Today The Weather Plays Tricks On Me (Aaj Mausaum Bada Beimann Hai) Author: Kit Fox Rating: NC17 Pairing: Merry/Pippin Warning: slash, cuteness, writer attempting to form plot. Danger... Summary: Something is wrong with Pippin, and even Merry is left in the dark. A spring rainstorm gathers, and trouble is brewing. Deliciousness inevitably ensues. Author’s Notes: I literally wrote this story within one week, not because I’m good, but because... well I don’t quite know why. Maybe I had some demons to exorcise, and the treadmill wasn’t cutting it (BAH-dum, chhh!). As I was writing this, I thought of something I read once: “Love is like being the tiniest little bird, and swallowing the moon.” I can say now for certain it’s true. Distribution: Who am I to deny the hobbit love? It should be the common dream, to have at least one naked hobbit in every home. If you like, take, but please let me know so I can see where it’s at! Feedback: WHAT I want, baby it’s feedback, WHAT I need, do you know it’s feedback, all I’m askin’ is for a little feed-back (just a little bit)... Disclaimer: Many bows to the demi-god that is the good professor Tolkien, whose life’s work I continue to (quite shamelessly, I might add) mutilate. It’s all his, and I can only branch a wee bit of it off in my own sick, happy little direction, and hope very much that he won’t come back from the grave and strangle me. Acknowledgements: Dom Monoghan, you sexy devil, you make the slash world worthwhile. And the adorable and heart-stealing Scotsman Billy Boyd: this is your fault, you know that. All of it. Thanks to my buds, who got me through the gettin’ through. And Lily: you’re my favorite (though only) sister. Reminder: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Today The Weather Plays Tricks On Me (Aaj Mausaum Bada Beimann Hai) Elated giggles sizzle in the air with the warm spring sunshine, and we find the culprits lying in a field, enjoying one in a lifetime of happy hobbit moments. One talks while one listens (both laugh from time to time) and spring floats over the Shire, teasing open leaf after leaf, flower after flower. When spring first poked its tentative fingertips out of winter’s shell and sprinkled pockets of warmth among the snow, Pippin became suddenly thoughtful. He always looked forward to the warm months with his childlike fervor, eager to fly again, outside, with Merry. Through the confining winter he longed to tumble in the grass, climb the lush trees, and plot all sorts of marvelous inappropriate Merry-and-Pippinish mischief. Properly improper mischief is always difficult to conduct in the winter, when outdoors is not so friendly, and though he is always up for a challenge, Peregrin Took is more than ready for the freedom of spring. This spring, when it first began, was different, and left Pippin pensive. He often stared out the windows of his home–––looking at the grass that wanted to emerge, but was continually held down by the icy cage of snow–––and think that the weather didn’t seem to know what it wanted to be. At times like this, Pippin felt like the weather. He was all mixed up, and struggling inside, and for a time he allowed that to weigh heavily on him. His family–––Merry in particular–––began to worry at the time Pippin spent alone. Was it a result of growing up? Was he sick? Could he be in love? Much as everyone in his life chided Pippin for his wild, rambunctious nature, they began to feel uneasy when they felt it start to slip away. However, once the crocuses came and were replaced by lilacs, and the last vestiges of snow finally gave up their claim on the Shire until next year’s battle, the bouncing young Took returned. He sprang from his door and bounded over the warm, sun-soaked fields; fell into numerous lakes; and planned raids on many a pantry, garden, and far off, probably made-up land (though one can never be too sure, when the world is so large); all with the constant assistance and protection of Meriadoc. Merry had wondered about Pippin and his detached air when it came on, and even now that it’s passed, he still looks at his young cousin with concern, as though expecting him to lapse back into the mood swing at whatever moment. But spring’s delicious warmth, it seems, has healed whatever crack had been made in Pippin’s heart. “... the weather grew worse and darker and I still couldn’t find you,” says Merry, recounting one of Pippin’s many past mishaps as the two of them lie bare-chested in the grass, letting the glorious sun beat down on them. “And once it started to rain, the thunder and lightening came faster...” Stories are one of the many great things they share. On days like this, warm days that tingle with the promise of adventures not yet had, Merry usually prefers stories with an element of the fantastic about them (though one might argue that, as a Brandybuck, he made sure all of his stories were a little too fantastic to be real). He told tales involving magic and journeys and giants and danger and of course happy endings, as Pippin wouldn’t have it any other way. The times where Merry likes to tell stories about Pippin are usually late at night, when they’re under the sheets and Merry can find Pippin’s shoulder beside him, to confirm that–––whatever dangerous nonsense the young Took got into–––he is all right now. Merry tells this story now because over the years of practically living in one another’s skin, Merry has learned when his best friend needs a spot of confidence. Sometimes it helps to know that people worry about you. “Worse than the storm and the dark,” says Merry. “There had been a *wolf* seen out there earlier.” “There was no wolf,” Pippin turns his head to Merry with an incredulous grin. “I didn’t feel like telling you about it, then,” Merry says with dignity. “You were scared enough as it was, I’m only telling you now because the danger’s passed.” “If I believed you, I’d be a bigger fool than you take me for.” “*No one* could be a bigger fool than I take you for,” says Merry. “And I was under the impression that *I’m* telling the story, young idiot.” “You’re not telling me *fiction*,” he nudges Merry. “There was no wolf, you liar of a Brandybuck.” “Better than a Tookish scaredy-cat.” “Mortal wound!” Pippin laughs with indignance, setting a hand on his sun-warmed chest. “Shall I continue, or will there be more bothersome interruptions?” “I *am* a bothersome interruption...” Pippin giggles. “Too right. Well?” “Fib away, good sir.” “Anyway, whether you deserved it or not, I was very brave and magnificent, charging out in the storm to find you...” Pippin snorts but says nothing. “And I knew you like to be in the barn when it storms, so I creaked open the barn door, half expecting a ferocious, hobbit-eating wolf to jump out at me–––” “False wolves can’t hurt you,” Pippin snickers. “–––Though for all my efforts, there was not a Pippin in sight. Just then, I heard quite the familiar giggle behind me.” “Who was it, Merry?” Pippin asks in mock suspense. “Someone I should have thumped about the head every day after,” says Merry. “You were in a tree, Pip, high up in one of the apple trees, in a *storm*.” Pippin chuckles at the memory. “And I said, ‘Pip, you ass! Don’t you know that lightening strikes trees?!’ I tell you, at any second, I expected you to be reduced to little charred hobbit bits.” Pippin laughs again. “Don’t you laugh, you wild rascal!” Merry frowns. “You gave me an enormous fright that night, I don’t mind telling you, I was scared dead that something would happen to you.” “I’m here now, Merry,” he smiles up at the sky, letting one hand fall back against Merry’s shoulder. When they’d found their perfect spot of the hillside earlier that day, they’d discarded shirts in celebration of the lovely sun, and are already beginning to turn bronze. They’ve watched one another grow over the years, watched baby-tummies shrink into flat (but still hobbit-squashy) stomachs with gentle dips below the navel and in the middle of the chest and up from their hips in a legacy of smooth, soon to be nut-brown skin. Now grown, they are both immaculate, and the sun lavishes them with the attention of any lovestruck girl. “But I do worry about you, boy,” says Merry, his voice sounding careful now. “You’ve been all right lately, but a few weeks ago, you seemed...” “Ah, stop being an old man,” Pippin grins, rolling to his feet. Merry notices the blades of grass that litter his companion’s smooth back, and hops up to brush them off. Pippin turns to do the same for him and they slip their shirts on, leaving them unbuttoned, as they walk back. * * * * For Pippin, it has been there since time was time. It came as naturally to him as breathing, blinking, laughing, crying, making