Title: Silk and Candlelight
Author: Princess of Geekland
mycard811@yahoo.com
NC 17, het, slash, threesome
R/S/F
PWP
Summary: It's May 1, 1420; Sam and Rose's wedding night, as they move into Bag End with Frodo. Sequel to "Gather Ye Roses."
Disclaimer: Lobelia Sackville Baggins put it best: If they were mine, I'd never leave the house. I get nothing for this.
A/N: Because Serai asked me so very nicely, and then was nice enough to beta. And because of Blindfold, by Singe.
Singe note: Gee, I wonder what it's about?
Sam and Rose came in the front door of Bag End after bidding farewell to her parents at the gate. "It was a lovely day, my dears."
"Take good care of my girl, now, Samwise." It was past tea time, but tea time had blended in to the seemingly endless wedding feast, with its many delicious dishes, dancing and wine.
They should have been tired, but they weren't. They had a great deal to look forward to.
As they came in, they heard Frodo at the back door, sending off the girls who had served and cleared and washed, and they joined him in the spotless kitchen, spotless even by Sam's standards.
"Help me with this, would you, please?" Sam said to no one in particular. He had loosened the ties at the sides of his mail shirt, but needed help getting the heavy thing over his head. Rose and Frodo both moved toward him at the same time, bumping into each other. They laughed, and Rose hung back.
"I imagine you've had more experience with those things than I, Frodo."
"Let's hope, shall we, that this is the only kind of occasion for wearing mail shirts from now on," Frodo said, helping get the mailshirt over Sam's head. Sam pulled his arms out, and Frodo hung the jingling heirloom on one of the kitchen chairs.
Rose was pulling at her wilting garland of white roses, in search of the last pin that would release it from her curls. Sam helped her, then combed her hair with his fingers. Frodo watched them, smiling.
"Now get, you two. Can't I keep you out of the kitchen for once? It's your wedding day!"
He grabbed a damp dishtowel, snapped it at Rose's bottom, then at Sam. Laughing, Sam caught it in mid-snap and a sharp tug-of-war ensued, to giggles all around. It ended with Frodo being hauled hand-over-hand into Sam's arms. Meeting Rose's laughing eyes over Frodo's shoulder, Sam tilted his head and kissed Frodo firmly and briefly. They clung together, still laughing. Rose caught her breath. "Now that's what I've been waiting to see," she said, her voice husky.
"Oh, is it, now?" Frodo turned to her, still caught in Sam's embrace. Her eyes drank them in: tousled, laughing, Frodo with two spots of pink high on his cheeks, Sam's eyes, so knowing and soft.
"Sam," Rose breathed, her voice even lower, "kiss him again."
She heard Sam's deep chuckle as he pivoted to put them in profile to her. He slid one hand up to cradle Frodo's jaw, his fingers twined in the dark hair and resting on either side of Frodo's ear. Frodo glanced at Rose, closed his eyes, tightened his arms around Sam.
She was breathless.
Sam closed his eyes and proceeded to thoroughly kiss Frodo, parting his lips just a bit, gently tasting Frodo's waiting mouth. Frodo kissed him back, his fingers tightening on Sam's shoulders.
Rose had to put out a hand to the table edge to steady herself. A melting feeling crept up her body.
Sam, eyes still closed, his lips curved in a tiny smile, deepened the kiss, opening his mouth, Frodo matching it. Rose felt her face flush as she watched Frodo's head fall back a bit, his mouth locked to Sam's. She could see the pulse beat just under his jaw. Sam slid his hand down to rest on the small of Frodo's back, pressing him even closer. She could see his neck muscles bunch and work and could only imagine what he was doing with his tongue. Rosie's hand fluttered to her breast; Sam had never kissed her quite like this!
Someone moaned; it sounded like Sam but she couldn't be sure.
