By: Dana
Summary: Pippin lends Merry a helping hand.
Characters: Merry/Pippin
Pairings: Merry/Pippin
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, sexual content
Author's Notes: Pre-quest. I definitely call this one a PWP, but don't seem to care. Beta by Catherine, who is a dear, and helped make a proper story out of a proper mess.
This is an indirect follow up to This Fire's Glow.
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.

The next time Merry ends up with a rip in his trousers (and he blames it on Celandine, that wretched cousin of his, though she would find it funny that he would end up with a split in the seat of his breeches and he admits that he must have had it coming), Pippin will be there visiting Brandy Hall, and though he'll snicker, he quickly lends a helping hand and his jacket, too, so that Merry could leave the great hall with some sense of dignity in tact, without continuing the scene that he and Celandine have already half-started.

"I never did know you could sew," Merry says, while they sit alone in Merry's bedroom. The fire on the hearth snaps cheerfully, wards off the coolness of a mid-winter's day. Pippin's jacket is stretched out over Merry's lap, and Merry's shirt hangs low around his waist, his bare legs sticking out from under cover of Pippin's coat. Quite absently, as he waits and wonders if Pippin plans on responding, he wiggles his toes.

"When did this happen, Pip?"

"Oh, Frodo showed me," Pippin replies, at last, his attention fully on the needle in his hand, and it flashes red gold in the light. "When I last went to visit him at Bag End, just in September," he says, as if further explanation was expected. It was, or so Merry thinks, needed. "It was just a fortnight before his birthday, don't you remember? You came visiting just the morning after."

"Oh, well," Merry responds, "that would be a handy skill for a bachelor, I imagine."

Pippin nods, though his gaze does not lift, and Merry sits back, tapping his fingers along his knee. "I learned a thing or two more," Pippin mutters, almost under his breath, looking up, and he grins, a fully smug grin that is all Pippin, as it ought to be. "But the fact that I can stitch is most relevant to the situation at hand."

"Well, I do suppose so," Merry replies, and Pippin's gaze drops back to his work, and Merry watches him intently, when his hand moves and when his chest rises and then falls, just shifting slightly. "What else did you learn?"

Pippin answers that question with a question of his own, "whatever did you catch yourself on, anyway?"

"A nail, if you can believe it, sticking out of a chair I'm lucky I didn't, well, end up with more than just a hole in my trousers, so I'm glad it didn't do anything but snag on the cloth."

Pippin snickers and Merry rolls his eyes. "Well, you would think that funny."

"Of course I would, Merry," Pippin says, quite seriously. "Because it is a rather funny thing."

"It is," Merry admits, perhaps only because Pippin's attention has settled back on needle and thread and Merry's own trousers, and Merry wets his lips, letting his gaze travel up the length of Pippin's more-toned-than-he-had-thought arm, the curve of his neck, the edge of his chin, and then he is looking at the shadows of Pippin's half-lit face, and he smiles.

"I think I meant to say something else, but I'd forgotten it," he says, and Pippin chuckles, though his gaze does not rise. Merry's look drops down, and Pippin's needle flashes brightly in the light.

"I'm not as good as it as Frodo is," Pippin replies, though it is no proper answer. "So, I hope you don't mind." The tip of his tongue sticks out from between lips that are a rosy, flushed pink, like the heat that so sweetly colors Pippin's cheeks.

"You never did tell me what else Frodo taught you, Pip," Merry adds, settling back, pulling Pippin's jacket taut across his legs, bunching his fingers in the collar. "Won't you now, or must I nag you until you do?"

Pippin's head tilts slightly, and his gaze flicks upwards so it's on Merry, and he begins to respond his mouth is round like an 'O', but his hands are still focused at their task, so it doesn't surprise Merry much when Pippin starts, cries out, holding his hand up as crimson beads atop his index finger. "Oh, bugger it all," he mutters, and the tip of his finger vanishes into his mouth, the shape of that 'O' wrapping around flesh.

Merry, feeling the prickle of warmth on his cheeks, supposes that something must have changed since he'd last seen Pippin, because he certainly hasn't ever seen his cousin like this.

