Moonlight in Minas Tirith
My one and only Merry/Pippin fic, written once upon a time for the hobbit_smut community. How can you read (or watch) Return of the King and not want to slash these two at least once?
Title: Moonlight in Minas Tirith
Summary: At night in the Houses of Healing, Merry and Pippin help each other recover.
Rating: NC17
Merry opened his eyes to moonlight. Moonlight, and someone stroking his hand. He was lying in a large cool bed, and there was a fresh herbal smell in the air. The night breeze came through an open window above him in a high wall. At the window and all around him, translucent pale curtains curled like sails. He couldn't imagine where he was. Lothlorien was his best guess. Maybe he had dreamed all the horrible things after that.
But when he tried to move his hand he found it constrained by bandages, which explained why the steady stroking felt so distant. He managed to turn his face, and saw the shape of his young cousin Pippin beside the bed. Pippin's upper body was slumped over the mattress, and his head rested on his folded arm, near Merry's leg; but his other hand lay atop Merry's bandages, moving slowly. The moonlight traced his curls in silver, and painted the shadows of his white shirt blue.
"Pip?" Merry slurred. He moved his hand again, this time managing more strength.
Pippin started, and jerked his head up. The tired eyes and worried mouth bloomed into a sparkle and smile. "Merry!" he whispered, and his hand squeezed Merry's tight.
"Oh," Merry said, finally understanding. "Then I did make it to Minas Tirith."
"Shh. The others are sleeping. But yes." Now both of Pip's hands were on Merry's injured arm. "You're in the Houses of Healing. I found you, outside. Do you remember?"
"I do, now that you mention it," Merry said, lowering his own voice to a whisper too. He looked at his arm. "Then this..."
"Aragorn's been healing you. Athelas has been strewn all about the place. Can you smell it?"
"Oh. Yes. I recognize that now too."
"But he said the most important thing was to keep the warmth in you, to keep the wound from going dead cold. So I've been here -" Pippin's whisper choked off then, and his features twitched as he quickly lowered his face.
"Pip," Merry soothed. "I won't die now. I feel quite better. Honest." He made his bandaged fingers move, wriggling under Pippin's hold. "See?"
Pippin turned a tear-streaked grin up to him, then dived forward and clasped Merry around the chest, burying his face in the bedclothes, shaking.
Merry grunted as his cousin came in contact with one of his many bruises, but barely heeded it. He stroked Pippin's hair with his good hand, feeling his own throat tighten, and whispered, "Stop it, or you'll get me started."
"I was worried," Pippin squeaked.
"I worried about you, too. Remember I stormed the city to save you."
Pippin emitted a sob-strangled laugh. He lifted his face and kissed Merry on the lips - which surprised Merry into speechlessness for several seconds. "You'll be all right?" Pippin asked. "Really?"
"Yes," Merry promised, when he found his tongue again. "Really." He touched the side of Pippin's face, wishing to add something like, "My dear," but he and Pip had never called each other anything more heartfelt than "You perfect ninny". Besides, he still thought he might be dreaming. After all, they had never kissed before, either. "What about Frodo?" Merry asked, and a shadow seemed to fall across Pippin's face again.
"We don't know yet. They're speaking of riding out there, to Mordor, in a few days..."
"Can I go?" Merry requested, inspired to fight again.
Pippin gave him a pitying smile. "Oh, Merry, in this state? You really are ridiculous. No. Aragorn shan't let you, and neither shall I."
Merry considered arguing, but decided he didn't have the energy. "What about the Rohirrim? I know Theoden's dead." As he said it, the memory of that winged beast swooping down upon the King blackened his own thoughts. He shuddered, and pressed on: "Lady Eowyn?"
"She's as wounded as you, with the same sickness, but they think she'll recover. Eomer is well."
"Oh. Good."
"And here, Faramir is recovering, but - oh," Pippin sighed, seeming suddenly weary. "I can't tell you all of it right now. I'm so tired."
"You should rest. You don't need to stay by me all night. How long has it been, anyhow?"
"Only..." Pippin mumbled something that sounded like "two days."
"Two days?" Merry repeated.
Pippin cast him a guilty look from under his wet eyelashes, and confessed, "Three."
Merry closed his mouth and let his hand fall to Pippin's arm. "Pip. Go to bed now. And that's an order. You can come see me in the morning."
Pippin nodded, reluctantly, and stirred to leave. Before going, though, he confided, "I'm so glad you're awake," and kissed Merry once more. Then he drew back and shyly slipped out through the curtains.
Merry fell back and looked, upside-down, at the moonlight. He felt light-headed and dizzy. Everything was very strange, a mix of the horrible and the wonderful. On the one hand you had Frodo and Sam still in Mordor, Theoden dead, thousands more killed, Sauron undefeated and a number of Ringwraiths still out there. But on the other hand, he was alive, and so was Pippin, and Eowyn, and a good number of his other friends.
And Pippin had taken to kissing him on the mouth. That was decidedly strange. But he knew as he closed his eyes that it also, for his own private and secret reasons, fell into the category of "wonderful".
