Work Text:
What Sam wanted was wrong, so horribly wrong. The worst part was that he knew it, too. It wasn’t an innocent type or wrong, like a child’s accident or an amateurs blunder, no, it was just plain awful. Sinful, even. He let it wander, let it fester, let his feelings grow for his master, Frodo Baggins.
It started small. A thought of a kiss. An innocent peck on the lips. The innocent idea of queer love. But it began to evolve, began to grow with hunger. The mashing of lips against another. Clumsy hands unbuttoning vests. Hobbits pinning eachother to walls, it was simply Wrong.
As Sam worked, his thoughts wandered, and he prayed that Mr. Frodo was not secretly a mind reader. Sam dug his fingers through the cool soil and tried to push away thoughts of his fingers curling into someplace else. He was his master, his employer, it wasn’t right. He had to behave. Had to get his head on straight. No matter how nice it felt to dream, he had to pull his head out of the clouds and not think about Mister Frodo’s soft body, how in the hotter months his collar hangs dangerously low, so low you can see a his chest hair. So low you can almost see everything else, too. And his fair skin shines with sweat, pale and damp. Don’t think about how he could be nude in his cool bed. How he could be sleeping. Or even, doing…other such…
Sam plunges his grovel into the dirt and digs a hole. Work. You’re meant to work, Samwise. No time to picture beautiful men in nothing but bedsheets. Paid to work, not to fantasize.
When he gets home, however? That’s another story. And what is he thinking about anyway? Frodo all hot and sweaty, it’s almost winter. Silly hobbit. Sam thinks of one way two hobbits can get hot and sweaty in the winter and grits his teeth. This is awful. He can’t work when he’s worked up. He should tell Mister Frodo, say he’s come down with something, has to go home right away or else…
”Hard at work, Sam?” Mister Frodo leans out the window of his smial, smiling at Sam on the ground. He swallows hard under his gaze.
“Yes Suh-Sir.” Sam stammers, staring up at his rosy face. Staring at his big blue eyes, thinking about his big blue eyes wide open with pleasure. Oh Lord, he’s coming down with something alright.
“You sure look busy, Sam.” Frodos soft lips turned into a smile, he was teasing him, that fool. Sam looks to his empty wheelbarrow, which is supposed to be full of the wilted summer plants
”Oh, Mister Frodo, I’m right sorry, I’ll get on it right away—“ Sam sat up, feeling the cool breeze run through him.
“Maybe don’t be in such a rush, Samwise.” Frodo reached out to the hobbit, grazing his shoulder. “It’s getting late.”
Sam glanced at the sky. The sun was hardly going down, plenty of daylight left.
“Maybe…Maybe you’re right, Mister Frodo.” Sam felt as if his heart would burst out of his chest. The way Frodo was tracing his shoulder was making him come alight. Oh, please, Lord, don’t let Frodo be a mind reader.
“Come inside.” Frodo purred and withdrew. He shut the window after him, disappearing into the kitchen. Sam followed wordlessly. Anything he’d say, Sam would do. God, he’d do anything he asked.
And suddenly they’re together, Mister Frodo naked beside Samwise. His chest is heaving and he’s trying very hard not to shake under the gaze of Frodos brilliant blue eyes. What was he doing? He can’t be here. This isn’t right. This is wrong.
“Mister Frodo, I—“ Sam begins. Frodo brings a slender finger to his lips.
“No need for formalities, Mister Samwise.” Frodo sniggered. That was wrong. Sam felt his words spark in his groins. This was wrong. Mister Samwise was wrong, but it felt so right. “What is it?”
”…I’ve never done this.” Sam admits shyly. “And I’m mighty nervous, Mmm….Frodo.” His name plainly feels strange on his tongue. Sam quite likes calling him Mister Frodo. Feels all right and appropriate and right.
”Never done anything at all, Sam?” Frodo shifts so he’s on his elbows, and Sam can see the gentle curve of his spine. People are right, Frodo does have a strange elvish air about him. Sam’s tongue is fat in his mouth.
“Never even touched yourself?” Frodos words are hot in Sam’s ear, his breath tickling its pointed shell.
