By: Dana
Summary: Drinking too much. Or, perhaps, not enough.
Characters: Estella Bolger, Alyssum Brandybuck (OFC), Rosemary Brandybuck (OFC)
Pairings: Estella/Alyssum/Rosemary
Rating: R
Warnings: Light sexual content
Author's Notes: For Ruby, with my love.
Alyssum is mine, Rosemary is Ruby's, and Estella is the Professor's.
Goes hand in hand, so to say, with Down Like Stars Falling (so, this was inspired by hobbit_smut's "Beneath the Mistletoe" challenge).
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.

Illustration: fanart inspired by Turning Air To Gold (Hyel)

"I've drunk too much, I think," Estella declares. Candlelight and fire's glow has turned the air to gold. There is a long sofa in Rosemary's bedroom, brocade and red velvet, and that is where they all sit, their skirts all in a pile so that's it hard to tell where one lass ends, and the next begins.

"Yes," Rosemary says, with a sweet grin. "You have."

"Don't listen to her," Alyssum adds, and the world about Estella seems to sway, as the sofa groans, and Alyssum shifts. There is a mug in Alyssum's hand, still half-full, and she drains it in one go. "She's a Brandybuck, you know, and they do like their drinks."

"I'm not that – " Rosemary hiccups, then laughs. "Am I all that bad?"

"You're terrible," Alyssum replies, with an earnest, truthful face, her eyes dim and her honey-light curls all in a muss. Then, with a giggle, she adds: "Yes, well, though I'm no worse."

"You're both awful," Estella says, with an attempted, dignified sniff. "Why, I – " She laughs again, when Alyssum pinches her side, as Alyssum manages to balance the empty mug upon the sofa's arm – at least for one breath. It tips over, and Alyssum watches as it tumbles to the ground, a dull thunk, her expression drawn and glum.

"Well, at least it was empty already," Rosemary adds, if only to be helpful. "Think of the waste that would have been."

"You pinched me," Estella manages, in a gasp.

Alyssum looks her in the eyes, grins, and pinches her again.

Estella shrieks as she laughs. "Stop!"

"No."

Alyssum crawls halfway into Estella's lap, where Estella is caught between her and Rosemary, winding one arm around Estella's neck and letting the other curl at her waist. "I'd rather not," she says, and Estella catches a mouthful of bodice and bosom. Is it that, or the hand that pinches her bottom, that startles her so much? Perhaps it's nothing more than both.

Estella jerks, and Alyssum flops back, now fully settled upon Estella's lap.

Rosemary is laughing so hard her cheeks have gone red.

Estella stares at Alyssum, eyes wide. "You, my dear, are an offence to proper hobbit sensibility."

"Well, you said that she's awful," Rosemary adds, shoulders shaking.

"I said you both were awful, and don't forget," Estella manages, gasping. Alyssum tugs on her sleeve.

"Do you really think you could handle us both?"

Was that Rosemary – or had it been Alyssum? Estella can't tell, not now that Alyssum has bared her shoulder, and warm fingers are curling over skin. "You smell like spice," Alyssum says, and smiles. Her eyes are sea-bright, dark and grey, and her smile is soft, and pink. "Like spice, and winter. If I had you under the mistletoe, I'd kiss you, you know."

"Like you need an excuse."

Alyssum's fingers touch Estella's chin. "Well, I suppose you're right."

"I – "

Estella speaks nothing more than that, not when Alyssum's mouth is on hers, a warm, wet tongue, that pushes with such insistence that thrill sparks, and Estella feels it down her back, all the way to her toes. They've kissed before, and Estella thinks of berries, bitter and sweet; there's something different, though, in this new, different kiss. She tastes warmth, the distinct flavour of good mulled wine. Estella groans, and quick fingers tug on the ribbon of her bodice. A moment, and a breath, the sharp tingle of Alyssum's mouth on hers, and she realises that it's Rosemary's hand she feels at the laces at her back.

