Some Light Mischief Author: K-Fo (yeah baby!) (Kit Fox – rabbitgarden@earthlink.net) Rating: NC17 (oh baby...) Pairing: Merry/Pippin (awww baby) Warning: Cuteness levels rising above safety here, folks, be aware. I'm not sure why I should be warning you about this, but M/M slash, wee bit of angst (have no fear), massive hobbit love in a toe-curling, lip-biting, good- Lord-this-is-sweet kinda way. Do not operate heavy machinery, da, da, da... Summary: A lighthearted love tryst for anyone who wants to see our couple have some fun and get down. Muchas romance, and some light... well, you know. Author's Notes: This one undoubtably wrote itself, I wasn't even consulted. The bunny was a problematic, stubborn little bastard (named Biff), lodging itself indelibly in my brain until I gave up the ghost and did its evil bidding. The concept for the story is based on a Johnny Lang song called "Second Guessing", specifically, one lyric that I find especially breathtaking. I've been crazy about the dynamic between Merry and Pippin since this fireball got rolling, so I decided to take the groove and run with it. Taking book canon and movie canon and squashing them together like peanut butter and jelly. Hope it works. Distribution: Ask, and the door shall open. Feedback: Baby Got [feed]Back! Disclaimer: These impish bundles of sweet sweet lovin' are not mine, you don't need to rub it in, okay? I get it already. All belong to the great and powerful Tolkienator. Hopefully, he won't toss any wrath my way from up above for this. Acknowledgements: Respect to Miss Daisy Gamgee, who by writing her stories, provided me with both the balls and the motivation to pen this monstrosity (read her work, y'all, they knock me over). Muchas thanks (and mad schnoogles!) to Johnny Lang for doing "Second Guessing" and giving me the inspiration and stimulus. Much hero worship from my pathetic little corner to the great master Tolkien, who rules all. Love goes out to Dom Momoghan, the funky Cheshire cat that brought Merry Brandybuck to life, and to the breathtaking Billy Boyd, who steals my heart on a daily basis and who made Pippin Took the loveable pixie he is. To Lily, thanks for the tolerance. Some Light Mischief Chapter the First: Just A Couple Of Carrots “...All day long you’ve been building walls, You’ve been building walls all day, Putting ceilings on your feelings, When they should be flying away...” ––Johnny Lang: “Second Guessing” The sweet, high laughter of the two hobbits meets each other in the air, the separate sounds seeming to curl around one another, laughter mixed with panting from the effort of their run, and a distinct note of excitement and lighthearted fear. They are running, stumbling, jumping, darting through the maze of crisp green stalks, even forgetting their peril for a few seconds to race each other. However, Farmer Maggot’s yells are growing closer and his dogs (not forgetting their formidable teeth) have always enjoyed tormenting the two young hobbits. After a particularly energetic spurt, they rest, surrounded by the forest of tall crop, far above their heads. They stand, but fall against each other, emitting wheezy puffs of laughter. “D’you think we’ve lost him?” Pippin asks, still giggling through heavy breaths. “I doubt it, that old toad can run faster than the wind when his potatoes are at risk,” Merry pants. “And the carrots,” Pippin adds. “Yes, Pip,” “And the lettuce, and ehrm...” he checks the bundle in his arms. “Ah yes, my tomatoes! They were hiding...” “Yes Pip, but my point is ––– tomatoes, really?” he inspects the load of vegetation in his companion’s arms. “Oh hello, I thought we’d missed those.” “Merry,” the younger hobbit says, abruptly serious and the other looks up into his eyes, shocked as ever by their breathtaking green. “D’you think he’ll kill us this time?” “Wha–––” “Because he almost did last time, remember Merry, he almost killed us.” “Did not, you daft grub,” Merry laughs, giving the other’s arm a light cuff. “Well he almost almost killed us, an’ that you can’t deny.” “Ha! But he won’t get near this time!” Merry proclaims, grinning, as he seizes Pippin’s waist with one hand and brandishes a carrot at the air (or perhaps the nearest stalk) with the other. “Never fear, Pippin m’lad, I’ll squash his buckles, I’ll batter his hatches, I’ll unleash the danger that is Meriadoc Brandybuck! I shall defend you, my Pippin in distress!” Pippin giggles, working to not drop his armful of “groceries”. “The only danger you’ve got in you, Merry, is that of poking your own eye out with a carrot,” he smiles, sticking his tongue out at his companion. “Now give me that and let’s get moving.” Merry holds the carrot behind his back, leaning forward. “I’ll give it to you for a kiss,” he grins playfully. “Merry Brandybuck!” Pippin sighs in mock exasperation. “I’m beginning to understand why you get so fed up with me all the time, now you’ll give me that carrot or –––” However menacing Pippin’s threat might have ended up being (though considering who we are discussing, I think we can safely say “not very”), he is not allowed to continue, as Merry drops the carrot, shooting his companion a very mischievous and catlike look, then pounces, knocking the produce from Pippin’s hands. The younger hobbit is thrown to the ground, Merry on top of him and yelps involuntarily, a sound that is stifled by Merry’s sudden weight. He takes in Pippin’s unfairly beautiful expression of surprise, then is lost to the earthy, untraceable scent of the other’s hair as he retaliates, rolling over Merry in a storm of giggles. He has no clue, Pippin, does he? Merry thinks, wrestling with his sprightly treasure that shrieks with laughter. No clue what he does to me... Pippin’s giggles intensify as Merry discovers his side and begins tickling without mercy. Through it, however, Pippin wonders at his companion’s fey mood –– it seems their roles have switched and that Merry is suddenly acting quite... Pippin-ish. He forgets the thought, trying to catch his breath and bat away Merry’s hands at the same time. The persistent and belligerent snarls of the farmer’s dogs can suddenly be perceived, approaching with a swiftness the two had forgotten in the carelessness of their tussle. They spring to their feet, each casting a comically fearful glance at the other–––eyes wide and lips pursed. They bend to scoop up the fallen vegetables–––carrot included–––and scamper as quickly as they can, barely registering it when they crash into a clearing and straight into two other hobbits. Pippin is astounded and takes a moment or two to right himself, then beams joyfully at the figure beneath him. “Frodo!” he cries, grinning at him as though colliding headfirst into someone on the road is the best thing ever. “Look, Merry!” he turns to his cousin, forgetting to extract himself from the hobbit beneath him. “It’s Frodo Baggins!” “Hello Frodo,” Merry says, climbing off his grunting and shocked pillow, being Sam Gamgee, who pulls Pippin roughly off of his master as if Frodo needed rescuing from such a happy and harmless pixie. Sam brushes Frodo’s clothes off, helping him to his feet. Meanwhile, Merry rushes forward to Pippin, slipping a hand around the crook of the other’s elbow and guiding him to his feet with what Pippin would see as unnecessary but appreciated gentleness. The wicked scythe of Farmer Maggot appears over the heads of the crops and they are off again, sprinting over rock and root and twig, ending with a long stumble down a hill, resulting in Merry finally breaking his beloved carrot. Ooo, adventure. An exciting and possibly dangerous excursion into the unknown wild (something labeled in Pippin’s mind as “NOT THE SHIRE”). The name has such a pleasant ring to it, “The Shire”. It feels so good to say it, moving your lips that certain way to accommodate the fresh sound. Even if you don’t live there, it sounds like home. Still, nice as it is, and much as he’d love to go back and enjoy the coming, cinnamon-apple smelling fall, he is in a different scene, and Pippin Took, for one, feels ready for an adventure. Sitting in an overlarge and overcrowded tavern, surrounded by faces that are unclean, unshaven, and unfriendly, and clutching a comically large beer stein as if it is a last shred of home, Pippin feels that this is the perfect place for it. He beams at the glaring, meaty Big People, very pleased with his surroundings. Having taken it all in at last, the sprite turns to his companions with a grin that, sadly, goes unnoticed. Sam and Frodo have done nothing but sulk since they came in, having heard the news that Gandalf is not there. “Oh, perk up, lads,” Pippin pleads. “You can’t still be on about Gandalf?” “You don’t get it, do you?” Frodo snaps, which is very unlike him. “He was supposed to tell me what to do, I have no clue where to go from here!” “Well, you don’t need to get so snippy, cousin,” Pippin sniffs with punctured dignity. “I’m sorry, Pip,” Frodo covers his eyes