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One Kiss
A repost for the holiday.
One Kiss - Sam accompanies his Master to Brandy Hall for Yule.
This was originally written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hobbit_smut community. I thought it was about time I posted it here. :)
One Kiss
by Serai
The music's gone quiet now. Just a lone voice singing gently out in the snow beyond the windows. Likely a tipsy lass singing to her smitten lad. Makes me smile to hear it, it does. Mingled in with the sweet voice is the tiny silver of bells on some departing guest's pony. It's been a wondrous day. The Brandybucks do know how to feast a Yule proper, that's for certain.
The warm light of candles, the best of lights, flickers along the rich walls of the smial. This is a good place, and it's always been a pleasure to come here. So many folk, and all of them lively and mad as only Brandybucks can be. Bewildering to think of my master growing up here, but I suppose there's got to be some reason for his oddities. Not that I think him odd. Never that. But he's a far cry from plain Hobbton folk, and there's much to be thankful for in that.
The great hall is empty now, as most folk have gone off to bed. The Yule log's still crackling away on the hearth, not as bright as earlier. It'll burn right through til the morning, though. Cups drunk dry and lost ribbons and sprigs of pine lie stray here and there on the polished floor, for even the servants have celebrated this night, and so are in their cups as well, though they'll be the ones waking early to set things right before any of the Squire's family have cracked an eye to the light.
But all of that hardly keeps my eye for a moment, caught up short as I am by the sight that greets me there in the firelit hall, right smack in the middle of that great empty room. Amid the dancing flames and the holly-wracked tables, one lone figure stands swaying to the sound of that lass's pretty voice drifting in from the frosty night.
My master's eyes are closed, and a smile wreathes his lips, as soft as a snowfall. Remote as a snowfall he is, too, lost in some dream only he can see. My breath is taken by him, the movement of him, and how his head cocks to one side as if listening for the near silent whisper of flakes settling on the far-off hills. It's then I see where he's standing, or rather dancing, for so he is, and how the velvety green sprig with its white berries hangs barely a foot over his head.
It's like some strange dream that I remember from childhood, a dream I never had, but one I remember nonetheless. The world seems so shrouded, so far away, and every detail of his face and form come sharp to my eyes. The light glints off his hair and the crown of holly he wears, glossy and dark, nestled there by some Buckland lass in the midst of the wild Yule revels, no doubt. My master danced with many of them this night. Earlier I watched him stepping and whirling, clasping one sweet waist after another, plump hands passing through his, and his bright smile glowing among them like a flame at the center of a rainbow. They all love him here, for as much as Bag End is his estate, seems to me it's Brandy Hall that's his true home, the one that made him. Here he shines like a jewel. For a moment, I wonder why he hasn't come back here to live.
Come lie this long Yule night with me
I'll kiss you and warm you true
Oh, we shall see the dawn come in
and welcome the Sun anew…
The lass's voice murmurs away, leaving the only sound now the crackling of the fire. But my master sways on a little yet, turning slowly under that hanging sprig of mistletoe. And suddenly I move, quickly as though a voice were calling me - Now, now, or it'll be too late… One kiss. Just one.
As secret as a snow-buried stream, I step over to him, and before I can stop myself - what are you doing, are you mad? - my arms pull him up tight to me, and I catch in my mouth the warm melting stream of him. And the marvel that he doesn't start or push me away, but eyes closed he grips my arms and opens his mouth, stilling against me. Just as the Sun hangs suspended between dying and waking this night, we stand lost in that long touch, wrapped here in the dark around the core of the night, the one night outside all the year. The silence rings us round, singing.
Oh, don't let it end. I never want to return to the world, but to stay here, in the darkness where we know each other, in this kiss that will last in my dreams my whole life long. One kiss to hold the place of everything I want, everything I'll never have. I feel him shift against me, sliding to lock his thighs with mine, and I know by the tightening of his arms that he wants this too, the magic of one touch under the wizard's branch.
I've no head for wine, and what I've drunk tonight was good cider spiced and warmed, but what runs in my blood now feels like a dark wine from far away, deepening every sense. My mouth tastes colors on his tongue, dark red and purple, broken by shards of gold as his fingers dig into my back, and he starts to thrust against me. I can't help the cry that leaps from my throat into his mouth as I feel that, for he's hard and hot and I'm right there with him quick. And there's nothing slow about it anymore - we plant our feet and clutch each other with desperate force, and I take his mouth as though breaking a fast, for so I am, starving for him.
