Title: Pony Layin' Eggs  (2/?) S/P  
Series:  Coming of Age 
Author: Diamond (juweldom@yahoo.com ) 
Rating: NC-17 
Characters: Sam, Pippin, Frodo, Merry 
Category:  Angst, first time, eventually PWP, hurt/comfort 
Feedback:  Yes please--very new at this
Disclaimer:  Oh I wish I could claim Sam, but all these characters 
are Tolkien's and I don't rightly know what he'd make of all this!  I 
do it all for love, not money.
Summary: Sam's birthday brings lonely wishes forward for himself 
and Pippin, both longing after something they can't have, they 
decide to explore 'safer' territory with each other . . .
Notes: The age differences between Sam and Pip are pretty clear 
here by their ways of dealing with a love they think they can't 
have.  As far as hobbit years, I've always used the 2/3 rule--since a 
33 year old hobbit is like a 21 year old human, I just always 
assume their human years are about 2/3 their hobbit, so at 23, 
Pippin is like 16.  Year is 1413 S.R., Frodo is 45, Sam is 33, Merry 
is 31 and Pippin is 23.   
  
 
 
 
*****
COMING OF AGE part 2:  "Pony layin' Eggs"
 
 
Sam rejoiced when he saw the bright green door and the tidy (well 
at least he liked to think so) little garden at Bag End as they 
reached the end of Bagshot Row.  A full moon ducked in and out 
of light clouds over them, casting its silvery rays on the green grass 
and wild heather lining the street, lighting their way, which was 
fortunate, since both were a bit blind with tears and too much 
drink.
Sam's distress had not lessened with the walk; images of Frodo at 
the pub still filled his head with longing, and the sight of Pippin's 
jealousy over Merry and Estella . . . and the kiss . . . he'd nearly 
given in to Pippin's wants, and he wasn't too sure now he'd be able 
to walk away.  But surely Pip didn't want him, not in that way . . . 
though it had felt so good to be pressed into, and the feel of his hot 
tongue . . . Sam scratched hard at his head, as if he could scratch 
away the image.
"We're here, Master Pip.  I'm sure you're able to take care of 
yourself from here; I really shouldn’t stay--it ain't proper . . . "Oh, 
Pippin was looking at him again with those wide green eyes and 
that little pout and two tears just ready to jump out the corners of 
his eyes.  Sam had been just about ready to remove his arm from 
his friend's shoulders; now he wrapped both around him and 
embraced him, trying to squeeze away the misery from that dear 
face. 
"Please, Sam, I need to be with someone tonight . . . will you come 
inside . . . " Pippin's head was buried against his shoulder, his 
small frame shaking with suppressed sobs, his fingers curling in 
Sam's scalp, massaging his broad shoulders.  Sam closed his eyes 
and enjoyed the feel of it, of having someone just hold and caress 
you without a care to who might see or what others might think.  
He wished he had Pippin's openness and bravery.  'Course, the 
Took was also known for a somewhat harebrained lack of good 
sense.
Sam heaved a sigh, hoping he wasn't being played for a fool.  
"Shh, all right, Pip, all right--but what about Mr. Frodo?  Can't be 
forgetting whose house we're in."
Pippin smiled at him with such delight Sam couldn’t help but smile 
back--funny how the little hobbit's enthusiasm could be so 
catching.  "Oh you needn't worry--I'm sure we'll have time enough 
to get you settled into a guest room before he comes home.  And 
Merry's going to out a while, I'm sure.  Come along, then, Sam 'ole 
boy.  Time for me to take care of you!"
Taking him by the hand, Pip lead Sam through the front door and 
down the hall to his guest room--they passed another room that 
must be Merry's by the stuff on the bed--then before Sam quite 
knew what was happening, Pippin was shutting the door and 
pulling him to the bed, working frantically at his buttons.
"Pip, there, hold on," Sam muttered wondering if he was going to 
pop them all off in his haste--his head was swimming with the 
thoughts of what things he was likely about to do, and with Pip of 
all hobbits, but as Pippin managed to pull down his braces and 
strip the shirt from his back, he clean forgot to worry, for now 
Pippin had his mouth on one small pink nipple, and new sensations 
were flooding through him, making him arch and clutch at Pippin's 
back, massaging the tightly corded muscles down his spine to his 
little round rump.
