By: Dana
Summary: Sam entertains an unexpected guest.
Characters: Pippin, Sam, mention of Frodo and Merry
Pairings: Pippin/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, sexual content
Author's Notes: Because you just can't say no to Pippin. Beta thanks to Hyel, who egged me on to get this written, and Bree, who helped a lot, and Aratlithiel, who came in and evened out all the rough edges that were left; thank you so much, you three!
The time is summer SR 1416 - Pippin is 26, and Sam is 36.
Nominated for the 2004 Slippery Quill Awards.

Third place runner up.
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.

"... and so you decided that you would walk all the way to Bag End?"

Pippin nodded.

"Only then it started to rain?"

Pippin nodded again.

"And then you were caught out in it and you had no other choice but to trudge the last mile through the mud and the muck, and that is why you've ended up here at Number Three, standing like a drowned rat at the front door, and dripping all over the rug?"

Pippin was frowning, now, but nodded, and pushed his hands back through his wet hair. Soaked through to the skin, that was what he was, and he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. Sam knew that he was grinning, mad like a loon, and doubted that that was helping; but he couldn't help it, and Pippin would just have to come to sorts with that, and manage.

"Look here, Sam, I'm tired and I'm hungry and it's cold and I'd rather not argue with you, and if you'd just let me, please let me in! And if you don't, I'll... oh, I'll tell Frodo, that's what I'll do." Pippin's forceful sentence Sam could tell that he had hoped it forceful ended on what sounded like a whine and Pippin slumped back, almost in defeat, dripping wet.

It didn't help, either, Sam guessed, when he snickered. "There's naught that I can offer you but a warm fire and hot tea, but come on in, and we'll get you out of those soaked clothes. And you'd get nowhere if'n you went and told Mister Frodo, Master Pippin; you know as well as that."

Pippin walked in and shucked off his pack, which dropped to the floor with a wet thump, leaving him free then to fumble, his chilled fingers slipping and grasping, with the clasp at his throat before he was able to strip off his wet cloak. "I know," he said, looking in disgust at the sodden article of clothing, his gaze helpless when he sought out Sam's.

"Where's your old Gaffer? I thought he'd be around," he said, and seeing that Sam had nodded that it was all right, Pippin dropped the cloak in a sopping pile on the floor. There was a growing puddle around his feet and Sam shook his head and clucked his tongue. He picked a blanket up off the old sofa and he bundled it up as he walked back to Pippin.

"He's off visiting my sister Daisy, and he took Marigold along. Here, Master Pippin, wrap yourself up and go and sit down at the fire. I'll bring you your tea."

"Thank you," Pippin sighed, pulling the blanket - it was more a very large towel around himself as Sam had instructed, and went and sat right in front of the fire. It was an immediate improvement in both his state and his mood as the fire, crackling and hot, began to fight off the chill.

And Sam returned, chuckling, crouching down and offering Pippin a small white cup of hot tea that was, in turn, sitting on a small white saucer. "Hadn't you known he was off to Buckland, Master Pippin?"

"Obviously, not." Pippin scowled, hands shaking as he tried to keep hold of the blanket and reach for the tea. He took hold of the saucer with some difficulty, scowling, and the glass clinked gently together. But he could sip his tea now, and he did. "If I had known, do you think I'd have come trudging all the way up the Hill through this terrible rain?"

"It's not that terrible," Sam replied, rocking back on his heels and then settling forwards, his hands clasped at his knees. "A good summer storm, that's what it is. We've been wanting as such, what with the days so muggy and long. The ground, it's been thirsting. In the morning, you'll be seeing the change. It'll be so green and glorious and"

But Sam's words had trailed off.

Pippin, peering at him intently, frowned and sighed and pulled at the blanket and tilted his head. "Now what was that for?"

"It's just," and Sam was blushing, which was an odd enough thing, and then Sam coughed and shook his head. "It's nothing. I guess I'm just not used to being looked at like as that."

Pippin sat back, holding his cup of tea lightly in one hand. "Is that right? I'd have thought you were well used to Frodo and his odd looks."

"Well that's not the same, Master Pippin. Not nearly the same."