Pippin's mouth because it isn't Pippin himself makes a wet noise as he sucks on the tip of his finger, cheeks hollowing as his finger vanishes deeper into the depths of his mouth. Merry swallows, fingers clutching at Pippin's collar, the fabric rough against his skin. "Pippin," he whispers, unaware that he has spoken until he hears his own voice.

Pippin's finger slides easily from his mouth, fingertip resting against his parted lips, and then he frowns as he draws his hand back, staring at his finger. A finger, Merry notes, that glistens wetly, flickering in wavering red-gold light.

"I really haven't been doing this very long," he says, with a sheepish grin. Merry nods, fingers clutching harder at Pippin's collar, and he once again wets his lips, then smiles.

"Well, you know what they say about practice."

"Oh, don't I," Pippin says, grinning, then shaking his head.

Merry exhales, after a moment, unaware of having been holding his breath. Pippin frowns, bending his head, groping Merry's trousers and then the carpeting gently until he finds and then picks up the shining needle. "Oh, there it is," he says, giving a tug, making sure that the thread is tangle-free before going back to his work.

Pippin seems quite content, silent, and that warmth that had flooded Merry's cheek has crept up to his ears and the back of his neck. With his free hand, he rubs with the back of his hand against his chin, then nods, as if remembering, after a long time, what he'd been saying.

"So, Pip," Merry says. "I've asked you twice, already, and you haven't told me what else Frodo taught you, when you were last at Bag End."

Pippin grins again, a sharp curving of his lips, lips that glimmer wetly Merry imagines the tip of Pippin's tongue swiping against flesh, and he is nearly shocked right from his skin. Grounding himself, he vaguely hears the sound of Pippin's voice, focusing on that and then drawing himself back to where reality is real.

"Oh, he showed me a thing or three more," Pippin says, at least, but then his attention is back on needle and thread, and Merry is swallowing a lump in his throat, because his mind is spinning out of control and he is glad, so glad, that he is sitting, or else he'd certainly be unable to stand. "Nothing you'd be very interested in," Pippin adds, and Merry nearly laughs.

"Oh, I don't think you're so right about that," Merry replies, and his voice is strained. Pippin pauses, thread pulled taut as he wraps it around ?is finger, and his gaze is on Merry, eyes shining brightly. Pippin, for a moment, almost seems unsure, but then he smiles, and he knots the thread, then bending his head and snipping it with his teeth.

"All finished, Merry. Do be more careful, and don't give dear cousin Cellie the chance to put you back in such a bind."

Merry snickers, and Pippin hands Merry's trousers over. Merry lets the cloth fall onto his lap as he looks at Pippin, ears hot and his eyes wide. When Pippin looks back up, he is uncertain, his smile is quiet, thin, but there is a certain light in his eyes that Merry cannot help but think curious, almost too bright.

"I shall take your advice to heart, Pippin," he says, rather absently, as an afterthought, and Pippin's tongue slowly, so slowly, wets the full length of his parted lips, from one pointed curve to the other.

"Good," Pippin says, then contenting himself with putting away needle and thread into the sewing box that he had borrowed from his aunt, not looking up again until he was finished, and the box had been closed. "I should probably take this back to your Mum, Merry. She might be wanting it now."

"She might," Merry says, but what he'd rather say is please don't go, and Pippin smiles, almost nervously, and nods his head.

"Good to see that you agree."

"You don't have to leave, though, if you don't want," Merry says, blurting it out, and Pippin pauses, pushing at the box until it is a full foot away from him, and then he takes a cautious breath, once and then again, looking at Merry as though he hasn't ever looked at him before.

"Well, I'd rather not," Pippin replies.

"Good, because I'd really rather you not go."

Merry exhales deeply, picking up trousers and jacket and dropping them at his side, where his weskit had lain, lurching to his feet and walking three steps to Pippin, legs shaking, halting, and then he feels the sting of carpet as he falls down hard on his knees.

