Title: Fitted to Love 
Author's Name: Ruby Nye 
Author's email: Shmi@bantha.org 
Rating: NC-17 
Pairing: Frodo/Merry and Boromir/Pippin 
Other 
Pairings: Merry/Pippin; Frodo/Merry/Pippin; Boromir/Merry[/Pippin]; 
Frodo/Sam 
Warnings: interspecies, nonmonogamy, bossy halflings 
Summary: Frodo and Merry, and Pippin and Boromir, converse regarding the 
younger hobbits' relationship with the Man of Gondor. 
Disclaimer: A benign avocational fabrication. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
"Pippin," said Frodo disapprovingly, "I do wish you wouldn't use that kind 
of language." 
 
Pippin opened his mouth to protest, but it was Merry who replied, "What 
language, Frodo? Pip was merely speaking like a soldier." 
 
"Which he is not, Meriadoc, and neither are you." Frodo set down his bowl 
and folded his arms; jaw jutting, Merry matched his stubborn expression, 
and Pippin rolled his eyes, which meant that he saw Sam notice that Frodo 
had stopped eating. "Oh, we're in for it now," Pippin muttered to himself 
as Sam lidded the kettle and came over to check on his master, just in 
time to hear Merry say, "what of it? Boromir's been teaching us how to 
handle a sword!" 
 
"Indeed he has," said Frodo, raising an eyebrow. "You and Pippin seem 
quite taken with Lord Boromir of Gondor." Sam stood over them now, looking 
disconcertedly from Frodo to Merry; when Sam's gaze turned to him Pippin 
gave an elaborate shrug for reply and kept eating. The stew was 
good----Sam had made it, after all----and the dinner entertainment looked 
ripe indeed, if Pippin could keep himself out of the quarrel. 
 
"Why should we not be fond of Boromir?" Merry retorted. "He's been kind 
and warm to us, and he seems so..." Merry trailed off, and Pippin put in, 
"alone, somehow," before remembering, as Frodo's eyes turned to him, that 
he had intended to stay out of it. Frodo tilted his head skeptically, and 
Pippin swallowed, thinking _in for a farthing, in for the whole_, and 
squared his shoulders. "He's a great and lordly Man, but, well, he so 
often seems alone, and unlike Aragorn I think he minds it. He's not like 
us, we have each other, and he's not like Legolas and Gimli, bickering 
like a gaffer and gammer wed fifty years and loving every moment of it." 
That made Frodo smile and unfold his arms, and Merry and Sam laugh; Pippin 
continued, as Sam set Frodo's bowl in his hands, "Boromir misses his City 
and his people and his brother. He speaks of them to us, a great deal." 
 
Merry nodded. "He does. And besides, when he talks to us, he doesn't, 
well..." 
 
"Well, what?" Frodo asked, spoon paused in midair; Sam frowned as the 
spoon and its load went back in the bowl. "He doesn't stare at me so? Yes, 
Merry, I know. I know the Ring calls to him." 
 
_Well, that's unfair_, Pippin thought, chest burning. "But that's not his 
fault! Didn't It enspell his ancestor, that King Isildur?" Frodo opened 
his mouth to reply, but, finding that Sam had placed his spoon back in his 
hand, put that into his mouth instead as he nodded. Sam took advantage of 
the pause to put in, "Mr. Merry, Mr. Pippin, Lord Boromir is indeed a 
mighty man and a kindly one, but, begging your pardon, I've also seen how 
he looks at Mr. Frodo, and I don't trust him. King Isildur was a forebear 
of Aragorn's too, yet he don't look so...well, he don't follow the Ring, 
and Mr. Frodo, with his eyes that way." 
 
"All the more reason for us to be Boromir's friends," Merry said eagerly. 
"We can keep his mind from It." 
 
