Eventually, the darkness that Frodo had dreamed of on that long-ago winter's eve came to pass, though not in the way that either Sam or Frodo himself had imagined was possible. Seventeen years since that first Yule the two hobbits had spent together - and Sauron was defeated; Middle-earth was saved; and the ruffians had been routed from Hobbiton. All was well for the inhabitants of the Shire, who were preparing to celebrate their first Yule as free hobbits. All except for Frodo, that is.

Frodo stood in nothing but his dark blue dressing gown, staring out the window of his room in the Cottons' humble abode, and watching as the snow fell softly to blanket the bare ground. It was the first night of Yule, and Frodo had just returned from The Green Dragon, where Sam had sworn that half of Hobbiton was gathered. He had excused himself early, claiming that he was fatigued, while Sam, ever the dutiful servant, had followed most willingly, despite Frodo's urgings that he remain to enjoy the celebrations.

"After all, Sam, why should you tend to me when you could be among friends, enjoying each other's company?" he had asked, attempting to sound jovial when all he really wanted was to crawl into bed with Sam and pull the covers over their heads, shutting out the rest of the world.

"Yours is the only company I crave, begging your pardon, sir," Sam had replied. Although they had been lovers for close to twenty years, Frodo had yet to convince Sam to forgo the honorific.

Sam now entered the room with two mugs of steaming hot chocolate, just as they had shared on their first Yule together. "I thought you might like some refreshment, Mister Frodo," he said quietly.

Forcing himself to turn from the window, Frodo regarded his faithful friend. The Quest had taken its toll on Sam - his prominent belly was now a shadow of what it had been, having wasted away to practically nothing as a result of giving his share of food to Frodo - just as it had on them all. Although Sam had tried to hide his deteriorating condition from him, Frodo had nonetheless seen and had silently wept for Sam's suffering. And though Sam continued to smile at him, his eyes had lost their spark. In short, Sam was broken - and it was all Frodo's fault. If only he had put his furry foot down and insisted that Sam remain in the Shire, even going so far as to order him to stay home had all else failed...

"Thank you, Sam," said Frodo, his voice barely above a whisper.

If Sam was broken, then Frodo was numb, having lost his will to live. With the destruction of the Ring, Frodo's good sense had been returned, and with that, his memories of all that he had done under the Ring's influence, most notable of which was his treatment of Sam. Now, he could barely meet Sam's gaze, recalling with crystal clarity how he had held his Sam at sword point, the haze of the Ring clouding his judgment. There were countless other instances in which Frodo had mistreated Sam, moments in time that Frodo would rather forget. Yet his guilty conscience would not let him. Nor would Sam allow for Frodo to pay for his mistakes in any way. It was enough to make Frodo want to cry, if only he could summon the tears.

Sam moved to stand beside his master, yet he wasn't pressed as closely to Frodo's side as he would have been before their adventures. They had not made love since leaving the Shire, but Frodo intended to rectify that and to make up for his gross mistreatment of Sam, thus killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.

The two hobbits stood in silence for many minutes, sipping at their cocoa while watching the snow fall outside. It made for a pretty picture, but Frodo saw no beauty in the scene before him, only the biting cold that he imagined still pierced his skin as the Morgul-blade had. He shivered, setting aside his cup before his trembling limbs could spill the liquid or shatter the crockery.

"Sam, I want to feel you inside me; I want to hurt," he said, speaking plainly so that Sam could not mistake his meaning. "Will you make love to me?"

Having made his request, Frodo undid the sash to his dressing gown, revealing that he wore nothing beneath; he was as naked as the day he was born. Throwing the robe aside, he turned his back on Sam and bent over the edge of the bed, presenting his bare arse for Sam to pound into. Although Frodo would hardly be considered a masochist, he could not suppress a shiver of excitement as he imagined the delicious burn that would accompany his penetration by Sam.

When Frodo first disrobed, Sam's mouth had fallen open in shock. He had forgotten how beautiful his lover's body was. Not even the strain of their journey could disguise Frodo's fair figure that would surely make the Valar themselves weep. Then Frodo's words had registered, and Sam was horrified. Why would his master wish for pain when he was now safely in the Shire? Or was this another attempt to assuage his guilt for his cruelty while on the Quest? Sam certainly didn't blame Frodo for his treatment of him; he knew that was the Ring's fault, not Frodo's.

