Title:  Borrowed Trust, Returned Comfort
Author:  Unbegrenzt  (unbegrenzt2002@yahoo.com)
Pairing(s):  Frodo/Merry
Rating:  NC-17
Summary:  After a long day of hobbithole-mending, it’s time for a little heart-to-heart.  Who’s 
comforting who?
Disclaimer:  I don’t one a hobbit, Not even one Elf,
	        And all of the dwarves belong to Tolkien himself.
	        Please do not sue.  Please have some class…
	        And if you don’t like my disclaimer, you can kiss my furry little behind!
Warning (only if necessary):  Graphic Sex, No happy ending, Incest (well, they’re PRETTY darn 
close cousins)
Authors Note (if needed/desired):  Burn me, beat me.  Please send feedback to 
unbegrenzt2002@yahoo.com !!  More to come.  This is Part One of a series entitled “Afterthoughts”.  
There are to be four more installments, if I get enough responses (flames or no) to this one.



Frodo sighed in exhausted contentment as he slid into his favourite fireside chair.  It had been sold by 
Lobelia Sackville-Baggins in an auction during her brief second reign of Bag End, but fortunately, 
the purchaser of the chair, a certain Hugo Bracegirdle, had restored it to the recently returned Master 
of Bag End.

Although Hugo had indeed enjoyed the chair (reading by firelight was one of his favourite activities), 
and although Frodo had offered to buy it back, Hugo had given it freely, as a sort of gift in return for 
the bookcase he had received from Bilbo; what seemed like long ago.

Frodo had jokingly pointed out that the bookcase had been a birthday present, and perhaps Hugo 
should wait until his own birthday to return the chair.

"Nay, I think not," the big-bellied Bracegirdle had replied, "See, I also borrowed a good number of 
books from Mr. Bilbo awhile back, and some, rather *most* of them, are still sitting on that shelf to 
this day.  P'raps Master Baggins would be more content to accept the chair as payment for the books?  
I'd very much like to keep them, if it's all right with you, that is."

Now, later in the evening, Frodo was wondering just how many books Hugo Bracegirdle had indeed 
borrowed to think that a fine chair like this should be used as payment.

"Hundreds," Frodo mumbled to himself, an amused smile playing across his lips, "Thousands!"

Merry, who had been helping that day along with Pippin Took to help get Bag End back into living 
order, poked his head inside the once more cozy-looking living room and regarded Frodo quietly.  He 
had a far-away look in his eyes and was smiling.  He didn't seem to have noticed Merry.

"Pip's gone to bed, Frodo.  I just thought I'd see what you were up to at this hour."  Frodo's head 
snapped up and he grinned at Merry, "Oh, and the kitchen's pretty much back in order.  Most of the 
dishes are accounted for..."  Frodo laughed out loud.

"Come, Merry!  Come and sit awhile with me and have some tea.  You've worked hard enough and 
long enough today."  He chuckled again suddenly, "I shan't mind if the rest of the cutlery remains 
borrowed forever!"

Merry smiled wistfully as he took a seat in a less elaborate, but still comfortable chair across from 
Frodo.  He declined the tea gently with a wave of his hand.

"I don't suppose it'll be long before you get those spoons... and forks... and knives back.  There's been 
talk that Lobelia won't be lasting much longer."  Frodo pondered this for awhile, the mirth draining 
steadily from his fire-lit features. 

"Oh, Merry," he sighed, "She wouldn't have me in her will.  She already gave me Bag End back, the 
poor old soul."  Merry scoffed at that.

"You certainly deserved it back, Frodo, what with all the trouble those S.B.'s caused Bilbo and you 
before."  Frodo gripped Merry's hand and smiled weakly.

"I've had more worrisome troubles than the S.B.'s, Merry.  You know that."

Merry squeezed back and attempted to crush the raucous butterflies in his stomach and act 
reassuring.  He had never really known why, but physical contact with his older cousin had always 
stirred something in him, something he dared not release, or even recognize.  To recognize such a 
feeling, to put a word or a phrase to it, would make it real;  real for Merry at least.  He'd be forced to 
realize that he was alone and different... odd.  Odder than a Baggins even, he thought wryly.

"Merry?"  The soft voice yanked Merry from the depths of his mind and heart, back into Bag End's 
newly refurbished living room.  He became suddenly aware that his palms were sweating profusely, 
that he was sweating all over in fact, and he pulled his hand from Frodo's light grip.  "What are you 
thinking about, Merry?"

