Three Seconds Last All Week Long

Merry had never liked older hobbits, not in the sense of wanting to take them to bed. Of course a few years wouldn't matter, or even a decade and a half, or even twenty if the hobbit in question still thought enough like a tweenager.

Of course he knew some older hobbits preferred bedding or even wedding young ones, but the only time that had made any sense to Merry was with Amaldine and Weldon, where her head was just as old as his, and you only had to see them bent over some dusty volume or hear them complaining about the noise on Midsummer Eve to know the two were destined for each other.

But, when it came to Merry, he generally wanted a bedmate who... well, liked the same things he did. The last thing he needed in bed was complaints of athritis or the latest bingo gossip. Plus there were the yellow toenails, and skin you could wrap around your finger. As cosmopolitan as Merry was, that was a point where the mind shuddered with dread.

So, on the whole, this position was simply ridiculous.

"Hold on... No, wait... ouch!"

"What's the matter?"

Merry sighed. It had seemed like a thing to do for about three seconds out there in the library, when the sunlight slanted in just right from the high round window, and the play of shadows on skin, the smell of old leather and paper, and the sudden creaking silence had created a moment like memory stacked on memory, condensed into a slice of nostalgia and keen longing. For about three seconds, old was beautiful, and forbidden, and it really did seem like a good idea then. And three seconds was all it took.

The three seconds carried him to the first kiss, and there had indeed been something in that first lingering touch, dry, light, exhilirating. Then, unfortunately, there'd been the fingers digging in his side, much too hard, and his head yanked back by the hair, causing him to cry out in pain. And the apology. That had been the worst part. "I'm sorry. I thought you might like that."

"No, it's okay," Merry had said, determined not to give in on his new experience so quickly. They'd made it into the bedroom and closed the curtains and Merry had undone the buttons of his own shirt and then there'd been the weight on his thighs. The hobbit didn't even have the sense to move his weight on the bed. Merry winced and tried rolling the older hobbit off, but that had been mistaken and turned into a suffocating hug. Then fingers had grasped clumsily at his pants. He opened his legs, leading to the dialogue already recorded above.

"This isn't working," Merry mumbled.

Paladin stared, then began to laugh. "You might be right."

They decided to call it a day and parted in good spirits, and Merry promised himself not to mention it ever again. But, as it turned out, they'd been spotted on the brief journey from the library to the bedroom, and for the next couple of weeks Merry couldn't go anywhere without hobbits whispering, pointing and giggling. He only found out why after someone was brave enough to ask how the Thain's heir had fared.

"Well, how DID he fare?" asked Frodo.

Merry groaned and buried his face in the pillow. "Not you too!"

Frodo laughed "I'm just curious. I didn't think he was quite your type."

"He wasn't." Merry flopped around on his back. "It was fumbling and awkward, and not in the good way, like us once upon a time. But if anyone asks, it was the night of his life."

"Afternoon."

"That works too."

"All right, cousin." Frodo kissed him, and Merry reminded himself to decide an absolute upper limit of how much older was too old. The first step would be to check Frodo's birth year.