with a slightly shaking hand. “You don’t deserve to be yelled at, I’m just worried, that’s all. I’d counted on him being here.” Pippin reaches across the table, slipping his fingers into Frodo’s palm. The other looks up with his endless crystal blue eyes that look so young and have seen such trouble already. Pippin smiles with an adult-like reassurance that is not common with him. “I know that old wizard,” he says. “I’ve known him since I was a wee ‘un and he threatened to turn me into a toad after I filled his hat with worms.” Frodo laughs. “And I have no doubt that similar stories are tucked away in your mind too,” Pippin continues with a smile. “He’ll turn up, he always gives us a scare, but he’ll turn up. And probably just as we’re about to be killed, knowing him...” “Oh, very comforting indeed,” Sam snorts, though getting the point, and hunching up his shoulders, as if the very thought of unpleasantness chills him. Merry approaches, spotting his companions when a grubby, snarling Southerner moves away. His heart gives a painful jolt when he sees Pippin leaning over the table toward Frodo, fingers entwined, the sight of which reminds Merry forcefully of the knot in his own heart. He catches Pippin’s smile –– a wise and reassuring raise of one corner of his mouth –– and his heart breaks, knowing that Pippin has never yet smiled at him this way. The offender pats Frodo’s hand and withdraws to his own side, grinning at Sam and saying something that Merry cannot hear. As Pippin begins to lavish his neglected beer mug with attention, Merry shakes his head clear of these thoughts that he should not be having, and joins his friend, not lover, at the table. He makes sure to stare at his elephantine beer stein with the same adoration that he’d hidden when looking at Pippin. The object of his affection turns to him, eyes widening at the ridiculously huge mug that froths and fizzes. “What’s that?” Pippin asks. “This, my friend, is a pint,” Merry grins with pride, careful not to take his eyes from the revered object. “They come in pints?” Pippin inquires with adorable wonder. He snaps his head up to the bar, babyish face set with determination. “I’m getting one.” Merry looks up from his beer, beginning to say, “Don’t leave, I’ve just gotten here...” but the impetuous, troublesome imp is already gone, despite Sam’s very reasonable argument that he already has half a mug. Merry sighs, slumping and defeated. He glances over at the bar where his little Pippin sits on a stool that itself is taller than he is, having his back patted by brown-faced, insincere- looking, men with horrible teeth. These men guffaw as Pippin announces with great pride that he would like a pint. Merry can barely hear his little voice over the noise of the Big People. He finds this unsettling. “I think I’ll go up with Pippin,” Merry says, not taking his eyes from the spot where he sits. “I don’t like the thought of him alone up there.” “Go easy on him, Merry,” Frodo says with a light smile. “What trouble can he possibly cause in two minutes?” He had to say it. Abruptly, Pippin’s voice bounces and wafts toward the other hobbits, who freeze in horror. “Sure, I know a Baggins, he’s right over there! Frodo Baggins,” Pippin turns toward the others along with rest of the bar who follows his gaze. All three hobbits jump to their feet and Frodo is running toward Pippin before anyone else can get there. As more trouble just begs to be started, Frodo stumbles, the Ring flying forward of its own accord. Everything stops to watch, all eyes locked on the form on the floor, reaching up for the twirling golden trinket that slips onto his finger, making him vanish. Oh sure, Merry sighs inwardly. Just what we need. He and Sam run forward. Frodo reappears and is nabbed by a mysterious cloaked man. At the same time, a smarmy looking man with horrid, rotting teeth closes his fist around the back of Pippin’s collar. Merry, the only one who would be paying attention, hears the man mutter to Pippin as he begins to drag him away toward the door, shifting him and holding roughly to his waist. “You seem like you could give us a good bit of information once your mouth is softened,” he growls with a nasty smirk. “You’ll come with me.” Merry jumps and curses, grabbing Sam from where he’d been running after his master. “We’ll find him,” Merry murmurs into the gardener’s ear. “But we’ll need more than our fists, and Pippin’s in danger.” They do not hesitate and run after the man who pulls a clawing, yelling Pippin out the door of the bar, barely heard over the commotion. The moment they are outside, Sam picks up a rock the size of Merry’s fist. “Stand back, Mister Merry, and pray that I can throw like I used to,” he says, taking aim at the man. “I ain’t had no practice lately, if you know what I mean...” He launches the rock and his aim is true, knocking the man in the back of his head. The man falls with a shocked “oomph” and Pippin scampers toward Sam and Merry, not wasting a moment. He calls “Thanks Sam!” and rushes back into the bar. The other two follow with questioning looks. Pippin grabs a broken barstool and looks back at the others. “Merry, grab something, we need to get Frodo,” he says breathlessly. Looking around, Merry takes a candelabra and the three rush to the stairs where they’d seen Frodo disappear. They burst into a room where they hear hurried voices. Sam stumbles back, flushing. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir... madam...” he closes the door. “I didn’t know that position was earthly possible,” Merry says, blinking. “Forget it, come on!” Pippin pulls them to another door where they hear the deep, curling voice of a man and another that is distinctly Frodo’s. They blow the door open and Sam holds his fists up in what to the cloaked man must look like a very amusing and harmless pose. Still, Sam’s voice holds unexpected fierceness as he snarls, “Let him go or I’ll have you, long shanks!” By this time, they can clearly see that the man has pushed back his hood, revealing hair like crow’s feathers and profound, deep-set blue eyes. The stranger smiles the slightest bit, sliding his sword back into his sheath. “You have a stout heart, little hobbit,” he says. “But it will not save you.” Later that night, after being sure that the man, Strider, is safe to stay with, Merry takes Pippin’s hand and tugs him into a corner. He ignores Pippin’s questioning and is sharp and silent while taking Pippin’s waist and lifting him to sit on a small table. The younger hobbit tilts his head at his companion. “Now Merry, what’s gotten into you?” “About before, are you alright?” he asks anxiously, still cursing himself for the few precious minutes when he’d not been able to see Pippin as he was being led to the door by the ogre from the bar. “Before... oh, with that man? Yes I’m fine,” he says, waving his hand as if Merry’s inquiry is a pesky midge. “But forget that, aren’t you excited, Merry? An adventure! We’ll finally –––” “Hush,” the older hobbit commands, watching the other’s wide green eyes with fierce intensity. “I took my eyes off of you for a few minutes, are you certain, do you promise me that he didn’t hurt you?” “Merry, I’m fine, he didn’t do anythi–––” “Not even when he grabbed you? Just here ––” he rapidly pulls the suspender from one of his cousin’s shoulders and yanks up one side of his shirt to inspect the side of Pippin’s waist where the man had grabbed him. He finds nothing but soft, smooth skin –– the same tummy he’s had since Merry had known him; his whole life. He returns his gaze up to Pippin who is sending him a look of amused superiority. “Satisfied?” he asks. “No,” Merry says tugging him off of the table and pulling him into a tight hug. Merry buries his face in Pippin’s heartbreakingly beautiful chocolate curls, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his best friend as if he might never get the chance again. “You need to be more careful,” he says in a rough and stern voice, speaking into Pippin’s hair. “You could have been killed or... or even...” “Or what, Merry?” Pippin smiles slightly and pulls his face away to look Merry in the eyes. “What else could be that bad?” Merry shakes his head, adoring his companion’s unfailing innocence, and while Merry smiles on one side, he is still darkened by the prospect of what could have happened. He cannot bring himself to say it, only holds Pippin tighter. “Never mind, Pip,” he says, in nearly a whisper. “Just don’t make me worry.” “But Merry, then what fun would I be?” Pippin grins, then springs away to jump on Strider’s huge bed. “Forget what happened, isn’t this amazing? So many new things, we’re at an inn at Bree, we’re meeting strange, new people, we’re in danger!” “Yes, we are,” Merry says. “That’s why you have to stick close to me. If anything ever happened to you –––” “Oh stop being such a mush,” Pippin grins. “I’m fine, you’re fine, and the whole thing was really exciting! I hope we get to do