Title: Stars
Author: Janette Le Fay
Pairing: rosiesamfrodo (yay!)
Disclaimer: Hobbits Tolkien's. Indeedy.
NB: It is plotless, I warn thee.
Sam's hand traced the angle of his hip so gently, gently, soft golden warmth on the white skin like a benediction. Slowly, slowly; candle light dancing in flickers of yellow nothingness like fairies' ghosts, playing in the shadows of Frodo's ribcage for a moment and then departing to leave only their laughter behind. Frodo moved languorously, twisting ever so slightly into the touch, and there were soft stroking fingers following the lines of his face as he tipped back his head, cupping the spasmodic movements in a strong palm.
And, oh, even as he moved away from Sam half-unconsciously she was there behind him, Rosie, eyes soft and dark and heated as she pressed cool lips to his temple. One hand traced the line of Sam's arm, his shoulder, the nape of his neck; the other steadied Frodo's face, brushing back curls that clung damply to his forehead, lightly chasing a chiaroscuro of shadow to brush and tangle her fingers with Sam's.
No words now, no words before; somebody's mouth like living fire on Frodo's, sweet and sure, and through the haze of warmth he could not even begin to calculate whose mouth it was because it didn't matter any more. Hands; his own dancing uncertainly across Sam's shoulder, down his arm, spanning Rosie's wrist encountered in the gap that loomed between their bodies.
Sometime, never, always; a confused jumble of half-thoughts trickled teasingly in and out of Frodo's brain like stars half-seen through a gap in the curtains as he turned his head to breathe, the air cooling his damp face as suddenly as water. Somebody caught his hand and the fingers were Sam's, but the voice was Rosie's, soft and gasping and wordless in the quiet filled only by incoherent thought.
He felt softness on the scars now, felt it because his eyes were shut against the blinding rush of starfire; felt Sam's curls threaded across the gap where his finger once was and Rosie's breath, warm and tinged with a heated dampness, on his collarbone.
Not far now, not far; there were beams of light even behind his eyes so that he couldn't shut them out any more than he could close his ears to Sam's cry or stem the helpless juddering that wracked him like an enchantment. He could hear his own heart thudding along with theirs, propelling the sparks coursing fiercely through his very blood with an intensity born of something close to fear.
The air was very cool on their hot skin afterwards, and they lay there for long moments listening to each other's breath in the darkness of the quiet room.
~
Pretty Good Year