Not One Inch by Lbilover

Written for the word of the day 'gasconade'. Not technically Frodo/Sam, but you know every inch belongs to Frodo. ;-)


Sam had been labouring in the hot July sun with a group of hobbits making repairs to the stonework of the bridge over the Water. They finished their work as the sun was dipping toward the horizon, and his greatest longing (after downing a beer at the Ivy Bush, that is) was to strip off his sweat-soaked clothes and refresh himself in the delightful coolness of the Bywater Pool before returning home to Bag End.


By mutual agreement, the tired, sweating hobbits set down their tools and headed thither. When they reached the Pool's shallow farther end, they encountered Ted Sandyman, just arrived, it seemed, for the same purpose.


'Hallo, lads,' he said. 'Come for a bathe?'


'Aye,' responded Tom Cotton, wiping a sleeve across his perspiring brow. He added pointedly, 'Some of us put in a hard day's work and earned it.'


He had no liking for the Miller's son, who had offered no help with the bridge-work, only sauntered past a time or two with a sneer on his lips and his thumbs hooked through his suspenders.


Ted either didn't take the point or chose to ignore it. 'I reckon I'll join you.' He quickly shed his clothes and gave a loud chuckle, loud enough to be certain to gain the others' attention. 'Bet you've never seen aught to match this, here or anywhere in the Four Farthings,' he said, gesturing to his cock. He was, in fact, rather well endowed and never allowed any opportunity to pass to gasconade about it.


For the most part the hobbits, being used to his boastful ways, ignored Ted. 'Too bad 'ee allus let it do the thinking for 'ee,' muttered one under his breath, to the hilarity of those close enough to overhear.


But Sam, wearing a thoughtful expression, gave Ted and his cock a considering look. 'Impressive,' he remarked, his hands going to the waistband of his breeches. 'Mighty impressive.' He pushed down his smallclothes and pants and let them puddle at his feet, revealing his own endowment, which put Ted's completely into the shade, being half again as thick and long. 'No, I reckon there ain't another cock in the Four Farthings to match yours, Ted, only maybe somewhere there's one as surpasses it.'


And stood with his hands on his hips and a satisfied gleam in his eyes as a red-faced Ted gathered up his clothes and hightailed it for the mill. His gaffer didn't hold with gasconading, and Sam hadn't. Not one inch.