more, yes,” he catches Merry’s look and stops him from speaking. “And I won’t get m’self killed, I promise.” Strider –– who has finished a discussion with Frodo and Sam about caution and Black Riders and other nasty things that the two were not interested in –– stands, blowing out a few candles. “It would be best if you tried to get some sleep,” he says. “It will be quite some time before you have the comfort of a bed again.” “Oh I can’t possibly sleep now, too much is happening!” Pippin grins, bouncing slightly. “Well, you’re going to have to try, and do the rest of us a favor,” Merry says, climbing onto the bed. “Move over.” Pippin sighs, obeying. He strips to his shirt and slips underneath the covers, making sure to enjoy the bed’s warm softness, appreciating it all the more with the knowledge that the mystery ahead will not hold such comfort. He feels his heart racing at the thought of a big adventure, sleeping outside under the stars, making fires to cook on and cast the cold from their shivering bodies. He imagines Strider ordering them to hide as black danger approaches, and they are inches away from death... Pippin smiles at the exciting prospect, because of course they would make a daring escape and he, Pippin, might even get a chance to save the day. His spine tingles at the thought. Yes, it would be exciting. It would also be frightening... but of course Merry will be there. With Merry around, he can’t see how anything bad can happen. He sighs pleasantly and turns over, resting his head on Merry’s shoulder and wiggling closer. Yes, Merry will protect him... In the dim light, Merry’s eyes fly open when he feels Pippin snuggling up to him and hears him sighing. He glances over at the form beside him, eyes closed and breathing slowly becoming a reliable rhythm. Merry aches to do something, anything. He slides his arm around his companion’s shoulders and presses a kiss to his temple, praying that it will go unnoticed or be taken in the way that kisses have always been regarded between them. Still he longs to do more, to kiss every inch of Pippin’s face, yanking him close and never letting go. He settles, however, for closing his eyes and falling into sleep. Chapter the Second: Ash On My Tomatoes! “Writing down your deepest emotions, With your pen in hand, The piece of paper flew out the window, You watched it try to land, You felt so bad as it flew out of sight, A part of your heart alone in the night, But all of a sudden you didn’t mind it, When you pictured the lonely stranger that would finally find it...” ––Johnny Lang: “Second Guessing” When his eyes open once more, night is still thick around him. The soft snoring of his companions tells him that he is the only hobbit awake and he scans the room for Strider’s form. The Ranger is slumped in the great chair across from the bed, head propped against his palm, and obviously asleep. Merry feels a pang of guilt, looking at him, and suddenly realizes that this was Strider’s bed, in a room that he’d booked for the night. Merry carefully shrugs Pippin’s head from his shoulder and turns, grabbing his own pillow. He slides off of the bed, walking softly and leans his pillow against the side of Strider’s face, prodding it forward. The Ranger shifts onto the pillow, sighing a muffled, “Thanks.” Merry smiles, hardly having assumed when he first met the strong, seemingly emotionless Ranger that he would ever see him in such a position. He suspects, however, that should there be any suspicious noises in the night, the steel eyed, dangerous swordsman would return as if never having lain dormant. Merry takes silent steps toward the side of the bed where Pippin sleeps and also where the packs that had been rescued from their rooms are currently slumped. He pulls his pack to the front, shuffling through it. With a satisfied smile, he pulls out the leaves of paper he’d carried and, after a bit more searching, the pen that Bilbo had once given to him. He stands, wincing at the little pops that his knees make as he does so, hoping that the others won’t stir. Luckily, they continue their gentle snoring and Merry leans down, stroking Pippin’s hair. A soft, sleepy sigh comes from the little hobbit and Merry’s heart whirls. He orders himself to move and picks up the one burning candle, taking it with him to the window, hopping onto the perfectly hobbit-sized sill and preparing to write. “Magnificently dangerous, my strange and beautiful sprite; he has eyes, such eyes, as green as the garden and as deep as my heart. Yearning consumes me as one laugh, oh mercy, one sweet laugh breaks me open and I am lost in daydreams of fresh green and rich, earthy brown and him there in front of me, smiling with strawberry lips. Paper, mere paper cannot hold all that I feel and fear and crave and love, nor the dreams that sing through my soul as I watch him sleep and listen to him breathe, still with that ghost of a smile. “I fear that he shall never stop smiling, and by that, never stop breaking my heart. “Pure and mirthful and all that haunts my dreams, he rules me and kills me and astounds me, every day when the sun rises, every night when the moon takes over, every time I say his name or he says mine. Palaces of kings, great halls of Elves, the most beautiful mountains or the greatest oceans cannot encompass or even touch what I feel when I watch him. In my mind, he is home and nothing less –– he is the softest grass, the sweetest apples, the bluest skies, and the brightest stars. “No one else can twirl my spirit as he does; never guessing, never seeing, never losing that ghost of a smile that will always break my heart.” Sighing, Merry puts down his pen and looks out the open window. The cool night air fans his burning cheeks and he looks out at the unfamiliar but now quiet town, sleeping under the same stars that shine back home. He turns his head from the window to look back at the resting figure of his sweet Pippin, his arm stretched over the empty space where Merry had been. Pippin’s fingers nearly touch Sam, who lays with Frodo’s head on his arm. Frodo is drooling slightly. Merry smiles. A sudden breeze sweeps through, sucking the piece of paper from the window and Merry turns, crying out softly as he tries to grab for it. It is, however, too late and he watches in despair as the white sheet twists and floats on the wind, down toward the ground. Merry leans forward, trying to watch it land, but it flies out of sight, a willing victim of the cruel wind. He leans back against the window pane, resting his head on it and staring up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. He fails and a gentle sob escapes him, cutting into the silence, but disturbing nothing. He closes his stinging eyes, barely noticing the hot tears that slip down from the corners, leaving rapidly cooling rivers on his face. All he can see, over and over is the paper drifting away, an essential part of his heart escaping him to land alone in the night. But then suddenly, he is comforted as the image comes to him of a lonely stranger wandering the street and picking it up... Besides, he thinks, looking back at Pippin and brushing away his tears, he’s already got the whole thing written in his heart. He doesn’t need to keep it... he carries it. Oh wonderful morning, bringing always new experiences and enticing possibilities. Pippin sits up with his smile already in place, watching the dim gray light of early morning seep through to the little room. He turns to his side, meaning to poke Merry awake so that they can talk about the journey and the delightful peril in the time before everyone else wakes up, but even before looking he feels the cold absence at his side and knows that Merry is not there. He sits up, casting almost frantically about. His eyes set on the windowsill, where the limp figure of his best friend lies, knees tucked up to his chin, head tilted slightly to rest on his own shoulder. Pippin sighs, noting Merry’s lack of pillow, then smiles when he sees that he’d given it to Strider. That’s my Merry ... he thinks with pride and slips from the covers, padding silently to where Merry lies, a golden curl having fallen over his eyes. Pippin smiles fondly, brushing it away and watching Merry’s closed eyes shiver as he stirs a bit. “Merry,” he calls softly. The addressed opens his eyes to be shocked into full consciousness by two separate seas of green: deep, profound, and set on him. He blinks, sitting up. Ooog, he’d slept funny. And on the... windowsill? An early morning, nearly autumn chill has settled unpleasantly on his skin. He shivers. “Oh, you must be freezing,” Pippin whispers, taking Merry’s hand and urging him off of the windowsill, shutting the window after him, and with it, the cold. “Come back to bed.” Hearing him say this makes Merry jolt, his heart bubbling. “Oh Pip, I’m fine, I just ––” “You just spent the night in front of an open window with no pillow or covers,” Pippin says, tugging him toward the