Frodo realised it must be nearly six whole months now since Uncle Bilbo had left. The acute pain of missing him had gradually subsided into a dull ache, but nonetheless he had often felt inexplicably drawn to the Party Tree whenever the ache and the memories had made their presence felt more strongly than usual.

Glancing up again at the ominous-looking sky, Frodo half-ran up the garden path and into the welcoming warmth of Bag End. He couldn't help smiling to himself at the thought that, any moment now, Sam would likely come into the kitchen for the afternoon tea they'd been sharing most days since Bilbo had vanished.

If Frodo was going to be honest with himself, late afternoon tea with Sam was the highlight of his day. Looking back, he couldn't quite be sure whether it was before or after Bilbo's departure that his persistent dreams and insistent body had begun to make him aware, in no uncertain terms, that his feelings for the handsome young gardener went way beyond the bounds of the easy, companionable friendship they'd built up over the years. But then, no doubt, the feelings had been secretly burgeoning over a long period, like a young plant putting out long, questing roots and waiting to burst forth in all its glory once the spring arrived and the time was ripe.

Frodo dashed into the kitchen but found it disappointingly empty. He glanced out of the window but there was no sign of Sam. Surely, with what looked like a heavy downpour imminent, he couldn't be planning to stay out in the garden much longer? Frodo hurried down the hallway to his bedroom and again looked out of the window to try and find Sam.

The weather might be dreadful, he thought to himself, but at least the first telltale signs of the long-awaited spring were bravely beginning to break through the frostbitten earth. The tender green shoots of what looked like crocuses were making an appearance in the flower-bed right beneath his window, and tiny buds were visible too on the branches of the young ash tree that had sprung up a little further away. It was a heartening sight.

But where could Sam be? Frodo's heart leaped as he finally spotted him, kneeling in another flower-bed further down the garden, his back to the window. He appeared to be holding a ball of twine, and his golden-brown curls were being whipped into a halo by the wind. Frodo smiled again and hugged his secret feelings to himself as he went to put the kettle on for tea. Afterwards he would go outside to find Sam and bring him back into the warmth again.

"Sam, it's nearly dusk now, and the weather's getting worse. I'm sure you've done all you reasonably can for today!" Sam, startled to hear his master speaking so close to his ear and to feel Mr Frodo's warm breath on his neck, quickly turned his head to be met by those large and slightly mischievous bright blue eyes just inches away from his own. He became acutely aware of the slight flush which began to spread over his cheeks. Darn it! Why did he always have to turn into such a tongue-tied, blushing ninnyhammer whenever Mr Frodo was close by?

Gathering his scattered wits as best he could, and hoping the sudden butterflies in his stomach wouldn't make their presence felt in his voice, Sam replied, "Looks as if there could be a real gale blowin' up, Mr Frodo! These strong winds what we get just afore the spring begins proper, well they ain't half powerful, an' who knows what damage they're capable o' doin' if we're not careful?"

It suddenly struck Sam that his feelings towards Mr Frodo were in a way rather similar to the gale. They were very powerful -- so much so that he was afraid they might be capable of causing some kind of trouble if he didn't keep them in check. He felt the flush on his cheeks deepen even further as he quickly turned his attentions to the next plant which looked as if it needed some defence against the elements. Sam couldn't help wondering to himself sometimes ... but no, surely there was no chance of Mr Frodo ever feeling the same way as he did. It was just a mad fantasy, what with Mr Frodo being his employer and all ...

Frodo's voice jolted him back to reality. "I'm going back inside now, but why not join me for a nice cup of hot tea when you've finished?" Sam swivelled round towards Frodo again and saw him shiver and wrap his arms around himself against the bitterly-cold wind that tugged mercilessly at his cloak, before setting off back towards the smial.

Managing to collect himself sufficiently, Sam called towards Frodo's disappearing back, "I'll be right along in a minute, Mr Frodo! Just a couple more o' these plants to be staked." Frodo turned and smiled broadly before continuing up the path. That smile worked its magic every time, without fail, Sam thought, glancing up at the sky as he felt a few large drops of rain beginning to fall. Luckily, dealing with the remaining plants wouldn't take him very long -- and in any case, right now there was nowhere he would rather be than having tea with Mr Frodo.

Safely inside the warm Bag End kitchen a few minutes later, Sam watched entranced as Frodo poured tea and milk. Those hands -– strong and yet so delicate at the same time. What wouldn't he give to feel them stroking and caressing down the entire length of his body? Sam shivered slightly at the very thought ...

"Let me know if it's too strong for you, Sam, and I can add more hot water. I always seem to get a little carried away with the tea!"

If only it were me you were gettin' all carried away with! thought Sam. "Oh no, Mr Frodo, it'll be just fine, thanks. It's most kind o' you to go to all this trouble for me, an' I reckon you make the best tea in all the Shire anyways!" Sam couldn't help noticing, probably for the thousandth time, how beautiful Frodo was, his creamy-pale skin glowing softly in the light of the candles burning on the table. He longed to reach out and run his fingers gently down that lovely face but, quite apart from whether he'd ever dare to do such a thing, it was just unthinkable, what with his rough, calloused hands and the black earth under his nails.

"Why, thank you, Sam!" replied Frodo, looking pleased. Was that a faint flush of embarrassment Sam could see spreading across Frodo's cheeks? "Really, it's no trouble at all! I would've been making tea for myself in any case," Frodo assured him, beaming a winning smile in his direction. Did Mr Frodo have any idea that that smile could melt Sam at twenty paces? "I was thinking earlier that it's almost six months ago now since Uncle Bilbo's birthday party and since he .... well ... disappeared." Sam nodded, and Frodo lowered his head. "There are times when I've missed him terribly, and it's felt rather ... well, too quiet and empty here at Bag End. So you see, Sam, that's one of the reasons I particularly enjoy our afternoon tea."

Frodo had been looking down and rather absent-mindedly stirring the spoon around in his cup whilst he spoke softly, but now he suddenly lifted his head and looked at Sam, this time his steady gaze all earnest and serious. Sam felt his throat constrict and heat begin to prickle under his shirt collar. So -- there must be other reasons why Mr Frodo enjoyed their afternoon tea then. Sam held his breath. Was he about to hear what they were?

Just then, as a very strong gust of wind threatened to rattle the front door off its hinges, a burst of torrential rain began lashing at the window panes. Frodo shivered a little and jumped up. "I'll put a few more logs on the fire," he announced. "And Sam, would you like some seed-cake with your tea?"

The sinking feeling he had at the thought of his imminent departure encouraged Frodo to try and keep Sam with him for just a little longer. It was so lovely and cosy here in the kitchen, the logs crackling away cheerfully in the grate as the howling wind outside continued to buffet the smial at regular intervals. The seed-cake had disappeared a while ago, and in the meantime Frodo had plied Sam with questions about the garden, the Gaffer's latest bout of rheumatism, and the new curtains which Mari was sewing for Sam's bedroom.

As Sam answered his latest question, Frodo couldn't prevent himself from picturing Sam lying on top of his blankets on a sultry summer's night, a single sheet barely covering his lower body. A faint breeze stirred the curtains, allowing a shaft of moonlight to fall on Sam's naked, perspiration-slicked torso and gently caress the gleaming skin over his muscles. Goodness, had he perhaps gasped out loud just then at the fruits of his over-heated imagination?

"Mr Frodo, I really enjoyed that tea but I think I ought'er be leavin' soon," said Sam. He slowly stood up and pushed his chair back under the table. "If I'm not careful, the Gaffer'll be wonderin' where I've got to." Frodo's heart had begun to sink, but lifted again a little as he thought he detected in Sam's demeanour something which, unless his imagination was running away with him again, seemed like a barely-concealed reluctance to leave. Frodo was sorely tempted to play on it, but knew he should not.

"Oh, that's fine Sam –- I understand," Frodo eventually managed as Sam went to fetch his jacket. "You don't have far to go, but even walking that short distance in this terrible weather won't be much fun."

"You're right, Mr Frodo," responded Sam, with a resigned look on his face. "Still, if I don't go now I'll probably get a right tellin'-off from the ..." His words were suddenly interrupted by the roar of another powerful gust of wind whipping around the smial, followed immediately by an almighty crashing and splintering noise coming from somewhere further up the hallway. They exchanged horrified looks, and Sam threw his jacket down on the chair. "Glory, what on earth was that?! I'm goin' to take a look!"

"I'm coming with you!" announced Frodo, grabbing a lighted candle. They both set off almost at a run up the hallway. It didn't take them long to discover the source of the noise.

"It's that young ash tree," cried Sam, dismayed. "Seems its roots weren't strong enough to withstand that gale, an' now it's got blown down an' smashed right through your bedroom window!"

