TITLE: Summer Afternoon
AUTHOR: Tha Wrecka
PAIRING: Merry/Pippin
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: None
FEEDBACK: Please.
ARCHIVE: Library of Moria
SUMMARY: Merry and Pippin relax in a field.
DISCLAIMER: These boys belong to New Line Cinema and Tolkien's estate 
but, ooh, if I owned them.



One summer, as the day wore on into afternoon, two boys lay in the 
tall, soft grass. The world paid them no heed, the butterfly not 
noticing their giggles as it fluttered past. These two boys, known to 
the shire as Merry and Pippin, were tired after a full day of 
mischief. Pippin barely had the energy to laugh, so exhausted was he 
by the days pranks.
 
Their laughter faded into the summer breeze and Merry sighed, 
stretching out his arms. Pippin just smiled, looking upon the clear 
blue sky and thinking of comfortable things like warm porridge and 
mornings in bed. Beside him Merry picked a flower, yellow like the 
sun, and twirled it in his fingers in a whimsical fashion. Tiring of 
the sky-view, Pippin closed his eyes, wishing to rest in the warm 
field.
 
This rest was disturbed by the gentlest sensation of something soft 
touching his forehead. It travelled down, over Pippin's nose, leaving 
tiny tingles in its wake. Pippin half-opened one eye as the sensation 
reached his lips. He was met by the sight of Merry, sitting up above 
him, trailing the flower slowly down Pippin's face. It continued on 
its journey over Pippin's lower lip, creating a feeling akin to 
tickling. Pippin gasped, his mouth falling open as the warm air 
rushed into him. As the flower reached his neck he began to squirm 
and his face formed a frown.
 
"Merry, stop that," Pippin said, beginning to pout. "It's rather 
ticklish."
 
Merry withdrew his hand, placing the flower on the ground around him. 
Almost immediately Pippin began to wish he hadn't spoken. Truth be 
told, he sometimes liked it when Merry tickled him.
 
"Nothing worse than a ticklish Took," Merry joked, and in response 
Pippin rolled his eyes.
 
Merry sighed again, turning his head to look out upon the field. The 
sunlight caught his features, turning them an orangey-gold. As he 
basked in the setting sun the smile returned to his face and his 
eyelids slid shut. Pippin had the sudden, insane urge to reach out 
and touch them, an urge upon which he acted, his finger whispering 
against soft skin. He did so like Merry's eyelids.
 
Merry slowly opened his eyes, looking bemused. Pippin's finger moved 
down over Merry's face until it came to his cheekbone, the hand 
resting against his face. Pippin's thumb moved to Merry's lips, 
tugging them down and open. Merry's eyes looked warm and wet and his 
mouth warmer and wetter.
 
"Merry," Pippin breathed, the name almost catching in his throat. "I 
think I'm going to kiss you."
 
Pippin sat up to meet his friend with the first tentative touch of 
lips to lips. Twining his fingers through Merry's hair, Pippin 
pressed his lips closer, his mouth opening on a gasp. With a tender 
touch of tongue, Pippin melted into Merry's mouth, cool and wet like 
lemonade.
 
Overwhelmed by the taste and feel of Merry, Pippin pulled back. With 
a shy smile he was greeted by the languorous heat in Merry's eyes.
 
Pippin sighed, his lips curving into a smile of their own accord, and 
leaned his heavy head against Merry's shoulder.