By: Dana
Summary: What one cousin might do for another.
Characters: Frodo, Folco Boffin
Pairings: Frodo/Folco
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash, sexual content
Author's Notes: The third of five things that probably never happened in (one of) Frodo Baggins' bed(s). Many thanks to sophinisba for the beta omg because the story is much better because of her. ♥
Once again, in case you wondered, this pretty much has to be pre-quest.
Series Index: Roads Go On and Years Go By.
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.

SR 1417

'I say, Folco, when did you take such an interest in the care of geraniums?'

Folco, perhaps looking no more surprised as one might at an unexpected sneeze, did not fall back into the flowerbed at Frodo's sudden appearance. Instead, he looks back at Frodo (Frodo, with sunlight behind his hair, and him seeming to glow) and grins at him, nods his head. 'Only since Hal'd been wondering how Sam managed the gardens here. The grounds at Overlook aren't near as large, as you well know, but Sam seems to keep the gardens here in fine order and with hardly as much sweat as one might consider it would take. Not to say he doesn't work very hard as I have been, well, around enough of late to see just how serious he takes his duties here.'

And Frodo almost grins at him, as though he knows that Folco's not quite telling him the truth but he's managing himself quite well. But he nods, then looks at the array of flowering bushes, and smiles at what he sees. 'And that would be why you've been talking so very intently with Sam, I suppose.'

'Oh, but of course,' Folco smoothly lies, not quite ready to be caught in his untruth. 'Thought he might be interested in heading over, next day he has that's free. Just for his cousin's sake, of course.' He rubs his forehead and looks down at the geraniums, white and pink and red. It is amazing, really, he thinks, what one cousin might do for another.

'And what did Sam say?' Frodo asks.

Folco smiles, looks at Frodo, the profile of his face. 'Oh, that he would make it over as soon as he might. Perhaps next Highday, if he's able. But, more likely, Hal will just come here to Bag End and sort it all out with Sam on his own. Once he finds out I've been snooping in his business, that is.' Frodo nods at him, must think that all sounds quite fine.

Frodo grins at him, then nods at the front door, left opened. 'Quite inevitable, then. Now, are you going to continue to stand out here in the flowers, or would you like to come in for luncheon and a bit of tea?'

Folco smiles at Frodo, glad he's still not been caught in his lie, isn't quite sure what he'd do if he was. And if that ends up happening, well, that would have been his own fault as much as Merry's, for asking him this of him, anyhow. Well, more his own fault perhaps, but he's not been caught in his lie and Frodo's no wiser to it than he'd been before. He knows that's what matters most. 'Thank you, cousin,' he says. 'I'd be delighted.'

'Yes, I'd thought that.' And Frodo smiles back at him, takes Folco by the arm and gives him a bemused enough look as he does, and leads him to the front path and then up to the front door.

They sit down to luncheon, have their food and their tea and their talk. And Folco thinks of how he'll write Merry, how he knows that Sam's set on writing Merry, just the same. And it doesn't seem that Frodo is any closer to leaving, now, than he'd been before. Which still means that, Folco knows, he could up and leave at any time. Better that he keep a good eye on him (or, better, eyes). He'd not hear the end of it from Merry, or from Pippin either, if he let Frodo just up and slip away.

And after luncheon, when the table has been cleared and the dishes have been washed, when Sam has come back up from Number Three and he's working in the gardens once again, Frodo takes Folco to the parlour and they sit together and have their pipes. And Folco tells Frodo how things are fairing out at Overlook, how Rosa Bracegirdle and her eldest daughter had just been at tea the week before, and how Rosa at least is still hoping for a match. And Frodo tells Folco how he's glad Rosa gave up on him long ago, and he tells how things have been at Bag End, but then, Folco would know, given how often he's been about the place.

'Well, you know,' Folco says lamely. Hadn't he mentioned the same, earlier on?

Frodo's gaze is steady, and Folco notes that the top two buttons of his jacket are undone, though he doesn't let his gaze linger more than that. 'Yes, I know,' Frodo says, and Folco looks up, notes that Frodo's gaze is as steady as before.

But Frodo only grins at him, but maybe it's more that he's grinning at some secret at his own. 'You have been about Bag End – well, quite a lot, that is, this last fortnight. I wondered if there was reason for it, and if that reason might be special – more so than your own interest in my gardens and my gardener, that is.'

'Well, you know,' Folco says lamely, as he had before.

'Yes, I know,' Frodo says. 'And I must say, I am somewhat suspicious, Folco.'

'Oh?' Folco holds his breath.

'Yes. It isn't that you aren't welcome, but you seem to like keeping to yourself at Overhill. Or, at least, going off to Budgeford to keep at eye on Freddy, when he's not otherwise around.' And Frodo is looking at him, as if he means to piece him apart, and Folco lets out his breath and then swallows it down. He shouldn't be so nervous, with Frodo looking at him and not doing a thing beside, but he finds himself nervous anyhow – but then, Frodo's always been good at that, saying things without any words.

'Yes, well – ' Folco starts, but then he stumbles.

