All his young life Samwise Gamgee had wanted to see a dragon. It was his second greatest wish just behind meeting an Elf. (Although he told himself that what he'd seen that day in the woods was an Elf, honesty compelled him to admit that it might have been a figment of his imagination. Either way, he definitely wanted a closer look.)
So when the cry went up of 'dragon, there's a dragon, run!' Sam couldn't believe his ears. Nor his eyes, either, when he saw the great red and gold figure swooping down from the sky and breathing fire from its nostrils. But there was no time to appreciate the sight, not with one gross of panicky hobbits stampeding across the Party Field.
Sam's one and only thought then was for Frodo, who could well be trampled in the melee or carried off by the dragon. (Smaug's great pile of gold and jewels was fixed firmly in Sam's mind; if dragons coveted beauty then it stood to reason that Frodo would be in danger.)
His frantic gaze finally located Frodo a short distance ahead. He had his arm protectively around Mr. Bilbo, and despite the urgency of the situation, Sam couldn't help but melt inside at this evidence of Frodo's selfless bravery. Next instant, though, the dragon came roaring right over Sam's head, close enough to singe the topmost curls. He fell flat on his face along with every other hobbit, but when the dragon suddenly dissolved into a spray of golden sparks and then burst asunder over the Water, forming the most magnificent firework anyone had ever seen, Sam hardly noticed, because right in front of Sam was a sight even more impressive: Frodo on all fours, his shapely rear lovingly molded by soft blue velvet. A company of Elves, a hoard of dragons and all Gandalf's fireworks exploding at once couldn't distract Sam from the vision of loveliness that was Frodo Baggins.
A sizzling burn sprang to life inside Sam then, like the fuse of a firecracker after it was lit. Something else sprang to life, too; Sam's shaft began to swell and harden. Party or no, guests or no, Sam thought, his eyes riveted to Frodo's behind, he had to have Frodo, had to be buried deep inside him when the fuse reached the firecracker and it exploded.
Frodo helped Bilbo to his feet. 'Well, Uncle,' he said, laughing, 'I think this calls for another round of ale. What say you?'
'You go on ahead, my boy. I want to have a word with Gandalf - congratulate him, don't you know.'
Sam seized his chance, strode up and took Frodo by the elbow. 'Frodo,' he said, low and urgent, 'come with me.' He hustled him through the tent and outside willy-nilly. Right round to the back of the tent he went and then came to a halt.
'Sam, what...' Frodo started to say, and for answer Sam clamped his lips over Frodo's and kissed him ruthlessly. Far from objecting, Frodo wrapped his arms around Sam's neck and returned the kiss with abandon. 'Oh Sam,' he said when they came up for air, 'if only we could make love, right here and now.'
'We can,' Sam said. 'Why d'you reckon I brought you here?'
'Do you think anyone will see or hear us?' Frodo asked. Only canvas stood between them and the party goers on the other side.
'I can't say as I care.' Sam took Frodo's hand and placed it over the bulge in his breeches. 'And he don't care none either.'
'So you both have a one-track mind?' Frodo squeezed and Sam bucked into his hand and swore. "Yes, I'd say that's definitely the case.'
'Saucy Baggins. Turn round and take what's coming to you, and don't lollygag.'
'No fear of that - I can't wait and neither can he.' Frodo gestured at his own very obvious erection then quickly shrugged off his suspenders and undid the buttons to his trousers. He pushed them and his smallclothes down until they formed a velvet-linen puddle at his feet and turned to face the tent wall.
Sam's shaft, when freed from restraint, butted eagerly at Frodo's behind, demanding entrance; Frodo spread his feet wider apart in blatant invitation. Sam didn't immediately take up the offer, but instead pushed his shaft between Frodo's legs and began rubbing it back and forth while his hands, made expert by years of baking, kneaded the baby-soft skin of Frodo's buttocks as if it were dough.
Frodo clutched at the only support in sight, one of the guide ropes tethering the tent. 'Oh, that feels so good, Sam.' He took the tail of his shirt in his other hand and wrapped it around his shaft, roughly moving it up and down.
