By: Dana
Summary: 'Frodo's set on having luncheon,' Pippin said.
Characters: Pippin, Merry, Frodo
Pairings: Frodo/Merry/Pippin
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, sexual content, hobbitpile
Author's Notes: I believe this is meant to be a follow up to Making the Best.
Series Index: Roads Go On and Years Go By.
fanfic100: Prompt: Dinner (#58). Words: 3,200
57/100.
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.

Sometime after 1412, but before 1416

It was no surprise at all finding Pippin, mussed hair, on the other side of Bag End's front door – mussed hair, yes, and with the top two buttons of his shirt undone and the third, having been hastily buttoned, fitted into the hole that belonged to the fourth.

'Merry!'

Pippin's expression brightened right away (not that it hadn't already been bright), and he drew Merry inside, forgetting to shut the door in his haste. Merry nearly tripped over himself, and then Pippin as well, but somehow they managed to stay upright, Pippin clutching at Merry, and the space between their mouths no more than a breath. 'Oh, but it's good to see you,' Pippin said, from beneath tousled curls, his cheeks pink and his breath hot. Then, swallowing that breath, he swallowed Merry's mouth as well, still clutching at Merry's jacket. And Merry, resolute, did not fall to the ground on weakened knees, nor did his eyes roll backwards into his skull, nor did he fall in a swoon – and somehow, if only through force of will, Merry did not come undone (and come), and from nothing more than Pippin's kiss.

And Pippin drew back, looking somewhat discouraged – but only for a moment, and then he grinned and nipped at Merry's lips, and Merry settled down into Pippin's kiss once more, felt Pippin's heat creeping up through him, flush against his skin.

'You've been here the entire week,' Merry said, sometime after that, when his mouth was his again. It should have been a question, though it came out sounding like a statement instead. 'I can only imagine what you've been getting Frodo into, all this time...' And he thought about it, and he thought about it too much, and he groaned and Pippin grinned, and turned that into a kiss.

'Frodo's set on having luncheon,' Pippin said and, at last, he drew away from Merry, and Merry felt colder than he had, just a moment before. 'But then, after that, I'm set on having you... on having both of you, that is, as afters.'

Merry, nodding somewhat distractedly (Pippin was very good at that, after all), let Pippin take his cloak from him, and his pack as well. 'Go on, he's in the kitchen,' and Pippin went further into the smial, and left Merry at the open front door. Almost as an afterthought, once Pippin had disappeared at least, Merry turned and shut the door, and then, when that was done, and it was latched as securely as could be, he leaned his brow against cool wood, and, very simply, let himself breathe.

He would go see Frodo, of course he would, but he felt he needed to calm himself first, that he needed to will his blood to flow and for his tongue to work as well. As it was, he was half-hard and not thinking half as well as he ought to – of course, it was all Pippin's fault, and Merry might have been envious, that Pippin had stolen Frodo away, for that week at least, but it wasn't as if Merry hadn't done that same thing before. Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course, at being half-hard – Pippin was very good at getting a response out of him, after all. But it had been a very long time since he had seen them, either of them, and he did not want them to all promptly fall into bed.

Of course, he wasn't sure why. There was nothing wrong with that, with them all promptly falling into bed.

When Merry could, he turned and went into Bag End, and made his way to the kitchen, followed the smell of food and, once he bad become aware of it, Frodo as he hummed.

And there Frodo was, standing with his back to Merry, and Merry gathered up his breath and, slowly, let it all out. He didn't move, he didn't speak, but Frodo turned his head slightly, and as he spoke, Merry heard the welcome in his voice. 'Go on, have a seat – or come and wash your hands, and help me with the potatoes.'

It was a simple, and very domestic thing to say – Frodo was a very good cook, after all, though at times given to distraction. Still, Merry's knees weakened beneath him, and nearly gave out.

So, it was somewhat breathless that he went on, saying, 'Just let me wash my hands.'

Frodo nodded, and went back to humming. Merry, though, did not head to the basin. He headed to Frodo instead, and wound his arms about Frodo's waist, tucked his chin against Frodo's shoulder. He felt the reverberation of Frodo's soft chuckle, and Merry grinned against him, then pressed a kiss against soft curls, where Frodo's hair was very close to the skin of his neck, and that skin was, of course, very warm.