trouble; it was a part of his personality as much as his cheerfulness and need for adventure. Merry was infused in Pippin’s very skin from the day Pippin was born, and the love that he felt was just a part of him that had been there all along. But then growing up happened. Growing up is a dangerous business for anyone: it can ruin many good things, carefree attitudes, meaningful relationships, and it can yield disastrous results. Growing up is difficult to recover from, even if you have only a taste of it. Some growing is good. Learning, maturing, progressing, taking care of yourself and learning to put others before you, these are good things. But Merry and Pippin had seen too many sour adults, too many worry-lines on the faces of their elders, and they’d promised themselves and each other to never let it go that far. It happened suddenly for Pippin–––one day, things just didn’t look the same. With a thrill of fear he realized that yes, there was more to this love thing, yes, there were different kinds of love, and yes, Pippin was already on the most dangerous side of it. Merry had explained sex, but there was no easy way to explain romantic love. It’s something that you don’t understand until you see it in others, and only then can you recognize it in yourself. For Pippin, it was like waking up to a nightmare. Very suddenly the good feelings Pippin had concerning his friend were transformed. He knew in an instant that it wasn’t the kind of love passed out freely to one’s friends and relatives with a “Hallo, you rascal of a Hobbit, come buy me a drink!” and a pat on the back or kiss on the cheek or tousle of hair. It was a special love, a secret love, something thrilling and perilous and desperate that meant that things were changed, *Pippin* was changed, and nothing could be the same again. What had been pure and fun and comfortable had suddenly dark implications, and, when Pippin thought on it, became a burning, agonizing, frightful thing. Love is something that, in its many forms and doses, can easily kill you, or worse. Pippin knew this, he recognized his symptoms, and he fled to his room. Spring turned from a slushy, rainy, depressing thing to something warm and bright, and for a time that served to distract Pippin from the sudden danger his heart was in. His life was filled with sweet things: raw carrots (stolen ones taste better), rainstorms that drenched the new leaves and made the world exotic, handkerchiefs filled with a steaming hot piece of pie that would be shared and giggled over in secret corners, warm days in the wide fields of the Shire, letting the sun see straight into his heart and heal him. And then there was loving Merry. Loving Merry was like having something stuck in Pippin’s eye, something too big to go away but too small to get out. The more Pippin tried, the further in it got, and the more he hurt himself. Merry was too deeply ingrained in him, and whether he knew he was doing it or not, he would never let Pippin go. The warmth of spring had cheered him for a while, filling his life up with the color and hope that the season inevitably excites, but after a while, Pippin got used to the spring. Once it was no longer new and entirely engrossing, his thoughts wandered back to the threatening, precarious places it had been before. As Merry and Pippin stroll back down the hill, Pippin feels a panic grow inside him. He’s begun to feel that happiness slip, and dreads what emotions will come upon him again. Spring couldn’t save him, and the desperation he feels now makes him wonder if anything will. He glances at Merry, then immediately regrets it, as Merry has just taken that moment to glance at Pippin. Merry looks normal, but Pippin feels himself blush to the very points of his ears. “All right,” says Merry in that let’s-be-serious tone he gets sometimes. “There’s something on your mind. Let’s have it.” *Your face, your eyes, your hands, the way you look at me, the way I wish you’d look at me...* “I was just thinking of what we should do today,” says Pippin, the words rolling from him as naturally as sunsets slip down right on time. “The day is young, and all that...” “I’m getting you in the water, Master Took.” Pippin has to windmill his arms to keep from falling over. Goodness gracious sweet merciful mother of the good, holy, ever-loving, blue-eyed earth. Pippin’s blush deepens in intensity, as though his hair will catch fire. This is *no* way to go about getting himself back to rights. “Uhm, that’s actually not what I had in mind...” “Pippin,” Merry turns to his cousin, setting a hand on his shoulder. Pippin gulps as he looks up into Merry’s striking, determined face. “You’re in your twenties, boy. Tookish cowardice is no excuse for you not having learned to swim by now.” “Tookish cowardice!” Pippin yells, despite his sudden uneasiness. “Your side of the family is the only side in the Shire that wants anything to do with water, and that speaks not so much of bravery but of *questionable* mental facilities!” Merry can’t help but laugh, and Pippin can’t help but watch him closely. “Your comebacks are improving, cousin,” says Merry, slipping an arm around Pippin’s shoulders. Pippin feels himself tense a little, warning his body not to enjoy the contact. It is a normal touch, and they’ve gotten a good deal closer over the years, often falling asleep draped all over one another like puppies or pouncing on each other for hugs, innocent tumbles, or any of the perfectly ordinary bestest-friend things they’ve always done. Pippin fumbles, and eventually lets his hand rest high on Merry’s back (*but not for long and don’t you dare start to like it*). They make their way down the gently sloping hill, passing by sprinklings of trees in the fragrant bloom of spring. The apple trees are blossoming little light pink flowers, the dogwoods are showering white petals, and everywhere they turn, evidence of fresh, shy flora dances around them, petals falling through the air in front and around them with the lightest brush of wind, as if giving the two Hobbits their own dry spring rain. Petals twirl through the clean, honey-colored sunshine, making the world smell of new life and sweet grass. “I’ve given in to your stiff-necked ways and *unreasonable* fretting for too long,” says Merry. “I’ve been trying to teach you to swim since you could walk, and you always weaseled out or forgot what I taught you and near drowned. I’ve saved your hide enough times to count on every finger and a few toes. You will learn to swim if it kills the both of us.” “It more than likely will,” Pippin grumbles. The reader will of course know by now that fear of drowning–––as is inherent in any Hobbit Of Good Sense, excepting the adventurous Brandybucks–––is not what keeps Pippin from wanting to go to the lake. Water is a dangerous business, to be sure, but the clothes that will have to come off in the process are more worrying than all the mishaps that he could (and probably will) get into. He went far enough just now, allowing himself to discard his shirt on the hilltop, and felt unsettled at the feeling that tingled inside him at seeing Merry naked from the waist up. It wasn’t the first time, of course, but it affected him nonetheless. Merry was as beautiful as summer, with skin like honey and all the right dips and curves in all the right places. Merry’s trousers hung at his hips, just at that flat space below his navel where Pippin’s eyes seemed magnetized. He fought to remain normal (and at feeling Merry’s hand at Pippin’s back, brushing away the grass, Pippin would have settled for remaining *conscious*). And now Merry was insisting on another swimming lesson, where there will be more bare skin, *wet* bare skin, and Merry’s hands on him, trying to keep him afloat. Pippin doesn’t know if he can take it standing. More than likely he will drown himself, and then his worries would be over. But there would be no more Merry. He tightens his grip on Merry’s shoulder. “Still,” Pippin squirms as they reach the road and Merry turns in the direction of the lake. “Now may not be the best time for it... I heard quite a few pretty rumors about a cloudberry tart surfacing at the marketplace ‘round luncheon and if it turns out to be true and we’ve missed it, it would be quite the tragedy.” “*Quite* the tragedy,” says Merry with a smirk. “Swimming we go.” “But Merry–––” “I know your ‘rumors’ too well, you bughead. I’m getting you in the water and that’s not negotiable.” Pippin shivers. Merry feels it and turns his head. “Are you all right?” “Fine.” * * * * Pippin has been honest all his life, often to a point that exasperates his neighbors. He has always been candid, brazen, fearless, and uninhibited, never ashamed of what he