Through the Open Door
by Lullennye-mail: gutter2stars @ yahoo.com
Story notes: Written for the Hobbit Pile Ficathon as per Karri's suggestion for a Frodo/Merry/Pippin pre-quest.
Pippin knocked on Bag End's green door expecting Frodo would answer, smile in cheerful welcome and invite him inside for a cool drink against the summer heat, but he waited on the front step without a response he began rocking back and forth on his heels, silently rehearsing yet again the reason for his visit. He remained unsure how best to broach the two salient points that brought him here without seeming a braggart, or a child, or both; and he had a sudden desire to slink away. But then he heard sounds of life coming from inside, and the door swung open. It was Merry Brandybuck, and he was neither welcoming nor cheerful; he was, in fact, frowning.
Firmly gripping the door Merry said, "Peregrin Took."
"So it says in the Yellowskin," retorted Pippin, as taken aback as Merry seemed to be. Pippin and Frodo shared a lot of cousins, but lately Merry was not one of Pippin's favorites.
"What are you doing here?"
Pippin had no desire to tell him, nor could he think of a clever response to the rude question, but suddenly he was oddly bolstered. Merry was flustered: he was, in fact, sloppy and unmannered as a boy, a far cry from his usual suave self. And since Merry in the past year had taken to treating Pippin like a child when he bothered to notice him at all, Pippin felt rather superior, or nearly. He bowed, all flourishes and mockery as he said, "And good morning to you, too, cousin."
"I mean," said Merry, his face growing pink as though the simplest of courtesies remained a task nearly beyond him, "what brings you all the way from Tuckborough?"
"I might ask you the same: Buckland is a lot further away; and, if I might be so bold to say it," observed Pippin, "it looks as though you just arrived at a run." He glanced pointedly at Merry's rucked shirt, messy hair, and his braces missing one button. "Actually, I am just passing through, you know. But Frodo is expecting me."
Merry reddened more as he mashed down his hair and shoved his shirttail into his trousers. "Yes, well, I-- Frodo's expecting you?"
"He'd better not have forgotten. I have it all in writing if he has, from his last letter. We had made plans, and I have every intention of holding him to them." Pippin rose up on his toes to look into the shadowy hall past Merry's shoulder. "Is he in?"
"He is. He is," said Merry, nodding as though that were explanation enough. "He is. He was -- that is, we were sitting down to elevenses."
"Then let me through, and I'll have him roust out another plate. I just tramped up the Hill from stabling my pony at the Dragon, and I'm famished," said Pippin.
Just then Frodo came up behind Merry. "Pippin!" he said. "You certainly made good time. I didn't expect you until supper at least."
"Well, I'm here now, though Merry won't let me in."
Pippin saw Frodo and Merry exchange a fleeting glance, but he wasn't sure what it might mean. They seemed angry; he wondered if they had been arguing. Better combed and tucked, still Frodo looked as flustered as Merry, and the high color on his cheeks was far more noticeable.
Merry withdrew; Frodo opened the door wide and put his arm around Pippin's shoulders, steering him inside where it was cool and dim and dry: an altogether delightful respite from the pressing heat and odd tensions at the threshold. "Merry said you were sitting down to elevenses?" said Pippin, with not a little longing when it almost seemed Frodo was about to lead him into the parlor rather than the kitchen.
"Why, yes indeed. Nothing fancy, mind -- very casual, you know," said Frodo, "but there's no standing on formalities here, not amongst friends. Since Sam's gone to Tighfield for the summer, things around here are casual. Quite casual. Very casual, actually."
"There's never a need for formalities on my behalf, Frodo; you know that, and -- heavens!" exclaimed Pippin, goggling at the debauched kitchen. "What were you doing on the table, the spring-ringle? Or did a wandering party of goblins decide to drop in for a bite? Is that treacle?" He drew his finger through a pool of sticky syrup and sniffed it.
"Er, yes, actually," said Frodo, and he chivvied Pippin to the sink and began vigorously dunking Pippin's hand in a basin of cold and rather dirty dishwater.