Heat's bleeding from his chest into mine and back again, and I can smell the sweat springing from his skin along his neck, dampening his hair. The pleasure rises in great jagged spikes, and his breath rushes out of him in panting gusts. My wanting near chokes me, so much I want right now - to pull his fine velvet clothes off him, see his skin luminous in the firelight, taste the sweat running down his thighs, feel his nails sharp in my back, hold him down as he bucks up. Suck him. Tup him. Bury myself so far in his flesh he'll never be free of me, or I of him. His mouth is a feast, and this the true Yule, always has been. Bringing the Sun to life here, in the flame between us. Here. Now. The silence screams around us, within, between. The Sun comes roaring back into the world.
Time ticks, stutters and starts anew. The hall takes shape around us, and the sound of our gasping breath echoes off the warm wood walls. The crackling fire sings again, though I know in truth it never stopped. His mouth softens against mine, once more kissing slow, snowfall slow. Tongues caress gently; the wild flurry recedes. I feel it sliding away, the moment becoming memory, and a part of me wants to clutch wildly for that touch, a perfect snowflake that'll melt away to nothing if trapped. Don't go, I want to say, though I'll say no such thing. One kiss is not enough, but it will have to be.
The shape of his lips, hot and tender, brand mine for life when they part from me. A whispered word, and my cheek burns under the touch of his hand. Turning my face into his palm, I open my lips to the remnant of his finger, thick scar against my mouth, and his eyes open at the touch. The firelight glows and blazes in their depths, and sudden fear I feel at what I see there, as if once more he's hanging by a thread from the earth, and I desperate to catch him, to save him from the fire. In that moment I know, though I'll forget the knowing, the gathering weight of it falling away with scarcely a sound. He touches his fingers to my lips, and the smallest of smiles holds me there in a moment never to be recovered, in the magic of just one kiss.
I hope everyone has a great holiday!
.
One Kiss - Sam accompanies his Master to Brandy Hall for Yule.
This was originally written for the
hobbit_smut community. I thought it was about time I posted it here. :)One Kiss
by Serai
The music's gone quiet now. Just a lone voice singing gently out in the snow beyond the windows. Likely a tipsy lass singing to her smitten lad. Makes me smile to hear it, it does. Mingled in with the sweet voice is the tiny silver of bells on some departing guest's pony. It's been a wondrous day. The Brandybucks do know how to feast a Yule proper, that's for certain.
The warm light of candles, the best of lights, flickers along the rich walls of the smial. This is a good place, and it's always been a pleasure to come here. So many folk, and all of them lively and mad as only Brandybucks can be. Bewildering to think of my master growing up here, but I suppose there's got to be some reason for his oddities. Not that I think him odd. Never that. But he's a far cry from plain Hobbton folk, and there's much to be thankful for in that.
The great hall is empty now, as most folk have gone off to bed. The Yule log's still crackling away on the hearth, not as bright as earlier. It'll burn right through til the morning, though. Cups drunk dry and lost ribbons and sprigs of pine lie stray here and there on the polished floor, for even the servants have celebrated this night, and so are in their cups as well, though they'll be the ones waking early to set things right before any of the Squire's family have cracked an eye to the light.
But all of that hardly keeps my eye for a moment, caught up short as I am by the sight that greets me there in the firelit hall, right smack in the middle of that great empty room. Amid the dancing flames and the holly-wracked tables, one lone figure stands swaying to the sound of that lass's pretty voice drifting in from the frosty night.
My master's eyes are closed, and a smile wreathes his lips, as soft as a snowfall. Remote as a snowfall he is, too, lost in some dream only he can see. My breath is taken by him, the movement of him, and how his head cocks to one side as if listening for the near silent whisper of flakes settling on the far-off hills. It's then I see where he's standing, or rather dancing, for so he is, and how the velvety green sprig with its white berries hangs barely a foot over his head.
