West of the Moon

A Tolkien Fanfiction Archive

 

 

Small Favors
Pip wakes up in a predicament. Sam helps him out.
Author: Trilliah
Rating: NC-17

 

Pippin was usually a heavy sleeper.

It was something he prided himself on, actually, and it had become something of a legend in Brandy Hall.  His cousin Merry had conducted several experiments, when they were younger, to discover the extent of this particular truth, all of which had become favorite items when a gathering of relatives required the exchange of tales as well as food and drink.  He'd heard about them all many times: from Merry's early pranks like tickling Pippin's nose with a feather or whispering into his ear, to more deliberate things like yanking the blankets from the sprawled body and clapping just over his head, to downright drastic things like banging a spoon against a pot and dancing around Pippin's bedroom or grabbing him by the ankle and dragging him off of his bed. How Pippin had managed to sleep through that last one, Merry claimed he could never account for; Pippin never told him he'd actually woken up but was by then too stubborn to let on.  He had a reputation to upkeep, after all.

Later, though, Merry had learned tricks that were subtler, and far more powerful, and quite frankly in Pippin's opinion downright unfair. These were not pranks to be discussed in polite company, and as such they remained tricks only Merry knew--for which Pippin was very thankful.  A light caressing hand on that certain spot just along the inside of Pippin's thigh, a warm tongue flicking out over a flat brown nipple, the press of hard heat along Pippin's backside as Merry lay spooned against him, and Pippin was awake--and aroused--in a heartbeat, and with no way to hide it, either.

It was the predicament he found himself in now, though to be fair Merry didn't seem to have meant to do it.

He'd come to awareness only moments before with the feel of Merry's fingers resting lightly on his stomach, just above the thatch of curled, springy hair below his navel. His cousin's other arm was wrapped snugly around Pippin's chest, and had effectively pinned Pippin's arms to his sides. Meanwhile, in the slight twitching movements common enough in sleep, Merry's hand had been teasing and tormenting just above what had become Pippin's quite prominent erection.

Pippin squirmed a little, still mostly asleep, taking stock of his surroundings. The bed beneath him was softer than it had any right to be, and he couldn't place it, exactly. The only time he'd ever felt a bed this soft was years ago, the night he'd slept over with Cousin Frodo at Bag End, and had crawled into the shelter of Frodo's arms during the frightening noises of a spring storm. But he was a grown hobbit now, with Merry in his bed, and Frodo could be found sharing his comforts with Sam, so why--

Then Pippin's eyes flew open as the vague, drunken memories of the night before suddenly snapped into sharp focus.

Before his eyes, the answer to his riddle: Frodo's sleeping face, not six inches from Pippin's. Pippin stared, wide-eyed, as the visions of that face contorting in the heat of passion flickered through his mind. He realized he was sore and tingly and deliciously achy in places he'd never dreamed, and oh--what did they DO last night?

Then another memory struck, one that sobered him up a little: Bilbo. Right. Bilbo had disappeared, and he and Merry, in their rather drunken but still thoroughly sincere concern for their cousin, had decided Frodo could use some distraction. Sam had seemed reluctant, saying Frodo had had rather too much to drink himself and was upset and should sleep it off, but Frodo had giggled and pinched Sam's bottom and called him a prude, and all Sam could do was sputter indignantly--then do his best to play referee as the other three landed in a sweaty, heaving tangle amidst the bed sheets. 

The next series of images was a blur of limbs and curly hair and sweaty skin, gasps he couldn't rightly put ownership to, whimpers and moans that inevitably followed. Somehow trembling fingers navigated shirt buttons and trouser lacings, fine party clothing ending up in rumpled heaps strewn about the room, and Pippin found himself in a number of different positions he would have previously deemed impossible.

And most glorious of all was Frodo, arching and crying out and sobbing with pleasure while Merry and Pippin worked in earnest, determined to give him something very good to remember about this night.  Merry had known precisely where to go, and Pippin had followed, eager to learn his lover's secrets about their normally-aloof Baggins cousin. 

But it had been Sam that Frodo had cried for, eventually, when the throes of his passion took him to the brink of release; Sam's hand that steadied Frodo's frantically questing hips, gentling him into a softer rhythm as Sam's mouth found his master's need. And Pippin had watched, amazed at the change that came over his cousin's face--the yearning yet somehow peaceful expression that took place of the desperation--while Sam moved with him in a perfectly synchronized dance that ended with Frodo's spectacular explosion.  The captivated look on Merry's face told Pippin that while he and Frodo might have been familiar once, it was nothing next to the depth of passion Sam had tapped into.