Stooping low to the ground, Sam picked up the discarded robe and approached Frodo, who appeared to be wiggling in anticipation of what was to come. Sam closed his eyes, attempting to will his body to ignore the tantalizing sight of Frodo bent over, all his for the taking. Sam shook himself, knowing that what Frodo needed was to talk and share what he was feeling, not to be taken from behind, rutting together like animals. Having reached his master, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off of his skin, Sam bent over and pressed his lips to the base of Frodo's spine, slowly trailing a path of kisses up to the nape of Frodo's neck. He then draped the robe over his exposed body, deftly tying the sash in front of Frodo, all while refraining from pressing against his back so as to keep his own body's present condition a secret. The sight of a naked Frodo bent over as he was would drive anyone crazy. Yet Frodo's own body remained unresponsive, and Sam knew then that this wasn't what Frodo truly wanted, nor was it what he needed.

At Sam's actions, Frodo had turned around to face Sam, who immediately sank to his knees and bowed his head. "Master, please," he begged, close to sobbing. "Don't make me do this. I couldn't hurt you to save my own life, not when I love you as much as I do."

Frodo captured Sam's hands in his, kissing the knuckles softly, and raised him to his feet again. "I'm sorry, Sam. I was selfish to ask such a thing of you. You are too pure and good to needlessly cause pain. Forgive me, please."

"There is nothing to forgive, Frodo," Sam replied. "I was made for service - yours, especially - and I will serve you until my dying day, obeying all your commands... except for this. You are both my master and my lover, and to hurt you is abhorrent to my very being. Do not ask this of me, I beg you."

Frodo drew Sam into his arms then, and they embraced, Frodo burying his head in the crook of Sam's neck and weeping in shame for what he had asked Sam to do. And he had no doubt that Sam would have eventually complied. Despite his words to the contrary, Sam was an attentive lover, neglecting his own needs in favor of seeing that Frodo was satisfied, and he would have given in to Frodo's brazen request. He held Sam tightly and gripped Sam's braces in an attempt to ground himself in the present, rather than dwell in the past as he had been wont to do as of late.

"Come on, me-dear," Sam urged him, guiding Frodo towards the bed and settling him on top of the coverlet, before moving behind the elder hobbit and taking him in his arms. "Come and sit here with me, and we'll talk."

"What about?" asked Frodo weakly, trying to bluff his way out of a conversation that he didn't think he was ready for.

"You haven't been the same since we got back," Sam began hesitantly. Even after all these years of being treated as an equal, he still doubted his right to point out Frodo's flaws to him. "And I'd like to know why. Won't you share with me; confide in me like you used to?"

Frodo slumped back against the younger hobbit who had been his constant companion for as long as he could remember. Turning within the confines of Sam's arms, he began to cry uncontrollably into Sam's shoulder, further staining his shirt with tears. Sam did nothing to stop him, merely patting his back comfortingly while stroking his hair and whispering soothing nonsense in his ear. Frodo's sobs eventually slowed to nothing more than the occasional hiccough before he went completely still, his body limp in Sam's arms.

"Frodo-love?" asked Sam softly, fearful of disturbing the peace that had settled over their room.

"I'm alright, Sam," came Frodo's reply, equally as soft. He reached up to cup Sam's cheek with one hand, drawing his head down to brush their lips together. He knew that he'd been distancing himself from Sam lately - ever since they'd been rescued from Mount Doom, in fact. But while he had thought himself to be acting in Sam's best interests, he had forgotten his own. What was he without Sam, after all? He was nothing, useless; he wouldn't even have succeeded in his mission had Sam not driven him on, carrying him up the mountain on his back when his own strength had failed him along with everything else. And at the height of his Ring-crazed delusions, Frodo had even forgotten his love for Sam. What excuse was there for his behavior, Ring or no?

"Of course you're alright," said Sam, tracing the contours of his lover's face with the utmost tenderness. "Just let it out, Frodo, and don't be afraid to fall. I'll catch you if you do, I promise."

Frodo leaned back against Sam once more, letting his head fall to rest against Sam's shoulder. Sam's hands were wrapped around Frodo's middle; Frodo sought out Sam's fingers with his, lacing them together and breathing a sigh of contentment that all was right with the world, at least in that one moment. They lay together in silence for many minutes, glad to forget their troubles for a little while and basking in each other's company. Unbeknownst to Sam, though, Frodo was steeling himself to speak and thus reveal himself completely to Sam, his closely-guarded secrets no longer his burden alone.

