I wrote this story for marigoldg's fic challenge; she gave me a first line and I went from there. Now that it's the right time (it, along with the other stories, is up at talechallenge04), I have unveiled it.
Title: Moss and Blushes
Pairing: Sam/Merry, Frodo/Sam implied and Frodo/Merry implied
Rating: PG-13
Categories: slash, canon, slight angst
Author's name: Ruby Nye
Summary: A camping trip, discussion and activities.
Author's note: this story was inspired by a comment on a camping trip in strangerian's story "A Breeze in the Garden" (http://www.west-of-the-moon.net/servlet/ReadSlashStory?storyID=108). After all, the idea of why Sam would even consent to spy on Frodo for Merry and Pippin, what his relationship with each of them was, bears a little thought.
"Do you think we ought to try and cross here? Maybe if we go a bit further we'll find a better place." Frodo considered the stream with some trepidation; for early fall it was running quite swiftly and deeply. Then a movement at the corner of his vision made him shout "Hoy! Wait up!", as Merry, with teenage thoughtlessness and Brandybuck heedlessness, went wading impatiently into the stream. "Come on, Frodo," Merry called over his shoulder. "It's calf high, at most."
"Meriadoc, if you're swept away your mother will kill me!" Frodo shook his head, but Merry appeared to be fine, so he turned and held out a hand. "I suppose this is our crossing, Sam."
Sam took Frodo's hand in a nearly bone-crunching grip as he stepped timidly into the water. "Sir, are you certain, I mean, begging your pardon, but it's awful quick." Poor Sam liked his water still, Frodo reflected, as he gave Sam's hand a reassuring squeeze with his nearly-numb fingers and kept picking his way across the tumbled stones and sand of the streambed. Still, in a pond or a tub or a bucket...and that thought reminded Frodo of the last time he'd seen Sam pouring a bucketful of water over himself, and that thought made Frodo's face flush as if he weren't knee-deep in cold stream water. Sternly reminding himself that the lad was twenty, Frodo made an encouraging noise and kept his face firmly turned forwards as he led Sam across the stream.
Merry, meanwhile, had reached the other side and was happily stripping off his shirt as if he intended to go swimming, and Frodo privately reflected, as he noted that Merry was more graceful than anyone had a right to be at eighteen, that a dunk in cold water might be a good idea for himself. What had possessed him, he asked himself yet again, to go camping with Sam, who was his servant and his friend and as innocent and trusting as a puppy, and with Merry, who was graceful and handsome and thought himself not innocent at all? Their fortnight in the woods had been a delight of rough living, such as clears the head of a scholarly hobbit after too many hours spent indoors reading and translating, but the trip had also seen frequent and regular battles between Frodo's sense of responsibility towards his young companions and the tweenage heat in his blood, with Sam golden and ingenuous on the one side and Merry flirtatious and painfully young on the other.
Frodo helped Sam up the bank as Merry finished undressing and plunged back into the stream. "You'll get a chill," Frodo called over his shoulder as Sam straightened the heap of clothing into a neatly folded pile, then set his pack down beneath the fine old elm they'd seen from across the stream. "Don't be such an ancient aunt," Merry called back, kneeling and then ducking his head in the water. Frodo looked at his cousin as Merry sat down and leaned back, eyes closed, then thought that perhaps he had the right of it, and perhaps he just looked good that way, and stripped off his own clothes. Sam looked up from laying a fire-circle of stones to regard Frodo with surprise. "You ain't going back in, Mr. Frodo?"
"It's just a stream, Sam, I'll be fine," Frodo replied; Merry, of course, would not let that pass. "Oh, you'll be fine, but I'll catch my death?" he hooted. Frodo splashed him in response, and Merry didn't let that pass either. By the time they were done splashing half the stream's water at each other and had laughingly helped each other back up onto the bank, Sam had a small fire going; he fixed them both with a reproving look that nearly made Frodo giggle, it was so incongruously adorable on such a young face.
