By: Dana
Summary: Merry and Pippin both have their own way of handling Frodo.
Characters: Frodo, Pippin, Merry, others
Pairings: Frodo/Pippin, Frodo/Merry, Merry/Pippin
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Slash, sexual content, almost-a-pile, an unsurprising lack of plot

Author's Notes: Written for the at hobbit_smut "With a Cherry On Top" challenge.
If you didn't read "Beneath Stars and Snow", back when I posted for the "The Weather Outside Is Frightful" challenge, well, this story follows after that one. My beta (I don't know if you want credit on this, so if you'd rather I kick the anonymous thing, just let me know) suggested that I do something more and specific with it, but I like this as it is and if you want a better look at what came before (*snicker*), just have a look at that story, my dears. Also, I seem to be lazy. This is no great surprise.
Whether my beta wants the anonymous on or off, I still want to thank her. So, thank you, for your help (even if I ignored some of what you offered. That just happens, you know. *lopsided grin*).
Anyhow, this is almost-a-pile (as I already mentioned), and as the story I'm trying to tell still isn't complete, I'll likely be writing more in this little set, one day.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

It might have been snowing the night before, but they're lucky as they start their ride out from Frogmorton, intent on making their way east. The day is bright, but chilly, and their way is clear. From Frogmorton, and then to the Causeway, and they make a grand passing of the Brandywine at Bucklebury, where the water is dark and choppy, as dark and unsettled looking as the sky. And their luck continues, as they make it through to Brandy Hall before the next snow comes, and it's falling hard at their backs as they make it in through Brandy Hall's grand doors. When it had been morning still, and they had woken but hadn't thought to move from their warm bed, Pippin had suggested that they take a day longer. And Frodo found himself thinking, as they travelled, when he was cold and damp, that maybe it would have been for the best if Pippin had, once again, gotten his own way. Well, at least they'd stayed for breakfast.

Because, while he thinks back, breakfast had been nice, very nice – so nice, that they had extended their stay through seconds, though nothing so late that they wouldn't have been able to make their way upon the road. The kitchens at the Floating Log weren't quite as good as those you might elsewhere, but they were still very nice. And first breakfast had been an assortment of eggs, all nicely fried up with sausage and bacon and fresh mushrooms, and a variety of garden vegetables, with a blend of melted cheese all over it – and Frodo had eaten it, and had his fill. Second breakfast had been something else, and they had taken themselves back to their room, and Pippin had talked Frodo from his clothing and then had done very interesting things with his tongue, and very interested parts of Frodo's body, and the sticky-bittersweet cranberry jam that had come with their meal. Yes, yes, their breakfast – both of them, that is, all of them – well, they'd been very, very nice.

But here they are. Frodo blinks himself away from those thoughts, grinning foolishly even as his cheeks heat (well, at least it seems to be a pleasant sort of foolishness). For all that Pippin had managed, opening his eyes with all of his insistence, it had been a very good night – and Berilac drags them off to the front parlour. There is a fire on, and Berilac flags down and then bids a young servant lass to bring them back a tray of something good and warm, before joining them in the room.

"Merry's been frantic," Berilac tells them both, and Pippin strips his damp jacket off and Berilac takes that, and Frodo's cloak, and Frodo thinks about waking, and being so very warm and comfortable: Pippin had been nice, at any length, to wake to, and when they had managed anything more than just waking, Pippin certainly wasn't as loud as he'd been the night before. They all sit down before the roaring fire, Berilac as well, and Berilac looks from one to the other, then back at Frodo. "But you've come, which is good." Berilac claps Frodo on the shoulder. "So, did he drag you out of Bag End by the ear? That's what he told us that he planned to do, though I hardly think Merry believed that he would go out and hunt you down."

"Well, he persuaded me to follow him. We'd have been here somewhat sooner, but we found ourselves holed at Frogmorton for the length of that last storm."

"Lucky that the snow didn't stick around, then, though it's falling hard out there again, and we'll all find ourselves stuck, if we aren't lucky."

