Wherever You Are Is Home Chapter Eight - "Morning Reflections" It is 1405 in the Shire Reckoning Pippin is 15, Merry is 23, Sam is 25 and Frodo is 37 Merry woke up to cinnamon-colored curls tickling his nose. Warm, pleasant feelings coursed through his body as he stirred to full wakefulness. Pippin was snoring softly, with his head pillowed on Merry's shoulder. Merry reached up and stroked Pippin's hair fondly, twisting the feather-soft curls around his finger. Merry pressed a whisper of a kiss on the curls, and let his mind drift to the day before. He kissed Pippin again, and gave a sigh worthy of a pre-tween lass looking at a newborn puppy. It had started as a horrible day, one of the worst that Merry could remember. He had felt wretched and alone, wanting nothing more to lay down and die. The only thing that had kept him from crying himself to dust the whole way to Bag End was Frodo. He had not wanted to drag Frodo down with his own despondency and self-loathing, and had tried to make himself decent company. Then he had been furious, so angry that he could barely see. Angry at Frodo and Sam for being lying, meddling busybodies, angry at Pippin for being childish and petulant and hateful. So angry that he had quit being rational, and had let Pippin provoke him, provoke him into yelling and ranting and backing him up against a wall. He gave a quiet gasp as he recalled what had happened when he had stopped raving. Something about being so close to Pippin, pressed up against him, had made him wanton and full of desire. Once he had backed Pippin up against the wall, something in him had snapped like an over-taut bow-string. He had quit pretending. He had quit making excuses. He had quit lying to himself. He had quit yelling, and had told Pippin the truth. He blushed then, thinking about the things he had said to Pippin. He had opened his mouth, and everything he had been holding back for all these years had fallen out, flowing like ale from a cask-spout. He had not even been fully aware of the thoughts himself, until he had voiced them. He could not believe that he had talked like that; so passionate. So Lustful. So plain out dirty. The rest was so perfect it could have been out of a dream. Sweet, but desperate kisses, soft, but insistent caresses. A wonderful blend of lips and tongues and teeth and breath, and a feverish collection of holding and moaning and grabbing and whimpering and grinding..... Oh, Lady, the grinding. There had never been a more sweet, glorious, perfect feeling in the world than the sensations that had overrun his body when he had pushed his erection into Pippin's hips and it had rubbed against Pippin's own. Merry shuddered just thinking about it, and felt a warm fire starting to kindle in his belly. Pippin stirred in his sleep, and rolled to lay half atop Merry. He stretched out his arm and curled it around Merry's neck, making soft, contented noises and he settled back into sleep. Merry ran his hands over Pippin's back and pulled him closer. He gave a contented sigh of his own, and hid another kiss in Pippin's curls before drifting back to sleep. Pippin woke to a warm, feathery feeling in his belly. It was a fluttery, giddy feeling that was so dizzying that Pippin could barely catch his breath. It was akin to the floating, not-quite-in-his-body feeling that he got when he drank too much ale, except that his brain did not feel addled and packed full of wool. His body was tingly and fluttery, his mind was sharp and clear. Aware. Pippin had always been aware of Merry; aware of everything about Merry. The way he laughed, the way he cried. The way his face lit up when he was happy, the way his eyes darkened when he was angry. Even stupid things, like the way he stirred up all the food on his plate and ate it all together, the way he always held his ale mug in his right hand, the way he snored louder on every third breath. And the way he smelled. It was a distinct smell, beyond the normal, ordinary aromas that commonly clung to a person; like ale or pipe-weed or soap. If he got close enough to Merry, he could smell every experience they had ever had together. Merry smelled like the grass on the banks of the Brandywine. The tiny, purple flowers that grew in Frodo's garden. The blueberry scones they had stolen from the kitchen on Durgo Bracegirddle's birthday. The pancakes that Samwise had made from diced potatoes, because Pippin had knocked over Bilbo's last sack of flour playing tag with Merry in the pantry. Pippin lifted his head off of Merry's shoulder to gaze at him. The sunlight peeking through the window lit up Merry's face, giving it a soft, golden glow. Pippin reached up and ran his finger along Merry's jaw and shivered, as he realized that he now aware of Merry in a new and different way. The way he felt. He had always known how Merry felt, in a comfortable, ordinary way. Merry was the lap he sat in, the chest he slept on, and the shoulder he cried on. But it was different now, more intimate and exciting. Pippin closed his eyes, and his mind drifted to the night before. He could still feel it, just like it was still happening. Merry's lips