"That you can," Frodo agreed, taking another bite of stew. "And, yes, 
Pippin, I know what this Ring does. I suppose, well, the best thing for 
Boromir right now _is_ you two creatures." Pippin smiled, pleased despite 
himself by Frodo's approval; Frodo licked the spoon, looked at it and 
sidelong at Sam, and licked it again in a way that made Sam blush pink and 
Merry and Pippin laugh. "Teaching you how to handle a sword, you said? No 
wonder you two have shared his bedroll since Hollin." 
 
Pippin had no reply to that, as he'd shoved both hands into his mouth and 
was laughing so hard he fell against Merry, who was near convulsing, arms 
wrapped round his stomach; when Pippin had recovered enough to pry open 
his eyes he found Sam open-mouthed with shock, staring at them. "Mr. 
Frodo, you don't mean, they can't be, I mean, he's a Man, would it _fit_?" 
 
"Oh, Sam!" Clutching each other, Merry and Pippin fell over giggling; "Oh, 
Sam!" was all Frodo managed before he had to hold himself up with one arm 
as he shook helplessly with laughter. Sam turned red as a beet as he sat 
down, then threw an arm round Frodo and laughed till the tears sprang to 
his eyes. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
"What in all the Shire, Pippin!" Merry spluttered; Pippin smiled sweetly 
at him and said, "Ah, but Merry, we're no longer in the Shire," and all 
Merry could do was sigh. "I know, Pip. But still---" 
 
"What Sam said got me to wondering," Pippin explained, as if it were all 
plain and easy. "Haven't you ever wondered?" 
 
"Yes, and then I think about how my arse would ache! Lawks, Pip, you won't 
be able to walk! If you can even convince him." 
 
"Oh, I can convince him." Pippin waggled his eyebrows just so, that 
mischievous expression that had led Merry into a thousand scrapes and been 
worth it every time, and kissed Merry warmly. "Keep Frodo and Sam warm for 
me?" With that Pippin vanished between the grey-boled trees, and Merry 
sighed, and shook his head, and couldn't keep from smiling at the 
blood-heating image in his mind. 
 
When he returned to the firelight Frodo sat up, asking, "Merry, where's 
Pippin?" and Aragorn turned to hear the answer. Merry jerked his head 
towards the woods; Aragorn saw that gesture, and Boromir's shield and 
bed-roll lying beside Pippin's pack, and rolled his eyes so that Merry 
nearly giggled. Frodo followed Merry's glance to the same abandoned gear, 
and for a moment amusement and concern warred on his face; amusement won, 
and he vainly tried to stifle his laughter with his hand. Merry shushed 
Frodo as he knelt beside him, pressing his hand over Frodo's mouth, 
giggling himself when Frodo pulled him into the bedroll to pull the 
blanket over his head. "Shush yourself, you daft Brandybuck!" Frodo 
scolded as Merry thrashed with smothered laughter. "I can't believe you 
let Pippin go after Boromir!" 
 
"Let him?" Merry answered, still giggling. "Let him? When was the last 
time we successfully stopped Pippin from doing anything he truly cared 
to?" 
 
"Or having anyone." Frodo nodded, a hundred memories in his eyes, as he 
snuggled in with Merry, swathing them both in the bedroll. Across the 
fire, Gimli and Legolas settled down with much cheerful bickering, while 
Sam and Aragorn spoke softly. "So have you two been lying with Boromir," 
Frodo asked, "or did I plant a perilous seed in Pippin's mind?" 
 
"Frodo Baggins, you may be old but I'm in my prime," Merry said, and 
laughed through his yelp when Frodo punched his shoulder. "How could we 
not tumble with Boromir? Look at him, he's magnificent! Those eyes, those 
shoulders!" 
 
"I would have thought he'd have seen you as children," Frodo replied 
archly, and Merry grinned, squirming closer so his nose brushed dark 
curls. "Oh, we've convinced him we're grown, well enough," he murmured 
into Frodo's ear, then licked said ear; Frodo laughed quietly, 
breathlessly, pushing at Merry's shoulder. "Merry, the whole Company will 
hear, they need their sleep and their peace." 
 
"They won't hear if you keep quiet," Merry retorted; Frodo's eyes widened, 
and he opened his mouth, but all he managed was "mmph" when Merry kissed 
him with rather more tongue than lip. 
 
