Written for Daisy's Birthday--happy day, sweetie!

Pippin lay on his stomach, sleepy from the sun and the soft bed. He decided that right now, still full from lunch, would be an excellent time for a nap. Besides, he hadn’t really been able to get much sleep last night. He smiled a little wickedly, remembering why he lacked for sleep, and then rolled over, snuggling down on Merry’s old quilt, and began to drift off.

Just when he had reached a delicious dream involving Merry, some strawberry syrup and lots of licking, Pippin was awakened. His annoyance was slightly diminished by the realization that it was Merry waking him up, and now Merry was kissing him very, very nicely. Only slightly diminished, though.

“Mmph. What?” Pippin rolled over, curling away from Merry and hiding his face in the quilt. “Wanna sleep.”

“You can sleep tonight. Come on!” Merry was impatient, pulling him up from the bed by his shoulders when Pippin gave in, and sat up.

“What, O Meriadoc, necessitated you waking me from a perfectly lovely dream, on your perfectly lovely bed?” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with perhaps more vigor than was really required, contriving to look tired and put-upon. Which did nothing to stop Merry from pulling him off of the bed, and upright, and neatly into Merry’s arms.

Swaying them back and forth to some invisible tune, he replied, “Because it’s a beautiful day, and because you were ridiculously lovely lying there. Because we haven’t been out to our thicket of rhododendron yet this summer, and I want to see it in bloom. Just because, Pippin.” Smiling now, Pippin kissed him in silent agreement.

They walked out to the copse, arms around each others’ waists, the route being far from prying eyes. They’d been coming out to this little hideaway for many years now, and as far as they knew, it was theirs alone. It was only a short distance from the Great Hall, along a creek that had detached from the Brandywine. The shallow water had been perfect, years ago, to take a tiny Pippin wading in, and over time had become a slightly magical place for both of them.

Merry lay against a particularly thick bush, and Pippin promptly lay down next to him, head cushioned comfortably on Merry’s chest. They sat in companionable silence, listening to the creek run by, until Merry noticed Pippin’s eyes drifting shut.

“I didn’t bring you out here to fall asleep on me, lad!” He gave Pippin a little poke to rouse him, and then wrapped his arms around the younger hobbit. Pippin looked up, still sleepy-eyed, “Well, then, keep me awake, Merry.” He grinned a little, but Merry tilted his head to one side, and gave what Pippin considered a very Brandybuck look. Frodo produced it too, sometimes, and it usually meant that something very unusual was about to happen. Pippin knew it was said that, generations ago, there were hobbits called Fallohides, and that strains of that odd, faery-like race still ran in the blood of the Tooks and the Brandybucks. Pippin was the wild dreamer of the two, but he often wondered if Merry had gotten a strong dose of that Fallohide blood as well, and just knew when to let it all out.

Merry smiled, a bit of his upper lip catching in his teeth, and asked, “Why do you sometimes look at me as though I were very far away, and then you squint a little and turn your head?” Pippin raised an eyebrow at the question, but took several minutes to arrive at the answer.

“Because I want to see you as others see you, my Merry. Because I don’t understand how anyone could know you, and not fall in love with you, when to me it’s the most natural, perfect thing in the world. And I’m so, so happy I have you all to myself, but I’m still curious as to why it’s only me that sees you that way, when it should be obvious to the world.”

Merry was a little taken aback, and wondered for a moment why so many in both Tuckborough and Buckland considered the lad in his arms to be a little better off than the village idiot. Then the full impact of the words hit, and he held Pippin a little closer, and buried his head in a wild tangle of cinnamon curls, waiting for the lump in his throat to clear. “What do you see, when you look at me?” he whispered.

Pippin turned a little, so he could look Merry in the eye. “I see so much, Merry, so many layers. I see a lad who took care of a little hobbit baby, and let a toddler follow him around constantly, and watched after a child with patience, love, and attention he got from no one else. I see the future Master of Buckland. I see my best friend, and my lover. I see someone whose intelligence and good sense amaze me every day. I see my partner in pie-stealing,” he smiled a little, and elbowed Merry gently, “And I see a son who couldn’t bear to see his mother upset, and confessed at once. Sometimes I think I could see everything about you Merry, if I looked in just the right way. I sometimes see you, old and grey, and still by my side, beloved and loving, after all those years.”

Finished, then, he leaned over and kissed Merry, very softly, first the tears trailing down his face, then his eyes, and then his mouth.

“Pippin…oh, Pip,” Merry whispered, giving him a fierce hug. “Oh my dear one.” Lost for words, he held on, and hoped that Pippin would understand.

“Now then, love, that’s enough tears,” Pippin smiled, and tipped his face up to meet clear blue eyes. “What do you see when you look at me, Merry?”

Merry traced his fingers gently over Pippin’s face, exploring high cheekbones, delicate eyelashes, tracing lips shaped like a perfect bow, waiting to be drawn.

“I see magic,” he said softly, “Pure magic. Maybe it was meant for the elves, or the wizards, but instead it wound up here, in the Shire, and in my life. And you are magic, Peregrin Took.”

