” Sam said.
Frodo made his way on the walkway that Sam had mostly cleared of snow, but when he had nearly reached Sam, his foot caught on a piece of ice and he slipped. Sam caught him around the waist, steadying him. “Whoa, Mr. Frodo. Careful now. It’d never do to have you break your leg out here on the ice.”
Frodo laughed merrily as he clutched Sam until he could stand on his own. Sam’s arms were powerful from the demanding physical work he did year round and his embrace had sent an odd tingling through Frodo.
Frodo sank to his knees in the snow, gathering snow in his bare hands, rolling it into a ball. “It packs quite nicely.”
“What are you doing, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked.
Without warning, Frodo flung the ball at Sam, who had not time to dodge out of the way before the snow splattered over his chest.
“Now, Mr. Frodo…” Sam looked at his chest in dismay. “This is a children’s game! For shame…your poor hands will get frostbit.”
“Does that mean you’re too frightened to fight back?”
Sam’s eyes lit with a fire that sent warmth into Frodo’s groin. “Frightened? Now wait just a moment, Mr. Frodo!” Sam pulled together his own ball of snow and hurled it at Frodo. Laughing, Frodo ducked out of the way, but he tripped, landing on his backside in a pile of snow.
“Are you all right?” Sam called out, but his concern cost him dearly. He was bombarded by two balls, one of which hit his face.
Spitting melting snow from his mouth, he wiped his face with this sleeve and looked at Frodo under his bushy brows. “You’ll see no mercy from me now,” Sam said.
Frodo laughed as Sam chased him into the corner of the little gate that surrounded Bag End. Sam stuffed a handful of snow down Frodo’s shirt, laughing as Frodo pulled him down so that they were both crouched in a deep pile of snow.
Now that they were soaked, Frodo needed no better excuse to invite Sam in for a nice pot of hot tea. They could settle in front of the fire, and then Frodo could tell him how he felt. He was almost certain Sam returned these feelings that would be deemed unnatural by most in the Shire.
There had been far too many times when Frodo had looked into the garden while reading one of Bilbo’s old tales in time to catch Sam staring at him with naked longing. When Frodo had met his eyes, Sam had turned back to his work, red splotches covering his cheeks. Since the summer, Frodo had yearned to run his hands over that coarse, hot skin, longed to see Sam’s yearning brought to joy.
Frodo shifted under Sam’s weight, and something hard poked into his thigh. With a sharp gasp, he met Sam’s brown eyes. His heart pounding so hard he could barely breathe, Frodo let his hand slide over the hardness. His own groin grew warm and swollen in response.
“Frodo,” Sam gasped hoarsely, the bright light of mischief gone from his face.
“Let us go inside and dry off,” Frodo said, his heart banging so loudly that he could barely hear himself. Sam nodded, still panting, and climbed to his feet. He helped Frodo up, ducking his head down, unable to meet Frodo’s gaze.
Once inside Bag End, Frodo flung himself against Sam, kissing his icy lips with frantic vigor, feeling them warm beneath his own lips.
“Mr. Frodo, we’re still wet…”
“Never mind.”
Frodo jammed his hands under Sam’s sopping shirt. Melted snow pooled around their reddened feet. Frodo squeezed against Sam, rubbing his dripping leg up and down Sam’s thigh, emitting harsh gasps from Sam. Sam’s hands slipped into Frodo’s breeches, settling over his slender hips. “Are you sure?” he asked in a breathless croak.
Frodo nodded.
“Really?” Sam said. He looked dazed, like a child who had just received an unexpected toy. “Then it’s like a dream.”
Sam closed his eyes, the grin still on his face. Frodo’s stomach tingled and he sank to his knees, pulling Sam down with him. He edged himself on Sam’s lap, rubbing his chest against Sam’s, his knees on the ground on either side of Sam’s thighs. He massaged his arousal against Sam’s belly, locking lips with him, grinding against him. Sam slid Frodo’s braces from his shoulders and fumbled with the buttons to Frodo’s drenched vest.
Frodo closed his eyes until they were jarred open by the sensation of strong hands gripping his shoulders and pushing him on the floor in front of the fire. Sam leaned over him, supported by his forearms, panting just over Frodo’s lips. Frodo realized that his breeches had been pushed to his knees and there was nothing between Sam’s hardness and Frodo’s flesh. The very thought caused his own arousal to quiver. He closed his eyes again, barely able to breathe.
“Sam,” he gasped, his lips parting as he thrust his hips into Sam’s. Sam did not respond, and puzzled, Frodo opened his eyes again.
A melancholy expression was on Sam’s face as he stared down at Frodo’s flushed face.
Frodo tugged at Sam’s arms. “Sam, what is it? Do you not want this?”
“I do, Mr. Frodo. Looking at you just about makes me burst into pieces inside. I love you…always have, ever since that day you moved into Bag End with Mr. Bilbo.” Tears welled in Sam’s eyes and for awhile, Frodo heard naught but the crackling of the fire.
“So what is the matter?” Frodo asked.
“It’s just that…this…well, it’s like this.” Sam wiped a tear from his cheek. “This means the world to me and I don’t want it to be some hurried rushed thing like a couple of tweenagers in the field.”
“Oh, Sam,” Frodo said, cradling him gently until his head fell on Frodo’s bare chest. Frodo stared at the ceiling, his body reverberating with need, and he knew he would later have to use his hands to relieve his throbbing arousal. “Then let us not do this now. We have plenty of time. We shall get dressed into dry clothes, come sit by the fire, and drink some tea. What do you say to that?”
Sam smiled, relief giving his face a radiant glow. “That sounds like the best possible way to spend a snowy day.”
Frodo continued to cradle Sam in his arms with a content smile. He watched the glitter of sunlight over icicles that hung like Elvish jewels over the round window, evidence of the enchantment that had come to be that morning.
END
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here (http://community.livejournal.com/claudiafics/32362.html)
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This is delightful and oh so season. :)
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In case you miss my post because you're gone, I wished you a very, very happy birthday and also that I will come up with something for you some time very soon! :-) (It gives me an excuse to write F/F, ya know? :D)