Bemused, Pippin allowed it and took a more careful inventory of the mess. He expected dirty plates, crumbs, and a cup of tea half-drunk, but the pot of treacle was on its side, and there were odd shapes smeared through it across the entire length of the table. Among other things (a spoon, a whisk, a dirty napkin, a bitten scone, a feather duster, and a green waistcoat) a teacup lay scattered on the floor in pieces. Pippin thought the waistcoat strange, but he thought Frodo's indifference to the broken teacup even stranger: Frodo cherished the china more than Bilbo had. Last Yule Pippin dropped a dessert plate from the collection, and though it had not broken, the near miss had earned him the sharp side of Frodo's tongue -- and in front of Frodo's friends, including Merry. The humiliation still clear in his memory Pippin said, "A shame about your teacup, Frodo, but I don't imagine a feather duster is the best way to clean up broken china."
Merry made a choked sound that turned into a cough; and although Frodo ignored Merry, he abruptly left off scrubbing Pippin's hand and thrust a tea towel at him. "And since when would you know anything about cleaning, you lazy brute?"
"I can't imagine he knows much. Not much at all about," added Merry, apparently recovered from his coughing fit, "cleaning."
Pippin frowned, disliking his tone.
"He might not at that," said Frodo, "though he might surprise you. I can imagine him doing a dish or two."
"Washing up is nothing compared to, say, beating the rugs clean."
"Sweeping the fireplace is no picnic." Frodo gave Merry another significant look, and Pippin decided that whatever passed between them, it wasn't anger. As it was, Pippin felt as though they had forgotten he was there.
"And neither is chopping wood."
"Or," said Frodo, "dusting."
"I suppose cooking is right out?" said Pippin. "You may have had fun dancing on the table, but I'm hungry, and as your guest I have come to expect a certain level of hospitality that includes baked goods at the very least."
Recalled to his duty as host, Frodo soon had Pippin seated at the table, the table wiped clean of crumbs and treacle, the treacle replaced with a pot of honey, the honey ready to be stirred into a precious china cup that Frodo set in front of Pippin. Since all the scones were gone, he sent Merry into the far pantry for a seedcake. Pippin wished Merry a lot further than the pantry -- wished him back in Buckland -- for he was bursting still with news to divulge to Frodo, news that Merry would use to tease him if he knew. In the few minutes they did have alone Pippin wanted to take the opportunity to speak with Frodo, even if only to ask him why, out of all their cousins, he had invited Merry Brandybuck to Bag End, but when Frodo leaned close to pour steaming tea Pippin saw a thick thumbprint of treacle on the smooth skin behind his ear; and he said nothing, too busy thinking what it could mean.
His cousins listened politely enough as Pippin described his ride from Tuckborough and the current goings on in the Great Smials, but he could tell he didn't hold their full attention. Their continuing distraction rankled. Pippin expected Merry to ignore him, but Frodo had always been a particular friend. After tea, it got worse, and Pippin eavesdropped on them, skulking in the hall as they stacked the dishes in the kitchen, speaking furtively while they thought he was smoking in the parlor.
"Can't you get rid of him?" asked Merry.
"No," replied Frodo, "but I don't want to, and neither do you. You know he's a fun lad, always ready for anything and very endearing; in fact, if you weren't keeping me busy, I would be tempted to -- "
"Frodo, please. Do not finish that thought. I don't think I could bear the humiliation of being thrown over for a brat like that."
Frodo chuckled, but only briefly. He said, "He's hiding it well, but he's being punished -- some disgrace or other, he wouldn't say in his letters -- and I can only imagine he's rather down. I can't turn him out."
"He's not down at all," said Merry, indignant. "He's positively beaming. What on earth was his punishment? He's moving entirely too easily to have got the belt and then ridden all morning."
"Oh, it was far worse. His father forbid him to go to the midsummer fair and dance in Tuckborough," replied Frodo.
Merry chuckled meanly. "He wouldn't like missing the biggest party all year. I know I wouldn't."
"And the only way he could be sure Pippin stayed away, short of tying him up, was to send him on an errand to the Mayor."
"All the way to the White Downs by himself? He's hardly old enough to go crossing the Shire alone, the pest."
"He's older than you think he is. I was younger than him when I started visiting Bilbo," said Frodo, "and I walked from Buckland more often than not. And," he added in a different tone, "I was younger than he is now when I started doing other things, too."
