Cake and Other Things
by Lullennye-mail: gutter2stars @ yahoo.com
Story notes: Inspired by talk of diets and a lovely word-picture of Frodo by Teasel.
Sam brought tea to Frodo's study on a tray. The tray was cumbersome, for when the cake came out so perfect -- heavy, rich, and buttery -- he had spared no effort to accessorize it properly with a variety of sliced fruit and berries, clotted cream, tea, and some sweet cheese. His hands busy balancing the load Sam tapped at the door with his elbow before he nudged it open with his hip. Frodo was seated at his desk, his shoulders rounded and stiff while the quill in his hand flitted in small, quick circles. September days were running out, and Frodo spent more and more time fretting over details of the move to Crickhollow.
Frodo remained bent over his work as Sam entered, still writing but not altogether unaware, and without looking up he said, "What is it, Sam?"
"It's tea time, Mr. Frodo," said Sam.
Frodo looked up then, and he frowned at the tray as Sam set it on the small table by the open window.
"Come and take a bit of refreshment," said Sam. He poured tea into a dainty cup and fixed it how Frodo liked it best: with milk and a little honey. "You've been working hard on them papers all day."
"Lobelia is nothing if not thorough: thoroughly demanding," Frodo said sourly, which Sam took as assent. He set down the quill and walked to the table, but he didn't sit down; rather, he stared at the food and frowned more heavily. "This looks lovely as always, Sam, but I can't help but wonder if I should get in shape for the journey ahead."
Puzzled, Sam took on his own frown. "What do you mean?"
"I hardly think we can stop for tea every day in the wilds between here and Rivendell," he replied.
"No, I suppose not," said Sam. "It'll be like when we go camping, when we take fewer meals in the day. We've done a fair bit of that in the past, and even more this year."
"Exactly," Frodo said. "I've been walking all over, getting my legs ready, but maybe I should get my stomach used to short rations as well." He patted the front of his waistcoat.
Sam stared at him. "Go without food on purpose?"
"Well, yes." Frodo seemed self-conscious. "I imagine we'll encounter some hardships on the trail, and who knows if we'll find enough food? It's awfully hard not to think of Bilbo and the dwarves in Mirkwood and what they endured. They nearly starved. You and I might have to pull our belts even tighter before we're done."
"But to go without, here and now?" Sam slowly sat on the edge of the bed, his thoughts turned uncomfortably inward as he tried to imagine the trail ahead. He looked up at Frodo suddenly. "What about other things you might have to go without?" He reached out for Frodo's hand and stroked the back with his thumb.
Frodo left off glowering at the food and smiled rosily at Sam. "Ah, well, some things you don't have to lug around in your pack." He pushed Sam's knees apart, stepped in the V of Sam's thighs, and clasped his arms around Sam's shoulders. "We wouldn't have to set snares for this, or hunt for berries or mushrooms, or fish some stream. Not for this."
Sam reached around Frodo's waist and hooked his thumbs in the back of Frodo's trousers. Sam felt Frodo's fingers playing with his hair. "Someone would have to carry the oil," he said matter-of-factly. "A bottle is mighty fragile for packing in a camp-sack; and even if it don't break, glass is heavy, too, so it'd have to be a small bottle. You probably couldn't carry enough to last all the way from here to Rivendell, it being so far away, from what you say."
Frodo's hands stilled a moment, and then he tipped Sam's face up and dropped a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "There are other things we could do when the oil ran out. I'm sure you could think of a quite a few if you put your mind to it."
"Now that," said Sam, "sounds like a challenge, Mr. Frodo." He closed his arms snug around Frodo's middle and rested his cheek there, feeling a flat silver button against his temple and the good sturdy weight of Frodo pressed up close. He rested there, breathing in the scent of fine wool, bitter ink and pipeweed smoke, all familiar and dear, until he pulled back a bit and began slipping the buttons through their holes.