"I don't feel anything anymore," he whispered at long last. "I'm numb inside, Sam. The Ring took so much out of me; I don't have any energy left. I'm tired all the time, and not just physically. I'm tired emotionally inside. I thought... if you were to make love to me, hard and fast, I might feel something again, even if it was pain. Throughout the Quest, the chain that the Ring was on would dig into my skin. It hurt, but I was relieved because the pain meant that I was still me. I could feel; I hadn't lost myself yet."

"Oh, Frodo..." Sam sighed, tightening his arms around Frodo's middle while burying his head in Frodo's ebony curls and breathing in his master's distinctive scent. "I wish I'd known! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was already enough of a burden," Frodo explained. "I didn't want to worry you further."

"You could never be a burden, love," Sam protested. "And as for worrying about you, I was already doing that, wasn't I?"

"I'm sorry," Frodo whispered, bringing their clasped hands to his lips and kissing Sam's knuckles in an apology for having doubted his strength to bear Frodo's burdens as well as his own.

"There's more, isn't there?" asked Sam.

"Yes," Frodo replied, his voice so quiet that even though he was pressed close against Sam, the other hobbit had to lean forward until Frodo was speaking almost directly into his ear. "I wanted you to hurt me," admitted Frodo, "Because I felt it was your due for my treatment of you throughout our travels together."

"What?" exclaimed Sam, who was horrified that Frodo would ever actually wish for pain, much less at his own hands.

"Need I remind you that I held a sword to your neck?" Frodo remarked sharply. "I constantly snapped at you, and I called you a thief, even after all the trouble you had gone through to rescue me from Cirith Ungol."

"You wouldn't have needed rescuing had I not left you in Shelob's lair to be tortured by Orcs!" Sam retorted. "That cancels out all the rest, don't you think?"

"Not in the least, Sam," Frodo replied quietly. "I'm supposed to love you, yet I treated you like... like a servant - less than one, even. How can you bear my company after the things I've said and done to you?"

Frodo had always been a slender hobbit, often compared to an Elf; since his return from the Quest, he had become skin and bones, weighing practically less than nothing. Sam was thus easily able to turn Frodo around to face him, setting him in his lap while he gripped Frodo's arms to ensure that he couldn't escape before he'd had his say.

"I love you, Frodo Baggins," he said. "And I would be willing to bear much more than your company, which you apparently think should be disgusting to me, to keep you safe. Do you understand me?" Sam shook Frodo gently to emphasis what he was saying. "I love you," he whispered fiercely. "And nothing you or anyone else can say or do will ever drive me away. Where you lead, I will always follow."

Frodo collapsed against Sam's chest, sobbing in relief that he still had his Sam, despite all that he had put him through. "I don't deserve you," he managed to choke out through his tears. Sam scoffed but said nothing; instead, he began to rub Frodo's back and stroke his hair while whispering soothing words of nonsense in his ear. His Gaffer had always said that actions spoke louder than words - though Hamfast Gamgee had often called Sam a ninnyhammer, or worse, Sam never doubted that his father loved him, as evidence by the many evenings they had spent on the porch together smoking pipe-weed - and Sam intended to prove to Frodo that he wasn't going anywhere.

Time passed, and Sam eventually felt the tension drain from Frodo's body, indicating that he had fallen asleep. He breathed a sigh of relief that his dearest love had earned this brief reprieve, and hoped that if Frodo dreamed, they would be peaceful dreams of happy days in the Shire: reading amongst the trees; chasing Merry and Pippin through the corn fields with Sam running along behind, not truly feeling included, but nonetheless an integral part of their ragtag group of friends; evenings spent at The Green Dragon sharing laughs over a pint of ale... Sam wished all these dreams and more for his Mister Frodo.

As Sam held Frodo in his arms, he thought. Most hobbits underestimated Sam's intelligence, viewing him as little more than a simple hobbit that only cared about gardening, while his love for Frodo, though unacknowledged, was a given. But Sam was more than that, so much more. Under Frodo's tutelage, he had flourished and could now read the Elvish language as easily as Frodo or Bilbo could. He thought long and hard about Frodo, and about what he had undergone for the greater good: that of saving Middle-earth. And as Sam held Frodo in his arms, he realized that their time together would eventually have to be cut short. Though Frodo might recover from his ordeal physically, his soul would never again be the same; having been touched by Dark magic, he would be forever tainted, unless he could obtain healing from somewhere besides Middle-earth. There were few options, and Sam knew then that Frodo would one day have to leave him to journey West with the Elves. His arms tightened like a vice around Frodo, as though he could keep the other hobbit with him that way. But Sam knew it was useless: Frodo would have to leave, and Sam would have to let him go. It was the only way, however much Sam might wish it were otherwise.