bed. “While, may I add, a soft, warm mattress was waiting for you to enjoy it, now get in.” Merry makes no protests as he climbs into the bed between the toasty sheets, but begins to say something as Pippin pushes his pillow toward him. “Shh,” Pippin warns, shoving the pillow under Merry’s head and knocking out any further arguments by settling his head on Merry’s chest. Oh sweet mercy, he’s doing this on purpose, I know it... Merry hesitates for a moment, heart going frantic, then settles, laying his hand on Pippin’s narrow back, imagining that heaven has settled on Bree, in this room. He closes his eyes, not falling asleep. When Strider awakens about an hour later and he and the hobbits begin to pack, Pippin announces that he’ll be going out to check the stables for a pony –– a necessary addition to carry baggage. Strider allows him to go alone, reasoning that daylight is not so dangerous, and Pippin smiles, bouncing out of the room. He has always loved early mornings, even when he’d rather be sleeping. There is, to him, an exciting sense of adventure on the cold air, whether one is actually taking place or not. He steps into the fresh, chilly air and heads toward the stables. The road is clear, and hardly anyone is out, so Pippin is the first to come upon a piece of paper, laying on the dry ground. Seeing that there is writing on it and curious as ever, he folds it up and puts it in his pocket for when he is not on an important mission and has time enough to read. “Isn’t this exciting?” Pippin trills for the bajillionth time. “I mean, if it were nothing more than this wee excursion to Bree and back again it would still be fantastic, but Rivendell! Black Riders behind us, Elves in front of us, and who-knows-what along the way.” The others smile, adoring ever more the enthusiasm of their youngest companion, irritating as it can sometimes get. “I can’t wait to see Elrond’s house,” Pippin says, then stops and cocks his head, tapping his fingers against the side of his face as if trying to remember something. He mutters, “Great halls of Elves...” Merry jolts, then sets immediately to telling himself that he’s heard wrong, or that Pippin had said it in innocence, thinking still of the Elves. That’s right, plenty of people have described “great halls of Elves” as such, it couldn’t have anything to do with Merry’s paper... “Oh! Now I remember, Merry, I wanted to show you –––” “Wait,” Strider commands. “Something is coming.” They jump into the brush and wait, Pippin’s comment forgotten –– a fact that Merry is only too grateful for, even as they hide in fear of any Black Riders that may be on the way. The comforting pops and crackles of the fire cheer them as Sam adds another log, singing softly to himself a little song about a troll and a man named Tom. There had been some hesitancy about having a fire at all, as it would be the perfect beacon for anyone who might be following. However, as Strider pointed out after some debate, it would not only be a comfort, but a weapon against the undesirables that might come near. Now they all sit around the fire, basking in its caramel glow and warmth, like a long soak in a hot bath. Merry watches Pippin as if in a trance, spellbound by the effect of the flames, casting their flickering reflections over Pippin’s face; now illuminating it with pulsing, orange light, now abandoning him to beautiful dusk. As he looks on, Merry sees Pippin’s hair as if it also is of undulating embers that ebb and flow with the wind and fire. Merry looks quickly away as Pippin stands and sprints to him, smiling. “Come on, Merry, let’s set up our blankets.” When the blankets and pillows are set up –– a ways off from the rest, but close enough for comfort –– Pippin sits cross-legged on top of his blankets across from Merry, searching through his pockets. “I’ve finally remembered, I wanted to show you something,” he says in an excited, conspiratorial whisper. Merry trembles as Pippin pulls a bit of folded paper from his pocket. It’s not possible, he thinks wildly. It’s not... “I found this paper in Bree this morning,” Pippin says, smiling and leaning forward, looking just as he always does, but with something else, some hint of a new emotion, some feverish blush or gleam. “Merry... it’s a love letter.” Merry just stares, ten thousand thoughts and worries streaming through him. How did he find it does he know it was me can he recognize my handwriting why is he showing me this and not Frodo or Sam why am I such an idiot what is he thinking and oh mercy, why is he smiling at me like that? “Well, not a letter as such, but it’s the closest thing I can think to describe it. Whoever wrote this...” Pippin breathes, staring at the still unopened paper with wonder and reverence. “I mean, you should read this, it’s incredible... the writer... he talks about love in such strange and beautiful ways, in colors and textures and places, Merry... places he loves.” Merry watches entranced, dizzy at the realization that this is the reaction that he’d most desired, if indeed he’d given any thought to it. This moment –– Pippin sitting there in the firelight and saying what he said, staring at Merry’s words with that gleam in his eyes –– is more than Merry had ever hoped for. “Listen to this part,” Pippin says, then speaks without even having opened the letter. “Magnificently dangerous, my strange and beautiful sprite; he has eyes, such eyes, as green as the garden and as deep as my heart.” “You... you’ve memorized it?” Merry chokes, fighting to sound normal. “Oh lords no, not yet... but some parts stay with me no matter what, just as clear as day,” Pippin smiles. “But listen, this is one of my favorite parts, paper, mere paper cannot hold all that I feel and fear and crave and love, nor the dreams that... that...” Pippin “tsk”s himself and shakes open the paper, finding his desired passage. “That sing through my soul as I watch him sleep. Incredible, isn’t it? Doesn’t it make your heart skip?” Merry watches and, oh mercy he is, Pip is trembling, eyes passing rapidly over the letter. Now I can die, Merry thinks in a dazed abstraction. I’ve done everything else... I did this to him, me, to my Pippin, I made him shiver... if I do nothing more my whole life, this will be enough. “Yes,” Merry says. “It’s... breathtaking.” Pippin smiles at him, eyes crinkling. “Breathtaking,” Pippin echoes. “That’s perfect. That’s exactly what it does to me.” He reaches across and lays a hand on Merry’s knee, who bites back a gasp and forces up a smile. “Let’s go to bed,” Pippin smiles. “Merry?” “Aye.” “Who d’you s’pose he is?” “The writer or the one he wrote about?” “Either. Both. D’you think they’re from Bree? You’ve traveled, have you found Breelanders to be especially romantic?” “Not as such. Unless you think Barliman Butterbur has a passionate side.” Pippin laughs, then claps a hand over his mouth to stifle it; he doesn’t want to wake anyone who might have been actually trying to get some sleep. “Maybe...” Pippin breathes with a dreamy, far off tone. “Maybe it blew in on the wind... from some far away land where everyone speaks like that, with such... passion, brilliance, perfection...” Merry chuckles, flushing in the dark. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” “Oh Merry, where’s your romantic side?” Pippin smiles. “ ...fresh green and rich, earthy brown... and him there in front of me, smiling with strawberry lips...” “You really do love that letter, don’t you?” “Oh Merry, I can’t even... it’s as if he’s writing about something personal to me, you know?” Pippin breathes and Merry watches as he lays on his back, one arm behind his head, eyes resting on the canopy of stars. “It feels like the letter wasn’t some distant thing that has nothing to do with me, it’s like my heart is caught up in it somehow... like every bit of me is screaming that I need to be a part of this or that I am or something...” Merry lies breathless, unable to form his swirling thoughts into actual words. He cannot speak, he cannot think, he cannot look away. The next day is October the sixth. They move on to Weathertop, a trip that, once night descends like its satin shroud, proves disastrous and they are overtaken by the Black Riders. They watch in horror as Frodo reappears, wailing in pain from the stab to his shoulder by the Nazgul’s fell blade. Then Strider emerges, a black streak of danger, swinging his sword in one hand and his torch in the other. When the wraiths disappear and they must travel to Rivendell, the sound of hooves and bells heralds the appearance of the fair and powerful Glorfindel, who calls out to Strider with a sweet, breathless voice. “Dunadan! Oh at last, I’ve been searching for you for days,” he says, jumping down from his horse and embracing the Ranger. “You must move quickly, you have five wraiths behind you. Where the other four are, I do not know, but we may find the Ford already held against us.” Glorfindel and Strider speak together in rapid Elvish and