* * *
The next day Aragorn came to see him, and expressed great happiness at finding him awake. Pippin, Aragorn reported with a laugh, was still in an exhausted sleep, having stayed up with Merry for three nights in a row now. Merry immediately blushed, but covered it with a comment about how Pippin really should be out defending the city instead, since he was a guard of the citadel these days and all.
"So we told him," said the Man, who looked a great deal cleaner and more regal now that he was staying near Minas Tirith. "But he would not be moved." Then he tended to Merry's wounds, and professed them to be healing, but cautioned Merry not to get any notions of bravery just yet. While Merry scowled in mock impatience, Aragorn laughed and went away to see to his other patients.
Pippin came in just before lunch, fresh from a bath and brighter-eyed than he'd been in the night. He hopped up and shoved Merry aside to make room for himself on the pillows, and shared in the lunch when it was brought, all the while talking and filling Merry in on what he had missed. He seemed so much his old self that Merry could hardly believe he had shared not one but two tear-drenched kisses with him just a number of hours ago.
But when Pippin reached the part of his story (while chewing on a roasted chicken wing) where Denethor had tried to set Faramir aflame, he suddenly grew somber. He swallowed, and set down the wing, and stared at it.
"And?" Merry prodded.
"It was horrible," Pippin said quietly. "I never want to see anything like it again."
Merry's memory responded with some of the things he never wanted to see again either, and his stomach clenched. He put down the apple slice he had been nibbling on, and said, gazing at it, "I know. The Pelennor Fields, when the Witch King came...and Theoden, thrown down under his horse..." He took his fingers off the apple and pushed the plate aside. "But that's enough. We're here, anyway."
He glanced at Pippin, who glanced back at him and nodded.
Merry's uninjured fingers alighted on Pippin's hand, where he now noticed the shiny pink-and-white marks of burns. He touched them, and curled his hand to cover them. Pippin returned the grasp, and lifted his eyelashes. He had the loveliest green eyes, Pip did, and was capable of looking quite handsome when he was somber like this. The eyes paused on Merry's mouth before flicking upward, and Merry's breath was nearly knocked out of him; for he knew at once that Pippin not only remembered the kisses but would repeat them gladly.
The knot in his stomach transformed into a heat that slid lower and felt a thousand times better. He found himself looking at Pippin's lips, moist and rosy from food and drink, and ached to lean over and sample that flavor once again. He in fact did lean closer, subconsciously, and realized Pippin had gone quiet and was tilting his head with the same fascinated study of Merry's mouth. But a movement beyond Pippin's shoulder reminded Merry of their setting, and he caught his breath and pulled away, blinking at the room around them. His bedcurtains were tied back, exposing the corridors between beds here in the healing quarters; and people came and went, always glancing at Merry's bed as they passed, for he was one of the legendary heroic halflings. He could hardly start kissing Pippin right here over their lunch plates, in a bright beam of sunshine - especially when the kiss he had planned was not of the innocent cousinly variety.
"I'm sorry," Pippin whispered.
Merry was startled. "You're sorry? For what?"
"The way I acted last night. I wasn't quite myself."
"I thought you acted fine."
"I hadn't meant to start weeping all over you."
"I did the same to you, if I recall. When you found me."
"And," Pippin continued, as if he hadn't heard him, "I probably shouldn't have kissed you, either. At least not without asking."
Merry couldn't help chuckling. "I think it would have seemed stranger as a question than as an action, Pip."
Pippin was fussing with a thread on the blankets. "Oh, I suppose."
"Besides," Merry confided, "I didn't mind. In fact, I...well, you know, if you weren't such a thick-headed fool you'd realize I was on the verge of doing it back to you just a moment ago."
Pippin brightened at once, looking up at him, like a spring sun suddenly cleared of clouds. "Oh, were you? I thought perhaps you were."
"Yes." Merry took his hand again, and squeezed it. "But do tell me, for I think perhaps I've missed something: have I given you any reason before, for wanting to kiss me? Because it does seem a bit out of the blue, is all." He bent his face down, focusing on Pippin's hand, and added in a mutter, "On your part, anyway."
"Any reason?" Pippin repeated, and gave a laugh. "Being handsome, being brave, being clever, being my best friend in all the world and the person I love more than anyone - no, Merry, no reason other than that."
"Oh, Pip." Merry pressed his cousin's hand into the blankets, as a meager substitute for some action more affectionate. "I've been trying so hard not to corrupt you. At least not till you were of age."
"I'll worry about when I'm ready to be corrupted, thank you very much," said the offended Pippin, but squeezed his hand in return.
"Have they told you when I'm allowed to leave this bed?" Merry asked, suddenly finding it very confining and outrageously public.
"Not till Aragorn says. A few days yet."
"But they're riding out to Mordor before that. And you're going with them. Aren't you?"
"Yes," whispered Pippin. He looked up guiltily at Merry. "It isn't that I wish to leave you, but if there's the tiniest thing I can do to help Frodo-"
"I know. I'd do the same. You should go."
"But..." Pippin turned Merry's hand over and seemed to be musing over the lines on his palm. "Could I come back and see you tonight, when everyone's asleep?" he asked, in a small voice.
The warmth in Merry's body flared into a fresh flame. "Yes," he said. "Wake me up if you need to."
