By: Dana
Summary: Where Merry knows he shouldn't be waking up alone.
Characters: Merry, Pippin
Pairings: Merry/Pippin
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, sexual content
Author's Notes: Written for Soleta for the Lord of the Rings FPF Secret Santa; she wanted Merry/Pippin, pre-quest, first-time. Betaed by Lullenny, who is the very best ever.
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 last time that Merry had seen Pippin, Pippin had laughed, and sighed, and given Merry a kiss on the lips. It was hardly a cousinly kiss, soft and sweet and deep, and Pippin had tasted of smoke and good ale.

It was morning now and that was what Merry thought of, first, as he sat up and then forwards in bed. His head felt muzzy, thick. He thought of Pippin and last night, the memory of wet warmth and soft breath and a dizzy drunken laugh. Pippin had had far too many drinks, but that had hardly mattered, then, and it matter less now. Merry had been drinking too.

And it was morning now and Merry was in an otherwise empty bed. It wasn't right at all.

His shutters were thrown open though he couldn't remember having opened them himself. Warm sunlight pooled on the old faded rug; there were motes of dust drifting in the air, lazy, that way and this. Merry stood, and groaned, and stretched. It felt odd to wake, alone, when it only seemed right that Pippin should have been there instead.

But this was far too much thought for so early a day. And it was definitely too much thought for a hobbit to think on an empty stomach. By the time he was feeling a bit more alive, he had bathed, and he had dressed. The dining hall was filled with those who had come late to their meal. Merry at least was not the only one.

And there was no sight of Pippin, Merry noticed, and he ate more than he felt that he should. Pippin's arrival two nights before had come as a surprise, but then, it should hardly have been the surprise that it was. Pippin had a way of showing up when he was least expected; of always being wanted, even when there was too little room.

But this was Brandy Hall. There would always be room.

So Merry left the dining hall, filled, but incomplete. There was no sign of Pippin amidst the relations that flocked through the long dark corridors of the Hall. It was spring, almost summer. The day would be cool. Maybe that was where he should set this search - out under the sky.

Merry left the Hall behind, heading out into the sun.

The day was warming but there was still a lingering chill, the bitter kiss of late spring. The day was bright and blue, the fields dark and green. The planting had passed, and the earth blossomed. Merry said his hellos, and he took the well-used path that wound its way down to Bucklebury ferry.

There were children out, laughing, playing, and a group of three young Brandybuck cousins crossed Merry's path. He smiled and shook his head as they darted down the side of the road, continued his walk. He remembered then, that age, when the day was always too short, and the evenings had a way of coming too soon. Now, it's different, the days are too long, and it seemed to take forever just between the beginning and the end.

And there was only so much path under his feet, as Merry made his way, passing a wagon at one time, led by a team of grey ponies, and two hobbits, a lad and a lass that walked along hand in hand. The river was rippling gold and honey-brown in the light and Merry bypassed the ferry, walking north.

Green grass under his feet and it spread out wide, down to the river, mixing with mud and water weeds. He walked down until he felt cool mud under his feet, and stood, and looked out. He needed to think, but think about what. He was looking for Pippin, but this was hardly the way.

Still, the river had a way of soothing, calming; the surface, hiding turmoil underneath. Merry stood and breathed the day in, mud between his toes. He took one last deep breath, exhaling softly. He turned back and shielded his eyes, the river behind him, and he listened to its laugh; the sun was creeping up high into the sky.

He started his walk back, first to the path and further along, back to the Hall. The wind picked up, then died down, and Merry pushed his hands down deep into the pockets of his trousers. Maybe he was waiting for something, some great sign. He'd make his way back to the Hall, and that would be that.

But maybe he was wrong. He stopped and looked back, the Brandywine shimmering like a distant haze. There was some reason that he had come here, down to the water. Thinking of Pippin, he started back.

He took a path south down towards a distant blur of trees. It was faint, overgrown with grass. The trees came closer and the sun had taken off the chill of the day. Merry dove right into the trees, close to the river. It came out, on a still spot. He heard the creak of old rope, thought of the swing down by the river.

It was an old one, had been there forever. Merry thought that if he had wanted to find Pippin, he would have come here in the first place. But the first is never so easy. He went around one tree, ducked under a branch that hung down low. When he looked up, he smiled, and he had found Pippin.

Pippin was swinging on an old swing, slowly, forwards and back. He dug his feet down into the dirt, stopping himself at Merry's approach. He tilted his head one way, looking up, and Merry looked back.

Pippin was grinning; not just any grin, but a certain curving of his lips that was more Pippin than anything else. Merry thought back to seeing that look, more than a million times, for sure; always being wanted, even when there was too little room. "I thought to see you sooner," Pippin said, making no move.

"I had a lot to think about," was Merry's reply.

"Yes," and Pippin's expression softened, "well, I hoped I'd worded it just right."

Merry's lips twitched into a grin. "Just right."

There they were, then, both uncertain. Merry felt rooted to the place, and Pippin still had made no move. I had been worried, he told himself, because he couldn't manage any words. I had hoped to find you sooner. The rope creaked and the breeze blew low over the river, causing grass and hair and limbs to sway. "Pippin," he started, but Pippin had already began to speak.

