"Famous for Its Weddings"
Chapter 5: Frodo?s wedding night
(NC-17, Slash, Frodo/Sam/Rose. No angst.)
By Princess of Geekland
Frodo?s smile was nervous but real. The room was dark and as his eyes adjusted, he located Rose and Sam standing near the bed. He caught the tail of a whisper -- whose, he couldn?t say -- Yes, of course he?s coming... Rose?s arms were around Sam?s neck, his arms around her waist.
As Frodo approached, they opened their arms to encircle him. Frodo felt that if he had not braced against them, he would have fallen to the floor in relief and anticipation. Sam kissed him again, without hurry, opening Frodo?s mouth with his lips, meeting his tongue. So gentle, his face level with Frodo?s, so familiar. He smelled of wine and a warmth like tomato vines in the sun. It was Sam, dear Sam, Sam all along. Of course.
Rosie?s lips were on his neck, on his collar bone, as she undid his top button, then the next, to make a downward path for her lips. As she bent to her task, Frodo felt Sam gently guiding his shoulders to the bed and he was grateful. Flat, flat was better. They lifted his legs onto the mattress, moved pillows.
Sam kept slowly kissing his face. Frodo?s lips, his eyelid, his lips, the underside of his jaw, his lips, his ear...Sam?s breathing was getting faster. Rosie had Frodo?s shirt open now and was retracing the path of her lips, picking up some spots she?d missed on the way down, while her hands were busy with the fastening of his breeches -- just as well; they were uncomfortably tight.
He slid further up the bed, so precisely aware of Sam?s lips, his stroking hands on Frodo?s chest, of Rosie bustling near, her skirts gathered under her arms, one shin against his hip bone. Then all other sensations were blotted out, as she carefully slid onto him, all the way down, the heart of the fire, of the sun. Her delicious weight in his lap. Unless she was bleeding, Rosie Gamgee never bothered with underclothes.
Frodo opened his eyes in sheer astonishment, just in time to see Sam help Rosie loosen the bodice of her dress, and strip it and the petticoats off over her head. Sam was struggling out of his own shirt, eyes closed, leaning over to kiss and suck his wife?s breasts as she began to move against Frodo, who moaned, overcome, gone. He flailed a hand up to find Sam?s face. She sat on him, slow and heavy, knees on either side of Frodo?s stomach, feet tucking under his thighs. So tight, so deep.
She cradled Sam?s head with both her arms. He leaned across them, supported on one arm, the other around her, his lips against her nipple. Rocking, rocking, rocking...
She was moaning now, too, moaning and screaming and screaming. She fell, shuddering, across Frodo, sobbing as the climax crashed over first her, then him. He put his arms around her, felt hot tears slide down his temples. She lay on him, legs folded flat against his sides, their stomachs together. Sam was lying on his side, pressed against them both, his arm around them both, kissing Frodo, kissing Rosie. She was still sobbing, but not as wildly.
"Don?t worry, Frodo, the lasses always do that when it?s really, really good," Sam said in a rather breathless voice. He seemed to notice suddenly that he still had his breeches on, and tore them off in one movement, throwing them into the darkness.
At his words, Rosie laughed as she cried, raising up to support herself against Frodo?s chest and, still laughing, reached her free hand over to slap Sam as hard as she could. He ducked expertly, as if he had done this before. Frodo, chuckling, stroked her breasts, lifted his head to kiss. It had been so long, so long.... But no memory was as sweet as this, a tenth as sweet or as important. Sam. Rosie. Sam. He felt hollow. His mouth was dry.
Frodo sighed as he was slidingly released from her hot center, and helped as Sam pulled Rosie towards him, turned her. She lay on her back between them now, and it was Sam?s turn to ease across her thighs, parting them with his knee, one hand helping him slide in. He wrapped an arm around Frodo?s neck as he sank toward the bed on top of her, and Frodo sank, too, pressed against them both as the rocking began again. Sam?s hand moved down Frodo?s side, across his hip, and Frodo eased apart from the lovers just a bit, so that Sam?s hand could find its way into the space between and curl around the flesh now hard again. Frodo was surprised at himself. Maybe he wasn?t too old for this.
All eyes closed, hot skin seemed to fuse and melt. Sam thrust slowly into Rosie, over and over. She was wet, so wet -- partly hers and partly Frodo?s. Rosie opened her eyes to see them kissing, their heads just above hers. She slid a finger into their kiss, kept her eyes open as Sam began to push harder, faster, to growl deep in his throat. Soon she had to close her eyes, but Frodo watched for her.
Sam?s mood changed and he slowed, pulled away, wordlessly pressed on her thigh so that she would roll over. She did, knowing immediately what he had in mind, and she added an idea of her own. He reluctantly released Frodo as Rosie, now on hands and knees, moved back against Sam, capturing him again between her thighs. She shifted, and Sam moved with her, so that her face brushed Frodo?s stomach. Frodo rolled on to his back, let his bent legs part as her face dropped lower, and they were all moving together again -- Sam in Rosie, Frodo in Rosie?s mouth. Someone was moaning.