A soft chuckle over their heads resolved into Sam, kneeling by them, 
smiling. "Well, Mr. Merry, you have my thanks for making sure Mr. Frodo 
stays warm while I'm on watch, but please kindly do let him have a spot of 
sleep." Frodo smiled, reaching up for Sam's hand; Merry laughed brightly 
and nodded, and Sam warmly brushed a hand over their brows before he left. 
 
"He's right, Merry," said Frodo, "we ought to sleep, we have a long day 
ahead on the River." Even so, he didn't seem as if he believed his own 
words, trembling in Merry's arms, so Merry shook his head and kissed him 
again. "A little tumble will do you good, Frodo. We don't know what 
tomorrow will bring us anymore. We might as well have some sweetness while 
we can." 
 
When he heard his own words, Merry's heart ached; the ache grew at the 
look in Frodo's eyes, gone shadowed even in the firelight. "Who told you 
that, Merry?" Frodo asked, hand gentle on his cheek; Merry kissed the heel 
of that hand and whispered, "Pippin did," and the pain in Frodo's eyes 
echoed his, he knew, as Frodo clenched his other hand in Merry's hair and 
kissed him fiercely. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
Boromir groaned above him, and Pippin would have smiled, but, well, his 
mouth was rather full, and so were his hands, sliding up and down. One of 
Boromir's hands lay on Pippin's head, not pressing down, just cradling it 
in firm warmth as he sat against a tree, watching Pippin stroking and 
sucking him. Pippin pulled his head up, making a wet popping sound as he 
pulled his mouth off; as he wiggled his jaw back into joint he looked up, 
and smiled at the wonder and disbelief in Boromir's eyes. "Like this?" he 
inquired, punctuating his question with a lick; Boromir groaned again, 
trembling down to the ends of the fingers in Pippin's hair, and Pippin 
laid wet smacking kisses to the head of his prick, pumping with his hands 
all the while. Boromir shook more and more, a growl rumbling in his chest; 
Pippin tasted sweet salt, judged the moment right, and let go to sit back 
on his heels. "Well? Will you tup me, then?" 
 
Boromir gasped, and opened his eyes wide, and growled thrillingly. "You, 
you, wicked mite of a halfling, I---" Pippin laughed, then squealed as 
Boromir grasped his upper arms and lifted him clear off the ground, and 
Boromir grinned at Pippin's expression and swung him up over his head. "I 
should hold you here half the night," Boromir threatened, nuzzling 
Pippin's belly, brushing Pippin's prick and eggs most tantalizingly with 
his beard. "Put you through a tithe of the torments you visit upon me." 
 
"Torments?" Pippin retorted, voice hitching, as Boromir wrapped that large 
hot tongue around him. _Oh_, Pippin thought at the writhing, enveloping 
feel of it, and belatedly realized he'd said it, that he was moaning 
aloud, his head tilted back, stars winking through the branches of the 
trees above them. The night breeze skittered across Pippin's skin, but 
he'd tumbled outside on cooler nights than this, and Boromir's hands were 
so warm around his arms, Boromir's hair around his fingers, Boromir's 
mouth around his prick...Pippin closed his eyes and brushed Boromir's 
sides with his foot-fur and was rewarded with a moan he could _feel_, and 
moaned in response. 
 
Boromir pushed him higher and away; Pippin gasped at the loss of contact. 
"Not so loud, little Pippin!" Boromir hissed, and Pippin indignantly 
struggled to draw breath to defend his stature, but Boromir lowered him to 
his chest and wrapped those massive arms around him as he kissed him, and 
there were far more important things to do than talk. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
"I wish we might be out of these clothes," Frodo murmured in Merry's ear 
between licks. "I remember the feel of your skin against mine. I miss it." 
 