the others look on in amazement. After a moment, they lift Frodo onto Glorfindel’s horse, the Elf jumping on after him. Strider lays a hand on Glorfindel’s knee, looking at him with piercing eyes. “You’re sure you’ll be alright?” Strider asks. “If ––” “Hush and don’t worry,” Glorfindel smiles, grasping Strider’s shoulder. “I do not fear them.” He leans down to his horse and whispers, “Noro lim, noro lim, Asfaloth!” commanding the horse to ride on, then in a flash, he is gone. “Wait!” Sam calls. “Where’s he taking Mr. Frodo?” “To Rivendell, Master Samwise,” Strider replies, walking after them. “Is he going to die?” Pippin asks, the warning of tears on his voice. Strider can give no satisfactory answer. Merry takes Pippin’s hand and they both try to comfort Sam as much as possible as they follow to Rivendell. Chapter the Third: Someone Of Intelligence “...Second guessing first impressions, There you go again, Rushing off in all directions, Since I don’t know when...” ––Johnny Lang: “Second Guessing” Pippin sits folded up on the bed, arms wrapped around his legs, head resting on his knees. Merry sits with him on the edge of the mattress, watching him edgily. Pippin hasn’t spoken more than a few words since Frodo’s fall and Merry can think of nothing to say that would be a comfort. Merry had especially requested to be placed in a room together with Pippin, with the point that the chambers were far too large for one hobbit alone, and as Sam would be staying with Frodo. Finally building up courage, Merry leans forward and sets his hand on Pippin’s small back. “Are you all right?” he asks in a delicate tone. Pippin takes a deep, slightly hitching breath. “It’s so different,” he sighs. “Than I thought it would be... I’ve been so caught up in the adventure... going new places and all,” he turns to face Merry with wide, troubled eyes. “I forgot that someone could get hurt.” Merry tightens his features a little and slips his hand over Pippin’s. “Frodo could die,” Pippin goes on, one small tear dropping onto his cheek. “But I never expected it... I thought we would be all right.” He slaps the tear away with sudden, angry motion and passes a hand over his eyes. “We’re so little, Merry. The Shire was made for us, but not the rest of it, not this... it was made for people like Strider and the Bree men... I’m so little...” Merry releases a soft exclamation and slides forward, putting his arms around the younger hobbit and pulling Pippin’s head onto his shoulder with quiet, soothing noises. Hot tears soak through the fabric of his shirt and he squeezes Pippin closer, his cheek resting in the other’s mass of soft curls. “My Pippin...” Merry says with a smile. “My poor, silly Pippin. Of course it’s dangerous and we’re a bit small, but so was Bilbo, remember? He went through these things and came back fifty times the hobbit he was. And yes, Frodo could die... but Gandalf said it himself: hobbits are amazing creatures. I think you’re a great deal bolder than you give yourself credit for.” Pippin’s breathing slows and he nods, digging his fingers into the fabric of Merry’s shirt. Merry is so pacifying, he thinks. He always knows just what to say. “Sometimes, Merry,” Pippin sighs. “I think you have the heart of a poet.” Merry jolts, then smiles. The night is clear and deep and the few candles that light their room become too dim. Pippin pats Merry’s shoulder and mumbles a quiet “thanks”, then gets up to light a few more candles. This being done, he settles into a chair by the fire and pulls out the letter. Merry, watching this, notices the creases on the letter as being worn and soft, like cloth now from so many foldings and unfoldings. His heart whirls at this, almost causing him to crumble right there. “Every day when the sun rises, every night when the moon takes over...” Pippin whispers to himself, regaining his perfect smile. “In my mind, he is home and nothing less –– he is the softest grass, the sweetest apples, the bluest skies, and the brightest stars... oh Merry, I wish I knew, I wish I could get closer. I’ve never wanted anything so much...” Merry feels the same way, looking at Pippin. He is the sweetest, most cheerful, most beautiful thing in life and his heart shatters over and over again with every breath, every curve. “Someday I’ll find out who this was for,” Pippin continues, still gazing at the shabby piece of paper. “And then I’ll find the writer, and then... I mean, here: No one else can twirl my spirit as he does ––” “Never guessing, never seeing,” Merry continues in a low breath that Pippin hears and tilts his head at. “Never losing that ghost of a smile that will always break my heart.” Merry looks over at a wonderstruck Pippin and smiles a bit, though his insides are fluttering wildly. “Merry... I didn’t think you’d ever read this,” Pippin says. “I didn’t,” Merry says, stepping closer and taking a breath. “You want to know who that letter was about, Pip? Give us the paper.” He holds his hand out for it and Pippin slowly gives it to him, watching his face with wonder and dubiety. Merry goes to his pack for the pen that he’d used and lays the letter against the windowsill, circling the first letter on the page. “Magnificently dangerous,” Merry mutters, circling the ‘M’, then moves on to the next sentence and circles the ‘Y’. “Yearning consumes me...” He keeps going and Pippin watches with increasing astonishment. When Merry finishes, Pippin releases a few shaky breaths, placing a hand on his chest and blinking. The first letter of every sentence has spelled out “MY PIPPIN”. Stuttering incoherently, he bumps his back against the wall and slides down, sitting on the floor. Merry kneels down in front of him, leaning in and taking Pippin’s hands. “I want to tell you a story,” Merry says, speaking haltingly at first, but growing confidence and even poetry as he goes on. “Not long ago... there was a little boy whose best friend was the most beautiful... and sunny... and incredible person he’d ever met. He always laughed, he made life better just by being in it, he was funny and caring and wise, though he’d never give himself credit for it. “The little boy grew up with this friend, realizing more and more every day... and especially every night when the sun slept and the wind blew through the trees and made the leaves rattle... that he was very much in love, Pippin, very much in love with this best friend... whose eyes were printed in the boy’s soul like deep footprints in sand... beautiful, evocative, and painfully indelible. Footprints that no savior wind, rain or storm would ever wash away. “The boy’s heart broke every single day, my Pippin,” he goes on, reaching out to stroke the other’s face, who continues to look at him with wide eyes. “Every time he looked at the other boy, and he felt so happy and desperate and hopeless and crazy that he didn’t know where to turn. He felt like he could never get close enough to the boy, no matter what he did, and the other boy never knew. Then one day, the two of them and their friends set off on this fantastic adventure. And in the middle of the night, watching his friend sleep and feeling so alive and so broken at once, the boy got up and wrote down all that was in his heart. The wind took the paper from him... but he dreamed... he dreamed that it would come to you.” Pippin breathes deeply for a few seconds, not taking his eyes from Merry’s. When he speaks at last, he does so in a quiet and hesitant voice, quavering slightly. “That’s a great story,” “It’s ours, my sweet Pippin,” Merry whispers. Pippin blinks, lips trembling, then he lowers his head once more onto his knees, crying quietly. Merry knits his eyebrows in concern, turning Pippin’s chin up toward him, brushing away a few tears. “What’s this, love?” he asks, tilting his head. “It’s just such a wonderful story,” Pippin cries. Merry “tut”s, scooting forward and taking Pippin into his arms, setting his lips to a soft temple and brushing back velvety brown curls. Quivering slightly, Pippin sets his hand on Merry’s arm and pulls back, watching the other’s eyes for a moment before leaning in to kiss him. Merry is shocked into stillness, and for a moment can do nothing, his heart a crashing tidal wave of thoughts and dreams and hopes and cares, then he breaks through the foggy glass of his surprise and longing, letting the latter take over and leaning in closer to his Pippin. Of all the dreams and the poetry and the hopeless hopes that went on forever, Merry never imagined such beauty and wonder all at once. He could die right here... in the cradle of his now perfect world, in the arms of his sweet new love. He could say all of this to Pippin, but he figures he already knows, and he hasn’t the heart to pull away. When Pippin draws back at last, every inch of him trembling, he looks up at Merry with wide eyes. “I love you, Pip,” says Merry. “You never have to be alone if you don’t want to, never again.” “Oh Merry...” Pippin leans forward again. “I