* * *
He didn't sleep at all as he waited for Pippin that night. He fretted too much, as he always did and always had. He liked to plan things, but this wasn't the sort of thing you could plan. On the practical level, he didn't know what Pippin expected. Kisses and tender words while cuddling? Or more than that? On a larger and more frightening level, he didn't know if Pippin - or indeed anyone in Minas Tirith right now - would be alive in another week. And what could he possibly do about that, as an invalid here in his bed? He tried to tell himself he had already done more than his fair share by helping to slay the Witch King, for which he had been thanked and commended several times today by all kinds of people. But he couldn't help feeling it wasn't enough. He promised himself if he lived through all this he would keep his pledge to the late Theoden, and serve the allies of the West in whatever way they needed.
It was thus with a less than romantic mind that Pippin found him, when Pip slipped in between the now-drawn bedcurtains and crawled up onto the bed. But Pippin, though clad only in a nightshirt, didn't seem entirely amorous either: he curled up close to Merry, and put his face to Merry's shoulder.
"I fell asleep for a bit, and had such awful dreams," Pippin whispered. "Everything was burning again, in the Houses of the Dead, but instead of Faramir it was you and Frodo and Sam I couldn't save from the fire."
"Oh," Merry breathed in sympathy. He put his arms around Pippin, awkward though it was to move the bandaged one, and kissed him on the forehead. "Just a dream. You have saved me."
"But everything's so horrible," Pippin whimpered. "I could lose you again."
"I've been thinking that too. But there's no use despairing. You've been brave before. I know you will be again, when the time comes."
"I'll try."
"Now," Merry chastised, and maneuvered the blanket over Pippin's body, so they were both beneath it. "You didn't come here to talk of nightmares, did you really?"
There was a moment before Pippin answered, and when he did Merry could hear a smile in his voice. "No," he admitted.
"Then show me what you were planning. Because I have to tell you, I've been curious."
Pippin raised his head and fixed a skeptical smirk on him. Maybe it was the effect of what he had been through lately, or perhaps it was just the moonlight, but Pippin did look grown-up now. The careless tween was erased for a moment, and a purposeful adult hobbit - albeit a young and attractive one - had taken his place. Merry found the change thoroughly enchanting. Before he could form words to comment on it, Pippin leaned down and kissed him.
There was nothing hesitant about it. As with the night before, he made it seem a natural and honest thing to do - which, Merry decided, it possibly was. He did wonder where Pippin had gotten such practice, though; or maybe it was just luck and instinct that led Pip to caress and mold Merry's mouth with his own so skillfully. Merry shifted to get more comfortable, turning onto his side to face Pippin.
"I see how it is," Merry murmured. "You waited until I was injured. You'd never have dared tackle me while I had the use of both arms and could fight you off."
Pippin wriggled closer. "Do you want to fight me off?"
Merry cupped his ear, and gave him another long kiss. "As I say, there's no point. I couldn't win."
"Mm," Pippin agreed. He latched his ankle around Merry's. Their nightshirts were short enough that their bare skin touched to the knee. "Is it wrong that I wanted to tackle you even before we were in mortal danger?"
"Wrong?" Merry's good hand uncurled flat against Pippin's back, feeling his warmth through the cotton. "Oh, well, most of what you do is wrong, Pippin, so I wouldn't worry."
Pippin's mouth stretched into a grin. He wriggled again, and this time Merry felt something firm brush his hip. "Am I doing this wrong?" inquired Pippin, not evidently worried.
"It's rather a miracle, but no. Not so far."
Pippin batted Merry's head, and then laced his fingers into Merry's hair and plunged into a wet kiss again. Their chests drew up tight against each other, and Merry's world became a pleasant confusion of pillows, lips, breaths caught through the nose, and the texture of curls. There was also a tingle farther down that he didn't dare act upon. At the moment he could enjoy this activity without needing more; though, goodness, if Pippin kept massaging the back of his neck like that, and did too many more of those tricks with his tongue, things could get a bit intense.
Pippin moved his face back and whispered, "I hope Aragorn doesn't stop by in the middle of the night to check on you."
"Does he usually? I can't recall."
"He did the first two nights. But he oughtn't, now that you're on the mend."
"Imagine," smiled Merry, "if he found us like this."
"I could say I had a nightmare and came to sleep alongside you."
"I suppose we might make that story believable."
"Although, if I had my hand somewhere else..." Pippin drew one hand around Merry's ribs and into the loose front of his nightshirt. "...it would look a bit more suspicious."
That did it, Merry thought, trying to control the sudden pitch of his breathing. Pippin's thumb skimming his nipple flung him headlong into the lust he had rather hoped to avoid in this setting. "Silly," he teased, pretending nothing had changed. "Reaching down my shirt - what am I, a lass? You'll not find much to grasp there."
"I like what I've found here just fine," said Pippin, exploring chest hair and the opposite nipple now.
"Oh," Merry attempted, his head sinking to kiss Pippin's neck, "have it your way."
"But if you insist," Pippin said, "I could try a different way." He withdrew his hand, and then slid it under the bedclothes, under the hem of Merry's nightshirt, which he dragged upward until his hand met Merry's erection. They both caught a hissing breath as he grasped it; and they both went still, Merry to absorb the waves of delicious feeling that had rippled through him, and Pippin to wait for a reaction.
