Seven Heavenly Virtues VI:
Temperance

Orithain & Rina

May 2004

~ Temperance: moderation and restraint; self-mastery ~

After a morning spent pouring over Elvish lore, Frodo raised his head from his book and looked across at Sam, who was puttering around putting their hole to rights. Technically Bag End belonged to Frodo, but with the help of Samís father, they lived together with no one the wiser.

Frodoís gaze rested fondly on the tousled, pale brown curls, and he remembered how they had looked against his pillow that morning as he watched Sam sleep. He wanted to reach out now and run his fingers through Samís hair, disordering it further, but he reminded himself that he had to think before allowing himself to give in to such impulses or someday he would do it where it would get them in trouble.

As if sensing Frodoís gaze on him, Sam looked over, one hand holding a dusting rag, the other the small statue heíd picked up to clean. "Something I can get for you, Mister Frodo?" he asked.

Frodo licked his lips, blue eyes wide and fixed on Sam. "I wish I could paint," he murmured, imagining an image of Sam that would be for him alone, but he knew that he would always be able to call up an image of his lover.

"Mister Frodo?" Sam asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What would you want to be paintiní?"

"You of course," Frodo replied, knowing that Sam would blush and looking forward to it.

Sam immediately turned bright red, and his eyes widened. "Me, Mister Frodo? Now then, if you could paint, you should be makiní pictures of pretty things and whatnot."

"I cannot imagine anything I would rather look at than you, Sam," Frodo murmured, rising to his feet and moving across the room to the other Hobbit.

About to protest this remark, Sam looked up, meeting Frodoís blue eyes, and stopped, almost immediately lost in their depths. Frodo reached him and rested a hand on his cheek, and he turned his face into the caress, fumbling to set down the statue lest he drop and break it.

"I could spend the entire day just enjoying you," Frodo breathed, "looking, touching, tasting. How did I get so lucky as to have you, my Sam?"

"Itís me whoís the lucky one," Sam muttered, catching Frodoís hand and pressing a kiss against his palm. "I tell myself that every morniní, ĎSamwise Gamgee, youíre the luckiest Hobbit in the Shire and donít you go forgettiní it.í" He was about to say more when there was a strident knocking at the door. "Iíll be gettingí that, Mister Frodo," he said quickly, giving a small shake as he reminded himself to behave in front of guests.

"Where is that Frodo?" a sharp voice demanded the moment he opened the door, and Sam winced at seeing the sour visage of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. "I want a word with him!"

Frodo dove headlong over the back of a sofa, hoping his horrid cousin hadnít seen him and that Sam would manage to lie and tell her he was out. He held his breath, waiting for the shriek that would tell him that she had seen him, and slowly let it out in a silent sigh of relief when it didnít happen.

"Where is that layabout Hobbit, Master Gamgee?" Lobelia demanded shrilly. "Lazing about in bed in what should be my hole?"

"Not at all, Missus Lobelia," Sam answered, trying to block the door and getting an elbow in his ribs for his trouble when she pushed past him. "Heís..." He stopped when she let out a cry at seeing Frodo. "... out."

"There you are, Frodo Baggins! I want to know why you havenít answered my invitation!"

Frodoíd known he shouldnít try to peek around the sofa to see what Lobelia was doing, but heíd done it anyway, and now he was caught. He held in his sigh as he rose to his feet. "Good day, Lobelia. I had not yet answered because I wasnít sure if I was going to have to be away that day. Now I know, and I shall have to regretfully decline. Now, if that was all?" He tried to steer her to the door, hoping to be rid of her.

Sam stepped back out of the way when Lobelia dug in her heels, halting her forward progress. "And whatís this? Not even a cup of tea to offer me? After I came all this way too..."

"I donít recall inviting you, Lobelia," Frodo replied shortly. Sheíd caught him once that way, and heíd learned his lesson. "Iím very busy. Perhaps we can visit another time..." He jarred her loose and managed to get her to the door.

"When?" she asked quickly.

"Iíll send you a letter!" Frodo shut the door quickly, ignoring her squawk of outrage, and locked it. "Quick," he hissed at Sam, "close all the shutters!"

Samís eyes were wide, but he did as Frodo ordered.

"Make sure theyíre all shut!" Frodo insisted as he ran toward the next room, intent upon making sure that Lobelia was completely shut out. "That woman... Iím sure sheís why Bilbo left the Shire."

"I canít disagree with you there, love," Sam called from where he was checking the shutters in the other room. "That womanís a - a, well, I canít think of what to call her."

"I can but I donít want to make you blush!" Relieved to find that they were securely tucked into their burrow, Frodo came out of the room and encountered Sam in the hall.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam exclaimed, turning pink at just the thought of what Frodo might be thinking of calling his cousin. "This feels so odd: locked up in Bag End like a couple of criminals!"

"Think of it as a vacation from nosy relatives," Frodo suggested, sliding his arms around Samís waist. "Weíre snug in here, together, and not even Merry and Pippin can disturb us just now!"

Sam brightened at that before frowning and looking at the front door. "They donít have a key, do they?"

"Certainly not! Weíd never have a bite of food left in the larder if they did."

"A very good point." Sam grinned and reached out to catch Frodoís hands, pulling him in for a kiss. "So what should we do with this time alone?"

"I think we should check how sturdy the bed is," Frodo suggested, smiling widely even as Samís lips covered his.

"Well, if Iím under you, if the bed collapses, you wonít get hurt," Sam suggested.

Frodo chuckled. "Someday, my Sam, Iím going to distract you enough for you to stop worrying about my safety. In fact, I think thatís going to be my goal for the night. Weíve restrained ourselves in front of every inhabitant of the Shire. Itís time to forget temperance and enjoy ourselves!" He dragged Sam into the bedroom and tumbled them onto the bed.

