By: Dana
Summary: All that Pippin sees in Frodo.
Characters: Pippin, Frodo
Pairings: Frodo/Pippin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, nudity
Author's Notes: Written because I could. Anna inspired it, and Binz betaed. Thank you both. ♥
A set of four drabbles.
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.

Sometimes, Pippin wonders what Frodo sees in the river yes, he did lose his parents, and that was a terrible accident that no hobbit lad ought to have endured but Pippin knows Frodo as the best swimmer in all the Buckland, when he is visiting there, at least.

Frodo is wonderful always has been, always will be, and while he isn't Merry, he needn't be Merry actually, Pippin is rather glad that he isn't Merry, and he'll leave it at that.

("You taste like summer," Pippin absently comments, licking river-water off of Frodo's collarbone, grinning as Frodo laughs.)

Autumn is well, autumn is different, and Pippin spends more time in Hobbiton that he does elsewhere, almost forgetting that he has a home and a bed of his own that isn't the very best guestroom in all of Bag End.

There are books and stories and childhood memories in the quiet of Bag End's halls, though Frodo is hardly a proper, quiet hobbit, but that is the way that Pippin likes him, as Pippin is hardly a proper or quiet hobbit, himself.

(As good a bed as it is, though, it hardly compares to Frodo's, one that Frodo often gladly shares.)

He does have a home of his own, though, and he often visits at least, that's how it feels, and he wonders sometimes how his parents even remember who he is. Still, he'll bring Frodo with them, as there are secrets hidden in the long corridors of Great Smials, secrets that he is willing to share, -- with Merry, too, but that is hardly the point.

("Put another log on the fire, won't you, please?" Pippin, snuggling back into the coverlet, hardly wants to move, and he smiles at Frodo, watching his cousin quite amicably cross the chamber, fully nude.)

They lay back in the grass, air that smells of summer, cool dew and fresh flowers, counting and then naming the stars overhead, in turn. For every question, Frodo has an answer, and every kiss, Frodo has one that he gives in return.

His hand is smooth, long fingers that smell faintly of ink, a bitter aroma that Pippin equates with Frodo in his mind. Pippin kisses the palm of Frodo's hand, then settles it against his chest.

Frodo smiles, though his eyes are dark, and Pippin kisses him once more, for as long as Frodo's distant eyes will allow.