They stopped speaking for long moments, and there was a soft rasp of cloth on cloth.
"But Frodo," and Merry's voice had lowered so that Pippin could hardly hear, "he'll never leave us alone. This morning's interruption was painful enough -- and we don't have time to wait until he leaves: we have to start first thing tomorrow if we are going to make the fair ourselves."
Frodo's murmur was unintelligible. Trying to hear, Pippin peered round the corner. Merry was pushing Frodo back until the table stopped him, but Merry kept moving until they were pressed together. From his vantage Pippin saw them in profile. Merry's hand was on Frodo's neck, his thumb stroking just behind his ear while Frodo whispered to him. Neither seemed inclined to notice Pippin, but he ducked back anyhow and leaned against the wall, rubbing his palms on his thighs and frowning.
He looked again. They were closer: Frodo looked intently at Merry's mouth, Merry's fingers were deep in Frodo's dark hair, and it seemed Merry and Frodo would forever be moving into a kiss. Pippin felt strangled: he realized he had held his breath as he strained to hear what Frodo whispered; and he kept holding it as he watched their mouths linger until finally finally they touched, Frodo's still shaping silent words. Merry's eyes drifted closed as Frodo's mouth opened to his, and Frodo's fists clutched the back of Merry's shirt. Pippin gasped, lungs starved for air, and pulled back into the hall again. He slowly slid down the wall until he sat on his heels. He held his head in his hands. It felt heavy.
Never before had he thought about kissing Frodo, or Merry, or any other hobbit that wore breeches. But he was thinking about it now in such exquisite detail that he felt quite miserable and trapped, crouched on the floor. The jealousy that he had been unable to label and had been eating at him ever since Merry opened Frodo's front door suddenly took a new and intimate grip deep in his chest. Worse, the jealousy slid in more directions than one: Pippin thought Frodo very desirable, but he was also deeply affected by how Merry made Frodo at once tense and melt in his arms. He knew it wasn't the seedcake and tea that rendered his limbs heavy. Pippin wanted Merry to do that to him.
Pippin rose and slinked once more into the doorway.
Merry's hips rolled against Frodo's repeatedly, and Frodo seemed determined to climb right into Merry though his mouth, until he finally stopped and drew back far enough to say, "This isn't -- this won't make waiting any easier."
"Let's not wait," Merry said roughly. "You have a lock on your bedroom door."
"Is there really a need to retreat behind a locked door?" asked Pippin, and it seemed an avid stranger used his voice and his feet to walk him right into the kitchen, proposing. "After all, Frodo says I'm always ready for anything."
Frodo and Merry leapt apart. Frodo looked more rumpled than Merry had when he'd answered Pippin's knock, and both glowed red to their ear tips. Their reactions fed a greedy satisfaction in Pippin too new for him to do anything with but experience. He knew better than they did how it felt to be caught, however, and knowing that rewarded him with a thrill of confidence. He walked up to stand between Frodo, who remained against the table, and Merry, who stood a few steps away seemingly unsure what to do with his arms because he crossed them, and then set his hands on his hips, and then shoved his hands deep in his pockets, all in rapid succession.
"Pippin, I --" said Frodo.
Pippin braced his hands on Frodo's shoulders. "You do like me, don't you?"
"What? Of course I like you --"
"And you did promise this visit would make up for missing the fair, right?"
"Yes, but -- "
"I refuse to be left out while you and Merry are set upon having such a good time," he said. "I want join in the fun."
"Join in the fun?" Merry sputtered. "This is hardly a game."
"Isn't it?"
"You're too young to have any idea what you're talking about," he retorted.
Merry's derision stirred an angry challenge in Pippin. "Care to place a wager on that, cousin? Come here and kiss me, and you'll take back those words."
Frodo protested, but Merry seemed more than willing to take Pippin down a peg or two, and Pippin was more than eager to let him try: Pippin knew Merry underestimated him. Severely.
"I'll take that wager, cousin," said Merry as he stepped close, "and I'll make you eat those words."