Skin gently slapped. Sam shifted his weight back and held Rosie?s ass so tightly, found and gripped Frodo?s knee with his other hand. Frodo?s spine arched as his hands tangled in Rosie?s hair. He cried out. Skin slapping harder now, faster.
Soon, Sam?s voice caught, and he held his breath for what seemed like an impossibly long time, then silently sank against Rosie?s back. She was crying again, shuddering down onto Frodo, careful not to crush him with both their weight. She heard Frodo moaning, felt his hands slide across her breasts.
Frodo, on his back with the two of them sprawled across him, said, "I can?t believe you two have been holding out on me like this. How dare you." They all began to laugh, or maybe they were crying. Frodo caught the scent of Sam?s sharp sweat, the deep spicy smell of Rosie, and tasted his own tears. His thighs were sticky where they lay pinned under hers.
The blessed night would never end. They were making up for lost time, wiping out lost years, old pain, erasing old curses with their lips, tongues, fingers, folds of skin, thighs, in pairs, in three, one watching, one sleeping. Sometimes with the crash of the climax like a great wave. Sometimes a long, long ebb tide, splashing and rippling. Laughing. Collapsing.
The light of dawn was coming through the diamond paned window before they were all asleep at the same time. In the morning, much later, Frodo couldn?t remember if he?d had a single dream.
***
When Sam woke, he was hungry. Extremely hungry. Nothing else would have driven him out of the bed, away from the beautiful heat and scent. Drawing a deep breath, stretching, he yawned and fumbled into the kitchen, finding a heel of bread and some strawberries.
Oh, no -- the cows, he thought, and so, so reluctantly, grabbed some clothes and rushed down the lane. The neighbors would guess exactly why the new bridegroom had so sadly abused the cows this morning, and skewer him with their teasing. He smiled. At least, they would think they guessed why.
Left behind in the bed, Rosie and Frodo vaguely heard him go. Later, they, too, woke hungry, and lazed naked into the kitchen to eat whatever they could find, and wait for him. Rosie managed to get organized enough to put the kettle in the banked coals. Eventually they could have some tea....
They didn?t say much, but they gazed at each other, noting lines, curves, reviewing the feel of fingers, of a spot on the neck. They found they had to touch, couldn?t stay apart. Taking their cheese and the rest of the strawberries back to bed, they spooned into the covers, content.
"I feel as if that was my wedding night, Rosie," Frodo said, kissing her ear as he pressed against her back.
She smiled. "Well, I?m glad you didn?t insist on waiting for a big fancy party. Or meeting the mother of the bride!"
She craned her neck around to kiss him. "I told Sam there was plenty enough of him to go around, and I was right, wasn?t I, Frodo?"
"Master Frodo," he growled, thinking of something he had forgotten to do last night...How could he have overlooked this? He had a fleeting moment of regret that they wouldn?t be able to wait for Sam. Oh, well. Sam would catch up.
***
They were dozing again when they heard whistling. Rosie had opened the window to throw out the strawberry tops, then had brushed a few tidbits of cheese off the bed and climbed back in beside Frodo. The sound of bees came in with the breeze.
When they heard the whistled tune, bright as the morning, Frodo stirred, lingered to hug Rosie once more, then rolled out of bed. He briefly considered finding his trousers, and found the idea silly. Rosie behind him, Frodo went down the hall to meet Sam in the kitchen. Sam turned from putting down the milk bucket and a basket to find the two of them embracing him, both naked. He burst out laughing, the only difficult decision being who to kiss first.
"Well, the cows were certainly upset with me," he spoke into Frodo?s hair, "and then that Widow Rumble had to tease me unmercifully about how a new bridegroom can be counted on to neglect his morning chores." This sentence against Rosie?s neck. "The only good part about that was, she gave us some bread and rolls from her baking this morning. And I got a cup of tea, something sorely missed." Sam was a creature of habit and counted on his tea first thing.
"How nice -- I?m still starving," Frodo said, hefting the basket on to the table and opening the napkins that covered it. "We have unaccountably forgotten to cook breakfast. It?s sliding around here -- a sad state of affairs." Sam was trying to pour some tea but he found himself continually interrupted. He was thirsty for the hot drink, but his hands wanted to stroke Rosie?s cheek, her hip, to see if they remembered the curve of Frodo?s neck, the shape of his lips. Pouring out the tea took about five times longer than it should have, but after only half a cup, his mouth full of rolls, Sam found himself being firmly escorted back to bed. Frodo had the basket in one hand, Sam by the other.
By some unspoken plan that was clear to Frodo and Rosie the moment their eyes met, they launched an assault upon the doomed Sam. Rose pushed him backward onto the bed. She and Frodo worked together to take off his clothes, stroking, kissing, petting. The morning light in the room was bluish white. Frodo, seized by a sudden smile, closed the window.
He turned back to the bed to find Rosie kneeling at Sam?s shoulder, kissing him. He laid a warm hand on Sam?s ankle and slowly drew both hands up Sam?s legs as he climbed onto the bed. Frodo knew that Sam wouldn?t mind the abruptness of his idea at all. Sam?s warm softness was soon stiffening, climbing further into Frodo?s mouth all by itself. Sam moaned. Frodo closed his eyes ... his lover smelled of hay and the mingled richness of last night. Frodo rolled to his side, bringing Sam with him, wrapping his legs around Sam?s legs, his hands firmly around Sam?s ass, as his mouth and tongue explored all the edges and folds and corners of Sam, as this skin of Sam?s had explored Rosie?s sweetness in the night.
