Realignment

Title: Realignment--Alternate Slash Version of Ring Around Merry chapter of same name. Whole story, pictures, and other goodies can be found on the RATM website: http://www.geocities.com/aelfgifuemma/RATM.html
Authors: Emma and Celandine
Email: CelandineG@aol.com
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Graphic slash content, some nonconsensual situations, violence, angst
Pairing: M/P, M/F
Category: Slash, AU, angst
Feedback: Yes
Summary: Merry tries something very different sexually to keep Pippin off balance and to regain his allegiance.
Disclaimer: The author claims no legal rights to the characters, settings, situations, or other characteristics that are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, their licensees, or others and no copyright infringement is intended. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money or other remuneration is sought or received.
Copying: This fanfiction is available only for the private enjoyment of RATM readers. Please ask permission before copying or re-posting elsewhere.

A/N: This work is a parallel chapter to Emma's Realignment, retaining parts of her original work but adding in some different twists, including slash. It maintains the same story sequence, however, with an additional ending scene.

This work includes graphic sexual scenes involving slash pairings and some non-con. Please don’t read it if this offends you. Many, many thanks to Emma, my light of Earendil, for her wonderful support and encouragement throughout this process—and for letting me *play*. –Celandine

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Realignment--Alternate NC-17 Slash Version

Merry's sleep-addled brain was overtaxed. In spite of himself, he had slept soundly on the purple velvet sofa, his mind racing with disconnected, colorful dreams. He had been racing ponies at Brandy Hall's corrals and then he'd jumped off the galloping steed, floating gracefully to the ground. Frodo was suddenly there, sitting by the Brandywine, staring at him with blank eyes. His cousin held a plate of food in his hands and was saying something, something, time to be happy? But Frodo wasn't smiling. He just kept saying it over and over: Time to be happy, time to be happy, time…

Merry found himself on his feet before he was fully awake. He took a wobbly step forward and shook his head, trying to wake up. Frodo was sitting by the fire, staring into its depths, while Pippin was screaming something shrill and menacing into the air, about fixing something.

But what was broken?

Merry shook his head, the full scene finally coming into focus. Firm, little fists were pounding into him and the air was full of anger.

"Pippin…what are…you…?" Merry squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying again to wake up. The plummeting fists were helping with that as Merry suddenly realized that he was being physically attacked.

"Stop it!" He croaked out, his voice lagging behind his brain in wakefulness.

"Pip!" Merry raised his voice as Pippin continued to scream hysterically, all the while pounding his cousin on the chest like a petulant child and with just about the same effect. Merry's tired eyes finally brought Pippin into focus.

Tears streamed down his flushed cheeks as Pippin's face contorted in impotent rage. "FIX HIM, FIX HIM, FIX HIM, FIX…"

In spite of the turmoil in front of him, Merry's eyes drifted over to Frodo sitting by the fire. He tilted his head, his lips curving into a small smile. How lovely Frodo looked, how…dammit, what by the Valor was happening here…?

"STOP IT!" Merry, fully awake now, grabbed for Pippin's hands, missing them and suffering a few more innocuous blows. He took an exasperated breath, reaching firmly for his smaller cousin's wrists and finding them easily this time. He clamped his fingers around and twisted Pippin's arms behind his back, crossing them over each other in a smooth, fluid movement. This action brought Pippin closer to him, touching his chest, their faces, nose to nose.

Pippin was hyperventilating but he stopped screaming and concentrated hard, struggling against Merry's strong arms, trying to purchase some kind of leverage against the stronger hobbit. But Merry held him firmly as his gaze wandered once again to where Frodo was sitting quietly, staring into the fire.

Merry squeezed still harder, producing a squeal of pain from the struggling Pippin. The brief nap had rejuvenated Merry's energy and he was now a force to contend with.

"Mer!" Pippin shouted in pain, "let me go!" He punctuated this request with a hard kick in the shins.

"Rot!" Merry shouted, tearing his eyes from Frodo. "Damn you…you, you little…" Merry's eyes came quickly back into focus on his little cousin, catching them as if in a vise. "If you kick me again," he hissed, "you will regret it, my boy." Merry's paternal voice exuded raw power as he pulled Pippin's arms further across each other, bending him over backwards.

"You are my cousin," Merry's voice was low and menacing, "and you will do as I say!" It was the same charismatic energy that had so captivated young Pippin and made him a loving disciple.

Merry now capitalized on that vibration, along with his superior strength, as he bent Pippin over even further until the young hobbit was forced to stop struggling.

"You little twit!" Merry whispered, his voice escalating in anger. "What do I have to do to make you obedient! To respect your LEADER!"

Pippin closed his eyes in pain as Merry continued to bend him backwards, pulling at his arms until Pippin thought his shoulders might dislocate.

As if suddenly bored with the whole business of Pippin, Merry again looked over at Frodo but his cousin sat where he was, his hands in his lap, his uneaten meal still on the floor where Pippin had left it.

Pippin's squeak of pain brought him back. He stared down at the smaller hobbit. "Tell me," Merry whispered again, bending over his cousin. "Shall I punish you once again? Must I make your life a world of agony and humiliation?"

"Merrrrry!" Pippin's voice was sharp with pain.

"Is that what it takes!?" Merry squeezed harder.

"Nooo…" Pippin choked.

Suddenly Pippin went limp and for an instant Merry thought he had passed out. Instead of relaxing his grip, however, he squeezed even harder causing Pippin to open his eyes in the sweetest, most tearful supplication Merry had ever seen. Yet something else was also there, something he had not seen before.

It nearly undid him on the spot. Forgetting Frodo for a moment, Merry relaxed his hold. He pulled Pippin up to his face, opened his mouth and kissed him violently, like he had that other time in the parlor when Pippin had been naked and so pliable.

But it was different this time.

Pippin wiggled out of Merry's grasp and stood unsteadily, shoving his cousin away. He rubbed his damaged shoulders. "It won't work anymore, Merry." He gestured to the other side of the room. "What about Frodo?"

Merry turned to gaze at his other cousin, then he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"FRODO, FRODO, FRODO!" Pippin started to step closer but thought better of it. "You promised to fix him but he remains as he is, day after day after day, he gets no better!"

Merry didn't answer, empowering Pippin to continue. "He gets no better and now Sam…"

"Pippin!"

"And now Sam is the only one who can even talk to him!" Pippin was hyperventilating again with excitement and his eyes blazed with a new-found courage. "So tell me now, Mer, if you claim to be our leader, what are you going to do about Frodo!"