Frodo goes on. 'And it isn't to say I mind. Merry's set on visiting at month's end, and I suppose he'll bring Pippin with him as well. But then, you might already know.' He pauses, gaze on Folco's, and Folco's set to bite on his tongue, wouldn't want to blurt out the truth. 'You never have been one to visit on your own, rather with Freddy or our other cousins. I'm almost thinking that something might be up.'

He pushes at his nervousness, but it is a heavy, stuffy thing, and Folco forces a laugh, settling back. 'Now, Frodo, you really have thought about this all too much. As well, you really have become suspicious in your old age.'

Frodo laughs at that, and Folco can only hope he's fooled Frodo once again. Frodo seems to let it pass, and he asks how long Folco plans on staying. To which Folco answers, till supper or dinner at the latest – and if he's set on that, well, Frodo lets him know he'll help with the cooking, as long as he doesn't mind. And he doesn't, and Folco does like spending time at Bag End though it is true that he doesn't often come here on his own. 'It's late enough, and Overhill's not that far away. But you could stay over, if you'd like.'

And Folco nods, thinking he might like that a lot. It's hardly late out, anyhow, but maybe it's just that Frodo wants him to stay.

It isn't that Folco lives alone – his sister Ruby is still there, and they both do look after the place, as they aren't ones to keep servants, now that their parents are gone. But still, Folco is often enough alone that he does treasure those times that he's not. And anyhow, with all the others who clamber for Frodo's attention, he's not had this sort of time alone with him in, oh, more than just years. He more than just helps with dinner, with Frodo having put himself out with luncheon and supper as well. Folco cooks well enough, he thinks – Ruby so often demands it of him, he really should be good at it by now. And anyhow, he'd not want to put Frodo out again.

Afters, and wine after that, and they sit in the parlour, the fire burning and the air still. Folco looks at Frodo, but looks away when Frodo looks back at him. He thinks back, on what Frodo had said, and he feels silly, young, and foolish, all things he's not felt in years. He sips at his wine, then puts the glass down, but only when it's empty. 'I think it's time I put myself to bed.'

'Let me show you to your room,' Frodo says, rising right away.

Folco nods, rising as well, rubs at his forehead and looks at Frodo, notes how Frodo looks back. He'd not want Frodo thinking it suspicious, him being here, and all the time he's spent at Bag End, of late, and all the time he knows he'll be about, till Merry arrives.

'You're such a fine host,' he says, watching as Frodo kneels and puts the fire hot. Funny, then, how he only seems hotter. But he thinks on what Frodo had said, and he doesn't want Frodo thinking him suspicious. It's as if Frodo expects something of him, and Folco's not quite sure, wouldn't want to step out of line but Frodo's never been very clear with his motives, is quite a hard book to read, for all Folco's read him as best he could. Frodo stands, wipes his hands off, smiles at him as he turns. 'Really, you are,' Folco says, coming back to his thoughts. He really should go to bed, but a strange thought has entered his head, and it almost seems clear that Frodo plans on more than just leading him to his room. He knows where he'd be staying, anyhow.

And he is surprise, in the hall, when Frodo stops him. Frodo looks at him, their gaze level, and Frodo's hand reaches up, bunches in Folco's curls and, quite unexpectedly, Frodo's kisses him on the mouth.

The kiss is rather unexpected, at that, and Folco voices his surprise, only to hear it muffled against Frodo's mouth, his tongue. He stumbles back several steps, but Frodo keeps hold of him, and, oh. Folco's head knocks back against the wall, but Frodo doesn't draw away, kisses him. And Folco reaches out, grabs at Frodo's arms, holding on. And then it seems he's kissing Frodo, and that does seem to be even less expected than Frodo kissing him in the first.

But then Frodo draws back, one hand still caught in his hair, looking at Folco, judging him. 'So, there was more to your visits than you'd let on,' he says, and Folco can't guess the tone of Frodo's voice, low and blank. Only a blind hobbit would not think him lovely, and Folco certainly has eyes to see. But he grins, realises that he's kept his secret safe, and he presses his mouth against Frodo's, not wanting this kiss to come as a surprise.

It doesn't, and he steps into like he might an old dance, Frodo's mouth warm and his hands, where Folco can feel them, feel hot. 'I suppose you've caught me,' Folco says, when he draws back, resting his head against the wall. 'You might not know how it is, keeping that big a thing hidden all the time.'

It isn't hard, lying like that, so maybe there's more truth in it than Folco's considered. But still, there's a bigger secret he needs to keep hidden, and this doesn't seem like such a terrible way to bend the truth.

Frodo kisses him once more, and this time Folco doesn't pull away. Frodo's hand falls to his shoulders, and his own hands find their way to Frodo's hips, then settling at his waist. He wonders at how far this might go, hopes it goes as far as it's able. He's had a number of kissing friends in his time, but Frodo is - Frodo. Folco's always thought well of him, always had room for him in his heart. But then, Folco doesn't see how it's capable to not love Frodo, in one way or another.