Frodo stood silently rooted to the spot, his hand over his mouth, as he surveyed the damage. At least they had the light from the fire to see by, along with the lone candle. Several branches, most still attached to the tree, were protruding right into his room through the shattered panes. A mixture of glass shards, splintered wood and twigs carpeted the floor around the window. Fortunately it appeared that his bed, being a reasonable distance away, had largely been spared. Even so, he knew he wouldn't be sleeping in it tonight.

At last Frodo managed to find his voice but, still in a haze of shock, could only murmur, "Goodness me! What an awful mess!" He shivered a little as a cold draught assailed him through the smashed panes.

Sam turned to face him with an expression of consternation and dismay. "Mr Frodo, I'm truly sorry. This is all my fault! I should've gone around stakin' them younger trees as well as the plants."

"Sam, please don't even think of blaming yourself! It isn't your fault at all. We had no way of knowing the gale was going to be this powerful, or that the roots of this tree wouldn't be strong enough to withstand it. And I honestly doubt that even staking would have saved the day here, with that wind as strong as it is."

"Tomorrow mornin', Mr Frodo, soon as this wind's died down -- or leastways, I hope it will -- I can bring in a couple o' good lads who'll have this lot all fixed in a day or two." Sam waved a hand towards the chaos and Frodo nodded. "But tonight I'll try an' clear up most o' this mess myself, an' cover up them gaps as best I can."

"Sam, that'll be just fine -- thank you! All this is something of a shock and a nuisance, but it isn't the end of the world. Please don't think for one minute that I'm annoyed with you, or blame you in any way, because I don't." Sam appeared relieved, even managing a faint smile. "And I do appreciate your offer to stay and help clear up, but won't your family be wondering where you are?" asked Frodo.

"Aye, they will, but I'm plannin' on nippin' over there quickly like, to tell 'em what's happened, Mr Frodo. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"It's still pouring down out there, Sam, and extremely windy," said Frodo, "and I really wouldn't want you to catch cold or anything! Look, just come along with me for a moment, would you?" Frodo led the way down the hall towards Bilbo's old room.

"It's lucky we've kept a fire going in Uncle Bilbo's bedroom most days through the winter, just in case he ever suddenly re-appeared!" exclaimed Frodo as they entered the room, "because of course I'm going to be sleeping in here tonight."

"Good idea, Mr Frodo," Sam replied. "It'll be a lot more comfortable, an' safer too."

"I agree, Sam. I doubt there are many burglars around these parts, but still ... who knows if someone might be tempted to break in whilst I'm asleep! Here, Sam," he carried on, reaching into the wardrobe. "I don't want your jacket to get ruined out there. This is a big old hooded cloak of Bilbo's which ought to fit you. It's very warm and keeps the rain out quite well."

Sam looked touched by Frodo's concern as he donned the cloak. "Thank you, Mr Frodo, that's most kind!" As he headed towards the door, he suddenly stopped and turned round. "You know, Mr Frodo, I was thinkin', after what you just said an' all. It sprang to mind ... I was wonderin' mayhap ... whether I should ... "

"Yes, Sam? What were you wondering?" Sam was clearly having some difficulty articulating his thoughts.

"I was thinkin', Mr Frodo, just mayhap -- an' only if you wanted me to, mind -- whether I should ... if I ought'er sleep here at Bag End tonight. Just in case there might be any more damage happenin', or worse still, any burglars comin' along an' findin' it easy to break in, like what you said."

Frodo suddenly felt his breath catch in his throat at the idea of Sam staying overnight. He tried his hardest to keep his expression neutral and his words nonchalant as he replied, "Well, Sam, that's certainly an idea worth thinking about. Thank you so much for offering! In fact, definitely, that's a very good idea. If you're happy to stay over, it would ... erm ... help to keep my mind at rest in case any more unexpected problems arise. As long as the Gaffer doesn't mind, of course."

Sam looked down at the floor and then back up at Frodo again. "Well, mayhap he won't be that pleased." Frodo noticed how Sam's expression suddenly became more resolute as he went on, "But I suppose that's just too bad! Now I come to really think on it, I wouldn't want you left on your own here tonight, Mr Frodo -- not wi' that great gapin' hole in your window, leastways. An' ... an' I could always sleep on that couch in the parlour."

I can think of somewhere you'd be much more comfortable than the couch in the parlour! thought Frodo, making an even greater effort to compose his features into a mask of normality. "Yes, that would be fine, Sam. And I'll help you to clear up all that mess in my bedroom too," he went on, thinking it best to change the subject slightly.

"Oh no, Mr Frodo, that's my job!" insisted Sam.

"Well then, Sam, I shall be happy to cook dinner for both of us whilst you're doing that!" announced Frodo with a beaming smile. "I have a chicken here ready for roasting, and it will do just fine for the two of us, along with some roast potatoes and vegetables and gravy."

"That sounds wonderful, Mr Frodo!" said Sam. "An' it'll be one less for Mari to cook for. I'm feelin' mighty hungry already!"

"I'm building up quite an appetite myself, Sam! I'll begin the dinner preparations straight away, whilst you dash home."

"Right you are, Mr Frodo!" said Sam, and disappeared off as Frodo confessed to himself with a mischievous grin that he had an appetite for a lot more than just mere food. But then the grin vanished as he solemnly reflected that, although he could happily admit to the lustful desires he had for Sam, he knew the whole thing went much, much deeper than that. As Frodo began to gather cooking utensils, the very air around him seemed alive with breathless anticipation.

"An' don't forget what I've always told you, mind, Samwise lad -- don't go gettin' yerself mixed up in the business of your betters, 'cause only harm can come of it." The Gaffer's admonitions still rang loudly in Sam's ears as he made his way back to Bag End through the gale and the squally rain.

Sam had suspected all along that his old Gaffer wouldn't really approve of him spending the night at Bag End, despite hearing about the tree crashing through Mr Frodo's bedroom window. And Sam had a pretty good inkling as to why, too. He sighed as he pulled Mr Bilbo's old cloak more tightly around him. The Gaffer just sort of knew. That was the reason. He'd somehow picked up on Sam's feelings towards Mr Frodo, even though Sam had never even got close to discussing the matter with him.

But these feelings he had for Mr Frodo, well -- they were real, they were very special and very private, and they weren't about to go away. No-one could make him change his mind on that one. Sam set his jaw determinedly. He was growing up quickly now, and if it came down to having to go against the Gaffer's wishes and warnings ... well, he knew it wouldn't be easy, but he was feeling more and more prepared to stand up for what he wanted, if necessary.

And what was it exactly that he wanted? That was quite simple. The butterflies Sam had felt earlier returned with a vengeance, and his stomach churned with excitement at the very idea of spending the whole night at Bag End, with Mr Frodo close by ... though precisely how close that would be was anyone's guess. All he knew was that he hoped it would be much closer than ever before.

Sam had suggested the couch in the parlour for sleeping arrangements, and Mr Frodo had casually agreed, so maybe he'd be foolish to get his hopes up too much. Even so, just the thought of being able to hold that slender body close against his all night long, keeping Mr Frodo warm whilst the wind raged outside, and finally being able to tell him how much he cared for him ...

Sam gasped audibly and stopped in his tracks. He felt overwhelmed by the visions his imagination was conjuring up and the accompanying sensations. As he felt a familiar tightening in his breeches, he decided he'd better wait for a minute or two because there was no way he could allow Mr Frodo to see him in this state. He had a job to be getting on with first, anyway, so he'd better rein in his thoughts right now before they ran away with him.

For a couple of minutes he stood beneath a sturdy sheltering oak tree, holding on to the trunk and taking deep breaths as the wind swirled around him. Then, feeling just a little more calm and collected, he set off again for Bag End.

"That was plain delicious, Mr Frodo!" exclaimed Sam, wiping his mouth on his napkin and leaning back contentedly in his chair.

"I'm glad to hear it, Sam!" replied Frodo warmly. "You really deserved it. You'd already had a long day in the garden and then, instead of having your evening rest, you were busy clearing up in my bedroom!"

"Well, I've done the best I can with it for now, Mr Frodo. Luckily we had them wooden boards down in the cellar, an' them old curtains too. So the window's a bit better weatherproofed than it was afore, but o' course it won't get mended proper till them lads arrive tomorrow."

"You did a fine job, Sam! Would you like some more wine?" Frodo picked up the bottle.

"Oh, yes please, Mr Frodo!" replied Sam, holding out his glass. Frodo realised that he was beginning to feel a little tipsy as he reached out with his left hand to help steady Sam's glass. He suddenly found his fingers brushing against Sam's hand, and the unnerving but highly pleasant jolt from the unexpected contact seemed to travel straight down to his groin. Over the past few months he and Sam often seemed to have accidentally (or, quite possibly, accidentally-on-purpose) brushed up against one another in some way, and it always sent the same delicious shockwave zinging right through him.

Perhaps he shouldn't have allowed himself to drink so much wine, Frodo mused as he recklessly poured another glassful. "I reckoned this was a fitting occasion to bring out a bottle of Uncle Bilbo's vintage Old Winyards, after all we've been through this evening! I'm sure he would heartily approve," said Frodo. "So here's to us, Sam!" He raised his glass, and Sam followed. As they clinked glasses and Sam echoed, "To us!" Frodo noticed how Sam's warm hazel eyes were shining as their gaze locked.