"Oh, now you're in trouble," Merry whispered. "Now you're not just playing about." He started squeezing Pip's hipbone, then slid his hand around to the soft flesh of his cousin's behind. "Now, Pip, you will have to make good on your teasing."
"I plan to, of course," Pippin whispered back, and his hand started to move.
Merry opened his mouth to say something, expecting the taunting words to form on their own the way they always had, but this time nothing came out except a groan. Pippin seemed to like that: his hands clenched tighter, one in Merry's hair and one below; and his breath shuddered inward against Merry's ear. Merry felt his skin was afire, but not in any way Pippin needed to fear. This heat came from within, and spread from the tender places Pippin stroked all the way out to every inch of Merry's flesh, until he felt he must be glowing red like an ember in the blue moonlight. Beneath Pippin's weight he even felt the injured arm tingle with new life as his pulse pumped fast and hot for the first time in days. He laughed with pleasure, and waggled those fingers, tickling Pippin's neck.
Pippin squirmed, and laughed in return; then both of them shushed each other, which made them laugh even more, crushing their mouths into the pillows to stay quiet. Merry rolled forward and ensnared Pip's mouth in a better occupation, and writhed to encourage the caresses to continue. Soon he felt Pippin twisting against him in badly disguised frustration, and he teased his young companion by slipping his fingers into the crease between the two rounded banks they had been rubbing. Pippin's breath erupted into a cry.
"Shh," Merry admonished, nipping his lip with a gentle bite. He moved one fingertip in a circle.
"Oh...Mer..." Pippin gave up trying to finish his name, and stroked harder as if in revenge.
Merry had to choke back a yelp himself, but gave Pippin a smile a moment later and asked, "Is there something else you want me to touch?"
"If you don't eventually, I will. And I'm not leaving your bed for it, either."
"Mm? I don't believe you."
"Oh, don't you just?" Pippin pushed him onto his back and rolled up to straddle him, nightshirt hitched around his waist. The blanket fell back, and the moonlight splashed on a silver-blue portrait of beauty that set Merry to flushing even hotter: tousled hair, sharp up-tip of nose, gasping darkened mouth, folds of pale cotton, and a nimble hand closing around a naked erection. Those no-longer-childlike eyes fixed on Merry's, and the mouth turned up on one side in a breathless smile as Pippin began caressing himself.
Merry nearly came at the sight. He bucked beneath Pippin's legs, and reached for Pippin with his good hand. "Oh, no you don't. Let me do that, you scoundrel."
"Now," Pippin breathed, easily batting away Merry's hand, "don't take on so. Wouldn't want you to over-exert yourself. I can do it..." He gave a slow thrust into his own grip. "...just fine."
Merry pushed away Pippin's hand with both of his own, even the bandaged one, and took over. "No no, Pip, you'd better let me show you how it's done."
"I always suspected you spent a lot of time practicing." Pippin grinned, but then his eyebrows met in what looked almost like a grimace of pain, and he sank down so his thighs were as far apart as the position allowed, and gave himself up to Merry's touch.
Merry pulled and squeezed, so fascinated and tantalized by the gasps and twitches he provoked that it took him a moment to notice Pippin was once again stroking him too. Then desire broke through the dam of hesitation he had built up, and set him bucking into Pippin's hand as hard as he could. If someone were to walk into the healing houses right now, and part these curtains, oh, what a sight would meet their eye! He almost laughed at the idea, though panic had woven itself deliciously into the realization that he was going to come in Pippin's hand, any second now, there was no stopping it...
"Oh Pip!" he gulped, and Pippin echoed him with a groan, and suddenly convulsed. Their seed, warm as the noonday sun, sprinkled in a mix onto Merry's belly. Their knuckles knocked against each other, and Pippin flexed his spine upward, tilting his head back in a final breath of pleasure before sliding down to lie at Merry's side.
Merry lay exhausted, savoring the trickles of good feeling that flickered through him like the last lightning of a fading storm. Pippin's breath slowed at his shoulder. Merry chuckled, lifting his wounded hand. "I'll have a hard time explaining why I need the bandages replaced on this tomorrow."
Pippin snorted a laugh into the pillow, and cuddled closer.
Merry drew the blankets up over them both, and held him. But his contentment gradually lost its glow as he listened to Pippin's breathing, and try as he might he couldn't trust the night enough to close his eyes on it. He watched the shadows move on the ceiling, and said, "Pip?"
"Hm?"
Merry swallowed against a sudden welling of tears. "Promise me you'll come back," he whispered.
Pippin went still for a second. He could have answered flippantly; something like, "In the morning? Of course I will. How else will I get the leftovers from your breakfast?" But he didn't. He knew what Merry meant.
"I will," he said a moment later. He lifted his head and rested his temple on Merry's. "And I'll bring Frodo and Sam with me."
Though Merry wanted to weep, he made himself smile, and teased in a choked voice, "You'll do that all by yourself, will you?"
"I suppose I might let the Men of the West help," Pippin answered, now sounding a bit flippant; but his voice quivered too.