Pippin ducked his head, and blushed, but easily raised his face again at Merry’s prompting, and received kisses that fell like rain.

And Pippin kissed back, pressing himself against Merry urgently, trying to meld their bodies even closer together. Gentle kisses became wild, and Pippin growled softly when he bit into Merry’s shoulder, which had somehow become bared. Shirts and breeches seemed to melt away, and soon it was bare skin on bare skin on grass, and Merry gasped when he felt Pippin half-lying on him, his chest covering Merry’s. He felt warm skin, and clever fingers, and a growing hardness pressed against his thigh. Merry raised a leg to rub a little against that hardness, his heart leaping with Pippin’s moan.

He rolled them over then, supporting part of his weight on his elbows, but their hips lay together, already moving in rhythm. Pippin was kissing a path from Merry’s ear down to his collarbone, licking softly at just the right points to make his lover cry out, and thrust his hips, and make lovely noises.

All Merry could do, with this lovely lad beneath him, was to move and cry out Pippin’s name, and let pleasure wash over him. And then Pippin rolled them over, and Merry had a new thrill, the full weight of his lover covering his body. Pippin’s skin, tanned from running about all summer, was sweet and soft and warm, and Merry spent several minutes exploring it. He ran his hands from Pippin’s shoulders over his back, following the curve of his spine to where it dipped and then rose again into perfect round softness, which again descended into a little crease that was already beginning to dampen with sweat. Pippin sighed a little, relaxing under Merry’s soothing touch, rocking both of them almost imperceptibly. They flowed together, slowly moving to the heat of passion. Merry treasured each touch, each wet kiss and soft cry and glance from the loveliest green eyes he’d ever see in his whole life. He treasured each of those things as he treasured the whole, as he cherished and loved the sweet lad in his arms, and he used his hands and lips and heart and mind to show how he felt.

Pippin cried out as Merry rolled them over again, a moan that turned to a surprised yelp when they kept going over the muddy bank and into the Brandywine. Merry couldn’t stop a shriek when they splashed into the cold water, though most of his tumble was broken by Pippin. The water was just under a foot deep, where they fell, and both hobbits were soaked quickly as Merry scrambled off of his lover, helping Pippin to sit up.

“Are you okay, Pip?” Merry asked, concern creasing his brow. There were a few rocks on the stream bottom here, although mostly flat or well-smoothed by the moving water. The Took, who had gone completely under, sat up shaking his head and sneezing water out, but the eyes he opened were clear, and full of laughter.

“Oh, Mer, I’m fine. A little bruised, maybe, but fine.” And he began to laugh, and Merry, assured he was fine, joined in.

“Goodness, I wish I could’ve seen us,” Pippin gasped out through his laughter. Merry nodded, still chuckling. He returned to full-fledged laughter when Pippin lay back languorously against the riverbank, twisting and twining his hips and waist, and beckoned Merry over with one finger.

And the sun came through the trees, and covered Pippin’s body in a broken lacework of light through the clear water, and Merry could only obey, crawling closer. Pippin squeezed his rump firmly, pressing him as closely as possible, and Merry went willingly.

Their hips remembered the rhythm of their hearts, and for awhile all was heat and motion and the meeting of the two. Merry’s world became bow-shaped lips, green eyes, skin made slick by river water. Pippin made soft crying sounds every time their hips met with particular force, and it was not long before he reached between them, still kneading Merry’s rump with one hand, to grasp both of their cocks, aligning them and setting Merry on fire from the sensation.

When Pippin’s hand began to move, gently at first and then erratically, harder, Merry spiraled away into pure sensation. Tension grew, the world became stars, a whirling universe, green eyes, freckles, ice-cold water he no longer felt, and Merry let go with a great shout, pressing his face into the curve of Pippin’s neck.

A ragged cry echoed him, and dimly Merry was aware of warmth bathing his stomach, and Pippin’s arms wrapping around his back, holding him close. Lying against the bank, the water came halfway up to his chest, the light-patterns now obscured by the mud they had stirred up.

While Pippin caught his breath, Merry kissed him, trailing from his mouth, down his neck, touching first one nipple with his tongue, and then the other. He continued trailing kisses down Pippin’s chest, and then ducked underwater to show similar attentions to his belly. He followed the line of Pippin’s body until he had to surface for air. Merry then lifted each furry foot in turn, kissing the tops of them with almost ritualistic care, and then lifted Pippin’s arms out of the water, trailing kisses down them, paying special attention to the palms, and drawing each finger slightly into his mouth.

“I love you,” Pippin murmured, holding his arms out to his love, and smiling when Merry nestled up to his chest. He stroked wet curls, gently sweeping them back from Merry’s face as his lover all but purred.

“We should get out, if you’re going to sleep,” he said softly, and Merry nodded an agreement, his eyes already drooping from the loving and Pippin’s soothing ministrations.

Lying on thick grass, Pippin settled his lover, pillowing Merry’s head on his chest, and watching him sleep. After awhile, he too drifted off, and slept dreamlessly on that summer afternoon, blanketed by his only love.

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