Pippin gave a little jump as Sam's broad hands squeezed his 
bottom, and pressed hard into Sam, surprising him with the feel of 
his length—hardly little, Sam would call that!  They began rubbing 
together and Sam groaned at the dual pleasures of a hot mouth at 
his chest and the exquisite feel of their two cocks sliding against 
each other through the thin material of their trousers, shuddering 
sensations that seemed to flow from his groin to the tips of his 
fingers.  
He needed the feel of skin; panting, he undid the buttons of 
Pippin’s weskit and shirt, peeling layers off of him as the younger 
hobbit roamed his body with his hands, squeezing the hard muscles 
of his arms and down his back, the softer flesh of his stomach, his 
thighs, around to his buttocks—Sam grunted and pushed Pippin 
back on the bed to remove his trousers before he burst inside of 
them.  Pippin also took the opportunity to undress himself fully as 
well; then with a grin he was pulling Sam on top, wriggling 
happily against him.
Oh, the feel of all that warm soft skin against him was incredible; 
there simply weren’t words to describe.  Especially the hot velvet 
of Pippin’s cock; Sam groaned and thrust in, reveling in the intense 
pleasure of Pippin’s movements.  Pippin moaned and thrust back 
and they were soon building up a rythem, mouths searching out 
each other to deeply kiss and taste each other’s tongues as their 
hands roamed with an almost desperate hunger over each other. 
 Sam couldn’t get enough; it was as if Pippin’s excitement let loose 
something raging in him which until now had been tightly reigned 
in, perhaps because of his station—he licked along the side of his 
neck and raked his teeth along Pippin’s ear, then moved down to 
nuzzle the smaller hobbit’s chest, just sporting a few curly hairs, 
but give him a few years and more would come, Sam was certain.  
Taking the bud of Pip's nipple in his mouth, he gently nibbled and 
licked, and was most gratified by the sounds Pip was making and 
the way he bucked wildly beneath him.
Pippin grabbed his head and pushed him away, rising up to look 
him in the eye.  "If we keep doing that, I'm gonna . . . and I don't 
want to yet.  I want to try something--something Merry mentioned 
a lass doing to him once.  Lie back for me." 
 He had another of those grins—the one that meant trouble for 
Sam.  Nervously, Sam laid back and sighed as Pippin began 
kissing him again, quickly moving from his mouth to his neck 
down to his chest, moving southwards—he chuckled as Pip 
tongued his navel and made him squirm with a nibble to his waist, 
“Cut it out Pip, you knows I’m ticklish there!”  he said, and for 
once Pip didn’t bedevil him for it but moved steadily on until his 
soft breath was on Sam’s urgently aching cock and Sam froze, 
wondering just what kind of ideas Merry had given him.  All his 
best ideas came from Merry.  
Pip nuzzled him, his cheek against Sam's inner thigh as he kissed 
the crown and made Sam nearly swoon with pleasure, the soft 
brown curls of his head softly tantalizing the flesh of the whole 
area.   Pippin raised his head just for a second to give a wicked grin 
to Sam, then he began to take him into his mouth, swirling his 
tongue, tasting the pre-come leaking from the tip then trying to 
swallow him whole. Sam dug his fingers into the sheets beneath 
him to keep from grabbing Pippin's head and thrusting up, but he 
could not keep his hips from bucking each time Pip licked the slit 
or expertly (and just how did Pip know this stuff anyway?!) ran his 
fist up the length of him.
An urgency was building, but he couldn't just lie back and let it 
happen.  "M-master Pip, I feel I should be doing something here as 
well," he managed to get out in a voice gone almost hoarse.  
Pippin looked thoughtful for a second, then grinned and turned his 
body around.  "Think that would work, Sam?"  He actually 
blushed; Sam thought it must've been one of the first times he ever 
saw the young hobbit look bashful.
Sam grinned and for an answer turned his attentions on Pippin's 
cock, all pink and bouncing for attention--hah, just like Pip!  Sam 
had no problem engulfing him in his mouth--oh the feel and taste 
of him was better then he'd even dreamt it could be.  Before long 
they were both sucking and kissing each other's cocks and that 
urgency began building up at the root of his spine as his balls 
tightened, but this time Sam let it; if Pip knew enough to do this he 
oughta know exactly what would come next—so to speak.  
Just as he thought that, he heard a muffled groan and then Pippin 
was coming and he was lapping it up, wondering *is this how 
Frodo would taste?* and with that thought, he was coming as well, 
into Pippin's hands as he milked him for all he was worth.  Shaking 
in the aftermath of such an intense experience, he laid back.  "I 
don't think I've ever—uh—come so hard," he said to the air, as 
Pippin slowly moved around to cuddle next to him.