After Frodo's last shudders subsided, Pippin, despite the fact that Merry moved to lay atop him and had begun thrusting between his thighs, was unable to take his eyes from the other two; he noted with some amazement that Sam resolutely ignored his own arousal, cradling Frodo in against his still-clothed body and rocking him as Frodo dropped swiftly into sleep. While Pippin felt his toes curling as Merry increased his rhythm, Sam's eyes flickered over the dark mass of Frodo's curls and met the young Took's, solemn and deep and grey in the growing morning light. As Pippin watched, one of Sam's hands left Frodo's shoulders and quested downwards, taking Frodo's leg and drawing it up snug around Sam's hip, before returning to work at his own trouser lacings. The folds of fabric fell open, and Pippin could see Sam's arousal clearly now, a deep pulsing red; saw Sam flush a little but never break eye contact as his hand wrapped around the base and began to squeeze and pull along the hardened flesh.

Pippin whimpered, impulsively grabbing Merry by the rump to pull him in closer, tighter, grinding their flesh together while they both watched Sam watching them. Sam's flingers flicked over his weeping tip; above him, Merry swallowed. Sam rocked his hips slowly, rocking Frodo in his sleep as he did, and Pippin squeaked. Sam's eyes fluttered, but he struggled to keep watching them, his eyes clouded with desire as he stroked his fingers around the rosy head.

Pippin lifted his legs and wrapped them tight about Merry's hips, allowing his lover greater range of motion. It took only two or three more forceful thrusts until Merry moaned, a low, guttural sound, and Pippin felt the warm spurt between his legs. He whimpered, so very close himself, and as Sam's hand tightened one last time and he gasped, Pippin cried out and came with him.

They had stilled, then, all three sated and sleepy. Sam had looked at them with a shy smile, and Pippin had grinned back; Merry was already drifting. Pippin rolled to the side and Merry instinctively snuggled in behind him; just before he drifted off the young Took reached out and touched first Frodo's cheek, then Sam's shoulder, and murmured, "Good night."

Sam nodded, then closed his eyes; Pippin had given his sated flesh one last squeeze and let the memory of pleasure tingle pleasantly through his groin before releasing himself and drifting off with them.

Now, in his current state of discomfort, the memory was doing little to help--he was harder than ever, and still didn't know how he was going to take care of it. 

He tried to take stock of the situation, carefully considering his possibilities.  Merry, if tradition served, would not take kindly to being awoken, even for something so urgent as this (though Pippin doubted his cousin would sympathize with Pippin's current definition of urgency).  He drank as well as any Brandybuck, but he had to have sufficient time to sleep it off.  If awoken before that time he would be cranky and uncooperative, and Pippin would not only still be in his unfortunate predicament, he'd have a ruffled cousin to contend with, too. 

So waking Merry for assistance was out of the question.  Pippin looked at his other cousin, considering.  Frodo's face glowed in the reflected light of the afternoon sun as it shone through the curtains.  His long lashes lay against his cheekbones, and his full mouth was parted slightly as he took soft rasping breaths that were not quite snores.  Pippin frowned at him for a moment, but quickly decided against waking him; if he remembered correctly, Frodo held his alcohol like a colander held soup, and would probably need even more time than Merry to sleep it off proper.  As Pippin didn't fancy anyone getting sick on him, he ruefully checked Frodo off his mental list of potentials.

Which left...Sam.  Pippin swallowed, remembering vividly the older hobbit's darkened eyes as he'd watched Pippin and Merry last night.  He shivered, and his hips moved involuntarily as he recalled Sam's strong-looking hand moving over his firm erection.  Pippin wondered what that hand would feel like on his flesh--Merry's hand, while it sported one or two calluses from his quill, was mostly the hand of a gentlehobbit: soft, unused to hard or weathering labor.  Pippin's was even softer.  But Sam's...he stared at the hand in question where it rested on Frodo's chest, only inches away.  Even in the fading light he could see the cracks on the knuckles, the weathered and tanned skin toughened from the long hours of working in the sun and soil.  Pippin recalled the time or two he and Sam had shaken hands--the gardener's palms had been callused and firm, but warm and dry, and suddenly Pippin's mouth was watering at the thought of that grip closing around him elsewhere, pulling in those long slow strokes he'd seen Sam use on himself, running a roughened thumb over the silk of his weeping head.

He came to himself when he heard Merry groan, and realized he'd been thrusting his hips a bit more insistently.  He stilled and held his breath, waiting as Merry shifted and moved his right arm to wrap around Pippin's chest along side the left.  The hand that had been tantalizingly close to where Pippin needed it was now assisting the other in pinning Pippin more firmly than ever--any hope of escape fluttered away with Merry's sigh as he settled back into sleep. 