thinks or feels, and never hesitating to let people know what that might be. He holds back now, afraid of the consequences. Considering consequences at all is not a very Pippin-ish thing to do, as in his life there have been quite a few leaps and not nearly as many looks, but this is a threat unlike any other in his life. Telling Merry how he feels could be as easy as anything, but the thing that makes it difficult is knowing that he would lose him. There is no chance of Pippin’s sentiment being returned–––even if Merry likes him, Pippin’s love is too wild, too violent, to heavy, to ever be felt by any other living thing. Only Merry could inspire something so big. This was his fault for being so special. If Pippin lets his feelings show, Merry will leave him. If he swallows what he feels, then at least he can be with Merry like always, and even though his heart will always ache for something more, the perpetual hurt will be better than perpetual hurt coupled with being alone. If that happened, he would die, and die slowly. He would wither and become nothing. And what would Merry do without his Pippin? For the first time in his rambunctious life, Pippin is afraid. Cripplingly, paralyzingly, agonizingly, mortally afraid. And also for once in his life, Pippin resolves to keep his mouth shut. “Don’t be such a baby!” Merry calls through his cupped hands, belly-deep in water. Pippin sends him a mocking simper from the shore where he wavers, his hands hovering above the buttons on his clothes. The part of the lake where they are now is a favorite haunt of theirs, a secluded bit of paradise hung with willows right up to the edge of the lake, dipping their feathery branches into the water. Merry is in the water in nothing but his undergarments, waiting for Pippin to jump in with him. Every fiber in Pippin’s trembling body urges him to run for it, which he might do, if Merry would just take his eyes off of him. “Come on, you half-a-noodle!” Merry taunts. “You haven’t got courage enough to fill a thimble!” “Keep it up, Mister Brandybuck!” Pippin shouts, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice. “You’ll be smiling through a split lip...” “Let’s go, Pip, just take ‘em off and jump in!” says Merry, making Pippin’s vision blur at the thought of Merry telling him to take off his clothes. “Don’t make me come over there and *throw* you in.” “Nope, nope, definitely not, all right...” trying to move quickly, Pippin strips, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping with all his heart that Merry isn’t watching. He throws his clothes in a pile until he’s down to his underpants, then, taking a deep breath, trips his way into the water. “Oh lawks!” he yells as something sharp digs into the soft part of his foot and he stumbles, flapping his arms to stay aloft. His precarious balance wins and he splashes back into the water. “Woah there, Pip!” Merry dives for him, then laughs as he pulls him up. Pippin blinks water out of his eyes, keenly aware of the arms around him, and of Merry’s face, smiling so close to him. He focuses on the shining beads of water that cling to Merry’s chest and shoulders, capturing the light and making his flawless, golden skin look even more heavenly. “Didn’t think you’d be falling over already, especially in water that’s only waist deep,” Merry chuckles. Pippin can feel Merry’s breath on his face and, very slowly, raises his eyes to meet his cousin’s. “Are you all right?” Pippin flicks away from Merry as fast as the water will let his limbs go, and tries to look casual as he brushes the wet hair out of his eyes. He’s now in deeper water, up to his chest, and even through his anxiety the cool water feels good. “I’m fine,” he says. “Just hit a sharp rock is all.” “Ready to start?” Merry grins. “Well I don’t know about tha–––hey!” Merry dives below the surface and Pippin stands uncertainly in the high water, searching for some sign of Merry and feeling tension in every inch of his skin. Merry could be anywhere, a fact that makes Pippin very, very self-conscious. He squawks as he feels arms clamp around his waist and lift him out of the water, and before he can make a move to disentangle himself, Merry has him slung over his shoulder, his face dangling just above the water’s surface. “Ah! Merry!” he cries, clinging to Merry’s waist to keep himself from slipping. “Lesson number one,” says Merry through a huge grin. “Not lesson number one...” Pippin moans, having been through Merry’s instruction before. “First you have to learn to hold your breath!” and with that, Merry throws Pippin, sending him flailing into the water with a strangled yell. The rest of the swimming lesson is just as agonizing for Pippin’s repressed emotions, but he manages to live through it, whether he can see how or not. The worst moment (and the best, and the most terrifying, and the loveliest...) was the lesson on paddling, and how Pippin should kick his legs and move his arms to keep afloat. This was always a difficult bit for Pippin, as he has the rhythm of a dizzy and wounded oliphaunt (as Merry has informed him on many an occasion) and trying to concentrate on doing one thing with his arms and another with his legs is difficult work. Of course, all that concentration and hard work goes completely out the window when one is being held by someone they love. Pippin had tried to keep his mind on what he was doing, but Merry was holding him horizontally in the water, with one hand holding Pippin’s side and the other pressed low on Pippin’s stomach. Pippin’s face was flushed, his body was trembling, and a very secret part of him was beginning to react to Merry’s touch, which alarmed Pippin. Inside his head, he begged for Merry to give up on him, to let him go, to declare that he was hungry and end the lesson to forage for food, anything. *Arms back and forth, legs up and down,* he thought, nearly bruising his brain with the frantic effort. *Arms up–––wait–––* “Pip, you’re doing it again,” Merry laughed as Pippin teetered on the edge of falling out of Merry’s arms. To prevent this, Merry had to adjust his hold on Pippin and it was with a flash of fiery terror that Pippin felt Merry’s hand being replaced an inch lower than before. *Oh please oh please oh please oh please....* “All right, I’m going to let go now, Pip...” Pippin was so relieved at being freed that he sank directly into the water instead of swimming straight and Merry had to reach in and yank him up under his arms. “Hm, ‘parrently not,” said Merry, amused. Shortly after, they decided to end the lesson for the day and now they walk back to the shore to find their clothes. Pippin’s heart beats nearly hard enough to throw him flat forward. “It must be past lunch,” says Merry with an air of wonder. “What do you say we scare up some grub? You were asleep for both breakfasts, you must be starving.” “Oh. Yeah,” says Pippin blankly. “Starving.” Food? Hunger? What? Pippin is feeling very un-hobbitish. Didn’t it used to be that there was never a moment without Pippin wanting food? This Love Thing is more dangerous than he suspected, but he reasons that he must eat something, or Merry will start to wonder. * * * * Two days past, the Brandybucks of Brandy Hall set off to pay a visit to the Tooks of Tuckburough. As Peregrin Took lived perpetually in Merry’s company anyway, the pair stayed behind to look after Brandy Hall, Merry saying he was already with the Took he wanted to visit. That arrangement was certainly agreeable for the older and more headache-prone of the family, ever tired of the antics of their progeny and nephew, who like one another’s company best after all. It serves them well to have the house–––at times it seems like the whole Shire–––to themselves; a house which, luckily, includes a most well-stocked kitchen. Merry piles a tray with all sorts of delicious things–––carrots and tomatoes and mushrooms and sausages and fresh bread and strawberry jam from the first strawberries of the season and at least a dozen other things–––grinning as he sorts through the pantry. Pippin sits on a tabletop, which he would be promptly told off for had anyone else been home, smiling at Merry with a dubious expression. “As much as I’ve known you to pack down,” he shakes his head. “I know full well you’ll never be able to eat all of *that*.” Merry turns around to raise his eyebrows, a little puzzled. “Fool,” he says. “This lot’s for the both of us.” “Ah yes. Right. Apologies.” Chuckling, Merry sets the tray on the table and Pippin slides into a chair, looking at the pile of food with no enthusiasm. He picks up a carrot–––something he reasons he can take a long time to eat, fooling Merry into thinking Pippin has eaten more than he actually has–––and nibbles