Title:  Counting Freckles
Author:  MJ
Email:  bonarbridgemj@yahoo.com
Pairing:  Merry/Pippin
Rating:  R
Summary:  Filled to the brim with the best Buckland
Beer, Merry and Pippin happily discover a use for
Merry's bed.  Follows Ode to a Plum Pasty. 
Disclaimer:  These characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien
and his heirs.  I have merely borrowed them for these
adventures and will never make a cent from them.







At this time of an evening, the Third-Best Parlour on
the ground floor of Brandy Hall usually stood empty,
most good Brandybucks having retired to more private
quarters, such as warm bedrooms or tidy pantries.  But
tonight it was playing host to an intimate party of
two, along with the remains of a delightful midnight
snack and a nearly-empty jug of Best Buckland Brew. 

"Wait a moment, wait...  I think, I think I've got
one."  Merry cleared his throat and lifted the mug as
high as possible, considering the wobbly state of his
wits.  "To Grandfather Agal..., Adalgrim, without whom
this, this...  Eh, this 'what', cousin?  I've lost my
words..."  The arm was lowered to a more reasonable
level.

"Why Grandfather Adalgrim?"  Pippin peered into his
mug and snorted.  "According to my father, he managed
to do quite a bit of 'without whom' in his day.  Think
he bred petunias or something..."      

"Well, yes, but you see..."  Merry let the mug fall to
his knee and frowned.  "Without 'im, you and I
wouldn't be you and I, right?"  He swung his head
round and managed to focus, albeit dimly, on Pippin's
face.  "Right?"

"Oh, yes, and do you know how often he gets blamed for
that, cousin?"  Pippin snorted again and eyed his
feet, propped up comfortably on the low table in front
of the fire.  "Didn't you hear Aunt Peony at breakfast
day before yesterday?  You'd think grandfather'd bred
children just so's he could have grandchildren like us
to annoy the likes of her uppity sort."  He wiggled
his toes.  "Sometimes wonder just what sort she is..."

"Oh, no, my dear Took.  No wondering for us, not
tonight.  Just toasting."  Merry hiccuped gently and
lifted his mug once more.  "I have at least one
swallow left and I think Alde..., Adalgrim should have
it.  So, here's to Grandfather, for his foresight in
providing us with parents."

"To Grandfather..."

Both mugs went bottoms up and long-dead Adalgrim was
duly saluted.

Merry licked his lips and sighed with great
contentment.  "What was Grandmother's name again?"

"No idea..."

"Right..."   

The fire crackled merrily away on the hearth as they
sat on the fine old sofa, comfortably propping each
other up and contemplating the fine abilities of the
beer-makers of Buckland.  And it could rightfully be
supposed, after this their third large after-supper
top-off of the evening, that their appreciation knew
no bounds.

"You know what, cousin?"  Pippin held his mug high,
turned it over, and let the last drops fall on his
tongue.  Excellent stuff.  "I've been thinking.  And
you know what we should do?"  

Merry closed his eyes and hiccuped softly.  Even with
his wits scattered to the four corners and back, he
knew this was a dangerous question.  "No, no...  Hold
on, my lad, hold on."  The mug wobbled as he pointed. 
"Advice from you is, at the best of times, suspect. 
Mark my words, Pellagrin Took, the last time you told
me what we should do, we ended up in Old Burrywart's
muck pile, and I have yet to understand why we were
within ten miles of his horrid place to begin with! 
So, no advice today, if you please."  He hiccuped
again and eyed the wobbling mug.  "Excuse me..."

Pippin puffed a stray curl away from one eye.  "But I
do please, Merry mine.  And what I was about to
say..."  He grinned at the room at large.  "What I was
about to say was, ...couldn't we go upstairs?  And pop
buttons?"  He gazed happily into the bright, warm
fire.  "Count all the freckles on your belly?"

"What?"  Damned hiccups.  Merry shut one eye, thought
about Pippin's words, the way they buzzed in his ears,
and what they meant.  He smiled at the mantelpiece. 
"Ah.  Buttons and buttons...  Oh, yes, Passelgrin,
when you get it right, you get it right."  With a sigh
that was almost a groan, he stretched from head to
foot.  "I have two legs, my dear pudding.  Shall they
come, too?"

