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browngirlTitle: The Time Given Us
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Frodo/Sam/Rosie
Summary: Their last midsummer festival as three together.
Content Advisory: Threesome. Fits with previous stories of mine, but stands on its own.
Acknowledgements: This was written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
oxoniensis's Fiery Fourteenth Porn Battle. Dedicated to ilthit and to danae_b, whom I greatly miss.
Disclaimer: Middle-Earth is the Professor's, and the fullness thereof.
They didn't know then it was their last midsummer as three together. Four counting baby Elanor, with Sam and Rosie thinking forward to more; even so, it was Lithe, a velvety warm summer night with dancing and merrymaking upon the Party Field as of bright years past, a night to remember a time before babies and marriage. Having danced and laughed and shown their babe about, Sam and Rosie took themselves off early enough as befit proper wed hobbits, yet with fingers tangled tight, knowing they hoped together for one more particular dance. Looking about the festivities, they'd been somewhat dismayed that Mr. Frodo seemed to have left before them, but when they found no sign of him in Bag End, Rosie teased Sam that Mr. Frodo had gone to dance elsewhere, and they settled Elanor in her cradle and went to dress for bed.
So it was that Rosie sat in her marriage bed -- even now, every so often she would think on it with delighted surprise, that Sam was hers and so was this wide bed -- awaiting her husband by candlelight, until a knock came to the door. Puzzled, she called, "Come in," before she thought, and the hobbit who opened the door was Mr. Frodo, the candlelight catching in golden slivers among his dark curls and striking sparks in his blue eyes. Smiling, he held his hand out to her, asking, "Mistress Rose, would you come with me?"
"Of course," was all Rosie could say, her heart swelling with gladness that pushed aside all uncertainty, as she rose to lay her hand in his, barely remembering to bring the candle. He led her through Bag End's dim tunnels, the warm wood softly giving back the candle's glow, across and down to his own room that he'd always kept since Mr. Bilbo brought him here that day so long ago. Rosie's breath caught as he pushed the door open -- she came here by day thrice a week to tidy, as she did every other room of this smial, but it was different quite to enter through midnight shadows, when Frodo had not sought their nighttime company since before Elanor's birth -- until she saw her Sam, Mr. Frodo's Sam, sitting in the midst of Mr. Frodo's bed just like a faunt awaiting a bedtime tale.
She had to laugh then, for the strangeness and joy that Mr. Frodo had brought them their whole lives, and set the candle down to reach her other hand out to Sam. He smiled, drawing her to him, drawing Mr. Frodo in just the same, and they fell into each other's arms just as they had upon several snugly cheery festival nights.
The nightshirts fell to the floor, taking all propriety with them, and by flickering candlelight they lay together careless as tweens, trading kisses, trading touches, discovering each other anew. As they had since her lads' return they honored each scar, as she kissed the gap between Mr. Frodo's remaining fingers, as he laid that hand and then his lips to her belly where childbearing had left its wavy marks, as she smoothed kisses over the round weal behind his neck and he sighed into Sam's mouth, their fingers together stroking over Sam's brow into his hair. As they ever had they cherished each other's skin, Sam kissing between Mr. Frodo's sharp shoulder blades and over Rosie's collarbones, Rosie and Frodo cooperatively kissing Sam from his cheeks to his chin to his curl-scattered chest and rounding belly, laughing as they chased each other's tongues around his prick before Rosie sat up to let Mr. Frodo suck unimpeded, to wind her arms round Sam's shoulders and kiss his moaning mouth. As whenever they could manage it Rosie and Sam swathed Mr. Frodo in themselves, smiling to each other even as Sam's eyelids fluttered in Frodo's suckling rhythm, tugging him up so Sam could tuck to his back, hands splayed over his fine smooth skin, as Rosie pressed him in tight and warm and chased Sam's taste across his lips. Not to be outdone, as ever, Mr. Frodo pressed wonderfully bossy hands into her flesh and covered her with kisses, all along her lips and cheeks and throat, and though her eyes pressed shut Rosie listened to Sam's husky breathing and felt his warm gaze on her like more kisses, more caresses, as she quivered and smiled.
At length and all warmly, Mr. Frodo lifted his head from teasing Rosie's nipple with teeth and tongue, watching her gasp till she might ease her eyes open again, and said, "I have an idea."