"Aye, this wine's definitely special, Mr Frodo. Best I ever tasted!"

Frodo suddenly felt almost overwhelmed by a sense of intimacy that he'd never felt before in Sam's presence and he began to feel a little nervous, despite the wine flowing through his veins. The whole night stretched out before them, full of tantalising possibilities, and there they were, raising a glass to each other as if there were already some kind of established "us" to toast. Sam certainly looked happy and relaxed, but perhaps his eyes were only shining because of all the wine he'd had to drink.

Frodo sometimes believed he was picking up signals from his behaviour and reactions indicating that Sam felt the same way as he did, but he couldn't be absolutely certain. What if he'd got it all horribly wrong? What if he clumsily made some kind of move towards Sam, only to find that his feelings weren't reciprocated and Sam just felt as if he were somehow being taken advantage of, when all he had done was volunteer to stay overnight for his -- Frodo's -- own safety? He baulked inwardly at the very thought.

Frodo took a deep breath and tried to steer the conversation back to the neutral, safe topics they normally stuck to: the weather, the garden, memories of Bilbo, Merry and Pippin's exploits, Sam's family, and gossip from Hobbiton and further afield. As the evening wore on and the wine bottle stood empty, Frodo noticed that Sam was beginning to look just a little tired but slightly jittery too at the same time, just as he himself felt. "Sam, it's getting late and I expect you're beginning to feel a little sleepy now, after your long day."

"Well, Mr Frodo, I've really enjoyed this evenin', believe me, an' I'm only sorry it's got to come to an end sometime, but I'm mindful that I have to be up early tomorrow to go an' fetch the lads who'll do the repairs," replied Sam.

"Of course, and I wouldn't want to keep you from your sleep," said Frodo, only too aware that his own inner promptings were telling him something quite different. "But I'm so glad you've enjoyed this evening. I have too -- it's been very pleasant indeed. So ... erm, perhaps you'd like to have dinner with me again sometime?" he went on, suddenly feeling a little bolder.

Sam only hesitated for a fraction of a second before quietly responding, "Aye, I'd like that very much, Mr Frodo. I have to say it feels ..." His words trailed off, then with an obvious effort he continued, "it feels real special to me, Mr Frodo, that you went to the trouble o' cookin' dinner for me, an' all." Sam flushed slightly and looked down at the table.

"Sam, really, it was a pleasure! And it was the least I could do after all your hard work this evening," Frodo assured him blithely, whilst inwardly feeling very gratified.

"But Mr Frodo, I think I should start on them dishes now," said Sam, as if he perhaps felt the need to quickly move on to another, less potentially fraught, topic.

"That's most thoughtful of you, Sam, but really, it's getting very late now and I would rather leave them till morning when I shall be happy to do them myself, knowing you're going to be very busy."

"Well at least let me do a just little clearin' up tonight!" answered Sam.

"All right then, just a little -- if you insist!" laughed Frodo. "But in the meantime I shall go and make up the parlour couch so it's ready to sleep on." Of course that was not what Frodo really wanted to do at all, he thought rather despondently to himself as he set off in the direction of the linen cupboard.

Sam had only just finished clearing away a few things in the kitchen when Frodo re-appeared, carrying a pile of sheets, pillowcases and blankets. "Erm, Sam," he began, rather hesitantly, "I've just been down to the parlour with these and noticed how cold it was in there. Of course I remembered then that we agreed you wouldn't light a fire in there this morning, because I knew I'd be spending most of today in the study and the kitchen, and what's more the couch in there doesn't look all that comfortable in any case, and so I thought ... I was wondering ... erm ... if you would like to sleep somewhere else instead. Erm, somewhere a little warmer, perhaps."

Sam noticed that Mr Frodo was talking faster than usual and glancing around the kitchen as he spoke, as if somewhat agitated. He felt his own breathing become a little more rapid and that hot, prickling sensation under his shirt collar started up again. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady as he replied, "Oh, I see. But there's no problem, Mr Frodo. I could always sleep right here in the kitchen. It's good an' warm in here, what with the fire an' the stove an' all."

Sam was aware that, for once in his life, Mr Frodo was behaving as if he didn't seem that sure of himself. He kept on smoothing his hand over the sheet on top of the bedclothes he carried as he spoke. "That's true, Sam, it is warmer in here, but it's full of cooking smells and I'm not sure if there's really enough space for a mattress. I've been thinking ... I decided that we could take the mattress from my bed and you could ... erm ... sleep on that," he finished.

Sam swallowed. He was beginning to pick up on Mr Frodo's nervousness now. "An' where exactly were you plannin' to put the mattress then, Mr Frodo?" he asked, hoping his voice would remain steady.

"Oh, erm, I ... I hadn't really thought it through that carefully but, well, now that I do, I suppose it ... it would make sense, perhaps, if you were to sleep ... erm ... on the floor of my room. Of Uncle Bilbo's room, I mean, that is. It's quite warm in there, of course." Sam nodded. "And what's more, as you pointed out, you're staying because it's possible that burglars might try to break in during the night and ... well, if they did, you might not hear me call out if you were a long way down the hallway, would you?" Mr Frodo swallowed rather nervously, and then suddenly seemed to find something fascinating to look at up on the kitchen ceiling.

"Well, Mr Frodo, I mean ... aye, what you're sayin' would seem to make a lot o' sense to me." So this was it. He was going to sleep on Mr Frodo's mattress on the floor, with Mr Frodo himself just a few feet away in that big bed of Mr Bilbo's. Sam knew he had to stay cool and collected, and his sensible, practical streak came to the fore. "Why don't I go an' get the mattress off your bed then, an' move it into Mr Bilbo's room?" he suggested calmly, though on the inside he felt anything but calm. And he should get moving right away before there was any chance of Mr Frodo changing his mind. If ever Sam was going to have the chance of getting what he'd wanted so much for so long, tonight would be it.

With fresh sheets on Bilbo's bed, and Frodo's mattress installed on the floor between the bed and the door and all made up for the night, the time had come for both of them to get undressed and climb into bed. Frodo felt as if every nerve in his body was on the alert, with an acute awareness of each move either he or Sam made. Every single word they exchanged suddenly seemed full of hidden significance. And how on earth was he going to manage the getting undressed part without being overcome with embarrassment?

As usual, it was Sam who came to the rescue. He had just brought in a pitcher of warm water and a bowl, towels and some soap for Frodo to wash with. "Sam, I've found one of Bilbo's old nightshirts for you to wear," Frodo said. "It's just airing in front of the fire along with my own. It's quite large and I think it should probably fit you."

"Thank you, Mr Frodo," replied Sam. He was clearly finding it difficult to look Frodo in the eye, and probably felt just as awkward right now as he himself did. If only there was some way of finding out, Frodo thought desperately, whether Sam's awkwardness was down to feeling the same way or, in total contrast, because he didn't really want to be in there and felt uncomfortable.

Sam began heading back towards the door. "I'm just goin' to clear up a few more things in the kitchen an' check on the fire, Mr Frodo, and the one in the study too. Mayhap you'd like to get undressed an' washed whilst I'm in there, then I'll knock to make sure as you're decent afore I come back in an' get undressed myself."

"That'll be fine, Sam! Thank you very much," replied Frodo, inwardly heaving a sigh of relief. Sam was so wonderfully considerate. Though on the other hand, he had to admit, the thought of Sam seeing him in some kind of indecent state excited him beyond words.

Once Sam had left the room Frodo took off his clothes, piling them neatly on a nearby chair, and washed himself thoroughly before putting on his nightshirt, climbing into the large bed and pulling the covers over himself. The fire was now very low, and just a single night-light burned in its brass holder on the bedside table next to him.

Frodo lay there, hardly able to recall ever feeling less ready for sleep than he did right now. His legs moved around restlessly, as if of their own accord, and he felt self-consciously naked beneath the creamy-coloured cotton nightshirt -- though that feeling excited him no end as well. Two minutes later there came a soft knock on the door. Frodo swallowed hard and took a deep breath. This was it, then. Probably his one real opportunity. "Come in, Sam!" he called out, much more nonchalantly than he felt.

Sam opened the door quite gingerly, feeling almost afraid of what he might see. He couldn't work out whether he felt disappointed or relieved to see Mr Frodo, his nightshirt chastely buttoned right up to the neck, under the bedclothes and propped up against the pillows in Mr Bilbo's bed. Whatever happened, though, it mustn't look as if he were staring at Mr Frodo. "So how were things in the kitchen, Sam?" Frodo asked straight away.

