By: Dana
Summary: A day of Spring cleaning...
Characters: Frodo, Merry, mention of Pippin
Pairings: Frodo/Merry
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slash
Author's Notes: Written for the Frolijah's Spring Cleaning Fics challenge. I hope I'm forgiven that they didn't actually get to the bath (but its there). I never knew getting Frodo naked and wet could be so hard. Beta by Bree.
Most recent revision: November 10, 2004.
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.

"I wonder where Pippin has got to this time."

It isn't a question more a statement of fact (Pippin does have a tendency of skipping out when there's work to be done, after all) because it is a cool April day and Frodo can't clearly recall when he last saw Pippin hovering about.

"He's probably down in the pantry inventing excuses for why he shouldn't be helping us clean," Merry replies in a matter-of-fact tone, certain that there's no need to bother with Pippin and his games. "He'll turn up underfoot, Frodo. He always does."

"Yes," and Frodo chuckles as he shakes his head. "He always does."

Because it is a cool April day, the front door to the smial is thrown open, as well as all the windows that face out upon the eastern wall. Sunlight spills in, almost liquid in its texture, filtered yellow light that flows westward across the carpeted floor. The curtains have already been taken down for the wash.

"We'll see him by supper," Merry continues and Frodo nods. "If not before."

"We always do," Frodo says again, though he isn't as frustrated as he could have been; he isn't as frustrated as Merry seems to be. And here his cousin is straining under the heavy weight of an old box that's filled to its brim.

"What sort of mathoms do you keep in this thing?" Merry wonders aloud. "And where would you like me to put it, before I break my back?"

"Oh, yes I was just thinking, you see. Put it down in the corner, and you can clean behind."

Merry arches one eyebrow and then the other, an expressive gesture that comes without tagalong words. He takes three steps and bends down, setting the old box down with a soft grunt accompanying the thump of hard wood.

"Now Frodo," and Merry rises back up to his feet. When he turns, he is still watching Frodo with that look, that one, and Frodo wrings out a wet cloth, and is watching Merry back.

"What is it, Merry?"

"You're not going to just stand around wringing that cloth while I do all the hard work, are you?"

Frodo stares a moment longer and then he laughs. "And here I was hoping I could just watch."

"There's time enough for watching later. By the end of the day, I expect for you to be as dirty as me."

Frodo laughs, still, and throws the wet cloth at Merry, who catches it neatly, then flings it back at Frodo. When it comes back Frodo's way, he fumbles the catch and drops it on the floor. Bending to pick it up, his gaze flicks toward Merry.

"You are such a bother."

"I learned from the best."

"Yes, I suppose you did," Frodo says, grinning, and he rises back up. The cloth is dipped in water, again, and Frodo wrings it out. "If you get behind that old box of mathoms, then I will clean under the ones that I have gathered on the mantle. How does that sound?"

Merry weighs this for a long moment, then nods. "Better than you just standing around."

Frodo almost snorts and Merry flashes him a grin as he passes Frodo by. There are already dirt smudges on Merry's cheek (they've been working since after luncheon, after all, and it is already after tea), and Frodo knows that they will be working here late into the night.

"Perhaps dear Pippin should have porridge in thanks for all his hard work," Frodo says and Merry's chuckle is hard at his back. "Though, knowing Pippin, he wouldn't go without."

"He never does," Merry replies.

Frodo picks up an old mathom a statuette of a hobbit farmer and his best dairy cow. He can't remember who it's from, and he's certain he's given it for his birthday for at least years in a row, and somehow it always comes back. "He should teach us a thing or two, Merry. I think we're getting slow in our old age."

Merry laughs, and Frodo wipes the statuette clean. "Speak for yourself, cousin."

Frodo sets the statuette back down, a wry grin on his lips. "I forget myself, Merry. I am the only one here who is nearing his fiftieth year."

"Yes, you are," and Merry's reply is muffled Frodo imagines that he must be getting behind the desk, now - and Frodo picks the next mathom in a long line that spreads across the flat mantle top; a pretty hobbit maid with flowers in her hair. Useless things, really, but such fine work. Frodo runs his fingers over the old, fine wood (the features are starting to wear down in a blur), and wonders who this lass was, in her own world.

"I was thirty-five, once," Frodo murmurs, setting the cloth on the mantle, and cupping the statuette in his hands. Another muffled reply from his back, and then Merry is speaking clear again, but Frodo isn't sure he even cares.

"I know you were as unbearable then as you are now. What are you doing, Frodo? You're as flighty as Pippin these days, it seems."

"He's not flighty, Merry he's energetic."

Merry snorts. "That, too. What are you looking at, there?"