Merry's hand brushed against the knife in his belt and lingered there for a second. "I am your leader and I have taken care of Sam. He will do as he is told. He is no match for me...and neither are you, little Cousin."

As his hand rested on the knife hilt, Merry's eyes were once again feasting on Frodo, so beautiful, sitting by the firelight. "And Frodo is fine, Pip. He speaks to me…all the time, you know. He is quiet but quite well." Merry paused a minute, shifting his gaze to Pippin. "And he loves you, dear, but he is worried about you. He wants you to behave better. He wants you to be obedient and…"

"Stop it! NO! I'll not hear this again!" Pippin took a step forward. "Frodo is not talking to you, Merry, he is not quite well, he is not anything!"

Pippin sprung at him then, faster than most hobbits could move but not faster than his athletic older cousin. In a second, Merry had the knife at Pippin's throat, its needle-sharp tip pressing into taunt flesh, his eyes no less sharp in their penetrating gaze.

"Do you think you can defy me, little one?" He grabbed Pippin's painful shoulder with his other hand and shoved him forward, through the door and into the hallway.

In an instant they were in Merry's bedroom where the flickering light of a burned-down candle was the only illumination. Both hobbits were trembling with excitement as Merry shoved Pippin into the featherbed and climbed on top of him. He slowly dragged the knife down Pippin's throat, leaving tiny rivulets of blood in its wake.

Pippin lay frozen in shock and deadly fear, unable to articulate even his name.

Merry licked his lips, hunger bright in his eyes. "Oh, but you look tasty, little cousin." In a sudden move, Merry rolled Pippin over on his stomach. "And I will taste you, of that, you may have no doubt." He took a short cord out of his pocket and pulled Pippin's wrists together, tying them firmly behind his back. "But right now I have to care for your cousin."

Merry climbed off the bed and rolled Pippin onto his back. In the dim light he looked so small, scared, and vulnerable that Merry wanted to tear off his breeches and take him right then. Instead, he leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I'll see you soon, love, and then we'll see what you have to say."

With that Merry kissed him again, drawing his tongue along Pippin's lips until he could see the helpless hunger in his young eyes. Merry straightened up and laughed to himself before walking out the door and locking it tight.


* * *

Sam looked up to see his door swing open, and Merry, arm-in-arm with Frodo, a small plate of bread and cheese in his other hand. Frodo was blank-eyed and beautiful. Merry’s face glowed, though the effect was discomfiting.

“Sam,” said Merry. “I have brought Frodo to you for a short visit. We shall start small. He is tired.”

Sam nodded, barely concealing his enthusiasm.

“I would like,” began Merry as he maneuvered Frodo to the table, “I would like you to get Frodo to eat a bite of supper.” He sat Frodo down in the wobbly, wooden chair.

Merry did not mention his own dismal failure in that regard, not since the celebration dinner. Frodo had stopped responding to Merry’s prompts, preferring, if one could call it a preference, to sit open-eyed and closed-mouthed by the fire. Merry was relieved he could still get Frodo to walk when led, though he did so with no great style. Still, he said none of this to Sam, though the sudden upturn of Sam’s lips told him that Sam guessed.

Nor did Merry mention Pippin’s little tantrum, as he had perceived it. And to save himself from the obvious path of Sam’s guesses, Merry added, “Pippin tried to feed him but to no avail. And that upset the lad. It will set his heart at ease if I tell him that Frodo ate at least something tonight.”

Without hesitation, Sam screeched his own chair by that of his master and smiled sweetly into his clouded face.

“Mr. Frodo,” said Sam in a low, gentle voice. “Time to eat, love.”

Unlike Merry, Sam did not lift the food to Frodo’s mouth like a nursemaid feeding a babe. He reached down, gathered Frodo’s limp right hand in his own, and guided it to the bread setting on the edge of the plate. With a small prod, Sam coaxed Frodo’s slender fingers to fold themselves around it.

“There, me love,” said Sam. “Just as you used to.”

Sam lifted Frodo’s arm with fingertips upon his forearm, barely touching, allowing Frodo to feel the responsibility of using his own limbs. The bread, clutched in awkward hands, floated in front of Frodo’s closed mouth for several long seconds.

“Time to eat, Frodo,” said Sam firmly. “You can do this by yourself.”

No light came into Frodo’s eyes yet something seemed to click with the sound of the familiar voice eliciting a familiar task. And to Sam's delight, Frodo opened his mouth, bit a small piece off the bread, then dropped his arm. The remainder of the bread fell from limp fingers onto the floor.

“Not too bad,” said Sam, despite the bread’s untimely end. “Not too bad.”

He glanced up to see Merry turning his face toward the door, unsuccessfully hiding his tears. He had a look of relief mixed with abject, soul-crushing defeat.

“Merry,” said Sam as he turned back to Frodo. “Leave us. You know I can’t go no where. You promised…alone.”

Merry grimaced but he leaned down, kissed Frodo on the cheek and whispered something in his ear. Then he stepped out the door without ceremony.

“Close it,” said Sam curtly.

The door slammed shut, though with the absence of footsteps, Sam knew that Merry had planted himself just behind it.

“Rat,” muttered Sam.

He gathered up a napkin from the table and stuffed it into the peephole for privacy and to let Merry know that Sam was well aware of his cloying presence.

Sam fell heavily back in his chair, his chains skidding abrasively across the floorboards as he settled himself. His anger forgotten, he leaned over and gathered the limp shell of his master in his arms, feeling with dismay Frodo’s head fall like a weight upon his own shoulder. Without warning, Sam began to sob.

“Mr. Frodo! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry I let him do this to you! Wherever you are, please know that I shan’t give up on you! Frodo! Come back to your Sam!”

Sam felt he could stay this way forever, cuddling his stricken master in his arms, offering what comfort he could, never to let him go until the breaking of the world.

Sam was unsure how long he remained there but the jarring knock struck him as painfully as an arrow in his heart.

“Give me a few more minutes, damn you!” called Sam, his voice shredded by emotion.
Sam straightened Frodo in his chair and with violent fingers, rubbed the wetness from his own eyes. He stared once more into the vacant depths of Frodo’s fathomless blue orbs.

“Frodo,” said Sam. “Frodo, time to rest awhile. But you will see your Sam soon, alright?”
Frodo made no move and Sam dropped his face into his sheltering palms, collapsing into heaving sobs.

