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By: Dana
The rain had made a ruin of the roads, and there would, most regrettably, be no comfort found in Bag End that night. Frodo had trudged, cloak pulled up, with Merry at his side; Merry, who Frodo was certain afterwards would be regretting that he had been carting both of their packs, and who was now cursing under his breath. Well, Merry already knew. "This weather," he grunted, slipping but catching himself before he went facedown in the mud, pulling the straps of one pack up and slapping it back over his shoulder. "I can't believe this weather." And Bagshot Row had been a better goal for the both of them, than to climb through thick mud, and Frodo was wet enough, and tired, and cranky, and hungry, that he didn't mind imposing himself on Sam and the Gaffer no matter the time of the night. He'd worry about that in the morning. If, cold and hard like it might never stop, the morning ever came. Now, Number Three was just up ahead there was light, golden warm light, shining from the front windows, and Frodo sighed gratefully as he quickened his pace. His hands were starting to numb and that light, and at expected warmth, was a welcome he could not deny. "Tell me," Merry muttered miserably, "why again did we agree on starting out so late." "Because," Frodo exhaled, "if I had to put up with Aunt Freesia going on about how I needed to come back to Buckland, and how I needed to settle down with a good Brandybuck lass, come the morning, well, I might just have died." Merry sighed and pushed wet hair from where it was hanging in front of his eyes. "If I can't keep away from Freesia, then I might just have to move into Bag End. She'll be after me next, you know." Frodo sighed and worked the latch on the gate, pushing it open. "I know. I've room enough, as well. And if Bag End isn't to your likings, then, well, I'm sure Pippin would be able to make room for you at Great Smials." "You could make room enough for twice the hobbits in Buckland at Great Smials," Merry laughed, a short hard sound, and knocked hard on the door. "And Brandy Hall is a warren enough in itself." Frodo winced but, on second thought, then nodded, knowing that he'd have done it himself. The rain kept falling. There was no answer. Merry knocked again, quickly growing beyond impatient, and they were both cold and numb and Merry was carting twice the load than Frodo was, and would only be tired, and doubly so. But there was no answer, still. Cursing, Merry reached for the door knob at the center of the cheery round door, turning it before Frodo could react how was this right? and Merry gave him a look as he pushed the door in. "It's either this or swimming through the mud to Bag End, cousin Frodo. Sam and the Gaffer will understand." "Oh, I hope so," Frodo muttered, and this went beyond all his thoughts of presuming on hospitality, and they stumbled, sodden, into Number Three's front hall. Merry, with a weary sigh, closed the door. It was warm, delightfully so, and Frodo slumped back against the door, sighing in relief, as Merry drooped their packs with a loud and wet thwap. Frodo rubbed the bridge of his nose, applying pressure, and felt the tension melting in the warmth of the entry hall. Ah, but this was better. It was almost best. "I wonder if we'll be lucky enough to" "Frodo." Frodo groaned, opening his eyes. Merry was several steps ahead of him, and there was firelight glinting off of Merry's wet hair, and Frodo pulled at his cloak and stripped it off, hanging it on a peg as he did (the one beside it was hidden under cloak and wet clothing, too), and looked from Merry, into the light. And stopped, forgetting to breathe. It was mortification that he felt, first, seeing Pippin wrapped around Sam, bare skin softly glowing gold and tan in the low firelight; Pippin and Sam's legs, tangled together, wrapped in blankets, and they were wrapped in each other, too. Pippin was breathing gently. Sam was softly snoring. The second, less a feeling and more a thought, was that he hadn't ever thought of something so lovely, and Sam and Pippin, intertwined, were like copper and gold, molten, fair skin and summer-bright skin darkened in the firelight, where you couldn't tell one from the other. Frodo forced a breath and clutched at Merry's arm. "Merry." "That bothersome" Merry groaned, but he sounded lightheaded, and Frodo leaned against him, steadying him, and quickly shook his head. He felt rather lightheaded, himself. What would he say next? He wasn't sure. When he looked at Sam and Pippin, something conflicted in his heart, and in his mind, and at his mouth, stuck in between. What it was, he couldn't give it a name, and he wasn't so sure if he'd want to, if he could. "No, Merry," Frodo said, shaking his head. "No." Merry softly laughed. "Were you expecting him, Frodo? I imagine that he caught Sam unaware." Frodo laughed, too, but it wasn't soft. He clapped a hand over his mouth, giggling through it, and clutched harder at Merry's arm, pulling on wet cloth. They were dripping all over the floor. "Oh, I daresay that the Gaffer is off, far and away." They both laughed, then, though they fought