His eyes sparkled as he spoke, mischievous and bright, and Sam murmured, lips brushing the curve of his ear, "You've that wild gleam." Mr. Frodo merely smiled at that, pressing a hand to Sam's shoulder as he curled his arm tighter round Rosie's waist and turned to claim a kiss; as Rosie watched, Mr. Frodo kissed Sam till his shining eyes fell shut, till he moaned and his head tipped back, till Mr. Frodo let him up at last with a bright grin of triumph.
"Wild indeed," Rosie agreed, her belly and thighs hot against Mr. Frodo's, her heart warm with them both, with one more three-part dance at Lithe. As Sam's eyes fluttered open, Mr. Frodo bit his ear tip and murmured in its shell till Sam's eyes went round; as he glanced up his lips dazedly parted, Mr. Frodo nodded, and Sam rolled, shoulders broad and flexing as he reached for the nightstand.
Wondering what Mr. Frodo had said to her husband, Rosie opened her mouth to ask as much, but the smile Mr. Frodo turned to her, fey and bright, stopped the breath in her throat long enough for him to gather her curls in his hand and kiss her every question away, for him to stroke her cheek to throat to flank and gather her leg over his hip, to shift her closer yet and to nock himself to her so she shuddered on a wave of heat. He hummed the question into her mouth and she growled her answer, clinging to his shoulder as she twitched her hips forward in their sidelong dance, as he chuckled happily and pushed up into her, hilting himself easily with her so slickly roused. Rosie sighed and rippled and clutched Mr. Frodo with three limbs and all the passion of pleasure, delighting in him once again, but her other hand slid out empty along the warm sheets. Where was her Sam?
There he was, his fingers brushing her hand before he settled his cheek upon it, his thigh tucking beneath her heel, his voice low and smoke-tinged as he whispered to Frodo, "Ready, then, me dear?"
Mr. Frodo pulled his lips from Rosie's just barely far enough away to breathe, "Yes, dear Sam, yes," before kissing her again so deeply she moaned and her lids fluttered against the freight of pleasure. Still she didn't need to see, feeling it all as she did, his shuddering in her embrace and Sam's precise breaths as Sam pushed within him, slowly, carefully, until Mr. Frodo groaned impatience and pushed back so Sam gasped, thrust forward so Rosie cried out, pulled them both in tight as could be.
Mr. Frodo twitched his hips between them and Rosie laughed into her next cry, for the wildness of this and the heat and the joy, for Sam's arm tight around them both and her breasts tingling against Mr. Frodo's smooth chest, for all her skin afire. Mr. Frodo laughed into her, their lips stroking and sliding, and sobbed and pressed his face to her neck, his sharp nose and damp kiss over her heart's beat in her throat. Sam keened as Mr. Frodo writhed between them, kissed his shoulder and Rosie's fingers upon it, and she reached for him, squeezing his strong arm, fluttering round Mr. Frodo's thrusts.
Sam leaned in to her, kissing her needfully, moaning to her, and Rosie moaned back to him, all her wit dissolving into pleasure. They moved all three together, melting into each other in the Lithe heat, the ecstasy coursing through their veins as through one being, enwrapping them in its spiraling glow, up and up. When it took him, the rush of Mr. Frodo's shuddering peak swept up Rosie and Sam too; she held him trembling as her own pleasure overflowed, as Sam sobbed wordlessly and shook all through, as they drew bursting-tight into one love-knot and undid almost as one, awash in flowing flame, collapsing into a heap of sated delight.
At length Rosie blinked wet lashes, the embers of pleasure still warmly hazing her mind, Mr. Frodo's face fallen to her shoulder and Sam laid out gasping all along his back, his cheek tucked into Mr. Frodo's curls. At length she laughed again, somewhat breathlessly, comfortably pressed by Mr. Frodo's too-slender weight on her, and Sam eased open one blown-dark eye as Mr. Frodo murmured into her skin, warm voice and a warmer kiss.
The very air quivered warmly around them, soft and redolent with loving, undisturbed by any word. Sam's broad hand shifted soothingly on Mr. Frodo's back, his cheek creased as he smiled at Rosie, and she smiled back even as Mr. Frodo made some indistinct tingling noise and slumped to sleep, for once carefree, tucked safe between them. Sam pushed up on his elbow far enough to kiss Rosie lingeringly, soft and sweet, before turning to blow out the candle and pull up the blanket. Holding both her Frodo and her Sam, Rosie followed Mr. Frodo's example and closed her eyes, letting herself drift into sleep.