"Where is Merry, anyhow? I thought he'd be around. "

"Out riding with Saradoc, though they should soon return. It's cold out, and only colder than the morning'd been."

The servant comes back and they have tea and brandy, and Pippin bemoans Merry's state, and how cold they'd been on their own ride, and how Merry would need warming when he returned. Then he went on, saying he was hungry, and Berilac ushered them from the room. Of course, with the state of Brandy Hall, they lost track of him sometime after they went into the great hall, where they were greeted by relations, both near and far: and Frodo loses sight of Pippin sometime after that, too, when Esmeralda takes him off by the arm. Alone, and surrounded by a mostly pleasant din (as you can't have Brandy Hall without that, as Frodo well knows), Frodo ends up sitting with Doderic on one side and a very talkative Bracegirdle cousin on the other. And like that, they all have their midday meal. It is rather slim, really, given that the dinner feast that followed that evening would be rather more grand. But there's two different soups and plenty of fresh baked bread, and three different kinds of cake. And Frodo eats more than he thought he would, even when Doderic decides that he'll sing and Ilberic dares him to get up onto the tabletop to dance, as well.

As much as it isn't home, and there are too many people about, and when the meal is through there's still no sight of Pippin and he doesn't know where to look for him, or even if he should. Not that there's not enough company to keep him busy – he is a popular enough hobbit about this place, after all. But he'd rather be spending his time with Merry, or Pippin, and neither of them are about. Of course, by the time Merry and Saradoc return to Brandy Hall (with cousin Alberic and cousin Serdic, too), it's snowing harder and he's cold even though he shouldn't be, and Frodo's had more company as he could stand, and he still hasn't been able to find Pippin. So, when he knows that Merry has arrived, and it is only a matter of time before Merry comes looking for him, he goes to wait on Merry at his room, instead.

For all that Frodo doesn't want to think about it, Pippin had been right about, well, a good number of things: not that he thinks he had been hiding, or attempting to avoid Merry, as his visits with Merry were always very freeing. No, but he has been scarce, and he knows that, even if he hadn't wanted to admit it to Pippin (hardly felt that he should admit it to himself). For all he's glad that Merry is attached to him, sometimes he thinks it would be for the best, the very best, if Merry let go of him – for, oh, just for the good of it. He's amazed that Merry hadn't been the one to come hunt him down though, he suspects, if he had waited longer and Pippin hadn't been able to lure him from Bag End, Merry would have come there, and in short time. Merry does have responsibilities here, after all, for as old as he is, and for as much as his heart is lighter when he's at play, he does have a fond love of making sure he does what he must, and that he does it all well.

It had been nice for Pippin to make him see that he had been hiding – no, that he had made himself scarce. Because now that it's been said, Frodo knows that it's true. He had been set to spend his Yule by himself, though, with visits from the Gamgees. But then Pippin had arrived, and dragged him off from the smial. And of course, Frodo had had to let Sam know that unexpected happenings were happening, and he would be engaged with them through out the new year – and he'd only hoped that Sam would understand. At least Sam had seemed amused, at the time, though Frodo had been looking forward to a quiet ending and starting of the year.

And now he's waiting at Merry's bedroom, thinking too much and too little, when Merry comes that way and then his eyes are on Frodo's. It is probably the obvious that has led him here – perhaps because Esmeralda had let him know that Frodo was about, though it could have been a number of other relations that had let him know. Of course, with all of what they generally got up to, when Frodo was around, it would be the first place Merry would have thought to go, even if he hadn't had cousins to let him know who was about. Of course, that was where Frodo had ended up. He looks at Merry, and he thinks himself a fool, for ever having thought to avoid him – well, at least he has come back. He is very fond of him, for all he doesn't say it and he doesn't think it much as he could, and he knows that Merry is even more fond of him. There are times he thinks it would be better, better, if Merry would only let him go, because he worries for Merry's future and how attached Merry is. Of course, he shouldn't worry about attachment – Merry has his own attachment for Pippin, and for as insistent as he is, and good at getting his own way, with Merry Frodo sometimes things that there isn't any other course of action but getting his way.

