By: Dana
Summary: Merry doesn't know when to forget and what to remember.
Characters: Merry, Pippin, others mentioned
Pairings: Merry/Pippin (mention of Sam/Rose)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, sexual content, Merry's thinking too much
Author's Notes: Written for the hobbit smut "That String Around Your Finger" Challenge.
Fantastic beta by Catherine, who is amazing.
Hyel, you are also fantastic, love.
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.

"It was yesterday, wasn't it?" Pippin paused. The bed creaked and the covers rustled when he shifted, pressed just slightly closer, and he ended up with his cheek resting snug against Merry's chest. This was made easier by the fact that Merry's arm wound about his shoulder as he had moved. And then after the silence, Pippin continued; "Well, a year ago yesterday, and we'd come to the Brandywine. We'd finally made it home." It had been an odd thing for him to say, but yes, Merry thought, thinking of the day - no, not day, as night had fallen by the time they'd come to the Brandywine bridge. A year before that, they had been safe enough in Rivendell but Frodo had not been at all safe - well, he had been safe enough, but Merry had wondered if Frodo was planning on running off on them once more. Not again, Merry had decided, and Pippin had insisted on coming along.

And made it back, they had, though the road had been long and they had run more often they had walked, and they had stumbled, too. There is too much that Merry can recall, that he wishes he couldn't - pain and stinking darkness and almost having died.

At least, through it all, he'd always come back to Pippin. Always.

"You're right, Pippin," Merry says, at least, and in the dim candlelight and faint sunshine that leaks in through the east window, Pippin mouth opens in the faintest shape of a grin. Like light itself, he is, and Merry has said as much on at least three drunken occasions, two of which he can recall with more clarity than the pains that come the morning after such drink-filled nights.

"Am I? I hope I don't end up making a habit of it, then."

Merry, unable to keep a similar grin from stretching on his lips (as though, given his company, he'd have even tried), then says: "For as obstinate as you are, Pippin - and just as pigheaded as a Bracegirdle, so don't think that that's a compliment on my part - I doubt you'll end up making a habit out of that."

"Well, you would say that," Pippin replies, and then he presses closer than he'd already been, curling against Merry, naught but breath between and soft, bare skin. The air is warm enough, though the season has been turning, and Pippin is warmer still. "Well, we'll remember when it comes round again, I reckon. Tie that string around your finger," and he circles his thumb down low on Merry's belly. "Isn't that what they say?"

"I think so, yes," Merry whispers, and his breath goes short.

"Think of the welcome we received," Pippin murmurs, and he presses a light kiss to the curve of Merry's shoulder, and then tilts his head up and presses another to the tip of Merry's ear. He sets his hand flat against Merry's stomach, presses a bit firmer and smiles against Merry's cheek. "Still, I can't believe I'd managed to forget. Or you, even, and you remember just about anything, even when I'd rather you not. It's not the sort of day that you'd think would manage to slip away."

Merry chuckles, and sets a kiss along the too sharp line of Pippin's jaw. "Don't you worry on it, Pippin. I'd forgotten, too."

Pippin speaks no more, closing his eyes and setting his head against Merry's upper arm, his curls dark and glimmering faintly in the cool pale yellow of morning light. Merry curls one arm about Pippin, and he feels the shape of Pippin's sharper grin against his skin. A kiss, and then another, and Pippin's mouth is smooth and warm against his. But Merry can't stop himself, stop himself from thinking, and it's their welcome that he remembers - it had been something, hadn't it, and for all that he had forgotten the day, Merry wonders if the thought of that day - that welcome - will ever go from his mind. Pippin going off to the Tookland, and coming back with an army of Tooks. And they had fought, had to fight for their home, and it wasn't just the Ruffians that had died - they had lost their own people, good hobbits, hobbits who had wanted nothing but their freedom. And with them there, with him and Pippin and Frodo and Sam (and maybe he had been most surprised that Sam had been ready to fight, because he had never known Sam as well as he had known Frodo and Pippin. Though, if Sam had been able to carry Merry's own cousin up a burning mountain, perhaps Merry should not have been so amazed at his willingness to fight and his strength), they had been able to bring them all together, to unify them into a force that was capable of fighting off even such terrible Men.

Merry rolls back against the bed, and Pippin pushes the coverlet back and then skin is sliding against skin as he pushes his leg full across Merry's. Merry groans into Pippin's mouth, right hand sinking deep into Pippin's curls. And he's thinking, still, for all that he had changed, they had changed, he never had noticed just how much it had been until they had come back home - and they'd had to reclaim their home by force. Pippin has kept rolling with that motion, and his weight is firm against Merry and his mouth is - his kiss is endless, and is nothing at all like their first had been, but then, that had been something of a mistake, hadn't it?