'What else are we having?'

'Roast potatoes smothered in cheese, just like you like, with mushroom and chicken soup, and fresh bread, of course, though I haven't yet put that on to bake – oh, and a roast of chicken, as well,' Frodo ticked off neatly, chopping as he did. 'And we'll have berry tarts with our afters, if Pippin's not finished them all off.'

Merry thought of what Pippin intended for afters, and would not be surprised if Pippin had, in fact, finished off the berry tarts. 'Has he been here all week?'

Frodo nodded, humming all the while. Merry nuzzled at Frodo's curls once more, and grinned at Frodo's laugh. 'We'll never have out luncheon, at this rate.' He set down the knife, turned just slightly in Merry's embrace, and kissed Merry, humming a bit as he did. And Merry grinned, before swallowing that sound, swallowing that kiss. Frodo shifted, all the way around, and Merry slid one hand up, and the other hand down. Frodo laughed once more, and Merry felt that all throughout him, and he gave Frodo's right cheek a firm squeeze, his other hand finding its way to Frodo's shoulder.

Then Frodo's hands were moving, cupped both of Merry's cheeks, fingers pushing back into Merry's hair. Merry found himself held there, caught in Frodo's gaze, Frodo's breath warm and low and – oh. Merry had not wanted nothing more than for them to all promptly into bed, but maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing, after all. And Frodo kissed him, kissed him hard, and Merry felt the breath knocked from him – and he gathered Frodo close, gripping at his wrists and then holding them in place, where Frodo's hands had settled, near Merry's shoulders.

Then Merry had to stop, and then he had to breathe, and he looked Frodo once more in the eyes, and kissed him in that breath.

'Yes, yes, I see how it is,' Pippin said, cheerfully, as he came into the kitchen. Merry did not stop kissing Frodo, and Frodo did not pull away from him, and Pippin could not have complained very loudly (or complained at all). If he did, then Merry did not hear him.

'I'm hungry,' said Pippin, once Merry could in fact hear him – Frodo chuckled, and Merry groaned, and Pippin's hands settled at Merry's waist, sliding into the pockets of his trousers. 'Aren't you hungry, Merry?'

Merry would have answered him, but couldn't, mouth-deep in Frodo's kiss as he was. And Merry groaned again, and then shuddered, as he felt Pippin press up against him, press up close, the wet warmth of Pippin's tongue, licking along the shape of Merry's ear. 'You must be hungry,' Pippin went on, scraped with his teeth, then bit down, though lightly enough. He pulled back on Merry's ear, then let go of it – only to lick with his tongue, once more. 'Don't you think so, Frodo?' Pippin asked, and his hands, having been occupied in Merry's pockets, moved. 'He must be starving.'

Frodo's hands were prostrate against Merry's shoulders, and Merry was gripping Frodo's wrists as tightly as he dare. And Pippin's hands were moving, up out of Merry's pockets – and Merry's mouth fell away from Frodo's, as Merry quite suddenly found himself gasping for breath. 'There now,' said Frodo, bending his brow against Merry's, as both of Pippin's hands outlined Merry, where he was hardest. 'Breathe.'

Merry willed himself to do so, forced himself to take one slow breath, and then another. It had been too long, he told himself, it had been far too long. Now, Pippin pressed him and held him, and Merry jerked in Pippin's hold. Pippin's breath was hot against his neck.

Somehow, Frodo freed himself, though Merry still gripped at Frodo's light jacket, breathing hard. Frodo's hands had joined Pippin's – Pippin, pressed up against him, and more than just feeling him, Merry could feel how Pippin wanted him. And Pippin wasn't the only one. Frodo was hard, too, hard, and Merry blinked but did not keep his shut his eyes for any length. Instead, he looked, and felt, and breathed, and Pippin undid the fastening of Merry's trousers, as Frodo, quickly and quietly, dealt with his belt. Merry opened his mouth, though no sound came – opened his mouth, jerked once more at Pippin's touch, felt bare skin against him, the touch of warm fingertips. A tremor passed through him, his trousers pushed down, and hands touching skin. 'This isn't fair,' he gasped, bent his head against Frodo's shoulder, felt Pippin's breath, moist and sweet, felt the slide of hands against him. Both of them. Oh, his knees would give out, after this.