love you too... I d-didn’t know before and––” “My Pippin,” Merry takes the other’s face in his hands, smiling gently down at him, but the memory of the message in Merry’s letter is too much and Pippin buries his face in the soft, warm, protective place between Merry’s neck and shoulder, letting out all the grateful, adoring, lonely, desirous, anxious tears that had been building up. Merry holds Pippin’s shaking shoulders with almost painful tightness, but both are grateful for it, the idea of melting into one another sounding better than paradise. As Merry holds him, rocking slowly, he kisses any part of Pippin that he can reach, at first burying his kisses in Pippin’s soft curls, then high on Pippin’s cheekbones to his closed eyelids as the younger hobbit pulls back, his stream of tears drying up. Pippin’s eyes open and he sniffles at Merry, smiling with post-tear giggles. “Merry,” he says, smiling and biting his fingertips. “I... I want to be with you.” “You are with me, Pip,” Merry says, brushing back the other’s curls with a satisfied glow. “No, no,” Pippin wraps his fingers around Merry’s hand and presses it against his face, looking up at Merry with wide, sparkling eyes. “I mean I want to be with you tonight. You know...” “Oh. Ohhh... Pippin, no. Are you sure? I mean, you’ve, you’ve never been with anyone...” “You don’t think I have?” he smiles with his mischievous glint back in his eyes. “Peregrin Took!” Merry pulls away, half shocked, half incredulous. He’s joking, isn’t he? I mean, he would have told me, he tells me everything, he even told me about when Gandalf threatened to turn him into a toad after he put worms in his hat, he’d have said... “You silly ass!” Pippin giggles with joy, throwing his arms around Merry’s neck, knocking him back on the floor. “Of course I haven’t, and if you believed it for one second, you’re a bigger fool than I am!” “That would be difficult,” Merry grins up at him from the floor. “Well I only want to be with you,” Pippin leans down, grinning and bringing their faces close together, noses touching. A flicker of concern passes on his face and his smile disappears. “Only... I’m nervous. Would you... go slowly with me?” Merry’s expression softens in concern and he tilts his head forward the slightest bit to kiss Pippin. Merry is older and, while not having been with anyone else either, knows a thing or two, as is customary with boys that grow up. “I would never do anything that you didn’t want,” he whispers. “I promise that I’ll be slow... and gentle...” he kisses Pippin quickly to punctuate each word. “And we can stop any time you want, just say the word and I won’t even ask questions.” Pippin smiles, reassured as he always is with Merry. Meanwhile Merry––– who lays back to lose himself in Pippin’s eyes–––remembers that Pippin is laying on top of him and the pressure that urges in all the right places begins to take its toll. He tries to stop his body’s inevitable reaction, but fails and begins to get frantic. “Uh, maybe we oughtn’t stay this way, Pip––” “Why not? I quite like it,” he gazes down at Merry with a devilish curve playing at his lips and an eyebrow raised, making both his thoughts and intentions clear. “Lords, Pippin, don’t do that!” Merry cries, shoving Pippin off of him and sitting up. Pippin giggles and Merry sits on the floor across from him, trying to still his pulse. He looks over at his younger companion and melts, pressing forward into his lips with regained assurance. The panic of necessity flows out of him as he tilts his head, curling his tongue into Pippin’s mouth, past the soft, open lips. He lets his lips flow like water, tasting Pippin hungrily, but without rush, as if he is the sweetest, softest pear, he pushes farther and explores deeper. Pippin gasps at this, hands clenching at Merry’s shoulders. Merry pulls the kiss back and withdraws from Pippin’s lips, turning instead to his perfect jaw. He places a hand at the side of Pippin’s face, brushing curls away from Pippin’s neck with the other, lightly touching with his fingertips and drawing goosebumps before setting his lips there. Pippin sighs into Merry’s ear, head dropped against the other’s, eyes just barely open. Merry moves his hands to Pippin’s collar, slipping buttons from their slits and touching Pippin just slightly as he does, teasing out soft gasps with his fingers at Pippin’s torso and his darting tongue at Pippin’s neck. With tender deliberation, he slides the suspender strap from one of Pippin’s shoulders, taking with it the sleeve of his soft linen shirt. He trails the sleeve with his lips while removing the other one and letting it fall away, feathering Pippin’s skin, which is caressed by the cool air, becoming sensitive and alert to every sensation. Merry’s hands flow over the moonlight skin, brushing here, stroking here, dancing over Pippin’s collarbone, then reaching around to touch his narrow shoulder blades, meanwhile planting soft kisses all along Pippin’s shoulders, pressing his lips into every curve and dip and crevice. Merry cannot keep himself from tensing, especially with Pippin’s soft, shivering breath at his ear. He removes his hands and gets to his feet, Pippin giving a surprised whine of protest. “Merry, what’s wrong? Where are you––” His question is knocked from him by the sight of Merry’s inviting smile as he holds a hand out to Pippin, who takes it, standing. “Can’t stay on the floor all night now, can we?” Merry smiles, speaking quietly. Pippin plucks at the sleeve of Merry’s shirt, the picture of innocence, and Merry’s eyes flutter as he takes a breath. Pippin wastes no more time and Merry’s vest and shirt are on the floor within seconds. He runs his hands over Merry’s smooth chest, brushing his fingertips over the enticing curve of Merry’s neck. The elder hobbit burns, shuddering pleasantly as Pippin’s small hands explore him. He closes his eyes, every inch of him tingling as light fingertips draw down his sides, then his eyes fly open when Pippin’s fingers run along the waist of Merry’s pants, fingertips tucking under the soft fabric. Merry grabs Pippin’s wrists to stop him, bringing a questioning look from the other. “Too fast,” Merry breathes. “Let me... I want tonight to be all about you.” “But Merry...” Pippin purrs, turning Merry’s name into a growling, spellbinding plea as his lips brush the other’s ear, planting kisses along his jaw. Merry tilts his head back, giving Pippin better access and making soft, throaty noises. “I need to touch you.” “My Pip,” Merry shakes himself back to his senses, forcing himself to remember that this boy is still young and needs Merry to be slow with him. “Trust me,” he runs his fingers through Pippin’s hair. “I want to worship you.” “So worship me, just let me touch you!” Pippin smiles, throwing his arms around Merry’s shoulders and kissing him full-force, shocked and delighted by the feeling of warm, bare skin against his own. He presses his body in close, relishing the gasp that comes from Merry, a gasp that Pippin can feel vibrating in his throat, as Merry feels every inch of Pippin through the not-very-concealing breeches he wears. Oh my, am I doing this to him? he thinks, moaning into Pippin’s lips and eliciting a joyful grin. When Pippin reaches down to Merry’s pants again, Merry does not stop him, only flushes a bright red, keeping his lips against Pippin’s. His breeches and underclothes fall to the floor and Merry steps out of them, then reaches under Pippin’s behind and lifts him into his arms, stubborn at keeping their lips fused together as if the world depends on it. He walks with his small, sunny treasure to the overlarge Elven bed and lays him down, at last letting his lips fall away from Pippin’s. Merry half-lies next to him, propped on one elbow and keeping his hand still at the base of Pippin’s stomach. “Ready, love?” Merry asks. “I’ve been waiting for you,” Pippin teases, then sobers, shivering as Merry’s hand moves slowly down. “Yes.” “Are you absolutely sure?” Merry presses, brushing his hand over the protrusion at Pippin’s breeches. “Oh ahhh...” Pippin’s eyelids flutter and his chin tilts upward with his hips. Merry pulls his hand away, resting it instead precariously close on Pippin’s thigh. “Mercy, Merry, I’m sure, please do that again...” Merry kisses the pointed tip of Pippin’s ear, smiling, and moves his hand up to the fastenings at Pippin’s pants, pressing deliberately with his fingertips as he unfastens each button, then draws the breeches from Pippin’s legs, letting them fall to the floor. He catches his breath, looking at Pippin. As they’d grown up continually in one another’s company, Merry had seen Pippin without clothes on, but never like this. Never laying like an ethereal cherub in front of him, gazing at Merry with trusting eyes, flushed cheeks, excitement urging, his whole body trembling as a leaf on the wind. Merry lets his eyes alone caress the flawless, exposed skin before him, touching and tracing