Soon enough, short hours later, Elanor's crying woke Rosie, setting her breasts throbbing with fullness, and Mr. Frodo's tender cheeks brushing between them made them ache so that she bit her lip as he kissed her over her heart. They disentangled carefully from each other, peeling damp skin from skin, and Sam came round the bed to take Rosie's hand and help her up. The starlight through the window glinted on threads of silver in Mr. Frodo's hair as he sat up, on the veins of gold in his eyes as he looked up, lending him such a fey and magical air that the spell still held, sticking Rosie's tongue fast. He smiled, reaching to cup her cheek and draw her to him, and kissed her sweetly, reached to curve his hand round Sam's shoulder and kissed him deeply, and laid his hand upon their joined hands; Sam covered all with his broad palm for a moment, till Elanor let loose an angry peal and he and Rose had to dash away, hurrying back to their baby through the night-filled hallways.
Soon enough the next morning dawned, bright and sunny, and Rosie tidied and dressed herself back into a proper married lady, bustling round Bag End with her daughter in the crook of her arm while Sam cooked till all the hole smelled delicious. When she had set the table and Sam had laid out the breakfast Mr. Frodo arrived, buttoned up to his throat and looking every inch the gentlehobbit. He nodded cheerily as he sat across from them, Sam filled the three plates, and Rosie ate sitting beside her husband, nursing her babe, just as calm as could be.
Rosie thought then of the picture they must make, quietly breakfasting as on any morning after a quiet night; belying her thought, the tea tingled on her tongue, and a whisper of heat along her spine made her look up, right into Mr. Frodo's sparkling eyes. Sam looked up in the same moment, glancing from her to him, and then laughed deep and warm even as his cheeks turned apple-red. Mr. Frodo's grin shone with merriment and they smiled slyly at each other over Elanor's innocent head, cherishing the memory of twining Lithe heat.
Soon enough the baby grew, the fruit ripened upon the trees, the summer sank to September, and Sam saw Mr. Frodo off on what proved to be his last journey. Even as Rosie wept over his farewell letter she smiled, taking comfort in the memories of love, of their last night all three together.
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Frodo/Sam/Rosie
Summary: Their last midsummer festival as three together.
Content Advisory: Threesome. Fits with previous stories of mine, but stands on its own.
Acknowledgements: This was written for
oxoniensis's Fiery Fourteenth Porn Battle. Dedicated to ilthit and to danae_b, whom I greatly miss.Disclaimer: Middle-Earth is the Professor's, and the fullness thereof.
They didn't know then it was their last midsummer as three together. Four counting baby Elanor, with Sam and Rosie thinking forward to more; even so, it was Lithe, a velvety warm summer night with dancing and merrymaking upon the Party Field as of bright years past, a night to remember a time before babies and marriage. Having danced and laughed and shown their babe about, Sam and Rosie took themselves off early enough as befit proper wed hobbits, yet with fingers tangled tight, knowing they hoped together for one more particular dance. Looking about the festivities, they'd been somewhat dismayed that Mr. Frodo seemed to have left before them, but when they found no sign of him in Bag End, Rosie teased Sam that Mr. Frodo had gone to dance elsewhere, and they settled Elanor in her cradle and went to dress for bed.
So it was that Rosie sat in her marriage bed -- even now, every so often she would think on it with delighted surprise, that Sam was hers and so was this wide bed -- awaiting her husband by candlelight, until a knock came to the door. Puzzled, she called, "Come in," before she thought, and the hobbit who opened the door was Mr. Frodo, the candlelight catching in golden slivers among his dark curls and striking sparks in his blue eyes. Smiling, he held his hand out to her, asking, "Mistress Rose, would you come with me?"
"Of course," was all Rosie could say, her heart swelling with gladness that pushed aside all uncertainty, as she rose to lay her hand in his, barely remembering to bring the candle. He led her through Bag End's dim tunnels, the warm wood softly giving back the candle's glow, across and down to his own room that he'd always kept since Mr. Bilbo brought him here that day so long ago. Rosie's breath caught as he pushed the door open -- she came here by day thrice a week to tidy, as she did every other room of this smial, but it was different quite to enter through midnight shadows, when Frodo had not sought their nighttime company since before Elanor's birth -- until she saw her Sam, Mr. Frodo's Sam, sitting in the midst of Mr. Frodo's bed just like a faunt awaiting a bedtime tale.