The deep kiss broke, finally, punctuated by several smaller ones. Frodo opened his eyes, looked at Sam with a kind of wonder, Rose thought. Then Frodo looked at her, his eyes dreamy and soft and smiling. Sam was grinning at her, his chin up. Well, how was that? his gaze seemed to ask.
"Oh, lads," Rosie breathed. She took several hesitating steps toward them, and Sam reached out his hand to her shoulder as she rested trembling fingers on Frodo's cheek as his smile widened.
He started to speak, cleared his throat. Sam's arm was still around him. "Don't you two have some business in the bedroom this evening?" he asked, wrapping an arm around Rose's shoulders.
"Only if you're joining us," Sam answered.
Rose felt a dazzling bolt leap through her at his words. They were both so close. She smelled tobacco and soap and sweat and the tomato-vine scent that was Sam.
"I....I...." Clearly, Frodo didn't know what to do. Rose felt a moment of giggling pity for him -- indeed, he hadn't stood a chance! She rocked closer and kissed his mouth, just once, gently, slowly.
"Just come with us, then, love," she said. And added in a whisper: "At least you can watch."
She heard Sam's breathing catch, felt his shoulder muscles tighten under her hand. She took his hand, and Frodo's and began pulling them down the hall.
***
In the master bedroom, Frodo watched as Sam began to light the candles. He was standing, awkward, by the door, but Rose drew him down to sit on the bed beside her. Her arm went around his waist. The same sense of stunned amazement was on him as on that day he had climbed over the fence to find her. The bud of memory and bliss that had bloomed in him that day was still there, deep inside. He felt like a boat caught in Sarn Gebir, but without any sense of danger. The current was flowing, taking him where it would. He was in their hands, but they were hands of love. He sighed. Rose's fingers stroked his back as they both watched Sam.
Sam finished lighting the candles and turned, measuring the room with his eyes, the distance from the bed. He moved a rush-seat, ladder-back armchair from near the door to nearer the bed, and looked quizzically at Frodo.
"Here, or with us, Frodo?" Suppressed laughter brightened his voice. Frodo could tell Sam was loving this.
Still with that swept-downstream feeling, which he suspected would only get worse, Frodo gratefully moved to the chair. The others moved to either side of him, bending down to nuzzle his neck, caress his chest through the weskit and blouse, press brief kisses to his lips. He leaned his head back against the ladders of the chair.
Rose and Sam left off their attentions and stood in front of him, and Rose unbuttoned Sam's white shirt. It was another treasure, another memento of their days in Gondor, woven from some thread unknown in the Shire, and the fabric was light and smooth. Silk, their servants had called it -- rare and precious even in the South kingdom.
Rose seemed to be taking a professional interest in the fabric and the round, pearl-like buttons, each slow move she made gentle and smooth. Sam's eyes drifted closed as she lingeringly slid the full sleeves from his arms, pressing a kiss to his neck. She folded the shirt untidily in half and tossed it to Frodo, who brought it to his face, feeling the fabric like a caress, and burying his nose in the scent of Sam.
He watched Rose enjoying Sam's skin, apparently in no hurry to investigate the buttons of the forest green, velvet breeches, which Frodo could see were already swelling from her touches on his chest. Frodo could see Sam was breathing deeply. Rose ran her hands lightly over the golden skin, lingering over his nipples, bending to kiss. Then kneeling, her arms around him, as she kissed her way down the smooth track of hair toward his navel. Sam swayed, re-planted his feet as she turned her head to the side and pressed against his groin, her ear against the velvet swelling, her arms around his buttocks. He steadied himself with hands on her shoulders and when his eyelids slowly lifted, he was looking straight at Frodo. Both their lips parted, and Frodo felt the warmth in his throat, his face flushing. It was as if another kiss hung in the candlelit air between them.
Rose sighed and moved slowly, standing again, sliding against Sam's skin, kissed him, and brought up her hands to loosen the ladder of drawstrings that held her bodice closed. She found one of Sam's hands, brought it up to remind him to help her and he did, breaking his smoldering glance with Frodo to untie and to loosen.