every curve. He discovers his hands are doing the same thing only when Pippin’s deep gasp reaches his ears. “Ohhh Merry...” he moans, digging his fingers into the other’s shoulders. It almost undoes Merry right there, hearing Pippin say this, lips parted, eyes closed. Merry strokes the inside of Pippin’s thigh, then moves his hand to where it will be needed the most. His hand pushes and curls and caresses, eyes set on Pippin’s face. He watches the closed eyes that will squeeze tighter as he gasps, the parted lips that curl between Pippin’s teeth as he bites back a moan or that shiver as he gives a sharp inhalation. Pippin’s hands move unconsciously, resting on his neck or over his lips or on top of the sheets, curling his fingers and taking the fabric with him or pushing through his hair that is fanned out on the pillow in an attractive spray. Finally, one of his passionately shaking hands comes to rest on Merry’s free arm and he keeps it there as if to steady himself, while throwing the other back, palm up, to rest against his own shoulder. As Merry’s strokes intensify, memorizing every curve and nearly overwhelming Pippin with the wash of emotion that flows through him, constricting his chest, Pippin’s breathing becomes fast and shallow, like a captured animal. “Merry... oh Merry, what... ahh...” Pippin whispers, breathless and rapid. Sensing the tension increasing in the other’s body and not ready for it to be over so soon, Merry withdraws his hand, setting it on the flat space of Pippin’s hip. “Merry... why did you stop?” he breathes, this last word nearly a sob. There is a fiery blush on Pippin’s cheeks, his eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched. Merry melts and falls in love all over again. He moves to a kneeling position beside Pippin’s lying form and takes the other’s face in his hands. Pippin’s eyes open, shocking Merry as ever with their wide, innocent and passionately beautiful green. I never seem to get used to those eyes, he thinks. No other green in the world, no matter how exquisite can ever come close... “My love,” he breathes, smiling with strong reassurance at his small treasure. “I am not stopping, believe me.” Chapter the Fourth: I'm Getting One “Everything you’ve been looking for, You’ll know when it’s real, You’ll know when you’ve found it, By the way it makes you feel...” ––Johnny Lang: “Second Guessing” Pippin’s arms fly around Merry’s neck, pulling Merry down on top of him and yanking him into a kiss. He loses himself in the sweetness of their lips touching and, oh dear, their bodies, both of them divinely naked and pressed together, fitting so perfectly against one another as if born to be this way. He does not release Merry for a long while, when he does, speaking into Merry’s ear with a rushed breath. “I have to do more, Merry...” “What are you ––” Merry’s question disintegrates as Pippin’s eyes gaze seriously at him, the suggestion written as plainly as words. Seeing this and knowing what they both desire, Merry’s heart gives a jump. To be here, to only be holding Pippin is enough, to hear Pippin say that he loved him, to be able to keep Pippin in his arms, even more perfect with no restraining cloth between them, to be allowed to touch this angelic sprite, that is enough. Merry’s heart and soul are content, and would be for the rest of time if his body would just keep still. It could be so nice... but no, Pippin is still young and... “Pip, I don’t know, love,” Merry says, speaking against every physical cry that his body can utter. “You’ve never done this and, I mean... this is the first time we’ve ever even kissed...” “I know, Merry,” Pippin says, gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes, head pressed back against the pillow. “But I trust you.” Merry stays still, watching Pippin’s eyes and seeing nothing but that: trust, adoration and the slightest hint of anxiety, but no doubt. He loves this little nuisance so much, he feels as though his heart will overheat and detonate. Alright, it’s time. He leans forward to kiss the glowing, flushed, and slightly trembling sprite beneath him, conveying his intentions beyond any doubt. His tongue pries past the barrier of Pippin’s lips, pushing the other’s head onto the pillow with the force of the kiss. Pippin moans into Merry’s insistent mouth, feeling a magnificent rush at every move that Merry makes. When Merry pulls back, he watches Pippin with his intense, catlike eyes and a sweet, reassuring smile on his lips, a contrast that Pippin finds exhilarating. “First we need some soap,” Merry says in a quiet growl. “I beg your pardon, Merry, but I am quite clean.” “Just hush, you oddment, and trust me,” Merry smiles, climbing from the bed. “I’ll be right back.” Pippin watches after his retreating companion with curiosity and an abrupt cold loneliness at being left alone in this oversized bed, shivering with a fresh wave of anxiety. He does not suspect he shall be sleeping alone in the future if given the choice. He watches Merry walking toward the small bathroom included in their chamber, admiring the other’s form. Merry’s skin is an entrancing wash of smooth caramel, the warm light of the candles shifting over him, flattering his every perfect curve. This is an entirely new feeling for Pippin, whose position on love and desire was heretofore one of polite indifference. Now it consumes him, changes him, and he craves more. Despite this, he is struck with an unanticipated plague of shyness at the realization that he is lying there, as naked as can be, that Merry is dressed identically, and that Merry had actually touched him, an action that induced such an overwhelming inundation of emotion that Pippin doesn’t believe he’d be able to walk, should he dare try. He pulls up the covers that lay beneath him and slips under. His trembling hands draw the smooth, cool sheets–––the smallest bit shocking to his feverish body–––up to his chin and he sits there with his knees tucked, enfolded tightly like a present. Merry steps from the bathroom, a fluffy white towel wrapped around his hips and concealing a rather obvious feature. He carries a hand towel, a small bowl of water, and a pristine bar of soap. Walking with care in an effort to keep the water from swaying over the edge, he looks up at Pippin and laughs. “Are you cold, my dear one, or just being silly?” he asks, setting his things on the squat bedside table and smiling with benign amusement. “Neither, I’m... naked.” “I’m sorry? A lump of quilts appears to be trying to speak to me, but I’m sure the love of my life is in there somewhere,” Merry smiles with his benevolent reassurance, sitting on the edge of the bed, setting his hand where he judges Pippin’s knee to be. “Have you seen him, Sir Talking- Lump-of-Quilts?” “Well,” the quilts mutter in an indignant manner. “I saw a dashing young gentlehobbit teaching a well-deserved lesson to a teasing Brandybuck.” Merry pokes a finger through a fold in the covers and tugs them away from Pippin’s face, feigning surprise at the sight of the other’s wide green eyes and bottom lip tucked under a row of pearled teeth. “My Pip, there you are,” Merry grins, kissing the tip of Pippin’s nose. “Why were you hiding your beautiful face?” “Ehm... naked,” he offers up a shy smile. “Well, my dearest apple muffin,” Merry tugs the covers down further and they fall around Pippin’s waist. “That was the point.” Pippin laughs nervously. Merry sees him trembling and runs a hand through Pippin’s hair. “Remember,” Merry says, the teasing glint gone from his eyes. “You just say it and I’ll do whatever you ask of me. We can stop any time you want, all right?” “I doubt very much that I’ll ask you to stop,” Pippin smiles again, this time with more confidence, then leans in to kiss Merry, allowing his lips to linger for a long moment. “I love you, my Merry.” The elder hobbit gives a pleasant shudder at these words, certain that he’s never heard anything more beautiful or entrancing. “I love you more, my sweet Pippin.” Merry leans over to blow out a few candles, leaving them with the dim, personal light of the fireplace: light meant only for the two of them. He kisses the perfect curve of Pippin’s neck, breathing in the smell of woodfire that the young hobbit indelibly carries. This is all so dizzying, such a glorious, nonsensical rush that breaks him open and turns him inside out. Every inch of young Pippin’s perfect skin, every gaze from those unbelievable eyes, every sweet, innocent smile, half the time bordering on dangerous mischief is only one more reason for Merry to loose himself, full to bursting with all the love in the world, all flowing, swirling, spinning, dancing around his small and lovely Pippin. It’s too much, it’s all too much to breathe, to stay still, Merry thinks, touching and kissing mindlessly, eyes squeezed shut. I love you beyond reason, beyond life, beyond every color I’ve ever seen, any warmth I’ve ever felt, I love you beyond love itself... I