Title: Calm and Passion 
Author: Tigerlily Grubb 
Author's Email: hobbitpilesaregreat@yahoo.com 
Pairings: Mostly Frodo/Sam/Merry/Pippin, Sam/Frodo, Merry/Pippin, and 
a bit of Sam/Merry. 
Rating: R 
Summary: A night of hobbitpiling, complete with the fluff, smut, and a 
whole lot of love... 
Written: 25 September 2004 - 02 October 2004 
Disclaimer: If they were mine, the whole of the story would have been 
written like this. Obviously, it wasn't. But believe me, it'd be like this 
every night, man, EVERY NIGHT. 
Author's Note: Set right after the quest. Most of it Frodo's point of view, 
though not in firstperson. Tried to use the correct forms of past-tense and 
l'imparfait, but I have my doubts seeing as how I'm not too experienced 
with this format. This is my first hobbitpile-writing experience ever, and I 
must say it was a lot of fun. 
 
"...It just doesn't seem fair, that's all." 
 
Frodo smiled inwardly, waking up to that voice. *His Sam*. It had all 
happened so suddenly, it seemed, and yet completely naturally. He'd never 
once had to think twice about it, didn't doubt it for a second. All that 
mattered was the feeling of it all. 
 
"I know, Sam. None of it does." Merry. Good old Merry, always level-
headed in a pinch. Merry, who was forever getting Pippin out of trouble, 
making mischief across all of Buckland. The same Merry who, just hours 
before, had looked down at Frodo, sweating and whispering his name. 
 
"He should never of had to go through all that, ever." 
 
Frodo looked over to see from under his eyelashes to see, not four feet 
away, the two of them talking, propped up on their elbows. They had both 
put on their trousers at some point and looked to be deep in conversation. 
So, rather than make himself be known, he lay there feigning sleep, 
listening. 
 
"I'm not going to pretend to know anything about what it was like," Merry 
said quietly, hand resting on Sam's. "But Frodo's strong. If anyone can live 
with it, you know *he* can." The worry in his voice had been there earlier, 
when the four of them had sat down for a chat by the fire. But it wasn't 
until later that it all happened. 
 
Sam had sat with him in his room, lying on the bed, arms wrapped 
protectively around him after weeks of habit. They'd talked quietly for a 
bit about everything when Merry had knocked softly on the door. Sam had 
started to move away but was stopped by Frodo pulling him gently back 
down beside him. Merry'd opened the door and climbed onto the huge bed 
without saying a word, gathering Pippin in his arms, "Quite a day we've 
had," Pippin had remarked, lying on his side and snuggling back closer to 
Merry. "I still can't believe we got through it all." He'd reached out and 
lightly touched the scar under Frodo's eye fondly. 
 
'Pippin...' Frodo thought, looking around from under half-closed eyelids. 
He found Pippin on the other side of Merry, wrapped up in a blanket up to 
his shoulders. Pippin had been so gentle, uncharacteristically quiet and 
reflective; it seemed almost like a completely different person. 
 
"...Does it still hurt?" he'd asked, running two fingers along the red line. 
Frodo had nodded - Pippin hadn't been talking about the cut. Sam had 
buried his face in Frodo's curls at that, and Merry's eyes had met his, 
understanding, silently sympathizing with him. In Sam's expression was 
more emotion than he could even guess at, so much love and pain and care 
worn in by time and distance traveled, the unmistakable sign of his 
feelings for Frodo, and yet not even so much as skimming the surface of 
the true intensity of those feelings. Merry's gaze had then wandered down 
to Frodo, who'd seemed to be having his own silent conversation with 
Pippin. After a few more moments' silence Pippin had said sadly, "Wish I 
could make it better." 
 
Frodo had smiled and, leaning forward the five-or-so inches, kissed him 
on the forehead. Wriggling Merry's grip loose, Pippin had scooted closer 
to Frodo, burying his face in Frodo's shirt-front. Frodo'd closed his eyes 
and nose in Pippin's hair, lovingly weaving his fingers through it. 
 
Merry had smiled at the two of them, remembering a time when they'd 
done that so often, before Pippin 'grew up.' He'd looked up at Sam again 
and found him looking back, and a smile had creeped onto both of their 
faces. Frodo was slowly working his way back to life. 
 
Frodo felt content now, listening to the low voices in the room. Merry's, 
with his thick Buckland accent, and Sam's, which always reminded him of 
home. No matter what was going on, or where he was, Sam was always 
able to bring him back, back to sunlight days in the garden, late nights 
walking home from the Dragon. The voice that had been so close, saying 
his name, like some kind of mantra, over and over again several hours 
before. The voice that came from between *those lips*. 
 
Frodo had never kissed Sam before. But that didn't matter in the half-
second it had taken to close the distance between them. It had been all new 
to him, the taste, the feel, the warm tingle left where Sam's hands had 
traveled. Sam had been surprised, to say the least, but didn't resist. In fact 
he'd pulled Frodo closer to him, pulled their bodies together, held him 
tight. He'd opened his mouth to Frodo's, gently moving his tongue to find 
Frodo's. It had seemed to Frodo as if the entire room was spinning so fast 
he couldn't keep up, but Sam was still there, keeping him grounded. When 
they'd broken the kiss they'd only gone back for more, wanting, *needing* 
to taste eachother again. 
 