- it had been Rosemary who had led her outdoors, and they had sat with the lads, sledding. Perhaps they could have gone skating, but Rosemary had talked her instead into going back in. They had stood in the great hall, with ribbon and holly and a gay wreath made of evergreens and bay, the Yule log spitting sparks where it sat on the hearth, and good relations all around. It was Rosemary, now, whose hand she could feel against her back, as cloth was pulled from skin. It was Rosemary, and Alyssum, too, who made Estella feel as though she was a Yule gift, waiting to be unwrapped -

Alyssum's mouth lets Estella's free, and Estella gasps, cold air burning as it hits her in the lungs. "I – " she says again, and lips bump against her cheek, fumbling, then touch again. Turning, it's Rosemary's mouth that she feels, warm in its familiarity. Alyssum traces a wet path with the tip of her tongue, and Estella feels the tremor of hands, working in tandem, pulling cloth from her skin.

(Rosemary's eyes are brighter, sky blue. Alyssum's are burning down like embers. They are nothing alike, Estella thinks, though they really are quite the same – like distorted of different paintings, different shades all running together, blue and gold and pale.)

"Please," she gasps, head falling back. Alyssum's mouth is on her neck, now, licking and then sucking. She jerks, clutching at cloth, and cushion. Alyssum's hand is on her arm, holding her down.

"Let's keep her like this," Alyssum whispers, warm breath on wet skin. "Show her just how awful we can both be."

(What more could she expect from two Brandybucks? Most especially here, at Brandy Hall.)

"Yes," Estella moans. "Yes, please."

Rosemary giggles against her ear. Half-undressed, now, with her skirts bundled about her legs, Estella can hardly think; especially not under the touch of gentle, firm hands. Rosemary's fingers are longer, but Alyssum's are softer. Estella closes her eyes, shutting them tight. A mouth fastens itself at her throat, sucking hard. In the morning, she knows what she'll find. Bright kiss-marks, the memory of warm touch. Oh, yes, please, she'd rather not forget.

"Please," she hisses. Light fingertips tracing over the curve of one breast. Her breath hitches, the slight scrape of nail on skin. She wants more, and she jerks under light touches. The scratch of teeth on her shoulder. She moans, feeling fingers press low against her stomach. A thumb makes circles at her bellybutton, around it, dipping in, and gives her a start.

Her arm is caught firm between Alyssum's thighs, and it's Alyssum's hand that she feels against her belly. It's Rosemary, instead, that is upon her thigh, a light, bold touch, pushing at cloth and feeling the skin that had been hidden beneath. Softer skin, sensitive. She jerks again, moaning, feeling the pad of fingertips pushing closer to her heat.

"Please," she whispers, trapped under Alyssum's mouth, pinned beneath Rosemary's hand.

Yes, her mind shrieks, as fingers curve around and then under hear short clothes, and there is a deeper thrill knowing that that hand is Rosemary's, whose breath she can feel against her cheek. A firmer touch, slow and deep, and Estella jerks, fire sparking in her veins. "Oh!" she moans. "Please!"

Rosemary's mouth is soft, and Alyssum's is slow – one at her neck, the other at her mouth, though she can hardly tell the difference. Estella pulls hard on her pinned arm, and Alyssum groans – what friction that must cause. "Estella – " Alyssum gasps.

Perhaps it is her own doing. Perhaps her fingers have minds of their own.

Alyssum's leg stretches out, as Estella's fingers seek what they want, warm, wet heat. She clutches Estella close, presses her nose to Estella's cheek. Estella feels fire all around – thrilling, wonderful, like stars and moons and suns, all bursting, all flaring, all – yes – all wicked fingers, and they are touching Rosemary's skin.

Rosemary exhales, a sharp gasp.

They are all knotted, like that, hands moving – Alyssum's puts her mouth back on Estella's, kissing her hard, and the fire in the room must flare, for certain, for the heat that Estella feels. Rosemary moans, perhaps loudest of all, burying her face against the curve of Estella's shoulder. Estella trembles, her arms are sore – her body half-twisted, so she can catch Alyssum's kiss, then turning, straining, twisting further, so she can give it back to Rosemary.

Rosemary trembles, crying out, muffled in Estella's kiss, and she shakes, slowing, as she is first taken, Alyssum then, and Estella. They collapse in a heap, panting, breathing deeply. Alyssum laughs, first, idly kissing Estella, licking sweat from her cheek, and then Rosemary, leaning over Estella to do as such.

"Well, that was something," Estella breathes.

"Are you still drunk?" Rosemary teases, giggling. She tugs on dark, sweaty curls. "You should be so drunk more often."

"You really are awful, the both of you," Estella laughs, and Alyssum, palming and then pinching her side, agrees.