want to do everything for you, let me do what you want, whatever you want... Slowly, Merry realizes that he is speaking, whispering the words rapidly into Pippin’s pointed seashell ear, his warm breath ghosting over the immaculate skin. A sound halfway between a sigh and an “oh” escapes Pippin’s parted lips as he listens, eyes closed. “Yes,” Pippin whispers, his hands feathering through Merry’s rich, blond curls. “What we both want.” Merry pulls back to smile at Pippin, then kisses him with encouraging gentleness, his tongue brushing the other’s lips. When he ends the kiss, he smiles once more, sliding the quilts from around Pippin, who shivers and gasps slightly at the contact and his skin meeting the air once more. Merry stands, leaning over the bed and slips one hand under Pippin’s head, the other at Pippin’s hip as he eases the other to a lying position. Pippin blushes, his hands curling reflexively over his chest, knees bending out of instinct to hide himself. Merry shakes his head, still smiling with a sweet tenderness and takes his hands from their previous positions, setting one at the base of Pippin’s stomach, and the other on Pippin’s knees, pushing them back down. Pippin watches Merry, his heart pounding in every inch of his body, blushing madly. Merry descends, caressing Pippin’s lips with his own, meanwhile discarding his towel and climbing on top of his shivering prey. Keeping their lips fused together, Merry reaches for the soap and dips it in the bowl of water, covering his hands with the slippery half-liquid that results. When satisfied, he removes his hands from the bowl of water, leaving the soap there, in case it is needed later. With one hand, he covers his straining arousal with the soap, reaching toward the apex of Pippin’s legs with the other. Pippin gasps into Merry’s lips as the other presses a fingertip to his most personal inlet, sliding into his body. “Ohh!” he cries out in surprise at both the contact and the breath-stealing sweetness that pours over him. “You all right, love?” Merry whispers. “Ohhh yes, Merry...” Merry slides a second finger into Pippin, moving slowly to keep the pain as minimal as he can. Pippin’s breathing grows faster and more shallow as Merry’s fingers move with deft, deliberate motion. He feels slight pain at being stretched so, but at the thought that Merry’s hands are the ones doing it, the pain seems distant and unimportant. Merry lays his free hand on Pippin’s smooth thigh, bracing him as he adds a third finger. The soap makes things easier, but for a moment, Pippin cries out in pain and Merry bites his lip, eyebrows tilted in concern. He is about to ask after Pippin again, when the other gives an undeniably pleased groan; Merry has found the spot he was looking for, the one that laid Pippin’s entire range of emotion at Merry’s fingertips. Merry can make Pippin laugh or scream or squirm or cry. But mostly, he will make him moan. Merry withdraws his fingers and, his heart fluttering wildly like a frightened bird, shifts closer, slowly sliding the crown of his erection into Pippin. At this, they both give a quickly stifled shout, colors changing before their eyes, both fighting to breathe. After a pause, during which both try to slow their frenzied pulse, Merry moves forward once more. His hands grip Pippin’s shoulders as he tries not to scream and to keep screaming at the beautiful feeling of being so enclosed. “Am I hurting you?” he whispers, kissing Pippin’s ear, neck, jaw line, whatever he can reach. “A bit,” Pippin admits in a low breath. “But don’t stop.” Merry sheaths himself further and Pippin calls out, throwing a hand over his mouth. A few hot tears slip down his cheeks and Merry kisses them away. He sets his lips to Pippin’s ear, whispering in a swift breath. “Breathe, be still, love, breathe and relax...” “Merry.. oh this hurts...” Pippin winces, a sharp hissing of breath escaping his clenched teeth as Merry slides further with a slowness that is dizzying for him. “I know it does, little love, and I’m sorry,” Merry exhales, slightly reeling. “But you have to relax or it’ll be worse.” Pippin bites his lip and nods. It takes a moment for Merry to feel Pippin ease around him and his eyes flutter at the great wave of sensations that drown him. Fully inside, Merry releases the breath he’d been unconsciously holding, then pulls back and pushes forward again, causing Pippin to cry out, all pain gone and leaving him with an intense, stirring feeling in the base of his spine. Merry reaches down to Pippin’s erection and strokes him in harmony with the steady rocking of his hips. Pippin curls one arm around Merry’s neck, the other hand still resting over his face, which Merry sees and pushes away. Pippin looks up at Merry and blushes, shocked by the ardent blue eyes that gaze down at him as in all their years together they never have. But at that moment, Merry thrusts again and Pippin’s eyes close, his back arching and his head thrown back against the pillow. He is astounded and overtaken by these new feelings, so many thousands all at once, each more powerful than the next, crashing over him like the flowing sea, wave after wave of something new and powerful stealing his breath away. His hands clench and unclench behind Merry’s neck; he feels captured, overpowered, devoured, and he loves it. Is it supposed to feel this fantastic? he thinks, breathing and moaning senselessly. He chants Merry’s name over and over in a long sigh, pulling the other’s shoulders down onto his own to bring them closer. Merry covers his face with a series of quick kisses, burying him under his fervent attentions and bringing them nearly to laughter, though both are too overwhelmed and breathless to do so. “I love you, I love you so...” Merry says with every breath, watching Pippin’s face and closed eyes as if in a dream, entwined so perfectly that he is almost disappointed to feel himself quickening, the tumult in his soul rising like the tide. Pippin feels it too, as if wavering in an out of lucidity. “Merry...” he says, voice escalating as if in a warning, and within moments, they hit their zenith, nearly in unison, and call out the other’s name, holding tightly to whatever they can. They release, feeling like the nucleus of the sweetest, most comfortable blessing there could ever be, divinely entangled in their bubble of love and harmony. “Sweet mercy,” Merry smiles and they both giggle. They sigh, settling against each other and do not move for a long moment. When Merry finally slides out of Pippin, the other gives a soft moan. Merry chuckles and eases off of Pippin and onto the soft mattress, curling next to him and brushing a few renegade curls from Pippin’s forehead. “I love you and I love you,” he sighs, propping his chin up with one hand and stoking Pippin’s flushed face with the other, regarding him with the fondest smile. “You are so wonderfully lovely.” Pippin giggles and turns his head in to rest in the crook of Merry’s neck. “I never knew I could love anyone or anything so much,” Pippin says, his voice a crisp, dreamy whisper. “I’m so glad it was you.” “Still crave the upcoming adventure, then?” “It’s not really that important,” answers Pippin, considering as he draws tiny circles on Merry’s collarbone with his fingertips. “Being with you is more exciting than... oh, then that time Gandalf threatened to turn me into a toad after I filled his hat with worms.” Merry laughs softly. “You’re all the adventure I need,” Pippin smiles. Merry leans forward to kiss Pippin’s forehead, then shifts onto his back, pulling Pippin’s shoulders until the other’s head is resting on his chest. Pippin smiles, thinking back to the letter, and realizing with calm assurance that whatever obsession he’d harbored for those words and whatever lay behind them, or even the marvelous excitement and hunger of adventure... the crazy things running through his head now, all the feelings he has for Merry have fully eclipsed any emotions of the past. He slips his arms around Merry’s waist and breathes out slowly, looking with fresh curiosity around the room. “Oh my... we’re still in Rivendell, aren’t we?” he says delicately. Merry chuckles and looks down at him. “You’ve forgotten already?” “Well... yes.” Pippin laughs at himself, then stretches up to kiss the underside of Merry’s jaw. He settles back against the other’s chest and squeezes him around the middle, both to express the overflowing current of warmth in his heart, and to make sure that Merry is still there. They lie there, breathing in tranquil symmetry, both finally complete. “You daft grub,” Merry grins suddenly. “Didn’t you notice how I loved you before?” “Hush,” Pippin smiles. “And I love you more.” “Do not.” “Do so, you stiff-necked Brandybuck.” “Do not and I can prove it, you magnificently ticklish Took.” “Ticklish, what –– hey!” Merry demonstrates the legitimacy of his comment and they roll over onto one another, a giggling pile of endless love. BEGINNING