Merry giggled, and said, "Oh, Sam, I'm freezing!" and bounded over to wind himself around Sam, who looked at him with surprise as Frodo's heart caught in his throat. "You'll have to warm me," Merry continued, and kissed Sam, and all Frodo could do was watch.
After a moment, Frodo reflected, as he took a deep breath and willed the lump in his chest away, that he might have expected it; Sam had responded to Merry's subtler flirting with friendly bashfulness, so why wouldn't Merry be emboldened to be a bit more direct? Not letting himself try to decide which of them he envied more, Frodo turned away to dress; when he turned back, and found Merry still wound around Sam and Sam's arms hesitantly rising around Merry's bare back, he gave them a five-count, then cleared his throat till they broke it off and looked at him. Sam blushed apple red, unsurprisingly. Merry turned pink, but looked cheerful and defiant.
Frodo considered them for a moment. Perhaps Sam wasn't quite so young. At any rate, Merry was much closer to his age, and he looked to be handling himself, or, rather, handling Merry, quite well. "I'm going hunting," Frodo announced cheerfully, pocketed the sling and a sack, and set out.
Sam's soft voice stopped him for a moment. "Mr. Frodo?" Frodo turned his head enough for them to see his smile. "Have fun, Sam. Play gently, Merry." With that, he lost himself amidst the trees.
Merry was a bit annoyed when Sam started to disentangle himself to go after Frodo. and applied his mouth to Sam's ear till he could feel Sam's knees weakening. Apparently, Sam was made of fairly stern stuff; he worried, even with his voice gone husky and his breeches obviously tenting against Merry's thigh, "Is Mr. Frodo all right, do you think?"
"He's all right, Sam." Merry started sucking on the spot below Sam's ear, and Sam moaned, then took a breath and kept on with his maddening fretting. "But---"
"He's all right." Merry lifted his head to look at Sam, who was trying to regard him sternly despite being obviously charmed around the edges. "You just want into my breeks," Sam accused, his hands around Merry's waist nevertheless.
"Of course I do, Sam, you're my friend, and too handsome for Hobbiton by half." That earned him a bashful smile, and a turned head, which gave Merry renewed access to the spot he'd been exploring with his mouth. Sam's knees buckled, and Merry went down with him, quite happy to sprawl himself across his sturdy friend; Sam returned the kiss, nipping gently at Merry's lip, but then pushed Merry up with hands too strong to not be obeyed. "What's this about, Mr. Merry?"he asked, so soberly that Merry wondered if Sam actually just had something in his pocket. A wriggle to confirm what he thought he felt, with the delightful side effect of making Sam close his eyes and quiver and moan again, and Merry could grin cockily as he leaned closer. "Why, Sam, don't you want to play the tween with me? And how can you call me Mr. Merry when I'm kissing you?"
Sam shook his head, struggling not to smile and losing. "Yes, I do, but is that it? You ain't trying to make Mr. Frodo jealous?"
"Of course not," said Merry, as much to himself as to Sam. "Why would I want to make him cross with me? He's my cousin and I love him."
"And you want into his breeks, too, Mr. Merry." Sam crossed his arms between Merry's chest and his own. "Not but that I see what you see, there."
"Lawks, Sam, what must I say to convince you of my purely impure intent? Or to call me by my name?" Merry planted his elbows on either side of Sam, sighing dramatically to press himself against him from belly to toes. Master Samwise was proving to need as many reassurances as a lass, albeit in a rather different direction. "I think Frodo thinks we're better suited for each other, anyway. He certainly thinks I'm too young."
"Aye." Sam's face reflected Merry's frustration. "Me, too, Mr. Merry."
Merry sighed again, "Sam, call me Merry."