Frodo's eyes seemed to have darkened, as if he had just surfaced from some dark reverie.  "I hope I 
didn't bring back bad memories to you, with my talk of the past."  Frodo's lovely ( Lovely?  Is that 
what I think? thought Merry) features had contorted into a look of concern and remorse, "Oh, 
Merry," he sighed again, "I shouldn't even have brought it up.  The past is the past, of course, and 
nothing more... and I know that you’ve suffered much, dear cousin."

Before he could think to do otherwise, Merry barked out a harsh laugh and shook his head 
vigourously.

"I didn't have the worst of it, Frodo.  It wasn't all bad for me," he replied solemnly.  Frodo was silent 
for a moment before answering.

"Not everything was bad for me either, Merry," he said, "At least, not at first, mind."  He was quiet 
again and then added, "We met and made many good friends on that journey.  And I had you and Pip 
for a good part of the way-"

Before you left us, Merry thought bitterly.

"-And Sam was with me on the whole long road.  I could not have accomplished a thing without your 
help and Pip's and Sam's and Gandalf's, or anyone else's.  Not even without the help of that poor 
wretch Gollum could I have finished it.  He didn't mean to help in the first place, of course." 

Merry winced and glanced at Frodo's four-fingered hand warily.  Frodo caught him eyeing the injury 
and held it up in front of him, studying it himself with subdued fascination.  "It is a miracle that so 
many of us are still alive."

"Yes," agreed Merry, "and a good thing that Boromir died fighting for our survival, although..." his 
voice trailed off momentarily, "I often regret his death, even if he thought it necessary to regain his 
honour through such means.  I might have helped him a little more, and then maybe-"

"Merry."  Frodo's voice was stern, "From what I've heard, there's little you could have done.  You or 
Pippin, and even if you could have done something, there's no use thinking about it now.  What is 
done, has been done.  Even wizards, with all of their wisdom, and elves, with all of their grace, 
cannot reinvent the past."  Merry nodded.

"Well said, my friend," he complimented.  Frodo sighed, smiled, and gently took Merry's hand again, 
this time with the injured one.  Merry shivered involuntarily.  He could feel the lack of that finger 
pressed against his palm and suddenly he found that he mourned the loss of that one finger more than 
the loss of Boromir.  He clenched his teeth and grimaced, regretting the thought.

"Well?  Was that what you were thinking about, Merry?  The past?" Frodo asked.  Merry met his 
gaze evenly, but was panicking inside.  He'd always hated lying to his cousin, who he had looked up 
to and truly admired nearly all of his life, and even more so recently, with good reason.

Frodo seemed to grasp that Merry was in distress, despite the younger hobbit's efforts to hide it.  He 
raised himself from his chair and placed a small kiss on Merry's brow.  "I am indeed sorry if I upset 
you..."

Many things happened in that moment.

Merry's brain ceased to function for an instant as his heart cried out at Frodo's sympathy, his 
misunderstanding, and cried out also at his own arousal at the brief touch on his forehead.  If only I 
wasn’t so alone, he mourned silently.

Merry tilted up his head and quickly found Frodo's unsuspecting lips with his own.

"Merry!"  Frodo gasped weakly and pulled away, eyes bulging with shock of such magnitude, it 
might have caused an older, fatter hobbit's heart to fail.  Merry's eyes filled with tears as his wits 
returned to his brain with the terrible news of what he'd just done.

"Frodo," he gulped, maniacally searching for something to say, "I... I... I didn't-"

"Why did you not say something, Merry?!" exclaimed the older of the two in a hiss.  Now Merry's 
eyes bulged as the kiss was returned on his lips, in a fervour which caused the butterflies tormenting 
his stomach to become raging beasts.  He couldn't help it;  he wrapped his arms around Frodo, as 
hobbit lads are only supposed to do with hobbit lasses, and pulled Frodo closer.  This forced Frodo to 
squat, and then kneel on the floor in front of Merry's chair.

They broke the kiss only when they needed air, and Merry stared in wonder at his cousin.

"Are you meaning to say... Am I not alone like this?"

Frodo chuckled, eyes bright, yet unmistakably wistful and he shook his head.

"I am not meaning to say anything, Merry, but I will if I must.  You were never alone."

Before the blushing Brandybuck could reply, Frodo brought their lips together again.  He toyed 
briefly at Merry's bottom lip with his upper teeth until they parted for him.  Merry could feel the 
velvety tongue slip inside his mouth.  His fingers scrabbled desperately on Frodo's back, squeezing 
them so tight against each other, that both hobbits had to fight to take in breath between kisses;  their 
chests could barely expand.

