By: Dana
Summary: Just one way of saying goodbye.
Characters: Pippin, Merry, mention of Frodo
Pairings: Merry/Pippin
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash, light sexual content
Author's Notes: Pre-quest though not by much. I possibly fudged with the timing of the day and it lacks a distinctive plot. I don't seem to care. For Aralinde, who is of the cool.
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.

"Is that the last of it?" Pippin asked.

Merry groaned, nodded, and slumped down against the wall and, in one fluid motion, stretched his legs out and wiggled his toes. He was certain that he heard his joints pop and creak. It had been a long day, after all. Too long. Now, Bag End was a shadow of it's former self; the halls and rooms were mostly bared and the wagon that would be driven to Crickhollow was piled high. Come the morning, he'd be on his way. There was time enough still to talk Pippin into coming along, but he knew it was best that Pippin be left to keep eye over Frodo. It wouldn't do for him to give them the slip.

"I think," Merry said, rubbing his forehead, stretching his toes, "that I could sleep for forever."

"If that were to happen," and Pippin cheerfully offered Merry his pipe, "how will Frodo's belongings ever get to his new home?"

"Oh," Merry accepted the pipe with a weary sigh, "I'm sure Fatty can manage. And if he can't well, we'll worry about that less now and more then."

Pippin laughed and Merry took a long draw from the pipe. The taste was rich and woody, almost sweet. His mood had shifted, like the afternoon light that sent shadows dancing down the disturbingly and far too empty hall. The first candles had been lit. Evening was fast approaching. "It won't be right, Pippin, a Sackville-Baggins living in Bag End. Even knowing more of Frodo's plans than what he'd like us to, well, I still don't understand how he could sell it to them."

"I don't think you can, Merry. Our Frodo's never been one for making sense."

"You've a point there," Merry replied, laughing, exhaling the pleasant smelling smoke as he handed Pippin back his pipe and Pippin took it back readily, the mouth of it resting between his lips as he breathed in. Smoke curled. "Here," Merry said, bending his leg, rubbing his sore calf. "I'll feel better when this moving is done and gone."

"Really now, Merry?" Pippin asked, his eyes half-closed.

"Really now, Pippin. I've never been one to deny the inevitable and Frodo is leaving whether we want him to or not. So really, I suppose, though I'd rather he not have to leave."

"Inevitable, yes, and it's good for our cousin that we're planning to go along with him. As long as he plans on being gone." Pippin's smile was merry and his eyes were bright and he nodded as Merry laughed. Mirth that turned to discomfort, and Merry groaned, then, as Pippin took a long draw from his pipe and, in turn, after exhaling the sweet stuff, tapped it out. He just as calmly, and carefully, set it aside.

"We'll just have to help him make himself a new home."

"We will," Merry nodded, groaned once more, and rubbed his knee. Pippin's hand joined his, and then the other, kneading sore flesh. Pippin's hands, clever and quick, moved in the downwards direction of Merry's calf.

Merry sighed, eyes half-closed. "And then I'll be free to sleep forever."

"After the move, Merry," Pippin laughed, his hands still moving, and Merry breathed in the last of the sweet smoke that lingered in the cooling autumn air. "That is," he amended, "after the move, and after we follow Frodo off wherever it is he must go. Then, when we're back and we will come back you can sleep as much as you like."

"Good," and Merry cracked open one eye, and saw that Pippin was looking back, an unreadable smile on his lips (but it was a smile, of that there was no denial), kneading the tense muscles in his thigh. Merry gave a jerk and Pippin's smile broadened, his teeth flashing white like bright stars in the falling dark.

"I have your attention, then."

Merry's reply was throaty, deep, and Pippin's fingers continued their work, massaging, stroking, and Merry pressed his hands down against the ground, aiming for some leverage, but there was little ground that could be gained. Pippin wet his lips, a soft pink swipe of color and the tip of his tongue, and slid one leg over Merry's, pushing with his bent knee, and Merry's legs were willed to part.