brushing across his lips and grazing over his skin. Merry's tongue trailing over his bottom lip and sliding into his mouth. Merry's hands running down his back, cupping his rump to pull him closer. Merry's hardness pushing against his and making him whimper. Oh, Lady, he loved him. He had always loved Merry, and while everyone seemed to think that it was odd that he loved Merry so fiercely, it was not something that he had sat and pondered about. It seemed so natural, because Pippin could depend on him. Merry had always protected and comforted him. Merry had always hugged kissed him, and told him he loved him. Merry had always been there. And Merry had stopped his life, when he was still practically a child himself, to take care of him when his parents had no longer had the patience. The realization that he loved Merry as more than a cousin or best friend had come over time. As he grew older, and heard the whispers and secrets about the ways of love and relationships, and as he spent more time with Merry, when the Smials changed from being his home to one of the places that he and Merry lived, he started to get an inkling. But he said nothing, and did nothing, because he wasn't sure. He was young, and being a Took, impetuous. It had been highly possible that these feelings were one of the mad fancies that he was fond of. Pippin was finally able to put a name to his feelings right before Bilbo's birthday. Merry had gotten angry with him for getting into trouble with Bilbo, and had threatened to send him back to the Smials. In those long, terrifying moments before Merry had softened, he had pictured a life without Merry, and the thought had been too painful to bear. When Merry had changed his mind about sending him away, a warmth had washed over him, a joy so sweet that it had almost been painful. Pippin had thought it would go away, but it did not. As it stayed, and grew stronger as the days passed, especially when Merry was close, Pippin realized what it was. He loved Merry like he was supposed to love a lass. He knew that he was not supposed to. Everyone else would think it was wrong. The Shire would gossip, and his parents would not approve. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Merry. Pippin smiled to himself, and burrowed a little closer to Merry with a sigh. He settled his head on Merry's, and drifted back to sleep to the rhythmic pulse of his lover's heart. "Are you wantin' more tea, Mister Frodo?" "No, love." Frodo said absently. Sam could see that Frodo clutched his teacup in his hand, but Sam was willing to bet his best garden spade that Frodo had not sipped it once. "Are you wantin' another biscuit, Mister Frodo?" Sam asked. "Or more bacon?" "No, love." Frodo said, not looking up from his book. The book was in his lap, propped up against the table. Sam sighed wearily as Frodo turned the page, not sure if he was sighing at Frodo or the book. It was likely written in elvish, and Sam was quite sure that Frodo had already read it. More than once. Likely a few times. "The burrow is afire, Mister Frodo." "That's nice, love." Frodo said. "Mister Frodo." Sam said, setting the wooden spoon aside. "You put that book away and get to eatin' those biscuits." Frodo looked up at him and blinked, like he had just noticed that Sam was in the room. "And that bacon, while you are at it." "Samwise." Frodo complained, when Sam reached over and took the book away. "It won't do, Mister Frodo." Sam said sternly He glanced at Frodo's teacup, and noted that his best garden spade was his to keep. "Whenever you bring a book to the table, you don’t get around to eatin'. And if you get much thinner, my Gaffer is going to think that I am not feedin' you proper. Now put that book away and get to havin' your breakfast." Frodo only smiled, and set the book aside. There was no point in arguing about it, because Sam would get his way in the end. Bag End might be Frodo's, but the kitchen belonged to Samwise Gamgee. Sam, a bit abashed, as he always was when he spoke sharply to Frodo, turned his attention back to the bacon. Frodo could hear him muttering to himself as he stirred it. Sam lifted a few pieces off for himself, as he liked his bacon a bit soft a moist, but left the rest to cook. Frodo liked his bacon nearly black. He briefly considered how Merry and Pippin preferred their bacon, but let it go. Merry and Pippin would usually eat whatever was to hand; raw, cooked or otherwise. "Are you thinkin' that they are going to sleep through another meal?" Sam asked. Merry and Pippin had not stirred from the guestroom for first breakfast, and he was beginning to think that they would not be making an appearance for second breakfast, either. "They are probably busy." Frodo said wryly. "Likely up to something unseemingly." Sam's face flushed, and he cleared his throat softly. He and Frodo had been up early, behaving unseemingly themselves. Frodo winked at him, and Sam gave him back a flat look. At least the two of them had managed to keep their hands off each other long enough to have breakfast. Merry woke quickly, with the distinct feeling that he was starving to death. He had