It's like some strange dream that I remember from childhood, a dream I never had, but one I remember nonetheless. The world seems so shrouded, so far away, and every detail of his face and form come sharp to my eyes. The light glints off his hair and the crown of holly he wears, glossy and dark, nestled there by some Buckland lass in the midst of the wild Yule revels, no doubt. My master danced with many of them this night. Earlier I watched him stepping and whirling, clasping one sweet waist after another, plump hands passing through his, and his bright smile glowing among them like a flame at the center of a rainbow. They all love him here, for as much as Bag End is his estate, seems to me it's Brandy Hall that's his true home, the one that made him. Here he shines like a jewel. For a moment, I wonder why he hasn't come back here to live.
Come lie this long Yule night with me
I'll kiss you and warm you true
Oh, we shall see the dawn come in
and welcome the Sun anew…
The lass's voice murmurs away, leaving the only sound now the crackling of the fire. But my master sways on a little yet, turning slowly under that hanging sprig of mistletoe. And suddenly I move, quickly as though a voice were calling me - Now, now, or it'll be too late… One kiss. Just one.
As secret as a snow-buried stream, I step over to him, and before I can stop myself - what are you doing, are you mad? - my arms pull him up tight to me, and I catch in my mouth the warm melting stream of him. And the marvel that he doesn't start or push me away, but eyes closed he grips my arms and opens his mouth, stilling against me. Just as the Sun hangs suspended between dying and waking this night, we stand lost in that long touch, wrapped here in the dark around the core of the night, the one night outside all the year. The silence rings us round, singing.
Oh, don't let it end. I never want to return to the world, but to stay here, in the darkness where we know each other, in this kiss that will last in my dreams my whole life long. One kiss to hold the place of everything I want, everything I'll never have. I feel him shift against me, sliding to lock his thighs with mine, and I know by the tightening of his arms that he wants this too, the magic of one touch under the wizard's branch.
I've no head for wine, and what I've drunk tonight was good cider spiced and warmed, but what runs in my blood now feels like a dark wine from far away, deepening every sense. My mouth tastes colors on his tongue, dark red and purple, broken by shards of gold as his fingers dig into my back, and he starts to thrust against me. I can't help the cry that leaps from my throat into his mouth as I feel that, for he's hard and hot and I'm right there with him quick. And there's nothing slow about it anymore - we plant our feet and clutch each other with desperate force, and I take his mouth as though breaking a fast, for so I am, starving for him.
Heat's bleeding from his chest into mine and back again, and I can smell the sweat springing from his skin along his neck, dampening his hair. The pleasure rises in great jagged spikes, and his breath rushes out of him in panting gusts. My wanting near chokes me, so much I want right now - to pull his fine velvet clothes off him, see his skin luminous in the firelight, taste the sweat running down his thighs, feel his nails sharp in my back, hold him down as he bucks up. Suck him. Tup him. Bury myself so far in his flesh he'll never be free of me, or I of him. His mouth is a feast, and this the true Yule, always has been. Bringing the Sun to life here, in the flame between us. Here. Now. The silence screams around us, within, between. The Sun comes roaring back into the world.
Time ticks, stutters and starts anew. The hall takes shape around us, and the sound of our gasping breath echoes off the warm wood walls. The crackling fire sings again, though I know in truth it never stopped. His mouth softens against mine, once more kissing slow, snowfall slow. Tongues caress gently; the wild flurry recedes. I feel it sliding away, the moment becoming memory, and a part of me wants to clutch wildly for that touch, a perfect snowflake that'll melt away to nothing if trapped. Don't go, I want to say, though I'll say no such thing. One kiss is not enough, but it will have to be.
The shape of his lips, hot and tender, brand mine for life when they part from me. A whispered word, and my cheek burns under the touch of his hand. Turning my face into his palm, I open my lips to the remnant of his finger, thick scar against my mouth, and his eyes open at the touch. The firelight glows and blazes in their depths, and sudden fear I feel at what I see there, as if once more he's hanging by a thread from the earth, and I desperate to catch him, to save him from the fire. In that moment I know, though I'll forget the knowing, the gathering weight of it falling away with scarcely a sound. He touches his fingers to my lips, and the smallest of smiles holds me there in a moment never to be recovered, in the magic of just one kiss.
I hope everyone has a great holiday!
.