Merry didn't try to answer in words. He wrapped his arms around his dearest cousin, and prayed that whatever power had let Pippin grow up into this beautiful adult would let him grow up further still, for years and years to come.
Title: Moonlight in Minas Tirith
Summary: At night in the Houses of Healing, Merry and Pippin help each other recover.
Rating: NC17
Merry opened his eyes to moonlight. Moonlight, and someone stroking his hand. He was lying in a large cool bed, and there was a fresh herbal smell in the air. The night breeze came through an open window above him in a high wall. At the window and all around him, translucent pale curtains curled like sails. He couldn't imagine where he was. Lothlorien was his best guess. Maybe he had dreamed all the horrible things after that.
But when he tried to move his hand he found it constrained by bandages, which explained why the steady stroking felt so distant. He managed to turn his face, and saw the shape of his young cousin Pippin beside the bed. Pippin's upper body was slumped over the mattress, and his head rested on his folded arm, near Merry's leg; but his other hand lay atop Merry's bandages, moving slowly. The moonlight traced his curls in silver, and painted the shadows of his white shirt blue.
"Pip?" Merry slurred. He moved his hand again, this time managing more strength.
Pippin started, and jerked his head up. The tired eyes and worried mouth bloomed into a sparkle and smile. "Merry!" he whispered, and his hand squeezed Merry's tight.
"Oh," Merry said, finally understanding. "Then I did make it to Minas Tirith."
"Shh. The others are sleeping. But yes." Now both of Pip's hands were on Merry's injured arm. "You're in the Houses of Healing. I found you, outside. Do you remember?"
"I do, now that you mention it," Merry said, lowering his own voice to a whisper too. He looked at his arm. "Then this..."
"Aragorn's been healing you. Athelas has been strewn all about the place. Can you smell it?"
"Oh. Yes. I recognize that now too."
"But he said the most important thing was to keep the warmth in you, to keep the wound from going dead cold. So I've been here -" Pippin's whisper choked off then, and his features twitched as he quickly lowered his face.
"Pip," Merry soothed. "I won't die now. I feel quite better. Honest." He made his bandaged fingers move, wriggling under Pippin's hold. "See?"
Pippin turned a tear-streaked grin up to him, then dived forward and clasped Merry around the chest, burying his face in the bedclothes, shaking.
Merry grunted as his cousin came in contact with one of his many bruises, but barely heeded it. He stroked Pippin's hair with his good hand, feeling his own throat tighten, and whispered, "Stop it, or you'll get me started."
"I was worried," Pippin squeaked.
"I worried about you, too. Remember I stormed the city to save you."
Pippin emitted a sob-strangled laugh. He lifted his face and kissed Merry on the lips - which surprised Merry into speechlessness for several seconds. "You'll be all right?" Pippin asked. "Really?"
"Yes," Merry promised, when he found his tongue again. "Really." He touched the side of Pippin's face, wishing to add something like, "My dear," but he and Pip had never called each other anything more heartfelt than "You perfect ninny". Besides, he still thought he might be dreaming. After all, they had never kissed before, either. "What about Frodo?" Merry asked, and a shadow seemed to fall across Pippin's face again.
"We don't know yet. They're speaking of riding out there, to Mordor, in a few days..."
"Can I go?" Merry requested, inspired to fight again.
Pippin gave him a pitying smile. "Oh, Merry, in this state? You really are ridiculous. No. Aragorn shan't let you, and neither shall I."
Merry considered arguing, but decided he didn't have the energy. "What about the Rohirrim? I know Theoden's dead." As he said it, the memory of that winged beast swooping down upon the King blackened his own thoughts. He shuddered, and pressed on: "Lady Eowyn?"
"She's as wounded as you, with the same sickness, but they think she'll recover. Eomer is well."
"Oh. Good."
"And here, Faramir is recovering, but - oh," Pippin sighed, seeming suddenly weary. "I can't tell you all of it right now. I'm so tired."
"You should rest. You don't need to stay by me all night. How long has it been, anyhow?"
"Only..." Pippin mumbled something that sounded like "two days."
"Two days?" Merry repeated.
Pippin cast him a guilty look from under his wet eyelashes, and confessed, "Three."
Merry closed his mouth and let his hand fall to Pippin's arm. "Pip. Go to bed now. And that's an order. You can come see me in the morning."
Pippin nodded, reluctantly, and stirred to leave. Before going, though, he confided, "I'm so glad you're awake," and kissed Merry once more. Then he drew back and shyly slipped out through the curtains.
Merry fell back and looked, upside-down, at the moonlight. He felt light-headed and dizzy. Everything was very strange, a mix of the horrible and the wonderful. On the one hand you had Frodo and Sam still in Mordor, Theoden dead, thousands more killed, Sauron undefeated and a number of Ringwraiths still out there. But on the other hand, he was alive, and so was Pippin, and Eowyn, and a good number of his other friends.
And Pippin had taken to kissing him on the mouth. That was decidedly strange. But he knew as he closed his eyes that it also, for his own private and secret reasons, fell into the category of "wonderful".
* * *
The next day Aragorn came to see him, and expressed great happiness at finding him awake. Pippin, Aragorn reported with a laugh, was still in an exhausted sleep, having stayed up with Merry for three nights in a row now. Merry immediately blushed, but covered it with a comment about how Pippin really should be out defending the city instead, since he was a guard of the citadel these days and all.