"I've been waiting for you," firmly, and Merry thought a moment, he'd said that already. He closed his mouth, a firm thin line, and when he spoke again, Pippin's eyes had locked on his.

"You said that already, Pip. You don't need to go and repeat yourself, now. I'm hearing you loud and clear."

Pippin only shook his head, swinging back in the swing. He put his feet out as he rocked back and forth, tilting his head so he could continue watching Merry. "I've been waiting on you, now, a very long time."

"It couldn't have been so - " Merry started, but then it all made sense. It wasn't Pippn's waiting down by the river, no, it was something more, something longer, and something that Merry could only now see. With clarity. One last moment, str?tching thing, and then Merry felt the mood lighten; no longer was it just dry dirt underfoot, a moment that could come crashing down on their heads. Merry smiled, and walked down to Pippin, one step after another.

"And I've always prided myself on being so quick."

Pippin had no quip, instead his eyes were bright, and he stilled the old swing. As Merry reached out Pippin let loose his grip about the old rope, reaching up, threading his fingers through Merry's. He closed his hand around Pippin's and Pippin stood as Merry drew him close.

"Is there anything else you need me to say?"

"No," and Merry laughed, tilting his head, and their mouths came together, swallowing all sound. They stood, and kissed, and when they drew apart, Pippin put his hands on Merry's collar, grinning, sliding his hands up to Merry's cheeks.

"I thought I'd make a fool of myself. Or that you just wouldn't get it. What would I do with myself, next? Would I have to crawl right into your bed?" Pippin chuckled, fingers spread wide over Merry's cheeks. "I didn't know what to do with myself."

"And you should never think that," and they both laughed.

"Right," softer, after, and Pippin pushed them both back into a kiss. They stood there, again, silent. The river was a low laughing sigh and Pippin's hands were warm. Merry lifted his arms up, put them around Pippin's waist, settling, linking his hands one on top of the other. "This is nice," Pippin sighed.

Merry could hardly find the words to agree. "It is," he said, at length, the river sparkling, the sun shining, and Pippin warm against his body. It was a certain thought, then, a certain need. Merry knew just what he'd thought of, when Pippin had left him the night before. Just what he wanted, when he woke in an otherwise unoccupied bed.

"I think I want you, Pippin."

Pippin's answer, amused. "Just a thought?"

"More than that," and Merry laughed, dropping his hands, fingers spread wide, as he gave Pippin a squeeze. Pippin's laughter spiked and there was momentum enough to send them down to the ground.

"Well, good for you, then," said Pippin, a whisper, threading his fingers back through Merry's hair, tilting his head, kissing. Soft, at first, then deeper. The river was a trickle and the light felt weak. Merry knew Pippin so well, didn't he? He could know him better. He knew his favorite color, and his favorite food. He knew Pippin's favorite time of the day, his favorite part of the night. Now, he knew the feel of Pippin's mouth, too, his tongue, warm and sweet. Intoxicating. Drunk again, and this time only from the drink of Pippin's mouth.

He wanted Pippin, wanted this change. He could only know Pippin better. And there was no answer, that Pippin could give, when he had already so freely given his yes.

There were buttons at Pippin's throat, and Merry popped one and then the next. Pippin's laughter was far away, and Pippin's hands were a tie back to reality. He laughed again, and Merry laughed, too, when Merry fumbled with one button. Pippin's hands joined Merry's, and there was sudden uncertainty in Pippin's eyes.

"We needn't rush," was Pippin's murmur, sunlight and shadow in his hair.

"We needn't rush," was Merry's reply.

Even if there was no need for rushing, that didn't stop Merry from kissing Pippin, again, and pushing back. Pippin laughed as Merry pressed him down against the ground, grinning, and Merry kissed that grin. Pippin was quiet, holding Merry's face close, and he licked Merry's lips.

"Well, a little rushing shouldn't hurt us too much."

Merry's grin spread wide and he kissed Pippin, and Pippin kissed Merry, and there was less fumbling as they pulled together at buttons and ties and fastenings. "I wonder if anyone would see us," Pippin wondered, and Merry was silent, feeling free, not caring even if they did.

"We'll worry about that some other time," he said, and there was silence after that, kissing, more time for touching. And there was so much to touch, laugh?ng, to memorize; Merry wondered, in the middle of it all, Pippin half-naked underneath, hair splayed, if this was just to be a one time thing.

Well, if that was how it was supposed to be, then they would have to make this one time count. Merry only hoped that that wasn't how it was meant to be.

Their shirts were gone and Pippin laughed, so soft that Merry wondered if he had at all, as they rolled onto the grass. Pippin settled himself, there, perfectly content to watch Merry; and he grinned, and Merry looked back, and then Pippin kissed him. Not like before, harder, instead, and he drew himself up. He was sitting in his trousers, though they had been undone in their tangling play. Pippin leaned forwards, and Merry reached for one of his hands.