Pippin was only a little shorter than Merry, but he was used to the angle, and so when Merry grasped his upper arms and kissed him, Pippin opened his mouth and licked the firm line of Merry's lips. Pippin watched warily -- he recognized this was not romance -- and saw Merry's eyes widen in surprise. Pippin mirrored Merry's grip on his arms, tilted his head and worked insistently until Merry yielded and Pippin could taste him, tongue to tongue. After a moment that seemed like twenty, he softened his grip on Merry's arms. They drew a little apart.
"That," said Merry, "was beginner's luck." But his voice was uncertain.
Pippin was deeply pleased that he could look Merry in the eye when even last summer he couldn't. There was guarded surprise on Merry's face, and a subtle shift that looked almost like approval: both sharpened Pippin's pleasure as much as the kiss. "Frodo has more experience; let him have a go and give his opinion." Pippin turned to Frodo, who stood inexplicably close.
Frodo looked torn between doubt and desire, and the struggle was oddly beautiful, though Pippin didn't think of it quite that way. Pippin felt opposing pressures in himself: even if it was a new thing, he knew he wanted Frodo; and even if he disliked the older tween arrogance, he knew he wanted Merry, too. He wanted Frodo to twist under Merry; he wanted Merry to arch over him; and most of all he wanted to forget his father's assertion that he was too young for such antics, and besides, tweenage passion would fade quick enough, so he'd better plan for the future with his head, not revel in the moment with his cock. In this moment he wanted a great deal, not all of which he could honestly name, but he wanted nothing so much as another kiss, from Frodo this time. No need to consider the future.
"So maybe you've kissed someone before," said Merry. "That wasn't all I was talking about. There's so much more that happens in a bed."
Pippin hardly heard him. He stared at Frodo, remembering how the slow, fraught connection had held Frodo and Merry transfixed, spiraling on the edge of a kiss while Pippin had watched breathlessly from the hall. He saw urgency in Frodo now. There was no leisurely drawing together, no waiting; suddenly they clasped one another close, their mouths open to each other, hot and wet. As when Pippin kissed Merry there was no romance, yet there was no challenge, either, only lust. Pippin closed his eyes. His breath sawed through his nose, and Frodo was tight against him, not yielding at all like he had been in Merry's embrace, but taut. Pippin could hardly stand; his legs were too soft to support him, and his guts puddled like hot water deep within him. He managed it, though, and when he pulled away, it was only stubbornness that kept Pippin upright. He licked his lips and said, "Well? Do I know what I'm talking about?"
"I suspected you might even before I kissed you," said Frodo, his voice tight. "But I think Merry's got a point. Kissing alone is no proof of further knowledge." He thumped him gently on the chest, and Pippin felt a crinkle of paper: a letter hidden in his pocket, one direct consequence of his experience, but its contents seemed a poor way to prove it, and he did not mention it.
"Yes. I have an excellent point," said Merry.
"One I must refute, it seems," said Pippin.
"Refute personally and," said Merry brazenly, as he defined his ultimatum, "to the both of us."
Frodo frowned. "Merry --"
"Together," Merry insisted. "Right here."
"All right," Pippin said, though he was far from sanguine about the circumstances. Happily, foolish bravery worked best without any thought at all, and he jumped into the dare immediately and began working open the buttons at the top of Merry's breeches. He paused for a moment, but only a moment, to consider an aspect of the situation deeply before he said, "Of course, you two must prove to me that you know what goes on in a bed. Even if we're not in one." And then he put his hand into Merry's open breeches.
Merry and Frodo both gasped, most likely for different reasons, although Pippin wasn't sure about that assumption. Watching seemed to affect Frodo as much as touching affected Merry, which was a strange new concept to Pippin -- newer and stranger by far than holding Merry in his hand: he had held his own cock often enough, and he knew what it felt like to have another's hand on him.
Merry stumbled and clutched Frodo's shoulder with one hand and Pippin's forearm with the other; Frodo led Merry to lean into him, there against the table, and Pippin was drawn with him, having held on. Merry drew his air in little snatches, and he bit his lip when Pippin twisted lightly. Frodo groaned when Merry would not. He kissed Merry, and Pippin felt the reaction in his hand. Pippin felt oddly excluded despite his intimate placement of palm and complained. "You two are hardly holding up your end of the bargain."