"So we told him," said the Man, who looked a great deal cleaner and more regal now that he was staying near Minas Tirith. "But he would not be moved." Then he tended to Merry's wounds, and professed them to be healing, but cautioned Merry not to get any notions of bravery just yet. While Merry scowled in mock impatience, Aragorn laughed and went away to see to his other patients.
Pippin came in just before lunch, fresh from a bath and brighter-eyed than he'd been in the night. He hopped up and shoved Merry aside to make room for himself on the pillows, and shared in the lunch when it was brought, all the while talking and filling Merry in on what he had missed. He seemed so much his old self that Merry could hardly believe he had shared not one but two tear-drenched kisses with him just a number of hours ago.
But when Pippin reached the part of his story (while chewing on a roasted chicken wing) where Denethor had tried to set Faramir aflame, he suddenly grew somber. He swallowed, and set down the wing, and stared at it.
"And?" Merry prodded.
"It was horrible," Pippin said quietly. "I never want to see anything like it again."
Merry's memory responded with some of the things he never wanted to see again either, and his stomach clenched. He put down the apple slice he had been nibbling on, and said, gazing at it, "I know. The Pelennor Fields, when the Witch King came...and Theoden, thrown down under his horse..." He took his fingers off the apple and pushed the plate aside. "But that's enough. We're here, anyway."
He glanced at Pippin, who glanced back at him and nodded.
Merry's uninjured fingers alighted on Pippin's hand, where he now noticed the shiny pink-and-white marks of burns. He touched them, and curled his hand to cover them. Pippin returned the grasp, and lifted his eyelashes. He had the loveliest green eyes, Pip did, and was capable of looking quite handsome when he was somber like this. The eyes paused on Merry's mouth before flicking upward, and Merry's breath was nearly knocked out of him; for he knew at once that Pippin not only remembered the kisses but would repeat them gladly.
The knot in his stomach transformed into a heat that slid lower and felt a thousand times better. He found himself looking at Pippin's lips, moist and rosy from food and drink, and ached to lean over and sample that flavor once again. He in fact did lean closer, subconsciously, and realized Pippin had gone quiet and was tilting his head with the same fascinated study of Merry's mouth. But a movement beyond Pippin's shoulder reminded Merry of their setting, and he caught his breath and pulled away, blinking at the room around them. His bedcurtains were tied back, exposing the corridors between beds here in the healing quarters; and people came and went, always glancing at Merry's bed as they passed, for he was one of the legendary heroic halflings. He could hardly start kissing Pippin right here over their lunch plates, in a bright beam of sunshine - especially when the kiss he had planned was not of the innocent cousinly variety.
"I'm sorry," Pippin whispered.
Merry was startled. "You're sorry? For what?"
"The way I acted last night. I wasn't quite myself."
"I thought you acted fine."
"I hadn't meant to start weeping all over you."
"I did the same to you, if I recall. When you found me."
"And," Pippin continued, as if he hadn't heard him, "I probably shouldn't have kissed you, either. At least not without asking."
Merry couldn't help chuckling. "I think it would have seemed stranger as a question than as an action, Pip."
Pippin was fussing with a thread on the blankets. "Oh, I suppose."
"Besides," Merry confided, "I didn't mind. In fact, I...well, you know, if you weren't such a thick-headed fool you'd realize I was on the verge of doing it back to you just a moment ago."
Pippin brightened at once, looking up at him, like a spring sun suddenly cleared of clouds. "Oh, were you? I thought perhaps you were."
"Yes." Merry took his hand again, and squeezed it. "But do tell me, for I think perhaps I've missed something: have I given you any reason before, for wanting to kiss me? Because it does seem a bit out of the blue, is all." He bent his face down, focusing on Pippin's hand, and added in a mutter, "On your part, anyway."
"Any reason?" Pippin repeated, and gave a laugh. "Being handsome, being brave, being clever, being my best friend in all the world and the person I love more than anyone - no, Merry, no reason other than that."
"Oh, Pip." Merry pressed his cousin's hand into the blankets, as a meager substitute for some action more affectionate. "I've been trying so hard not to corrupt you. At least not till you were of age."
"I'll worry about when I'm ready to be corrupted, thank you very much," said the offended Pippin, but squeezed his hand in return.
"Have they told you when I'm allowed to leave this bed?" Merry asked, suddenly finding it very confining and outrageously public.
"Not till Aragorn says. A few days yet."
"But they're riding out to Mordor before that. And you're going with them. Aren't you?"
"Yes," whispered Pippin. He looked up guiltily at Merry. "It isn't that I wish to leave you, but if there's the tiniest thing I can do to help Frodo-"
"I know. I'd do the same. You should go."
"But..." Pippin turned Merry's hand over and seemed to be musing over the lines on his palm. "Could I come back and see you tonight, when everyone's asleep?" he asked, in a small voice.
The warmth in Merry's body flared into a fresh flame. "Yes," he said. "Wake me up if you need to."
