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By: Dana
"Whose idea was this again?" "Yours," Pippin replied, without missing a beat. "Oh," Merry exhaled in a sigh. "I'd forgotten that somehow." "Of course you did," Pippin grunted. "Trust a Brandybuck to oh. Merry, I think you need to do that again." Merry laughed and cocked his head to one side. "Why do you say that, Pip?" "Because you're doing it right. At least, I think you are. In any case, it looks right to me." With a sigh, Pippin pushed a hand back through his hair, the other holding steady at the rim of the blue and white bowl. It was one of Frodo's finest pieces, and now it sat with an unresponsive lump of dough down in its depths. He gave it a tap with forefinger and thumb. "Is there a reason that I have to work with the dough? I'd much rather help you with the berries." Merry ducked his head as he laughed, before letting his gaze dart back to Pippin with a nod and the smuggest of grins. Bag End's kitchen was cheery all around, and Frodo was long away, on business of some nature or another to the north. "It's because you have smaller hands." Pippin scoffed, shaking his hand at Merry, one finger pointed in accusation. "I'll show you small hands, Meriadoc. Now let me at the berries, before I show you who's who." Merry could only grin, shoving one hand down into the bowl of fresh blueberries with a distinctive squish that made Pippin flinch. "Mmm," Merry said thoughtfully. "This was my idea, you know. So it makes sense that I get the job that's more fun." Pippin exhaled and flicked a bit of dough at Merry's cheek. As Merry rubbed the bit off, with an annoyed expression, Pippin made a grab for the bowl of half-crushed blueberries. He gripped its edge and pulled it close, when Merry reached out and took hold of it, tugging it back. "Oh no you don't!" Pippin affected a hurt look. "Won't you at least let me help?" "No," Merry quipped, and flicked a bit of berry at Pippin, whereupon it hit him on the nose. A nose that wrinkled up in slight annoyance as Pippin picked the smudge of fruit off, flicking it back at Merry. "Oh, you." He frowned. "We're probably not doing it right, anyway." "But Pippin," Merry laughed. "You just said that it looked like I was doing it right." "Yes," and Pippin flinched as Merry used his one hand again to crush a handful of berries. "I mean, it looks like that's what you should be doing, but I've never gone about making pie filling before, so it's quite possible that I could be wrong." Merry eyed him curiously. "Why do you keep doing that?" "Doing what?" And Pippin flinched, once more, as Merry dug his hand down deeper in the bowl, and crushed another handful, a wet and slippery sound. He blinked, then, in a rather curious way, tilting his head up in a thoughtful manner. "Oh. Well, I hadn't noticed that I was doing it. I guess I just don't know." "Oh," Merry murmured, his hand working in the berries, and Pippin flinched three times in a row, shooting Merry a nasty look. A grin spread on Merry's lips, as he noted the flush that was rising to his cousin's cheeks. "Stop that," Pippin snapped, but his heart was only half in it. "I'll have you know that that is that is oh, I just don't know what it is." Merry thought a moment, then pushed the bowl towards Pippin. "Well, if it helps, you can help." "Maybe it would," Pippin replied, though even the thought of that was somewhat wrong, too. But he put one hand on the edge of the bowl, pushing the other down into the berries. They were cool, and their scent was heavy, rising in the air. "Better then?" "I'm not sure," Pippin said, softly. Their hands brushed and Pippin felt a rush of fire up his arm. Maybe this thought was more certain, then, this wrong that Pippin couldn't understand. He threaded his hands with Merry's, and tugged Merry's hand up out of the bowl. "What are you doing, Pip?" "Looking," he said, then, tilting his head so he could better examine their joined, blue-stained hands. He leaned forward, and Merry could barely feel Pippin's breath against his arm. "What are you doing?" he said again, as Pippin parted his lips and licked a long line from elbow to wrist. "Pippin," Merry shuddered, closing his eyes. "This hardly is the time or place." "Oh, it is so," Pippin replied, licking blueberry juice from his lips. "Now Pippin," Merry admonished, though he could hardly complain, as Pippin tugged his arm up so he could latch his mouth on Merry's wrist. He moaned, losing his words, feeling Pippin's mouth work against his skin, licking and sucking in an ever-expanding circle. "I'm rather sure," Pippin said, lips skimming, "that we're doing this all wrong. But I've decided that I just don't care." "Well, good," Merry replied, his voice tight, and Pippin was busy licking the sticky juice from his skin. When it dripped and dribbled, Pippin would catch it with his tongue, soft and warm and wet. Merry closed his eyes tight (when had he opened them, he wondered), biting his lip. "Oh, Pip," he