no idea what time it was, but he was sure that they had slept through at least one meal. He watched Pippin sleep for a few moments, enjoying the peaceful, sweet look on his face. He stroked Pippin's cheek gently, and his eyelids fluttered softly. "Good morning, love." Merry said softly. Pippin opened his eyes and yawned widely. "Good morning." He returned. "I love you." "I am afraid I have horrible news." Merry said. "What's that, love?" Pippin asked, unconcerned. He was busy rubbing Merry's chest under his nightshirt, and looked like he would not be distracted by anything short of an invasion of dragons. "I think we may have missed breakfast." "What?" Pippin sat up quickly. He pulled his hand out of Merry's shirt and threw the coverlet aside violently. "That is awful." "Are you hungry?" Merry asked with a laugh. "Always." Pippin said. He leaned down and kissed Merry's nose. Merry lifted his chin, and caught Pippin's lips on his. Pippin returned the kiss sweetly at first, but started probing at Merry's lips with his tongue. Merry opened his mouth to him, and wrapped his arms around him to pull him close. "I thought you said you were hungry." Merry pulled away from him and winked. "I am." Pippin murmured. "But I am busy." He kissed Merry again, almost chastely. Merry rolled them over, putting Pippin under him. He kissed him hard, but quickly. He bit on Pippin's lower lip gently, and pulled away from him just as Pippin made a soft sound in his throat. "Merry." He whined. He grabbed a fistful of Merry's nightshirt and pulled him back down. "We will never have breakfast at this rate." Merry quipped. "Fine." Pippin pouted. "Go eat." "I intend to." Merry said, nipping and Pippin's neck. "In a minute." He worked his mouth across Pippin's neck, pausing to nip at the hollow spot in the middle before continuing on to the other side. Pippin made another soft noise, and arched his back, threading his fingers into Merry's hair. He pulled Merry's mouth to his, sucking on his lower lip before letting his tongue slip into Merry's mouth. Merry moaned softly, and Pippin released his hair, running his hands down Merry's back. Pippin's breath caught when he felt something hard pressing against his thigh, and he pulled Merry closer. Merry kissed him harder, and pushed against Pippin slowly. Pippin raised his hips to meet him, making small noises whenever their erections touched. Merry rocked against him smoothly, and kissed at his ears and neck. Just as Merry's movements started to get faster less smooth, he rolled to put them side by side, making Pippin whimper in disappointment at the loss of contact. The disappointment faded quickly as he felt Merry tugging at the strings of his nightclothes. He shuddered nervously as the laces gave way and his hardness fell out of them, and gasped when he felt Merry's fingers trailing over it. "Are you alright, love?" Merry asked, nuzzling his ear. "Yes." Pippin breathed. Merry's fingers flitted softly up to the tip and back down. Pippin moaned fitfully at the teasing contact, and pushed his erection against Merry's hand. Merry only pulled his hand away, continuing with the soft touches, and feathered his tongue along the edge of Pippin's ear in the same maddening manner. Just when Pippin was convinced he was going to die, Merry kissed him, catching the wail that came out of his mouth when Merry wrapped his hand around his hardness. Pippin's back arched as Merry's hand moved up in a slow, smooth stroke, and he gave a soft cry. Merry worked his hand up and down, squeezing softly. Pippin pulled him close, kissing him feverishly, and bucked his hips against Merry's hand. Pippin undid Merry's laces with one sharp pull. He hesitated briefly before touching him, nervous, but gained the courage when he felt Merry push against his hand. Pippin pulled at the opening of the pants, and Merry's erection fell right into his hand. "Pippin." Merry murmured. He moaned softly and mumbled incoherently as Pippin stroked up and down the length of him. Pippin's hand was fleeting at first, more nervous than teasing. Merry pushed against his hand encouragingly, and his strokes grew steadier. Merry's hand started to move faster and harder, and Pippin got the same rushed, panicky feeling that had swept over him the night before. He tensed at first, but Merry kissed him, almost softly, and he took a deep breath and stopped fighting it. He cried Merry's name out softly as his erection jerked, and felt a warm stickiness spurt across his belly. Merry gave a few more soft strokes, making Pippin shudder. Merry was not long in following Pippin. There were a few more strokes of Pippin's hand, a few more soft words, and Merry gave a jerk, choking out Pippin's name and pulling him closer. "Do you smell that?" Pippin asked suddenly, moving his head just as Merry was moving to kiss him. He sat up quickly, and regarded Merry with wide, green eyes. Merry just looked back at him dumbly. "You don’t smell it?" Pippin sounded incredulous. "What?" Merry asked. "Bacon." Frodo sipped his tea, watching Sam putter around the kitchen. As he usually did, Sam had eaten his meal off a plate lying