"Now Pippin," he said, pushing himself up so he could pull Pippin closer. Pippin hummed, lips pressed together, curving up, as he settled himself in Merry's lap. He was content, then, to kiss Merry, and then his jaw, letting his lips wander down to Merry's neck. Merry sighed, and bent his head to the side, giving better access. Pippin's hands felt like a blur on Merry's skin, touching, skimming. It was never enough, it was always too little. Merry needed more and there was fire building inside.

Pippin's only reaction was a surprised gasp, his mouth an "o" of surprise, as Merry flipped him back onto the grass. His hair, a messy crown against the grass, burned copper and gold, and Merry had him pinned; Merry was settled right between his legs.

"Well, now," Pippin said, regaining his cool.

Merry was silent, mischief in his eyes, that and wanting, and he bent to kiss and tease Pippin's neck, his collar bone, sliding his hands over Pippin's chest. He tweaked nipples and Pippin laughed, he pinched Pippin's bellybutton and his cousin gave a start.

"Merry!"

And even that startled exclamation ended as Merry rocked forwards, pushing their bodies closer together, a soft sigh and Pippin's lashes fluttered as his eyes rolled back. "Oh." He wiggled, grasping for Merry, gasping for breath. "Do that again - oh. Yes, like that. Do that."

Merry did and Pippin sighed, hands clenching, unclenching, grasping at Merry's arms. Merry wet his lips, not thinking, tilted his head down with his mouth near to Pippin's. He could feel the heat of each exhalation, the pause that came before each breath. Shadow was cool against Merry's back, and he skimmed his hands over Pippin's chest. Fingers spread wide, almost touching, almost not. Pippin shivered, gooseflesh rising, startled gasps for breath. And Merry only grinned, and pushed against Pippin's belly, stroking the soft line of hair that vanished down under Pippin's trousers. He touched with one hand, spread the parts wide with the other. Wiggling, and Merry helped Pippin free of those. Pippin laughed, distant, tossing his clothing, not caring where they went. When they kissed, the world came back into focus, came back alive.

It was fast, hard, then, and Merry pushed Pippin back and Pippin laughed and squirmed and curled the toes of his feet down into the dirt. "Merry, Merry," he chanted, laughing more often than not, and Merry grinned against Pippin's skin, kissing, biting. He took what Pippin would have, never stopping. He touched everything, soft strokes, harder caresses. His sides, his belly. His hips, his thighs.

"Merry!" and that was Pippin, startled, near breathless, urgent need in his voice. Almost there, please, you've almost got it right. Merry was smirking, pushing down on Pippin's thigh. Pippin relented, chest rising, falling, and warm breath skimmed and made moist the head of Pippin's cock.

"Merry," dry-mouthed, and Pippin closed his eyes tight. The world became Merry's mouth and the first wet touch of his lips, encircling. A rush of fire and sweat and Pippin and Merry took him in, slowly. Agony, slow. "Merry," again, and Merry pushed down, and Pippin whimpered, and Merry slid, slick, all the way down. Drinking Pippin in.

"Oh." Each breath was shaky, unsu?e. "Please."

And Merry could tell that Pippin knew just what he was asking for, even if he couldn't find the words. And Merry could give it. He wanted it, too.

Pippin's breath came out in a rush, and Merry drew himself back up, sucking just on the head. His hand would leave an imprint on Pippin's hip, he was sure. And that didn't matter, but Pippin's moan, did, soft and clear, and Merry wanted to hear it again. And again. And then once more, because it could never be enough.

Pippin's breath turned frantic, clutching at grass and dirt and crying out, Merry's name, and other things that Merry couldn't be certain of, because the blood was pounding in his ears and suddenly the taste of Pippin flooded his mouth, his senses, leaving him reeling, even as Pippin's cries weakened and Merry heard it again, as he drank Pippin up, Pippin's laughter, dizzy and drunk.

"Oh. That was it."

And Merry drew himself up, blood rushing, and Pippin was lying just perfectly and then he put his arms up, grabbing, pulling, drawing Merry down. "There you are," he said, and it was something more, as they settled against each other. "Here you are," and Pippin kissed Merry, softly, sweetly, and Merry was drunk too.

"Pippin. Pip." Soft, and Merry's lips still stung of Pippin's kiss. Pippin could only flash a grin, mischief, a wicked light in his eyes. This was Pippin, his Pippin, he could go so far to say. Pippin took lead, then, pushing, turning, rolling Merry flat on his back. He was settled over Merry's thighs, then, kissing, touching. He drew himself frown to Merry's trousers, let his hand hover over the lump there that he found.

"Let me know how you like it," he said, a sweet smile, an impish edge, as Merry gave a start under the feel of Pippin's hand. Pippin gave a squeeze, undid the fastenings of Merry's breeches, and Merry felt warm air, hotter hands, and choked, his world spinning, on Pippin's name.

It was evening, now, and they had made it back to the Hall, laughing, talking, hand in hand. And they had eaten, and Merry had invited Pippin back to his room. Pippin had nodded, and smiled, and for the second time that day given Merry his yes.

The last time Merry saw Pippin, that day, the moon had risen, the room was warmed, and Pippin had fallen asleep curled in Merry's arms. Merry smiled and pressed close, holding Pippin closer. And this was just right, as Merry drifted to sleep.