Pippin didn't answer, not right away, and if Pippin had looked, he would have seen the thoughtful frown that had settled on Sam's wide lips. But Pippin didn't, watching the fire instead, and he exhaled against the steam that curled off of still-hot tea, and wiggled his toes in the warmth of the fire. There was light in his eyes, too, and his cheeks were glowing, rosy-pink and red-orange, and his lips were parted as he breathed. Sam sat back, further, and turned his neck and his head followed along, sharply to the side. "And so you came all this way?"

He couldn't help himself. He could only look away for what seemed a moment, and then he looked back.

Pippin nodded, despondent. "I did. Imagine my surprise, finding Bag End as I did, locked and so dark. A habit dear Frodo picked up from our that is, mine and Frodo's Brandybuck relations, you know." Pippin's lips quirked into a grin. "But that's what you get, living so close to the Old Forest. And this, Sam," and Pippin took a long sip of the tea, as Sam turned and watched him, eyes half-closed as he enjoyed the drink. "Is quite a nice cup of tea."

Sam laughed and ran a hand back through his hair. "My Mum used to make it for us all the time," he said. "It doesn't quite taste the same as hers, but its close enough, I reckon."

"I like it," and Pippin was looking at him again, looking with eyes that seemed to see too much, at least, or they were looking for something more and they hadn't yet been able to find it. "It is it's very good."

"Now Master Pippin," Sam sighed, shaking his head, and he leaned forward and turned so he could watch the shift of color on Pippin's face. He thought next what to say threw wild thoughts to chance and sighed instead and grinned. "Then you came to Bagshot Row."

"That I did," and Pippin's lips quirked. He took a sip of the tea, his eyes fully closed. He shifted and some thought came to Sam's mind.

"Here," he said, and Pippin's eyes cracked open. Sam nodded his head and rose to his feet. "You get out of that wet clothing I hadn't?thought of it at first and if your pack's not soaked through, then you ought to get into something warm and dry. I'll go see what we've got in the pantry. No fine fare as you might be more used to, sir, but it'll do."

Pippin laughed. "It will," he said, and there was a simple honesty in his eyes. He drew himself up to his feet, setting the saucer and the small cup on the mantle with a consideration that Sam hadn't been sure the Thain's heir had been in possession of. He tugged the long towel almost a blanket off his shoulders, then, and laughed again.

"I've soaked this through. Your poor carpet, as well."

"They'll dry. You will too."

"I will," Pippin replied, and he threw it back over his shoulder and walked to the door. Sam stood there for a moment, shaking his head, and spoke up doubly loud so he was sure to be heard. The front hall was no proper front hall, and the walls were rounded and worn with age. But he loved his home, even if Pippin seemed to fill it up in ways that belied his smaller size.

"I'll just go see what we've to eat."

And Sam was gone and Pippin was left alone and by the time Sam had returned, a platter of cold meats and cheese and bread accompanying two mugs on a tray Pippin was standing before the fire, warming his hands. And Sam stopped. An errant thought like a mother's ran through Sam's mind that lad was more skin than meat and bones and his shirt and trousers, both now dry, hung on him in a way that this slight build could be plainly seen. His hair was still damp, curls that glinted red and brown and gold in the copper firelight sticking at odd angles, and Sam saw that Pippin had draped the towel, his cloak, too, and his shed clothing, over a peg in the front hall.

It was odd. Sam couldn't stop looking which was more than just odd and Sam cleared his throat and set the room and the world back in motion. This was just Peregrin Took, he told himself. Pippin turned his head and smiled.

"Thank you, Sam. Here, let me take that."

Sam nodded, and was certain that he made some sound of agreement, and Pippin smiled and then, clutching the tray with his thin fingers, he nodded, too, before turning his head and taking the first step. "Here, let's sit before the fire," and Sam nodded, then, following after and crouching down as Pippin set the tray down first, careful that they were in no risk of running into the puddle that was closer to the hearth. Sam gave Pippin a hard look, and Pippin looked up, looking back. It was odd here, in his own home, and Pippin was sitting there looking like he was meant to. Odder almost than those times that Frodo had come a'visiting but it made more sense that Frodo would be here, and not Pippin. Not Pippin, and Sam was stuck on that.