Pippin closed his eyes, simultaneously grateful and aggravated Merry had not awoken.  He was growing desperate, and even dealing with grumpy Merry was starting to sound better than lying here, achingly hard and effectively immobilized. 

He tried to collect his jumbled thoughts and arrange them into something more coherent.  He'd been in tighter fixes than this, after all--how many times had he managed to escape the watchful eyes of the cooks and snatch morsels practically from under their very noses, or outwitted the dogs guarding Farmer Maggot's mushrooms?  Surely if he could manage such clever maneuvers as those, he could find a way to help himself now--without waking *anyone* up.

The Took in him grew smug at the self-issued challenge, and he set all his remaining wits to the solution.  His hands were out of the question--he tried moving them and met firm resistance.  He could not tear himself from Merry's embrace, not and leave the elder hobbit sleeping. 

His legs, then.  Pippin inclined his head as far as he could, trying to watch and aim as he lifted a thigh and tried to catch his engorged flesh beneath it.  If he could roll it down a bit, pin it *between* his thighs, perhaps he could--ah, yes--there--

No!  Pippin barely bit back an exasperated sigh as his stubborn hardness slipped from his grip and popped merrily back up against his belly.  He rolled his eyes and lifted his leg again, patiently trying the maneuver again, but every time he got close his cock slipped free once more. 

He glared down at it, annoyed and still very, very bothered.  Fine, then.  Something else.  He thought for a moment, then brightened and slid his knee along the bed sheets, moving the rumpled fabric until he'd created a hill of cloth right in front of his belly.  He tilted his hips slightly, making certain not to jar Merry any more than was necessary, and pressed himself into the cool, soft folds. 

He closed his eyes and sighed, a slight smile gracing his lips as he finally managed to obtain some of the relief he so desperately sought.  He moved a little, letting the lose linen brush and tickle the length of his erection, and let his mind wander again over the events of the previous night.  His smile grew, as did other things, and he felt himself moving tantalizingly close to completion.  He grinned proudly, pleased that he was going to be able to finish with so little to work with, and rolled his hips a little faster.  Close, getting close...

Suddenly, next to him, Frodo sighed, and stretched a little bit.  Pippin froze, illogically aghast at the idea of his older cousin catching him at his current exploit, and waited, hoping Frodo would merely drop back into slumber.

He did.  But before he did, he rolled to face Sam, wrapping an arm and a leg around the gardener and stretching the sheets with him until Pippin's saving grace was no more than a tiny wrinkle in otherwise smooth cloth. 

He stared at it, then at Frodo's back, then back down, and wanted to cry with frustration.  He leaned a bit, wondering if he couldn't perhaps still--but Merry shifted then, and Pippin slipped quickly back into his previous position, desperate to keep Merry asleep as well.  Once his other cousin stilled, Pippin could feel properly sorry for himself; he bit his lip and sniffled a little, staring wide-eyed down at his begging flesh and trying not to whimper.

"Oh, for pity's sake," said a husky voice, low with sleep and amusement, and Pippin's head snapped up to find Sam's eyes regarding him warmly over Frodo's wayward curls.  The bronzed arm that held Frodo shifted, reaching out, and Pippin didn't think his eyes could get any wider as that glorious hand opened for him, then curled around him in a firm yet gentle hold.

"Oh," Pippin breathed, still staring, and embarrassment and gratitude battled for supremacy within him.  Gratitude won out, but was soon overshadowed by frantic need, and Pippin opened his mouth and whispered, "Please."

It seemed to be the confirmation Sam was waiting for.  The wonderful grip tightened and that hand began to move, long, slow strokes that started from the base and worked up to the tip.  Sam pressed in with his palm, allowing it to settle over the head while his fingers worked along the shaft, and Pippin's mouth fell open as his hips once again began to move in short little thrusts.  His eyes drifted from Sam's, to Sam's hand on him, and finally rolled up and fluttered closed as the heady sensations washed through him.  He heard a warm, breathy chuckle issue from Sam, but didn't open his eyes.  Need had solidly washed away any sheepishness, and all his focus was now bent on keeping himself relatively still and quiet as Sam worked his wonders. 

How, Pippin mused, had the gardener grown so skilled at THIS particular endeavor?  There--ngh--that little twisting movement; why had Pippin never thought to try that?  And there--ah!--that slow, steady *pull*--then Pippin laughed soundlessly as he realized Sam must go through these same motions every day in the garden, grasping at the weeds he twisted and pulled from the midst of the vegetables and flowers. 