by the stove, pausing to pick at it as he worked, instead of sitting down at the table. It was a habit that bothered Frodo, but there was no point in arguing it. He could have asked Sam to join him, but Sam would have refused, making polite excuses about the hundreds of things that were in dire need of his attention before the sun moved one more inch in the sky. And Frodo would have shook his head and sighed, knowing that Sam was making excuses. There was nothing that needed Sam's attention so desperately that it could not wait until after breakfast. Except for Frodo. Frodo nibbled at a strip of bacon, burned nearly black, and sighed. Sam was Sam, and that was all there was too it. He had definite ideas about the way things should be, and trying to talk him out of them was a task that could make an elf impatient. He spied his book, across the table where Sam had laid it, and reached for it. It was a lovely read, and ages old volume on the sundering of the elves. He had been in the middle of a good part when Sam had confiscated it. "I hope you are not thinkin' you are going to start up readin' again when you haven't finished that bacon." Frodo eyed Sam curiously, noting that Sam had spoken with his back turned. It was unnerving when he did things like that. Frodo had been tempted to check the back of his head for a second set of eyes on more than one occasion. "Sam." Frodo said lightly. "I told you that it won’t do." Sam said, eyeing the half-eaten plate of bacon with displeasure. "People will be thinkin' that I starve you, make no mistake. You are the thinnest lad in the Shire!" "Lad?" Frodo chuckled. "Need I remind you that I am older than you? And not by the turn of a season, mind, but a good few years." "You can be older than me all you like," Sam said, waving his spoon threateningly, "But if you are so much as lookin' at that book until that plate is clean, I'll be paddlin' your bottom with it." "Oh will you, now?" Frodo asked. "If I had known that was the case, I wouldn't have put it down in the first place." "Mister Frodo!" Sam squawked. His cheeks colored, but he saw the amused glint in Frodo's eyes and his tone grew bolder. "Go on then, pick it up." Frodo smiled mischievously and reached for the book, letting his hand hover just above it. Sam ran over to the table and snatched up the book, favoring Frodo with a raised eyebrow. "I'll put you over my knee." Sam warned, hefting the book. "Just see if I don't." "I think he is hoping you will." Merry said pertly from the kitchen door. He winked at Frodo, and gave Sam an appraising look. Frodo roared with laughter, tears streaming down his face. Sam dropped the book back on the table with a thump, and looked ready to lay down and die with embarrassment. "Where is Pippin?" Frodo asked when he had composed himself. Sam, who had returned to the sink, stopped fiddling with the dishes to hear Merry's reply. "He needed a bath." Merry said lightly, reaching over to pilfer a strip of bacon from Frodo's plate. "I bet he did, at that." Sam said to no one in particular. "Frodo will probably need one, too, after you are done paddling his bottom with that book." "Look here, Mister Merry." Sam turned from the sink and advanced on Merry, waving the bacon pan. "Don't you take smart with me, or I'll paddle your bottom, too." "You most certainly will not!" Frodo said with mock consternation. "Oh, I suppose I won't." Sam said, pressing a kiss to the top of Frodo's head. "Leastwise, not when you are in the room." Frodo made a sound like a stepped on cat. Sam kept a straight face for a few moments before snickering. He winked at Frodo, and turned back to sink. "I suppose you will be wantin' some breakfast." Sam said to Merry, trying to sound put-upon." "I would love some." Pippin answered for him as he entered the kitchen. He snatched a piece of bacon off of Frodo's plate, and settled down in Merry's lap. "Here, you can have mine." Frodo said, pushing the plate in front of Pippin. "I am finished anyway." "You just want to get back to your book." Merry giggled. Sam walked over to the table and laid another plate of bacon on the table. He eyed Frodo, who looked like he was about to start reading again, and snatched the book up. Sam waved the book at him threateningly before walking away. "What's Sam going to do with that book?" Pippin asked. Merry snorted. "Teach Frodo a thing or two." Merry watched Pippin through the kitchen window with fond amusement. He was tearing through the garden, chasing a rabbit who had no mind to be caught. Pippin's laughed as the bunny eluded him, with tinkling, childlike giggles. It was a precious scene, and it warmed Merry's heart. Unfortunately, it was breaking it as well. "He is so young." Merry said to himself. "Still a child." He loved Pippin dearly. Desperately. He needed Pippin in a way that was almost frightening, and was quite convinced that he could not live without him. Despite all that, part of him worried that he was being selfish and unfair, pushing his adult needs and desires on someone who was still half a child. "What's the matter, love?" Merry came back with a jerk, unaware that Pippin