"You're not listening to me, are you?" Pippin said, his words cutting through Sam's tangled thoughts, and Sam blushed hard when he saw that Pippin was watching him, a grin on his fire-lit lips, an expression that spoke more than any words: that he was well used to not being heard.

"It happens, I know. There are times"

"No, Master Pippin," Sam said in a rush, "it isn't that I wasn't listening. I mean, I think, I think that I was only listening too hard."

And Pippin laughed. "Is that so? Does that even fit you, Sam?"

Sam frowned in thought. It wasn't that he knew Pippin very well, but then, Pippin didn't know him well at all, either. The Took turned his head and rubbed his cheek, attention focused on the fire.

"I'd like to thank you, proper, for extending your hospitality. I know I came and it looked as though I'd batter down your door, but you didn't have to let me in. Even because I'm well, especially because I'm your Mister Frodo's little cousin. Thank you, Sam."

But Pippin didn't seem like a little cousin, then, and Sam felt tired and old. Pippin bent his head, and they were both quiet for a long moment. When had he last been a little cousin, and only that? Sam felt that he had known Pippin, if only for a little, for a good and long ?ortion of his life. And Pippin, years younger, had known of Sam since his first visit to Bag End, countless years before. Pippin had looked up, and Sam's breath caught in his throat. He was no little cousin, now, Thain's heir, now more than name-only as it had been since that long-ago time when he had, to the knowledge of the Shire, taken Paladin Took under his wing; that Paladin would be Thain, one day, and Pippin after.

And that didn't feel as odd as it ought to.

"The food's not getting eaten if we don't put our share of the effort to it," Sam said, and Pippin laughed, nodding. Pippin sat back and they both reached for the platter at the same time, their hands brushing like it was meant to be. Sam sat back, thought a moment, hand lingering. But Pippin had leaned back and was biting into the harder crust of the bread that he had lifted from the plate. Sam thought longer, and then shook his head, and set about making himself a sandwich of the meat and bread and cheese.

Pippin didn't speak, and he was a picker, Sam found out, eating first this and then that, drinking as he did. They were hobbits, after all, and little was accomplished while eating if one's mouth was otherwise occupied. So they didn't speak again, just sitting there, until there were only faint crumbles left off the plate, and both their mugs had long since been drained.

That Pippin then made certain his fingers were clean was of little consequence and he used his tongue - Sam would have thought him in ownership of better manners, but this was Pippin, and with each slow swipe of his tongue, Sam was starting to think that there was something intentional here. Something intentional, and Sam wasn't sure what he was next meant to say or to do.

But could it be? It had been chance and nothing more that had brought Pippin to Number Three, or so Sam had believed; yet here he was, now, with his eyes glittering and his lips glistening, wet and pink.

"I " and it was odd, too, that he could say no more than that and Pippin put his hand down, resting it on his knee. Sam sat back, feeling at a loss for words, and flustered, too. The room was too warm now, far too hot, and Pippin's hair had softened into unruly curls now that it was dry. "Master Pippin."

Pippin leaned forward and in that moment, Sam made himself believe that it had been chance and only chance that had brought Pippin here, and this was just some other sort of chance, the sort that he found it hard to believe. That Pippin leaned forward, yes, and he rested his hands on Sam's knees.

"Thank you, Sam. You have been a lovely host."

And it seemed right that Pippin kiss him, then, because that was what Pippin did, and Sam was shocked so he didn't sputter. But he did sit there, eyes wide like saucers as the fire crackled and the heat continued to grow. There, the first bold swipe of Pippin's tongue, and Sam groaned and parted his lips. But no he hadn't meant that, and how would he explain this, if ever there was one he was meant to explain it to, but how could he tell Pippin no, like he ought to?

But maybe he oughtn't, and Pippin's tongue was soft, though the kiss was strong and sure. Pippin's thin fingers clutched at Sam's knees and he grunted softly as he shifted forwards, knocking the platter to the side with one knee, coming up close on Sam so that he was near to sitting in Sam's lap. They hadn't yet stopped kissing, and Sam felt lightheaded, blinking his eyes slowly and then closing them again, realizing then, and only then, that he had closed them at all. Pippin had a warm mouth, sweet, and he was kissing Sam with restraint a restraint that Sam would never have thought him capable of.