"Fine, Mr Frodo," replied Sam, "and I fetched some more logs up from the cellar for tomorrow morning." It didn't seem right just standing there so, feeling more self-conscious than he could ever remember, he slowly began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Sam, I'm going to look away until you've finished undressing," announced Frodo, turning around so he was facing in the other direction. Sam breathed an inward sigh of relief, knowing he certainly wasn't ready to feel all exposed in front of Mr Frodo -- not at this stage anyhow. And definitely not if certain wayward parts of his body were going to begin reacting to the sight of Mr Frodo lying there in bed, all naked underneath his nightshirt ... No, better to banish all such thoughts from his mind right now, he told himself firmly.

He stripped down to his underclothes then went to wash himself. He relaxed a little more when Frodo, face still turned away, began chatting away to him in casual fashion about what had happened that evening with the weather and the tree crashing through the window. It was vastly preferable to the embarrassed silence which would otherwise likely have reigned. Nonetheless, Sam was aware of the almost palpable tension in the air all around him -- delicious but a little scary all at the same time. He wondered whether Mr Frodo was feeling it too as he finally pulled on his nightshirt.

"Do you think you'll be warm and comfortable enough down there, Sam?" Frodo wanted to know, propping himself up on one elbow and looking over at Sam, who by this stage had climbed into his makeshift bed on the floor.

"Oh, I'm sure I will be, thanks, Mr Frodo," replied Sam. "The mattress feels fine. The fire's just about gone out now, but I got plenty o' blankets here".

"That's good!" said Frodo, and for a few seconds his gaze locked with Sam's. Frodo took a deep breath. It was probably now or never. "Erm, Sam ..." he went on, hesitantly.

"Aye, Mr Frodo?" But it was no good. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't summon up enough courage.

"Erm, do you think we should ... do you think we ought to leave this night-light burning, Sam, just in case we need it to see by? I mean ... in case there might be any disturbances in the night?"

"I'm sure you're right, Mr Frodo. But why don't you pass it over to me an' I'll put it over there so the light won't disturb you while you're tryin' to sleep?"

"Thank you," Frodo murmured, picking up the brass candle-holder from the bedside table and leaning over towards Sam. Sam reached out in turn to take it from Frodo, and for a few lingering seconds Sam's broad hand covered his own. Once more Frodo felt that agonisingly delightful jolt speeding like lightning right down into his groin. Their eyes met again, and Frodo was almost certain he could discern a look of expectancy in Sam's. But then the moment was suddenly over and Sam had turned away and put the night-light down, placing it carefully on the floor on the other side of the mattress.

"Goodnight then, Mr Frodo," said Sam quietly, settling down on his side with his back to Frodo.

"Goodnight, Sam. Sleep well." Frodo's response was equally quiet. He turned so that his back was towards Sam and tried to make himself comfortable, re-arranging some of the pillows around himself. He threw his left arm out over his head, reflecting numbly on his own cowardice. Tonight could have been the perfect opportunity, but he couldn't, just couldn't, bring himself to fling back the covers and invite Sam into his bed.

Frodo lay with his eyes open, listening to the wind blowing outside, although it now seemed less strong than it had previously. If he made some move towards Sam right now, Frodo mused to himself, with him being in no position to hastily put a comfortable distance between himself and Sam if he'd got it all wrong, they could be left with a horribly embarrassing and awkward atmosphere that would permeate everything from that point onwards. And, as he was Sam's employer, that would put them both in a nigh-on intolerable position.

Frodo tossed and turned. It would be a miracle if he succeeded in falling asleep anytime in the near future. He turned right over so that he was facing towards the night-light. He could faintly make out the dark shape that was Sam, covered with blankets and still with his back to him. He listened to try and detect from Sam's breathing whether he was asleep or not, but it was difficult to hear against the noise of the wind outside.

The darkness hung heavy around him, full of regrets and unspoken desires. Oh Sam, please turn around and say something to me. Just anything. Anything at all ... pleaded Frodo silently. But Sam lay still, with just the tiniest rise and fall of the blankets indicating that he was indeed still breathing. Beyond that, Frodo could have no inkling of whether Sam was asleep or what he might be feeling right at this moment.

He was, however, acutely aware of what he himself was feeling. Unthinkingly he placed a hand on the swollen ache between his legs, and instantly regretted it as a low moan escaped his lips. He prayed that Sam wouldn't have heard it. And with the way things were, he couldn't even offer himself a relieving hand, either. It all seemed so unfair. And so very, very frustrating, thought Frodo.

Sighing, and with a supreme act of will, he turned away from Sam again and grabbed hold of a pillow, determined at all costs to put aside the sensations that tormented him and attempt to at least get some rest. After what seemed like an age, he finally fell into a fitful sleep.

Sam must have climbed into his bed whilst he was fast asleep. He was curled against Frodo with his back to Frodo's chest. Frodo put his arm around Sam's waist, hugging him even more closely against his body. "Mmmm," he murmured, contentedly. He was still sleepy and didn't want to open his eyes. But now, with this wonderful warm closeness, he was becoming more and more aware again of that insistent, demanding heat between his legs. Slowly and almost imperceptibly at first, he began to rock very gently against Sam's back. It felt good, so very very good. With every movement of his hips he grew a little harder. He began to want, need, more friction. More. And still more! He speeded up the rhythm a little. "Oh, Sam!" he murmured. "This ... nngghhhh. Can't ... stop. Ohhh!" He began to thrust in earnest.

"Mr Frodo! Mr Frodo! Are you all right?" Frodo drew in a sharp breath. The voice brought him back to consciousness. "Were you havin' a bad dream or somethin', Mr Frodo?" That was Sam's voice, but it was coming from behind him, not in front of him. His eyes snapped open. What he was clinging on to and hugging to himself was not Sam at all, but a large pillow. Oh no! It must have just been a dream after all. His heart sank.

Frodo hardly dared to breathe. He shifted ever so slightly to try and discern what was going on with his wayward body. He was still hard -- uncomfortably so -- but at least that meant he hadn't come all over the pillow or anything. But exactly how much had Sam heard of his nocturnal moaning and muttering? That dream -- it had felt so real! But he had better re-acclimatise himself to reality very quickly, he thought rather grimly, as he gradually started to overcome his disorientation.

Frodo's mouth felt dry, and he could hardly move his limbs. He wished the bed would just open up and swallow him, but he had to deal with this somehow. He slowly turned over and was greeted by the sight of a drowsy-looking Sam, his fair hair slightly dishevelled and gleaming gold in the faint candlelight.

Frodo did his best to search Sam's face for any clues that he might have guessed precisely what had been happening in his dream, but saw only a look of mild concern there. "Oh, I ... I'm sorry, Sam. I do hope I didn't wake you!" Frodo had been afraid to speak too much in case he sounded rather breathless, and he struggled to appear as calm and normal as he could.

"Please don't worry about it, Mr Frodo. I'm quite a light sleeper anyways an' it just sounded to me as if you might be havin' a nightmare or somethin'". He prayed that Sam really did believe that.

Frodo propped himself up on one elbow. "I suppose I was just having a bit of a vivid dream, Sam, what with everything that's happened this evening." Well that, at least, was the truth.

"Would you like me to get you a drink o' water or somethin', Mr Frodo?" asked Sam.

Frodo nodded. "That's most kind of you, Sam." If he could be alone for a few moments, that would at least give him the chance to compose himself a little. Sam began to climb out of his makeshift bed. "I imagine it's rather chilly now," Frodo went on. "If you open the wardrobe and look on the left-hand side, you'll find some robes in there that you can wear."

Sam stood up, found a robe and put it on, then headed towards the door. "Sam -- wait!" said Frodo. "I've changed my mind. I've decided that, instead of water, I'd prefer a glass of brandy please."

"Brandy?" repeated Sam, one eyebrow slightly arched.

"Yes please. And a large one, too!" replied Frodo.

"Right you are then, Mr Frodo," said Sam, opening the door and going off down the hallway.

He really needed something to completely knock him out, Frodo decided. Any more dreams like that which might be overheard by Sam ... well, it was just too much to contemplate. He shouldn't have underestimated what kind of effect tonight's situation might have on him, he realised. But at least his state of high arousal was beginning to calm down a little after the shock of his almost-discovery, he thought wryly to himself.

Sam soon returned, and Frodo reached out with thanks and a slightly trembling hand to take the proffered glass, before Sam put the robe down over a chair and returned to his mattress on the floor. Frodo noted to his satisfaction that it was an extremely generous measure of brandy. He managed to drain half the glass in one go, feeling the searing warmth of the liquid making its way down to his stomach.

"Cheers, Sam!" said Frodo, raising the glass, almost carelessly determined to pour the remainder of it down his throat in one gulp. But as he brought the glass up towards his mouth again with a hand that was still shaking slightly, he ended up pouring the remainder down the front of his nightshirt instead, as the unmistakeable noise of breaking glass came from somewhere down the hallway.

"Goodness, what on earth was that?" breathed Frodo in a low voice, simultaneously trying to jump out of bed and swipe at the spilled drink on his nightshirt.