Warm fingers. A touch upon his cheek. Sam’s breath caught, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. Sam raised his eyes slowly. Frodo’s arm was outstretched, his fingers cold but soft, now ghosting across his jaw line. Frodo’s eyes drew into focus for a split second, and for that beauteous moment, those blessed eyes looked at Sam and saw him.

“Frodo?” cried Sam as if he would burst. “Frodo!”

Sam grasped Frodo’s hand in a crushing grip and tears fell upon it. “Frodo!”

Through his veil of tears, Sam saw the ghost of a smile reach Frodo’s lips, and his face, for that intoxicating second in time was open to him.

In that wonderful, horrible moment, the door swung open and Merry inserted his unwanted presence into this now sacred space of Frodo and Sam’s connection. Sam stared into Frodo’s eyes, watching in horror as the light of recognition retreated down into their fathomless depths like a gold coin sinking slowly into a deep pool. The smile disintegrated into a featureless death mask, as Sam thought it, and Frodo Baggins was once again lost to him.

Merry noted Sam’s shattered countenance, and misunderstanding its cause, said, “Don’t worry, Sam. You shall see him again tomorrow but now it is past his bedtime.”

Sam watched in numbed silence as Merry stood Frodo up and gently bore him out of the room. The door shut with an ominous clunk and Sam scarcely noticed as the cloth he had stuffed in the peep hole was pushed through from the outside wafting silently to the floor. Merry’s gray eyes appeared and Sam resisted the primal urge to poke them out.

“Frodo wanted to tell you,” said Merry from behind the door, “goodnight.”

Sam smiled, chocking back a bitter laugh and finding enough reserve of spirit to see Merry’s “conversation” with Frodo as pathetic.

“Good to know, Merry,” he muttered condescendingly. “Good to know.”


* * *

Sam.

My dear Sam.

Frodo had longed to break through his self-induced fog to speak with his Sam. He had mastered his body enough to follow some basic prompts, to walk when guided, to eat when fed, to sleep when put abed. These near instinctual actions, for the most part, were fueled by a primal desire to avoid pain. Though most times, when not required to move, he would retreat to the comfort of his own mind and let himself be buoyed by memories of bright skies and happy times.

But Sam’s voice, Sam’s voice transcended the separation between mind and body. His comforting presence was part of the happy memories deep inside his retreat yet still part of the physical world from which Frodo had all too successfully separated himself.

Once he knew that his Sam was still part of the physical world, he stopped taking sustenance from the head one, the hurting one. Perhaps if he only ate by the hand of Sam, the other one would be forced to produce the one he longed to see. It was a miniature rebellion yet subtle enough to go undetected. And if Sam still existed in the real world, perhaps there still was a reason to keep some frail attachment to it. If only he had not been so hasty to slice the mystic cord that separated mind and body. Only diaphanous threads remained now, and if these frayed, he would be lost to Sam's world for good.

But Sam was with him now, he had thought he’d lost him, thought Sam had left him like the others. A miracle it seemed. Frodo’s mind, confused, muddled, and lost in a haze thick as mud, clawed its way through the quagmire. Slowly. Desperately. The – he surfaced! Sam was sobbing. Frodo willed his hand to reach out, guide his fingertips to soothe away the sorrow writ plain in salt tears upon the beloved face. Sam looked up and for a moment Frodo was home in Bag End again.

“Sam, dear Sam! Do not cry! I am here! And we are together."

Those were the words Frodo longed to speak had his conscious mind been capable of words. As it was, Sam’s expression of elation stuck to Frodo’s heart and produced, almost without effort, something like a smile.

Then a crack. A door!

The other. The one who brings only pain.

Pull back!

And Frodo dove back into the deep, black waters of his mind.

Submerged.

Protected. Hidden.

Goodnight, dear Sam.


* * *


Merry took Frodo back to his bedroom and built a small fire to take off the chill. Then he took out an embroidered nightshirt and laid it on the beautiful four-poster bed. He proceeded to undress his cousin, carefully folding away his things into the large clothespress against the wall. As the room got warmer, Merry dipped a soft cloth into the water basin and washed Frodo's hands and face, not noticing the moisture in his eyes.

"So beautiful," whispered Merry as he ran the damp cloth over the rest of Frodo's thin, naked body. "Oh, Frodo, no one knows what we share, do they? How close we are."

Merry dropped the cloth and held him in a tight, emotional embrace, running his fingers along his damaged back. "How much we have been through, you and I?" Merry whispered as he felt the slowly healing ridges and the heavy scabs. "None of them understand what you mean to me, Frodo-dear, how much I love you."

He ran his fingers lightly over the brand on Frodo's hip, then drew them to his lips and licked off the salty taste of Frodo's skin. "And how much you love me," he whispered seductively.

But Frodo only stared into the fire.

Merry sighed as he picked up the nightshirt and his voice changed into a normal tone. "Alas, Frodo, I know how much you hate to sleep alone." He dropped the nightshirt over Frodo's head and pulled it down. "But I have to talk with our little cousin and I may be awhile, so you just go to sleep by yourself for now."

He helped Frodo into bed and pulled the heavy down comforter over him, up close to his chin, and tucked it around his body.

As if Frodo was royalty, he backed away, feeling for the doorknob behind his back. Then quickly he was through the door, turning the key in its heavy lock before heading down the hallway for his own room, his hand once again on the knife hilt.


* * *

Merry unlocked the door of his bedroom. The lone candle had burned lower and was beginning to sputter, throwing wax on the ancient sconce. He found Pippin sitting on the bed, his hands still firmly tied behind him, his eyes still defiant.

"I can see already that you have learned nothing," Merry said, pushing Pippin down on the bed.

"There is nothing to learn," retorted Pippin sarcastically, "tied up here in this room."

Merry laughed to himself as he pulled out the razor-sharp knife and ran it along the small cuts on Pippin's throat. They had stopped bleeding but he opened them up again ignoring Pippin's wincing noises.

Pippin glared up at his cousin. "Why don't you just get on with it."

But Merry only smiled, continuing to play with the knife, making short work of Pippin's shirt. Soon his chest was bare, and with the knife point nestled in the hollow of Pippin's throat, Merry leaned in for a deep kiss, quick and hot.

It was not returned.

Merry's eyes narrowed as he dragged the knife over to the brand on Pippin's shoulder, leaving a bright wheal in its wake. The emblematic Brandybuck B, the mark of Pippin's former devotion, lay just beneath the sharp blade.

"Shall I cut it out?" said Merry, his voice dripping with malice. He plunged the knife into the skin near the brand, cutting it slightly. "It would only take a second, Pip, and then you would be free of me."

