Originally written in 2006 for the Waymeet 'Topsy-Turvy' challenge. A prequel to When Sean Met Sam.
Frodo opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Sam, sitting cross-legged and naked on the bed in a patch of sunlight, hunched over his iBook. Really, Frodo thought with exasperated amusement, Sam was becoming quite the Internet addict, and now that they had set up a wireless network in their smial on Tol Eressëa, he practically slept with his beloved laptop.
Still, Frodo couldn’t really complain, for there was no finer sight to wake up to than a naked Sam, even when his attention was fixed on a 14” screen instead of his bed companion. Besides, Frodo knew that when it came right down to it, not even the sexiest computer in the world stood a chance against a hobbit with 6,000 years’ experience at distracting his lover from whatever was currently engaging his interest.
“Good morning, Sam,” Frodo said after some minutes spent enjoying the shift and slide of the muscles in Sam’s sun-browned back and shoulders as he typed. He was pecking away two-fingered on the keyboard with intense concentration; Sam still found typing to be rather a chore. Unfortunately, Frodo’s attempts to instruct him tended to get derailed due to the inevitable results of proximity. I really need to get Sam a copy of that tengwar typing program that Bilbo invented, he thought.
“Good morning, Sam,” Frodo repeated a little more loudly when he got no reply.
Frodo’s brows contracted, and he slid closer to Sam. He placed one small, nail-bitten hand on Sam’s muscular thigh, and began to caress the hair-roughened skin in small, circular motions- motions that moved inexorably inward.
“I said ‘Good morning, Sam’.” Frodo’s fingers reached a particularly vulnerable spot, and gently pinched it.
“Frodo!” Sam jumped, and the cursor skittered across the screen. The laptop gave an indignant beep. He turned to give Frodo a reproving look, met raised eyebrows and a challenging blue gaze, and grinned sheepishly instead. “Sorry. I was just-“
“-checking our email, I know.” Frodo finished, having become accustomed to the phrase issuing from Sam’s mouth a dozen times a day. “To whom are you writing, anyway? You look like you’ve been sucking on lemons.”
“Gandalf.” Sam scowled, and hit the return key with a force that made the laptop list drunkenly to the right on the thick goose down comforter. “We got another of those Numenorian bank scam emails from someone claiming to be Ar-Pharazôn the Golden who wants us to let him deposit money in our bank account. I’m hoping Gandalf might know a spell or some such to keep that lot from spamming us again.”
“That’s an excellent idea, Sam dear, although I don’t think even a Maia has much control over the Internet.” Frodo rose to his knees and leaned against Sam’s invitingly broad naked back, looping his arms around his neck. With his chin on Sam’s shoulder, Frodo peered at the computer screen- a tad myopically as he’d forgotten to put on his spectacles. “But what other emails did we get? That can’t have been the only one, surely.”
Sam typed a few more words then clicked on send with a satisfied nod. “Let me see.” He scanned the inbox for a moment. “There’s one from Pippin, reminding us that we’re to join him and Merry for dinner and a movie tonight- and don’t worry,” Sam hastened to add, knowing how Frodo felt on the matter, “he promises it will be Fellowship of the Ring, not Return of the King. Then there’s one from Bilbo, asking you if you’ll beta a poem for him. And here’s one that sounds right interesting. I forwarded it to a couple of friends of ours.” Sam pointed at the screen. “‘Tis an advertisement for an Amazing Herbal Concoction that’s supposed to help roots grow larger. What do you think, me dear? Should I order some?”
“My dear Sam, if there’s one thing you don’t ever need to worry about, it’s growing a larger root,” Frodo said with feeling, as his eyes fixed on a certain part of Sam’s anatomy.
Sam laughed. “Nor you neither, me dear. And if you don’t mind me saying so again, Frodo-love, quite handsome indeed your root looked last night, all dressed up with that red satin bow.”
Frodo beamed, still inordinately pleased by the success of his surprise. “I don’t mind you saying so at all, Sam,” he said, kissing Sam on the tip of one ear before settling back down by his side. “A little idea I picked up from one of our stories, you know.”
“Ah, I reckoned as much,” Sam nodded. “Right imaginative lot, them authors are. Put the Elves to shame, if you ask me.”
“Mmm.” Frodo’s face assumed a dreamy, far-off expression. “I always thought we’d learned everything there was to know from those Elvish books of Bilbo’s. But now…” He stretched lazily, like a smug, satisfied cat. Sam almost expected him to start purring. “Our lovemaking is better than it has been in hundreds of years, Sam. For a time there I was worried that it was growing a little stale. Thank Eru for fanfiction.”