She had to laugh then, for the strangeness and joy that Mr. Frodo had brought them their whole lives, and set the candle down to reach her other hand out to Sam. He smiled, drawing her to him, drawing Mr. Frodo in just the same, and they fell into each other's arms just as they had upon several snugly cheery festival nights.
The nightshirts fell to the floor, taking all propriety with them, and by flickering candlelight they lay together careless as tweens, trading kisses, trading touches, discovering each other anew. As they had since her lads' return they honored each scar, as she kissed the gap between Mr. Frodo's remaining fingers, as he laid that hand and then his lips to her belly where childbearing had left its wavy marks, as she smoothed kisses over the round weal behind his neck and he sighed into Sam's mouth, their fingers together stroking over Sam's brow into his hair. As they ever had they cherished each other's skin, Sam kissing between Mr. Frodo's sharp shoulder blades and over Rosie's collarbones, Rosie and Frodo cooperatively kissing Sam from his cheeks to his chin to his curl-scattered chest and rounding belly, laughing as they chased each other's tongues around his prick before Rosie sat up to let Mr. Frodo suck unimpeded, to wind her arms round Sam's shoulders and kiss his moaning mouth. As whenever they could manage it Rosie and Sam swathed Mr. Frodo in themselves, smiling to each other even as Sam's eyelids fluttered in Frodo's suckling rhythm, tugging him up so Sam could tuck to his back, hands splayed over his fine smooth skin, as Rosie pressed him in tight and warm and chased Sam's taste across his lips. Not to be outdone, as ever, Mr. Frodo pressed wonderfully bossy hands into her flesh and covered her with kisses, all along her lips and cheeks and throat, and though her eyes pressed shut Rosie listened to Sam's husky breathing and felt his warm gaze on her like more kisses, more caresses, as she quivered and smiled.
At length and all warmly, Mr. Frodo lifted his head from teasing Rosie's nipple with teeth and tongue, watching her gasp till she might ease her eyes open again, and said, "I have an idea."
His eyes sparkled as he spoke, mischievous and bright, and Sam murmured, lips brushing the curve of his ear, "You've that wild gleam." Mr. Frodo merely smiled at that, pressing a hand to Sam's shoulder as he curled his arm tighter round Rosie's waist and turned to claim a kiss; as Rosie watched, Mr. Frodo kissed Sam till his shining eyes fell shut, till he moaned and his head tipped back, till Mr. Frodo let him up at last with a bright grin of triumph.
"Wild indeed," Rosie agreed, her belly and thighs hot against Mr. Frodo's, her heart warm with them both, with one more three-part dance at Lithe. As Sam's eyes fluttered open, Mr. Frodo bit his ear tip and murmured in its shell till Sam's eyes went round; as he glanced up his lips dazedly parted, Mr. Frodo nodded, and Sam rolled, shoulders broad and flexing as he reached for the nightstand.
Wondering what Mr. Frodo had said to her husband, Rosie opened her mouth to ask as much, but the smile Mr. Frodo turned to her, fey and bright, stopped the breath in her throat long enough for him to gather her curls in his hand and kiss her every question away, for him to stroke her cheek to throat to flank and gather her leg over his hip, to shift her closer yet and to nock himself to her so she shuddered on a wave of heat. He hummed the question into her mouth and she growled her answer, clinging to his shoulder as she twitched her hips forward in their sidelong dance, as he chuckled happily and pushed up into her, hilting himself easily with her so slickly roused. Rosie sighed and rippled and clutched Mr. Frodo with three limbs and all the passion of pleasure, delighting in him once again, but her other hand slid out empty along the warm sheets. Where was her Sam?
There he was, his fingers brushing her hand before he settled his cheek upon it, his thigh tucking beneath her heel, his voice low and smoke-tinged as he whispered to Frodo, "Ready, then, me dear?"
Mr. Frodo pulled his lips from Rosie's just barely far enough away to breathe, "Yes, dear Sam, yes," before kissing her again so deeply she moaned and her lids fluttered against the freight of pleasure. Still she didn't need to see, feeling it all as she did, his shuddering in her embrace and Sam's precise breaths as Sam pushed within him, slowly, carefully, until Mr. Frodo groaned impatience and pushed back so Sam gasped, thrust forward so Rosie cried out, pulled them both in tight as could be.
