It was a lazy day in the Shire, the
kind that only come in the summertime when it's too hot to
do much of anything useful, too early to begin harvesting
any of the slowly ripening crops and much too lovely a day
to be spent inside. Most of the hobbit children were
laughing and playing out in the fields while their parents
watched indulgently from the cool shade.
Further up the hillside, and away from all the ruckus, Merry
Brandybuck was laying almost hidden amongst the nodding
grasses and wildflowers, nearly drowsing from the warmth of
the Sun as he sketched idly on a scrap of parchment with a
piece of charcoal.
It wasn't that he didn't like his family, far from it, but
sometimes he simply wanted a little quiet and he'd be more
likely to find an Elf hiding beneath his bed than to find
silence in Brandy Hall.
He'd thought that today he might actually have found a place
to hide safely for a time, but the sound of someone wading
through the sea of grasses towards him warned him that his
privacy was about to be invaded.
A pair of feet appeared at his elbow, and Merry raised his
eyes warily to see his younger cousin Pippin standing over
him, crunching rather noisily on an apple.
Merry sighed in exasperation. He was actually quite fond of
Pippin, at least in comparison to most of his other cousins,
but Pip didn't seem able to understand why anyone might wish
to spend a bit of time alone. Merry suspected that if Pip
would spend more time in Brandy Hall he would understand the
notion right quickly.
Deciding that perhaps if he ignored the younger Hobbit, he
might wander off to find someone friendlier to spend the day
with, Merry refocused his attention on his drawing.
Pippin regarded him silently for a long moment but Merry
should have known to wouldn't last. “What are you doing?”
Pippin asked finally, catching a droplet of juice trailing
down his arm with the tip of his tongue.
“If you have to ask, I don't see why I should tell you,”
Merry replied coolly, refusing to look up.
“What I mean is, what is that supposed to be?” Pippin
clarified, trying to speak around a mouthful of fruit and
Merry grimaced in disgust.
“I'm drawing the millhouse right there.” Merry gestured
towards it with his free hand. “What did you think it was?”
“If I could have told, I wouldn't have asked,” Pippin said
easily, dancing nimbly away from the slap Merry had aimed at
his leg before flopping down next to him. He squinted at the
millhouse and then at the paper, chewing thoughtfully.
Merry managed to wait through a few moments of silence
before he finally gave in. “What do you think?” he asked
heavily, certain he'd regret asking.
“I think you're ruining a perfectly good piece of
parchment.” Merry did hit him that time, and Pippin lost his
grip on the apple. He picked it back up by the stem and
gazed mournfully at the dirt-encrusted flesh before tossing
it aside, sighing, “Honestly, Merry, someone would think you
are as blind as old farmer Grubb. Here.”
Before Merry could protest, Pippin had scrambled onto his
back, one leg on either side of Merry's hips as he leaned
over him. Merry grunted at the sudden added weight and one
of Pippin's pointy little elbows dug into his shoulder,
producing a remarkably sharp burst of pain.
“Pip, what are you...” he halted mid-sentence when one of
Pippin's hands wrapped around his own that was still holding
the charcoal.
“Like this, now.” Pippin's hand guided his, sharpening the
lines on the page. Merry watched at first, seeing a much
clearer picture appearing but there always seemed to be
something distracting him from seeing the means of it. There
was the faintest touch of Pippin's breath, sweet and warm on
the back of his neck, and Pippin's hand, still sticky with
juice, cupped around his own.
Merry swallowed hard, trying not to squirm under his cousin.
As many times as he and Pippin wrestled and played together,
it had never quite felt like this. Pip leaned up just a bit
more, his hips rocking against Merry's backside and Merry
quite abruptly forgot how to think. He hardly heard what
Pippin was saying. All his focus was on the warm body
pinning his own down and the ground no longer seemed a
comfortable place to be, especially not in one particular
place where both his and Pippin's weight were pressing down.
Pippin dropped Merry's hand and out of the corner of his
eye, Merry saw him raise his own to his mouth, his small
pink tongue wetting the tip of his littlest finger before
Pip artfully smudged a few lines on the paper into shadow.
“There. Isn't that better?”
“Better,” Merry repeated numbly and Pip laughed brightly,
knocking away what little breath Merry had left as he
bounded to his feet.
“Now, don't you go being jealous just because I draw better
than you,” Pippin said, winking at him before sauntering
away, hands in his pockets as he whistled a cheery little
tune. Not until that little song had faded completely from
his hearing could Merry turn his attention to the parchment.
Pippin was a great deal better at drawing than him, Merry
had to admit, turning his own nearly shapeless form into a
fair portrait of the millhouse and once he might have been
somewhat perturbed that Pippin had bested him.
His hand still felt warm where Pippin's had rested and,
without thinking, he brought it to his mouth and found his
skin sweetly tainted with apple juice.
The Sun was starting its downward arc in the sky and most of
the other hobbits had begun venturing indoors to find
supper. Climbing slowly to his feet, Merry carefully rolled
up the parchment and tucked it inside his shirt. Later, he
would place it in the small chest he kept under his bed with
all his other treasures, and every time afterward he smelled
apples he would remember that afternoon, and how very warm
and heavy Pippin had felt, how his eyes had been bright and
his smile sweet.
But right then, all Merry wanted was a bite of supper.
-Finis-
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