had returned to the kitchen until he had spoke. "Nothing." Merry said, smiling unconvincingly. "Something is the matter." Pippin said. He pulled Merry out of the chair and started leading him towards the sitting room. "I can see it in your face." He said as he walked. He shut the sitting room door, and shuffled Merry to the couch. "Its nothing." Merry said lamely. Merry sat down, leaning his back against the arm of the couch. Once Merry had settled, Pippin crawled to sit between his legs, and leaned his back against Merry's chest. Merry wrapped his arms around Pippin tightly, and nuzzled his neck. "I love you." Pippin said. "I love you, too." Merry said. "Then why do you look unhappy." Pippin insisted. "And don’t tell me you don't, because I can see it." "I am not unhappy, sweetheart." Merry said. "Then what is it?" Pippin grazed his fingers over the back of Merry's hand. "I am just worried." Merry said. "I don't think that you understand what you are getting yourself into." "Don't you dare!" Pippin snapped, twisting around to look at Merry. "Don’t you dare change your mind now!" "I am not." Merry said, stroking his hair. "I don’t think I could change my mind. I love you too much." "Then why are you talking like this?" Pippin's voice was strained, like he was fighting back tears. "Pippin." Merry said, tipping the lad's chin so that he could look into his eyes. "I love you, and I want to be with you, always. But I don’t think that it would be fair of me to ask it of you unless you know what it is your are giving up." "What?" "Your childhood." Merry said gently. "You will be giving up all the playing and causing trouble to spend all your time with me." "But I want to spend all my time with you." Pippin said simply, as if there had never been a question in his mind. "You are young, Pip." Merry said. "So very young." "I know I am young." Pippin said with irritation. "You remind me constantly." He frowned at Merry, furrowing his brows. "Just because I am young doesn’t mean that I don’t know what I want." "I just think that maybe we should wait a couple of years." Merry said. "So you can finish growing up without having to deal with something that is meant for older lads." "If you don’t want this, tell me now, and I will go back to the Smials." Pippin said. "I do want this." Merry said. "I just think that we should wait." "Absolutely not." Pippin shouted, pulling away from him. "I am not going to let you pack me away to age like a bottle of the Old Winyards." "Pippin." Merry said, reaching for him. "No." Pippin said, batting his hands away. "If you want this, then we stay together, now and always. If you don't, then I will go back to the Smials, alone." "But I won’t be coming back." Pippin pressed, when Merry didn't respond. Merry thought his heart was going to explode, faced with a choice that was going hurt either way. He wanted nothing more than to be with Pippin, even if it meant that he was ripping his childhood away from him. He wanted to give Pippin the chance to finish being a child, without being mired down with an adult relationship. But if he sent him away, to finish growing up, he would lose him. Whispering a small prayer to the Lady to forgive him, he took a deep breath, and chose. "I love you." He said, pulling Pippin to him. "And I want you to stay with me." "Now?" Pippin asked smartly. "Or when I have finished aging?" "Now." Merry said. "Now and always." Pippin answered him with a kiss. He pressed his lips to Merry's lightly, but his tongue was insistent and demanding. Merry threaded his fingers through Pippin's hair, and started sliding down to lay on the couch, but stopped himself. He pulled his mouth away from Pippin's regretfully, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "That is enough of that." Merry said. "I don’t think that we should get carried away." "We got carried away this morning, and you didn't complain." "I am not complaining." Merry said. "I want to kiss you, and I want to touch you, but we need to be careful." "If you are about to tell me that I am too young, Meriadoc Brandybuck…" "Well, I am." Merry said flatly. "You are too young, and I have absolutely no control over myself when I touch you, and if I get carried away and push you into something that you are not ready for, I will never forgive myself." "Will you still touch me? Like you did this morning?" Pippin asked, almost shyly. "I want you to." Pippin's words sparked the familiar tingling in his belly, but he forced himself to ignore the urge to toss the lad on the floor, rip off his pants, and grind against him until they both wept. "I want to touch you." Merry said, careful not to expand on how much or how often. "And I want you to touch me. I just don’t think we should do it too much, too soon." "Not too much." Pippin repeated. Pippin leaned up to kiss his nose chastely, but was wiggling against him lightly with a feigned look of wide-eyed innocence. "And not too soon." Merry said, grabbing Pippin by the hips to stay his wiggling. "And certainly not twice in one day." Thus ends Chapter Eight, as Pervinca tells it. Chapter Seven | Chapter Nine back to the Blue Book