And he looks at Merry, grins, and Merry grins back at him. His cheeks are still reddish-pink from too much cold, and he opens the door and then urges Frodo indoors. Frodo does, and Merry follows after, shutting the door behind him. He passes by Frodo, and he turns and looks at him – and Merry's gaze is too heavy, and he could say something but he doesn't: that he had missed him and he'd wondered if he'd come, and now that he's here it feels like forever since they last saw each other.

But all Merry does say, is Frodo's name, "Frodo." His eyes go wide and he slams into Frodo, or at least, that's how it feels and that's how it sounds, and Frodo slams back into the door, which shakes his bones and rattles his teeth.

"There you are," Merry breathes out, and his arms are around Frodo and his mouth is on Frodo's and if he hadn't already taken in his breath, Frodo would have found it hard to breathe. He groans and grits his teeth when Merry falls back, the handle pressing hard into the small of his back. It's been too long, far too long, and Merry feels very good against him – not that he's broad but he's firm and there, and Frodo does like the feel.

"I missed your arrival. How terrible," his voice is low, warm. "Here, let me make it up to you, cousin."

"I missed you, too," Frodo manages, and then Merry's mouth is on his again and he's holding Frodo in place, with mouth and hands, and he kisses Frodo hard and demanding and Frodo finds that he does like it like that, always has – and for some reason, he thinks on how Pippin had kissed him, but it hadn't seemed the same. Merry's hands are moving down his chest, pulling at the buttons of his coat, and when Frodo puts one hand out Merry catches hold of it and squeezes Frodo's wrist and pushes his hand back against door. They stumble away from the door, though they're still against the wall, and Merry looks in Frodo's eyes and Frodo blinks and forgets what he'd been thinking.

"Just stay like that," he mumbles, nips against Frodo's wet lips. "I am in the middle of something very important right now, and it would be best, for us both, if you would just..." – a kiss, and Frodo groans, but Merry's groaning too and it's buzzing in Frodo's ears and Frodo can feel it in his blood, hot and liquid, and going right through his skin – "stand still."

So Frodo does that – knowing that he didn't have to, not if he didn't want to, but his body was finding that it did want just that – and rests his head back against the door, Merry's breath warm against his lips. Merry, wonderful Merry. And then Merry kisses him, sucks his breath out, one hand still clamped at his wrist and the other trying it's best to work that last button free, but then Merry growls and groans and pulls on Frodo's trousers, instead.

Frodo snickers, then snorts, and is laughing helpless, weak and out of breath, against Merry's mouth. "Impatient, are we?"

"Frodo, as dearly as I love you – will you please shut up?"

Frodo clamps his mouth shut and grins a merry grin, Merry's hand on his wrist and the other working its way into his trousers. That grin twitches and then it falls off and Frodo shuts his mouth tighter, feeling his nostrils flare as Merry's hand finds him, warm and sure. Frodo works his mouth open, and he tries to speak, but the world is too confined and he can't, not when Merry's touching him, not when Merry's hand is moving on him. He throws his head back as far as he can, and that isn't very far and it bangs against the paneled wall and Frodo curses out loud but then he laughs, and then he groans, and he feels his thighs quaking and his trousers falling down, slowly, and how Merry won't stop, and the pace quickens and then his breath stops short and he can't breathe, couldn't, not even if he still had the breath. But he feels fire in his veins and then it falls short and he's falling, too – though he's not, not with Merry holding him up, hand on him and breath on his skin, mouth almost pressed against Frodo's throat. Then he thinks of Pippin, how Pippin had looked, on the bed, arching and wanting to meet his thrusts – enthusiastic, that would be the best word. And how he'd looked, after, and what he'd wanted to know – well, Frodo had wanted to know things, too: how Pippin had first lured Merry to his bed. And he's certain it was Pippin, at least, who had done the luring, no matter what else Pippin might have wanted to say. They still do have things to talk about, after all, though he can't guess at how much talking there might actually be. When they had left the inn, the morning after, Frodo had still thought he wanted to talk to Merry – but they hadn't done much talking, not yet.