"Please, Mr Frodo, you stay right here an' I'll go an' look," volunteered Sam, as he too jumped out of bed and put on the robe again. "D'you have anythin' I could use as a weapon, like, if necessary?" he asked, hastily searching around the room.

Frodo reached into the bottom of the wardrobe and quickly seized two stout walking canes, handing one to Sam. Finding another robe for himself, he announced in a low voice, "I'm not going to let you go down there alone, Sam! For all we know, it could be someone dangerous."

Sam nodded his agreement. Frodo quickly picked up a candlestick and lit the candle from the nightlight, then they quietly opened the door and crept down the hallway, walking canes at the ready, till they reached Frodo's bedroom. They had both assumed that was likely where the noise was coming from. Opening the door slowly, both wide awake now with their senses on full alert and ready for whatever might happen, their gaze swept the room as they searched for intruders. But no-one was to be seen.

"I thought probably someone'd smashed more o' the window-pane tryin' to break in," announced Sam in a half-whisper. "But it just looks to me as mayhap some o' that old curtain's moved a bit, an' that's all."

Frodo nodded, looking rather baffled. "There's no glass down here by the window, just a few twigs," he said.

Sam moved nearer to the window to take a closer look. "Ouch!" he cried as, trying to see in the dim light, he managed to graze his leg on a rather sharp twig sticking out of one of the tree branches.

"Sam, are you all right?" asked Frodo rather anxiously.

"Oh, it's just a bit of a scratch, I think, Mr Frodo," replied Sam staunchly, much more concerned about whether there might still be an intruder hidden from view and lurking somewhere in the room. He went to check the wardrobe just in case, but saw nothing untoward.

And then, "Oh, look, Sam -- the fireplace!" exclaimed Frodo. "See? There's a glass vase lying smashed to pieces down there. It must have fallen off the mantelpiece, but how on earth could that have happened? There's quite a draught in here, but nothing strong enough to dislodge a vase like that!"

Sam suddenly put a finger to his lips and motioned to Frodo to hand him the candlestick. Stealthily he crept towards Frodo's bed, which looked rather strange without its customary mattress and bedding. Frodo followed close behind as Sam bent down to look underneath. "I can't see nothin', Mr Frodo," ventured Sam. Taking the candle from Frodo, he put it down on the floor then swept around underneath the bed with the walking cane.

Suddenly Frodo and Sam leaped up in shock as they heard a scrabbling noise, and were just in time to see two furry reddish-brown bundles scamper out from under the bed on the other side and jump up onto one of the tree branches. Deftly they scurried along it towards the window, quickly disappearing into the night through the gap in the curtaining.

They both burst out laughing and Frodo heaved a sigh of relief. "Squirrels! Thank goodness it was nothing more dangerous than that after all!"

"Aye, thank goodness!" Sam was smiling with relief, too. "They can still be active till way beyond sunset so my guess is that, once the tree had toppled into the window, they seized their chance to come inside into the warm, what with the weather bein' so dreadful. They were probably hopin' to find somethin' to eat, too!"

"Well, at least that's that then!" said Frodo, still smiling. "But Sam, please let me take a look at your leg -- I think it got hurt in some way a minute or two ago."

"Oh, I'm sure it's nothin' really, Mr Frodo," insisted Sam, but Frodo was even more insistent that he should sit down on the bed whilst he inspected the damage. There was quite a nasty-looking scratch down the front of Sam's left shin.

"Sam, you wait here a moment whilst I get some clean water," said Frodo. When Sam made a move to protest, Frodo gave him one of his most commanding looks, so Sam just smiled and sat quietly for a minute or two till Frodo returned with a bowl in his hand. "This is lukewarm, and I've put a little salt in it," Frodo told him. Having searched for some clean handkerchiefs in one of the drawers, Frodo knelt down, dipped one of them into the water and began dabbing gently at the scratch.

Sam winced just a little as the salt water seeped into the wound. Frodo stopped, looked up at Sam and smiled. "Does it hurt badly? Would you like me to stop for a little while, Sam?" he asked.

"No, no, Mr Frodo -- please carry on, I'll be just fine!" answered Sam. And then he continued, quietly and just a little shyly, "I'm real grateful to you for doin' this for me, Mr Frodo."

"It's no trouble at all, Sam!" Frodo looked up at Sam again and gave him one of his beaming smiles. A slight flush began to spread over Sam's cheeks, but Frodo bent his head again and carried on with his ministrations. As he worked further down Sam's leg using his right hand, he casually put his left hand on Sam's other knee to keep his balance.

"Funny about them squirrels comin' in here!" remarked Sam conversationally. "But we're lucky, I suppose, that it was naught more harmful than that."

"I know!" laughed Frodo, rinsing out the handkerchief in the bowl of water again and squeezing it. "I didn't think they would be so active at this time of the night, though."

"Ah, mayhap they were chasin' one another around the room. It's their matin' season just now, so they were probably just havin' a bit o' fun!" Sam elaborated.

"Well then, all I can say is -- lucky squirrels! I quite envy them," said Frodo. His face was still hidden as he worked on the scratch, but after a few moments he looked up at Sam, his eyes full of mischief and mirth, and they both laughed a little self-consciously. They had each begun to feel a subtle shift in the atmosphere between them.

"Right, Sam. I'm just going to get something else now," said Frodo, going back to the drawer and returning with a small bottle. Frodo knelt down again and carefully dried the scratch, then took the top off the bottle. A pleasant, vaguely herbal fragrance emanated from it. "This oil will help the scratch to heal more quickly," said Frodo. "I've used it myself a few times for cuts and bruises, and it works very well. Though it's best to re-apply it every few hours."

"I'll do that, Mr Frodo. An' I do appreciate your kindness!"

Frodo merely nodded, pouring a little of the oil onto a fresh handkerchief and, as gently as he could, dabbing it carefully onto the scratch. Sam watched solemnly as Frodo worked in the dim light thrown out by the solitary candle, his gaze fixed on the dark curls and the creamy-pale skin of the familiar face below him. Although there was a definite chill in Frodo's room, it didn't really seem to be affecting either of them that much.

"Well, I think we're all finished now, Sam," Frodo announced. "And here -- you'll need this," he went on, slipping the bottle of oil into the pocket of Sam's robe.

"It feels much better already, Mr Frodo -- honest! An' thank you again."

"I'm very glad to hear it, and you're most welcome!" said Frodo as Sam stood up. "And now," Frodo went on cheerfully, "it's high time I took care of myself and got rid of this damp nightshirt!" Frodo opened another drawer and took out a clean nightshirt. As he closed it again, Frodo bent down a little and appeared to be trembling somewhat.

"Are you all right, Mr Frodo?" Sam asked a little anxiously, echoing the very same words he had spoken not very long ago, following the incident in Bilbo's room which had proved so hugely embarrassing to Frodo. But then Frodo looked up at Sam, and he saw that Frodo was shaking with laughter. It was so infectious that Sam just joined in. "What exactly are you laughin' at, Mr Frodo?"

"Oh Sam, it just struck me how funny all this is, really!" gasped Frodo inbetween gales of laughter. Sam still didn't really understand quite what Frodo was alluding to. "I mean, here I am with the ash tree having smashed through my bedroom window and all the ensuing chaos. Just minutes ago I was happily drinking brandy in my nice cosy bed in Bilbo's room, and suddenly there we were, creeping around the smial in our nightshirts and robes at dead of night, with walking canes as weapons, looking for intruders!"

Another fit of laughter threatened to engulf him. "You're right, Mr Frodo -- it is quite funny when you think about it!" Sam grinned broadly at him.

"And then we find that these dangerous intruders are in fact just a pair of squirrels, having their mating fun and games in my bedroom when really it should have been me ... who ..." He tailed off. His tongue had been loosened a little too much by the brandy. Sam gazed at him intently, half-smiling, and his mouth opened as if he were going to say something, but Frodo had started to speak again.

"And here I am now, feeling rather damp and probably smelling a bit like a distillery!" Frodo spluttered. "Here, could you take this please, Sam, and put it down on the bed for me?" he asked, handing the clean nightshirt over to his companion. "And this!" he said, taking off his robe.

Still shaking a little with laughter, Frodo looked down and began in carefree fashion to unfasten the long row of buttons on his liquor-soaked nightshirt. He looked up at Sam, eyes still shining with mirth, and instantly stopped in his tracks. Even the wind outside appeared to have quietened down now, and it seemed as if the very night around them held its breath.

Any lingering doubts Frodo still had simply evaporated at that moment. There was no mistaking what he could read in that steady gaze this time, and Frodo felt his insides contract. What he saw in Sam's eyes was a look of deep affection combined with pure, naked longing. And a fierce determination that nothing was going to stand in its way.

Frodo gazed right back into the burning hazel depths, forgetting even to breathe. Sam took a few steps closer, slowly, deliberately, until he was standing just in front of him and his chest brushed right up against Frodo's. In a low but steady voice he said, "Can I be helpin' you unfasten them buttons, Mr Frodo?"

