This is what happens when a slashfic writer has an incredibly boring extra-long day at work, topped off with an extended copy job, and especially after she has recently watched a movie featuring Sean Astin (Where The Day Takes You) during which she made many irreverent and downright saucy comments to her poor beleaguered SO concerning Mr. Astin's pouty lips and uses to which they might be put.
Like many fans, I have my OTP, to whom I am devoted. I'm simply not monogamous about it. ;)
Title: Warm Welcome
Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: No redeeming features whatsoever. Probably needs to be edited.
Standing before the broad green front door of Bag End, Frodo reached out for the doorknob, but it opened before he touched it; Sam stood smiling in the doorway, warm light in his hair. "Welcome home, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, pulling the door fully open so Frodo could enter. "It's good to see you back."
"Oh, Sam." Frodo wasn't sure what was warmer, his face or his heart. "I was only at Budgeford a fortnight."
"Even so," Sam replied, pulling Frodo's pack off his shoulders with one hand and shutting the door with the other, "it ain't the same here without you, sir."
The door thumped shut. Frodo took a deep breath, feeling the polished wood of Bag End's floors beneath his feet, looking at Sam's fair hair and ruddy face framed by the green door, and let it the breath go, and lunged. Sam caught Frodo with both arms, saving nothing to keep himself from being shoved against the door as Frodo kissed him with the force of two weeks' longing, with all they might only let out when alone behind Bag End's closed door.
Frodo wound his arms around Sam's waist as he kissed him, tasting apples and pipeweed and ale and Sam; Sam stroked his hands up Frodo's back to his head, fingers combing through Frodo's hair before they cupped his cheeks in rough, welcome warmth. "Oh, yes," Frodo breathed over Sam's lips, so close he could feel them tremble, feel Sam's lashes brush his cheek. "I did miss you Sam. I missed you indeed."
Sam smiled, and pulled Frodo in for another kiss before replying. "And what did you miss, sir, of your Samwise, off at a great hall with your friend Mr. Freddy and his many stout relations?"
"Everything, Sam." Frodo unwound one arm to lift his hand to Sam's hair, and wound the other one tighter to make up for it. "Your hair with the sunlight in it. Your eyes, wide and deep." Frodo brushed his fingertips over Sam's eyelids, and those eyes opened slowly, dark and warm so that Frodo nearly fell into them; he swallowed, and remembered his words, and went on. "Your nose, with its freckles." Frodo's fingers skimmed over Sam's face, tracing the shape of his lips, their fullness. "Your lips, oh---" whatever else Frodo was going to say was lost when Sam closed those lips round two of Frodo's fingers, and twined his tongue round them so that Frodo's knees went to jelly and a slightly higher part went hard indeed.
Sam released Frodo's fingers, flushing a little, smiling a little more, and kissed the palm of that hand. "My lips, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, but kissed Frodo before he could reply; Frodo sighed with pleasure, then gave a muffled little shout when Sam flipped them round so that Frodo was the one pressed to the door. Sam kissed a tingling path to Frodo's collarbone, his fingers skating lower and undoing buttons as they went.
As Frodo tangled his fingers in sunny hair; Sam's fingers came to an end of one set of buttons and swiftly found another, as Sam's warm damp mouth left a trail of pink marks where the buttons had been; from beneath the haze of pleasure Frodo realized, and gasped, and willed the door to hold him up. "Here, Sam?"
"Here, Mr. Frodo." Sam was on his knees now, and his eyes twinkled up at Frodo as his fingers worked. "I did miss you. Something fierce." Then Sam bent his bead again, done with talking, and Frodo could only moan.