Sam was panting and still, the muscles of his ass clenching under Frodo?s hands as he strained into Frodo?s mouth, forcing himself not to thrust wildly. It occurred to Frodo that he heard not a rustle from Rosie, and he opened his eyes to see where she was. She was sitting cross-legged, watching intently, her hands busy in her own lap. Rosie saw a smile curve his lips even as he continued to lick and suck. After another minute he pulled away, beckoning, still smiling wickedly.
"Take over," he whispered.
Sam opened his eyes to see the change of partners, stunned by the latest way he had encountered Frodo?s beautiful, mobile mouth. Frodo was rummaging in the basket, sure that if Widow Rumble had sent bread and rolls she would not have left out the....yes, oh good.
He climbed back in bed behind them, one hand carefully cupping something. He moved to spoon in against Sam, leaning on one elbow, his mouth near Sam?s ear. Rosie was unhurriedly pursuing her assignment in Sam?s lap.
"Why should Rosie have all the fun? It?s not fair. I think you?ll agree she shouldn?t keep this part for herself..." Using the butter he had found to smooth the way, he gently pushed against Sam, finding the opening as Sam went limp in every corner of his body--except one.
Both were moaning as Frodo slid slowly in. Rosie discovered Sam could get even harder, harder than she had ever felt him. She carefully slowed her attentions, not wanting this to end too soon. Keeping a hand on Sam, she sat up to watch their faces as the slow thrusting began.
Frodo?s head was thrown back, his eyes closed, dark patches of passion like bruises rising under the skin of his eyelids and under his eyes -- a beautiful change from the dark circles of weariness Rosie was more accustomed to. She leaned across her husband to kiss Frodo?s open mouth. Her stomach against Sam?s chest, she held the kiss, offered Frodo her tongue, feeling against her body the rhythm that Frodo was creating for Sam.
Then Sam...her mouth met his, and his lips were slack as he moaned. His focus was overwhelmingly deep inside himself. He limply stroked a hand across her cheek, caught at her curls, let the hand fall. Rosie smiled and watched him, the sweat standing on his forehead, his cheekbone, his arms hugging Frodo?s around his chest. She felt weak, felt herself getting wet. They were so beautiful, so beautiful together -- Frodo?s pale skin against Sam?s outdoor tan, the muscles rippling in their arms and shoulders, the tense line of Sam?s neck. Her eyes drank them in, her hand gently keeping Sam company as Frodo and he thrust together slowly, now faster, faster.....
The climax was coming now, she could tell, both of them panting, moving with new urgency, growling.
She wanted to be part of it, and slid down to hold them both close, her arms stretching around Sam to touch Frodo, her mouth on Sam once more as the explosions began.
It was a good thing Frodo had closed the window.
.....Rosie wiped herself with the sheet and drew it across the momentarily unconscious lovers, her whole body shaking with giggles and still-building arousal....She remembered something, and slid out of bed to disappear down the hall. In a few minutes she returned with mugs of steaming tea.
"I swear, you two are so useless," she complained. "I bring the wine, I bring the blanket, I bring the pipes, I bring the tea. I wonder you didn?t send me out for the butter, Frodo."
He sighed and reached for the mug and the tea towel she offered him. "You?re right, my dear. We don?t deserve you. We are dead weight, helpless lunks. Dull as sleeping cows."
Sam, moving extremely slowly, rolled onto his stomach and piled some pillows for Frodo, who was leaning back to wipe himself off. Propping his head against Frodo, Sam accepted a mug from Rosie. She snuggled in against him and pulled up the sheet.
"Moon and stars, lass, you never told me it was like that," Sam said after a sip of tea.
"Well," Rosie drawled, "Maybe not quite like that. But close enough. And we lasses have to have some secrets from you gentlemen; can?t let you know all you?re missing, now, can we?"
They lay there, basking, until Frodo had finished his cup of tea and said, "Rosie, I?ve just got to try to make it up to you. Please accept some recompense for all your slaving for us." His voice shook with laughter.
Idly wondering what he was up to, and giggling at the sudden energy in the normally languid and sad Master of Bag End, Rosie and Sam watched him carefully arrange some pillows.
He made a grand show of walking up to Rosie?s side of the bed and giving her his best "calling on the quality" bow. She laid her hand in his, still giggling, and he assisted her in lying back gently in the nest of pillows he had created. She -- the tingling beginning in her stomach as she took in exactly what Frodo was going to do -- noted Frodo had made sure Sam would have a lovely view.
She lay her head back and sighed as Frodo?s kisses began above her navel and continued downward, past the triangle of curling hair, his fingers gently seeking, stroking, now two of them disappearing, as his lips and tongue found the places that made Rosie pant and moan and clutch the air.
Sam, watching them, sighed in delight, and thought it was a indeed a good thing that someone had closed the window.
~
Pretty Good Year