Frodo nodded dreamily, his eyes never leaving Sam's even for an instant as Sam reached up and brushed his fingers lightly down Frodo's neck. Frodo shivered and could hardly suppress the low gasp which escaped from his lips.

Slowly, sensuously, Sam's fingers worked their way down from button to button. Every lightest touch of those fingers felt as though it were setting Frodo's skin on fire, and he became acutely aware of the hot desire between his legs rapidly rekindling itself. He knew he'd never felt so aroused in his life as he did at this moment.

Frodo had remembered to begin breathing again, and with each breath he felt as if he were drawing in something magical from the air around him, something which permeated through to every cell of his being and further fuelled his mounting excitement. With each button that was unfastened, another of his fears and inhibitions fell away and the burning desire he felt within him moved onto a new level.

The last button had now been unfastened, and Sam moved his hands up to do something he'd been longing to do since earlier in the evening. Smoothing back the dark, sleep-tousled curls, Sam gently ran his fingers down the side of that beloved face. Frodo stood stock-still, his expression rapt and serious, once again his eyes never leaving Sam's.

"An' will you be wantin' to keep this nightshirt on or take it off, Mr Frodo?" asked Sam quietly.

Frodo shivered again slightly and swallowed. "I want it taken off," he whispered after a few seconds. "But please, Sam -- no more 'Mr Frodo'. We're just plain Frodo and Sam now."

"All right then ... Frodo," said Sam in the same quiet voice. He leaned forward and brushed his lips reverently against Frodo's forehead, feather-soft, and said, "You'll be needin' to lift your arms up then." Frodo instantly obeyed, and Sam began to pull the nightshirt over his head. When it was finally free of Frodo's arms, Sam just let it fall to the floor as he stood back a little to take in the exquisite sight in front of him.

Sam hungrily feasted his eyes on the slender body which was now revealed to him, skin gleaming milky-white in the flickering candlelight. Lithe, with hidden strength, but somehow delicate too, just like he'd noticed with Frodo's hands. Dark nipples standing erect in the chilly night air. A low moan escaped Sam's lips as his eyes travelled irresistibly downwards. There, for him alone to see, was what he had dreamed of for so long -- the burgeoning evidence of Frodo's desire, just begging to be touched and stroked.

"Oh glory! Oh glory!" breathed Sam.

"Do I please you, Sam?" asked Frodo solemnly, his voice trembling.

"Do you please me?" repeated Sam in a daze. He placed his now shaking hands on Frodo's shoulders. "Oh, you do much, much more'n that, Frodo!" he half-whispered. "You're the most ravishin', the most ... utterly beautiful creature I ever set eyes on!" And Frodo felt himself enveloped in the most tender embrace he could ever dream of.

"Oh, Sam!" There was a catch in Frodo's voice, and as Sam moved his head back a little he caught the glint of tears in those huge, astonishingly blue eyes, now all dark with longing. And Frodo, overcome with desire and emotion, found himself practically swooning in Sam's strong arms. The next thing he knew, Sam had scooped him up and was carrying him down the hallway back to their bedroom.

Sam put Frodo down on the bed as gently as he could, laying him back against the pillows. He quickly rearranged the bedcovers to keep him warm, then Frodo watched entranced whilst Sam hastily tore off his own robe and nightshirt and dropped them onto the floor, as if he couldn't wait one more second to be with his Frodo.

Frodo suddenly found himself lying beneath Sam's sturdy body, enveloped in his powerful embrace, naked skin pressing against naked skin. Sam's warmth and strength cocooned him and flowed into him, protecting him from the cold and the darkness around them. And then he groaned out loud as he felt the hardness of Sam's own unstoppable desire pressing insistently against his belly.

Frodo reached up to cup Sam's face in his hands, and searched his eyes again to discover the same love and longing still there, except, if that were possible, even more intense than it had been before. "Sam, my love," he breathed. He saw Sam's eyes close, then his own eyelids fluttered shut before his mouth was ravaged by a searing kiss. White heat flared through both of them. Their lips and tongues worked frantically to assuage the sweet, aching hunger for one another that they had kept to themselves all this time.

When they eventually broke for air, Sam pulled back a little, raising his head. He put one hand on the pillow next to Frodo's head, and with the other one gently stroked his fingers through the dark curls and down along Frodo's face again. "My beautiful Frodo!" he murmured breathlessly, looking down at that enticing mouth, the lips all pink and swollen.

Frodo moved his hands to stroke rhythmically down Sam's back, over and over, whilst gazing into his eyes. "I can still hardly believe all this is happening!" he whispered, then slid his arms further down around Sam's waist, pulling him ever closer, and thrusting himself upwards against the hardness of Sam's arousal.

Sam gave out a low groan. "I can't believe it neither!" he whispered back, and they smiled at one another, blissfully happy. But then he shifted slightly so that more of his weight lay on Frodo, stilling him a little. "Y'know, Frodo, if you touched me right now I'd ... I'd probably go off like one o' them special fireworks o' Mr Gandalf's!" he confided, still somewhat breathless. "That's the effect what you have on me!" Frodo smiled up at him again, tenderly. "An' I don't know 'bout you, but this feels so wonderful that I want to try an' make it last as long as I can."

"I know, Sam! I feel just the same," answered Frodo in a low voice. "So how can we slow things down a little?" he asked, writhing a little as the irresistible urge to thrust upwards against Sam threatened to overtake him again.

"Well, you can talk to me if you like!" whispered Sam into his ear, "an' in the meantime we can take things just one slow step at a time." As if to demonstrate, Sam began to plant small, unhurried and oh-so-gentle kisses all over Frodo's face, beginning with his earlobe. Frodo sighed, and began again to slowly and rhythmically stroke Sam's back, and every other part of him that was within reach of his hands, whilst returning Sam's soft, undemanding kisses with some of his own.

"You really want me to talk to you, then?" asked Frodo inbetween the kisses.

"Aye, I do," breathed Sam into his ear again. "About anythin' you like. But only if you want to, mind."

"That won't be difficult," Frodo reassured him. "I've been dreaming of being with you and talking to you like this for, oh, I don't know how long!"

"You have? Then you're not alone. Oh, Frodo!" he said, propping himself up on his elbows again and gazing down at him. "I've been wantin' you that badly for such a long time now, but I never dreamed ... well, sometimes I thought mayhap there was a chance, just a small chance, that you wanted me as well. But I couldn't be sure. Ohhh!" he groaned softly, burying his face in Frodo's neck and licking the sweet skin there, as Frodo's hands slid down over his rear and pulled him even closer.

"Sam, it was just the same with me," confessed Frodo. "There were times when I thought you were looking at me ... well, in a certain kind of way, but I couldn't be quite sure. So ... mmmmm," he moaned softly as Sam's exploring tongue moved further down onto his chest. "So, because of the situation with us here at Bag End, I was afraid of taking that risk, just in case I'd got it all wrong."

"Hmmm, lookin' at you in a 'certain way', was I?" mused Sam playfully. "Well, now we're together like this all alone, I can tell you straight that I was just plain undressin' you with my eyes!" He and Frodo both laughed softly, and Sam shivered as he felt Frodo's caressing fingers stroking all the way up the sensitive skin of his inner arm. "But let me say this, Frodo -- even my wildest imaginings couldn't match up to what I seen in your bedroom just now!"

"Oh, Sam, is that so?" Frodo laughed softly, but there was a slight catch in his voice too.

"But Frodo -- whatever happens, I wouldn't want you thinkin' that it was just this wonderful body o' yours that I was interested in, enchantin' though it is." Sam suddenly propped himself up on his elbows again and gazed meaningfully into Frodo's eyes. He took a deep breath and paused for a few seconds. "I want you to know that I love you, Frodo, an' I would've carried on lovin' you, even if all this hadn't never been brought out in the open."

Sam saw tears start in Frodo's eyes, but he was determined to finish what he had to say. "I've always loved you, though it was only more recent, like, that I started to realise I was in love with you an' all. I've known it for a while now, an' soon I'll be able to prove that, too!" he finished.

"You will? Oh Sam, you have no idea ... you've just no idea how much it means to me to hear all this! It means the world to me. And I want you to know that I love you so much, too. More than anything or anyone," he finished.

Frodo could see that Sam's eyes were now glistening with unshed tears too as Sam continued gazing down at him. They lay there just looking at one another again for a little while, with Sam now lost for words to express exactly how he felt at this moment. He searched around to find Frodo's hand and laced his fingers through Frodo's, squeezing his hand tightly, as they both took a little time to absorb the enormity of what was happening with them.

But a minute or so later, a surprised Sam suddenly found himself being pushed over onto his side by a Frodo who was indeed stronger than he looked at first glance, and who had decided it was time for his more mischievous side to surface again. "Sam, you've had the chance to have a good look at me. And now I want to have a good look at you!" he smiled. "You got undressed and jumped into bed so quickly that I feel I missed my chance a little there."

