By: Dana
Summary: Hobbits and chocolate.
Characters: Pippin, Merry, Faramir, mention of others
Pairings: Merry/Pippin
Rating: G
Warnings: Light slash
Author's Notes: Random love for Blayne.
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.

Pippin knows chocolate. A treat, at times, during the winter months, most often shared at Yule, but always something that had come to them from far in the south: far in the south being even farther than the furthest reaches of the Southfarthing, leagues beyond even the gold-tinted waters of the Bay of Belfalas.

Maps and stories might be one thing, but knowing and seeing are something else entirely, and Pippin, and Merry, too, as Frodo and Sam had not seemed as eager as they had, and Pippin especially, when Faramir had offered them the chance to see the ancient city, Pelargir, port city of Lebennin, in the south of Gondor, at the meeting of the rivers Sirith and Anduin. Pippin had been disappointed that Frodo and Sam would not join them (and he had tried to talk them both out of their decision, and thought he had almost convinced Frodo that this trip would be for the best), and seeing Pelargir for himself had only convinced him further that Sam, and Frodo, too, had made an awful mistake when they had chosen not to come. If he had thought Minas Tirith grand, then he had forgotten that the city had been a stronghold before it had been a home. But Pelargir, instead, seemed older than earth itself, and if the heights of Minas Tirith had ever made Pippin feel small, Pelargir seemed even somehow more grand. And suddenly, names he might have known from maps, had real meaning: that they were more than just places far away, names written in faded ink. That they were real made Pippin wonder at the size of this world – for as small as he was, though he was taller now than ever before, he marveled at what other wonders might exist out there, in the wideness of the unknown.

And he wondered, as well, on if he might see them. If in this life, or perhaps the next.

But it was in Pelargir, with the scent of sea stinging salt in his nose and the cry of gulls in his ears from where they wheeled overhead, that Pippin had had his proper first taste of chocolate, and Pippin recalled, as well, his very first kiss – at least, the first that had counted, as it did seem that Merry always did like to tease.

And that kiss, at least, had tasted more of chocolate than Merry's own mouth, warm and almost bitter more than sweet, and Pippin found himself missing his home so much it was physical pain in his chest, though he supposed, as well, that it could be that his still-tender bones had not yet fully healed. Somehow, though, the chocolate in his memory is only that, recollection, and the warmth that is melting on his tongue is so much more real. He cannot help but smile, and then he leans heavily against Merry's shoulder, he says: "Frodo and Sam will regret having missed out on this, don't you think? They might be kicking themselves, even now."

"You're right, Pippin," Merry replies. "Perhaps we should be kind and take them some back."

The chocolate, Pippin thinks, is even better than it had been, sweeter and softer, and somehow even warmer, too. And he thinks, there is only one thing that would make this comparison proper, and that is –

"Perhaps," Pippin answers, though it then seems more important to wrap his mouth about Merry's mouth, and kiss him like he remembers, though he finds he cannot remember the last time that they had kissed. Faramir, who had sat with them and shared their meal, averts his gaze politely when the kiss does not immediately, or even somewhat-immediately, end.