groaned, and Pippin laughed against his skin. Pippin busied himself then, taking first one of Merry's fingers and then next into his mouth, cleaning them thoroughly, one by one, warm and wet in the welcome suction of Pippin's mouth. Merry felt warmth rising to his cheeks, and flooding other parts of his body. And his eyes were screwed up tight, and Pippin was making quick work of his hand. He let out a deep breath, Pippin's sticky wet hand wrapped tight around his wrist. "Merry?" "Yes?" "Open your eyes." Merry did, though he wasn't sure how he managed it, and there Pippin stood with light in his eyes. "Pippin," he said, with a tremble, as Pippin brushed sticky fingertips over Merry's lips. Pippin replied with a grin, quiet, that light in his eyes fierce and wicked, as he pushed his fingertips in invitation, and Merry took them in, Pippin's thumb curving sticky against his chin as he sucked sweet juice from Pippin's skin. "Don't close your eyes," Pippin said, then, and it was a battle to do as Pippin bid. It would be easy enough to give into the urge to just close his eyes, the wet suction of his mouth and Pippin's fingers. At least he could give in to half of his needs. He wrapped a hand around Pippin's sticky wrist, and he could greedily take Pippin's fingers into his mouth greedily, yes, and Pippin made a funny sounding noise at the back of his throat. "Yes," he said, "that?s it." He wouldn't mind more of Pippin, no, but right now this was enough, and he felt Pippin's other hand, his free hand, running down his shirt, dipping between buttoned patches so he could press against Merry's skin. Pop a button, there, and another, and then he felt Pippin's hands at the fastenings of his breeks. "Pippin," at least, that was what he wanted to say, but his mouth was filled with Pippin's fingers, and it came out as a muffled tangle of tongue and finger, and a grunt, instead. Pippin grinned, then, pressing closer, his fingers working with intent, and Merry felt cooler air, but not by much, caressing heated skin. A gurgle and Merry fought to keep his eyes open, Pippin leaning in so he could lick a slow line up Merry's throat, tasting the sweat on his skin. He pushed Merry's breeches down so that they settled around his hips, hand quick against his skin. Then his fingers could wrap around the thick weight of Merry's cock, tugging with purpose. He gave the head a merry rub with his thumb, and Merry jerked at that, a muffled cry, banging himself back against the table. Pippin laughed. "Don't go and hurt yourself," he said, his voice low and sultry hot, and Merry swallowed, hard to breathe, hard to see. Pippin licked his lips, pressing his fingers forwards even as he stroked the length of Merry's shaft. Merry whimpered as Pippin quickened the pace, licking his lips once more, and Pippin tugged forwards, pulling his fingers from Merry's mouth. "Pippin," Merry said, and it felt distinctively odd, then, that he could speak at all, and his breath caught in his throat as Pippin pushed the cloth down around his legs, further, and he had to grip the table's edge, in hopes that his legs wouldn't give out. One more hand joined the other, and Pippin was breathing against Merry's throat, breathing, yes, and tasting, or letting his mouth rest, unmoving but moist, against Merry's skin. Feather touch, Pippin's fingers were a slow dance over heated flesh. Slow, yes, a languid sort of build back that had Merry bucking forwards, hard wood biting into his fingers, and he wanted even more than that, and now Pippin was whispering against his skin. He didn't know couldn't tell - what Pippin was saying. "Pippin, I can't I don't think I'm going" "No you won't," Pippin said in reply. "No. Not now. Not yet." Merry swallowed his whimper, and Pippin's tongue was warm and wet, seeking out hidden spots, licking salt sweat from burning hot skin, causing Merry to shiver and sigh and want to scream. And his hands Pippin's hands. His warm soft palm, stronger fingers that supported Merry now, the base of his cock. Fingers that caressed, rubbing, trying to pull Merry right out of his skin. The world was very silent, or maybe it was all very loud, and Pippin's tongue was at his jaw, now, licking its way, like he was only taking a leisurely stroll, causing Merry to come undone, to lick and caress the shape of Merry's ear. Those strong fingers, still wrapped about him, and that could become his world. Could, and it did, and Merry made a pathetic noise as Pippin began to push his trousers down, massaging the base of his shaft, and Pippin grinned against his cheek. A scrape of tooth that worried the soft of Merry's ear, and then he could breathe right into him, speak right into his ear. "I want to bend you over and make you scream." Sweat in his eyes, Merry blinked, choking as Pippin bit down on his throat, no soft nip or nibble, but hard enough that Merry was sure the sharp imprint of Pippin's teeth would be there til he died. Choked, and gave a jerk, his legs almost coming