A few tears fell then, landing on top of Frodo's head to be absorbed by his ebony curls. Their parting would be bittersweet, Sam was sure, but by then, Frodo would surely know that his leaving was for the best. And, maybe, Sam could join him someday. After all, hadn't he been a Ring-bearer too, if only for a little while? Sam bent to press his lips to Frodo's forehead before trailing a path of kisses across his love's flushed cheeks, his freckled nose, and even his eyelids, which hid from Sam the iridescent blue of Frodo's eyes that could change hue depending on his master's mood.

Sam's ministrations seemed to rouse Frodo from slumber, as his eyes fluttered before opening fully, though they remained momentarily clouded with sleep as he hovered between drowsiness and wakefulness. His eyes felt swollen, but then he saw Sam, and he forgot any discomfort. He was being held close to Sam's chest, arms wound tight around his waist while his head rested above Sam's heart; the steady thump-thump soothed his earlier worries that Sam would leave when he discovered how truly broken Frodo was. Straining a hand up to cup Sam's cheek, Frodo gently stroked the smooth skin with his thumb, before moving to tangle his fingers in Sam's irresistible chestnut curls.

"You're here; you're really here," he whispered hoarsely, pulling Sam's head down so that he could better kiss his plump, delectable lips.

"Of course I'm here, love," Sam replied. "I promised that I'd never leave, not unless you send me away."

"I love you," Frodo whispered over and over again, his lips ghosting repeatedly over Sam's skin as he kissed him with a desperate fervor that almost frightened Sam.

"What happened?" he asked, though he thought he might already know.

"I dreamed..." Frodo began, looking for words to describe what he had seen. "There was water... the sea, I think... and grey ships. There was music... singing; dancing; laughing - and Elves... many, many Elves. I don't know where I was, Sam, but it was beautiful. Yet, I still wasn't happy. There was someone missing, someone who was important - so, so important - to me. I was running to and fro; Elves were calling to me, greeting me and entreating me to join them. The Fellowship was there, but even they couldn't hold my interest."

"Why not?" inquired Sam. "Who were you looking for?"

"You, Sam," Frodo replied. "I was looking for you."

Sam started, Frodo's declaration having caught him off guard. What Frodo had described to him sounded a lot like the Undying Lands. Yet instead of finding healing and being at peace, Frodo was driven to distraction looking for him. While Sam had always loved Frodo more than his own life, he hadn't ever dared to imagine that Frodo's attachment to him was nearly as strong. Now Sam understood Frodo's words to him upon waking: You're here, he had said. You're really here. Frodo hadn't been happy because Sam - simple Sam, the gardener - hadn't been there with him. Frodo had always been Sam's strength, his reason to go on, especially during the Quest. Could it be that the same was true of Frodo himself? Was Sam his strength, his reason to go on? Sam felt his heart start to beat wildly in his chest, hope reigniting in his very soul.

"Dear Sam," Frodo's voice broke through his thoughts, and Sam was brought back to reality by the gentle touch of Frodo's hand on his cheek. "After all these years, do you still doubt your hold on me?"

"I never understood what you saw in me," Sam admitted, his face flushing from embarrassment. "I've always been just simple Sam, your gardener. What could the likes of you want with me?"

"Yes, you're mine," Frodo whispered, his eyes burning with an intensity that Sam had not seen for quite some time. "But you've never been just my gardener, nor are you simple. You're the most complex hobbit I know. How can you be content with tending to Bag End and me - and doing nothing else? Answer me that, if you will."

"There's no greater pleasure in all of Middle-earth than serving you, Frodo," replied Sam. "I want nothing else; I ask for nothing else. All I desire is to do your bidding."

"But does serving me make you happy?" asked Frodo.

"Yes, very," Sam whispered, raising Frodo's hand to his mouth and kissing the knuckles in reply.

"You asked what the likes of me could want with you," said Frodo. "I don't think you realize, dear Sam, how much you've done for me or the many ways in which you have saved me time and time again. When I first came to Bag End, I was... depressed, to say the least. I had just lost my parents; I was leaving behind my cousins, whom I had grown very fond of and become quite close with; I was moving in with an uncle that I barely knew. I had every reason to give up. But there had recently been a birth in Hobbiton, just down the lane from Bag End - your birth, Sam. I was... enchanted. The first time I held you, I fell in love. And as you grew, you became as enamored of me as I was of you."