'Nothing's fair,' Pippin said, though Merry could hear the cheer in his voice. Frodo tipped Merry's chin up, kissed him, slow and hard and deep, and Pippin stroked along Merry's length, and Merry – he jerked, and pushed against Frodo, who laughed as their kiss broke. Then Frodo licked Merry's lower lip, followed that by licking his upper lip. Merry groaned and felt his legs shaking.

'Please.'

He was not used to this. He was not used to this at all, to them like this, and Merry shut his eyes now, tightly, fell into that darkness, felt Pippin's hand on him and Frodo's hands on him, as well. Stroking him, urging his hips into rhythm, and Merry felt tightness inside him, the flash-shock burn of pleasure, his knees trembling and his breath coming short. Frodo hummed against him ear, licked then kissed then bit down, as Pippin had done before, worried it with his teeth. Merry clutched at his jacket and kept his eyes shut tight. For all he couldn't see, he didn't feel impeded as such.

'Going to make a mess,' Pippin went on, and Frodo said much the same, and Merry forced out laughter as he groaned, and he gave himself over to his release. Pippin's hand tightened about him, did not quicken but stayed steady in its pace. Pippin's hand was hot, of course, and Merry felt himself spill, hotter than that, Pippin's hand wrapped about him, bumping against Frodo's stomach. Kept steady in its pace, and then it slowed, and then it stilled, and Merry let out one deep, ragged breath, before gathering air back into his lungs.

'At this rate...' Frodo started.

'Bed,' that was all Merry could manage. 'Or something equivalent, please.'

Pippin's laugh was bright, cheery, and Pippin took hold of Merry (well, the rest of him), and guided him towards the kitchen table, licking at one hand as he did. Merry opened his mouth, but no sound came. He shut his mouth, just the same. 'I did say I wanted you both as afters,' Pippin said, almost thoughtfully. 'Though, at saying that, I had hoped we'd have time for luncheon, first.'

'Well, I suppose this just means we'll have to, ah – Pippin – worry about filling our stomachs once we've finished with, ah, oh!'

'Yes,' Pippin said, somewhat succinctly – more coherent than merry might have managed, at that same exact moment. 'A bed, that's just what we need. Though, the table might be more fitting. But,' and Pippin looked at Frodo. 'We'd hardly have enough room.'

Frodo grinned at that, his laugh low and hot, and they were both guiding Merry to the bedroom, not that Merry would have stopped them. Certainly, not that Merry would have complained. Frodo kissed him, and Merry was still reeling from that when Pippin kissed him, too. And they made it to the bedroom, which meant they made it to the bed, and Merry was pulled down to the covers, mussing them as Frodo and Pippin joined him, as well, and Frodo and Pippin took their time, kissing him and touching him, undressing him the rest of the way – and all the while, they kissed and touched each other, groaned over Merry, and Merry watched them. Oh, and they were beautiful, and he was so lucky to have them, to have them both. They undressed themselves, as well, as that went on, and pushed hot flesh against Merry's aching skin. Merry gasped and groaned and writhed, and Pippin and Frodo kissed each other once more, and then Pippin half-slid over Merry, kissed his mouth. Then Pippin was gone, and Frodo was tucked up against Merry, rubbing one hand down Merry's side, stroking, squeezing him, and Frodo's mouth found its way to Merry's. Merry reached out, touched Frodo, stroked him and heard him groan.

'He'll be ready,' I think, said Pippin, coming back. 'That's our Merry – you can't keep him down too long, and you definitely can't offer him Frodo Baggins and think he'll not grow hard.'

Frodo chuckled and licked Merry's mouth, but then he drew back. Then Pippin settled at Merry's back, nudged himself against Merry's backside, licked the tip of his ear and nuzzled his throat, lightly biting down. Merry opened his mouth, groaned once more, almost begged for more – but more, he knew, would come.

Then Merry's eyes went wide. Pippin pushed in slick fingers, gentled them in, and Merry ached against that, thrust himself against Frodo. Frodo caught him at the hips, pressed his mouth against Merry's, and sucked on Merry's groan, and Merry's tongue as well. Merry almost went insensible, then, the slow hot thrust of Pippin's fingers, the hot wet depth of Frodo's mouth. Oh, and Pippin had been very right – Merry was hard again, already. He was panting, gasping for breath, as Frodo drew back. Frodo's mouth then found its way to Merry's neck, sucking on it – his hands, touching where they wanted, touching and teasing, tweaking one nipple and then the other, smoothing his hands down low but not touching Merry where he was hardest.