Now he was helping her pull the soft creamy linen over her head, pull down the crisp petticoats, leaving her in the embroidered shift that did not quite reach her knees. He stepped away to drape the beautiful dress over another chair, and it was Rose's turn to look at Frodo.
She was beautiful, he thought, standing there so straight and so bold, simply waiting. His eyes lingered on her lips, traced the curve of her neck, her collar bone, her bare shoulder, the curve of a breast. Then Sam was near again, sliding a hand along her jaw, under her ear, bringing her face up to his and kissing her.
Frodo watched as Rose had watched them in the kitchen, marveling at this new view of Sam. Frodo knew those lips, that sweet tongue not by sight but by taste, and he felt each kiss as if Sam were giving it to him. At the same time he found it almost unbearably arousing to watch Sam kissing his new wife, to watch Rose's body melt against him as Sam's other hand strayed down to cup one breast through the fabric, then loosen the drawstring at her back and gently push the shift aside and down as he continued to kiss her. She was whimpering now, barely audible to Frodo, as Sam's lips moved from her mouth to her jaw to her neck, to the soft curves, pink nipples. He was pushing her shift from her shoulders and she pulled first one arm, then the other out of the garment and gripped Sam's bare shoulders. He lingeringly kissed one breast, moved to the other.
Frodo found his own hands tight on the arms of the chair, almost forgetting to blink as he breathed hard and watched them.
Sam stood up, then, and it was golden skin on white from their waists upward, and, arms around her, he moved against her like a cat stretching as he kissed her mouth even more insistently and glided his hands up and down her back, lingering over the curve of her soft hips and buttocks.
He rested his chin on Roses' shoulder then, still pressing his upper body against her, as he reached down to unbutton his breeches. Rose helped him push them down, and he stepped out of them, expensive velvet forgotten in a crumple on the floor as she backed toward the bed and he followed, still pressing close.
She was on her back then, and Sam was on his side, facing Frodo across her, as she and Sam together pulled her shift the rest of the way off.
Sam caught his breath at the sight of her exposed body, and Frodo did, too -- the hidden white skin, her tanned arms and neck, the soft, curling triangle of hair. Sam rested his hand on it, pressing with the heel, and Rose and gasped and moaned and arched up into his touch, her eyes closed.
A moan escaped Frodo, too, and he found his hand pressing to his own crotch, so hard already.
Sam stroked her thighs, began to gently explore the warm wetness between her legs as he bent to kiss her face, and she moaned again. Watching them, Frodo was pinned on a sharp point of desire, wanting to stretch out the delicious arousal, fearing that he wouldn't last himself. Sam was entirely engrossed in Rose, touching her as he kissed her neck and her breasts, leaning on one elbow as he pressed the length of his body against her side.
They were staring into each other's eyes, now, Frodo saw.
"Oh, Sam," Rosie said. "See if you can...If I'm ready." She wrapped her arms around his neck, her face hidden from Frodo but her words clear. "You're the first, you know."
Sam may have known that already, but Frodo had not, and he closed his eyes for a moment. She had waited for Sam, for him -- in every way. How much she, how much both of them, were choosing to share with him. It was too much.
If Sam had answered her, Frodo had missed it, lost for a moment in his own thoughts, but now Sam was kissing her softly, looking into her eyes, watching for signs of pain or hesitation as he slid a finger into her, two fingers, further. His thumb stayed buried in her curls, giving her something to press against, and press she did, moaning.
"There, lass, that's good," Sam breathed.
Another moan escaped from Frodo and the tide had him then, the current was sweeping him inexorably downstream. The distance between himself and the lovers was intolerable. The only thing he could find to ease it was to give up entirely, to slide his hand into his own damp breeches, as Sam kept kissing her face and neck as his careful fingers slid deep, stroking into Rose. Frodo curled his own hand around himself and knew he was too near the edge to pull back. He touched the shaft, wiggling halfway out of his breeches, curled his hand around the head to stroke. So beautiful, so close...
