By: Dana
Summary: She might have been the one.
Characters: Pervinca Took, Angelica Baggins
Pairings: Pervinca/Angelica
Rating: R
Warnings: Femslash, angst
Author's Notes: For Paceus, for my birthday.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

Pervinca spends too much time with lads (and on more than one occasion Pippin has said she'd make a better one than a lass), and she thinks mostly like a lad and lets Angelica know that she's interested in her (and she is interested in her, there'd be no good denying that). Angelica wouldn't be visiting at Great Smials if it hadn't been for cousin Amethyst's wedding, and Amethyst set to marry a Baggins. It might just be timing, but Pervinca thinks it might instead be fate.

And Angelica is lovely, with dark curls and leaf shaded eyes, and Pervinca has never thought herself a one-hobbit lass, but she might just be, for Angelica's sake.

She wants her. Wants her badly and, she thinks, wants her forever. And she gives her a bundle of acacia, althea, and amaranth, yellow as sun, dark as dusk, and bright as blood. Pervinca's never thought like that, seen a sweet face and wanted it for more than the night. But she presses the flowers into Angelica's surprised arms, and the look on her face is somehow sweeter, then.

"It might not be my birthday, but I've a present for you. " Pervinca smiles, and her lips are smooth against Angelica's, where she sets a small kiss. It's hard, not to make it anything more than that. Because she wants her –

Yes, wants her bad, and she doesn't know how to think like this, doesn't know what to do when the want itches under her skin and sinks into her blood.

The day is still young, and the wedding celebration nears, and night brings the moon, and Angelica's dark hair seems set with a glowing crown of stars. And she can't help staring, even if it's not the sort of thing you do while in polite company, and it's hard to breathe and even hard to think, and Pervinca's throat is tight and her mouth is dry.

And Angelica is dancing, and she's laughing and she's lovely, no, more than lovely, and Pervinca's Took enough to know that there's gossip about this lass, and how she can't stop looking at her own face. And Pervinca doesn't think she'll stop looking, now that she's started.

Wants, wants badly, and she can taste it in her mouth.

(Angelica's lips had been dry and sweet, tasting faintly of raspberry, and Pervinca had smiled into their kiss, and wound her fingers slow about Angelica's wrist. She'd not draw away, which had been a very good thing, and Pervinca had left that kiss at that, a promise of perhaps something more. And Angelica had watched her, when she left her, when she turned away and went back through the arch that led out from the parlour.)

And there are stars in Aneglica's hair, and Pervinca is out on the dancing field in a flash of moment, and she dances close to Angelica.

And Angelica notices. And Angelica sees.

She reaches out, and she doesn't know why, but Angelica reaches out in turn, and their fingers thread close. Pervinca smiles, and she laughs and pulls Angelica to her.

And they dance off the field, to the encircling darkness of tall oaks.

Now Angelica's mouth tastes of ale and sweets, and Pervinca presses her tongue in and tastes her even deeper – makes her moan against her mouth, trembling when she reaches back out, hands reaching for something steady, something warm. And Angelica is warm, too, and Pervinca kisses from her mouth to her shoulder, where the skin is smooth and sweet and slightly freckled. Trembles so hard she thinks she might faint, and she wants, and it's too much and she thinks she might just faint.

Angelica is a tug of careful hands, fingers pressing light against bare skin, and Pervinca's breath catches and she groans, when Angelica trails heat down her chest, hands fitting perfect against her breats. She gasps, feels like she'll never breathe proper again, and she sinks down into tall grass, and pulls Angelica with her.

And the night is cool and bright and the stars are still settled in Angelica's hair, and Pervinca kisses her and undresses her, licks her skin and touches her where she's hottest, where she's wet. And Angelica groans and moans, and her fingers are too long and too clever, and Pervinca gasps and melts and melts again, and Angelica must be flowing through her.

She thinks, it can't be that she had too must to drink, because there's nothing in her veins but Angelica. And she thinks, it must be that, must be Angelica, that she's drunk on, that makes her giddy when she gasps.

The night might be cool but they're hot like fire, and Pervinca wraps herself about Angelica, touches her and kisses her and her skin is slick and her body throbs with warm. Her mouth finds and licks and kisses and bites, and Angelica laughs and moans and ebbs against her, and then she's pulsing.

And they press close, after, and their bodies cool and Pervinca pushes her brow against Angelica's shoulder, and she traces circles on Angelica's stomach, and kisses at her neck, and her skin is salty there, though somehow still inexplicably sweet.

Pervinca wakes, cool and bare but for her own cloak, which has been pulled over her and tucked about, with gentle care. And there's dew on her nose, she can taste it on her mouth, and her mind is muggy but then she recalls –

There's a crick in her neck and her back aches, and Angelica should be here, but she's not.

And she's not at Great Smials, when Pervinca dresses and goes looking, and Pervinca's head hurts worse than if she'd been drinking through the night. And she's not at Great Smials, and when she presses the only word she hears is that she headed out in the very early morning, with no word that she'd be coming back.

Pervinca thinks she just had her heart broken, but it hurts too much and that should say something, that should make her know, but still, she can't be sure.