It was as if time had stood still and only started back up once they'd finally 
pulled away from eachother. They'd been brought back to reality when 
they'd heard Pippin make a choked, whimpering sound. They'd looked 
over to see him on top of Merry, engaged in a long, sensual kiss, just as 
they had been. Frodo'd only looked back up at Sam, face flushed and 
hunger in his eyes - it was turning out to be quite a delightful night indeed. 
 
"Don't worry, Sam." Frodo watched Merry trail a finger up and down 
Sam's bare arm. "He'll be all right... he does still have *us*." Closing his 
eyes again, Frodo thought about how wonderful it had been to watch the 
two of them. 
 
Sam had been nervous, of course, he always was, but all the doubts had 
seemed to go away before long. Frodo had actually enjoyed watching 
Merry kiss Sam almost as much as he liked kissing him himself; there was 
something about the way the two of them had fit together, the way they'd 
molded to eachother, that he simply hadn't been able to take his eyes off 
of. 
 
Sam's hand traveling lightly down Merry's back had been enough to make 
Frodo's breath quicken, and by the time it had made its way down to his 
thigh Frodo'd felt as though he might burst. He'd watched with eyes wide, 
marveling at the way Sam's jaw moved with his mouth in synch with 
Merry's. Beside him Pippin had sat, breath coming in dull gasps, one hand 
holding on to Frodo's tightly, the other mindlessly stroking the front of his 
trousers. 
 
Before he'd known it, Frodo himself had been under Merry, gasping for 
breath as he'd moved his hips languidly with his cousin's. Merry, long in 
need of some relief, had looked at Frodo with a fire in his eyes, 
unbuttoning his shirt. Frodo had moaned aloud when the soft fabric 
had slid off of his shoulders, chased by Merry's mouth. 
 
All the while Pippin had sat watching, still near-panting from his earlier 
exertions with Merry. He'd stolen a glance beside him at Sam, and his 
gaze had wandered down. Almost cautiously, he'd reached over to the as 
yet untended-to bulge he'd seen there. Sam's breath had hitched as Pippin's 
hand had closed around him, but he hadn't said anything. Instead he'd 
closed his eyes and groaned, deep and throaty, fists bunching up the 
bedsheets he'd been sitting on. 
 
What had happened soon after was all a blur in Frodo's mind. Merry, 
noting the heated eye-contact that had occured between Sam and Frodo, 
and intent on getting to Pippin, had traded places with Sam in a split 
second. It was all a desperate scramble, all of them needing that certain 
satisfaction. Quick work at the few buttons that had yet to be undone and a 
bit of resettling, and the only sound in the room was breathing. Those few 
moments of clarity, of just *being*, brought an intense, simultaneous 
sense of calm and passion that none of them had ever known before. No 
one knew who it was that moved first, but soon it was a rhythmic 
hypnotism of every emotion let out, a combination of relief, and yet even 
more need, never before experienced. 
 
First brought to the brink was Frodo, having released years of tension and 
desire in such a small amount of time, it was a wonder to himself that he'd 
even lasted that long. Right after him came Sam, miraculously quiet, his 
face hidden in Frodo's neck, his entire body moving with his breathing. 
Seconds later Merry and Pippin, with the kind of thing that comes only 
with practice, finished at the same time, and collapsed side-by-side on the 
bed. They had all lain there for a while before saying anything. Frodo and 
Sam, eyes squeezed shut, hadn't moved - Sam had laid the entire time, half 
on top of Frodo, still trying to believe that it was all real, clinging to the 
feeling of Frodo's fingers lightly sliding up and down his back. Merry and 
Pippin, on the other hand, had just stared into eachother's eyes, fingers 
entwined, not intending to let go anytime soon. 
 
Frodo felt himself again fill with warmth as he remembered the simple act 
of falling asleep with Sam, the intimacy of sharing a blanket, knowing that 
he'd still be there when he woke up. Pippin stirred, sighing in his sleep, 
catching the attention of the two talking. Merry smiled briefly at Pippin 
then turned back to Sam. "We should get some sleep," he said, stifling a 
yawn. "We have a big day tomorrow." He paused for a moment then, 
seeing Sam's still unsettled expression, he added with a smile, "Don't 
worry about Frodo, Sam. As long as you're around, not even the smallest 
bit of cold air can get to him unchallenged." Sam smiled back at him and 
ran a hand over the top of his curls, kissing him on the forehead. 
"Goodnight, Mr. Merry." 
 
When he was settled in under the blanket, Frodo snuggled closer to him 
and asked drowsily, "Not even cold air, Sam?" 
 
Wrapping his arms around Frodo warmly, Sam closed his eyes and shook 
his head. "Not if I can help it." 
 
Frodo smiled into his chest. "Thought so," he mumbled, feeling himself 
drift back to sleep.