"Just an old mathom," Frodo sighs, and feels Merry's breath at his cheek (Merry is as tall as he is, after all), a breath again between Frodo and Merry's arms, where they almost meet. "I wonder if she had a name."

"Is it with the artist's signature?" Merry asks but Frodo already knows this answer.

"It's worn down, Merry. There's nothing left."

"That's a shame," Merry says, and he lifts the statuette from Frodo's hand. "The work is very fine."

"Time erases so much."

Merry's gaze flicks and meets Frodo's in between. "Listen to you, now," he says, taking Frodo's hand, and wrapping it around the statuette and then Merry's hands wrap around Frodo's, a snug cocoon. "You aren't as old as you think you are, Frodo. You have the look of a tween."

Frodo grins and shakes his head. "I don't know if I should take that as a compliment, then."

Merry laughs and squeezes Frodo's hand. "Because you can be such a fool."

Silence, then, and Frodo drops his gaze, watches where there hands meet (Merry's hands are rather dirty, and there is dust in his hair, as well as smudges on his cheeks), follows the line of Merry's arm (smudges on fine linen, as well), up Merry's neck, before settling back at Merry's face (and Merry's eyes, and Merry's mouth).

There is a smile quirked on those lips, now, and Merry is watching Frodo back. "Have you found something interesting, now?"

"Maybe," and Frodo closes his eyes. "Or maybe I'm just feeling my age."

Merry sighs. "You're hardly any older than I, Frodo, and I'll have no more of th?s talk. We've enough work to keep us busy, and by the time we sleep, we can complain about feeling like old gaffers because we've gone and twisted our backs. How does that sound, then?"

Frodo laughs and his eyes snap open. Merry is amusement mixed with frustration; when he can't work something out, or that something turns as stubborn as Frodo can be, this is often the face that Merry will wear.

"Better than just standing around."

Merry laughs.

After a late tea (Sam joins them at Frodo's insistence, and Sam wonders at the clutter that has gathered in the old tool shed before going back to his work), the study has been cleaned between the effort of two.

"Pippin has the worst timing," Merry grunts.

"And he's still not about," Frodo is quick to point out, quick if weary, and he wipes his brow with his handkerchief before folding it again and returning it to his front pocket. "And we're getting nowhere fast."

"At least we're getting there in style," Merry laughs.

"Perhaps we are," Frodo comments and shakes his head, then sits down on the sofa (bare threads, now, as the pillows are airing on the front steps). "It's moments like now that I wish I had just hired a crew to do the cleaning for the year."

"But where is the fun in that?" Merry asks. "And we're almost done."

"Almost?" Frodo grins.

"Well, at least we didn't start with the kitchen, first," Merry smirks. "We'd have never got any work done."

"I can think of at least another room that would have dashed our plans upon the rocks"

Merry lifts his gaze (and wipes his cheek, already dirty, again, since the parlour is half-done), and there is wonder there; and a certain sharp curve of his lips, that shows that he knows what Frodo thinks.

Frodo softly laughs and rises up to his feet. "But none of that now," and he throws his towel down. "I am done with this for the day."

Merry saunters over and Frodo almost laughs (and there is that frustration in Merry's grey eyes). "What is funny now, Frodo?"

"You," and Frodo presses his lips together, a long firm line.

"And why am I so funny?" Merry asks, leaning close (and Merry's nose is right against Frodo's, and they are eye to eye, and almost mouth to mouth). "I'd like to know."

"I won't be saying," and soft laughter escapes, soft laughter than Frodo is trying hard to hold back. "I haven't decided."

Merry is trying to hold a straight face (trying, and failing, if it must be said), and he breathes hard, almost laughing, and kisses the corner of Frodo's mouth. "What shall I do with you, Frodo?"

"Maybe something, at least."

"Oh?"

"Yes," and fingers slide back through Merry's hair, and Frodo smiles. "Bring in water for my bath?"

Merry pauses, and for a long moment holds his breath. "Just one, or would you like two?"

"Just one," and Frodo rubs a dark smudge on Merry's skin, presses down on the smear and strokes with his thumb until it blurs to faded grey. "But for two."

Merry nods as Frodo's thumb traces his lower lip. "I think I like this suggestion, Frodo my dear."

"Do you now, Merry?"

"I do, Frodo, I do. It's much better than" but Merry gets no further than that, as Frodo's lips twitch and hands slide back, around, and bodies are pulled tight. It is Frodo's laughter that propels him forwards into their kiss.

The front hall is empty, as is the study, the parlour, and the kitchen too. "I wonder where they've got to this time," Pippin wonders, snatching an apple from the basket set upon the kitchen table. If he had listened for it, he would have heard laughter from deep in the smial (had it come from the wash room? Even if he had heard, and he hadn't, he wouldn't be sure), and he might have wondered why.