By: Dana
Summary: And Pippin had turned to Sam, and he had leaned close and he had smelled of berries, sweat, and Frodo, all faint and pleasant, and he had smiled as he drew a fat, sharp-red berry, glistening, up from the bowl.
Characters: Frodo, Sam, Pippin
Pairings: Frodo/Sam/Pippin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, Pippin, abuse of fruit
Author's Notes: For Anna, for my birthday.
This follows after Heard Through the Window.
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.

It was gentlehobbits that he was sitting with, and fine as they might be, Sam better knew Frodo (and Pippin, even, most especially that Took) as one with, at the slightest, queer habits – and when Frodo had tutted his tongue and said, "Pippin, there's berry – right there – right at the corner of your lip," Sam had been left thinking that Frodo would take his kerchief from his pocket, that he'd offer it to his cousin – but Frodo had grinned, blithe had been the word for it, and he had set a kiss right there at the corner crease of Pippin's mouth.

Well, that hadn't been at all proper, and Sam only thought it more so when he couldn't stop watching, Frodo's mouth and its slow feasting – the way that Pippin's skin glimmered with a faint sheen of sweat in the light that came in through the parlour window, and the way that Pippin's neck seemed too long and too pale, and the way that Pippin's head tilted back. And the way, as well, that Frodo's long, smooth fingers ground themselves tight in a bunch of Pippin's bright curls, and Frodo's mouth, reluctant, slow, drew back from its kiss.

And Pippin said, "haven't you manners, cousin? You've a guest."

And Pippin had turned to Sam, and he had leaned close and he had smelled of berries, sweat, and Frodo, all faint and pleasant, and he had smiled as he drew a fat, sharp-red berry, glistening, up from the bowl.

"Sam, would you like a bite?"

Frodo, perhaps too amused, had shook his head and his arm had snaked about Pippin's shoulders and his hand had come to rest at Pippin's upper arm – and Sam blushed, hard, when his gaze flickered, from the sweet red berry Pippin held, and then to Pippin – and with Frodo so close, and it is far too clear that they are accustomed to getting as they want.

So Sam spoke, and boldly, "I can't say I reckon at all how Mr Merry must be able to handle the both of you – I don't even think I could figure out he could manage, and only one at a time," and then he took the strawberry from Pippin's hand – not by hand, but by mouth, instead.

It was as sweet as it had looked, and the juice flooded Sam's mouth – and then Pippin did, too, Pippin laughing against his lips and wrapping his arms up and under Sam's arms, tight about his back. And Sam was dazed, too dazed by the touch of that Took, so that when he did draw back, he hardly knew that he had. And when Frodo pressed close, his hand upon Sam's leg, Sam was hardly aware of that, either.

What matters is that he mutters, "Mr Frodo," against Frodo's lips, and its Frodo that he's kissing, who is as sweet as the berry Sam had tasted. But there is a Took at hand, and he'll not be forgotten, as Pippin soon enough insists.