Frodo moved as if he were going to lie on the bed, but Sam stilled him so he remained standing and continued working the buttons free until the waistcoat hung open. Then he started on Frodo's linen shirt. He slowly tugged the tails free, and then he unbuttoned the lowest button with leisurely care. He slid his fingers up the edge of the parting shirt and slipped the second lowest button free. A small triangle of skin rewarded his patience. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss delicately and chastely on the slender path of hair, a soft, smudged line.
Sam drew his fingers up to the third button and folded it through its hole. He pulled the edges of shirt apart and kissed above Frodo's navel; he let his tongue touch the flesh there, hairless and smooth.
"Oh, my," whispered Frodo.
"Mm?" Sam's fingertips skated up to the next button and gently twisted it through the buttonhole.
"That's lovely what you're doing."
Sam uncoupled the final button and slid his hands under Frodo's suspenders, pushing them off his shoulders; Frodo helped by shrugging them off his arms. Sam hugged him around his waist and pulled him down, rolling as he did so they landed on the bed on their sides, facing each other.
Frodo kissed Sam, and as his mouth opened on Sam's, Sam felt Frodo's arms hook around his neck and Frodo's fingers thread into his hair. Sam rolled over him and kissed him more until Frodo's mouth opened wider and he made pleading noises low in his throat.
Sam obliged him and landed kisses down Frodo's chin, his neck, the hard adam's apple; at the curve where neck meets shoulder, Sam bit and sucked and Frodo gasped. Sam felt Frodo's hands open and close, clutching the shirt at his back. He pushed into Frodo, his arousal grinding against the answering hardness with sudden pleasure, surprising a cry out of Frodo.
Then Sam slithered off Frodo and pushed to standing next to the bed, steadying himself with a hand on the table. Frodo remained splayed on the bed, his shirt open; he was panting, and a little sweaty already. He cut a glance up at Sam through his lashes like he did sometimes when he wanted Sam to lie with him, asking with a look because, he confessed once, he didn't trust himself not to say something embarrassing. At the time, Sam had rejoined him with, "Now, it doesn't seem likely anything you say could embarrass me after what we've been doing," but Frodo had laughed and said, "But I might embarrass me."
Sam smiled a bit at Frodo's coy look, and a little breathlessly he said, "You do have a point, Mr. Frodo. Maybe we should stop right here and now, so we can get used to doing without."
Frodo smiled lazily, but it faded as Sam's meaning slowly hit home. "Do without? Sam, I just explained how it doesn't matter; we can take this with us wherever we go."
"What about at Rivendell?" asked Sam. "Now, Mr. Bilbo described it well enough, but he never explained the sleeping arrangements. How can we know for sure we'll get a room and a bed for ourselves?"
Frodo's mouth opened in surprise as he struggled to his elbows. "But..."
"And what about all the camping in the wild we'll have to do? We should be keeping a sharp lookout, not shutting out the world with kisses and, and," he looked up as if searching for the best description, "-- sweet words."
"Sweet words?" Frodo's expression twisted, a wry combination of smiling lips and frowning brows, and Sam knew he was finally beginning to understand. "When have I ever burdened you with sweet words?"
"That's hardly the point," said Sam blithely. He settled onto a stool next to the table and cut a generous slice of cake for himself.
"I know, but I'm sure we can find some opportunity..."
"It's a long dark journey, you said, with danger waiting before us even as we draw danger behind us," Sam continued. "Our chances for food -- and other things -- might be few and far between. You could have the right of it, and maybe we should do without the luxuries we're used to, to whip ourselves in shape." Sam took a large bite of cake and washed it down with Frodo's tea.
Frodo struggled off the soft bed and sat on the other stool at the table, not bothering to close up his shirt. "And I think that you, my dear Sam, are not only wiser than I am, which I already knew, but more devious as well. Cut me some cake. I've changed my mind; I want to build my strength."
"Ah, to get strong for the journey," said Sam. "A fine idea."
"No, to tackle you after tea while we still have all the opportunity in the world."