"It's not proper---"
"Would you call Frodo 'Mr. Frodo' if he were here atop you? What if he were tupping you?" Sam really looked delicious when he blushed, Merry thought, and grinned, and pressed his advantage, doing as he described while Sam blinked and warmed and trembled against him, growing steadily redder and steadily hotter. "What if he had your leg up over his hip, and his tongue along your ear, and his hand unlacing your breeks---"that drew a lovely gasp, and Sam's hand pressing harder in the small of Merry's back---"and his fingers in your hair? Would you call him 'Mr.' then?"
"Always," breathed Sam stubbornly, though his eyes were half-shut. "And you've a wicked mouth, Merry." That last came with an inviting smile and Sam's other hand in Merry's hair. "I'll show you how wicked," Merry replied with a grin, and licked Sam's nose, and kissed him again.
Merry caught his breath, and licked his hand again, and laughed for sheer exhilaration, twisting a bit to lay his head on Sam's shoulder. The moss beneath them was deep and cool, and the sunlight was beginning to slant through the trees, and Sam, who could be quite wicked himself when drawn out of his usual shyness, lay with one arm under Merry's shoulders. "Sam, you surprise me."
Sam's eyes flew open at that. "I do, Mr. Merry?"
Merry was never going to win the honorific argument, he thought. "Yes, you do. You're so shy and proper, and then, well, you're not."
Frustratingly, Sam sat up in distress instead of realizing Merry was trying to compliment him. "Was I too rough---"
"Sam! I meant that well! I like your strong hands. I bet Frodo would, too." Sam blushed mouthwateringly at that, till Merry thought he might be ready for another round soon, until he noticed the unhappiness on Sam's face. "Thank you, then, Merry," Sam mumbled, smiling painfully and looking down; he reached for his shirt, but Merry forestalled that with a hand on his arm. "Sam, what is it?"
"It's just that, well...he thinks you're too young, but you will be older one day. You'll be a tween in less than two years. But me, I'm his gardener lad. I'll never be a gentlehobbit. So we can't never..." Sam trailed off, knuckling a tear from one eye, and Merry put his arm around his shoulders, plucking a stray leaf from his hair. "Of course you will," he replied reassuringly. "You'll find a way. I know he wants you, very much."
Sam shook his head, as if he'd been through this particular conversation many times. "It ain't the wanting, Mr. Merry, nor the caring, we lack. I'm not like you, not on his level. Folks would think I was getting above myself, or he was taking advantage of me. My Gaffer might think so, and find other work for me."
Merry sighed. He'd set out to tumble Sam to cheer him (and, truth be told, enjoy himself), not to make Sam cry. "It shouldn't matter. We're all tweens anyway, and all friends."
"Mayhap it shouldn't, but it does." Sam scrubbed at his eyes with his knuckles again, then raised his head with a subject-changing smile. "And you'll come out in goosepimples, bare in the evening like this." Merry rolled his eyes again, but before he could say anything he heard, "He's right, you silly hobbit", as Frodo came back into the clearing with a sackful of fruit over his shoulder.
"Two aunts," said Merry with annoyance, getting to his feet; still, he patted Sam on the cheek as he stepped over him on his way to his clothes. Frodo seemed cheerful enough, though he seemed overly concerned with the contents of his sack as he set it down. "I didn't catch anything, but I found a fair amount of fruit, plums and elderberries, walnuts and beechnuts." Sam scrambled into his clothes, picked up a couple of flat rocks, and hurried over to help Frodo sort out the fruit. "Sir, did you find any mushrooms?" he asked as he started peeling and cracking the walnuts.
"Oh, yes, there are some fine large cepes and a hen-of-the-woods down in the bottom of the sack. They'd be good with a bit of meat; it's a pity I didn't catch anything."
"Shall I try, sir?" Sam held out the flat stones, and Frodo smiled at that, trading them for the slingshot. "That's a good idea, Sam."
As soon as Sam had vanished into the woods, Frodo glanced over at Merry. "How was?"
"You should have stayed and watched," said Merry saucily, but Frodo stayed grave. "Sam's eyes were red. Is he all right?"