halfheartedly. He looks down at the table, letting his mind drift back to the lake, to Merry’s hands on him, Merry’s fingers spread over Pippin’s stomach... “Ted Hornblower said this was *honey* smoked sausage,” says Merry. “Hmm.” “Tastes absolutely remarkable.” “Hmm.” “Just like your ears when I bite them off.” “Hmm.” “Peregrin Took!” “What? What’d I do?” Pippin jolts, looking up at Merry. Merry’s eyebrows tilt in worry and Pippin feels picked apart by those amazing eyes. “Haven’t you had anything to eat at all?” he asks. Pippin gives a superior smile, waving his half-eaten carrot under Merry’s nose. Merry is unimpressed. “What’s got into you?” he asks. “I haven’t seen you eat anything today. And now I think on it... not much yesterday either.” Pippin shrugs. “I’m just not hungry.” Merry drops his knife. “That’s not what I meant,” Pippin backpedals. “I just meant, y’know... *lately*... *today* I’ve been just... not... hungry...” Merry drops his bread. “But I’m okay!” says Pippin quickly, holding out his hands as if to stop Merry from surging forward and force-feeding him the entire pantry. “I’m not under the weather, I’m just taking it easy and all that. Not to worry. I’m sure it’ll catch up to me soon and I’ll be able to swallow the entire household and then some.” Merry blinks at Pippin, looking miserable. “You’re not going to die on me, are you Pip?” Pippin blushes at the concern on his friend’s face, looking down and saying, “C’mon Merry...” This worries Merry even more. If Pippin were himself, he’d have chucked a roll at Merry’s head, laughing, “Don’t be daft, you softy!” After lunch (Pippin did his best to eat more, but it was all for Merry’s benefit, as his heart wasn’t in it) Pippin declines Merry’s offer of going down to visit the market. “I think, after the swimming and all, I’m a little tired,” he says, trying to sound natural. “I’ll probably stick around here...” “You never want to stay inside, Pip,” says Merry, fixing him again with that searching look that sends shivers down Pippin’s spine. “Are you feeling all right?” “Oh yes,” Pippin makes an attempt at an airy voice. “Just tired. I think I’ll take a wee nap...” “You want some company?” Pippin feels a sweat begin at his forehead. “I’d been thinking of resting myself, actually,” says Merry, putting his napkin down on his plate, then looking up at Pippin. “Or did you want to be on your own?” Both know that if Pippin *does* express a wish to be alone, he must be in some very serious trouble. Truthfully, Merry doesn’t want a rest. It is unlike Pippin to stay inside on a lovely spring day, to skip out on a meal (by this time, *three* meals, which is nigh an emergency), and to want a nap, in his room, alone. Ordinarily when Pippin is tired, he’ll seek out Merry’s chest and plop down there, without regard for what Merry is doing at the time. Getting older hasn’t changed this old habit of Pippin’s–––until now. Merry’s true object is not a nap, but to not let Pippin out of his sight. Something is the matter, and Merry must find it out, and be there to take care of Pippin if something bad should happen. “I... well, wh–––I...” Pippin falters. He needs time to get himself back to normal, and falling asleep with Merry will not get that done. Pippin trembles and fumbles and babbles a little; he doesn’t want Merry to come with him–––but oh how he does. One questioning look from Merry’s cool blue eyes tips Pippin over uncertainty’s edge. “No, I don’t need to be alone.” Both a little nervous for reasons of their own, they make their way down the hall to Merry’s bedroom. Though Pippin has spent nearly every night of his life in Merry’s company, his heart pounds as he joins Merry on the bed, lying down with his back to Merry’s chest as Merry wraps an arm around his younger cousin. “Pippin, you’re trembling,” he notes with alarm. “I’m all right, just...” “Here–––” Merry yanks the covers up over them despite the warm afternoon, and tucks them around Pippin, holding him close to his chest. Pippin closes his eyes and tries to relax. He hadn’t really planned to sleep, but at least he can lie still and think for a while. Soon, however, the warm cradle of Merry’s arms and the soft bed and the rambunctious day he’d spent takes its toll and he drifts off. Merry holds Pippin’s smaller frame as though already feeling him slipping away. He hadn’t planned to sleep either and the growing worry inside him keeps that from happening. Pippin had seemed fine this morning–––but no, Merry realizes that he’s been concerned with his cousin’s behavior for a while. Pippin has seemed so drawn in lately, as though he were ill, but if that were so, why would he continue to insist that he’s fine? What could be so bad that he wouldn’t want Merry to know about it? He watches over Pippin as he grows warm against Merry with sleep, and he thinks back to when Pippin was very young. There were times when he grew sick and Merry was the one to take care of him, calming many fevers and nursing many colds. At those times, he was always relieved when Pippin fell asleep, as that usually helped. Holding him now, he feels some of that relief come back to him. Maybe when Pippin wakes up, he’ll be better. The older Brandybuck keeps watch over the younger Took until the light begins to fade. He leaves Pippin wrapped like a present in the blankets and sits on the edge of the bed, stroking his friend’s back. What has happened to his baby cousin? Gently, he shakes Pippin awake. “Mmm?” Pippin half-turns, blinking up at Merry. “Thought you might want a bit of a walk before supper.” “Walk would be good,” Pippin murmurs, then thinks, *Ugh. Supper.* “Unless you’re not feeling well?” Merry sets his hand on Pippin’s upturned arm. “I’m fine,” says Pippin, wriggling away from the contact and tumbling out of bed. He flashes a smile and Merry stares after him with a raised eyebrow. * * * * “Pippin, get down from there!” Merry calls through the wind. *This feels good,* Pippin thinks, balancing in the tree branches with his arms held out to his sides at their full wingspan, reveling in the strong breeze. The innocent, puffy clouds that had littered the sky have now become darker and restless. They cover the sky where the sun would otherwise be setting, casting a dim gray sheen over the world beneath. The clouds are thick and fast and curling, an inky blue-gray that holds the threat of a spring rainstorm fast approaching, and creates a junglish atmosphere when contrasted with the heat of the heavy, expectant air. The wind blows hard, rattling the leaves in the trees and tall grass of the dry fields. Pippin, having had the desire to do something reckless, is perched up high in the branches of a tall oak. He feels almost one with the sky, the strong wind blasting his hair back from his face. Up here, he doesn’t have to try to act normal. Up here, he doesn’t have to be in love with Merry. It’s just him and the wind and those dark, swirling clouds and the hot, somewhat moist air and the rain that will soon come. He is the sky, the very wind, he is the coming storm. Merry wavers beneath, near ready to scale the tree himself and snatch his Pippin back from the threatening wind and the open jaws of the electric, buzzing, approaching storm. He winces as Pippin holds his arms out to the sky, held in the tree by only the clamp of his legs around a branch. Oak trees are sturdy enough in their thicker branches, but Merry watches uneasily as the great tree’s limbs buck and sway in the wind. “Pippin, this is dangerous!” Merry yells. “What if you took a fall?” Another gust pulls at the branches of the great tree and Pippin’s body rocks with it. Merry can’t fight the vision of Pippin suddenly flying backward, end over end, as the wind carries him away. Pippin’s unresponsive attitude worries Merry further: if Pippin were acting like his usual self, Merry would just write it off as him being a brat. Now he wonders if Pippin might be hurt. A crackle of thunder fizzes in the sky. “That’s it, Pippin Took, if you don’t come down right now, I’m coming up to get you!” “All right, all right...” Merry feels a tremendous flux of relief as he sees Pippin start to climb down from the tree, but doesn’t relax until both of Pippin’s feet are on the ground. Not having eaten much all day, Pippin’s energy is draining, and he finds it difficult to catch himself as he stumbles. Merry rushes forward to grab him, helping him back up. “All right, Pip?” Merry asks, one hand around Pippin’s shoulders, the other supporting his chest. “Great,” Pippin steps away from him. He walks on through the soft green grass, trying not to catch Merry’s look of confusion. “What’s happening?” Merry asks. “You’re getting weak...” “I certainly am not!” Pippin manages