Pippin's sullen expression evaporated as his eyes enlarged in fear. "NO…no, no, Merry, don't, no, no, no."

Merry lifted the knife and sighed. He ran his finger over and over the brand, then he leaned down and kissed it, licking and caressing it with his tongue.

Pippin shivered from the cold in the chilly, fire-less room, or maybe it was the complexity of his own emotions.

"It's always been you and me, Pip," said Merry evenly. "For as long as I can remember, the two of us against the world." Merry's eyes moistened as they stared at Pippin in the semi-darkness. "You are the future Thain of the Shire and I, the future Master of Buckland. We will someday rule many people, large properties…so much responsibility will be ours." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Responsibility for the Shire, Peregrin." His voice dropped even lower. "And for Frodo and the Ring."

Pippin gasped. Merry had never included him in this responsibility before.

"We are aristocrats, we are kin," Merry continued in an imperious voice, "but we also share so much more, Pip." A single tear made its way down Merry's cheek. "So much more."

"No, Merry," Pippin whispered, holding to his resolve.

But his voice began to tremble as the knife found its spot again.

"Not anymore." Pippin steeled his nerve and despite the knife, lifted his head off the bed. "I mean it, Merry, not anymore. I hate you for what you did to Frodo. I do."

Merry's eyes narrowed and Pippin could see the madness there, the uncontrollable fury of a spoiled mind. His wary eyes darted to the knife at his throat and back to the eyes again, wondering if he was perhaps breathing his last breath in this life.

"Do you?"

Just as quickly the eyes changed and Pippin saw a gentle, gray softness reminiscent of the cousin he had once adored. Without a word, Merry put the knife down on Pippin's chest and unbuttoned his own shirt, stripping it off his body, all the while locking Pippin in a gaze that was different yet again.

Powerful and seductive it was to Pippin's captive eyes, with a tinge of excitement, fear even.

Fear?

"I do not care anymore, I tell you…about the Ring." Pippin's voice was weaker than the message he was trying to convey but he steadied himself and took a deep breath. "And neither do I care about you."

Time stood still as Merry leaned over his cousin, his warm, tan skin suddenly filling Pippin's eyes, his hot breath cascading faster and faster along Pippin's face. Merry's muscular torso was only inches away, beautiful in the candlelight with its full nipples, now dark and fully erect.

Without breaking eye contact, Merry lifted the knife from Pippin's chest and in a surprise move, reached underneath and cut his bonds.

Pippin wiggled his arms out and rubbed his sore wrists.

"If you don't care," Merry's eyes were positively glinting, "if you really don't care…then…"

Merry suddenly placed the knife in his cousin's limp hand, closing Pippin's fingers tightly around its hilt. He picked up Pippin's hand and deftly moved the knife up to his own exposed throat, positioning the deadly blade directly over his throbbing jugular vein.

Then Merry dropped his hand from Pippin's and used it to support himself over his cousin, lowering his carriage and pressing his throat dangerously into the razor sharpness of the trembling knife.

"Then tell me you don't love me, Pippin," he said, in a voice quiet as death. "And make me believe it."

* * *

When he thought about it later, Pippin could never discern just how long he had lain there, knife to Merry's throat, eyes captive in Merry's gentle visual embrace. Seconds, hours, he didn't know.

When he thought about it later, Pippin knew without a doubt that Merry was ready to die at his hands. His eyes were quieter than Pippin had ever seen them, calmly taking the gamble, calmly accepting his fate--in the manner of all who are truly mad.

When he thought about it later, Pippin often wondered if he should have done it.

* * *

"Oh by Eru, Mer," said Pippin, finally finding his trembling voice. "Indeed, indeed, I…I can not. Oh, Mer!" The knife fell from his hand and tumbled off the bed. "Such prevarication would never leave my lips. I do love you."

Merry watched the knife fall and clatter noisily on the floorboards. He took a deep, shaky breath and collapsed on his cousin, lying his head on Pippin's heaving chest. After a moment he slid sideways and his lips closed on his cousin's brand in a deep, emotional kiss. Then he lifted his head and his hands were shaking as he drew his fingers across Pippin's moist lips.

"You see, love," he whispered, his voice breathy and husky. "I had faith in you, even to the risk of my own life. What greater love it that?"

"Merry…I might have killed you!"

"But you didn't, Pip, because you do love me…that's what I was trying to show you." He smiled. "That I know you better than you know yourself." The smile broadened then, reaching into his eyes. "Let me do the thinking, love. I am best at it."

Pippin frowned, his breathing still fast and furious. This was the part where he always collapsed into Merry's arms and promised to do whatever he wanted, even to letting Merry beat him senseless or ravage his body.

Merry always had this effect on him.

But this time it would be different. He had something important to say and he was going to say it.

Merry continued to smile at Pippin with a warmth that told of summer days swimming in the Brandywine, stealing apples from farmer Bolger, drinking ale at the Green Dragon, racing ponies madly over the country side.

"Faith, my love," Merry continued softly in his well-practiced voice, "is what is needed now. Faith in me and faith in Frodo." He leaned down and kissed Pippin, gently at first, then lunging his tongue deep inside, he took over his cousin's mouth, leaning into him with the full weight of his body.

Finally he withdrew, drawing his tongue along Pippin's lips and sucking each one in turn. He lazily reached up for the tips of Pippin's ears and caressed them, causing him to shiver helplessly.

"I will make everything all right, I promise you, Pip, but now..." Merry tweaked his nipple, then squeezed it harder.

"No." Pippin yelped, shoving his hand away.

Merry laughed. "What are you talking about? You said you loved me."

Before Pippin could answer, the tiny candle sputtered its last and went out, plunging them into total darkness.

"Merry?" Pippin struggled to sit up.

"Leave it be, love," whispered Merry, shoving Pippin back into the featherbed. "I like the dark."

Using Pippin's nipples as reference, he felt downwards for his young cousin's waist and then deftly unbuttoned his breeches, sliding them off in a practiced manner. He wasted no time with further ministrations and quickly had his fingers entwined in the soft hair between Pippin's legs, pulling and teasing it.

"Forget about everything for tonight, love." Merry was licking his nipple now, plucking at it with his teeth, sucking and tasting with his lips until the skin was tender and raw.

"Oh!" Pippin cried out as the pain sharpened and Merry backed off, gently caressing the erect nipple with his tongue until pain became pleasure, and pleasure, longing.

But longing soon progressed to tension as Merry abruptly abandoned the nub and picked up the other one in his teeth. He moved faster and faster, producing results that were even more intense, pain and pleasure dancing on the edge of a razor-sharp sword, threatening to plunge either way at any second.