A horrifying thought entered Merry's mind from far away.  He could feel himself hardening!  
Suddenly Frodo smiled against his lips.  Merry felt the hands unlock themselves from behind his 
back and Frodo pushed him away a little, quieting his weak protests with another kiss.

Closing his eyes, Merry felt the light brush of fingertips on his front.  When he dared open them 
again, he found that nine cold, efficient fingers were undoing the buttons on his tunic, one by one.

"Frodo, do you think-"

"Still yourself, Meriadoc Brandybuck," Frodo interrupted, unfastening the last button and spreading 
the tunic and suspenders wide off Merry's shoulders.  He gasped as he felt the first sensations of 
Frodo's fingers on his bare skin.  They were cold, yes, but the feeling was delightful all the same.  He 
felt himself hardening further, and knew that Frodo could feel it too, for they were still pressed rather 
tightly together.

The fingers dancing on Merry's chest grew somewhat more adventurous.  Merry squeaked despite 
himself as he felt the frigid touch brush his left nipple.  It stiffened immediately, and he was barely 
aware that Frodo had stopped kissing his mouth until he felt a new feeling through the sensitive circle 
of flesh.

Frodo's lips and mouth, particularly his tongue, coaxed gasp after groan after cry of impatient ecstasy 
from his younger cousin.  The cold fingers had been wonderful, but this... The heat of Frodo's mouth 
was a scathing pleasure bordering on torture which compelled Merry to buck his hips wildly.  With 
his hands now free, Frodo grasped at Merry's struggling hips and held them still with surprising 
strength.

"No, Frodo... Oh, please no," moaned a frustrated Meriadoc who, despite his greater size and 
strength, could not force his trembling hips from Frodo's restraining grip.

Still whispering half-serious pleas, Merry locked his fingers in Frodo's thick hair and yanked rather 
heartlessly, believing himself to be going quite mad from the excruciatingly slow teasing.  To his 
relieved surprise, Frodo complied easily, releasing the throbbing nipple and nuzzling instead in the 
center of Merry's chest.

"Frodo," Merry croaked, suddenly feeling the urge to say something, anything before things really 
got out of hand.

"Please, do not talk, Merry.  Do not spoil this for us," came the muttered reply.  When the iron grip 
on his hair loosened, Frodo let himself slip down Merry's front, until the bridge of his nose felt the 
indent of Merry's navel and his lips rested on the waistband of Merry's breeches.  He nudged the 
waistband down teasingly with his teeth, and felt his cousin strain with renewed urgency against his 
grip.

Sensing that Merry was at his wits' end, Frodo drew down the breeches almost matter-of-factly, 
echoing the efficiency of which the buttons had been rid of moments before, although to Merry it 
seemed like ages ago.  Quickly relieving Merry of the plain undergarment he wore beneath, Frodo 
was suddenly overcome with an urge to laugh.

I see now that Ent draughts really DO work wonders, he thought, taking Merry into his mouth with a 
smile.

Merry, overwhelmed by the pleasure elicited from Frodo's gently sucking mouth, felt no urge to 
laugh whatsoever.  On the contrary, the pleasurable sensation was so profound that he wanted to wail 
and whoop and scream at the top of his lungs.  In fact, the only thought that kept him from doing 
those very things was that of waking Pippin, who was sleeping in a nearby guest room.

It was with this vision of Pippin in his mind's eye-- sleeping peacefully, his fair face illuminated by 
the starlight drifting in from a nearby window-- that Merry came.  He gasped and bit his lip hard, 
using all of his strength of will trying not to cry out as Frodo sucked out the last remaining drops of 
his seed.  His hands clenched and unclenched on the arms of the chair as the feeling passed, and he 
silently congratulated himself on keeping mostly quiet, for Pippin's sake.  So, it is you, Pippin, he 
thought dazedly as Frodo stood up in front of him.

"Merry..."  Again, he was brought back to his present situation by Frodo's voice, "Please, Merry, 
quickly.  I cannot wait any longer."

Still too dazed and weak to argue or to tease the older hobbit as he had been teased, Merry yanked off 
the breeches and undergarment in one swipe, and immediately took as much of Frodo into his mouth 
as he could manage.

He tried to mimic the soft sucking that Frodo had done so well, and, determined not to be outdone 
but for his inexperience, he gave Frodo's swollen shaft a little experimental nibble.  The startled, 
indignant yelp that Frodo emitted alarmed him, and Merry panicked, thinking that Pip might have 
heard.  Frodo gripped his hair and laughed suddenly.