And Pippin continued to move, sliding over, straddling one leg at the knee, kneeling now, bending forward with one hand on Merry's thigh and the other creeping to the buttons nearest the fastenings of Merry's breeches.

"Are you tired now, Merry?" Pippin asked, and it was no illusion that fogged Merry's mind, blurred his eyes, or veiled his ears, that he had whispered, and Merry felt Pippin's breath, soft and warm, and was certain that the hair all over his body was standing on end.

Merry, with a jerk, shook his head. "No," he breathed, and Pippin grinned, and Pippin's fingers working to loosen that first, lowest button from its hole was making it hard for Merry to think.

"I didn't think I mean Pippin, stop that, what if Frodo should come "

"He'll have to wait his turn, Merry, as we'll be far too busy with coming of our own."

The absurdity of it caused Merry's cheeks to heat and he laughed, a short bark, but Pippin's mouth sealed over his, wide-open-and-wanting, and swallowed the rest of that laugh whole. It was like falling, like falling for the first time ever though Merry was certain that it had happened before. Pippin had a way of demanding attention, of being the center of it all, and right now Merry's world was focused right there on Pippin on Pippin's mouth, his slick tongue and the way that it was neither gentle nor too demanding, and Pippin's fingers, tickling the soft skin of his stomach. One button had been freed, and then another. The air was cool against his stomach and Merry could feel his shirt spreading open and falling to the side.

Pippin's mouth was fast becoming unbearably hot and Merry was grateful, gasping, when he felt Pippin's lips were slipping away. And Pippin, he noticed, when he opened his eyes wide, was sitting there, almost glowing, in the last light of the day and the flicker of candles in the too-dark hall. The fire flies would soon be out, and Merry caught a twinkle of something other-worldly, something distinctively unhobbity, spark and shine in Pippin's eyes.

Ah, but this was his Pippin, his Pippin, and nothing more, his Pippin who was lover and cousin and his very best best-friend, Pippin who was slowly, almost lazily, unfastening buttons as he worked his way up Merry's chest. Pippin bent his head and Merry jerked back, jumping at the wet pricking of Pippin's tongue. A languid motion and Pippin pushed down against bone. And Merry could reach.

He did, gripping at Pippin's arms, warm sunlight sliding backwards behind the curve of Pippin's back. The pressure of Pippin's mouth as his lips softly encircled one ?ipple. The harder feel of Pippin's teeth as he gently teased the flesh.

Darkness would soon be falling. Merry bit back a moan as Pippin's mouth worked on him, like Pippin's hands had, kneading flesh and caressing with a soft and willing tongue. He did moan, then, against his better intentions. Pippin was warm and hard and his mouth was making its way up Merry's chest, tucked itself away at the crook of Merry's neck.

The harder bite of teeth, rougher teasing of the flesh, and Merry bit back a gasp and a moan and he bit down, too, when Pippin's knee (his right, settled there between the spread of Merry's legs), slid forward, a gentle pressure, paused, then shifted, as he started to rub.

It was maddeningly slow, this build up, and Merry was forced to action, pulling at Pippin till he came free, lips almost pulsing and his eyes shining so bright, breathless and too dressed, too smug, and Merry pushed him back into a kiss, kneeling there, sliding his arms around Pippin and pulling him close.

Pippin came, body willing, like his mouth was, too, and Merry fell so deeply into him that he thought that he'd never be found. Just breathe, goodness, breathe, Merry told himself, but that was hardly important, not now, now that he had started, now that he knew he couldn't stop, not now when he didn't even care if Frodo came and found them.

His nipple still stung and the crook of his neck was damp and cool. He slid a hand down Pippin's back, felt the tensing and the pulsing of flesh under cloth and skin, curved a hand at Pippin's bottom and squeezed. Pippin laughed into his mouth but fell back into their kiss. When Merry pushed him back, Pippin's eyes were dark, serious, intent. But he was grinning, his fingers trailing down Merry's chest, his stomach, and tugging at cloth.

"I've your attention now, I think."