* * *
He didn't sleep at all as he waited for Pippin that night. He fretted too much, as he always did and always had. He liked to plan things, but this wasn't the sort of thing you could plan. On the practical level, he didn't know what Pippin expected. Kisses and tender words while cuddling? Or more than that? On a larger and more frightening level, he didn't know if Pippin - or indeed anyone in Minas Tirith right now - would be alive in another week. And what could he possibly do about that, as an invalid here in his bed? He tried to tell himself he had already done more than his fair share by helping to slay the Witch King, for which he had been thanked and commended several times today by all kinds of people. But he couldn't help feeling it wasn't enough. He promised himself if he lived through all this he would keep his pledge to the late Theoden, and serve the allies of the West in whatever way they needed.
It was thus with a less than romantic mind that Pippin found him, when Pip slipped in between the now-drawn bedcurtains and crawled up onto the bed. But Pippin, though clad only in a nightshirt, didn't seem entirely amorous either: he curled up close to Merry, and put his face to Merry's shoulder.
"I fell asleep for a bit, and had such awful dreams," Pippin whispered. "Everything was burning again, in the Houses of the Dead, but instead of Faramir it was you and Frodo and Sam I couldn't save from the fire."
"Oh," Merry breathed in sympathy. He put his arms around Pippin, awkward though it was to move the bandaged one, and kissed him on the forehead. "Just a dream. You have saved me."
"But everything's so horrible," Pippin whimpered. "I could lose you again."
"I've been thinking that too. But there's no use despairing. You've been brave before. I know you will be again, when the time comes."
"I'll try."
"Now," Merry chastised, and maneuvered the blanket over Pippin's body, so they were both beneath it. "You didn't come here to talk of nightmares, did you really?"
There was a moment before Pippin answered, and when he did Merry could hear a smile in his voice. "No," he admitted.
"Then show me what you were planning. Because I have to tell you, I've been curious."
Pippin raised his head and fixed a skeptical smirk on him. Maybe it was the effect of what he had been through lately, or perhaps it was just the moonlight, but Pippin did look grown-up now. The careless tween was erased for a moment, and a purposeful adult hobbit - albeit a young and attractive one - had taken his place. Merry found the change thoroughly enchanting. Before he could form words to comment on it, Pippin leaned down and kissed him.
There was nothing hesitant about it. As with the night before, he made it seem a natural and honest thing to do - which, Merry decided, it possibly was. He did wonder where Pippin had gotten such practice, though; or maybe it was just luck and instinct that led Pip to caress and mold Merry's mouth with his own so skillfully. Merry shifted to get more comfortable, turning onto his side to face Pippin.
"I see how it is," Merry murmured. "You waited until I was injured. You'd never have dared tackle me while I had the use of both arms and could fight you off."
Pippin wriggled closer. "Do you want to fight me off?"
Merry cupped his ear, and gave him another long kiss. "As I say, there's no point. I couldn't win."
"Mm," Pippin agreed. He latched his ankle around Merry's. Their nightshirts were short enough that their bare skin touched to the knee. "Is it wrong that I wanted to tackle you even before we were in mortal danger?"
"Wrong?" Merry's good hand uncurled flat against Pippin's back, feeling his warmth through the cotton. "Oh, well, most of what you do is wrong, Pippin, so I wouldn't worry."
Pippin's mouth stretched into a grin. He wriggled again, and this time Merry felt something firm brush his hip. "Am I doing this wrong?" inquired Pippin, not evidently worried.
"It's rather a miracle, but no. Not so far."
Pippin batted Merry's head, and then laced his fingers into Merry's hair and plunged into a wet kiss again. Their chests drew up tight against each other, and Merry's world became a pleasant confusion of pillows, lips, breaths caught through the nose, and the texture of curls. There was also a tingle farther down that he didn't dare act upon. At the moment he could enjoy this activity without needing more; though, goodness, if Pippin kept massaging the back of his neck like that, and did too many more of those tricks with his tongue, things could get a bit intense.
Pippin moved his face back and whispered, "I hope Aragorn doesn't stop by in the middle of the night to check on you."
"Does he usually? I can't recall."
"He did the first two nights. But he oughtn't, now that you're on the mend."
"Imagine," smiled Merry, "if he found us like this."
"I could say I had a nightmare and came to sleep alongside you."
"I suppose we might make that story believable."
"Although, if I had my hand somewhere else..." Pippin drew one hand around Merry's ribs and into the loose front of his nightshirt. "...it would look a bit more suspicious."
That did it, Merry thought, trying to control the sudden pitch of his breathing. Pippin's thumb skimming his nipple flung him headlong into the lust he had rather hoped to avoid in this setting. "Silly," he teased, pretending nothing had changed. "Reaching down my shirt - what am I, a lass? You'll not find much to grasp there."
"I like what I've found here just fine," said Pippin, exploring chest hair and the opposite nipple now.
"Oh," Merry attempted, his head sinking to kiss Pippin's neck, "have it your way."
"But if you insist," Pippin said, "I could try a different way." He withdrew his hand, and then slid it under the bedclothes, under the hem of Merry's nightshirt, which he dragged upward until his hand met Merry's erection. They both caught a hissing breath as he grasped it; and they both went still, Merry to absorb the waves of delicious feeling that had rippled through him, and Pippin to wait for a reaction.
