Merry laughed, watching Pippin dance a jig on the tabletop. The Took had had slightly too much to drink, he could tell, and Frodo hadn’t helped. The two of them had come out to visit their cousin (hardly a rare occurrence) and the three of them had gone down to The Green Dragon (an even less rare occurence) for dinner and after-dinner amusement.

Frodo also laughed, and led the applause when Pippin finished, arms out and grinning. He managed to get off the tabletop without stumbling overmuch, and Merry welcomed him back with a joyous hug, and propriety be damned. Pippin plunked down, eyes shining and cheeks aflame from the dancing and the drink, and took a healthy swig from Merry’s mug.

“Oi! That’s my ale, and you know it Pip!” Merry yelped in indignation, which didn’t recede much when Pippin grinned mischievously at him.

“Never fear, Meriadoc, you shall be rewarded handsomely for it later. Now, I believe it’s my round?” And Pippin called for the barmaid while Merry blushed deeply.

Frodo’s snicker earned him an elbow in the side, which he returned as good as he got, which of course led to a minor elbow-fight. Merry, getting a sharp poke in the ribs, remembered why he always found it so hard to believe Frodo was fourteen years older than he was.

Younger than his years or no, Frodo bowed out soon after, heading home for bed, after eliciting a promise from Merry that he and Pippin would at least attempt to be quiet when they came in.

It was only a few drinks later that they, too, decided to stagger back to Bag End, holding each other up, and giggling wildly over some joke that no one had given voice to, but both understood.

“Merry, my precious,” and Pippin paused to focus his eyes, and remember his point. “Merry, there’s a perfectly lovely mossy grove just over there. Come, let us rest, so we may be able to make out Bag End, and go home to the correct hole. And because that was such an impressive speech, Pippin decided he deserved to be carried, or at least mostly supported, by Merry.

Unfortunately, Merry (slightly more sober than the Took) did not see things that way, and thus was taken completely off guard when Pippin suddenly leaned onto him, and both hobbits went head-over-furry-heels onto the side of the road, and tumbled an extra few feet down the gentle slope.

Merry was the first to sort himself out, and rolled over to check on Pippin. Although watching his extremely tipsy lover attempt to untangle nothing was very amusing, Merry decided it would be best if he waded in and extracted Pippin from himself, and so he did.

Pippin, however, took this as an invitation to roll over atop of Merry--not unusual, as he often took perfectly innocent things as invitations, including Merry entering a room, Merry turning over in his sleep, or thinking about Merry. Thus, he was easily on top, and once he had connected his mouth to Merry’s (after a few tries), Merry didn’t much care.

He groaned happily, letting himself enjoy the warm mouth playing over his, and letting his hands roam freely over Pippin’s body. They were mostly hidden from the road, and besides, there were so few hobbits about at this time of night.

And then Pippin wriggled his hips, and Merry was incapable of any thoughts beyond cupping a delightful rump in his hands, and pulling his lover closer.

Pippin squeaked softly in surprise and delight, and his hands grew more adventurous, winding their way up under Merry’s shirt to tweak at nipples gone so lovely and hard, while Merry caught the rhythm of their heartbeats with his hips. His hands squeezed Pippin’s rump gently in time to their thrusts, and despite the drink, it was only a matter of minutes before either had to swallow their cries in a deep kiss.

“Mmm. Merry, Merry, my beloved golden dandelion, Merry, Merry, who is so sweet to me,” Pippin chanted tunelessly, snuggling down into Merry’s arm, resting his head on his lover’s shoulder.

“Dandelion?” That was a new one for Merry, but it amused him immensely. “You think I’m a weed?”

“Mmmph. No. Merry, you’re like a dandelion….well, you’re not. Because there’s only one of you, and you don’t fly away in a breeze.” Pippin was not interested in discussion, not when Merry’s arms were so warm, and he could feel Merry breathing.

“But Pippin, my sweet, you must have had a reason to call me a dandelion. What was it?” Merry was teasing now, the fun of wheedling the younger hobbit overpowering his desire to go find their bed and collapse into a heavy, sweet sleep.

“Oh, I don’t know. Because,” and here Pippin lifted bleary green eyes, and ran his hand clumsily through Merry’s curls, “because you have wild yellow hair. I don’t know. Let’s go home, my love my only, and sleep in our own warm bed, and I can undress you.”

And they did (to the sound Merry’s laughter), and Pippin did, and when he woke the next morning to find a bouquet of dandelions next to him, instead of Merry, he laughed for five minutes straight, despite his hangover.

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