He wanted to keep his eyes open, did try to, as his exhaled breaths turned to gasps, as the candle flames at the edge of his vision seemed to melt, obscuring his view of the lovers with a golden haze. His gasps turned to moans and he heard them as if disconnected from his own throat, his own voice, even his thoughts as they drifted somewhere in the blurry golden haze that was all his vision. Everything that was Frodo had converged on the taut, firm warmth gripped in his hand. He shuddered, spurted, and the golden mist cleared just enough to show him Sam and Rose, making one dim silhouette on the bed. He felt the hard slats of the chair against his head and his back, his sticky hand. And as his vision cleared a bit more, he saw them both watching him, their cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes bright.
"Oh, Frodo," Sam said.
Rose reached out a hand to Frodo and they were all moving, changing places. Frodo found himself standing, reaching for Rose's hand, and Sam leaned over to help Frodo out of his breeches entirely, as Rose sat up and scooted back.
Frodo settled on his side on the bed, closest to the door, his back to the chair, as Sam lay down on his back beside him, pulling Rose toward him.
"Here, love," Sam said to her, "this way." He was gently pulling and urging her atop him and she settled across him, sitting up, her knee not quite touching Frodo. "This way you can take it in easy, like -- you can stop if it hurts you."
She was looking down, caressing his length, their hair curling together as she sat atop him, and Frodo saw her raise herself until she was kneeling, eyes closed. Sam rested his hands on her thighs, waiting, and watching her. She leaned on Sam's shoulder with one hand and eased him into her with the other, and Frodo found he was holding his breath, watching first her face, then Sam's, as the lovers closed their eyes, all focus on those few square inches of hot, trembling skin.
"Sam, my Sam," Rose murmured.
Frodo's hand seemed to move by itself to cup her breast, and she opened her eyes and smiled at him, moving slowly, slowly, finding Sam's way in.
Sam moved one arm to Frodo's back, urged him closer, and he snuggled in, his head on Sam's shoulder, watching Rose, caressing her. Her eyes were closed again, both her hands on Sam's chest now and she bit her lip and opened her eyes.
"I think it's going to hurt a bit no matter what we do," she said to both of them, "So..."
She abruptly sank with all her weight onto Sam's hips and he moaned, she moaned and Frodo watched them rocking, his hand now gripping Rose's arm.
She lowered her torso to Sam's after a moment, turning her head away so that Frodo's face was in her curls, and he felt more than saw the rhythm they created, Rose doing most of the thrusting, her hips coming up and down, Sam quieter under her. Sam's arm was tight around Frodo. Frodo nestled closer.
"Hard to hang on, isn't it, Sam," he murmured, sweet revenge, and then Sam was arching into her, breathing hard, gasping.
Frodo heard Rosie laugh as "Yes, yes," she said, and tears came to his eyes. So close to them, his dear ones. That they would let him in, that he could be here. Sam sighed, long and relaxed, and Rose raised herself, turned to Frodo and kissed him. Sam was spent, but she was still panting, and Frodo, lost in the kiss, heard Sam chuckle.
***
It was too sweet for words, her warm, strong body, and Frodo right there -- his beloved Frodo, no longer pulling away, fading, but there, his eyes so bright, his lips red and stung. Sam had never been happier, with this pure stab of bliss and delight. He watched their faces as they kissed, Rose leaning toward Frodo, and as her weight shifted against his hips, himself still inside her, he smiled and made a moaning purr of pleasure.
He watched them kiss, tasting, lingering.
Rose slid away from him, and he sighed at the separation and drew his legs up to give her room to sit. She twined her legs around his knee and leaned toward Frodo, who was sitting up now, too, a hand on Sam's chest. She undid the buttons of his weskit and Sam chuckled. How had they gotten this far with that still on? Frodo shrugged out of it and tossed it to the chair he had left, and she unbuttoned his shirt. Sam took care of the cuff buttons of the right hand, and then Frodo was offering him the left wrist, too, smiling at him.