Sam blinked, then smiled up at Frodo, working his hands under the other Hobbitís shirt to stroke his back. "That sounds like a fine idea, Frodo."

"An excellent beginning." Frodo sat up long enough to pull his shirt over his head, dropping it heedlessly to the floor where the pale linen puddled against the rich colors of the rug at the side of the bed, neither Hobbit noticing or caring. Frodo tugged Samís shirt free of his trousers and leaned over to press a kiss to Samís belly.

Unable to help himself, Sam giggled, squirming beneath Frodo even as he tangled the fingers of one hand into his dark hair.

Frodo smiled, loving that seldom heard sound. He nibbled gently on the soft skin, tongue following and tasting Sam as he pushed the shirt higher and higher.

"Frodo..." Samís laughter acquired a hungry sound, and he reached for his shirt, tugging it over his head, his arms becoming trapped in the sturdy fabric as he did so.

Catching sight of Samís difficulty, rather than helping him, Frodo caught hold of the tangled shirt and pressed it to the bed over Samís head, restraining his lover. He licked his lips as he stared down, hips rocking very lightly against Samís, his head lowering to scrape his teeth over a hardening nipple.

"Frodo!" Now Sam almost shouted, and he bucked upward, his hardening shaft rubbing against Frodoís as he writhed.

Frodo liked that reaction. A lot. He treated the other nipple the same way, still restraining Sam with his shirt. "You taste good," he whispered against Sam, tongue lightly tracing patterns on his flesh. "Better than anything."

Sam could only whimper as Frodo teased him, but he did manage to wrap a leg around Frodoís, rubbing his calf against the other Hobbitís thigh.

Gradually sliding back down, Frodo demonstrated his ability to unfasten buttons with his teeth, slowly freeing Sam from his pants. He let his teeth graze the rigid shaft, but he didnít stop despite the almost desperate sounds Sam was making.

"Mister Frodo, please!" Sam whined, tearing his hands free of his shirt and reaching for Frodo, stopping himself before he dragged Frodoís mouth down to his aching erection.

Frodo raised lust-filled eyes to meet Samís. "Take what you want," he whispered, moist breath flowing over Samís hard cock, teasing the sensitive head.

Samís eyes widened, and he froze, swallowing hard before threading his fingers through Frodoís curls. "Want to feel you," he rasped, guiding Frodo to his shaft and moaning when he felt Frodoís hot, wet tongue drag over his flesh.

Frodo suckled hungrily on the tip, moaning as he tasted another spurt of fluid. He slowly lowered his head, taking Sam deeper and deeper, and his fist curled around the base, stroking.

"Frodo - oh sweet..." Samís fingers tightened on Frodoís scalp, and he thrust upward, crying out as he came.

Frodo drank him down eagerly, not stopping until he had every drop and Sam was whimpering and trying to squirm away. Only then did he slide up Samís body to kiss him hungrily, thrusting against him.

Once the kiss broke, Sam stared up at Frodo with unfocussed eyes. "Now you take what you want," he breathed, wrapping his other leg around Frodoís as well.

"You, always you." Frodo settled on his knees, one hand fumbling on the nightstand for the jar of oil they kept there. He slid two fingers into Sam, knowing he wasnít going to be able to wait much longer.

Sam cried out and clutched at Frodoís arms. Releasing them, he spilled some oil into his hand and stroked it over Frodoís erection, humming with pleasure at the thought of it inside him.

A strangled moan escaped Frodo as he gritted his teeth, fighting not to come from the touch of Samís hand on him. "Need to be in you," he rasped, eyes staring down at Sam almost wildly.

"Yes, now!" Sam all but ordered, bringing his legs up around Frodoís waist and pulling him inward.

Feeling himself sink into Samís yielding body wrenched a heartfelt groan from Frodo. His eyes closed for a moment as he let himself revel in the sensations before opening again so he could watch Sam, wanting the connection of their gazes as well.

Sam smiled and shifted, rocking up and tightening his ass down around Frodoís shaft as they began to move together, lost in each other.

"Love you," Frodo panted over and over, hips driving back and forth, unable to stop. He caught hold of Samís hands, lacing their fingers together, and he clung desperately as they moved, his climax drawing closer.

"Yes," Sam gasped, closing his fingers around Frodoís hands and kissing him hungrily.

Frodo cried out, the noise muffled by Samís mouth, and he drove deep a final time and stilled as he came, shuddering against Sam.

Sam sighed, nuzzling his face against Frodoís until he calmed, then kissing him again. "Love you so much," he whispered.

"I love you too," Frodo replied, sprawling atop Sam and cuddling close, loving the feeling of Samís arms around him. "I could stay right here forever."

"Mmm, that sounds lovely, but we do have other obligations; think of the state the gardens would be in if I never got outside to tend them!"

"But weíd be in here so we wouldnít see them," Frodo pointed out logically.

"But the Gaffer would and think of what heíd say! Your beautiful gardens..." Sam moaned piteously.

Laughing, Frodo shook his head. "Only you, Sam, could think of your father at a time like this!"

"At a..." Sam blanched. "I wasnít thinking of him like that!"

"Sam!" Frodo half laughed, half yelped. "I didnít mean that! I just meant... Never mind." He shook his head, chuckling, and pulled Sam into a kiss intended to make them both forget the Gaffer.

Sam sighed and nuzzled Frodoís neck, breathing in his clean scent. "What was that, Mr. Frodo?" he asked, sounding happily dazed.

"Nothing at all," Frodo murmured, pulling Sam closer with a contented little sigh.

END

  since 02-03-07

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