By: Dana
Summary: Merry is obstinate. Pippin is a brat.
Characters: Merry, Pippin
Pairings:: Merry/Pippin
Rating: PG/PG-13
Warnings: Slash
Author's Notes: A Christmas-ficlet for Catherine.
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 comes in from the cold, bearing wood for their fire, snow hanging in the mess of his cinnamon-bright curls, red tips for both his nose and ears, and cheeks that are flushed from the cold. He grins at Merry, who grins right back. It was Pippin's turn to go fetching firewood, after all, which has made it Merry's turn to laze upon the couch, which he does with much relish, all stretched out, wearing the most comfortable (and the warmest, all fine and yellow) of his robes.

"Hurry up and come join me, Pip. It's cold without you."

Pippin laughs, and tends to the firewood, ducking his head from Merry's view as he does so, setting the wood in its wrack upon the hearth, in the light of cheery flames. "It'll be more cold with me there, I imagine."

"I daresay you're mistaken, Pippin."

"I daresay you've sat about long enough and have drunk more than enough brandy. Now, if you want me to warm up, perhaps you ought to get up off," Pippin grins, a smug sort of grin, and spring-bright light sparks in his eyes, "your couch, and come give me a hand."

"No," Merry says, with a pleasant chuckle. "I rather like the view I have from right here. That, and you are doing more than a good job of it yourself."

"You'd say that," Pippin groans, but there is mischief lurking in his eyes, eyes that spark again, star-fire bright. Ducking his head back, just once more, he then rises to his feet, brushing hands off on his long trousers. "There's only one thing I can do about that, then," he says and, carefree as he often is, he undoes the clasp that is fastened tight at his throat, and his cloak falls free of his shoulders, hitting the floor with a solid, wet thump.

"Now Pippin - "

Merry half rises on one arm, but is met with Pippin's solid, wet weight, as Pippin settles on his lap. Snowflakes scatter from his hair and his arms and cold water splatters against Merry's cheek.

"Awful," Merry gasps, as Pippin wriggles into a more comfortable sitting position, grinning wide as Merry gasps against the shock of wet and cold and the friction of cloth between. "You are positively awful, Pip. I don't know why I even keep you around."

"Why, my dear cousin, I love you too."