By: Dana
Summary: Some dance to remember, some dance to forget.
Characters: Merry, Pippin, some Frodo and Sam, mention of others
Pairings: Merry/Pippin, Frodo/Sam implied
Rating: R
Warnings: Slash, sexual content
Author's Notes: Well, here I am, and here's my fic. I'd like to thank both Lullenny for the terrific beta (especially since I really don't know if she knows just how much I appreciate it - and believe me, it was needed) and Elly, as well, for title and summary-related issues.
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.

The White Tower of Ecthelion was neither the most impressive structure to be seen in Gondor, nor was it, actually, any longer truly white. In the light of the moon, it glowed softly grey.

Merry sighed.

"You're up past your bedtime, Master Brandybuck," Pippin said in a surprisingly sound imitation of Gandalf's gruff tones, and Merry jerked his head back, eyes wide and mouth agape, as Pippin grinned that cheeky grin of his and walked closer. His cousin sat at the other end of the bench, and Merry rolled his eyes, shutting his mouth and grinning and he reached out and clasped Pippin's wrist.

"You can sit closer if you'd like."

"Well," and Pippin tilted his head to the side, grinning still. "It just so happens that I would."

"Good," Merry grunted, giving a slight tug, and Pippin rose and took two steps, sitting down almost immediately right at Merry's side. "Much better," Merry said, then, and he grinned a proper grin as he kissed Pippin's cheek.

"You couldn't sleep," Pippin said.

"Astute observation, Pip," Merry softly snickered, and Pippin stuck his tongue out, then leaned in close and kissed Merry on the cheek. Merry turned his head, and he was looking right into Pippin's eyes.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?"

"Is being so blunt a part of your charm?"

"It always has been," Pippin chuckled. "So you couldn't have only noticed it now."

"I hadn't," Merry replied.

"But still," Pippin nodded, as if he could read Merry's mind. Maybe he could, Merry mused, and Pippin tilted his head and Merry bowed his gaze. He took hold of Pippin's hand, sighed, and let his thumb rub circles on Pippin's palm.

"We don't really have to talk."

"I know."

"But if you want to"

"I know."

"Ah, Merry," and Merry felt Pippin's warmth when he leaned in close, lifting his gaze, eyes widening, when he found Pippin closer than just close. "I miss you."

"I miss you too," Merry replied, and Pippin's smile softened. He threaded his hand back in Merry's hair, and Merry closed his eyes, feeling Pippin's fingers curl and tug and hold on, as if he was trying to ground them both, feeling the shape of Pippin's mouth, parted, against his own. He shivered when he felt the brush of Pippin's lips, and he sighed and leaned in, pressing close, and they were silent for a long moment after that. Merry found that he was trying his hardest to taste the Shire in Pippin's kiss; something good, and sweet, and Pippin, too; not these new hobbits that they'd become, but what they should have still been.

Merry was sick of tasting ash.

He drew back, and Pippin did, too, and for a moment there, Merry was left wondering if he was sitting in the company of a stranger; but what a foolish thing to think, and he pushed that thought away. "When did you last kiss me like that?" Merry murmured, frowning softly, and Pippin leaned back, though his hand didn't lose purchase, resting lightly at Merry's ear.

"I can't for the life of me remember."

"Oh," Merry exhaled. "We should"

" do something about that, I think."

"Can't go forgetting such an important thing."

"No, no we can't."

"Just you, Pip. I didn't forget."

"True."

Merry nodded, wetting his lips, wet already with Pippin's kiss. Pippin's smile was too knowing, too gentle, and Merry wondered if this was his first time ever really seeing Pippin; maybe it wasn't that he was sitting with a stranger, but this hobbit that sat before him, in moonlight, with scars and almost sad smiles and eyes that were far too wise, certainly wasn't the Pippin that had been left behind. "We should," Merry said again, at a loss for any other words. "We should."

They kissed again, and the moon shifted, sliding slowly through the starry sky. When Merry drew back, and Pippin sighed, Pippin rose to his feet, and he grinned, extending his hand to Merry. Merry took it, and Pippin gave a gentle tug. Merry, curious, grinning as well, stood, and Pippin tilted his head.

"What were you doing, then, when I found you?"

"Just wondering," Merry murmured, absently shaking his head. "Why they call the tower white."