to inject some of his old pepper into his voice. “I can still knock you over sideways, and don’t you forget it.” “Stop joking, you foolheaded Took,” Merry grabs Pippin’s arm, his voice less harsh and more worried, even shaky. “Something’s hurting you, Pippin, what is it?” “You’re fretting for nothing,” Pippin shakes off his friend’s hand, turning back in the direction of the house. “I fall over all the time. You used to think it was funny.” They arrive back at the house soon after and Merry goes about cooking supper, trying to get Pippin interested in it. For his part, Pippin tries to be interested, and Merry watches him so closely that he hardly remembers to pay attention to eating anything himself. *Look at something else,* Pippin thinks, choking down another mushroom. It feels as though his face has been red for the duration of supper, and he wishes he could sink right through the floor every time he feels Merry’s intense eyes upon him. He wants to stop all this, to laugh again, to chuck bits of food at Merry’s head and say, “I love you, ya bugger!” but that would never do. To avoid further humiliation, Pippin retires early to bed. It is with great anxiety that he slips into Merry’s bed, knowing that eventually Merry will join him. Pippin hadn’t bothered with a guest room when he first came, neither of them ever did, and if he left to sleep in one now, Merry would know that something was very wrong, and Merry suspects too much as it is. He does not want to share a bed with Merry now, doesn’t want to wake up suddenly with that *certain* excitement raging, doesn’t want Merry to notice it. He’d be understanding, of course–––has been ever since the first time it happened to Pippin and Merry had all that explaining to do–––but in Pippin’s current state, being seen like that in front of Merry might kill him. Hours after Pippin dozes off, Merry stands by the side of the bed and looks down at Pippin’s gently snoozing form. He feels as though his heart might break, watching Pippin continue to pull away from him and hide whatever is hurting him. If this is growing up, Merry doesn’t like it. It isn’t healthy or natural, and why should Pippin grow up anyway? Despite various and sundry complaints from Pippin’s relatives (Merry occasionally being guilty of the same, and he hates himself and all others for it now) Merry thinks Pippin is perfect, exactly as he is. It stabs Merry’s heart to think of that changing. Pippin gives a soft moan in his sleep, shifting a bit. Merry crawls into bed, slipping his arms around Pippin and drawing him close. He buries his face in that mane of soft cinnamon curls, smelling all the glory of spring in his tresses; every fresh leaf and baby flower and blade of grass. He drifts off, thinking uneasy thoughts about what will happen if Pippin continues on like this, and he prays that he will get better. The rain the clouds had threatened doesn’t come tonight. This is always a sign to Merry that it will storm all the worse when it finally does. * * * * Pippin sits, folded up into himself, in one of the squashy armchairs of the sitting room. The chair is near a window, which Pippin has spent hours looking out of, barely moving all day. He has gotten worse, much worse. He had thought that once he had some time to calm down, he could go on being with Merry like always, and keeping this feeling to himself. But the love inside him is like a disease, like a ravenous animal, tearing away at his insides and sucking the life out of him more quickly than Pippin can recover from. He feels beaten down by this emotion, like he’s drowning beneath a great wave. As he watches the trees outside, he thinks of himself as a leaf that has fallen, and is dying. Every time he looks at Merry, every time he thinks of him, it feels as though there’s something big inside him, something enormous, and he, Pippin, is so, so small. This is too much. His soul can’t take it, his heart is too small for a feeling this big, he’s only a hobbit, he’s only made of flesh, it must stop or *he will die* from his heart being too full. *Stop it, please, let me go,* Pippin thinks, squeezing his eyes shut. *Please let me go, let me move on, take this away, oh, it hurts so... I don’t want to be in love...* His face begins to sting and get hot, so he stops himself. It won’t do for Merry to come home and see him with weak eyes. But how, Pippin wonders hopelessly, is he supposed to go on? Will it be this hard for the rest of his life? If that is the case, Pippin doesn’t imagine that his once joyful life will last for too long. All the color he used to see in the world is now gone, and his broken heart has turned everything dark and gray. He distracts himself by looking out the window again. Earlier that day, Merry had gone down to the market to get a few things, and had asked Pippin to come along, knowing that he wouldn’t. Pippin hasn’t moved from his chair since. The day is warm and bright, despite the deepening clouds that gather. As evening grows on and the clouds darken, Pippin begins to worry if Merry will make it home before the rain, but not for long, as his heart gives a painful jolt at seeing his familiar figure coming up the road. Pippin’s breath quickens, though he tries to control it. “Hello, Pip,” says Merry quietly as he comes inside, setting his groceries on the table. “Have you been sitting here without any light all evening?” “Hm? Oh, I just forgot to light any...” Merry kneels at the hearth in front of Pippin and busies himself with lighting a fire. He concentrates on what he’s doing, trying to control the pain in his heart at seeing Pippin exactly where he left him, looking drawn and pale. He is curled in the chair as if trying to hold himself in, and staring out at the dark night. Once the fire crackles to life and warm light floods the room, Merry turns to stand in front of the chair. “Doing all right, Pippin?” he asks in that same small voice, knowing that he’ll get nowhere asking, but needing to ask all the same. Pippin gives a listless nod, not looking away from the window. “Your face looks flushed...” Merry notes, pressing the back of his hand to Pippin’s forehead, which only makes Pippin blush further at the contact. “You’re burning...” says Merry with an edge of panic in his voice. “Pippin...” “I’m all right,” Pippin ducks his head away from Merry’s hand. Merry takes a breath and walks back to where he left his groceries. “I ran into Madam Marsh down market today,” he says, trying to be calm. “She sent by some soup...” Merry takes the pot he’d been given into the kitchen to warm it up and pour some into a bowl. After a few minutes of work, he comes out to kneel in front of Pippin, lifting the bowl. “Potato leek,” says Merry. “One of your favorites, eh? Here, have some.” “No thanks, Merry. Maybe later.” “Come on... just try a little...” Merry lifts the spoon to Pippin’s lips, but Pippin turns his head away, sighing, “Merry...” Slumping, Merry lowers the bowl. “This isn’t healthy, Pippin,” he says in a shaky whisper. “You’re not eating, you’re–––you’re wasting away...” “I *am* eating,” says Pippin, the lie coming easily. He forces up a weak smile. “I just don’t see fit to tell you every time I do, is all. I had a late lunch today, while you were out.” “What did you have?” “I had some mushrooms, tomatoes, I had some carrots...” Pippin lists whatever he can think of. “And some of that lovely sausage you were going on about yesterday.” “What kind of mushrooms?” Merry asks in a low, guarded voice, keeping Pippin’s eyes. Pippin blinks, thinking. He goes for the sort they eat most often. “The truffles, wh...” When Pippin says this, Merry drops his head, covering his eyes with a shaking hand, and gives a heavyhearted sigh, as though fighting tears. “Merry, what... what is it?” Pippin looks at his friend, a little alarmed. “Pippin,” says Merry in a hopeless voice that Pippin has never heard coming from him . “We ran out of those mushrooms two days ago.” Pippin’s vision slides away. He says nothing. “I’m taking you to the healer, Pippin,” Merry puts on a firmer voice that still quavers, and he stands, taking Pippin’s hands and pulling him to his feet. “Maybe she’ll know what’s going on...” “Merry, stop, just don’t...” “Pippin!” Merry cries, pulling him into a tight hug, his shoulders shuddering with a repressed sob. “What’s going on, please *tell* me!” his voice breaks. He pulls back a little to look at Pippin’s downturned face. A tear slips down Pippin’s nose and Merry’s heart breaks all over again. This is Pippin’s unwilling agreement that something is indeed wrong. “Pippin *please*,” says Merry desperately. “You *must* tell me, I’ll help you, I’ll make it all right...” “You wouldn’t understand,” Pippin breaks