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Lord of the Rings



He is running his palm and fingertips all over Sam's private parts (oh good gracious, if Bilbo knew what he was up to *now*!); and now Sam is...oh, Sam is opening his trousers and pushing them down; he is exposing himself, under the blankets, to Frodo's touch. Frodo moans a bit, but Sam's hand is there, firm at the back of his head, to remind him to be silent. Three rapid tapping sounds whisper from Sam's throat, the way one might say "Ah-ah-ah" to warn someone. Frodo swallows and nods. Then he unbuttons his own breeches, shoves them to his knees, and climbs halfway onto Sam, whose hand immediately grips him. Stroking each other, tongues fighting in one mouth and then the other, they tremble and strain to stay quiet in the dark. Frodo hopes frantically that nothing dangerous happens in the next few minutes - imagine how horrible it would be if Gandalf rushed in with the bright staff-light and began tearing blankets off people to get them up! Imagine, being discovered with their trousers around their knees, their hands all over each other, their arousals obvious...hardly fitting behavior for the fifty-year-old Ringbearer! He and Sam must want each other very badly, to risk it. Frodo cannot speak for Sam, but for himself, this is true; this is very definitely true.