Pippin sighed loudly and pressed his hands into Merry's chest, shoving him up and a few inches away. "I said, NO."

Merry grabbed his cousin's arms in the darkness and pressed them back into the featherbed. He leaned over Pippin in a menacing manner but seemed at a loss for words.

"Are you going to rape me again, Mer?" said Pippin evenly. "Is that the only way you can show your love?"

"Perhaps you deserve it, Pip."

"Really? Is that how you really think? That I deserve to be abused? Perhaps Frodo knows this too. Perhaps that’s why he…"

Faceless hands slapped him viciously across the cheek. "Frodo is none of your affair!"

Pippin winced in pain and surprise. "See? I was right the first time. You don't care about us, Merry!" He was yelling now. "You only care about yourself and that damn Ring!"

The second slap was even harder, hitting its mark firmly and accurately, even in the darkness. Pippin tried to move away but he was helpless, his arms quickly pinioned back against the mattress. But in spite of everything, he could not deny the tumult he felt…and his escalating desire. His nipples were sore and aroused while between his legs the stirrings were also undeniable. And with every struggling movement, Merry leaned heavily into him, leaving him powerless, vulnerable, and excited.

Merry always had this effect on him too.

And he knows it, thought Pippin angrily, as he continued to breathe in the musky scent of his equally excited cousin.

Merry leaned in harder on Pippin's arms, intertwining his fingers tightly with Pippin's, straddling his legs, controlling any possible movement and causing his sore shoulders to burn miserably in their sockets. Pippin closed his eyes in painful anticipation, although it made no difference in the darkness

Suddenly Merry let go, climbed off of Pippin and sat next to him on the bed. He ran his fingers softly along Pippin's abdomen, lightly caressing him in the dark. Still, for all its gentleness, the touch was hot as fireworks and tinged with menace.

"Pip, just lay still now and be silent," Merry said quietly, as if considering his options.

Pippin cringed, knowing what was coming and knowing equally that protest was useless. But nothing in his wildest imagination could have prepared him for what was to happen next.

* * *

After several minutes, Merry exhaled loudly as if his decision had been made. Pippin thought he heard him whisper something like, "for Frodo," but he wasn't sure. But if Pippin could have seen his eyes, he would have been terrified beyond anything he had ever felt.

He heard Merry unbutton his breeches and take them off, along with his shirt, weskit and the rest of his clothes. He could feel his cousin's already erect penis slide along his leg as Merry leaned over and kissed him on the lips with all the tenderness he could muster.

Pippin resignedly opened his mouth to take Merry in but to his surprise, Merry placed a soft palm over his lips. "Not this time, love."

Merry lifted his hand and placed a soft kiss where it had been. "This time, I will serve your needs and show you a love you will never doubt again. Tonight is yours, my dearest cousin, my dearest, dearest Pippin."

With that, Merry leaned down and took Pippin's thickening shaft just inside his lips, something he had never done before. He tweaked the head with his tongue and licked it up and down, under the ridge, and along the bottom down to the base and slowly back again. Then he sucked lightly at the tip until the penis grew large and hard. Once again Merry moved his tongue along Pippin's full shaft, adding his lips this time, teasing and caressing it in progressively more ardent ways until Pippin thought he was going to burst.

Then Merry took it in his mouth and engulfed it deliciously on all sides until Pippin could feel the head rub against the back of Merry's throat. Over and over he moved along the slick member, using tricks that Pippin had never imagined existed.

Suddenly Merry pulled up, planting a kiss on the tip of the moist shaft, all the while caressing Pippin's soft balls with his fingertips.

Then he moved his lips and tongue down to follow in their wake.

Pippin was trembling all over, he had never been so excited, so loved and cherished. "Oh, Merry…"

"Hush, love, your Merry is here for you." Merry took his cousins balls carefully inside his mouth and then gently released them, licking and massaging over and over.

"Oh…"

"Hush."

Merry then licked his way slowly between Pippin's legs and, lifting him up, continued along his backside as far as he could reach, his fingers lightly surrounding the base of Pippin's shaft, controlling his excitement.

"I think it's time for oil," whispered Merry as he straightened up and reached into the bedstead drawer, extracting a small vial. He removed the stopper and set it down on the table where it promptly rolled off and bounded along the floorboards.

Merry stared into the air, his line of vision drifting this time toward the black hallway. In the absolute darkness, Merry sighed in silence, and unbeknown to his cousin, gazed longingly toward the bedroom where his other cousin lay sleeping. His Frodo. He would do anything for his Frodo, for his sweet Ringbearer.

Pouring the oil liberally on his hands, he found Pippin's lips and slowly spread them all over with the soft lavender scent followed by a tender kiss that transferred the oil to his own lips and back again.

"I love you, Pippin, you'll see." His voice was soft and loving, faceless in the dark. Pippin relaxed into Merry's touch as his cousin moved his hands back to Pippin's shaft and spread the oil all over it until it was dripping with fragrance.

Pippin's voice trembled with excitement. "Mer? What are you…?"

Merry sighed. "Would you like to take me, love?" Would that show you how much I love you?"

"Oh…Oh, Merry…" Pippin was breathing so hard he couldn't talk anymore, his senses exploding like firecrackers on a hot summer night.

But Merry's thoughts were of Frodo and the preservation of their family. Pippin was part of that and he would be brought into line, no matter what it took. Once more Merry's sightless eyes darted in the direction of Frodo's bedroom.

Then he turned to the matter at hand, lying down on the bed next to Pippin with an audible sigh.
"You have a choice, love." Merry reached out sideways and found Pippin's thigh. He trailed his finger upwards, leaving a line of lavender in its wake, until he was firmly wrapped around Pippin's stiff, erect penis. "But all choices bring responsibility...and consequences."

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled Pippin on top on him and opened his mouth, finding Pippin's and offering himself to his younger cousin's tongue.

Pippin's heart was beating wildly with excitement as he explored Merry's face with his fingertips. It was pitch black and he could see nothing but the mouth he had always craved was right below him, open and yielding, inviting him inside to do as he pleased.

It was more than his excited young body could resist. "I love you, Merry!" Pippin cried. "And I do believe in you."

Pippin missed the quick smile as he plunged down into Merry's mouth, exploring every warm crevice, thrusting his tongue in as hard as he could and sucking eagerly on Merry's tongue as if it was a sliver of cool ice on a warm summer day.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, Merry stretched his arms over his head and grabbed onto the bedclothes. He bent his knees and spread his legs in open invitation.