Mr. Frodo twitched his hips between them and Rosie laughed into her next cry, for the wildness of this and the heat and the joy, for Sam's arm tight around them both and her breasts tingling against Mr. Frodo's smooth chest, for all her skin afire. Mr. Frodo laughed into her, their lips stroking and sliding, and sobbed and pressed his face to her neck, his sharp nose and damp kiss over her heart's beat in her throat. Sam keened as Mr. Frodo writhed between them, kissed his shoulder and Rosie's fingers upon it, and she reached for him, squeezing his strong arm, fluttering round Mr. Frodo's thrusts.
Sam leaned in to her, kissing her needfully, moaning to her, and Rosie moaned back to him, all her wit dissolving into pleasure. They moved all three together, melting into each other in the Lithe heat, the ecstasy coursing through their veins as through one being, enwrapping them in its spiraling glow, up and up. When it took him, the rush of Mr. Frodo's shuddering peak swept up Rosie and Sam too; she held him trembling as her own pleasure overflowed, as Sam sobbed wordlessly and shook all through, as they drew bursting-tight into one love-knot and undid almost as one, awash in flowing flame, collapsing into a heap of sated delight.
At length Rosie blinked wet lashes, the embers of pleasure still warmly hazing her mind, Mr. Frodo's face fallen to her shoulder and Sam laid out gasping all along his back, his cheek tucked into Mr. Frodo's curls. At length she laughed again, somewhat breathlessly, comfortably pressed by Mr. Frodo's too-slender weight on her, and Sam eased open one blown-dark eye as Mr. Frodo murmured into her skin, warm voice and a warmer kiss.
The very air quivered warmly around them, soft and redolent with loving, undisturbed by any word. Sam's broad hand shifted soothingly on Mr. Frodo's back, his cheek creased as he smiled at Rosie, and she smiled back even as Mr. Frodo made some indistinct tingling noise and slumped to sleep, for once carefree, tucked safe between them. Sam pushed up on his elbow far enough to kiss Rosie lingeringly, soft and sweet, before turning to blow out the candle and pull up the blanket. Holding both her Frodo and her Sam, Rosie followed Mr. Frodo's example and closed her eyes, letting herself drift into sleep.
Soon enough, short hours later, Elanor's crying woke Rosie, setting her breasts throbbing with fullness, and Mr. Frodo's tender cheeks brushing between them made them ache so that she bit her lip as he kissed her over her heart. They disentangled carefully from each other, peeling damp skin from skin, and Sam came round the bed to take Rosie's hand and help her up. The starlight through the window glinted on threads of silver in Mr. Frodo's hair as he sat up, on the veins of gold in his eyes as he looked up, lending him such a fey and magical air that the spell still held, sticking Rosie's tongue fast. He smiled, reaching to cup her cheek and draw her to him, and kissed her sweetly, reached to curve his hand round Sam's shoulder and kissed him deeply, and laid his hand upon their joined hands; Sam covered all with his broad palm for a moment, till Elanor let loose an angry peal and he and Rose had to dash away, hurrying back to their baby through the night-filled hallways.
Soon enough the next morning dawned, bright and sunny, and Rosie tidied and dressed herself back into a proper married lady, bustling round Bag End with her daughter in the crook of her arm while Sam cooked till all the hole smelled delicious. When she had set the table and Sam had laid out the breakfast Mr. Frodo arrived, buttoned up to his throat and looking every inch the gentlehobbit. He nodded cheerily as he sat across from them, Sam filled the three plates, and Rosie ate sitting beside her husband, nursing her babe, just as calm as could be.
Rosie thought then of the picture they must make, quietly breakfasting as on any morning after a quiet night; belying her thought, the tea tingled on her tongue, and a whisper of heat along her spine made her look up, right into Mr. Frodo's sparkling eyes. Sam looked up in the same moment, glancing from her to him, and then laughed deep and warm even as his cheeks turned apple-red. Mr. Frodo's grin shone with merriment and they smiled slyly at each other over Elanor's innocent head, cherishing the memory of twining Lithe heat.
Soon enough the baby grew, the fruit ripened upon the trees, the summer sank to September, and Sam saw Mr. Frodo off on what proved to be his last journey. Even as Rosie wept over his farewell letter she smiled, taking comfort in the memories of love, of their last night all three together.
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no subject
Date: 2013-02-21 12:40 am (UTC)What exuberant sweet sex and a loving tale, though twined with sad fleetingness--at its center a very Tolkienish love. So many curls, and kisses, and smiles. I love Rosie and Sam sandwiching their ephemeral Frodo, pressing in all the love they can fill him with for his journey and long wait.
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2013-02-21 04:20 pm (UTC)