Sam withdrew, and gave Frodo's buttocks a light slap that drew an ecstatic moan from his lover. 'I've naught but spittle to ease the way,' he said, and then spat into his hand and rubbed it along his length til it glistened.
'It doesn't matter. Just take me, Samwise. Take me hard and fast, how I like it.'
Sam guided his shaft to Frodo's tight-budded opening, groaning as he breached the ring of muscle at the entrance and was sheathed in the tight white-hot passage. He pushed steadily in as far as he could go then withdrew and thrust, hard as he could; pleasure cascaded through his body like toppling dominoes, right down to his very toes.
'Yes, oh sweet Eru, yes,' Frodo said. 'Like that, Sam, exactly like that.'
Withdraw, thrust, withdraw, thrust. Mindless now, Sam moved. Withdraw, thrust, withdraw, thrust. Frodo keened low, his hand jerkily moving the fabric up and down on his shaft. A fleeting thought passed through Sam's mind, what would the hobbits on the other side think if they could see him and Frodo, coupling like a pair of wild animals? He half gasped a laugh, picturing their astonished faces, and pinched Frodo's nipples through fine linen, revelling in the helpless cry wrung from his lover. Withdraw, thrust, withdraw, thrust.
The band inside the tent struck up a lively tune; instinctively Sam's movements picked up the faster rhythm of the dance.Withdrawthrustwithdrawthrustwithdrawthrust.
'Sam, I- I-'
Swift as a striking snake, Sam took control of Frodo's shaft. He knew exactly how Frodo liked to be touched there, and indeed after but a few expert motions, Frodo stiffened, let out a cry and spurted thick sticky strands of come. Sam caught the hot fluid in his cupped palm, and lifting Frodo's shirt smeared it over his silky skin from chest to belly.
'You'll wear that under your shirt,' he said hoarsely, and then he couldn't hold back any longer, but with one final, powerful thrust, the firecracker exploded and Sam released his seed deep inside Frodo. As he did, he bit down on the tender spot at the base of Frodo's neck, hard enough to leave a mark. 'You'll wear that, too,' he gasped when his body's spasmodic jerks had ceased and he'd gained enough breath back to speak.
'Yes, Sam, I'll wear them,' Frodo said. 'Because I'm yours. I always have been and always will be.'
'And don't you never forget it, neither,' Sam replied, and tenderly kissed the red mark he'd left, before separating their bodies.
'As if I ever could, my dearest Samwise.' Frodo chuckled and bent to pull up his clothes. 'I'll not be able to walk properly for a week, you ravished me so thoroughly.'
'Did I then?' Sam licked his fingers clean of the last of Frodo's seed with as much relish as he would buttery crumbs.
'You know you did.' Frodo slid his arms around Sam and rested his head on his sweat-dampened shirtfront. 'Oh Sam, I wish we could remain this way forever.' Then he sighed and lifted his head. 'But duty calls. Bilbo's likely wondering where I've gotten to.'
Sam stooped to retrieve his drawers. 'Aye, I reckon you'd best be getting back,' he agreed, straightening.
'But first...' Frodo kissed Sam, a deep and intoxicating kiss that had Sam reeling and his shaft twitching as if ready to spring to life again so soon. When Frodo released him, he simply stood there, dazed, with his mouth agape. Frodo laughed softly. 'Don't you forget who you belong to, either, Samwise Gamgee.' And with that admonition he departed, limping slightly as he went.
Sam got dressed, a wide grin on his face. Let folk say what that would, he thought. He and Frodo belonged to each other, now and forever, and nothing was ever going to change that fact.
'Speech!' he heard a hobbit shout on the other side the tent, and the chant was picked up by the rest of the crowd. 'Speech! Speech! Speech!' Sam hastily buttoned the last button of his breeches and hurried away. He didn't want to miss Mr. Bilbo's speech, no way nohow. It was likely to be an especially good one this year, seeing as how he'd turned 111 and Frodo had come of age. Sam scuttled into the tent and found a seat behind Frodo at one of the tables.
'My dear Bagginses and Boffins...' Mr. Bilbo began.