"By Eru, Merry, is…is it all…right?" Pippin could hardly talk, his whole body was trembling.

Merry sighed, biting his lip in irritation. "Dammit, Pip, just…"

And in a frenzy of passion, Pippin lifted Merry's legs up over his shoulders, leaving him open and vulnerable. Merry twisted his head toward the doorway thinking of his magnificent creation but Pippin grabbed his curls and turned it back to himself, again devouring Merry's mouth and then entering him hard.

Merry clutched the bedclothes and screamed with surprise and pain but Pippin was too excited to notice or stop. He covered Merry's mouth with his own, effectively stopping his protest and then he reached up and held his cousin's arms down on the bed, putting himself in complete control. Taking advantage of this position, he thrusted deeply into his cousin again, spilling oil over his opening, all the while kissing Merry hard and holding his arms down with the leverage of his weight. Using his youthful stamina, Pippin persisted, thrusting and thrusting until Merry's muffled cries became whimpers of pleasure and his whole body trembled under Pippin's eager touch.

Intoxicated by his new found power, Pippin was relentless, clumsy, and demanding, barely letting Merry breathe, holding him down mercilessly and taking him in every sense of the word for a very long time.

When he came, it was explosive and quick, and quickly over. Pippin shuddered and rolled off Merry, leaving the older hobbit quivering with a strange kind of submissive pleasure he had never known. Pippin knelt and kissed Merry tenderly.

"Oh, Mer, I hope it didn't hurt too much."

"No, Pip," Merry lied, in between deep, panting breaths, "it didn't…hurt…but…I need you to…"

"Oh, yes, of course." Pippin leaned down and took Merry's throbbing organ into his mouth, sucking enthusiastically until Merry climaxed, arching his back and screaming with pleasure.

Merry then rolled over on his side and took Pippin in his arms. He kissed him on the lips and then affectionately on the eyes. "Now, have you any doubt of my love, dearest? That I would do anything for you? Now do you understand?"

Pippin sighed, a long languid, breath as he melted against Merry's chest.

"Pippin?"

In the darkness, Pippin didn't see the smile of victory on Merry's face. But Merry had made another tactical error.

"Yes, Merry, I do understand," said Pippin evenly, feeling the raw, physical power he had just experienced over Merry. It felt good. Better than his wildest dreams.

And he did understand but not in quite the way Merry had hoped.

* * *

Merry moved his cousin against the pillows and pulled the down comforter over them both. He snuggled in close, pulling Pippin's head down onto his chest, holding him, petting his hair.

"I love you, Pip." Merry continued to feather invisible kisses on Pippin's face and neck. He ran his fingers lazily along his cousin's back, scratching and kneading the skin. "You are precious to me and I need you so. Together we will help Frodo to accomplish his mission. We will be a happy family. You'll see."

Pippin was exhausted both emotionally and physically. In spite of himself, he was sinking rapidly into a blissful, afterglow sleep quite beyond his control.

"Yes, Merry," he whispered, more from habit than devotion but the devotion was there again, frighteningly powerful, and also the love, stronger than ever before.

* * *

Pippin had expected to awaken as he had slept – entwined in Merry’s arms, held so tightly he felt he might burst. He had felt important, loved, vital, manipulated, and claimed. But he woke up alone, the sheets cold, as if his cousin’s warm body had been gone for hours- as it indeed had.

Pippin sat up, pulled on his nightshirt with clumsy fingers, and crept down the hall. He had a very good idea of where he would find Merry.

Frodo’s room was unlocked, and Pippin was able to open the door without a sound. Peeking in, he saw Frodo lying in bed, covers pulled up to his chin, face turned toward the fire, eyes open but unseeing. Merry lay asleep atop the covers, his arm wrapped tightly around Frodo as if he were clinging to a piece of wreckage in an endless, roiling sea of grief Sorrow pierced Pippin’s heart followed by the sharp sting of another emotion of equal strength. He ran from the room into the welcoming shadows of the hallway but not back to his room.

Instead, Pippin’s feet led him inexorably to another room, the room containing what had become an island of stability and sanity in a storm-tumbled sea.

Sam.

Pippin hungered to speak to Sam.

Pippin knocked on the solid door, standing on tip toe to stare into the peep hole. Pippin could see Sam’s dark shape under the covers, his chest rising and falling in front of other less dark shapes. He was snoring soundly.

“Sam!” whispered Pippin in a low voice. “Sam!”

Sam grumbled and stirred.

“Sam, it’s Pip.”

“What time is it?” mumbled Sam groggily.

“Late,” answered Pippin, then sheepishly added, “or…early.”

Sam stretched and grumbled out something unintelligible.

“Sam, may I speak with you a bit? Merry’s asleep and it would be safe, I think.”

Sam’s dark form rose, a black silhouette against the small window of deep blue, starry sky.

“Try the door,” said Sam quietly as he stretched again. “It may not be locked this time.”

Pippin turned the knob, and to his astonishment, it gave. He stumbled into the dark, holding up the reluctant candle to the dim room.

“Why would Merry leave it open?” asked Pippin incredulously.

“An oversight, p’raps,” said Sam. “But not one that should trouble him.”

“What do you mean, Sam?”

“Hand me your candle, Pippin.”

Pippin did so and gasped as he saw the angry glint of metal upon Sam’s ankle.

“So you see, dear Pippin,” said Sam morosely. “If you’ve come to free me, it seems you’ve come too late.”

Pippin dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry he’s put you in irons. Merry has locked up the shed and the ponies and the tools so I can’t get to anything better than a butter knife. I can’t help you and it would do no good anyway, Sam. There are enemies everywhere and you’d be caught! Besides, you’d have no luck getting Frodo away from Merry…as he is.” Pippin glanced down again at Sam’s chains. “And as you are.” He added lamely, “is it awfully uncomfortable?”

Sam snorted as he moved his raw ankle within the confines of the iron collar. “It ain’t built for comfort.”

“Merry’s had dealings with some unsavory folk, or so he says,” sighed Pippin. “I s’pse he got that from one of them, maybe in Bree, for all I know. It would be like those folk to have such things but nothing like that in the Shire, for sure--not even in the lockholes, I wager.”

Sam shook his head. “The fit's too perfect. Had it measured for me especial, probably when I was out cold. D’ya understand what that means, Pippin? It means that he planned this. All of it.”
And here Sam took a calculated risk.

“Right down to pulling you in, Pippin.”