“Aye.” Sam’s reply was heartfelt. “But when I think on the places we could have been making love all these centuries, Frodo, well, it makes me feel a right fool.” Sam shook his head in regret. “Why, it never once occurred to me that the tool shed could be used for something other than storing tools. And then there’s the cellars, and the closets, and even down a well…”
He sounded so aggrieved that Frodo had to laugh. “You may console yourself with the thought that we have been making up for lost time splendidly, Sam dear.”
Sam turned his head and nuzzled Frodo’s neck. “Hmm, ‘tis true, and they do say that there’s no time like the present for makin’ up for lost time.” Sam shut the cover of the laptop with a firm click and took Frodo into his arms.
There was a long silence, broken only by the sounds of two hobbits busily making up for lost time.
Then Sam spoke. “Where’d that ribbon get to, Frodo-love?”
“Ribbon?” repeated Frodo dazedly then began fishing around in the bed covers. He found the length of red satin and handed it to Sam. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Well now,” Sam replied mischievously, “happen I was doing a little reading this morning before you woke up, and not just our emails, Frodo-love.” He shook out the ribbon, placed it gently over Frodo’s eyes and tied it at the back of his head. “In the story it was a scarf, but this ribbon ought to do the trick nicely.” He pushed Frodo down on the bed. “Seems sometimes them blue eyes of yours might be better off not seeing what I’m up to,” Sam explained, and he began to leave a trail of hot kisses from Frodo’s throat to his chest, moving inexorably lower and lower...
“Oh! Oh my. Oh Sam…”
Elijah opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Sean, sitting cross-legged and naked on the bed in a patch of sunlight, hunched over his iBook. Jesus, Elijah thought with exasperated amusement, Sean was becoming a worse Internet addict than Elijah himself. But then again, it was really Peter’s fault. Only he would reconstruct Bag End in his backyard complete with wireless Internet, HDTV and every other modern convenience that could be imagined. It was no wonder Sean had succumbed to the temptation of email and Firefox even if when they had escaped here to New Zealand for a long-anticipated vacation in Bag End they had vowed not to let the real world intrude on them.
Still, Elijah really couldn’t complain, for there was no finer sight to wake up to than a naked Sean, even when his attention was fixed on a 14” screen instead of his lover. Besides, Elijah knew that when it came right down to it, not even the sexiest computer could compete with him for Sean’s attention. He’d proven it time and time again after all.
“Hey,” Elijah said after some minutes spent enjoying the shift and slide of the muscles in Sean’s broad back and freckled shoulders as he typed.
“I said ‘hey’,” he repeated a little more loudly when he got no reply.
Elijah sat bolt upright. “SAM!” he yelled so loudly that Sean jumped about a foot in the air. The cursor skittered across the screen, and the laptop gave an indignant beep.
“Jesus, Elijah, you almost gave me a heart attack!” Sean exclaimed putting his hand to his chest. “A little role playing is one thing, but that sounded entirely too serious to me.” He looked at Elijah who was staring at him, white-faced, and asked, “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Elijah shook his head. “Not a ghost, Sean, but shit, I just remembered the most fucking bizarre dream I’ve ever had in my life. It was all about Frodo and Sam, and- oh, you’ll think I’m nuts if I tell you.” Elijah fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling beams of the round bedroom. “Shit, Irish. It seemed so fucking real.”
“Whoa, Elwood. What’s going on here?” Sean said in concern.
“I told you, I had this weird dream about Frodo and Sam.”
“And? Come on, talk to me.” Sean abandoned the laptop and slid over next to Elijah. “It’s obviously upset you, Lij. You’ll feel better if you tell me what it was about. How weird could it be?”
Elijah sighed. “You have no idea. Okay, I’ll tell you, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He closed his eyes, visualizing the dream. “It started with Frodo waking up and finding Sam sitting naked on the bed, typing on an iBook,” he began.
“What?” Sean said, startled. “You mean the way you just found me?”
“Yes, exactly the same way. See, I told you it was bizarre.”
“All right. We’ll take the bizarre part as accepted, Elwood. As far as I know, hobbits don’t have iBooks. Just keep going.”
So Elijah did. But when he got to the part about the Numenorian bank scam email and Gandalf, Sean began to laugh. “Who the hell is Ar-whatshisface the Golden?” he wanted to know.
“I have no idea.” Elijah threw his hands up in the air. “An invention of my subconscious, I guess. I’m telling you, Sean, it’s totally-“
“-bizarre, right. What happened next?”
Elijah concentrated for a minute. “Let’s see. Then Sam told Frodo about an email they got from Pippin- they were going to join him and Merry for dinner and a movie, and for some reason it was important to Frodo that they watch Fellowship instead of Return of the King. Beats me. And then Sam mentioned an email from Bilbo about a poem he was writing.”
“Bilbo did like to write poetry,” Sean commented. “Go on, this is fascinating.”