away, not wanting to show Merry his face, not wanting his best friend to see the pain and the anger and the horrifying love written there. “I *would* if you’d *tell* me!” Merry feels another sob rise. Pippin tries to yell, “Just leave me alone!” but his voice is blocked, and he can’t bring himself to say it to Merry either way. Instead he follows the reckless, Tookish instincts that have gotten him into trouble all his life, and throws open the front door, running out. The sky is dark with swollen, threatening clouds that seem to electrify the world beneath. Pippin sprints out of the house, running for all he’s worth to just get away, away from Merry, from this feeling, from the panic that runs along his veins. He knows that running will accomplish nothing, that it isn’t really an escape in the end, and that Merry will catch him. There will be questions, and then Pippin will have to explain himself. At the moment, all he thinks of is getting away, trying to outrun the insane emotions that follow him like ghosts. Merry is panicked. He followed Pippin out as far as the road, but Pippin is the faster runner and he has lost him. He tears at his hair, nearly screaming with frustration and fear. A broken twig catches Merry’s eye and leads him in the direction of the lake, a suspicion that is confirmed when he hears a distant splash. *Oh no,* he thinks, starting to run. *Oh no oh no oh no oh no...* He runs with all his strength to the edge of the lake and sees Pippin–––his shirt a scrap of white against the deepening dark–––splashing in the deeper water, ducking in up past his head. “Pippin!” Merry screams, stripping his jacket and diving in after him, beating his way to Pippin’s figure. When he reaches him, he clamps his arms around him. “It’s all right, Pip, I’ve gotcha...” he says, holding tight with one arm and swimming back with the other. “Just hold on...” They reach the shore and collapse on the ground. Merry grabs his shed jacket, wrapping it around Pippin’s shivering shoulders. “What’s got into you, scaring me like that?!” Merry yells, his voice high and throbbing with terror, anger, and the threat of more tears. “What did you think you were doing?!” “Swimming,” Pippin laughs a little, his calm infuriating in the wake of Merry’s emotion. “Swimming!” Merry yanks him into a tight, sopping wet hug, feeling like a fool because he really *didn’t* know if Pippin had been in trouble; he had just assumed it. “You daft, wicked, reckless thing!” He sobs into his cousin’s shoulder, clutching Pippin’s back with nearly suffocating tightness. Pippin returns the embrace, and starts to cry himself. For a moment they hold one another, as if each keeping the other from breaking. Suddenly, Merry shoves Pippin onto the grass beneath him, pinning him down and glaring at him with sharp, tear-filled eyes that seem to glow with fear and ferocity. “Tell me,” he demands. “Tell me what’s going on, Peregrin.” “I... I ca...” he squirms, looking everywhere but at Merry. “Don’t you tell me you can’t, you’re not going anywhere,” he growls, holding him down tighter against his squirming. “I’m not letting you go, now *tell me*.” *I’m not letting you go.* These words say more to Pippin than Merry had intended. He looks up at Merry, who glares down at him with his hair hanging in dripping curls, and finally stops fighting. “I’m in *love*,” Pippin moans, shuddering the last, awful word. He brings himself to say what hurts the most, “I’m in love with *you!*” Merry sits back and lets go of Pippin in astonishment. Pippin sits up, burying his face in his hands. “I *tried* not to,” he cries. “I tried so damned hard... but it’s been there all along and I can’t run from it! It hurts, it’s awful... and I’m sick with it!” a sob wracks his small shoulders, though he tries to bite it back. “Without you, I’ll die... but you’ll never want to see me again!” An agonizing silence follows, broken only by the fierce wind and approaching thunder. Pippin’s urge to run returns and he tries to get to his feet, but Merry’s hand darts out to hold fast to his wrist. “Don’t you go anywhere, Peregrin Took,” he says. “Don’t you even *try*.” “Merry...” Pippin struggles, certain that he won’t be able to hold himself together a moment longer. “Merry please...” “Sit down.” Pippin sits back on the grass, every nerve trembling. He covers his face with his hands, then jolts as Merry gently pulls those hands away. He can’t bring himself to meet those sharp, stormy eyes. “Is that what’s been going on all this time?” he asks. Pippin gives a miserable nod. Merry sighs. “Are you fool enough to believe,” he says, and Pippin turns his head away. “That I *wouldn’t* love you back?” Pippin tenses, his eyes closed. “I beg your pardon?” he breathes, not daring to believe he’d heard right. “Open your eyes, you crazy Took.” Pippin slowly raises his eyes to Merry’s, shocked by the honesty and urgency he sees there. Merry slips his arms around Pippin’s back, pulling him into his lap. Pippin gives a shaky gasp as his legs end up on either side of Merry’s waist. Merry lifts a hand to Pippin’s face, brushing over his hot cheek and through his wet curls. “Without you,” Merry says in a quiet voice that shivers like the lightening. “I’d die too.” Pippin bursts into tears, covering his face again. Merry pulls him close, resting Pippin’s forehead on his chest, stroking his hair, and making soft, calming noises. The emotion that floods them both is too much for their small bodies, and can only be expressed with tears. At last, Merry lifts Pippin’s chin and looks into tear-soaked eyes that hold all the color of the baby-green spring leaves that have burst into life all around them. “Pippin...” he says, and leans in to kiss his beautiful lips. The thousands of emotions that have stirred up inside Pippin seem to shiver and explode the moment their lips touch. He shifts closer to Merry, making quiet, desperate noises and setting his hands on Merry’s chest. Merry opens Pippin’s lips with the tip of his tongue, and seems to curl inside Pippin’s mouth with a wave-like rhythm. Pippin’s fingers clutch at Merry’s shirt. Some time during the kiss, the rain began. Being soaked already, not to mention quite distracted, the pair don’t notice until the skies open and the drops begin to pound with belligerent force. They let their lips part, blinking raindrops out of their eyes, and laugh. They help one another to their feet, then run hand-in-hand back to the house. Once under the doorway they look out at the pouring rain, giggling and soaked, their hands clasped together. Merry turns to Pippin, shaking his wet hair out of his face, and leans down for another kiss. The relief they feel at the heartache ending at last has become a need to get as close as possible, and fast. Merry’s hands slide down Pippin’s sides, and he cherishes the soft noises he teases from Pippin’s soft lips. Merry presses him against the round frame of the door, tugging up the hem of Pippin’s wet shirt and sliding his hands underneath. Pippin breaks away from Merry’s kiss long enough to gasp, but his mouth is soon reclaimed, just as his body becomes the willing possession of those delightful hands. Thunder rumbles closer, and after a moment of adventurous touches and muffled moans, Merry pulls back. “This doorway is good for many things, Pip,” he says through heavy breath. “But proper lovemaking is not one of them.” At those words, Pippin’s legs give way and he collapses against Merry, who holds him up and opens the door, backing Pippin inside. Not letting their lips part for even a second, Merry guides Pippin, who walks backward, into the bedroom. Once Merry shuts the door, he begins slipping open the buttons on Pippin’s shirt, then pushing it and his jacket from Pippin’s shoulders. His heart pounds at seeing Pippin like this and he lowers his head to Pippin’s neck, placing delicate kisses along the smooth skin that tastes like rain, and Pippin’s sweet smell. Raising his trembling hands, Pippin fumbles with the buttons on Merry’s shirt, but he’s shaking so badly that this becomes difficult. Merry chuckles against him and pulls back to discard the shirt himself, watching Pippin’s wide eyes all the while. He lets his soaked shirt fall away, not caring about the water they drip onto the floor. He curls an arm around Pippin’s back and uses this to support him as he lowers the shaking sprite onto the warm, dry mattress. Merry spreads kisses all over Pippin’s exposed skin, eliciting little gasps whenever his lips touch anywhere particularly sensitive. Pippin pulses beneath him like a star, his heart beating fast and hard, particularly between his legs, a feeling which grows as Merry’s hands settle on the buttons of Pippin’s trousers. “These