Merry sighed and nodded, trembling as Frodo's tongue traced a hot damp 
script on his ear; his hand wandered down from Frodo's jaw, tracing over 
the slender neck his lips remembered, pushing the collars of tunic and 
overtunic down as he sought the hollow between the elegant collarbones--- 
 
Frodo froze, his hand clamping round Merry's wrist, his entire body rigid. 
Gasping with shock, Merry looked up into eyes gone opaque as slate; then 
the terrible moment passed, but in its wake Frodo closed his eyes, turning 
his head away, and Merry understood, and could have cursed aloud. "Frodo, 
I'm---" 
 
"No, Merry, I'm sorry. I, It---" with an effort, Frodo turned his eyes to 
Merry's again, bringing Merry's hand up to kiss the palm and lay it on his 
cheek. "Merry. You shouldn't be here." 
 
"But I am, Frodo. I'm here to help you. Let me, please?" Merry looked up 
into Frodo's distant eyes, watching unknown thoughts flicker behind them, 
trembling with a sudden fear he could hardly define;  then those eyes saw 
him again, and Frodo smiled at him, and Merry's chest unclenched. "What 
would I have done without you, Merry?" Frodo asked warmly, and Merry 
relaxed, melding his body to Frodo's again as he kissed him for reply. 
Moving his lips over Frodo's just the way he recalled he liked, Merry 
tangled his legs through Frodo's, brushing his calves with his foot-curls, 
as he tucked a hand between their bodies. Frodo chuckled into the kiss, 
stroking a hand down across Merry's shoulder and chest and belly to 
unbutton him; finishing before Merry was half-done, Frodo wriggled clever 
fingers in to further wreck Merry's concentration. 
 
"Mmm," Frodo murmured as he drew his mouth back from Merry's, "if we do 
this together we _will_ make noise. And you're going to pull off my 
buttons before you manage to undo them." Merry tried to laugh, but when 
Frodo twisted his hand just so, fire crackled up Merry's spine as he went 
fully hard, and the giggle came out a gasp. "Why don't I calm you down a 
bit," Frodo murmured against Merry's throat, nipping gently, "and then you 
can make sure I get some sleep?" Merry nodded slowly, pulling his cheek 
along Frodo's as he did so, feeling the warmth of Frodo's skin before he 
fastened their mouths together again; Frodo brought both his hands to his 
task, stroking Merry's lip with his tongue, and Merry moaned into the 
kiss. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
Pippin sat in Boromir's lap, Boromir's prick snug against the cleft of his 
rump; Boromir had his face cupped in one long-fingered hand, fingers 
stroking over Pippin's ear and through his hair, while the other hand 
pulled Pip tight against warm muscle overlain with pleasantly coarse hair. 
Pippin braced a foot on the tree behind them and wriggled against Boromir 
as he kissed him, chasing the larger tongue with his own until Boromir 
gasped and laughed and drew back. 
 
"Ah, Pippin." Boromir slid his hand up Pippin's back, cupped his face, 
held his gaze, and Pippin felt something glowing within him, deeper than 
want. "You undo me, my lad, you undo me. But why do you want us to do 
this? I fear hurting you. I fear Merry's wrath." They both smiled at that, 
and Pippin turned his head to kiss Boromir's palm, kissing a path up his 
longest finger. "Because I want to know," Pippin murmured against that 
hand. "Because you're the most lordly kissing-friend I've ever hand, the 
most majestic, and not just because you're so big." Boromir laughed 
quietly, gently stroking Pippin's curls. "Because I want to feel you till 
I can't feel anything else, not this night, not this wind, not my fear." 
Boromir's hand slid down Pippin's neck to his back again, pulling him 
close against his chest.. "Because you have the biggest cock I've ever 
seen, and I want a story to tell over a pint of ale when I get back home 
again." 
 
Boromir laughed at that last, and pulled Pippin up for another kiss. "A 
story to tell over ale, indeed?" Boromir asked, eyes twinkling, as Pippin 
wound his arms round his neck and licked his nose. "Of a mighty beast and 
how you triumphed with only the strength in this slender frame?" 
 