"I must have been an awful bother, following you around as I did," said Sam, his tone self-deprecating. "I doubt I ever gave you a moment's peace."

"But that was precisely what I needed!" exclaimed Frodo. "I didn't want time to myself to think. Caring for you was the perfect outlet. And I didn't mind reading about Elves to you or listening to your endless chatter and questions. I found it refreshing. Truth be told, I was sad when you grew up, because it meant an end to all the fun and games. You took your role as my servant quite seriously, always calling me 'sir' and 'Mister Frodo' and even 'master.' I didn't want that. But it was only after Bilbo left that I decided to take a chance on securing your love for myself, even at the risk of losing your friendship forever."

"You could never have lost me, Frodo," Sam assured him. "Even had I not felt as you did, I would have remained loyal to you and been your friend until the end of time."

"For which I am glad," said Frodo, smiling tenderly up at Sam. He reached up to wind his arms around Sam's neck, but the other hobbit stilled his movements with a single glance.

"Tonight is about your pleasure, my Frodo," he whispered, unconsciously echoing Frodo's earlier words from their first Yule spent together.

Frodo smiled in understanding, his entire body relaxing as he yielded to Sam, falling back against the pillows and spreading his legs in a wanton invitation for Sam to ravish him. The younger hobbit had become quite the experienced lover in the past seventeen years, and he knew to take his time, as that would drive Frodo wild. So he slowly began to undo the buttons of his shirt, sensuously sliding the braces down his arms until his chest was bare. Looking up, Sam was hard-pressed to contain a laugh at the sight of Frodo, eyes wide, with his lips parted and his tongue poking out in concentration as he watched Sam with avid interest. Deciding to put him out of his misery, Sam quickly shed his breeches and crawled forward until he was practically resting on top of Frodo, his erection hot and throbbing against Frodo's hip. Claiming Frodo's lips in an open-mouthed kiss, Sam felt himself fast losing control, and he hurried to divest Frodo of his dressing gown.

Now bared to each other, Sam took a moment to admire Frodo, as he had on that long-ago Yule's eve when Frodo had asked him to stay behind after his other party-guests had left so as to keep him company. Sam was forever grateful that he had obeyed his instincts and given in to Frodo's request. The past seventeen years had been the happiest that Sam could ever recall; even the Quest had not managed to dampen his enthusiasm when it came to loving Frodo.

Lowering his head to the base of Frodo's throat, where beat a steady pulse, Sam kissed the skin that had once been rubbed red-raw by the chain on which the Ring had hung. His hands brushed curls from out of Frodo's eyes, soothing his temple with a kiss before his lips once more drifted lower to caress Frodo's eyelids and nose and cheeks. Frodo moaned aloud, gasping breathlessly as Sam's expert touch drove him to the brink of his climax. His eyes had closed, but they now snapped open again to look into the fathomless depths of Sam's expressive green orbs as both forgot the world around them: only they existed; only they could understand the true significance of what they had shared and suffered, together.

"Sam..." whispered Frodo tenderly, his lover's name on his lips the only caress he could offer.

Sam descended, then, ravishing Frodo's mouth with his own in an earth-shattering kiss that left them both gasping desperately for air. Sam's fingers scrambled over Frodo's skin, pausing at the swell of his arse before drifting lower down to slide a single finger inside Frodo's puckered hole and carefully stretching him to ensure that he wouldn't feel pain when Sam finally breached the tight ring of muscle, seeing as they hadn't made love since leaving the Shire for Rivendell. Time didn't seem to have made any difference to either of them, though, as they quickly found their old rhythm, glorying in the familiarity of their union and the utter rightness they felt at being joined in this most intimate of acts. Frodo came first with a cry, his seed coating his wasted belly, while Sam followed shortly after, snapping his hips sharply against Frodo and leaning forward to bury his head in the juncture between Frodo's neck and shoulders as he keened loudly at the onslaught of emotion.

They lay entwined in the aftermath, panting, hearts racing as the enormity of their situation hit them full-force: they were alive; they had survived to live and love for another day. This was the reason they had been brought together: because one without the other was unimaginable, like losing half of one's consciousness. Sam knew, then, that their separation would be a trying time. But they would triumph in the end, as long as they had the promise of forever to tide them over until their next meeting.

"I love you, Frodo," he whispered as he settled himself next to the elder hobbit, taking Frodo in his arms and holding him close.

"I know, Sam," Frodo replied, with his heart in his eyes. "I love you, too."