He's been thinking too much, he knows this himself, and he knows Pippin well enough to know what Pippin is planning - no, has planned.

Merry groans again and Pippin is moving against him, the slow slide of his hands and the insistent pressure of his mouth, and the heat where their bodies meet between. Pippin draws back, and cool air rushes against Merry's skin, as sudden and as aching as ice.

And when Pippin touches him, presses full against him, Merry can't think, can't think at all.

A kiss, a promise, a whisper, and Pippin pushes his legs between Merry's, and Merry yields and the skin is slightly slick and cooler now that he's moving. Another kiss, lighter, and Merry's skin burns hot where Pippin's mouth had been. But then, again, the cold comes.

Merry takes hold of Pippin's hands, and Pippin murmurs something against Merry's lips, and then he's moving - they're both moving, or it perhaps could be the house, and Pippin whispers something else, something urgent, though Merry can't make himself hear what Pippin says.

But then Pippin's hands slide from his, and Pippin wraps his arms about him, presses so hot and tight and Merry can't help but feel him all over, and he winds his arms back around Pippin and rolls to the side - and the house must be moving, now, and everything is hot and slick and Pippin's mouth is on his skin and Merry wants to sink his fingers into Pippin, but his skin is too damp, and when he presses for proper hold, his hands slip and slide. Pippin presses back against him, and it's his hip that pins Merry against his thigh, his own cock aching in open air and then against Pippin's skin. But Pippin has him, has him caught, and he strains as he grinds himself against the bed - pushes Merry against the bed, and holds him - and Merry's breath puffs out and the air is cool and damp and even the bedcovers are beneath him, sticking to his skin.

"Don't stop," is all he can say, and Pippin's hand slides across his skin and then takes him, and Pippin is whispering something urgent, something pleading, against his ear, though Merry is moving with the rest of the house, and Merry still can't hear.

But then fire sparks and heat spreads and Pippin stills, but only slowly, and feeling slowly returns to Merry's fingers, and when he clutches at Pippin, this time he at least can grab hold. Then they still, pressed close, and Merry chuckles against Pippin's mouth and then decides there is where he'll set his next kiss. A soft laugh, and Merry can think again, and he remembers all too much and all at the same time - long ago summer days and swimming when Pippin had insisted he be better off on dry land and finding each other, once again, when the night had been cool and the moon and stars had all been dancing, and they had danced, too, with a great white tower looking over them as they did.

But Pippin had missed him, and he had found him. And it feels as though he's found Merry all over again.

So Merry says, at length, and with Pippin's taste still on his tongue. "I was trying to think."

A grin, and Pippin says, "Yes, I know. If there's anything you do, it's think, and think too hard."

"Now I - " and Merry says no more than that, not when Pippin kisses him, demanding and insistent, and kisses him until the words once again go from his head. Then Pippin draws back, pushes at the damp curls on Merry's brow, and smiles as he says.

"Now we'll sleep, at least until after luncheon. And then, after that, I suppose it would be best if we saw to a bath."

Merry knows well enough that Pippin doesn't like being told no, and there's no better way to get his cousin to steel his resolve. But he'll say no, anyhow, because he supposes it must be his way. "But we're wanted in Brandy Hall, and long before then. I could see to the water myself."

"Yes, I know you could, and I know we are. And they can blame whatever they want on me, for having you be so tardy." Pippin yawns, and his mouth skims along Merry's cheek, like it's plotting out a path or a line upon a map, and then he kisses softly up and along the curve of Merry's ear. The air trembles when Pippin speaks, and says, "It wouldn't be the first time, you know."

"Yes, I know," Merry replies, and then he chuckles softly, again, and rolls Pippin over until they are able to curl close, Pippin soon saying that he's cold, and presses even closer. Sometime when he'd not been looking, the candle had burned down to a twisted lump of wax, and the light that comes through the window is brighter, too, and the sound of birdsong comes in clear and ringing through the glass.

After all this time, they still somehow manage to fit.

"It's all going as it ought to, don't you think?"

"Sam is married to his Rose, and their first is on the way. And Frodo is well enough, again." Merry thinks on that, and knows well enough, not all anniversaries are things that should want to be remembered. He knows, as well, that he doesn't look forward to the spring.

"Yes," he murmurs, after all that thought. "Yes, I think you're right, and again. Things are all going as they should."

And Merry doesn't mind it, not at all, that the crown of Pippin's head beneath his chin, and he reaches out as his eyes fall closed, groping for the coverlet - and when he takes hold of it, he pulls it up over the both of them. Pippin murmurs something breathless and pushes even closer than he had already been - but by then, when those thoughts all go from Merry's mind, and Pippin fully stills against him, but for his breathing, Pippin is already asleep.