"Something like that," Pippin agreed, and kissed Boromir again. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
Merry came gasping down from his peak with his face buried in Frodo's 
shoulder, pressed so tightly he could feel the fine hardness of the 
mithril through Frodo's shirt and weskit, but through all of those he 
could feel Frodo's warmth, and he smiled as soon as he could. 
 
"Merry, Merry my dear." Frodo's free hand stroked his back. "Returned to 
me yet?" 
 
"I don't know," Merry replied, turning his face so his lips nestled 
against the pulse that beat rapidly in Frodo's throat, belying his calm 
voice. "I seem to be floating." Frodo chuckled, and held him for a long 
warm moment before he said, "when you float back, might you pull a 
handkerchief out of my pocket?" 
 
"As much as I would love to rummage your pocket," Merry replied, curling 
his hand around Frodo's wrist and drawing his hand up, "there are better 
ways to deal with this." He licked Frodo's palm, tasting bitterness and 
salt and life, watching Frodo's face as his eyelids drooped and he laughed 
breathlessly. "Oh, Merry, you'll get it all over us." 
 
Merry shook his head, sucking on two of Frodo's fingers, undoing Frodo's 
buttons with his other hand as their peril swiftly grew. Frodo sighed with 
pleasure, but then his eyes snapped open, a wondering look in them. "Did 
you---no." 
 
"Do we do this to Boromir? Ah, you _are_ curious!" Merry laid a few final 
licks to Frodo's hand, watching a delightfully unusual blush spreading 
across Frodo's face, so deep it could be seen even in the dim firelight. 
"You should see how much there is when he peaks," Merry went on wickedly, 
and Frodo moaned, "Merry, stop it." 
 
"And you should see Pippin with him." Merry said in a low hot voice, 
wrapping his hand round Frodo; Frodo shook his head, bracing himself with 
one hand, muttering, "I do not believe I am hearing this," but he twitched 
in Merry's hand, and his breath was coming fast. Merry licked his hot 
cheek, kissed his ear, kept murmuring. "The two of them, Pippin all 
enthusiasm and freckles, Boromir so tall and broad and furry like a Stoor, 
it's quite a sight." 
 
"Meriadoc, I have to face him tomorrow," Frodo protested weakly; Merry 
nipped and stroked and persisted, warm with how roused he'd made Frodo, 
with naughtiness and triumph. "That pink rosebud mouth of Pippin's," Merry 
continued, smiling at Frodo's low moan, "remember how he looks with it 
wrapped around your prick? Think on that mouth around the head of a prick 
as much bigger as Boromir's is." Voice and body trembling, Frodo 
whimpered, "Merry, I do wish you wouldn't use that kind of language," and 
Merry laughed triumphantly and kissed him. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
Pippin whimpered, so awash in sensation he could hardly tell pleasure from 
pain, swirling and crackling all through him. He lay on his back with 
Boromir curled around him, his head on Boromir's upper arm, one leg draped 
over Boromir's side and the other bent and braced against Boromir's thigh. 
Boromir was stroking Pippin's cheek with his thumb, watching his face, 
waiting as Pippin breathed deeply and clutched at the dry leaves beneath 
them and felt, just felt, three massive fingers within him. "Pippin," 
Boromir whispered. "How are you?" 
 
"Agmph," Pippin said, then took a breath, the feel of being so filled 
jolting through him so that he gasped. Boromir stroked his cheek slowly, 
and Pippin drew another breath and struggled towards words. "Oh. I." He 
had to gasp again. "I think I can feel 
 feel them in back of my throat." 
 
Boromir laughed softly, kissed Pippin's brow; Pippin dragged one of his 
hands up, over Boromir's shoulder, his corded neck, to tug him down for a 
kiss on the mouth. With Boromir's mouth muffling his, Pippin inhaled 
through his nose, and wriggled, and moaned as he impaled himself just a 
bit more, pain and pleasure chasing each other up his spine. Boromir tried 
to pull back, but Pippin clutched his rounded ear and hung on, moving his 
mouth beneath Boromir's to convince him he enjoyed this. After a moment, 
Boromir returned the kiss, curling his fingers a little, trembling when 
Pippin cried out with the overwhelming feel of it. "Pippin," Boromir 
whispered. "Are you sure?" 
 
