By: Dana
Summary: All threaded together.
Characters: Merry, Diamond, Estella, Pippin
Pairings: Merry/Pippin/Diamond/Estella
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, polyamory
Author's Notes: Merry, Pippin, Estella, Diamond. All together. But all apart. Six 100 word drabbles. For Miut's birthday - happy birthday, dear!
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.

Her lips are soft and taste of cinnamon, a curve against his own as she laughs against his mouth. "You've been baking," Merry says, arms loose about Diamond's waist, head bent, hands knit together at the small of her back. Her eyes are bright and she smiles as he breathes her in, smelling cinnamon-sugar-sweet off the warm glow of her skin.

"Pippin always has been rather fond of my apple crumble," she says, grinning, mischief in her eyes.

"Estella's rather fond of it too," Merry says, and a grin tugs at his lips, as he presses his mouth to hers.

His hair is a glimmer of copper at the corner of her eye, and she drapes her arms over his shoulders as she leans down at the book that's resting against the rise of his knee. "What are you doing?" Estella asks, tangling fingers in Pippin's soft curls.

"Just reading," he says, and Estella kisses the tip of his ear.

She knows this book knows it well and if was pressed could perhaps name each and every book in Merry's personal library. "I could tell you this by heart."

Pippin laughs, tilting his head, and their lips brush. "So do."

There are fingers soothing gentle through Diamond's honeyed curls. "What should I play?" she asks, and clouds pass overhead, eggshell white on a canvas of sky blue. Estella laughs, stroking Diamond's forehead with her thumb. Like a fallen grace, her head pillowed on Estella's lap.

"What do you find so funny?"

"You," Estella replies, tracing the curve of Diamond's cheek. Her eyes close and she tilts her head, brushes her mouth across the flat of Estella's palm.

"But you love me."

"I know," a whisper, and Diamond strums a soft chord on the violin that lies flat against her ribs.

The old brass handle is worn smooth under Pippin's seeking hand. "I wonder how many times I've opened this door," he says, and Merry is there at his back, laughing.

"Have you ever kept count?"

"When I was much younger, yes I think I got to three hundred, one summer, but then I gave up."

Merry doesn't laugh, then, wrapping his arms around Pippin's waist, one hand clasping the other. "You're an odd one, Pip," he says, then, resting his chin atop the smooth curve of Pippin's shoulder.

"I know," a laugh, and Pippin leans back, his hand falling free.

His hands slide warm against her cheeks, threading back into her hair; their foreheads, pressed together, and his neck is bent. "I've been wondering," Pippin says, and Diamond's hands are pressed light against his weskit, against fine knit embroidery, gold and light green.

"Oh?" she asks, tracing the shape of his mouth with her lips.

"Yes," a moment, then, and both are left breathless, after a long kiss, and Pippin laughs, wide-eyed, burying his face in her curls. "You are my light," he says, then; listening, as she breathes, imaging that he can feel her pulse where they meet between.

Her lips are smooth and taste of cinnamon, a curve against her own as she laughs against his mouth. "Diamond's been baking," Estella says, and Merry nods, as Estella pulls him back so that they can lie together on the long couch. Soft, and smooth, and the parlor air is wood-smoke sweet.

"You always have been rather fond of her apple crumble," Merry says, grinning, and Estella laughs, as he slides his hand against her thigh, bunching the fine thick fabric of her dress.

"Pippin's rather fond of it too," Estella says, her eyes bright, and Merry kisses her lips.