"You want to look at my naked body?" Sam queried playfully. "Well, I can tell you now, it don't look nothin' like as good as yours!"

"I'll be the judge of that, if you don't mind!" said Frodo, as he teasingly pushed Sam right over onto his back and then pulled back the bedclothes which covered them both. Sam's skin was always a little tanned even in the winter, and despite the lack of proper light Frodo could see the golden sheen as Sam lay back against the white sheet.

Sam made a mock-protest at being scrutinised, pretending to try and pull Frodo's head down onto his chest so he wouldn't be able to see any more, and Frodo watched entranced as the powerful muscles in his arms and chest rippled beneath his skin. But Frodo was being quite serious as he looked up at Sam's face again and breathed, "Oh Sam -- you look just magnificent to me! Amazing ... And I want to spend as much time as possible from now on getting to know every inch of you!"

Frodo leaned over a smiling Sam and began to plant small, rapid kisses all over his chest, then stopped to pay special attention to his nipples, licking and sucking gently as they hardened in the cool air. Sam was moaning softly, lost in blissful sensation.

Frodo laid his head on Sam's chest to listen to the thump of his racing heartbeat, and simultaneously gained for the first time the opportunity of a good look at Sam's arousal, which seemed to lunge towards him in the dim candlelight, huge and hard and raring to go. "Oh my!" breathed Frodo, reaching out his hand and reverently running a finger from the base right to the swollen tip.

"Oh Frodo!" gasped Sam, bucking his hips. "Oh yes! Right there!" he groaned ecstatically, as Frodo used a delicate fingertip to smooth the leaking fluid around the engorged head. But suddenly Sam began to move Frodo back towards the pillows, cupping his face again and looking right into his eyes. "I'm real close, but I'm not ready for it to be all over just yet!" he breathed. "I want to feel you against my body again, Frodo!"

"I'm very close myself and I'm not sure how much longer I can hold out. Or even whether I want to hold out any longer," murmured Frodo. "Sam, you have no idea just how excited you make me!"

"Oh Frodo, I do have some idea, 'cause that's just how I feel too!" breathed Sam huskily.

"Wait a moment!" said Frodo, as he jumped out of bed. He picked up a towel from the other side of the room, and on his way back to bed stopped to reach down and take out the small bottle of oil from the pocket of Sam's robe. Sam watched entranced as Frodo climbed back onto the bed, poured some of the oil into his own hand, and slowly rubbed it across his own belly and then across Sam's. Sam gasped and bucked frantically as Frodo gently trailed his slick fingers over Sam's throbbing shaft, then Frodo took Sam's right hand and poured a small amount of oil into it.

Frodo put the bottle down and lay on his side. "Touch me, Sam!" he pleaded, then gave an ecstatic moan as Sam's slippery hand closed around his engorged arousal -- with the deft touch he had dreamed of so many times. "I'm not going to last much longer!" he murmured. And suddenly Sam had taken away his hand and turned Frodo on his back again, more or less pinning him to the mattress.

Sam propped himself up on his elbows once more and gazed down at Frodo with an almost out-of-control desire in his eyes. At that moment they both began to move rhythmically against each other. Frodo kept on looking right into Sam's eyes until the moment when their two arousals met and they both groaned in ecstasy.

Frodo opened his eyes again as he reached up and cupped Sam's face in his hands. Drawing him closer, he licked and nibbled gently at Sam's lips, seeking entry. Then he slid his tongue into the sweet warmth of Sam's mouth and felt, rather than heard, a deep moan escape from Sam.

They broke for air, and Frodo began to thrust even harder against Sam, who speeded up his own rhythm a little to match Frodo's. Eyes closed, totally caught up in the exquisite torture, Frodo groaned even more loudly. "Sam," he suddenly managed to gasp, "I want to know ... earlier ... the dream."

"Dream?" Sam panted breathlessly. "The one you had ... ?"

Frodo sought to slow down the rhythm a little again. "The dream ... when I woke you ... I ... I wanted to know ... if you guessed?"

"Guessed what ... my love?" asked Sam, his voice shaking, so close to the edge now.

"That I was ... dreaming ... about you ... about doing ... this."

"No, my sweet ... just heard you ... moaning a little." Sam struggled to be coherent. "Didn't guess. Oh Frodo!" Sam captured Frodo's mouth again as the white-hot sensations they were both experiencing began spiralling out of control.

The kiss over, Sam suddenly slowed down a little, still determined to last out as long as possible. "You've no idea ... how excited ... it makes me," he panted, "that you were dreamin' ... about me!" Frodo smiled up at him. "Did you ... enjoy it?"

"Wonderful!" Frodo breathed. "But this ... is even better!"

"But Frodo ... did you ... I mean ... did you ... come ... in your dream?"

"No, my Sam. I was ... I was ... saving it for ... for this moment!"

"Then come for me ... come for me now, Frodo!" Sam breathed into his ear.

That was it. Frodo gave one final massive upward thrust, and for a few seconds it was as if the whole world had stopped and it was just himself and Sam, teetering on the brink of delicious oblivion. He reared up against Sam and almost screamed his ecstatic release into the quiet darkness around them, gripping Sam's shoulders tightly before falling back onto the pillows. Then, "Sam ... I love you so much!" he breathed, as with a long-drawn-out, loud, shuddering moan, Sam pulsed over and over again onto Frodo's stomach.

Frodo hardly saw Sam at all over the next few days, as he needed to supervise the repairs to his bedroom and Sam had been given a lot of other tasks to be getting on with by the Gaffer. But both of them felt as if they were walking on air, and they couldn't help smiling at everyone they met, whether friend or stranger. Whenever the opportunity had arisen, they'd exchanged clandestine smiles and hugs and kisses.

A few mornings after the night of the gale, Frodo woke up to find the sun shining in a bright blue sky with fluffy white clouds. He had just moved back into his own bedroom and had woken up unusually early. As he opened the curtains he was stunned by what he saw in the flower-bed beneath his window. The crocuses had now bloomed, and Frodo could discern a definite pattern there. Most of them were yellow but, in the centre of the bed, a band of purple ones formed a definite, perfect heart-shape.

Frodo smiled, then laughed out loud with delight. It was so like Sam, and such a loving, endearing thing to do. Frodo suddenly realised that Sam must have planted them months ago, and this was probably what he had been referring to when he'd made that rather cryptic comment that night. That special night, the one where everything had changed. He recalled Sam saying he'd known for some time that he was in love with Frodo, and soon he would be able to prove that. And here it was -- the visible proof.

His heart overflowing with love, Frodo quickly washed and got dressed, then hurried out into the garden. He could hear the sound of digging, and couldn't wait to see Sam and invite him in for a cup of morning tea. And second breakfast too, perhaps. However, a shock awaited him. It was not Sam digging in the garden after all, but the Gaffer. Perhaps Sam was in the garden shed, or had gone on an errand, thought Frodo as he walked up the path. "Good morning, Mr Frodo!" the Gaffer called out cheerfully.

"Morning! Lovely day, isn't it? But where's Sam today? Is he unwell?" Frodo asked him, puzzled.

"Samwise?" repeated the Gaffer. "Ah, he's had to go away for a while, Mr Frodo," he said, seemingly rather unwilling to meet Frodo's eye.

Frodo felt icy fingers closing around his heart. Where had Sam gone? And why hadn't he told him he was going away? He did his utmost to remain calm and collected. "Oh? And when will Sam be back, then?" Frodo asked him, trying to sound casual.

Frodo thought he could detect a curious, almost triumphant look on the Gaffer's face as he replied, "Oh, we can't be sure as yet, Mr Frodo. Sam's gone off to stay with his elder brother Hamson for a while. We got a message yesterday afternoon, yer see," the Gaffer continued, "tellin' us that Hamson's gone an' sprained his wrist. You probably already knows, Mr Frodo, that Hamson works in the rope-makin' trade."

"Yes, I did know that," said Frodo. "And I'm very sorry to hear about the sprained wrist." He knows, thought Frodo. He knows that something happened between us, though exactly how much he knows is anyone's guess. But did Sam tell him or did he work it out for himself?

"Sam was wantin' to tell you all about the goin' away business hisself, but as I understood it you weren't around yesterday afternoon, Mr Frodo."

"That's correct," said Frodo. He too had received a message, this time that Merry and Pippin were going to be passing through the area, and staying over for one night at the Green Dragon on their way to visit friends further afield. Frodo had arranged to meet up with them at the inn for lunch, and had ended up spending the whole afternoon and part of the evening there, eating and drinking and chatting with his cousins.

Merry and Pippin had been pleased as punch to see Frodo again, and even more delighted to hear about his fledgling relationship with Sam. Frodo hadn't exactly told them about it -- they had simply guessed from his happier and more cheerful demeanour that something significant and positive was happening in his life.