"There," Merry whispers, when Frodo can breathe – when the pounding of his heart subsides, and he can hear, and he looks at Merry and he blinks and his vision clears, and he sees Merry before him, dark eyes bright and clear. "Have I made it up to you, cousin?"

"Well," Frodo manages, taking in a deep breath, the air close and warm, "at least. But less than that, you've made a good start."

Merry snorts and laughs, his eyes bright and his smile wide. Then he's kissing Frodo, lets loose his hold on Frodo's wrist and Frodo sags, feels his thighs quaking again. Then Merry draws back, licks his hand clean, and regards Frodo with a critical eye.

"You look pale. Perhaps you could use a seat."

Frodo laughs and it hurts his sides, and he gives Merry's shoulder a shove and then he jerks his trousers back up, refastening them. "It's good to see you too, Merry. I'm almost glad I let Pippin drag me from Bag End."

Merry's smile softens, and he doesn't say anything else. "Now, perhaps we could – well, it would be nice if you could return... that was a bit of work. And if you could be so handy – or, if you'd rather not use your hands..." Young, and his eyes spark brightly.

And Frodo says, though he hadn't thought he would. "I was thinking. Ah. Of Pippin."

And Merry stops, and he chuckles. "Well, I hadn't expected that."

And Frodo laughs, because he really can't help himself. "Forgive me – it isn't that you weren't..."

"You were thinking about me?"

"Oh, Pip." Merry looks at Pippin, standing at the open door – with a tray in hand, the sticky-sweet scent of fresh berry tarts in the air, and he isn't just standing there, but leaning against the rounded frame. He hadn't heard the door open, but he had been otherwise occupied, and there are other things that Pippin is very good at, not just getting his way. "Here, put that down – Frodo'd like to sit."

Pippin steps into the room, and pushes the door shut with his foot. He puts the tray on the bedside table, and Merry takes Frodo by the arm and leads him to the bed. But Pippin doesn't do much to help, just sits down and looks up at them both, grinning – well, not too wide. "What are you grinning at?" Frodo asks, though he's grinning still and his legs still feel – well, off. Then he laughs and he flops down onto the bed, in a very undignified manner. Merry looks down at him, tilts his head slightly and looks at Pippin. Then he looks at Frodo, once again, and he gives a very heavy-sounding sigh and he sits down beside Frodo and Pippin even laughs when Merry turns his head to look at Frodo, and then he kisses him. And it's a bright laugh, sharp and full of mirth. "I was wondering if I'd made it up to you, Frodo."

"Ah, yes."

"Well, then?"

"I hadn't really thought, Merry. Could you find it in your, ah, heart, to forgive me?"

"I'm sure he could find it in his something," Pippin pipes in. "Now, the tarts are getting cold."

Merry looks up. "Tarts?" Present a hobbit with certain options, and food would almost always come first.

"The berry sort. Your mum's very best."

The tarts really are the best that Esmeralda could make – and she did like making them, and they were almost as good as her seedcake (though, if Pippin had anything to say, his own mother's seedcake was a fair shade better, though he never would tell his aunt Esmeralda that – hers is really rather good, still). Pippin had presented them once more, on their tray – and they were good and hot, fresh from whatever oven they'd been baked in. The crust was flakey, slightly buttery-sweet, but Frodo bites in to the first and the taste is sharp and sweet, a blend of berries on his tongue. Really, they are Esmeralda's best, and he'd thought that for a while. And it's all very, well, relaxed, given how they hadn't been all that very relaxed, before Pippin had come. Pippin's stretched out, biting into one of the tarts, and red-blue berry juice is leaking down his chin. Frodo thinks, he ought to do something about that, but his bones are leaden and his eyes are dropping. But Merry must be thinking that, too, because he does move, and he kisses Pippin's mouth and mutters something in the space between, something that's far too low for Merry to hear. But he does smile, when Pippin's hand alights at Merry's cheek, and he thinks about all that Pippin had said, when...