out from under him. Pippin worked his mouth, and Merry felt spasms of pleasure mixing with pain, melting his spine, at first still with his teeth, and then the softer shape of his mouth, laving that burning mark with his tongue. "Pippin, please " Merry gasped, but nothing more than that. Merry felt himself falling as Pippin let go of him, pushing his trousers down as Merry t?ied to work his body, remembering the need to breathe and move and oh then Pippin bumped his groin against Merry's cock, and Merry made a strangled little noise at the back of his throat. "My Merry," and Pippin laughed, turning him, pushing against him and then flat against the table, until Merry gathered strength in his arms, pushed himself up, as Pippin rubbed one cheek with the flat of his palm. Sweat in his eyes, still, and Merry felt the world growing dim, the dipping tease of Pippin's steady, slender fingers. Merry bit on his lip and felt his hands slide forward, Pippin and his weight pushing against him. Merry could feel him, hard and wanting. "Pippin," he breathed, and Pippin kissed his shoulder, his shirt falling down. Silence, then, but the soft sound of trousers undone. Merry felt odd, standing there, his trousers at his knees. Odd, still, as he felt Pippin press, hard, so hard, against him. "Breathe for me, Merry." Merry did, closing his eyes, elbows trembling. Slow something slick, something that Merry couldn't identify, and Pippin was pushing himself, bit by bit, into Merry's body. Merry's mouth fell open as Pippin clutched his hips, digging in deep, finishing this slow and steady motion as he buried himself in hard, fast. He almost shrieked Pippin's name almost, but not quite, and Merry felt his vision going in and out of focus, his voice far, far away. Even Pippin felt distant other than where Pippin was connected to him, and he was choking on that heat. "Merry," Pippin soothed, a roll of his hips, steady out and steady back in. There was no build up of rhythm after that, just a build up of that heat, still, scorching, and Pippin, choking him. A hard moment forward and Merry was seeing stars, stars in Bag End's kitchen, and the table rocked forward, he was sure, the shattering of glass. He could hear Pippin, his hard breathing, low and hoarse, and he could feel Pippin, in him, all around him, drowning him, saving him, pushing him down. He found his voice, sudden, an incoherent stream coming from his mouth, then, as Pippin rocked into him, and Merry pushed back, hard. A blinding flash of pleasure, and stars, and Merry's forehead knocked against the table, as Pippin leaned down, down, and Merry felt his hand wrap quick and sure around his own cock. "Pippin," he whispered, and said again, louder each time, until he was surely screaming, or his throat was raw, but the edges of his world were rolling in on him the fast hard thrust of Pippin's cock, the swift and steady thrust of his hand. Merry came with a sudden stop, Pippin's name and Pippin's hand and Pippin's mouth against his shoulder, and Pippin's cock oh, but he hadn't stopped, not now, and Merry felt tears in his eyes as he clawed for his hold, feeling like he had been torn apart, and built again, and all that held him together, now, was Pippin. And Pippin was all soft and hard and silent, and he found himself, coming quick, gasping out Merry's name.
The kitchen was a mess a broken bowl and a puddle of blueberries, flour and butter and a chair that had been overturned sometime between then and now. "Frodo is going to kill us for this, Pippin." "Yes," and Pippin kissed Merry's cheek, and then Merry's mouth. Merry could still taste berries, bitter and somewhat sweet, on Pippin's lips. "I don't seem to care." Merry laughed, tired and hot still, melting, Pippin's arms all wrapped about him on the ground. And then they were on the ground, as they couldn't stand a moment longer, not when Merry had felt Pippin pulling him down. Now, Merry was almost sitting in Pippin's lap, both of them in various states of undress, and Pippin's kisses were lazy and soft. "Oh, I love you." "I love you," Pippin kissed each corner of Merry's mouth. "I love you too." Silence, then, a deep kiss, and Merry pressed his forehead to Pippin's after he had again surveyed the destruction they had caused. "He really will kill us, Pip,? he said, again, as if this would have some bearing on Pippin's response. All Pippin did was laugh one more time. "He'll have to catch us, first."
Later on, when they had that all straightened out, and had started and seen through to the end their daunting task of cleaning the kitchen, Merry thought to ask Pippin what he had used, when they had been at it before. And Pippin, with the most mischievous of grins, had answered. When Frodo returned home, he was none the wiser that anything had ever been amiss though he was slightly puzzled when his simple request of "please pass the butter" sent both his cousins into a blushing fit.
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