"Well," and Pippin drew Merry closer, stepping back as he did, and Merry's grin grew more and more amused as he followed after. The night air was cool and the scent of far off night blooming flowers seemed to cling to each breath. "It's white enough, wouldn't you say? The Off-Grey Tower of Ecthelion just isn't the same."

Merry laughed, and it came suddenly, bursting, and his shoulders were shaking almost violently as he tried to hold it back. But he couldn't, though, and he leaned into Pippin, muffled the explosion by pressing his face into Pippin's neck. And Pippin's hands were holding him up, one quick movement, sliding around Merry's waist. When Merry stilled, and his breathing calmed (and he blinked back tears that he couldn't explain), Pippin very softly kissed the crown of his head. When Merry drew back, he exhaled, and Pippin tilted his head. The concern in his eyes was a liquid thing and Merry felt it like a blow to the gut.

"Pippin, I " Merry started, though he wasn't sure what it was that he wanted to say, and Pippin shook his head. Don't worry, he seemed to say, though it wasn't with any words. Too much had changed, too little had stayed the same.

"I'm taller than you," Pippin whispered, absently, and not what Merry had expected at all. Merry drew back, shaking his head, and he laughed again, though it wasn't near as forceful as it had been before; it was startling, laughing again, to notice just how much it had last hurt to laugh.

"You aren't at all."

"I am," Pippin replied, and Merry conceded that maybe Pippin was, but Merry would never admit to it out loud. "Really, Merry," Pippin urged, and it would have been right if Merry had laughed again, right then, though he didn't, and Merry was certain that Pippin understood. "I am."

"If you say so, Pip," Merry admitted with only the slightest hesitation, holding Pippin close, and by the stars, it felt good to have him right there wrapped in Merry's arms. Merry sighed, breathing in Pippin's scent, and he turned his head and gently nosed Pippin's curls.

"What are you looking for, Merry?"

"Just you," Merry murmured.

"I found you, too," Pippin echoed, and Merry kissed him, gently, tasting the soft salt of sweat on his skin. Pippin let his head loll back, and Merry reworked his mental image of Pippin, and it was better than just good to hold him, when there had been a possibility that he never would have held him again. He ?issed his way to Pippin's jaw, and Pippin's head tilted back, and Pippin was grinning, almost smirking, and Merry let his head tip as their mouths worked their way back together.

They shifted on their feet, back and forth, and Merry clung to the warmth of Pippin's body. There was too much darkness in his mind, and it was no surprise that he hadn't been able to sleep, and he only wondered now what had woke Pippin, and why he had followed after. But they kissed again, instead, and Pippin laughed as Merry realized that it almost seemed as if they were dancing, albeit slowly, and under the moon and stars.

"Like the high lords and ladies do it," Pippin said, as if he knew what Merry was thinking, again, and they were dancing, they were, shifting carelessly, and it didn't seem to matter who was leading whom. Merry was reminded of the soft light of drifting fireflies, and he felt Pippin's breath buzzing at his ear, and Merry turned his face and sighed, leaning into Pippin. It felt as though the world was rocking, and underneath his feet chaos spread. They were sitting back on the bench before Merry was aware of it, and there was something hard choking him, something that he guessed was regret, and he blinked at the tears that wanted to form. Instead of frowning, he kissed Pippin once more. And they did kiss, so hard that Merry felt that he was disconnected from the rest of the world, and Pippin sat down, drawing back, and Merry followed after.

He turned, the bench chilling his leg, even through cloth, and he cupped Pippin's cheek. "Silence that drifted like the stars, and Pippin turned and kissed Merry's palm, folding Merry's hand between his own. He kissed Merry's wrist then, sucking lightly on delicate skin. Merry closed his eyes and felt his breath rushing, hard, like his blood. It was almost an insubstantial, only a slight pricking of pressure and the strangely soft edge of Pippin's bite, as Pippin's mouth seemed to work at stripping the flesh right from his bone.

"I miss you too," Pippin said after, and he looked up. What had changed, and what had they lost hold of? The moon was veiled for a long moment, and Merry's heart was thumping, heavy and hard and awkward, and he tilted his mouth to Pippin's, kissing, blind in the dark.