Pippin raised his eyes, now swelling with pain, to face Sam.

“What are you to him, Pippin?” asked Sam abruptly.

“I am,” said Pippin haltingly…

My brother! My partner! My friend! My other half! My heart and soul! My everything.

“I am his cousin.”

“Balls!” sputtered Sam. “”You’re a lad of at least middling smarts. You didn’t mistake my meaning. You love him, of course, but what are YOU to HIM?”

“Everything!” cried Pippin in an injured tone. “He loves no other!" Pippin stopped for a moment but could not escape the knowing look in Sam's eyes. He sighed. "But for, well, Frodo, but that is, it is….”

“Difficult?” offered Sam.

“Different,” snapped Pippin.

“Poor fool,” sighed Sam obliquely. “Well, then, ain’t Merry aware of his everything’s absence?”

“He is,” said Pippin sharply, “sleeping in with Frodo, keeping watch.”

Sam did not miss the wounded look in Pippin’s eyes and chased further.

“Sheets feeling rather cold of late, Pip?”

Pippin’s face went from aghast to astonished, and back again.

“I guess more than you know,” said Sam, but not unkindly. “Merry’s used every tool at hand. One of them being his cousin.”

“Frodo—"

“I meant you, Pippin.”

Pippin’s shoulders sagged as if a weight had suddenly been placed upon them.

“You don't understand, Sam. He does love me,” sniffed Pippin. “And he gives me his love, yes, when we're in bed--what of it?" Pippin's cheek flushed and his eyes stared at the floor as he voice dropped to a whisper. "He even lets me take him if I want to."

Pippin enjoyed the shocked look on Sam's face. He puffed up his chest. "And I do it all the time…so there, Samwise Gamgee. I guess there's a few things going on around here that you don’t know about!"

Pippin's stance recovered a little with his bravado. "So that is how much he loves me, Sam. And he needs me too. He needs me so much it's terrifying. It may seem mad to you, for his cruelty of late, but I love him, whether or no…and I always will.”

Pippin saw Sam shaking his head.

“You might understand, Sam. You might understand if only you could see him as he was.”

“Rather than how he is?” said Sam with a cold edge to his voice.

Without warning, Sam grasped one of Pippin’s slender arms and forced the sleeve down, exposing Pippin’s pink and abraded wrists.

Pippin sucked up his breath at the unexpected betrayal.

“You’ve been bound…recently by the look o’ it.”

Sam looked accusingly at Pippin for a few moments before letting go of the struggling limb. Pippin yanked his hand back, cupping it near his body as if to shield it from prying eyes.

“You won’t speak of yourself, that’s clear enough,” said Sam. “So then, tell me what I long to know of Frodo. Tell me of your cousin’s new happiness.”

With this, Pippin burst into tears.

“I’ve no time for tears, lad,” said Sam, his sternness melted by his obvious empathy for the pathetic figure sobbing in front of him. “Let’s start by telling me of what happened the night you and Merry took him away. He weren’t the same afterwards."

Pippin looked up at him.

"Tell me what happened at the river.”

Pippin’s eyes grew huge. He shook his head and made to stand.

“You said you came here to speak!” demanded Sam. “Now speak!”

“No! I can’t”

“That won’t do,” said Sam. “You came to me. You said we were to speak and we’ll do just that!”

Pippin stood quickly.

“It would do no good! Please, Sam! Don’t make me!”

Pippin took a hesitant step toward the door, unaware that Merry had indeed given Sam a good deal of slack. Sam was beside him, holding his arm in an iron grip before Pippin knew he was caught.

“Let go, Sam!”

“I won’t!” said Sam, his features hard again. “Not till you talk.”

Pippin arched toward the door, Sam held him fast. In a frenzy, Pippin yanked at his arm, only to have Sam grasp a handful of his nightshirt at the neck.

“Stay put!” ordered Sam, low but fierce. “I’d hate your dear Merry to come and find you here!”

If this comment was meant to quiet Pippin, it had the opposite effect. Pippin grit his teeth, and with a strangled “No!” hissing between them, he gave one more almighty pull. Sam, surprised by the strength of Pippin’s little body, momentarily loosed his hold on Pippin’s arm but found purchase on his sleeve. Pippin leaned out, Sam yanked in, and with a distressingly loud roar, the nightshirt ripped open at the neck.

The sound of Sam’s gasp filled the room, and Pippin was suddenly and achingly aware of what Sam had laid eyes upon.

“Dust and ashes!” cried Sam as he seized Pippin’s forearms and leaned in to gape at his shoulder. “What’s he done to you?”

Pippin felt suddenly naked. He meekly covered the black brand with what remained of the tattered fabric of his nightshirt.

“By the gods! What is it?” demanded Sam, pulling the material back again.

Pippin cringed, and mumbled out, “It’s a B.”

“Course it’s a B!” cried Sam. “I know my letters. But what by the Shire is it doing branded into your flesh?"

A terrible silence ensued as Pippin looked away. "It's just a B," he whispered again, almost too quietly to hear.

Then suddenly Sam remembered the mark he'd seen on the pony in Crickhollow's barn. His breath caught in his throat. "B is for Brandybuck! Isn't it! Isn't it, Pippin?! Oh, by Eru, lad--as if you’re one of his stock--Pip? One of his trained ponies!" Sam sighed heavily. "When? Why? What happened to make him this mad? What?”

“Mine was…” muttered Pippin, “voluntary.”

The incomprehensible idea that Pippin would agree to this mark hit Sam as only an afterthought, an afterthought to his primary flash of horror.

“Yours?” chased Sam, a wild look coming into his eyes.

Pippin cringed hard, realizing what he’d just revealed.

“Yours!” repeated Sam, now grasping both of Pippin's arms and shaking him. “Peregrin Took!”

Pippin stopped breathing, begging the floor to swallow him whole.

“Did Merry do this to Frodo too?”

Pippin did not answer. He began to quiver and his breathing went ragged.

Sam tightened his grip upon Pippin’s shoulders and began to shake. “Tell me! Did Merry put his damn mark on Frodo? Did he burn him?”

Pippin lifted his head, and seeing a look that would brook no prevarication, nodded though his tears. He braced himself for an explosion, however when it came, it was not an explosion of violence, as he had expected, but one of Sam’s convulsive sobs.

Meekly, Pippin edged up to Sam, and placed a comforting hand upon his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

Sam snapped his head to face Pippin, his eyes still alight with shock and rage.