And, of course, that was absurd, which Pippin gladly
explained very softly in Merry's ear.  Or at least, he
intended to.  But he might have said something else,
for Merry laughed and seemed to go shivery all of a
sudden, and then he dropped his favorite mug on the
floor.  And soon their fingers were tangled and it was
almost exactly past time to go.    

"Here, my lad, hup your two legs down and we'll find
out what you're made of."  Pippin stood up and slipped
his hand under Merry's arm, slowly pulling him to his
feet, where he stood swaying gently like a young reed
in a fair breeze.  "Do you know, Master Brandybuck, I
think you have had far more splendid Buckland beer
than you can fairly handle.  So I say we go find your
rooms, get cozy, and count your hiccups."  And then
the exchange of several delightfully beery kisses was
necessary, which delayed their departure by some
minutes.  And by the time they had wobbled to the door
of the parlour, they were feeling immensely cheerful. 


Pippin leaned out the doorway, peering left and right,
ears tuned for the slightest sound.  "Now think,
cousin.  Do you remember where in this great warren
your rooms are?"  A soft puff of laughter tickled his
ear and he turned to slip his hands under Merry's
waistcoat, where it was snug and warm.  "Because if
you do, then I say we go there and pop all of these
buttons.  And then we mark exactly where the bed
is...,"  He let his lips just touch Merry's.  "...and
climb in and tell each other lots of stories."  And
Merry looked at him for a long moment, swaying gently,
eyes full of happiness and mystery, and Pippin felt
his body grow very warm and his clothes began to seem
far too tight.  "Find the bed, Merry, my love. 
Now..."   

And then it was all a rush and they were holding on to
each other, breathless with laughter.  Somehow they
managed to avoid the most delicate furniture, but
every stairway seemed to have grown extra steps and it
was all they could do to stay shushed through the
quiet, dim hallways.  But for every corner turned,
they stole secret kisses.  And every time they reached
the top of a staircase, more buttons were teased from
greedy buttonholes.  And finally, after what seemed
like hours, they arrived, shaking and not a little
impatient, at Merry's apartment within Brandy Hall. 

 It took a few moments to kiss their way through the
door and kick it shut behind them, and by then, Merry
could hardly stand up.  His breath was in tatters and
all he could think of was how hot he was and how good
Pippin tasted.  Breaking the kiss with a sharp moan,
he demanded,  "My dear pudding, how can you expect me
to grab you in all the right places if you're not
naked?  Dammit, you're laughing!"  The floor seemed to
tilt sideways just a bit.  "Master Took, be so kind as
to help me with these things I seem to be wearing
still.  I want to be wearing you, if you please."  And
then quick hands grabbed him as he teetered backwards
and he was being delightfully kissed once again while
a hundred fingers attacked his clothing.

Pippin glared at the last of the shirt buttons and
briefly considered ripping them all off, but if Granny
Hebe had sewn them on, they were here to stay.  Oh, it
was all taking far too long.  He sagged a little as
Merry's mouth found a tender spot under his ear. 
Dearest, wonderful Merry...  And then he reached skin
and flung the waistcoat and shirt somewhere far away
as the heat rose through his own body.  

"Oh, Merry, I can feel you."  With a gasp, Pippin
grabbed a handful of trousers.  "You're all hard
again, like before."  And then he was trying to
breathe and master those last few buttons.  And
finally Merry's trousers lay in a heap on the floor. 
"I want to see you, I want to feel you.  You're so..."
 Pippin's eyes shone in the light of the flickering
fire.  Grinning into Merry's flushed face, he
whispered,  "You're like a great oak, cousin.  Like a
towering spruce."  He backed Merry slowly toward the
bed.  "Like the ancient root of an old willow..."

Shouting with laughter, Merry fell backwards to bounce
lightly against the flannel sheets, arms outspread. 
"Pippin, my dear love, shut up and come climb this
oak, come scale this spruce!"  He waved a finger at
the grinning figure now shedding buttons and cloth. 
"But if you dare uproot this ancient willow, I shall
pull your stump out the back of your legs, see if I
don't!"