The warm slip of Frodo's tongue, and Folco groans, clutches at him, feels the slip of fabric beneath his fingers. It's Frodo who pulls away, breathing hard, muttering something about how it really has been too long. But then Frodo steps away, leaving Folco there, leaning against the wall. Folco looks at Frodo, runs one hand back through his hair, catches his breath. 'I suppose we could end it at that,' Frodo says, straightening his collar. Frodo looks at him, though, and Folco supposes his gaze seems too heavy. It's more than that, and his gaze seems cautious. 'But then, I did say I'd show you to your room.'

'You did.' Frodo had said that, and Folco wonders if he'd meant this all along. 'Does your offer still stand?'

Frodo grins, slowly. 'It really has been too long.' He doesn't say more than that (not for a long while, and Folco's given this just enough thought that he'd imagined Frodo would have been, well, rather more vocal). But they make it from the hall, into the master bedroom, pulling at clothing and seeking for skin. It's not all that many steps, not really, but it takes more time than it should, them caught up as they are. Then Frodo 's mouth latches onto his, Frodo pushes him back onto the bed.

'You keep saying that,' Folco says, for a moment dazed. 'That it's been too long. Just how long has it been?'

But Frodo only grins at him, doesn't say a thing, bends down and his mouth latches onto skin and Folco starts a little, bucking up, but Frodo presses with his thighs, pushes him down. 'None of that,' he says, rising up, dark curls ticking Folco's cheek. 'But long enough.'

Folco chuckles, shifts his head, slides his mouth along Frodo's jaw. Frodo's head turns, just slightly, and their mouths bump together. He'll have enough of this, of kissing Frodo – while Frodo's hands finish off their work, dealing with buttons and other fastenings, and Folco should do something more, but he just can't manage his hands. And Frodo's mouth is deep and sweet and Folco groans, and he drinks him, breathes him in. Frodo's hands are like weathered stone, smooth but not perfectly so, and Folco wants to keep this, doesn't want to let this feeling fall away.

But the moment does end, and Frodo sits back, his mouth and his hands both separating from skin. He shifts to the side, and Folco sits, looks at him as he strips (strips) his trousers off, tossing them to the floor. And Folco looks at him, eyes going up, settling, then going down, and settling once again. His fingers feel numb, tripping over themselves as he shrugs his shirt off.

This is happening. He looks at Frodo, all of that bare, smooth skin. This isn't happening, but it's going to happen. It is in the course of happening, right now. 'We'll not manage anything if you don't get rid of those,' Frodo says, pressing his mouth against Folco's, once again taking him by surprise. Folco rocks, back, but grabs at Frodo, keeps hold of him and the moment as well. Frodo draws back, smiling just slightly. And Folco nods, knows they really won't get any further than this if he doesn't deal with his trousers, and he's hardly aware of getting rid of them as he does.

Then Frodo is on him, taking him by surprise for a third time, pushing him back to the bed – thighs pressing against his legs, warm flesh, and so much of it. Folco blinks, looks up at him, and he chuckles, shutting his eyes. 'You know, if I'd known you were this fierce, I might have suggested this some time before.'

Frodo laughs, and that's warm as well, and it presses against Folco just as the rest of him down. Folco opens his eyes, looks at him, and then Frodo bends back down, and Folco feels him, gasps at how wondrous it is, Folco pressing against him. He supposes it could be more than that, not just a slow grinding, Frodo pushing against him, the skin between growing slick, sweaty. But it's enough, more than enough, and Folco lets this look at Frodo burn into the back of his mind, to always hold – the way his dark hair falls, the colour on his cheeks, eyes half-shut, lips half-parted. Glorious, lovely, and Folco acts, grips at Frodo's arms, pushes one leg up and over, lets Frodo rock against him, and the friction in between.

It shouldn't end, but then it does, but not until the slow burning has flared out like a bonfire, and they are both left gasping, hot, but sticky in between. And Frodo chuckles, presses warm, wet kisses on Folco's shoulder, though he doesn't stop there. Warm, but they're cooling already, and Folco turns his mouth to Frodo's, and they kiss. Cooling, but for the moment, Folco doesn't seem to mind. Neither does Frodo, and they kiss, and Folco runs his hands down Frodo's arms, lets his touch slip upon his back. Isn't content to lie there, not now, and they end up shifting, rolling back, and now it's Frodo who's lying against the bed, with Folco's legs pressed against his, straddling his thighs.

'You're ravishing. Utterly stunning. I've no idea, not really, how I managed this turn of good luck.' He runs his hands down Frodo's chest, but his eyes are on Frodo's face, watching him as he responds, mouth opening just slightly. 'You said... you said I was welcome to stay over, no matter Overhill's not that far away. Does that offer stand? I do believe that's just what you said.'

Frodo quirks one eyebrow at him, arms up above his head, pale against the paler colour of the sheets. Folco nearly loses himself, at that, but somehow keeps a hold of himself. Legs pressed against Frodo's, hot again now that the moments grown long. He's done a good job, keeping secrets – for all he's found out more about himself and Frodo than he'd otherwise thought – but he's kept hold of the one that matters, right?

'Yes,' Frodo says, grinning. 'I do suppose that's what I said.'

One: Linens
Two: Fever
Three: Secrets
Four: Proposals