That they, he and Pippin, had been the topic of discussion, and then Merry and Pippin are kissing one another – no, it's more than Merry is tasting the berry on Pippin's mouth and tongue, licks the berry from Pippin's chin, even as Pippin laughs and groans. And then he takes the unfinished tart from Pippin, and finishes it for him instead. Pippin laughs again and then he wrestles Merry back onto his back, kissing him hard and straddling his thighs. His hands are at Merry's shoulders, caught up in his shirt, and Frodo realizes he'd forgot what he'd been trying to remember – and he wonders if they should have talked, the three of them. But Merry and Pippin are kissing, and you could forget where one of them ended and the next began – but then Pippin sits back and he gives Merry's cheek a light tap.

"Well, I ought to leave you to – well, to your devices."

Merry blinks, and Frodo should say something but he doesn't, just watches Pippin kiss Merry once more. "Ah, but Pippin – "

"Now, you know I'm right." He bounces on the bed, bounces down next to Frodo and kisses him, tasting like Merry and berry, sharp and sweet. "Don't you?"

Frodo nods – well, he could be right. Pippin shrugs, airily, and he says. "Well, see, as much as I could join you – and I could, don't think that I couldn't – I have other plans. But I'll see you in the morning, if you'd like – I could bring you both breakfast. I imagine, after all the energy that you should be expending, you'll both be quite hungry, come tomorrow."

And Merry doesn't seem to know what to say, but Frodo out loud and he kisses Pippin, hard. "Oh, you – you."

Pippin smiles. "Brat?"

"Yes. You awful, bloody brat. I could – "

"We've time for that later, Frodo, love." And Pippin kisses Frodo once more, quite certain that Merry is watching them – and he is – and it makes Frodo strangely warm beneath his collar. He groans and he winds one arm about Pippin's shoulder, then the other, and he holds him in place.

"Yes, but we could – "

And Pippin says, against his mouth, No, and he grins sheepishly when Frodo lets him loose. "But I'll regret it, and all through the night. But I've been thinking – well. You will be seeing me in the morning, there's no doubt. "

Like it had been with Merry, when Merry had been speaking without using any words, Pippin is saying more than that – and Frodo can hear it all clearly, hanging in the air. That Pippin would regret it, but he would make it up to them, the both of them – and maybe they both needed this time, for whatever might come after. Frodo wonders if there will be an after, and – well, of course there will.

And he says, "Oh, yes."

Pippin sighs and then he stands, and he looks at Frodo then Merry, and he leaves them both on the bed. They're both quiet for a while, but then they look at each other. Frodo blinks, and blinks again, and says that he'll look after the fire. The air is empty, smells of sweets and skin, and he comes back to Merry when the fire is burning high.

"It is a good idea," he says. "To spend a cold evening, like this, with one you love, or at least like a whole lot."

Merry just smiles at him – a thin sort of smile, too sad to be happy, only it's Merry and it is happy, for all that sounds strange. "Come here, then, and – "

And Frodo thinks the mood won't lighten, but Merry sits up and when Frodo's close enough to the bed, he grabs Frodo around the waist and he pulls him down onto the bed, rolling over and then sitting up. "So. We got started on this, but we really should finish with your clothes."

He smiles and there's something sad and old in it, but it passes too quick and then he kisses Frodo too hard, and they make a fight of it, a game, trying to see who can get the other out of their clothing, first – hands tangling, at time, getting too occupied with rubbing and groaning, mouths finding one another, only to then again fall away – and a bit more touching, and stroking, and it might be cold on the outside, far from them and their tangled sheets, but it certainly is warm here, with the fire up high and hands slipping over skin – when Frodo presses Merry back against the bed, hands at his hips and grinding against him, and the fire builds high, with them, too, and then the heat all fades out into air and shadow and Frodo collapses against Merry, and they both breathe hard, weary, spent.

Merry mutters, feeling light behind his eyes. "Now, Frodo, I do hope that that isn't all you've got."

Frodo laughs, but shuts his eyes. "Oh, you beast. Bad as Pippin."