Rose drew his shirt off and tossed it to the chair. She pulled the chain of his jewel pendant gently over his head and carefully let it slide to the floor at the foot of the bed. Then she hugged Frodo and leaned against him, pushing him back on the bed almost on top of Sam, and his arms went around them both in a confused pile as Rose kissed Frodo again. Sam felt warm arms, smelled lavender and sweat.
Sam eased backward and his lovers rolled toward him and there was Frodo atop Rose, Rose's arms around him as they kissed again. Sam sighed and settled on his side, one hand resting on Frodo's shoulder.
She wasn't finished, yet, no, and it seemed Frodo was ready again as Sam rested, because Sam watched them rearrange their knees, watched Rosie's brown hands grip the smooth skin of Frodo's backside and he knew when Frodo found the sweet entry because both of them gasped and their eyes squeezed shut.
Sam purred and watched, stroking Frodo's shoulder, as the rhythm grew stronger and rougher. He had no idea how long it had been since Frodo had been with a lass, but clearly he had not forgotten what it was all about, for being so out of practice.
"Rosie," Frodo murmured, his face in her neck.
Now it was Sam's turn to wonder, amazed, at how beautiful they were, how all his dreams and longings were folded together into this one place, this one bed. All of my dreams have come true, he thought, and tears came to his eyes.
Frodo was up on his arms now, his lower lip between his teeth, his chin out, and Rose's hands were clasped behind his neck. Frodo's thrusts had a slamming finish to them (Oh, my, he does remember how, Sam thought.) and Rose began to make panting moans in time with each one, shorter and louder and louder until they dissolved into a long "Aaaaaah," and Sam saw how Frodo pressed into her until she burst into tears and pulled him down on top of her.
"Am I too heavy, love?" he asked, his forehead on hers.
"No, oh no," she murmured, her eyes opening and one hand searching for Sam.
Sam leaned in and kissed her, his cheek meeting Frodo's, and hitched closer. They all relaxed together then, skin pressed close, as the sweat dried on Frodo's back and their breathing slowed...
Sam caught himself waking from the light doze he had fallen into. Frodo had slid to the other side of Rose, his knee across her belly, dozing too, but Rose looked thoughtful, peaceful, watching Sam as his eyes opened, then turning her head to glance at Frodo. She smiled.
Sam had thought Frodo asleep, but he murmured. "You know, there's a special bottle of wine down the well, to keep cold.... Samwise, why don't you run and get it? Hurry up."
Sam chuckled.
Rose did, too. "Oh, so the celebration is just beginning, then."
They were all heavy, solid, feeling glued to the bed.
Sam caressed all of them he could reach for long, sweet moments. Then a thought struck him and he rose on one elbow, thinking he should rescue the candles from making even more of a mess. He slowly slid away from Rosie, who made a disappointed meow at losing the heat of his body and snuggled closer to Frodo. Sam stretched, then went around the room, pinching the candles that were burning down or guttering, and paused to glance at the bed.
My loves.
He realized he was hungry. He felt the crumpled velvet of his breeches against his toes, and pulled them on. Humming to himself, he headed first for the well, then for the pantry.
***
They feasted, cross legged in the bed, on the chill white wine, a special treat; spicy goose liver spread on crusty bread, fruit and cheese and cold chicken and sliced cold potatoes with garlic sauce, and cold beans in oil, and shortbread and seedcake. Rose had pulled on Sam's silk shirt, just to feel it.
Finally they turned down the covers of the big white bed and cheerfully argued over who would be happiest in the middle.
It made sense though, in the end -- Sam on his back between them, a tousled head on each shoulder, Rose and Frodo's fingers linked over his chest.
Silk and candlelight and many blessings for sweet dreams, though the waking was sweet enough. A dream come true, for all of them.
End.
~
Pretty Good Year