He stumbled, kissed Pippin's chin, first, but he found Pippin's mouth and he found that Pippin was warmer than even the chill of the night. "Should you be out of bed?" he gasped. Pippin laughed softly, and when his mouth touched the slope of skin between Merry's neck and shoulder, Merry nearly jerked right off the bench.

But Pippin was holding him down, and Merry hadn't thought that Pippin had such strong hands. He hadn't, though, though maybe that had changed. Pippin tilted his head up, and Merry caught the edge of Pippin's grin. The cool air was beating against suddenly flushed skin. "Or should I take you to mine instead."

Pippin slowly licked his lips. He gave no answer, burying his face back against the soft skin of Merry's neck. Merry tilted his head to the side, groaning. He gently (gently, he reminded himself) gripped Pippin's forearm with one hand, steadying himself with the other, palm against cold stone, fingers spread wide, and he hadn't noticed that the world was tilting until just then. Pippin's mouth was moving, yes, but it was agonizingly slow, and Merry felt his body living like it hadn't in forever, blood rushing beneath skin that was cool like the marble that they sat on. "Pippin," he groaned, eyes closing once more. Darkness, like the veiled sky. Pippin drew back, and his kisses were wet, still, and he then kissed the long curve of Merry's chin.

There was so much to miss. The night was very quiet and Pippin put one finger against his lips. "Shhh," he exhaled, and kissed Merry's jaw, back until he found Merry's mouth, and he latched on hard, kissing Merry with an open passion that Merry found that he had long since forgot.

He felt his bones waking, too, and it wasn't just blood, but his bones were aching, and he couldn?t be sure if it was pain or something else instead. Pippin sucked on his tongue, slow and steady like a fire that was building, but like any fire, there was a chance that it would go out of control. It was odd, that Pippin could only touch him there, but it could affect him so. His trousers were too tight, and his palms were damp against the chill.

But Pippin didn't stop, not that Merry thought he would, and not that Merry wanted him to, either, so it was a moot point, in a way. He groaned into Pippin's mouth, and felt that reverberate back through his own. Pippin laughed and his tongue was slow but clever, and his mouth was sweet.

Merry had forgotten just how sweet.

Pippin was warmer when he finally did settle against Merry, sitting over his legs, and Merry felt that heat growing even further. He pulled at Pippin, snapping buttons when he could, and he buried his face against Pippin's neck, and kissed his throat. Pippin shivered, and Merry wondered if he was too cold. He wouldn't stay like that, not with Pippin being so warm.

"So hot," he whispered, and he sucked on soft flesh until Pippin whimpered, and it echoed in the small courtyard. Merry drew back, vision fogging, and he heard the flap of a night bird's wings. The moon was shining brightly and Pippin's eyes did, too.

"I forget you," Merry whispered. He traced a line down Pippin's cheek, and pushed at Pippin's collar. The skin there was smooth, but his finger ran over a scar. "We never have been modest, have we?"

Pippin grinned, but there was something in his eyes that hurt, though Merry couldn't tell. "Not that I remember."

They shed clothing quickly, exploring slowly, and it was half-delight and half-something that Merry guessed was morbid curiosity that fueled them, then, as they stripped each other, almost methodic and completely unhurried. There was a scar on Pippin's chest, a ridge of hard flesh that cut across softer skin. Merry followed the line of it with his forefinger, and Pippin touched the dark scar on his brow. Pippin bent and kissed him there, pushing back hair and spreading his fingers back and through Merry's curls. He was still, and the air was beating, and Merry bent his neck and kissed the salt off Pippin's shoulder. Another scar, there, and Pippin jerked when he touched it.

Sensitive, that one, and Pippin didn't have to say again. Merry touched it, and his mouth seemed reverent, and he didn't realize it at first, but he was pushing Pippin back until Pippin was left there lying on the bench. "I miss you," he said again, and he wanted to forget tall white towers, and scars, and the shadows in his mind, and wanted to only kiss Pippin instead. He did, and he felt that heat again, fighting against the chill that Merry had not noticed return. Pippin's mouth seemed to curl slowly around his own, and he gasped and shuddered. It wasn't only Pippin's mouth that was working on him, but Pippin's hands as well.

Merry broke back, almost choking, his eyes wide. His legs were straining, holding the world up, and not just his own weight, and his hands were planting at the edge of the bench. The air was chill but it was nothing that could withstand Pippin's heat. One hand curled lightly at Merry's neck, and teased free Merry's trousers, and reached for the flesh inside.