Merry snorted. "If you're so concerned for how he is after a tumble you should tumble him yourself." Frodo went so pale at that that Merry's heart caught in his throat, and he rushed to put his arms around his cousin's shoulders. "Oh, Frodo, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. But...Sam and I were talking about you, him and you, or rather, why there isn't a him and you. Sam's lovely, and you both want each other. You really should, you know. You'd both be happier."
Frodo put down the knife and the rock to raise his hands to Merry's where they rested on his shoulders. "Merry, you darling thoughtless creature. Don't you know why we can't?"
"Sam said something about it not being proper, about what people would think. Sam talks a great deal about what is proper; he hardly stopped calling me 'Mister' even when I was kissing him."
Frodo laughed a little at that, but his hands were still tight on Merry's. "Sam was raised to think of what is proper. I'd like to care nothing for it, but sometimes I must. People would talk, after all."
"What does that matter? People thought I was too young to start playing the tween, but I'm fine, aren't I?"
"Yes you are, you precocious lad. Even though you are too young." Merry snorted again, and Frodo turned his head to grin at him. "This is different, though."
"Why?"
"Well, to begin with, because it wouldn't be just tween games to me."
"But---"
Merry abruptly found he'd finished Frodo's patience, as Frodo burst out of his arms to stand over him, arms crossed. "Meriadoc Brandybuck, one day you will love someone out of your peace, and then you will understand." Merry could only gape up at Frodo, who let out a sigh, seeming to deflate, and rubbed his hand over his brow. "Oh, Merry. And here I have two of you, you born into my hands, Sam the littlest boy of Bilbo's gardener, and neither of you at all little anymore."
Merry blinked at that, and began to understand. "Frodo," he said, not knowing what to say, and stood up himself, and after a moment took a step and took Frodo's hand in his. "Maybe, maybe this trip would have been easier if we'd brought Pip along."
Frodo smiled at that, then began to laugh, then threw his head back and roared with laughter as Merry joined him. "Oh, yes, Pippin as chaperone! That would have made it perfect! We'd all be too busy rescuing him from himself to even think of desire." Frodo shook his head and subsided, but was still smiling; he looked up at Merry, raising his hand gently to his chin. "Ah, Merry. You're eighteen. If you still want this---shh, let me finish---if you still want me in two years, you'll be a tween, and we can see."
Merry opened his mouth again, then thought better of it and swallowed the cry of two whole years! that threatened to emerge from his throat. "Oh, all right, I suppose. And Sam?"
Frodo rolled his eyes at that, despite his assumed gravity. "And Sam is your concern because? I thought you said you were just playing tweens."
"He's my friend, I want to see him happy. You're my cousin and I love you, and I want to see you happy. I haven't seen you look at anyone the way you look at Sam since I was fourteen and---"
Since Frodo's lover had left him to marry. "I remember, Merry, I remember." Frodo squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again, patting Merry's cheek. "Sam and I will just have to work it out between ourselves. Perhaps when he comes of age....perhaps." Merry boggled at waiting such fathomless lengths of time for anyone he desired, and Frodo grinned at his expression and snapped one of his braces. "Ow!" Merry cried and lunged after Frodo, who nimbly skipped away and took to his heels. Merry flung himself at Frodo's knees, wrapping his arms around them, and soon they were laughing and wrestling about on the grass.
"Sirs?" Merry looked up to find Sam standing over them, his expression somewhere between amused and envious, holding a brace of squirrels and some long sticks. Frodo kissed Merry on his brow and disentangled himself to get to his feet and take the squirrels from Sam. "Good hunting! And skewers, too. Sam, you think of everything, as usual." Sam blushed and started to demur, but Frodo went on, rather more seriously, "I don't know what I'd do without you, Sam."
Sam looked him in the face, and Merry almost felt something pass between them, over his head, in the lengthening sunlight. "That I know, sir," he responded quietly.
Then the moment was over, and Frodo was taking the squirrels over to the fire to skin them, and Merry got to his feet and clapped Sam on the back as they followed to start making themselves dinner.