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"Sam, you cannot even begin to think of it," Frodo stated firmly, drawing himself up to his full height in front of the cheerful study fire. Placing his arms akimbo on his hips, he gave Sam quite a stern look.
"Well, 'tis Yule, you know, me dear." The corner of Sam's mouth quirked up despite all his attempts not to smile at the sight before him. Frodo in a severe mood always had that perverse effect upon him. "It's really only right that I should, at least for a bit."
"That would have been logical on a normal Yule. But on a normal Yule, we should not even have been here, of course. I doubt if even the Widow Rumble herself can remember a winter as cold and snowy as this one has been."
" 'Twas to be the Great Smials, this year, I'd be thinkin'?" Sam mentioned mildly, lifting the top of the teapot to judge if more hot water might be needed.
"Not to worry, my dear, there's a couple of cups still left, I should think. Yes, it was the Took side's turn this year."
"Ah, more's the pity on that," Sam shook his head, and swooshed the tea leaves in the pot about contemplatively.
"Entirely agreed," Frodo gave a wry smile. "If we were to miss a family Yule get-together, I would have much preferred it to be the other side, as well. But you are not changing the subject, Sam. Your father will be perfectly fine, with Daisy and May at home with him. I imagine he wouldn't let you hear the last of it if you did venture out in that, just to wish him a Merry Yule. Besides, at the rate it's snowing out there, you would get trapped at Number Three, and then I would end up celebrating Yule Eve completely by myself."
"Ah, now that would be tragic, indeed it would," Sam put the pot back down on the end table and gave Frodo a raised eyebrow. "Can't be havin' that, no ways."
"I should hope not," Frodo crossed his arms over his chest, and did his best to put a pout on his face. "Eating my lonely meal in an empty smial. Waiting in vain for the sound of the footstep of the hobbit I love. Reaching out in the night, and finding no-one there."
"Wouldn't be a-hearin' that much anyroad, with that wind a'blowing as it is." Sam realized that his cause was lost, but found that he wasn't terribly upset by that thought. Frodo was quite right, of course, but then he usually was. The gaffer wouldn't really mind receiving New Year's wishes rather than Yule wishes, if it should come to that. And the idea of not spending Yule Eve with Frodo was simply unthinkable. After all, there were plenty of taters and onions still in the root cellar, not to mention some seed cake, honey, and plenty of tea in the pantry, so it wasn't as if they would starve any time soon. And wasn't it fortuitous that Frodo had thought to bring back a goodly supply of Old Winyards from the harvest festival this last autumn?
Signaling his surrender by enfolding Frodo in a warm embrace, he buried his nose in Frodo's curls right at that delectable point just under his ear. "Eating all alone?" he growled playfully, just before planting a kiss there for good measure. "Ah, we canna be having none o'that."
"Don't forget the empty bed," Frodo reminded him, with a noise somewhere between a squeak and a giggle, as Sam suddenly found his eartip. "We definitely can't be having that either. Especially on Yule Eve."
"Not Yule Eve, not ever, Frodo-love," Sam's muffled reply was heard in his ear just before he found Sam's hungry mouth on his own.
"Very well, dearest, I'm holding you to that," he sighed happily as the kiss ended. "No empty bed, not ever. A Merry Yule to you, my love, and may all our Yules be as bright as this one is."
But the look in Sam's eyes was response enough, and in the end, what was in the pantry mattered hardly at all on that long festive night.