Sam groaned and Pippin chuckled, drawing back. Sam opened and closed his mouth and blinked his eyes, gazing at Pippin in a mix of incredulity and want. Want. Where had that come from, and what would he do? Pippin smiled, then, and leaned in close, once more, and kissed Sam, briefly yet sweetly.

"My only plan for the night was to find a warm bed at ?ag End," Pippin said, and Sam's breath caught in his throat and his heart skipped a beat when Pippin's hand slid to curve against his thigh. He hummed, then, thoughtful, and Sam coughed.

"I hope that's not to say that I'm to be a substitute, Master Pippin."

"Oh! No, Sam, that isn't what I'm saying at all. I just mean, that this seems to be meant to happen, and if you want to say no, well, I think now is the time."

This that word, just one, and it was so small, but it made Sam's head spin. "Now Master Pippin, I I don't know as what you're implying with this."

"This," and Pippin laughed, then, reaching for Sam's hand. He turned it, bent his head, and kissed Sam's palm. Sam sighed and closed his eyes and Pippin clucked his tongue, almost against Sam's skin.

"You need to relax."

"I am relaxed."

"You aren't, or I'm a Bracegirdle, and while I can't deny that there is some relationship, well, I'm a Took full and through." Pippin tilted his head up, his eyes sharp and bright. "And you're as on edge as Frodo when the S-Bs have been lurking and hiding in the rose bushes all day."

Sam couldn't take it, then, and laughed, until his shoulders were shaking and he was grateful that he was sitting, or else his knees, would have been waiting to give. "You are a strange one, Master Pippin," Sam breathed, heat on his cheeks. "A strange one, and I don't think I'll ever understand you all the way."

"I don't think it possible," Pippin laughed, his eyes bright and merry, but then he sobered, his eyes then like pools of ink, and he clutched at Sam's hand. "I'm not wanting you to be a replacement, Sam. I think that I've something I can offer you, something that you'd like. Tell me if I'm wrong. Tell me if you'd rather I leave you right now."

Sam gasped what could he say? He had wanted to push Pippin away but had been unable, and now he was given a chance, free of his own. "You are lovely, Sam," Pippin murmured, lightly stroking the soft fuzzy hair at the back of Sam's hand. "I'd like to know you better, if that is what you'd like."

Oh, but Frodo would kill him, and if it wasn't Frodo, then it would be Merry, or maybe Sam might be made to do the awful deed himself. "I'm not pushing you away," he gasped, surprised by those words as he spoke them, and the fire crackled and Pippin looked up, eyes unreadable, dark and deep.

But the moment passed and Pippin laughed then kissed Sam, like a sudden summer shower, hard and fast and quick. Sam was left breathless, reeling, and Pippin's hands were warm at his thigh. How could he think, like that? How could he deny one who was not used to being told no?

It was more than that. He wanted it, and he kissed Pippin, too, and the other emitted a soft noise of delight at the swipe of Sam's tongue. He took it, then, sucked on it, and in the fuzz of Sam's mind, blurred by the passion that was charging through his skin, Sam was not surprised at all that Pippin, only recently the Thain's son and not just the old Thain's heir, when old Ferumbras had passed on and it had gone to Paladin, Pippin, who would have had no lack of suitors, be they lad or lass, could kiss like that.

And Pippin, breaking their kiss - a habit that Sam was fast beginning to think was one of Pippin's faults - leaned back, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "Good. You've started to relax."

Sam laughed, too, a hard chuckle. "Was I as tense as you were saying, sir?"

"Oh, but you were," Pippin said, and his nod was somber and dry.

That only caused Sam to laugh again, and he did, a deep one that shook his body and Pippin joined in, too, until they fell together again, mouths hot and bodies falling back against the floor. Sam grunted and Pippin felt somewhat right oh so proper lying like he was against the length of Sam's torso, his legs warm where they were pressed against cloth and flesh, one draped over Sam's right leg, the other pressed tight up and against Sam's left thigh.

