By: Dana
Summary: The sun is shining bright and Bag End's front door is in need of a painting.
Characters: Frodo, Sam
Pairings: Frodo/Sam
Rating: G
Warnings: Slash
Author's Notes: Written for Nienna Calaquendi for the Lord of the Rings FPF Secret Santa; she wanted Frodo/Sam, fluffy and sweet, with the funny if at all possible. And here is what I have to give. Pre-quest, if that even matters at all.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and if there was something that Sam was certain Bag End was in need of, then that something was a fresh coat of paint for its less-than-cheery front door. What should have been a welcoming bright green was starting to fade to a dull and drab grey.

"See," said Sam, as he pointed this fact out to Frodo, pointing out a piece of the old paint that was starting to crack, peel, "this door here's in dire need of a painting, or I'm an elf's uncle."

"Well, you're hardly an elf's uncle," and that was Frodo's half-chuckled reply, as he leaned in close over Sam's shoulder, so close that the warmth of Sam's sun-honeyed hair was just a breath and a tickle from his cheek, "but I am rather certain that I see what you mean."

"Good. It's hardly fitting, and it's hardly right. Now what I think - " and Sam started to turn, just about jumping from his skin when he noticed Frodo so close. "Really now, Mr Frodo," he said, though his tone was hardly cross, "you ought to warn me when you've right about crawled into my skin."

Frodo just flashed a grin, and leaned back a touch.

"Much better," and Sam's reply was as bemused as Frodo's expression had become. He stepped back so he could turn, and felt wood work press into his shoulder. Frodo's eyebrows lifted in amusement, and it was so good to see him smile; and that was just what Sam was thinking, for Frodo could see it in his eyes. Sam was a bit caged, standing in that corner, but there was no more flush to his cheeks that anything else but the heat of the day.

"And I thought that I could get a bit of work done," Sam continued. Frodo nodded, urging him on; and he was certainly making no move to let Sam free. There was ivy curling near Sam's hair, and there were shadows dancing just as bright as the light in his eyes.

"I'd start with sanding it down, of course, it would do no good to paint over the old. And then I'd put on the new coat, so Bag End's door will be its right proper green. It shouldn't be any other way; I doubt old Mr Bilbo -"

Frodo only nodded, leaning in close, well, closer. He could smell the ivy, and bright azaleas in bloom, and the warmth of Sam's skin. "I suppose that this will be keeping you busy all day."

"I'd guess as much," said Sam, with an awkward nod, given the close quarters. Frodo felt that warmth against his lips, then, and the sun bearing down on his back. Sam chuckled, earthy and deep, and put the back of curled knuckles to Frodo's cheek, the softest of gestures, the most gentle of hands.

"The whole road will be seeing us, sir."

"Yes, well, I suppose that they'll just have to turn themselves away."

"Yes," Sam's reply was a mumble, "I suppose they'll be having to do that, then."

"For their own good," Frodo smirked, tilting his head; Sam tilted his back, and their lips were a breath away from breathing each other in. A grin quirked on Frodo's lips, and his eyes were as bright.

"Oh, definitely, and that's a fact."

Sam smiled, sighing as Frodo's lips brushed his. Then Frodo leaned back, and he laughed. Sam shook his head, sliding his fingers back through Frodo's dark curls. He let the touch linger, cool and soft. "Now sir," and Sam's voice was low, "you're rather playful, today. Is there an occasion, that I should be knowing? Or is this?"

"Just a bit of random, from that cracked young Baggins?" Frodo's lips twitched. "It might just be the latter, I fear."

And Sam sighed, leaning back, the wood still carving into his shoulder, the frame of the door solid against the back of his head. Frodo stepped forward, and leaned in with him, against him, and sighed in the shadow there at the door under the lip of the hill.

"It's just that they don't understand you," said Sam, "and if they'd just take a half a moment more than they have, well, they'd see you as you are, and not as they suspect."

"And how do you see me, Sam?" Frodo exhaled, leaning into Sam's touch, waiting for no answer as he pressed their mouths together.

There was a long stretch of silence, punctuated with a whisper and a sigh and a breath, and so much more than could be spoken at all, even if one was granted the life of an elf. Then Frodo laughed against Sam's lips, his taste still fresh and moist on tongue and tooth and skin. Oh, this, sweet as breath and just as urgent, a need that could hardly be denied. This was always something, always new; this, that had started with what Frodo had thought was nothing more than a tumble between sheets; a lonely old bachelor, and someone who wasn't quite a friend.

Just this, and it had long since turned to something that Frodo never wanted to change; not that he couldn't live without it, just that his life would be a dull place, as faded as this old door, if not for the presence of Sam.

"Oh. Just the sort of thing I'm certain can't be put into words."

And that was Sam's time to laugh, rich and warm, and he settled his arms around Frodo, the weight of summer and all things that grew, pulling him close. The ivy was drooping down into his hair, now, and he was dark, fading back into the hard shadow of the door and the hill and the grass and sky overhead. His hands were warm as his lips had been, and Frodo had read works of ages past, but he could hardly word his view of Sam, as eloquently as Sam had worded his own view of Frodo. And that was same; breathless, amazing. He hardly understood this gardener, and doubted he ever would, and never as much as Sam seemed to understand him.

"I do love you, Sam," and Frodo's voice was low.

"As much if'n not more as I love you. Though," and a smile curved on Sam's lips, "I hardly think I'll be getting any work done, today, with my arms so full of you."

And Frodo laughed and pulled Sam close, tight, and they both tumbled back down onto the path in a tangle of limbs. There were leaves in Sam's hair, and Frodo plucked them free one by one, with a kiss to Sam's smiling, laughing lips, for each that came free.

"Then we shall make a good day of it," Frodo smiled, and he could breathe Sam in, and even if it was just for the moment, there was no need left to think of how things could change.