are soaking wet,” Merry murmurs, pressing deliberately with his fingers. “I think they’d better come off...” Pippin lies back, staring at the ceiling and feels this glorious, blushing tension grow. He swallows with every button that comes undone. At last, Merry’s fingers grab the top of Pippin’s breeches and he slides them slowly down. Pippin gives a small shout as he feels his underclothes being taken with them. His face flushes crimson, which he covers with his hands, his full-body heartbeat coming faster. Merry breathes out as he discards the last of Pippin’s clothes. “Oh Pippin...” Pippin looks up at Merry, afraid that something might be wrong. “What is it?” “You’re beautiful,” says Merry. “Absolutely beautiful, and you don’t even know...” Pippin blushes harder, which only makes Merry find him more beautiful. Pippin manages to lift a hand to tug at Merry’s own trousers and Merry takes the cue, standing back to wriggle out of them. Pippin draws up his knees and presses them together, embarrassed by his own position. When Merry comes back to bed, their world now nothing but skin and dry sheets as the rain hammers outside, he kneels in front of Pippin’s knees, kissing one of them. “Are you all right?” Merry asks. “Yes,” Pippin manages to say. Merry smiles and sets his hands on Pippin’s knees, gently prying his trembling legs apart. Pippin only shakes more at being opened, and covers his face again, his every breath a soft, “Oh... oh... oh...” Merry plants a kiss on the inside of one of Pippin’s thighs, causing a more urgent “*Oh*...” and lets his hands caress the backs of Pippin’s legs, fingers exploring the gentle upward curve of Pippin’s backside (“*Oh*...”). Merry’s tongue flicks out to taste the sweet skin of Pippin’s inner thigh and he moves slowly down, touching first with the tip of his tongue and letting his lips follow. As Merry moves lower, Pippin’s cries come faster and reach a higher pitch and Merry glances up the length of his companion’s flushed and violently trembling body. “Pippin,” he says, adding another kiss. “If you don’t stop shaking you’ll scare me.” “I’m sorry,” Pippin whimpers through his hands. “I can’t help it... I’m so nervous...” Merry feels a rush of love, looking down at Pippin. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks. “No!” says Pippin. “Nononono, definitely not...” Merry laughs and strokes Pippin’s neck. “Try to relax, my baby...” He tries, but that pounding heartbeat in a very sensitive place, and Merry’s hands holding his legs apart only increases his anxiety. Merry sits back and lays his palms against the insides of Pippin’s thighs, rubbing slowly to help calm him down. He is in love with Pippin’s thighs, and could spend the entire night kissing and touching him there. But because there are other places that need immediate attention, Merry waits until his companion’s shaking begins to die down, then sets his lips at a place that makes Pippin cry, “Oh!” “Relax,” Merry says against him with a smile. He closes his mouth around the center of Pippin’s tension, making Pippin thrash beneath him, clutching at the sheets and crying out. As Merry moves further, enveloping Pippin with wave after wave of intense heat, Pippin feels this new emotion climbing his throat. He keeps his hands pressed over his burning face, moaning Merry’s name over and over, pleading with him, though he couldn’t say why. Merry’s hands have Pippin’s slim hips pressed back against the mattress, holding him down from bucking too violently, feeling Pippin’s body convulse as Merry caresses his arousal with his lips, and his tongue. “Ah...” Pippin’s breathing reaches a higher, ragged edge, and his chest rises and falls rapidly as he gets closer. Merry senses this and withdraws, smiling at Pippin’s weak protest. “N-no... Merry, no...” “Shhhh, it’s all right,” Merry lays beside Pippin’s tense, shaking form, stroking his side. “I’m here.” He kisses Pippin’s lips, feeling his own excitement grow as Pippin’s arms wind around his neck, pressing that warm, feverish body against his own. Their hips touch, bringing other sensitive places into contact, and Merry’s breath catches at the sensations that now roll over him. He reaches down between Pippin’s legs, moaning as he feels Pippin doing the same for him and together, body-to-body, they set a rhythm that seems to correspond with the beating rain on the roof. Within breathless, shaky, amazing minutes both bodies shudder and rock against one another, both voices one long cry of the other’s name. They fall back, panting. “I love you so,” Merry sighs into Pippin’s hair, now dry with bouncy curls. “I love you,” Pippin echoes, pressing his face into Merry’s bare chest, not daring to move further. They lie there, breathing for a moment, gloriously tangled in one another. After a moment, Merry reaches for the towel hanging from his nightstand and cleans them both off, Pippin blushing beneath Merry’s careful, almost clinical hand. He giggles as Merry’s lips leave a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I never expected this,” Pippin says quietly. “I didn’t think you’d ever want... y’know, me...” Merry smiles into Pippin’s lovely face, stroking his cheek. “I do, Pippin,” he says. “So badly. It’s like you said, it’s been there all along. I’ve just been too daft to know it for what it really was until I thought I’d lose you.” His face grows serious as all the relief floods back to him, all the panic he’d felt at seeing Pippin slip away. “I was really worried about you.” “I’m sorry,” says Pippin, laying his hand over Merry’s and turning his head in to kiss his palm. “I just didn’t know what to do.” “You should have held me down and given me what-for, like I did to you just now,” Merry grins, kissing Pippin’s neck and letting his hand slide down Pippin’s smooth back. “And plan to do again, many... many times in the future...” “Merry,” Pippin pats his companion’s back, who looks up from Pippin’s delicious neck. Pippin smiles, biting his bottom lip. “I’m starving.” * * * * “This is going to make you crazy,” Merry promises, smiling as he whirs through the kitchen in a dry pair of pants, chopping vegetables and throwing them into a frying pan. “Honestly, you’ll like this better than what we just did back there...” he thumbs the direction of the bedroom. “I think there is little chance of that...” Pippin smiles, blushing again. He is perched on the table that serves as a countertop, having nabbed a fresh pair of underclothes. He swings his legs, watching as Merry buzzes over his cooking and slices sausage at top speed. “This stuff is incredible,” Merry goes on, snapping his fingers in between chopping and adding herbs to his growing and sizzling concoction. “*Incredible*. You’ll go insane... how you survived without eating for three days, I dunno, but you’ll never do that again after you taste these sausages...” Pippin holds back a laugh as Merry talks on, fizzing with energy, which is half the fun of watching him; the other half being, of course, Merry cooking in nothing but a carelessly thrown-on pair of breeches. As Merry passes by to grab another carrot, Pippin catches him and wraps his legs around Merry’s waist, yanking him in close. “Hey,” he says, holding Merry in from behind, thrilled by the feeling of his hands on Merry’s bare skin. “Stand still for a minute.” He nips at Merry’s ear. “Isn’t that something I usually have to say to *you*, little firecracker?” Merry grins. “Mmm,” Pippin responds, busy with the soft skin of Merry’s neck. Merry turns around, still held in the cage of Pippin’s arms and legs, and wraps his arms around the waist in front of him, placing kisses along Pippin’s collarbone. “Oh I know what I’m going to do,” he rumbles against Pippin’s skin. “What are you going to do?” “First, I’m going to feed you,” he gives Pippin a quick kiss, then grins at him. “And then I’m going to strip these things off,” he tugs at Pippin’s underclothes. “And do all manner of nice things to this delicious body of yours.” “Who cares about cooking?” Pippin yanks Merry closer for a kiss. “Nope, nope, nope...” Merry breaks away to return to his frying pan. He bounces lightly as he cooks, almost glowing. “Mm, here, try this...” He holds a coin of sausage to Pippin’s mouth, which he takes, his lips brushing against Merry’s fingers, evoking a pleasant shiver. After having eaten nearly nothing for the past few days, the intense taste is heaven, and he almost collapses. “Oh my *goodness*,” he says, chewing. “Yeah?” Merry grins, rejoiced at seeing Pippin eat willingly. “You’re right, this sausage is incredible,” says Pippin, setting his hands on Merry’s bare arms and kissing his shoulder with a wide smile. “It’s almost as good... as *your* sau–––” Merry