Merry and Pippin had ventured a guess, too, that it might be Sam with whom Frodo was involved, even before they had learned for certain who his new love was. They told their cousin they had already picked up on the fact that there was a special kind of bond between the two which might lead to something more serious. However, they'd refrained from mentioning it because they decided they'd prefer Frodo and Sam to work things through for themselves. And from what Merry and Pippin could now discern, they had made an admirable job of it.

Frodo hugged this reassuring knowledge to himself, feeling even more appreciative of Merry and Pippin's support. Looking back at some things Sam had said to him, combined with what he was now picking up on, it seemed clear that the Gaffer would do whatever was in his power to keep them apart, and he was most certainly not going to approve of any intimate relationship developing between himself and Sam.

In fact, Frodo wondered whether there was some deliberate hidden agenda behind the Gaffer's decision to send Sam away to his brother's. If the story about the sprained wrist was true, then of course Hamson would need some assistance. But then surely he could have found someone closer to home, rather than uprooting Sam and taking him away from his job here? Sam needed the garden, and the garden needed his special touch. Just as Frodo did.

Frodo was finding it difficult not to allow his feelings to show in his face. But, as if at least partly reading his thoughts, the Gaffer said, "Just so's I can reassure you, Mr Frodo, I'll be seein' to it meself that all the jobs what Sam usually does around here still get done."

"Thank you. And if you do have any idea when Sam will be returning, I would appreciate knowing about it," replied Frodo, rather abruptly. He turned on his heel and went back indoors.

Frodo spent the next three weeks in a haze of misery and despair. There was no word from Sam, and still no indication from the Gaffer about when he would be returning. He couldn't even go to stay with Merry and Pippin as they were away themselves.

There were just two things he had to comfort him -- the heart-shaped crocus bed outside his bedroom window (which he now realised the Gaffer must have seen, of course), and something which felt a little more like a guilty secret. After the night when they'd made love, Frodo had kept back the sticky sheets from the laundress, plus the towel which he'd used to wipe them both down afterwards, intending to wash them himself. It wouldn't have done for any gossip to start spreading around.

He'd been very busy with the repair work going on at Bag End, not to mention his rendezvous with Merry and Pippin, but once that was all over he'd washed the sheets in the bathtub. However, he'd wanted to hold on to the towel as a memento of their one night of passion. And now, especially knowing he was unlikely to see Sam again for quite some time, he was definitely not going to wash it. He'd kept the towel under his pillow, and at times when he was missing Sam particularly badly, he'd brought it out and sniffed at the musky, herbal smell, reeling at the powerful memories it stirred up.

The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that the Gaffer had decided to make sure Sam was well out of the way so that he could get over his attachment to Frodo and return to his senses, or whatever it was exactly that the Gaffer wanted Sam to do. Frodo seethed inwardly.

He hardly dared to even consider it, but there was a distinct possibility that, should the Gaffer feel strongly enough on the subject, Sam could be forced to remain permanently at the home of his brother, perhaps learning his rope-making trade into the bargain. Though the idea that he might never see Sam again was one which he totally refused to entertain. Somehow he would think of something, no matter what.

But in the meantime, alone in his bed at night, or drinking afternoon tea all by himself, Frodo sometimes put his head between his hands and sobbed with the sheer hurting unfairness of it all.

One sunny afternoon, when the weather had warmed up just a little and there was a fresh breeze blowing over from the fields, there was a quiet knock at the front door. Frodo put down his cup of tea and went to answer it. There on the step stood Sam. Frodo was completely taken aback at this unannounced visit, and felt as many different expressions crossing his face as he could see on Sam's -- sadness, relief, joy, anxiety ...

"Sam, come in!" said Frodo. Sam came into the hallway, and Frodo closed the door behind them. Sam stood there silently gazing into Frodo's eyes. His mouth worked as if he wanted to say something but it seemed he couldn't find the right words.

"Sam, you're back! I can hardly believe it. Oh Sam, I've missed you so much!" he exclaimed, putting his hands on Sam's shoulders. Then Sam fell into his arms, shaking and sobbing.

After a minute or two, Frodo gently led him into the kitchen and gave him a cup of tea. "Oh Frodo, I'm real sorry!" Sam managed eventually. "An' I've missed you so much, an' all. When the Gaffer sent me away, unexpected like, I really wanted to stay around till you'd come home so's I could say goodbye to you myself, but he wouldn't let me." Sam promptly burst into tears again, and Frodo held him in his arms and comforted him.

"Sam, I've had an idea. Let's take the tea-tray into Bilbo's room. I can close the curtains in there so we won't be spotted, if you like." So they sat in Bilbo's room with the curtains drawn and drank their tea, and talked for as long as they could before Sam had to leave to go back to Bagshot Row.

It transpired that, after the tree had crashed through Frodo's bedroom window, and Sam had stayed the night at Bag End, the Gaffer had somehow sensed that something had happened between them, although Sam had fiercely denied it when pressed. Needless to say, the Gaffer was quite angry and thoroughly disapproving of the whole affair, despite Sam having admitted to nothing.

As it turned out, his brother Hamson really did have a sprained wrist, though it was beginning to heal up now, but it had provided the Gaffer with a timely excuse to get Sam out of the way to 'come to his senses' in the meantime. Eventually Hamson had no longer needed Sam's assistance quite so much, but he had also noticed how desperately unhappy Sam was. "I didn't say naught to him about us, o' course, but I reckon he thought I was pinin' for some hobbit-lass I'd taken a fancy to, so I didn't bother puttin' him straight on that one!" explained Sam, beginning to smile a little.

Frodo listened intently to what Sam had to say, then asked him if the Gaffer was expecting him to do any more tasks that day. "I don't think so, Frodo," replied Sam, "but I'm expected back there for a meal any time now."

"Sam, if you can, I'd like you to come back here after your meal so we can go for a walk together. I've been doing some thinking, and I'd like to talk to you about that. It promises to be a pleasant evening, and we could go and watch the sun setting over The Water," suggested Frodo.

"That sounds nice, Mr ... I mean, Frodo," said Sam, and they both burst out laughing. "I suppose old habits die hard, don't they, Frodo?" smiled Sam, and he was looking a lot more cheerful as he headed off towards home. Apart from hugging him at intervals and trying to console him, Frodo hadn't attempted to touch Sam, or to speak in any detail of their night of passion. That could wait till later when things had calmed down a little.

Holding hands, Frodo and Sam walked back towards Bag End together in the dark after watching the sun set. "Did you realise that tomorrow's the first day of spring, Frodo?" asked Sam. They'd had so many other things to discuss that even the weather, one of their usual favourite topics, had gone by the board.

"Goodness, no, I didn't! I suppose I ... well, I've had quite a lot on my mind, and of course I didn't have you around to remind me, either!" Frodo squeezed Sam's hand tightly.

"Did you miss me a lot then, when I was away?" asked Sam, although naturally he already knew the answer to that.

"Miss you?! Sam, it was probably the loneliest, most empty three weeks I've ever spent in my life!" said Frodo. "I felt as if a part of me had gone missing."

"I felt just the same, Frodo. I was that miserable, you wouldn't believe it!" said Sam. And before Frodo knew what had happened, Sam had pulled him behind the trunk of a large old horse chestnut tree and enveloped him in a bear-hug. Then Frodo found Sam's mouth, and with small gasps and moans they re-discovered one another under the tree's spreading branches.

"Frodo, I was so happy that night we spent together, an' the next few days too. Happier than I've ever been. But then when it all got suddenly snatched away from me, I just felt like I was drownin' in despair," sighed Sam, shaking his head at the awful memory as they carried on again towards home.

"I know, Sam. But once we've put our plans into action, we'll never need to be apart again if we don't wish to be," said Frodo, smiling.

"You're right, Frodo. I respect the Gaffer an' all, 'course I do. He's my father," said Sam. But I'm not a child any longer, an' I want to make my own decisions about how an' where to spend my life, an' who to love. The Gaffer'll probably get over it in the end -- or mayhap he won't. I don't know. But if he don't then I'll just have to live with that."

"Tomorrow's the big day, then, when you're going to tell him?" asked Frodo.

"Aye, that's it," said Sam. "There ain't no point really in waitin' for the right time, 'cause it won't never come with somethin' like that."

"You're right, Sam. Oh and by the way, did I mention that when I saw Merry and Pippin they kind of guessed that you and I had got together?"

"They did? An' ... an' do they approve, or what?"

"Thankfully, they do -- they've both been very supportive, which I really appreciate. I realise this won't be an easy time for you, though I'll be there to support you as much as I can, too," replied Frodo. "And yes, chances are the Gaffer isn't going to be too happy about it when you tell him that you're going to be moving into Bag End with me. But, as you say, he'll probably come round to the idea in time."

"Aye, when he starts to see what you an' I already know -- that we were made for one another, an' we're just right together," said Sam.

"Just perfect!" smiled Frodo, stopping and turning to gaze at Sam. "And it's the first day of spring tomorrow, you said? What a perfect day for us to begin our new life!"

The End