“Um, and then Sam described another email they got.” Elijah began to grin. “This one was kind of funny, actually. It was for something called an Amazing Herbal Concoction. It was supposed to help roots grow, if you get my drift.”
“What?” Sean definitely wasn’t laughing now. He leaned over and grabbed the laptop. “Elijah, look at this.” Elijah sat up and stared at the screen, a bit myopically because he didn’t have his contact lenses in. “There was a spam email in our inbox this morning. I particularly noticed it because we hardly ever get spam in this account. I deleted it but it should still be in the trash.” Sean clicked a couple of times and there it was in all its glory: Amazing Herbal Concoction.
“Oh my fucking god,” Elijah said. “Sean, look at the email address it came from: luvs2garden.”
Elijah and Sean looked at each other. “It’s got to be a joke from Dom. It just has to be,” Elijah said finally. “He knows we’re staying here in Bag End.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. It’s the sort of thing he’d do,” Sean agreed. But he sounded about as convinced as Elijah, which was hardly at all. And Elijah was remembering something Sam had said in his dream, something about forwarding the email to a couple of people he knew. He wasn’t going to tell Sean that, though. He was freaked out enough already.
“So,” Sean said far too casually, closing the laptop with an emphatic click. “What happened next?”
“Frodo and Sam started talking about fanfiction, and how they got all these great ideas for lovemaking from reading the stories people wrote about them.” Elijah decided not to mention the red satin ribbon. Fuck if his subconscious hadn’t come up with a great idea there. Unfortunately, he very much doubted if Peter kept a supply of colored ribbon in Bag End. It would have to wait, but when they got home to California… Where the fuck did one buy red satin ribbon, anyway?
“Fanfiction, huh?” Sean was amused again. “Have you been holding out on me, Elwood?”
“I swear to you, Irish, I haven’t been reading Frodo/Sam slash. Cross my heart.” Elijah did so, and raised his hand.
Sean looked skeptical, but said, “Then you’ve got one hell of an imagination, that’s all I can say. And then what?”
“That’s it really.”
“That’s it?” Sean repeated. He sounded disappointed.
“Except for the hot steamy sex they were having,” Elijah said matter-of-factly. “But then I woke up, and, well, you know the rest.”
“Hey, back up to that hot steamy sex bit, Elwood. Isn’t it just like you to leave out the good part.”
“Yeah, but they hadn’t actually gotten to the good part when I woke up. They were just getting started, as a matter of fact.” Elijah hesitated. “So, what do you make of it, Irish? Pretty weird dream, huh?”
“Hmm.” Sean rested his chin in his hand and looked thoughtful. “There’s always a logical explanation for dreams, Elijah. We’re staying in Bag End, so of course Frodo and Sam are on your mind. And it’s not as if I haven’t used my laptop since I’ve been here. When you think about it, it’s really not surprising that you’d have a dream like that. And as for that email, we probably got another spam with the same subject at some time, and your subconscious remembered it. It was merely coincidence, that’s all.”
It sounded very logical put that way, Elijah had to allow, but still…
“There’s only one thing that bothers me,” Sean added.
“Oh? What’s that?”
“The end of your dream. It seems to me that the ending was pretty abrupt. Unfinished, you might say. I think we could do a little better, don't you?” Grinning mischievously, Sean pushed Elijah down on the bed. He bent his head and began to leave a trail of hot kisses from Elijah’s throat to his chest, moving inexorably lower and lower...
Sean was asleep, face downward, one arm flung protectively across Elijah’s chest. Elijah squirmed a little, getting comfortable, feeling a pleasant lassitude stealing over him. Fuck, that had been amazing, he thought. He wondered what it would have been like if he’d had that ribbon over his eyes like Frodo had in his dream. It must take a lot of love and trust to allow someone to do that to you, he decided. But then he loved and trusted Sean completely, didn't he, the way Frodo did his Sam.
He pushed his feet deeper under the covers, surprised when they became entangled in something soft that definitely wasn’t the sheets. What the hell was it? Elijah drew his feet up and reached under the covers with one hand, unwinding the whatever-it-was from around them and fishing it out. He stared in dumbfounded amazement: it was a length of wide red satin ribbon. Thoughtfully, he folded it and reached across Sean to set it on the bedside table. What was that famous Shakespeare quote? Something about ‘more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy’? Sean could be as logical as he liked, Elijah decided, but there had been more to that dream than mere coincidence.
Elijah settled in close to Sean, drawing his arm tighter around him. He yawned and shut his eyes. As he hovered on the threshold of sleep, he heard a voice, speaking in the affectionate, faintly amused tones that he recognized from his dream.
Use it well, Elijah.
I will. Thank you, Frodo.
My pleasure. Sweet dreams, dear boy.
Elijah fell asleep, a wide smile on his face.