"You may want to keep your teeth out of this affair, Master Brandybuck," he cautioned between 
gasps.  Unable to help himself, Merry chuckled as well, the soft snorts muffled by the member in his 
mouth.  Frodo trembled even harder, which in turn caused Merry's chortles to escalate into guffaws.  
He did not realize that Frodo was shaking from more than just mirth, and was caught unprepared in 
mid-guffaw when Frodo's hot, tangy liquid hit the back of his throat.  Despite his best efforts to 
swallow, he could not stop laughing long enough and began to merrily choke.  Set on not being rid of 
the sweet sourness in his mouth (as it did not taste at all bad to him), Merry stood and covered his 
lips with both hands, still laughing and choking.

The thought that spitting out the fluid would be rude was the last straw.  He ran into the kitchen and 
spat and wretched into the sink, where some forks were soaking amoungst various other supper 
dishes.

Although he feared that he had dreadfully offended Frodo, Merry was in the throes of hysterical 
laughter when he returned to the living room.

"I fear I messed the cutlery that you do still own, my dear Baggins!" he exclaimed.

Frodo was seated in his own favourite chair again, and though a ghost of a smile briefly lit up his 
features, the mirth seemed to have fled entirely from his form.

If there had been a third party present in the room, the contrast between the two hobbits would have 
been startling:  Merry, rosy-cheeked and stark naked, living up to his nickname with his rich laughs 
and an animated grin plastered on his face; and Frodo, now fully clothed and looking more frail than 
ever in the soft glow of the firelight.

"Merry, do you love me?"

The question caught Merry quite off guard, but he took no time in answering.

"Of course I do, Frodo.  I have since we were young lads."

Frodo shook his head, his brow knitted with uncanny seriousness.

"That's not the sort of love I mean, Merry.  Are you in love with me?"

Now Merry hesitated, trying to sort out his feelings regarding this hobbit he had known and admired 
all his life.

"I... I... Frodo-"

"Please tell me that you are not," Frodo murmured, angling his eyes downward to study the flames in 
the hearth.  Merry was again startled at such a request, but found it easy to obey.

"All right... I am not in love with you, Frodo Baggins," he replied bluntly, wondering what could 
have come over his cousin to cause him to act this way.

"If you mean that, then I am glad.  You are a beautiful and wonderful hobbit lad, Merry," he said, 
stealing a glance at his cousin's still-naked figure, "and I value your comfort, and your friendship... 
but, I don't think I could ever be in love with you."

Merry's brain hiccupped as it processed the possible meanings of this little confession.

"Are you in love with someone else?  A lass, mayhap?" he asked quietly.  If Frodo was surprised or 
offended by such a line of questioning, his face did not show it.

"Someone else," he mused, "Yes, someone else, I'm afraid, although I must say that this certain 
someone is not, and must not ever become aware of my feelings or tendencies."

Merry knew better than to ask who this 'someone' was, despite his itching curiosity to know.  Instead, 
he located each item of his clothing and pulled them on, one by one, avoiding Frodo's gaze.  When he 
was again dressed, he nodded politely to the older hobbit.

"I think I shall retire now, if you don't mind."

Frodo smiled wearily, and for once his age showed on his face and Merry felt an awkward pity for 
him.  "That is, unless you want-"

"Nonsense, Merry.  I'm quite all right.  Thank you for your help today.  I'll be on an errand tomorrow; 
gone early, mind you.  Purchasing supplies for Sam's wedding shall be quite a task, and I might as 
well get it done and over with as soon as possible.  Please be sure to thank Pippin for me as well, as 
I'm sure he'll not be waking with the dawn, as they say."

Merry had to turn to hide his blush from Frodo as several graphic scenes filled his mind on exactly 
how he could go about passing on the thanks to the young Took.  He walked from the room quickly, 
without another word, and padded gently down the hall.  He paused briefly at the door to the guest 
room where Pippin slept.  Ah, he now knew of forbidden love, and it pained him so.  He could not 
risk losing Pippin's friendship, not after all they'd been through together.  And, he was still young, 
perhaps too young. No matter, thought Merry glumly, It could never be.

Kissing the door softly, he professed, in a barely audible whisper, his love--The only confession of 
that sort that he knew he'd ever be able to make to his most dear.

He withdrew, and walked silently the rest of the way to his temporary room at the end of the hallway 
(it had taken, and would take several more days yet to get things completely in order at Bag End), 
pushed open the door, and collapsed despondently on the bed.  Meriadoc Brandybuck was a changed 
and sobered hobbit.