"Oh, now you're in trouble," Merry whispered. "Now you're not just playing about." He started squeezing Pip's hipbone, then slid his hand around to the soft flesh of his cousin's behind. "Now, Pip, you will have to make good on your teasing."
"I plan to, of course," Pippin whispered back, and his hand started to move.
Merry opened his mouth to say something, expecting the taunting words to form on their own the way they always had, but this time nothing came out except a groan. Pippin seemed to like that: his hands clenched tighter, one in Merry's hair and one below; and his breath shuddered inward against Merry's ear. Merry felt his skin was afire, but not in any way Pippin needed to fear. This heat came from within, and spread from the tender places Pippin stroked all the way out to every inch of Merry's flesh, until he felt he must be glowing red like an ember in the blue moonlight. Beneath Pippin's weight he even felt the injured arm tingle with new life as his pulse pumped fast and hot for the first time in days. He laughed with pleasure, and waggled those fingers, tickling Pippin's neck.
Pippin squirmed, and laughed in return; then both of them shushed each other, which made them laugh even more, crushing their mouths into the pillows to stay quiet. Merry rolled forward and ensnared Pip's mouth in a better occupation, and writhed to encourage the caresses to continue. Soon he felt Pippin twisting against him in badly disguised frustration, and he teased his young companion by slipping his fingers into the crease between the two rounded banks they had been rubbing. Pippin's breath erupted into a cry.
"Shh," Merry admonished, nipping his lip with a gentle bite. He moved one fingertip in a circle.
"Oh...Mer..." Pippin gave up trying to finish his name, and stroked harder as if in revenge.
Merry had to choke back a yelp himself, but gave Pippin a smile a moment later and asked, "Is there something else you want me to touch?"
"If you don't eventually, I will. And I'm not leaving your bed for it, either."
"Mm? I don't believe you."
"Oh, don't you just?" Pippin pushed him onto his back and rolled up to straddle him, nightshirt hitched around his waist. The blanket fell back, and the moonlight splashed on a silver-blue portrait of beauty that set Merry to flushing even hotter: tousled hair, sharp up-tip of nose, gasping darkened mouth, folds of pale cotton, and a nimble hand closing around a naked erection. Those no-longer-childlike eyes fixed on Merry's, and the mouth turned up on one side in a breathless smile as Pippin began caressing himself.
Merry nearly came at the sight. He bucked beneath Pippin's legs, and reached for Pippin with his good hand. "Oh, no you don't. Let me do that, you scoundrel."
"Now," Pippin breathed, easily batting away Merry's hand, "don't take on so. Wouldn't want you to over-exert yourself. I can do it..." He gave a slow thrust into his own grip. "...just fine."
Merry pushed away Pippin's hand with both of his own, even the bandaged one, and took over. "No no, Pip, you'd better let me show you how it's done."
"I always suspected you spent a lot of time practicing." Pippin grinned, but then his eyebrows met in what looked almost like a grimace of pain, and he sank down so his thighs were as far apart as the position allowed, and gave himself up to Merry's touch.
Merry pulled and squeezed, so fascinated and tantalized by the gasps and twitches he provoked that it took him a moment to notice Pippin was once again stroking him too. Then desire broke through the dam of hesitation he had built up, and set him bucking into Pippin's hand as hard as he could. If someone were to walk into the healing houses right now, and part these curtains, oh, what a sight would meet their eye! He almost laughed at the idea, though panic had woven itself deliciously into the realization that he was going to come in Pippin's hand, any second now, there was no stopping it...
"Oh Pip!" he gulped, and Pippin echoed him with a groan, and suddenly convulsed. Their seed, warm as the noonday sun, sprinkled in a mix onto Merry's belly. Their knuckles knocked against each other, and Pippin flexed his spine upward, tilting his head back in a final breath of pleasure before sliding down to lie at Merry's side.
Merry lay exhausted, savoring the trickles of good feeling that flickered through him like the last lightning of a fading storm. Pippin's breath slowed at his shoulder. Merry chuckled, lifting his wounded hand. "I'll have a hard time explaining why I need the bandages replaced on this tomorrow."
Pippin snorted a laugh into the pillow, and cuddled closer.
Merry drew the blankets up over them both, and held him. But his contentment gradually lost its glow as he listened to Pippin's breathing, and try as he might he couldn't trust the night enough to close his eyes on it. He watched the shadows move on the ceiling, and said, "Pip?"
"Hm?"
Merry swallowed against a sudden welling of tears. "Promise me you'll come back," he whispered.
Pippin went still for a second. He could have answered flippantly; something like, "In the morning? Of course I will. How else will I get the leftovers from your breakfast?" But he didn't. He knew what Merry meant.
"I will," he said a moment later. He lifted his head and rested his temple on Merry's. "And I'll bring Frodo and Sam with me."
Though Merry wanted to weep, he made himself smile, and teased in a choked voice, "You'll do that all by yourself, will you?"
"I suppose I might let the Men of the West help," Pippin answered, now sounding a bit flippant; but his voice quivered too.
Merry didn't try to answer in words. He wrapped his arms around his dearest cousin, and prayed that whatever power had let Pippin grow up into this beautiful adult would let him grow up further still, for years and years to come.