It was with a new appreciation of gardening that he spiraled finally up, up, and the peak of his yearning gathered and tightened at the base of his spine.  And with a final shudder and breathless gasp he spurted, quivering and fighting not to cry out as the sensations rocked him from his groin to the tips of his toes. 

He finally went slack, slumping back into Merry's embrace, and stayed that way for long moments, until he felt Sam's hand unwrap itself almost reluctantly.  He opened his eyes and grinned lazily at the Gamgee. 

Sam smiled back, but Pippin's brows drew together in a frown as he noticed the smile was a little bit terse.  He drew a breath, momentarily afraid Sam was regretting what they'd just done--then glanced down and noticed Sam's attentions had left the gardener in a state not unlike the one Pippin had found himself in.  He grinned then, and Sam rolled his eyes and grinned back, then tilted his head in a little shrug before reaching down to see to himself again.

Pippin was suddenly averse to the idea that Sam would again have to take care of himself, and hissed a little through his teeth to get his attention.  Sam stopped, his hand resting lightly atop himself, and looked up at him quizzically. 

"Let me," Pippin whispered, and smiled at Sam's incredulous frown.  The older hobbit nevertheless removed his hand, raising one eyebrow expectantly in an expression that clearly asked exactly how Pippin intended to manage this. 

Pippin grinned, then raised his knee and extended his leg until his big toe grazed the underside of Sam's erection. 

Sam's eyes widened, and his entire body grew stiff; Pippin's grin turned smug as he ran his foot up and down the warm flesh, tilting his knee so he could curl his toes around it as far as they would go, then rubbed the length again with the top of his furred foot. 

Sam's mouth was hanging open, and he was burying little gasps in Frodo's hair; his eyes fluttered closed and his hips worked slowly, pushing against Pippin's leg while his free hand flexed and relaxed at his side, once, twice, three times...and then he was coming, a low and almost inaudible groan issuing from his throat as he spilled onto the already-soiled bed covers. 

Pippin pulled his leg away and let it drop back to the bed--avoiding the warm stains of his and Sam's handiwork--and watched the older hobbit's face.  Sam's eyes were still closed, his jaw slack, and his breath was coming in long, deep gasps.  After a moment he opened his eyes and met Pippin's gaze; the younger hobbit had thought to look smug but found himself suddenly shy.  He twisted the corner of his mouth up into a nervous half-smile and swallowed, fearful of Sam's response--would he think him a horrible little pervert? 

But Sam smiled, warmly, and Pippin felt the embarrassment wash away, to be replaced with contented pleasure.  Sam reached over and ran his hand along Pippin's hip, resting it warmly there for a moment before nodding his head, gratefully.

Pippin nodded back, wishing he could take Sam's hand in his, but his arms were still pinned.  He glanced down ruefully, then shrugged at Sam, who chuckled soundlessly and drew his own hand back to cradle Frodo against his chest.  Pippin watched, eyes growing heavy with sleep as he nestled back against Merry. 

Sam pressed a furtive kiss to Frodo's brow, and Pippin saw the smile fade a little, replaced with a kind of worry as he gazed into Frodo's sleeping face.  Pippin didn't know what he saw there, but he realized Sam must be thinking of Bilbo; of when Frodo would awaken and comprehend the full measure of his loss.  Sam's eyes flickered up to Pippin's again, and Pippin read uncertainty in their swirling depths. 

Pippin felt a surge of warmth flood through him.  He couldn't reach out and embrace his friend, but he met his gaze solidly and steadily, pouring his soul into his answer to the unspoken question: He'll be fine.  He has you.

He had no doubt Sam understood; the gardener's eyes softened and his smile was grateful.  His eyes closed, and he nuzzled into Frodo's hair a little before dropping swiftly back to sleep. 

Pippin watched him for a moment, suddenly feeling a strange aching in his chest.  He glanced down at Merry's arms, snug around him, and bit his lip.  Then, reaching a decision, he pulled at them, prying them lose so he could move.  He rolled over to face his lover just as Merry frowned and opened his eyes. 

"Pip?" he mumbled, squinting at him.  "S'wrong?"

Pippin smiled and shook his head.  "Nothing, Merry," he whispered, and kissed Merry's lips softly.  "Everything's all right.  Go back to sleep."

Merry seemed perfectly happy to obey, and was asleep again almost before the words left Pippin's mouth.  Pip smiled, gazing tenderly into his cousin's face for a moment before wrapping his arm over Merry's back and pulling him close.  Merry snuggled against him in his sleep, his arms closing around him once more, and Pippin felt the ache ease. 

"Everything's all right," he whispered again, to no one in particular, before closing his eyes and letting sleep claim him once more.

 

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