With a shout of his own, Pippin flung his trousers
across the room, narrowly missing the fireplace, and
jumped onto the bed to crawl slowly up the sprawled
figure.  Kneeling astride Merry's hips, hands on
either side of his head, Pippin bent down to whisper, 
"Do you know what I'm going to do, cousin?"  He tucked
his tongue between his teeth and grinned.  

Eyes half-shut, Merry shook his head, took a breath as
far down as he could and managed to squeak,  "No,
dearest Pippin, I don't.  But I should like grabbing,
if you please."  His breath hitched as a warm mouth
fastened on the crook of his neck.  "And the word
ravage comes to mind as well, only...  Please,
whatever it is, do it now?"  And, dammit, the lad was
laughing again.

"Oh, Merry, Merry, mine..."  Pippin tried to catch his
breath.  "You shall have grabbing and ravaging both,
for I intend to climb your great oak..."  He slipped
one arm under Merry's head and whispered,  "...and
conquer your mighty spruce."    

And then it seemed to Merry that all the kissing that
had gone before was as nothing compared to this.  This
was kissing beyond what the tales spoke of.  And he
lost himself in the heat of it, lost the edges of his
own body in the exquisite pleasure of Pippin's hands
and mouth as they roamed where they would. 

"You taste of salt, Merry.  And something sweet, I
can't tell..."

Merry heard himself babbling, he had no idea what. 
Nor did he care, because Pippin was still moving...

"And I shall suck very hard, right here..."

Merry's breath was sobbing in his throat and he gave
up any pretense of thinking...

"I was going to count your freckles, cousin, but I've
decided I shall do something else..."

Merry gasped, hands flailing.  There was fire licking
up his legs and through his belly... 

"You're like velvet..."  Pippin's voice was barely a
whisper.  "Like velvet over a great, fine walking
stick."  

Merry felt a clever hand twist round the heat between
his legs and he arched as high as he could so as not
miss any of it.  And then he thought he must tell
Pippin something, something important.  But he
couldn't find his breath... 

"Oh, Merry...Merry...  Do you feel as good as I do?" 
Something hard thrust up from between Pippin's legs to
push wonderfully against belly and it was just like
before.  He was trembling and every inch of him felt
so very good.  But all he could think of was Merry. 
The look on his face.  The heat of his skin.  The way
Merry's body slid so easily beneath his own.  And the
delightful sounds he was making, sounds that pushed
under Pippin's skin so that he thought he must surely
melt.

And then, of course, there was no need for thinking
and it was oh, so easy to let the ancient rhythm take
hold, to let it carry them along as far as it would,
through the heat, through the fire, for however long
they wished. 

And they found that they were very good at wishing. 

But even the most delightful of journeys must
eventually come to an end, and somewhere between
crying and shouting, Merry found it first when he lost
the world entirely, and something huge and grand and
better than than a lifetime supply of Buckland Beer
came crawling straight up through his gut.  Gasping
Pippin's name, he rocked desperately in the waves
coursing through his body until Pippin shuddered and
cried out, and a great rushing heat spread like liquid
fire across his belly.   

For long moments, they lay sprawled together, damp and
shuddering in the center of the bed, drawing in deep
breaths of the intoxicating scents filling the room. 
And as his scattered wits returned, Pippin decided
they really must toast Grandfather Adalgrim at least
once a day.  

Shifting a little, Merry tightened his arms around the
welcome weight pressed across his body.  "My dear
Pippin, do you know how much I love you?"  A hiccup
slipped out as he yawned wide.  "At least twice as
much as that."      

Pippin chuckled and buried his nose in the damp curls
caressing his cheek.  They smelled wonderful.  "You
fiend of a Brandybuck, whatever shall I do with you?" 


"I'd say you already have.  And I shall...I shall have
to see about..."  Merry yawned again.  "So... just you
wait..."  His voice died away and with a little sigh,
he was fast asleep. 

Pippin stretched as much as he could within the arms
snugged tightly round him.  "Whatever will they make
of us in the Tookland."  Reaching for the covers, he
pulled them up close and smiled to himself.  "I dare
say it will be better than a party finding out..."


End