A bit too far gone to speak, Pippin pried open his eyes, rolling them 
eloquently, and Boromir smiled; Pippin gently brushed his foot-curls along 
the underside of Boromir's rigid cock, and grinned when Boromir trembled 
and closed his eyes, laughed breathlessly and shook his head. "Yes," 
Pippin managed to reply. "Sure as anything. Come here, come here!" He 
tugged at Boromir's shoulder, and Boromir opened his eyes wide and laughed 
and shook his head again. "Oh, no, Pippin. If we do this, you go on top. 
Merry would never forgive me if I brought his Pippin back flattened like a 
parchment." 
 
Pippin had to laugh at that, and gripped Boromir's shoulder. Boromir 
tucked his hand beneath Pippin's back and rolled them over, not 
withdrawing his fingers, and Pippin gasped, sight blanking, feeling 
nothing for a moment but that fullness and stretch and, yes, pleasure; he 
came back to himself cradled against Boromir's chest, a peaked nipple 
beneath his cheek, and moved his face to mouth it and nip at it till 
Boromir growled and stroked his back gentle-roughly. "Pippin, you undo 
me," Boromir murmured, his hand firm on Pippin's waist; Pippin got his 
nearly-boneless legs beneath him and helped, as much as he could manage 
anyway all half-melted as he felt, as Boromir pushed him up and back. 
 
"Ready?" Boromir whispered, and Pippin nodded, looking at his hand splayed 
on Boromir's belly, fingers framing a taut oval navel. Boromir pushed 
slowly, withdrawing his fingers---- 
 
Pippin had just time enough to cram his fist into his mouth to muffle his 
scream. Even the fingers hadn't readied him fully for the feel of it, 
white-hot pleasure, pain flickering along the edges. Groaning, Boromir 
pushed again, and Pippin really _could_ feel him back of his throat, feel 
him everywhere, so full, past repleteness. The ache grew, and Pippin bit 
down on his fist, red pulsing behind his eyelids; then it began to fade, 
and Boromir lifted his other hand, still slick with salve, to stroke him 
gently, and moved just a little more, and nudged that _spot_, and the 
pleasure burnt away the last shreds of pain, flared so brightly through 
him Pippin was almost sure little wisps of fire danced on the ends of his 
fingers and toes. 
 
"Pippin." His name in Boromir's voice, so low beyond the pounding of his 
heart he barely heard it; Pippin moaned in response, leaning back, and 
sank down another terribly wonderful inch, and their bodies were flush. 
Boromir held him up with one hand, the fingers of the other curled round 
him, chest heaving so that his every breath made Pippin moan and gasp. 
"Pippin?" Boromir repeated, want edged with worry. 
 
"Ah. _Yes_." Pippin forced his eyelids up, found Boromir's eyes with his 
own, managed a smile. "Yes." He leaned forward a little, eyes clenching 
shut again, every motion sending waves of sensation pounding through him; 
his hands found Boromir's belly, stroked outward to his wrists, and Pippin 
leaned his weight on those wrists and slid up, dragging himself forward 
and off with lip-biting slowness, and pushed back down, and cried out as 
Boromir growled. "Yes," Boromir rumbled, pulling Pippin up again as Pip 
pushed, and this stroke was faster, and Pippin wailed and bit his fist 
again, leaning on one hand as he and Boromir matched thrusts. Up and down 
and up and up and up, and with a wholly unexpected, violent swiftness, 
Pippin peaked, feeling himself go up like dry tinder, consumed utterly. 
 
When he could hear anything again beyond the roar of his own blood, Pippin 
felt, then heard, Boromir whimper; with some unmelted scrap of wit, he 
thought, _did I do that?_ and sucked in a deep breath, feeling his face 
pressed to Boromir's chest, and smiled. "Oh, mighty Boromir," Pippin 
murmured, and Boromir shook with laughter and desire as he answered, "No, 
you are, you are, you undo me entirely. Can you bear more?" 
 