"I want a proper answer, Pippin," he says, putting his hand on Pippin's shoulder, letting his fingers curl over a curve of flesh and bone. Pippin turns his head, mouth parted, exhaling soft, his breath a tickle of sensation against Merry's jaw.

"I don't think it's the sort of thing I can just tell you, Merry," Pippin replies, his voice low, but with a growing sense of urgency. "But I could show you, I think." Merry looks Pippin in the eyes, and Pippin looks right back, mouth curving in a thin-lipped smile.

This is not his Pippin, could not possibly be his Pippin, and Merry's head is spinning, the heat is too much, the expectation and the warmth and the

"I'd like that, I think."

"Good," Pippin says, and his breath comes in a rush.

"How old are you, now?" Merry mutters, and Pippin laughs, and Merry is suddenly aware of Pippin's hand, warm, slightly damp with cool sweat, inching up the bare expanse of his thigh. Merry has lain with lasses, and he has lain with lads, both more than he finds that he can count; not now, not with Pippin's hand (Pippin's hand) touching his skin. "Pip," Merry gasps, weakly.

"I think it's too late for you to go asking that, now," Pippin replies, softly, and he grins, his palm pressing flat against the crease of Merry's hip, thumb against Merry's belly, and his fingers spread over Merry's thigh.

Merry can't speak, not feeling Pippin's hand, and Pippin shifts closer, tilts his head so that his mouth is almost touching Merry's. "First," he says, whispering, "he kissed me," and Pippin's mouth is pressing against Merry's, dry, almost chaste, and sweet, and Merry's mouth opens, almost shocked but pleasantly surprised, and Pippin is then pushing, hard, with his tongue, dragging the kiss deeper until there is nothing left for Merry to do but kiss Pippin in return.

He does, and when they part, both are breathing hard, and Merry is clutching even harder at Pippin's shirt sleeve, and Pippin's hand is pressed, with the most force, against the crease and curve of Merry's hip and t?igh.

"I'd been wondering what it would be like if he kissed me," Pippin mumbles, blurts, and his breath catches, and he seems to force a smile. He drags his hand slowly back over the curve of Merry's thigh, and Merry exhales, hard and panting, warmth surging in his groin. "He is rather fascinating, and fair, and he oh, Merry," and Pippin leans until his mouth is touching Merry's ear, though he doesn't stop speaking, "He wanted to push me down, Merry, and I let him. He wanted me to stay still, and I did. He was stripping me, and I was stripping him, and he pulled me so close that I could feel his cock," and that came in a whisper, "right through his trousers. Now, I'd lain with well, Frodo wasn't the first lad that I'd lain with Merry, but this was Frodo, and it was different, and I don't think you know just how good it felt."

Merry can hardly breathe. "Pippin, please "

Pippin's hand slides lower, and Merry tenses, wanting Pippin to touch him, wanting to feel Pippin's fingers around his straining cock. "Please," he gasps, and Pippin presses the tip of his nose against Merry's cheek, tilting his mouth and licking to the point of Merry's chin. Pippin's fingers curl around him, and Pippin's thumb rubs halfway along the length of his arousal. Merry closes his eyes, and his hips work on their own, thrusting against Pippin's hand. "Oh."

"I need something, Merry " Pippin gasps, his voice high and thin.

"I don't just use your mouth, Pippin, lick your fingers, if you must, or maybe I could oh, yes." Merry is pushing Pippin back, straddling his thighs, kissing him hard until Pippin is pinned against the carpeting. Merry's hands slide down Pippin's sides, and Merry thinks that this must be different, it must be special, because this is Pippin Pippin, who simply is. He sucks on Pippin's tongue, whimpers at the light touch of Pippin's hands, feels Pippin moan as he slides his hands up under Pippin's dress shirt, untucking it from his trousers. His fingers stumble, one over the other, popping buttons and sliding the shirt free, and Pippin's stomach is warm, now, when Merry presses one hand over his navel, unfastens his trousers, and pulls them down. Pippin wriggles, leveling his hips, and Merry uses both his hands to tug the trousers down, past Pippin's hips, his thighs, his knees, until Pippin wriggles out of them completely.

