By: Dana
Summary: They make a game of counting fireflies.
Characters: Pippin, Merry
Pairings:: Merry/Pippin
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slash
Author's Notes: A Christmas-ficlet for Giuliana.
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.

They make a game of counting fireflies - whoever counts the most, is the winner, though in their rush to make a game, they never did figure out what would happen if one or the other were to win. Now, they are lying out on the hill atop Bag End, the evening sky overhead, evening-coloured grass cushioning them where they rest. Only the first stars are shining - the day has yet to fully end.

"Thirteen," Merry says. "No, fourteen."

"Eighteen," Pippin replies, triumphant. "No. Twenty."

"You can't have seen that many, Pippin. Fifteen."

"I can too, Merry. Make that twenty-two."

"You must be cheating."

"Why, I never - what an awful thing for you to go and say."

"And what an awful thing for you to go and do. Seventeen."

Merry pushes up on one elbow, and looks at Pippin, still stretched out, curls all mussed. "You'd do better if you counted stars, then." Pippin goes to reply, but light flares before Pippin's nose, illuminating the curves of his features, throwing shadows up into his eyes - he does reply, but with Merry at the same time. "Twenty-three," Pippin says, at the same time that Merry says "Eighteen."

The bug fades back to darkness, and Merry and Pippin are left looking at each other. Pippin grins, first, and then Merry.

"Well, if I were to win - only if - what would I be winning?"

"I hadn't thought of that, Pip," Merry says, and makes a thoughtful noise.

Pippin frowns, quite perplexed. "Well, we can't have that." He reaches out, with one hand, carefree fingers looping haphazardly in the collar of Merry's faded-white linen shirt. "Might I have you, then? You'd make a fine prize."

"Then we'd both win," Merry matter-of-factly replies.

"Well, I could live with that, I think," Pippin replies, and then: "Twenty-four."