"Yes, yes!" Pippin pushed himself up, winced in pain and pleasure mingled, 
pushed back. "In me, peak in me, I want you----" 
 
"Ah, Pippin." Both hands on Pippin's waist now, Boromir pulled him up, 
pushed him down again; Pippin threw his head back as his spine whiplashed, 
wondered if one could die of sensation alone, thought it would be worth 
it. "Pippin, Pippin." Boromir's eyes were shut tight, as he chanted 
Pippin's name like a battle cry, like a song. "Pippin, Pip--ih--ah!" 
Clutching Pippin's waist, biting his lip, Boromir arched his back and 
peaked, and Pippin clutched Boromir's wrists and hung on, feeling the 
pulse of it inside him, shaking him all through. 
 
"Oh." Pippin said in a small wondering voice, and collapsed onto Boromir, 
riding the waves of his deep breaths. After a moment to catch his own 
breath, Pippin started stroking Boromir's chest gently as his breathing 
slowed, till he chuckled and caught Pippin's hands with one of his own. 
"Ah," Boromir said at length. "Ah, Pippin. And how was?" 
 
"More splendid than fireworks!" But the thought of fireworks brought 
Gandalf to mind, and all the bliss washing through Pippin just made more 
room for grief to flood in, so that he had to stifle a sob. "Pippin?" 
Boromir asked with worry, and he shook his head in reply. "Nothing. I'm 
fine. I'm better than fine! You're magnificent." 
 
Boromir laughed warmly at that, stroking Pippin's back. "And you, my 
halfling, are magic. One day, after our task is done, I will bring you and 
Merry to my City, to be honored by my father and especially to meet my 
brother. He will love you." 
 
"Is he like you?" Pippin pulled himself up Boromir's chest, pushed a 
little, came off with a wet sound that made them both laugh, and Boromir 
tangled a hand in his hair. "Faramir is like me, and is not. He is learned 
and wise, the scholar of our family; he will delight in meeting halflings 
out of distant legend, people he has only seen in his books." 
 
"He will like Frodo, then, they can talk about old lore together." Pippin 
rubbed his cheek against Boromir's chest, feeling the sheen of glowing 
sweat on them starting to cool. 
 
"They will talk well and deeply indeed, but Faramir will also be fond of 
you and Merry. I look forward to watching you two bring him laughter, 
gladden his heart." Boromir pulled Pippin further up and kissed him, 
stroking his cheek with his fingertips. "But for now, we should dress and 
go back to the others." 
 
"In a moment, a moment. I feel all melted, I need to congeal." Pippin 
dramatically went limp over Boromir's chest, and Boromir laughed and 
kissed the top of his head, and they lay together as the wind gently 
brushed over them. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
Snug with Frodo's arm round his waist, Merry's first reaction to the 
opening of the bedroll and the cold draft that woke him was to grumble, 
"Sam!" But a drowsy grunt from behind Frodo was Sam's answer, and the 
hobbit lain down before Merry was an already soundly sleeping Pippin. As 
he wrapped his arms round Pippin, who murmured faintly and curled up 
against his chest, Merry kindled comprehension in his sleep-clogged mind 
in time to open an eye and look up at Boromir kneeling beside them, hair 
rather disheveled even in the dim moonlight. "Hullo," Merry whispered, 
opening both eyes and smiling, but for a moment it seemed that Boromir's 
eyes glittered strangely, their gaze not on him nor on Pippin but on 
Frodo; just as Merry's smile was starting to fade, Boromir's gaze rested 
fondly on him, his answering smile wide and warm. "Goodnight," Boromir 
replied, and bent to kiss Merry and stroke his hair, before pulling the 
blankets back in place around the hobbits and stepping away. Warmed by 
Boromir's kiss and by Pippin in his arms, Merry nestled his face into 
Pippin's leaf-scented curls and sank back into sleep.