Pippin laid his head on his chest and wrapped his arms around him, 
and Sam took one rough hand to gently brush back damp curls 
from the smaller hobbit's forehead, delighting in the young smooth 
skin of his brow and cheek and the heart-wrenchingly sweet 
tenderness of his embrace—how had he ever though Pip was an 
imp?  Why right now, he really *could* love him, when he was 
being so open and caring . . . but that still didn't chase away 
thoughts of Mr. Frodo.  To have *him* held against him like this, 
to be kissing *his* brow . .  . a sudden ache tore at Sam's heart and 
he suddenly found his throat choked with tears.  He bit back a sob.
Pip looked up into his eyes.  "What's the matter?  Are you sorry 
you—"  
Sam responded instantly to the dread and pain in his face.  "No, 
never, dear Pippin—it was beautiful—you're beautiful, you know 
that?  I just—I just can't help  . . . well, it'll probably never happen, 
will it.  Mr. Frodo's never going to be interested in the likes of 
me."
Pippin laid his head back on his chest and squeezed him hard.  
"You want me to talk to him?  You don't really know for sure, do 
you?  I mean, he hides stuff pretty well—why else do you think we 
all have to watch him so close?  At least with him you might have 
a chance.  Me, it looks kind of hopeless right now . . ."  Pippin 
went silent and Sam felt something hot and wet drip onto his 
chest.  He took Pippin's head in both hands and brought him up to 
kiss the silent tears streaming down his face.
"No, no, Pippin, that ain't right; it can't be.  Merry's always been 
for you, I'm just certain of it.  Maybe he thinks you're too young; 
maybe he thinks he's protecting you.  You just have to talk to him, 
that's all." He chuckled in spite of himself.  "You could talk a pony 
into layin' eggs, you could--I don't see how he could resist you."  
He rocked Pippin as the young hobbit sniffled and clung to him 
trying to think of things that could make him feel better.  "You're 
so open Pip, and you're brave, and you're smart . . . and you make 
people laugh.  Wish I could do that with Mr. Frodo.  He seems so . 
. . sad, sometimes.  What with his parents and Bilbo gone and all."  
He nodded to himself.  "Yep, Merry's a right fool if he don't see all 
the good things in you."
"Thank you, Sam."  They both fell quiet for a moment, lost in their 
own thoughts.
The sound of a door closing made them both widen their eyes in 
horror; they sat up and looked at each other, hearts pounding.
"I'm sure they're all right, Merry; here we can check in on them.  
Sam?  Pippin?  Did you get Sam to stay?"  the sound of Frodo's 
voice made Sam go cold all over, then hot as he fully realized their 
predicament.  Pippin's room was on the outer edge of the hill, but 
the window was just a tiny circle--there was no way he was fitting 
his girth through it.
"It's just not like Pip to leave early like that," Merry responded, and 
they could hear he was getting closer.  They hadn't locked the 
door--hadn't planned on needing to.
"What do we do?" Sam whispered to Pippin, but the sound of 
Merry's voice responding had brought back that green fire to 
Pippin's eyes; he looked ready for a fight, and not at all concerned 
about his lack of clothing. 
For himself, Sam grabbed his shirt and trousers and began trying to 
dress, throwing Pip's shirt to him in a vain attempt to get him 
moving too--at least if they were dressed they could say they'd 
been talking, or . . . he looked at the rumpled mess of the bed . . . 
hmmm, well, maybe not.  He was starting to shake, pacing the 
room, wondering what in the world he was going to say to Mr. 
Frodo . . . oh what a fool, what a fool he was!  He was going to 
mess everything up, for some simple gratification, and Merry was 
going to kill him and Frodo was going to hate him and Pip too, for 
he wasn't brave enough to stand up to all their pointing fingers . . . 
he sobbed, pulling at his hair, wishing he could just disappear like 
old Bilbo used to do.
Frodo and Merry opened the door and gaped.
"Yes, we bedded each other," Pippin declared angrily, arms folded 
over his chest, his only modesty the shirt lying across his lap to 
conceal him. 
Sam couldn't stand it; he sobbed, "I'm sorry!" and ran out past 
them, not caring that his shirt was half done or he'd left his braces 
behind; tears blinding his vision he made right for the door and left 
Bag End.
TBC
*****