Frodo drew Pippin in with an arm around his neck; drew him near until all three stood in a circle, their faces close. "Merry," whispered Frodo. "Merry, please . . . " Merry fumbled for Frodo's breeches, but Frodo said, "No. Pippin. So I can see."
Merry's hand was rough, the pleasure intense, and Pippin uttered a surprised exclamation that Frodo plucked right off his lips with his mouth. They kissed for long, lazy minutes, Merry's breath harsh in Pippin's ear. Pippin wormed his free hand down Frodo's side and pushed past the waist of his breeches to find exactly what he expected, long, hot, and damp. Frodo's tongue in his mouth made him dizzy; Merry's hand on his cock made him weak. He broke from Frodo to gasp, and Merry took his place: an open wet kiss, well-practiced. Pippin hardly had to move his hand for Merry because Merry thrust into it, and Frodo shuddered in time with the hard, slow strokes of Pippin's other fist.
Merry pulled back from kissing Frodo to pant; his face flushed with a dark pink that rose up from his chest; and his hand lost its intent on Pippin. "Keep going, keep going," Pippin insisted greedily. The rhythm resumed, but not as steady as he would have liked; the pressure increased, and Pippin's loosened trousers slipped down his hips to bunch at his knees. "Keep going, keep going, keep going," he repeated, a plea to encourage the pace he wanted uttered in reedy gasps. He would blush to recall the sound of it, knowing Frodo and Merry listened, but then Frodo distracted him with his soft chant rising, oh, oh, oh, at the same cadence as Pippin's litany, which was the same beat as Pippin's hand on Frodo. Frodo's brow puckered as if he was in pain; he turned his head away abruptly and shuddered, gripping hard Pippin's shoulder and wetting Pippin's hand.
"Frodo," Merry choked. He hid his eyes in the crook of Frodo's bent neck as he spilled, and his hand tightened hard on Pippin at the same time, pulling the very ground from under Pippin in a silent, violent heave of ecstasy.
Frodo kept him up with his steady arm, and Pippin rested his head on Frodo's shoulder. He looked at Merry inches away and wasn't sure what he saw in his face, though he thought it looked a bit like worry. He felt the same wrinkle on his own brow, but he was pretty sure it was tenderness, and so hugged Merry's waist and Frodo's to retain the circle they'd made. His nose touched Merry's and he nestled closer, lightly tracing Merry's cheek and eye and ear with his lips while Frodo pressed kisses into their hair.
When they withdrew one from another at last they stood equally distant as they refastened their clothes. Frodo gently urged them to sit and moved the kettle over the fire before readying cups, saucers, and spoons for tea. Pippin caught Merry watching him, sleepy and more than a little thoughtful. Merry looked away quickly to follow Frodo as he puttered. Pippin abruptly asked, "So do you take it back, Merry?"
"What?" Merry was puzzled; it looked almost like hurt on his face.
"That I'm too young to know about what goes on in bed," he said impatiently. "Do you take that back?"
"Your age isn't relevant anymore, Pippin," said Merry. "Too young or not, you know now."
"I knew before today," he insisted, "and I want you to acknowledge that."
"You knew," said Merry. "I take it back."
"Oh, that hardly counts -- say it like you mean it."
"I do mean it, you git," Merry retorted.
"You don't sound convinced," said Pippin archly.
Frodo down a tray and joined them at the table. Merry took a teacup and fiddled with it. "I think he's just surprised."
"Why?" Pippin turned from Frodo to Merry. "You're surprised because I'm old enough?"
"I guess I hadn't noticed until just now," said Merry. "I expected you to back down, Pippin, but you didn't, not at all."
"He gave as good as he got," Frodo added warmly. "Better, even, which was a bit of a shock. You are very young, Pippin."
"I still think of him as a pest," Merry nodded at Frodo, and then turned before Pippin could protest. "But Frodo's right: you gave as good as you got. Makes me wonder just what you've been up to this past year in Tookland."