The hair on Sam’s neck raises. “Oh, no, Mister Frodo. I’ve done…that. A normal amount of times.” He squirms as Frodo giggles.
“My Sam, you’re adorable.” My Sam, where on middle earth did that come from? Or was he saying, My, Sam? His head is swimming, he can’t tell anymore.
“I’ve thought of you before.” He confesses, feeling wetness between his thighs as he twists uncomfortably. “Oh, Frodo, it’s so wrong.” He groaned, turning away as his face grew red. Frodo grabbed at his chest and kissed his ear.
“Not wrong at all. Perfectly natural.” Frodo reassured as he massaged his breast over his clothes. Frodo was so painfully beautiful, and Sam was so painfully clothed. He needed, he wanted, he blabbered on as Frodo groped at him.
“Oh, Mister Frodo, please,” He whimpered. “Thought of you so much, thought I was going mad. Just wanted you so bad.”
”My Sam, you have me now.” Frodo practically growled and he began to unbutton Sam’s shirt. He could see Frodo’s chest heave with each breath.
“No, I can’t, it’s…” Sam wanted nothing more then to reach out and touch Frodo the same way he was touching him then. “It’s…”
Frodo palmed Sam over his shorts.
“It’s what?”
”It’s too good.” Sam groaned, moving his hips to meet Frodos touch. Frodo held his hand there for a moment, letting Sam rut against his hand. The friction of his clothed groin was burning, yet so relieving. He whined when Frodo pulled away to unbutton his pants.
Sam tried to focus on something else but the heat swarming within him. He studied Frodos body, wanting to memorize every shape and curve. He had a rather slender waist, broken by a line of hair tracing down his groin. Frodo was pale all over, unlike Sam’s harsh tan lines around his arms and legs. He seemed to glitter almost, especially between the thighs, where he was wettest. Sam swallowed hard as Frodo thumbed around his waistband before pulling them off completely.
He wants him so badly. He wants to push him against the mattress and plunge his fingers into him, curl them tightly within him. He wants to see how he arches, how will he cry his name? Will he want it slow, or will he beg for it more, faster, as much as he can take?
Sam holds his breath when Frodo grazed his fingers over Sam’s thighs. God, he wants to rut into him like an animal, wants to see his chest bounce with every thrust, wants to see his face as he comes undone. Sam screws his eyes shut tight and doenst dare move. Frodo gently traced along his slit, and he inhaled sharply as if burned.
“Is that alright, Sam?” Frodo asked, but Sam couldn’t speak. He only nodded. Slowly, Frodo works, gently tracing along him. He spreads his folds apart carefully, as if any small movement could rip him to pieces. Sam can feel how easily his finger slides against his wetness, begs silently for Frodo to know how eager he is. He wants it. He needs it. Frodo plunges a finger within him and curls. Sam groans , grabbing the sheets around him tightly. Are his legs shaking?
”How wet you are for me, Sam.” Frodo murmurs, and he doenst think he’ll ever get tired of hearing his own name. “So eager for me to take you, hm?”
Sam gasps as Frodo trusts his finger in and out, steady.
“Oh, Mister— I mean, Ugh—“
”So worked up for me already! You really are a virgin, Sam. Never been touched this way before?”
”No!” Sam cries, turning his head to the side as Frodo plunges in and out. In and out. He can hardly take it.
“How exciting.” He can hear the smile on Frodos lips. “You’re so sensitive. Please, don’t be shy, now .”
Sam arches his back. This shouldn’t feel so good. It’s wrong.
“Please, Frodo. Please…” Sam begs. Frodo presses his thumb hard against Sam’s dick, tearing a groan from his chest. The hobbit works him in small circles, and Sam’s hands shoot to his face.
“Oh, Lor’! Oh, Mister, I’m not gonna make it—“ He panted, rolling his hips along with Frodo’s touch, trying to pull him in closer, ever closer, trying to fill every inch of himself with him. Needs Frodo buried deep within him, until he’s writing and spent.
Sam cries when Frodo pulls away.
The older hobbit tuts impatiently, caressing the sides of Sam’s trembling thighs.
