"Now how many times have I told you 'never throw something away when it can be used for something else'?" Rosie asked smugly, adjusting her grip on Frodo's wrists. Frodo's answer was slightly unintelligable, consisting mainly of a whimper that died somewhere behind his teeth and emerged instead as a hiss. "Hold still," Rosie commanded.
Sam lifted his head and licked his lips. "You know," he said thoughtfully, fingers playing idly in the dip of Frodo's navel, "jam is much sweeter after it's been cooked."
"M--m--marmalade!" Frodo blurted, once again descending into writhing incoherence.
"Not much difference in the taste-- mmm..." Sam mumbled against the smooth skin of Frodo's belly, and Rosie laughed breathlessly.
"You know, Frodo, I'm beginning to get a little suspicious of your motivations for constantly insisting on cooking marmalade roll . . . though I use the term 'cooking' very loosely. You think you would have learned by now - from the lingering smell of smoke in the kitchen if nothing else - that however long you cook it is *too* long."
"Yes," Frodo gasped, opening his eyes to look up at her, the squeeze them tight again as Sam's tongue swiped particularly low. "You think I would have."
~