Pippin resisted the urge to pat the letter in his shirt pocket. His father had written it, a request to the Mayor to keep Pippin busy and out of Tookland for the next fortnight to prevent him going to the fair; what the Mayor didn't know was this visit was also to keep him away from Peony Tunnelly, a comely, adventurous lass. Pippin liked that she stood taller than him and spent hours leaned with her against trees, kissing. Over the spring she and Pippin explored the length and breadth of Tookland finding every hidden place to tryst, eagerly perfecting their erotic skills with each encounter. They continued to enjoy the other's company until Pippin dared to sneak her into his room, where Paladin found them naked and very busy. The mortification nearly struck Pippin dead on the spot. Paladin let Peony shove her frock over her head and scuttle out the door, but he lay several stinging lashes on Pippin's bare bottom with his belt before Pippin could snatch up his breeches and dash from the room.
Once he realized he would survive, Pippin was left with a banquet of conflicting emotions: bitter disappointment for missing the fair; anger for whoever had ratted on him (he suspected Pearl); guilty confusion for Peony because neither of them wanted to see the other anymore; angry bewilderment for his father because he was both furious with him and yet ashamed for having been caught; and yet despite all the conflicting emotions he felt a great, smug pride in all the sexual congress he'd manage and couldn't wait to share the entire bewildering load with Frodo. Inhibited by Merry's presence, he hadn't yet said a thing, but now, after having given and accepted the very pleasure he wanted to crow about, he could tell even Merry all about it.
"Wonder all you'd like, Merry. You'll never hear the tale from me," said Pippin. "Though I suppose I could show you."
"Oh?" Merry sat straighter, his eyes glinting. "All right, but you had better hop to it. Frodo and I are leaving for Tuckborough at dawn."
"We have the afternoon and night still." Pippin liked the challenge that sparked between them.
"Too bad you couldn't come with us."
"Why has Paladin sent you to the end of the Shire?" asked Frodo.
"I'm not inclined to tell that tale, either, Frodo," said Pippin primly. He slumped a little, though. "But I am to help grade the roads for the entire fortnight I'm there."
"That is harsh on Paladin's part; no matter what you did, he was a tweenager once and probably did worse." Frodo reached over to push Pippin's hair from his forehead. "I must say you managed to hide your disappointment very well."
"I can't say I look forward to spreading gravel through midsummer. Bad enough I have to miss the fair."
"I could walk with you tomorrow," said Frodo, "and keep you company tomorrow night."
Pippin looked up at Frodo, unexpected happiness pushing aside his disappointment. "You'd do that for me?"
"I would," said Frodo. "You would owe me a debt, of course -- a rather big one."
"Of course." Pippin watched Merry's long fingers push his cup in circles. It made a small sound as it turned, and Pippin wondered if he turned it long enough, would it wear a ring in the wood of the table. "But then, you and Merry would miss going to the fair together."
"Merry could come with us," said Frodo.
"Ha," said Merry. "And miss the fair? You're good, Pippin, but not that good."
"Ah, but see, then I could prove you wrong yet again," replied Pippin. He knew somber thoughts worried Merry somehow, but the challenge remained genuine and very easy to answer. "And I think I now know exactly what it was you and Frodo were doing on the table before I knocked at the door. You keep making such dares, Merry, and who could resist shutting you up?"
Frodo coughed and looked down, blushing.
"No," said Pippin, straightening in his chair, "I think you and Merry should go to Tuckborough."
"Are you sure?" said Frodo.
"I have to face up to my shovel." Just or not, the punishment had been assigned, and he was still child enough to want his father's forgiveness he knew waited once he paid his due. Merry brightened, though, and for the first time the resignation was easy for Pippin to bear. "It's only a fortnight."
"You know, you are very welcome to visit when you're finished."
Pippin touched Merry's arm. Merry looked up. Pippin asked, "Will you be here when I come back through?"
"I could be," he said, and his eyes were guarded.
"I must admit, I was disappointed when you answered Frodo's door, but this -- this --" Pippin drew a vague shape in the air, "whatever it is we did here this morning -- I like it." Slowly he added, "I would like to do it again. All three of us. Together."
Frodo and Merry looked at each other. Pippin saw they knew each other very well, and he worried they would shut him out again, but then they turned to him.
"Come to Bag End when you can," said Merry. "We'll both answer the door."