"Do we need a bed?" Sam asked, gasping for breath.

"No,? Pippin replied. "The firelight is so nice." He kissed Sam, briefly, a slow tangling of mouth and tongue and Sam let Pippin draw him in. When he drew back, Sam gritted his teeth and let his hands, which were growing a life of their own, settle at Pippin's hips.

Pippin grinned. "But a blanket would be nice. Yes, a blanket or two."

They kissed again, soft and then hard, and Sam let his hands wander, sliding against flesh that was at the same time hard but yielding. He squeezed and Pippin shifted and sighed, rubbing flesh through hard and restricting cloth. He was gripped with a sudden fervor to feel more now but Pippin, if it could be said, was a grounding force, holding him down.

"The blankets," Pippin said, his lips rubbing against Sam's, and Sam nodded and released his death grip, hands clutching at Pippin's hips.

"The blankets."

Pippin sat back and Sam watched him, a slow and idle stretching like a cat. With mussed hair, his eyes shining, his cheeks warm and his lips almost glowing, Pippin was a sight like none that Sam could remember having seen.

"I've never, well, you know, I've never, with a lad "

"I know."

"But you "

"Oh, I have."

Sam laughed as Pippin sat there, warm and grinning, straddling Sam's thighs. "Don't move," he said, tugging at the top of Sam's shirt's seven buttons. "I'll be right back."

Sam nodded, his head hitting the floor. They both laughed, and Pippin rose, leaving Sam there in

his wake. Oh, and Sam was breathing hard, chest rising and falling despite the improbable nature of this encounter. There was time still that he could say no. There was time still.

But he couldn't no, he wouldn't, and he knew what he wanted. The soft padding of Pippin's feet alerted Sam that he had returned, and Sam opened his eyes to find Pippin, holding a bundle of fresh blankets, standing there in the light.

"I'd not thought to ask where they were," Pippin said, like he was hiding something. "So I had to look about. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, sir," Sam said, sitting up, and he bent to retrieve their dishes. When he rose to his feet (and that was a miracle, it was), Pippin spread out one blanket. When Sam came back, the other had been spread out on top, and the cover had been pulled back. Pippin had unbuttoned his shirt and was humming a familiar tune.

"There you are."

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. "Here I am."

Pippin walked over, his shirt hanging open, and took Sam by the hands. He pulled Sam back, and Sam went willingly, and they knelt down on the old quilts, Pippin's hands still holding his own.

"You've warm hands," Pippin said, and he bent his head and kissed them, one and then the other. "Let us see what else of yours is so warm."

Sam laughed, but it was a soft sound, and Pippin looked up, sitting back. Sam wet his lips, and Pippin sat there, still, thinking. Almost thinking aloud, and Sam could almost hear what Pippin's thoughts were, resounding in his head.

"I brought oh, well, it was out on your sister's drawer, and I thought that if you wanted well, if you wanted what I was wanting, then it would be handy for us to have."

Sam's gaze dropped a small jar of something rested in Pippin's open hand. "It's a lotion, it smells faintly of flowers, but not too much. And I was thinking"

"You're as wanting"

"Yes," and that word was blunt. "Oh, yes."

Sam nodded, heat building. "Then hurry it up, Master Pippin. I don't think I can last much longer than this."

They were quick to strip clothing, then, and Pippin undressed Sam with a fervor, and Pippin let Sam strip the clothing from his own body. They laughed, then, though it could have been Pippin, Pippin and his love of life. They fell to the blankets together, bare flesh rubbing against bare flesh, and Sam was burning with want and need, and he could feel the presence of Pippin's own want pressing hard and insistent against his thigh. The blankets were good and soft and Pippin's skin was, too. ?e kissed Sam, and he let those kisses drift, sliding down so he could lick and suck and kiss the long curve of Sam's throat, biting at the crook of neck and shoulder. His hands were moving slightly, rubbing softly. It was growing, still, and Sam was unsure if he could be contained.