Merry kisses him, once more, then his cheek, licking a path from one nipple down to Pippin's belly button, sucking on it and making Pippin giggle, then moan. He wraps his hand around the base of Pippin's cock, breathes against the head, now straddling just one leg. Pippin jumps, jerking, crying out indistinctly as Merry's mouth slides over hot, aching flesh. "Merry," Pippin whimpers, trembling.

Merry draws back. "I'll just wet you myself."

"Oh," Pippin gasps, shaking, voice frantic, and Merry sucks on him, counting to ten, stroking him with his tongue and pressing him with his mouth. Pippin is breathing hard, and Merry licks his way back to the tip. Then, kissing Pippin's stomach, letting go of his erection, hearing it slap wetly against his stomach, Merry crawls back up along the length of Pippin's body, and kisses his mouth.

Pippin wraps his arms around Merry's shoulders, kissing him hard, and Merry is the one who rolls him over, so Pippin is settled against him, his straining erection trapped between them, against Merry's. "You are oh," Pippin chuckles, then kisses Merry, slowly. When Pippin lightly touches his hip, Merry wordlessly spreads his legs, sighing, as Pippin settles back. "Just let me yes," Pippin says, licking his palm, then kissing Merry, reaching with his hand in between Merry tenses, feeling the first insistent nudging, letting his breath out slowly as Pippin pushes in.

"Oh," Merry exhales, dizzy, lightheaded, spinning, clutching at Pippin, the soles of his feet pressed flat against the floor; something to ground him against Pippin's first slow, endless thrust.

There is pain, tightness, the feeli?g of being filled, but pleasure, slowly, the tickle of Pippin's curls against his cheek and the sweet feel of Pippin's breath, cool against his sweaty neck, and Pippin, Pippin inside, and all around. Merry has had his fair share of lads, and lasses, but not a one of them has been Pippin, and that is all the difference in all the Shire

Pippin draws back, clutches at Merry's hips, and Merry wraps his legs around Pippin's waist, smiling up at him, breathing hard, vision blurring from the almost-pain but mostly-pleasure. "Merry," Pippin breathes out, hard, as if he's seeing something something startling, something new.

His hips rock back, and then he's in Merry, fully, and sliding back and stretching along Merry's body Merry's legs still firmly wrapped around Pippin's waist and Merry feels sparks of heat, pure fire, pure pleasure, as Pippin strokes him deep within.

He cries out moaning, gasping, pleading and Pippin chokes on his name, moving faster, then slower, faster again, and it is all too much; Merry is drowning in sensation. Pippin presses wet kisses to his jaw, and then his mouth, and Merry feels like he is clinging to Pippin's mouth he cries out Pippin's name, and Pippin slows, and then Merry isn't so sure what happens next, or first; feeling warmth and stickiness against his stomach and Merry can finally, finally breathe, or hearing the sound of Pippin's voice and feeling Pippin's body as he finds his release, and heat spreads.

Pippin slows, breath coming in low rasps, mouth against Merry's cheek. Merry aches oh, but it feels so good and he wraps his arms back around Pippin, letting his legs ease back down.

Merry should say something something, anything, but he doesn't know what, so, instead, open-mouthed, he kisses Pippin, and Pippin kisses him, too. "Oh, Pippin. Pip."

Pippin chuckles, weakly, and draws away, immediately settling back down, all wrapped around Merry, and Merry is all wrapped around him.

The air is thick, unmoving, and Pippin is too, breathing softly. Merry knows that there is something he should say, but now might not be the right time not when he doesn't fully know what it is.

He'll say it later, he thinks, whenever it is that he figures it out. "You know," Pippin says, "we can move now, if you'd like."

"Just a moment more," Merry replies, grinning, and, listening to the sound of Pippin's breath, Merry closes his eyes.

Frodo comes visiting at Brandy Hall the next day, and while there is ample opportunity for Merry to speak to him, as he would like, he will instead leave that for some other day. There are other activities with which he would rather occupy his time, after all.