Merry chuckles, and his eyes must be shut firm, too. "Oh, not quite."

Frodo mumbles, and kisses Merry's cheek. Merry is warm against him, sticky and hot and wonderful, and he really has been a fool, to not visit him in so long. "Your parents are probably expecting us, you know, for supper."

"Yes, yes, I know," Merry mutters, as if he doesn't care.

They do dress again, after they clean up, and Merry might have acted like he didn't care but they still sat out for supper, at the Master's table, though Pippin was, like he had been earlier, nowhere to be seen. There's mulled wine for after supper, and afters, as well, and though it's the very best the Hall can produce, it doesn't quite beat the taste of Esmeralda's charming berry tarts.

But then, at the time, the fruit hadn't been the room's only charm.

When they are finally able to free themselves from the botherations of relatives, and there is far too many of those, tonight, they go back to Merry's room, and stay there for a while.

"Wake up, you lazeabouts. I've brought breakfast."

Frodo groans, pleasantly sore, and turns over onto his side. Pippin is standing there, like he had the night before, at the door, a tray in hand, but it isn't the sticky warm scent of sweets that washes over Frodo, right now. He kicks the door shut behind him, and walks to the bedside. Merry sleeps on, grumbling quietly and then curling up, pressing against Frodo's side. "Well, up and up. If you don't, I'll eat this all myself."

"Pippin," Frodo says, and shuts his eyes against the pale grey of weak morning light. "It is far too early, you know, to worry about eating."

"Now, I thought you'd be hungry, and after your night."

Frodo turns over, and curls against Merry. "You must be wrong," he mumbles. "Now, if you plan on joining us – well, do, I know that, as you've talked it all out and I must say, I do rather like the thought of it, myself. But otherwise – "

There is shifting at the bedside. "I'd hate for this to all go to waste," Pippin says. He's mostly quiet for a while, eating, and Frodo dozes, content, but then the bed shifts again and Pippin makes room at Frodo's back. "Well, how did it all go?"

Frodo doesn't open his eyes, thinks of how warm Merry had been, thinks of how pressing Pippin can be, and he smiles. Whatever Pippin had planned, they had done just as he had wanted – really, he is far too good at getting his own way, even when his way doesn't directly influence how he must feel. It seems strange, to consider that a large heart, but Pippin always has had one of those. He must know them better than Frodo has ever thought, and he wonders if he has ever wondered. Well, now he does, and he has. "Just as you thought it would, I suppose. You certainly did make yourself scarce, Pippin – whyever did you bother?"

It's awkward feeling, when Pippin shrugs. He's warm against Frodo's back, still dressed, and he pushes the sole of his foot down low against Frodo's leg. "Just because, I suppose. I told you, back at Frogmorton, Merry did miss you. You might have insisted on calling me a brat – "

"Well, you were a brat, and you still are. And then you went and insisted on seducing me – "

Pippin laughs, low and merry, and presses a kiss against Frodo's ear. Frodo shivers, and arches against that slight touch, and Pippin's breath touches against the back of his neck. His hands smooth down the rumpled comforter, and smooth down further. "Yes, but then, you weren't that hard to seduce. And I admit, you are right – Merry and I have, oh, we have talked about it, a good deal. Perhaps, when he is up, we could talk about it later, as well. Just to know where we all stand, though I do already know where we all stand."

"See, then, you are - " Frodo's voice rises sharply and, in quite an undignified manner, he squeaks and then jerks when he feels Pippin's hand sliding down his hip, smoothing over his stomach, startling him fully awake when touch and sensation and clever, clever fingers, make him go hard. "Pippin, what are you – " he starts, even as Merry rises, still mostly asleep, and mutters the same and then more: "Pippin, what are you doing?"

Pippin's hand slides merrily along Frodo's length, and Frodo feels himself grown even harder, and he twists hold of the pillow, letting out a deep-throated groan as he tries to push back and forward, all at the same time. "Oh, just readying my second breakfast," he mutters, then laughs. "See, I've already had my first."