Merry's head jerked and his back arched and he moaned with such need that he nearly felt shame. Pippin's lashes were dark against his cheeks, and his skin was too pale, like moonlight, and his mouth was yielding, open and Merry uttered soft, small sounds of delight. Pippin's hand worked him, stroking hard and then incredibly soft, and the muscles in Merry's legs were aching. He bent his legs, his knees touching stone, and he almost felt that it would cut right into him. He would break. Pippin's hand was too much, and his mouth was too inviting.

They kissed, because that was all that was left, and Merry was thrusting slowly into Pippin's fist. This was no burden that he would carry alone. He sank into Pippin's heat, and closed h?s eyes, and he breathed in, touched and tasted, only Pippin, and when he came, when he knew the heat had returned, because it spilled and wet Pippin's hand and stomach, he felt that he'd collapse.

"Pippin," he gasped, legs buckling. He collapsed against Pippin, because he couldn't help it, and there wasn't anything left to hold him up, and he was shaking, clutching at Pippin, and he wasn't sure he was crying even when he knew that that had to be his own tears sliding down his cheeks, wetting Pippin's chin.

It was awkward feeling, though he wasn't sure if it was the fact that he was crying so freely, or if it was because it was Pippin who was holding him, but Pippin did hold him, and Merry cried until it seemed that all his tears had at last dried. He felt alive, and it felt odd, and he wondered if his heart might just burst. "I love you, you know," Pippin said, and he kissed tears off Merry's cheek. They sat slowly, and they managed to do it without falling, and Merry held tighter to Pippin, and Pippin to Merry. The moon was like a ship adrift in the sea of the sky ahead.

"I want to go home," Merry said, surprising even himself when their silence was disturbed.

"We will," and Pippin kissed his cheek, his chin, and then his lips. Merry blinked, and they kissed longer, harder, and he touched both of Pippin's cheek, a slow caress.

"Do you "

But he didn't know what he was asking, though Pippin did, and Pippin grinned and Merry slid one hand down Pippin's side. There was a point right there between Pippin's hip and stomach where he found a sticky spot that had dried, and Merry rubbed it with his thumb, looking up and into Pippin's eyes. He smiled, shaking his head, and he couldn't help but softly laugh and sigh.

"If you'd like it, I think that we should go and make use of that bed of yours, Merry," Pippin said, with only half a grin.

"Oh, I would," Merry replied, glad that Pippin knew what he had been wanting to say, and they kissed again. Though Pippin redid the ties of Merry's trousers, and he straightened his own, his own shirt was left hanging open. "I wouldn't want to wake our cousin, though, or poor old Sam."

"I fear more that we would wake Gandalf," Pippin said mournfully, and Merry shook with helpless laughter, and he smiled, he really did smile, and Pippin soon followed after, grinning and laughing as well. After, though, when Pippin was pressed close, and Merry could feel all the changed line of his body pressed against his own, Pippin said right against Merry's ear: "Could you sleep now, do you think?"

"Not right yet," Merry replied, grinning, and he stood, knowing that he could only go forward, and that he wouldn't have to be alone. He grinned, and Pippin followed after, and they went back into the house together, leaving the moon to drift through the lonesome sea of stars, and though they tried their hardest, they couldn't keep all of their laughter to themselves.

"Did you sleep well, Mr Frodo?" Sam asked.

"I did," and Frodo turned and looked at Merry and Pippin, who were fussing over each other's breakfast and most certainly paying attention to nothing more than that, and he shook his head and almost smiled. "I had the most wonderful dream."

"And what was that, sir?" Sam asked, and his hand curled over Frodo's.

Frodo didn't look up, at least not at first, looking at the differences in their hands, instead. "They can still laugh," Frodo said, amazed, looking up at length. His expression was unguarded, and it wasn't that he smiled, but it was close enough for Sam.

No matter how much something might change, he still knew Merry and Pippin, and Frodo still knew that these cousins were his own, beloved and dear. If Sam had been his strength, then these two would be his hope.

Frodo took Sam's hand, and kissed it, and color stained Sam's cheeks. "As they ought to," Sam mumbled, and Frodo, sitting in the light of this new day, grinned.