cuts him off with a laugh, having anticipated the punch line. When Merry’s sizzling melange is through cooking, Pippin’s stomach gives a hard rumble, seeming to mimic the thunder that still gives voice outside. His jaw begins to ache from hunger. “Should I get down?” he asks, beginning to do so. “No, no,” Merry says, waving Pippin back up onto the table. “I like having you...” he eyes his companion with a smirk, handing him a plate. “Right there.” Pippin takes the plate and a fork, blushing. “And I’ll be sure that you eat every scrap of that, my lad,” says Merry, coming to stand in front of him. He takes Pippin’s fork and spears a few carrot slices, lifting it to Pippin’s lips. Pippin giggles, opening his mouth and leaning forward, delighted by the wonderful, almost shocking taste. Merry continues to feed him (occasionally remembering to clear his own plate) until, as he’d promised, every bit is gone. Pippin sighs happily. “That was delicious, Merry love,” he says. “You’ll be saying that again in a few minutes...” Merry smirks with an eyebrow raise, pushing the two empty plates aside and setting his hands on the sides of Pippin’s legs. “Oh my.” Merry keeps Pippin’s nervous green gaze as he slides the underclothes from Pippin’s hips and down his legs, tossing them away. Pippin’s heartbeat intensifies again at being exposed. Merry leans to Pippin’s mouth, distracting him with kisses as he parts his thighs. He can feel Pippin’s face growing hot. “Merry...” Pippin breathes. “Here...?” “Mmmhmm,” Merry trails kisses along Pippin’s jaw. “There are over a hundred rooms in Brandy Hall, my sweet pear...” he punctuates his statement with kisses down Pippin’s neck. “And I... intend to have you... in every... single.. one...” “Oh my.” Merry’s kisses drop lower and lower, causing Pippin to breathe faster when they reach his navel. He would close his legs to hide himself out of reflex and embarrassment, but Merry’s hands have a gentle but firm station on Pippin’s thighs, holding him still, so instead Pippin sets his hands on Merry’s shoulders, burying his fingers in his rich, golden curls at the back of his neck. Pippin sucks in a breath as Merry’s lips are replaced close in on Pippin’s leg, further up even than Merry’s hands and then, with a sharp, “*Ah*,” from Pippin, those lips are on his core, seeming to melt against his hot skin like the rain. Pippin’s breathing comes and goes as Merry’s lips shift and mold to him like flame. His body tenses, as that squeezing, aching, pulsing, climbing feeling washes over him. Merry takes him into his mouth, holding Pippin’s legs down against the pitch that shakes his body, making him cry out desperately. He clutches at the tabletop, knuckles turning white with his fierce tension. “Merry...” he moans. “Oh Merry, oh Merry *please*... ah...” Merry moves faster, fueled by the quick little pants that escape from Pippin’s parted lips. Pippin squirms beneath him, tightening, and with a few louder, more urgent “*oh*”s, he hits his zenith, releasing into Merry’s mouth. He falls back, head clunking the kitchen wall, every muscle gone limp. Merry stands and takes Pippin in his arms, sitting him up, stroking his back, and pressing kisses into his hair. Pippin’s hands fumble to find Merry’s chest and he leans into Merry’s embrace, his legs numb. “Oh my, Meriadoc...” he says into Merry’s chest. “Oh my my.” After a moment, Pippin gathers his breath and kisses the flat space of Merry’s chest, then gets to his feet, pushing Merry back a little. He continues to push with the tips of his fingers at Merry’s side, Merry giving a questioning look that is only met with that mishcievous Took stare. Pippin walks him backward out to the sitting room where the pounding rain can be heard clearer out of the window. Once Merry’s feet are resting on the soft carpet, Pippin drops to his knees in front of him, looking up with his hands in his lap. “Show me what to do,” he requests. Merry is nearly undone by those wide green eyes, so full of innocence, and so delicately edged with the opposite. He already feels himself quicken merely at seeing Pippin like this, and hearing him say such a thing. “Pip,” he swallows. “I don’t... you’ve never...” If the truth be owned (and both parties know it anyway, so it is an unspoken truth), Merry has “never” either before tonight, but all his life he has maintained a protective focus over Pippin, and it startles him to think these things. “Merry,” Pippin smiles. “My sweetest bit of apple pie. You and I will be old together one day...” he leans forward to lay his hands on Merry’s hips, and press his lips into a sumptuous inward curve to one side of his navel, just before the line where his breeches start. “And after many–––for it will have to be a *very* many years... I may get used to this, and not be so eager as I am now,” he gently bites at Merry’s soft skin, then looks up at him. “So take advantage of it.” Merry swallows again, his vision blurring as Pippin undresses him, letting the breeches fall to the floor. Numbly, he steps out of them. Pippin kisses lower, keeping his hands on Merry’s hips, mesmerized by this new and lovely part of Merry–––he can see beauty in Merry’s every inch, even where he thought he couldn’t. “Show me what to do,” he says again. “Well,” Merry is finding it difficult to speak. “Well, you... you want to...” But Merry’s grown urgency has said enough, and Pippin places his lips over his erection, thrilled by Merry’s sudden jolt as he does so. “Pippin!” Merry shouts, holding to Pippin’s shoulders. Pippin is a proficient student, particularly without any studying or even coherant instruction. Merry soon forgets to be nervous, forgets his own name, as Pippin moves deeper. A sudden calm settles over him, like a soft and gentle song that plays slowly in the evening, and his eyes drift shut, waves of elation washing over him like a soothing tide. He holds onto Pippin, existing mindlessly, without floor beneath his feet or rain at his window or any earth at all, nothing but those waves falling over him again and again, drowning him in a serene, tranquil pleasure. He is the tide, and it grows, and he finds himself rocking and thrumming like the wind as Pippin’s mouth moves its silent dance, bringing him closer with every move he makes, every inch deeper he moves. Pippin can feel the calm as well, closing his eyes and holding to Merry’s hips, letting his mouth do whatever feels right, which is near everything. Another low sound in Merry’s throat that seems to come from nowhere, or even from the calm, powerful elements flowing through him, and he leans his head back, the orgasm washing through him. He comes back to himself with a shout, to feel Pippin quickly taking care of him, swallowing his release. Merry staggers, suddenly feeling that his legs won’t work, which Pippin sees, standing once he’s sure that Merry is through and pushing Merry the last bit of the way to send him tumbling onto the squashy couch. “Pippin...” says Merry, looking at his companion in astonishment. “Pippin...” he doesn’t imagine he can form any other words at the moment. Pippin crawls on top of him, laying on his chest, the both of them cushioned divinely on the couch with just enough, but not too much, room for the both of them to lie entwined. Pippin lays a series of soft kisses on Merry’s chest, and Merry reaches up to stroke the sprite’s arm, fingers trailing down to his ticklish side and drawing little shivers. “You beautiful devil,” Merry breathes, kissing the top of Pippin’s curls. “I’ve never in my life... you... you’re astounding...” Pippin snuggles further into Merry, almost ready to collapse with joy. “Thank you,” he says. “You too, more than I can tell. And thank you... for doing what you did. For catching me. For loving me back.” “I’ll always love you back,” Merry smiles, then looks at the ceiling, holding his satiny treasure as if there were any chance of him getting away. “Did you mean what you said, Pip? About us being old together?” “I did.” “That may be the nicest thing I’ve ever heard...” he kisses whatever part of Pippin he can reach, the both of them turning from serious to giggling, breathless, elated. The rain continues against the windows and roof, seeming to shroud the hobbits with its soothing rhythm. Pippin lifts his head from Merry’s chest, suddenly looking at him. “Oh my,” he says. “It’ll be two more weeks at least before your family gets back.” Merry bounces an eyebrow, a ravenous grin on his face. “Two weeks with the house to ourselves,” he says. “Our insatiable *naked* selves.” “Be a shame to waste it.” “Waste? That would be un-hobbitlike.” “Merely doing our duty, you know, love.” “Absolutely, my sweet, must be done, no way ‘round it.”