“When,” he sputtered out savagely, “when did you start being sorry, Pippin? When you took the whip in your own hands and laid down Merry’s blows? Or was it way back when you hit Frodo atop the head with a cookpan at the start of this nightmare? When does your sorry start? When!”

Pippin sobbed into his hands like a broken thing but did not answer. Sam’s stern grip around his forearms brought him back to the present.

“Go ahead! Strike me!” cried Pippin. “I deserve it! Of course I do! I have let everyone down! I love Merry! I love Frodo! I am fond of you! And I have let everyone down, Sam! Everyone! You should see him, Sam! Frodo is in such a bad way. He’s been broken, Sam. Merry promised me over and over that he would make Frodo happy but he broke him instead. When he first took off the blindfold – those eyes! Those horrible eyes. They were dead eyes! They are dead eyes!"

The words poured from Pippin’s mouth as fast as the tears from his eyes.

"Frodo is gone. His eyes fasten on the fire; it’s the only thing he seems to see, or maybe he doesn't see it, I don't know. He doesn’t talk unless it's crying out, and even then not in words, but sounds, ghastly, wild, animal sounds. And when he’s 'awake' he thrashes about so. And Merry, Sam! Can’t he see there is something wrong with our Frodo? Horribly wrong! Can’t he see? He talks to Frodo as if he’s speaking back to him! You saw it! It is just not right! Merry’s eyes light up when he speaks to Frodo. He tells me Frodo is happy. Can he not see? Is my Merry mad? Please, Sam! Hit me all you like but promise me that you can bring Frodo back. Please tell me and make me believe it! I’m so scared, Sam!”

Sam regarded Pippin now, sobbing like a shattered thing before him. He was torn between fury and ridicule, though his compassion was what won out. Sam cleared his mind and found his hand landed reassuringly upon Pippin’s quaking shoulder (wracked with tears). Sam waited until Pippin’s sobs subsided before speaking a word.

“I don’t want to hit you, Pippin,” said Sam gently. “I wish to throttle your Brandybuck cousin for what he’s done to us all. And I can’t make no promises about making Frodo whole. But this I know.”

Sam saw that Pippin’s gaze had fallen to the floor. “Look at me lad, so I know you understand.”

Pippin lifted his forlorn tear-streaked face to Sam.

“This I can promise, Pippin.” Sam’s eyes now bored into Pippin's. “If we do not find some way to get Frodo away from Merry, they will both be lost. And the fact you loved them both with all your heart won’t mean nothing after its too late.

“Now Pippin,” said Sam sternly. “I need you to tell me everything.”

* * *

Pippin stumbled from Sam's bedroom, down the hallway, his emotions in a turmoil once again.

Sam, Merry, Frodo.

They all were jumbling around in his head, each begging for him to act. But he didn't want to act. He only wanted to follow, it was all he had ever wanted to do. To follow Merry. The good Merry, that is, the Merry who loved only him, who would be his lover, his brother, his helper, his other half…his everything--just like he'd told Sam--the Merry who would let him, at least maybe once in awhile, take him the way he had last night.

Pippin smiled as he wrapped his arms around himself to stave off the cool, dawn breeze coming in through a crack in the door. His feet skipped in delight on the creaky floorboards. Merry, his lover, his lover, his lover. He had to see him, to give him one more delicious kiss.

Using one finger, Pippin knocked lightly on the door to Frodo's room. There was no answer.

Gently he took the handle and turned it without making a sound. He pushed the door open and quietly tip-toed in. And then his eyes widened and his mouth opened in horror.

In the early glow of dawn, Pippin beheld his two older cousins.

Instead of keeping watch by Frodo's bed, Merry was in it, under the covers and lying next to Frodo in what could only be called a lover's embrace. Frodo was asleep, or apparently so, his eyes closed and his breathing regular and shallow.

In contrast, Merry was purring and cooing, holding Frodo lovingly, his arms inside his nightshirt, caressing his back in exactly the same way as he had lulled Pippin to sleep only hours before. Pippin took a few silent steps forward, unseen by Merry, whose back was to the door.

"Froodo, Froodo-love," Merry whispered in Frodo's ear. It's always been you and me, the two of us against the world. We grew up together at Brandy Hall, we share so much."

Pippin clasped his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming. The same words, the same damn words!

"Froodo, dearest Ringbearer, you must come back to me now. You must speak." Merry snuggled up closer to his sleeping cousin, reaching his hands down lower. "I want to love you, Frodo, you can even take me, if you want."

"MERRY!!" Pippin could contain himself no longer.

Merry turned instantly, jerking his arms out of Frodo's nightshirt. His blazing eyes were bright, even in the dim light. "What are you doing here?"

"Bastard!" Pippin stomped his feet like a petulant child, his eyes tearing up.

Merry sighed and climbed slowly out of the bed. He was also wearing a nightshirt that hung down to his knees. "Pippin, do I have to explain everything to you?"

"Well, you have to explain this!"

Merry sighed again, although this time in an exaggerated manner. "Grow-up, Pip, don't you see that I have to make Frodo feel secure and loved."

Pippin looked at Frodo, whose eyes had opened at the commotion. Still, it was clear that they saw nothing.

He turned back to Merry. "You don't have to be with him like he was me." A tear escaped his eye and rolled slowly down his cheek.

Merry took a step closer. His voice was firm and strong. "Did you see me taking Frodo?"

There was a moment of silence.

"No," Pippin sniffled.

Merry smiled and closed the gap between them. He tentatively put his arm on Pippin's shoulder. "I love you both, Pip, but you are the one I shall lie with. You are the only one."

He slowly put his other arm on Pippin's shoulder. "Come now, surely you can't be jealous of our dearest Frodo? Our beloved cousin?"

Pippin raised his tear-filled eyes. "No, Merry, not Frodo, not ever Frodo."

Merry smiled. "Ahhh, there now, Pip, you understand. And I do love you so." With that he pulled Pippin in close and kissed him passionately on the mouth. Pippin's arms hung loosely at his sides for a moment but then they rose as he opened his mouth, letting Merry inside.

Pippin then clasped his arms around Merry with all his strength and his throat emitted little sounds of pleasure as the two hobbits sunk to the soft carpet below, lost in each other's embrace and mindless of Cousin Frodo, who lay on the bed and watched with unseeing eyes.

TBC

If you liked this (or have constructive input)-please be a dear and tell Celandine at CelandineG@aol.com
--Emma


Ring around the Merry, by Aelfgifu. An alternate universive LOTR fanfic in which Merry holds Frodo captive for the "salvation of the Shire." http://www.geocities.com/aelfgifuemma/RATM.html