“Frodo, please, please’lease…” Sam begs, his heavy forearm over his eyes. How pretty he must look, all wet and presentable for his master. His shirt, still losly hung to his shoulders, was clad with sweat. Shyly, he unblocked his eyes.
Frodo was over top of him, his arms straddling him. His face was rosy and his eyes were cloudy with want. If he werent already naked, Sam would think he was undressing him with his eyes.
“You look so lovely.” Frodo sat so his waist was straddling Sam’s. He took the others stomach into his hands and sighed. “So strong and sturdy. You work too hard.” Frodo traced his hands up his stomach. Across his chest. He kissed his breast. His nipple. His neck. Sam grinds against Frodo helplessly, craving friction.
“I want to try something you might’ve never even thought of before, Sam.” Frodo spoke between suckles on his neck.
“What…Is that, Frodo?” Sam anxiously traced along Frodos spine. His skin was smooth and soft.
Wordlessly, the hobbit peeled away and moved down. He threw Sams legs apart with a hunger that made him spark. Oh, no…
“Mist…” Sam couldn’t finish. Frodo pulled his thick thighs over his shoulders and Sam squealed.
“Oh, my!” Absolutely not…
”Exciting, isn’t it?” Frodo was smily madly now. “I want to taste you, Sam,”
”Oh, Frodo…”
”I want to lick every last drop of your slick,”
Sam’s stomach flips.
”Thats awful…”
”I want to make you come under my tongue.” Frodos breath ghosted along his slit. Every nerve in Sam was bubbling and screaming.
“I…I can’t believe… This is filthy!” Sam looked to Frodo with disbelief.
Frodo locked eyes with the hobbit as he leaned in for a lick. Sam shuddered.
“I know.” Frodo smiled, then plunged fully into Sam’s wet cunt. He lapped at his folds, his wet tongue dragging tortuously against his opening. He held Sam’s hips with an unexpected strength, digging his fingernails in so hard they left crescent moon marks. The hobbit under him squirmed wildly, gritting his teeth. Frodo suckled at his clit. This was right. This was so right. Sam clamps his thighs around Frodos head.
“Oh, my, Oh…” Sam sighs, over and over. He bucks into Frodos warm mouth, entangling his fingers into his ebony curls. His tongue plunges into him hungrily, brushing against an electric part within him. His spine seized into an arc. He could feel Frodo moan into him.
“God, mmhph,” He gasped as he rutted against Frodo’s tongue. “Mmmister…That’s good…” He scratched his masters scalp, trying to pull him even closer. He was so close, almost overflowing.
Frodo pinched Sam’s hips, digging his face into the younger. He ravenged him like a cat on a mouse, licking and panting and rubbing. He brought his fingers up and pressed them deep into Sam, working him in and out. Sam tensed with a sob, his walls trembling in his release. Frodo swallowed every drop of his lust.
Samwise was trembling on the mattress, beside Frodo, who was likewise panting. His face was bright red, covered in slick. He felt spent, and strangely a little guilty. The feeling didn’t last long, as he heard the quick sounds gasps and moans as Frodo fingered into himself. His heart skips in his chest.
“Is that good, Frodo?” Sam asks, a frog in his throat. Frodo must be so slick, so hot. Dripping wet. The hobbit next to him sings sweetly.
“Oh, Sam…” He breathes, grabbing the blonds hand eagerly. He takes it, planting a kiss across his knuckles
“You must feel…wonderful.” Is that the right thing to say? Frodo nestles his face between Sam’s neck, and the hot breath on his neck feels right.
“Sam…” Is all Frodo says. He says his name over and over, like a prayer, as his wet sounds fill his ears. Sam can hardly catch his breath. He wills his eyes to open and he watches Frodo stroke himself, watches him twist and moan, watches him as he kisses him so sweetly; watches as his thighs tremble as he comes.
Frodo collapses atop Sam, and he wraps his muscled arms around him. He runs his fingers through his hair, twirling the strands around his fingers. Frodo sighs happily atop him, nuzzling into his bare chest. He presses a kiss to Sam’s sternum. Maybe this will never happen again. Hell, maybe it wasn’t even real in the first place. No matter what, Sam thinks as he drifts off, I hope it happens again.