"Do you ever," Merry laughed, grabbing Pippin's hand and bringing it to his mouth. He kissed Pippin's palm, let his lips wander, trailing smooth against Pippin's thumb, and Pippin gasped and softly moaned as Merry sucked on the tip. Color rose in his cheeks, soft but heated pink, and Merry let his mouth continue its wandering. He licked the taste of apple and smoke from Pippin's palm, sucked it free from his fingers. Pippin was panting and gave a hard tug on his breeches.

"We've played enough, I think."

"Have we ever," and slow and steady wasn't good enough, not then, and they were tangled together as they shed clothing, buttons popped free, and trousers were pulled down (but no more than their hips because while there was all the time in the world that still wasn't enough). Pippin was frantic, grabbing at Merry, his fingers strong and thin and wrapping around hard flesh. Merry sucked in a breath, steadied himself as he held on, gripping Pippin's right cheek so hard he thought it might bruise.

"There," Pippin exhaled, and Merry could still lick the sweat from his lips. Pippin cursed under his breath, and if it had been any other moment, any other time, Merry would have chided him, but now, not now. He bit at Pippin's lips, instead, hungry for his kiss. Pippin's hand shifted on hard flesh and Merry growled and pulled Pippin closer, kissed him harder, and when they parted, they had become a song of soft gasps and hard growls and deep moans and sweet sighs.

Pippin's hand was too clever, pressing and pulling, massaging. Merry was remembering all over what it was to be surprised. And he felt it, the build up, boiling over, and he pressed forward, kneeing Pippin with too-gentle persistence, and he cried out, wordless and wild, as Pippin's warm grip was replaced with cool air. But only a moment Pippin pushed into him, and the friction was frantic, and Pippin gripped them both between. Merry bit down, almost keening, and pushed back against Pippin.

And it was better than before. He'd soon be crashing down.

Pippin's eyes were still bright, though, his breath low and soft and his hair in wild disarray. But they fell shut, his eyes, and Merry kissed Pippin's pale?brow. He felt it, that build up, as Pippin's hand worked upon them both. He felt Pippin coming, first, the shudder and the abrupt intake of breath and the soft keen that escaped from his lips. The splatter of warmth and Merry felt himself follow after, grinding into Pippin, and Pippin gasped and moaned as he twitched, softly, and Merry joined him, gasping, sucking in breath after cool breath.

The air had warmed but the sweat was cooling. Merry leaned into Pippin, could breathe in the scent of autumn in Pippin's hair and his own scent on Pippin's skin. "I think yes. That's it," Pippin sighed. "One last memory here, Merry. One last goodbye."

Merry kissed Pippin, relaying his agreement in more than just words, but it was a lazy slow kiss, and Merry could feel his skin tingle as it cooled. It was dark now, but the candles flickered. The first stars were shining in the sky, through the open door. A soft flash of yellow light. Fireflies were drifting through the darkened sky.

"I"

"I know, you know."

"I know."

A laugh, then, drunken and giddy. They shifted and Pippin's laugh was delirious, his eyes bright, as he eyed the mess they'd made on the floor. "We could leave that for old Lobelia, I think, but it might just kill her heart."

Merry laughed, too, and kissed Pippin hard. "Oh, but we could," breathless, again. "Frodo might not ever forgive us, though. And I haven't the heart to face that."

"Nor I," Pippin intoned, somber, but sweet, and Merry was laughing as Pippin worked at his buttons, and Pippin laughed as Merry tugged up and then fastened first his and then Pippin's trousers.

"Our secret, then."

"Our secret, yes."

"If Frodo ever learns of this," Merry said at length, after idle kissing, after licking fingers clean, "he'll be wondering why we didn't ask him if he wanted to play."

And Pippin laughed, shaking his head. "I'm sure Frodo is too busy saying his own goodbyes, Merry, what with Sam tagging along. He'd have had no time for us, I think, even if he happened upon us and had to step right over to get back into the smial."

"You might have a point," and Merry laughed and grinned.

They did clean up after themselves, but not right away.