Pippin's hot mouth was rubbing against bare flesh, still, a nipple there (and Sam jerked), and biting then. He couldn't feel Pippin's, but Sam could feel his own cock, hard and aching, pressing against Pippin's stomach, and then his chest. "Master Pippin," he groaned, pushing up on his hands, and he was wide-eyed, but it was want that fueled this fire, and he gave another jerk as Pippin, propped up on one elbow, slid his slender fingers around Sam's straining member, and mouthed the head.

"Master Pippin," Sam groaned again, falling back against softness and sinking into the wet heat of Pippin's mouth. He bent his leg back, toes clutching frantically at stray cloth, and Pippin licked and sucked his way to the base, and then made his way, with slow strokes, back to the head.

Pippin sucked on him, then, and Sam was sucked in, and there were stars in his eyes, more stars than there were in the sky, as the darkness exploded into white and Pippin was sucking him clean. He was breathing hard, chest heaving, and there were warm tingles of pleasure washing over his skin. His cock, now limp, gave a twitch, and Pippin kissed it, like he'd kissed Sam's mouth, sucking on it like he'd sucked on Sam's tongue.

Sam whimpered, thrashed his head. Pippin made slow work of him, back up Sam's body, and when he knelt between Sam's legs, Sam half-opened his eyes. "Master Pippin," he murmured, and Pippin was shining, right there, kneeling between Sam's spread open legs. Sam twitched and Pippin leaned down, kissed him, lazy and slow, and Sam tasted his own taste, salty, on Pippin's tongue.

But Pippin leaned back and Sam jerked, sighing, when Pippin rubbed his thigh. Sam closed his eyes and there was a slicker intrusion, and he bit at his lip, guessing that it made sense that this was as it would be, and let that finger trail over Sam's stomach, his legs and his thighs, before pushing it in where it made Sam ache.

Sam's back arched and Pippin twisted that finger, just slightly, a bare shifting that made Sam feel as if he was coming undone. He cracked his eyes open, seeing Pippin and his errant, sweaty curls, cheeks glistening with his eyes closed tight. Sam gritted his teeth until he was sure they'd break, clutching the blankets in tight-fisted hands, and Pippin was moving so slow he thought he might just explode.

But he didn't, and Pippin moved forward, the air against heated skin blissfully cool. "I'll stop if"

"Yes," Sam gasped, and Pippin shuddered and breathed and pushed into Sam, steady and slow, until it was that their two bodies had become only one. It was a delightful sensation, being stretched and filled, and Sam clutched at Pippin, fingers dark against Pippin's fairer skin. Pippin shuddered and gasped for breath, fully sunk into Sam, and Sam let himself stretch further, just feeling, and oh but it was something that he'd never be forgetting.

That it was so improbable, and that he was certain it wouldn't be repeated, well, he'd need to keep these memories close. He could keep his lips sealed, he could, and oh, Sam gasped, and Pippin moved, shifting back and then further, and the slide of heat and friction caused Sam to jerk and gasp.

"Warm," Pippin sighed, eyes closed and his shoulders hunched and he was gripping at Sam, kneading his flesh, as he moved within him. Sam was moving, writhing, and Pippin was hot, too hot, and where he'd been achingly slow, now he was blindingly fast. "So warm."

Frantic, too, pressing against Sam, and Sam knew that at one time, Pippin withdrew, and only then could Sam properly breathe. "The fire," Pippin breathed, then, and Sam nodded. Pippin's hands were pushing at him, burning him, molten, guiding him. Sam was on his side and Pippin curled against his back, doin? things to Sam's shoulder with his mouth that Sam didn't think possible, and things that worked in tandem with the roll of Pippin's hips as Sam moaned, clutching at the blanket, one knee sliding forward as he tried to ground himself against Pippin's thrusts.

But even Pippin came undone, and he sank against Sam's back, gasping, sweaty and hot, breath stirring damp curls. "Oh, Sam," Pippin sighed, kissing his neck and shoulder, nosing his hair and licking the tip of Sam's ear. It was the little things, now, and Sam felt it like a second tremor of that passion that had claimed him before.

"Master Pippin," Sam exhaled, and they lay like that, tangled in the light of the fire. It wasn't long until, with the sound of new rain pounding against the windows, they slept.