'Merry,' said Frodo, 'I need you to pay attention.'

And that was difficult, looking at Frodo as Frodo wanted him to – Frodo, pushing up on one elbow, taking the little vial that Pippin must have made use of, as well, rubbing slick, warm oil all over Merry's cock, and taking his time. Merry shuddered and gasped, pushed back against Pippin, pushed forward against Frodo. He was straining, wanting more, wanting deeper. Wanted Pippin to bury himself in Merry, wanted to sink his own flesh into Frodo. As it was, it wasn't that he felt he could move much on his own.

But Merry was paying attention, the sensation of Frodo's hand on him, stroking him, and him achingly hard, once more.

Then Pippin was gone, Pippin's hand at least – only to return, clutching firmly at Merry's hip, nudged himself at Merry's backside, resting himself, ready to push deep. 'Merry,' he said, breathed out against Merry's nape – almost insensible, himself. Merry rolled forward, just slightly, pushed himself against Frodo's hand, but reaching to clutch at Pippin's wrist as he did that.

'Pippin,' that was all Merry could manage, and Pippin pushed in, the heat of it making Merry gasp, and he threw his head back, steadying himself, making himself breathe. Pippin's leg pushed up over his, kept hold of him, and Pippin pushed himself in deeper, as deep as he could. Then Pippin let out his breath, and that was hotter against Merry's nape. Merry did not come undone, nor did he loosen his hold on Pippin's wrist.

He did not have to sink himself into Frodo – Frodo offered himself to Merry, and Merry found himself sucked in, and he threw his head back once more, knocking himself against Pippin. Awkward, that, and they both laughed, and Pippin's breath grew more urgent, as he held himself still. Frodo's leg made a tangle over Pippin's, and Merry was deep in Frodo, and, oh. 'We have,' Frodo said, stroking his hand down Merry's side, settling his hand at the tangle Merry and Pippin's hands had made, 'been desperate, and very urgent, all week long. Leisurely, and slow – I think that will do us very good.'

Merry would not have protested, even if he could. But he liked this, wanted this, crushed between the both of them, so full and loved he almost wept. But he did not, and Pippin pulled away, though his hand did not move, and then he pushed back, and Merry found himself moving along with Pippin. Pulling out, and then pushing back in, hot flesh pressed against his skin, the sounds Frodo made hot and urgent. Oh, and they did take it very slow, leisurely, that had been the word, in no hurry now to see anyone off.

After that, the slow burn down into nothing that was everything, as well, devoured and consumed, they rested in their tangle in the bed, cooling down. It was no more urgent than it had been before, and they kissed and touched but did not seem in any great hurry. Frodo, though, at length said, 'Oh, stars, I forgot about the roast,' and he had to depart from their tangle. They all kissed, again, but Merry and Pippin let him go. They joined him, soon enough, though they kissed at length before then. Then they rose, and washed, and dressed once more.

They found Frodo in the kitchen – the roast chicken had been saved – and Pippin, grinning cheerily, and innocently as well, picked Merry's trousers up from the floor.

And Merry didn't blush, though he did grin, and he kissed Pippin, hard, before he took the trousers himself. 'You should help Frodo with the chicken,' he said, once he drew back – as if he saw stars, and definitely knowing he saw his two best cousins, the ones he loved best and first. 'Given our distraction, we certainly missed out on luncheon – but, at this rate, we'll be lucky if we'll even be ready for supper!'

Pippin grinned at him, and kissed his cheek. 'You're right, I think, though I'm sure we'll somehow manage. Of course, since we missed out on luncheon – we distracted ourselves so nicely, don't you think? We're still in need of afters. Once we've finished with supper, well, you're both welcome to have me as afters.'

Pippin would likely taste better than the berry tarts, Merry thought, and he told Pippin so (and Pippin agreed with him, of course – no wonder he'd taste so good, given he was a tart as well) before exiting from the kitchen, with his trousers in hand.