against it, and Frodo turned quickly. Sam had shifted, and Pippin sighed, but they were both still sleeping. "I think we might just end up having to fight the mud," Frodo said. "No," and Merry shook his head, speaking in a whisper. "I say not. It's too thick and wet and bothersome and it's cold out and I'd rather be here where it's warm and oh, we ought to oh, I just don't know." "Merry, we can't I mean, it's Pippin's life, and he can lay with who he likes. I seem to recall that we never did have fault when he was wanting to lie with one of us." "It but this is Sam." "It is," and that thing in Frodo's heart began to twist. "We're leaving, Merry. Right now." Merry, standing rigid, nodded and slowly relaxed. "We're leaving," he said, and they turned back to the door. There was a sound, though, a cough and then a sleep-warmed voice. "Mister Frodo," Sam grumbled, and Frodo turned quickly, and there sat Sam, Pippin draped across his chest. Gentle, and warm, and Sam half-had him cradled in his arms. And Sam's eyes were unfocused. He was most likely mostly asleep. "What are you doing here, sir?" "The storm," Frodo gasped. "There is a storm and the road is muddy and I thought to come here and we didn't mean to interrupt, Sam, oh, we didn't. Forgive us, please. We'll be going. And we'll never speak of it, I swear " "I oh. Master Pippin." Frodo stood rigid as Sam came back to himself, Sam, who had never been so lovely as he was, then, with Pippin's face turned to his shoulder, his hair mussed, and bright kiss-marks, Pippin's, showing on his throat's warm skin. "Oh, Sam." Sam bolted, clutching at the blanket and standing, and Pippin tumbled over, jerking awake. He looked up, blinked, looking round wildly as he sought to place where he was. He sank down against the blankets, seeing Frodo and Merry (Merry, who hadn't yet said a thing), and clutched at the blanket that was left, pulling it up over his hip. "Oh Frodo." Frodo laughed that was what he did, until his sides ached and he was made to lean against Merry, clinging at his wet sleeves to keep himself up on his feet. "Oh," and it was hard to breathe, and there were tears laughing tears blurring in Frodo's eyes. "Oh, goodness. What a shock." "Mister Frodo, sir, it isn't I mean, it is as what you think it is, but it oh, sir." Frodo looked up, wiped tears from his eyes. Such shame in Sam's eyes, and Pippin looked despondent; only because they had interrupted his play, Frodo was sure, and he cleared his throat, and both hobbits were brought to attention. Pippin had little more depth than that, as any sensible hobbit could tell. Still, Merry didn't say a word. "Pippin, as I was saying to Merry, this is your life and you're allowed to bed who you're wanting." Frodo ignored that thing in his heart, then, and wondered how Pippin could have had the luck. But then, this was Pippin, and you don't say no to Pippin, so he shouldn't be surprised. "Though I'd like to know what brought you here, as I wasn't expecting you around." "Yes, well, I wasn't expecting to find that you were off to Buckland," Pippin muttered, looking down. Ah, and Pippin was as lovely, too, with his curls tussled and his skin glistening in the faded firelight. Frodo felt his throat constrict, and other things, too, and laughed and stepped forward, reaching for Sam. He jerked, but Frodo forgave him, and if he'd been in Sam's shoes (well, lack of shoes, Frodo thought, knowing that he read too much into the tales of Elves and Men), he'd have been as stricken. Well, that is, if Frodo wasn't as used as he was to Merry and Pippin's advances. And to think, he had been the start of it all. "Sam. My dear Sam," Frodo sighed. "I hope that that cousin of mine treated you well." It was a miracle that Sam didn't, right there and then, burst into flame. "He did as that, sir," Sam muttered, and Frodo laughed, almost delirious, as he leaned against Sam. He shifted, then, stepping back, and Pippin, drawing a blanket around his frame, rose to his feet. "Well, what a mess we're in," Sam muttered, and Pippin stepped closer, and Sam, amazingly, stepped closer still. Frodo guessed, and it was hard not to laugh, that if you were standing in a room, and two out of four of those present were lacking their clothes (and he could see, that Sam and Pippin's clothes were scattered across the floor), then you would be more comfortable standing next to the other unlucky hobbit that was naked as well. "What a mess," Sam said again, and Pippin stood there, puffing his chest up, which was a silly enough thing for him to do, when he was wearing no more than an old and warm quilt. "I'm not mad, and I'm not disappointed, and I'm not oh. I wish that I'd been her , that's what I'm wishing. Much better than trudging through the cold rain." He couldn't read the stunned expression on Sam's face oh, dear Sam and then Pippin said: "Well, maybe you should have not gone off to Buckland, cousin." Frodo laughed again he couldn't help himself, and Pippin clutched at the blanket so that it wouldn't fall (not that there wasn't a hobbit there who hadn't seen Pippin in naught but his skin) and touched Sam's arm. Hobbiton had heard it all, the rumors, and Frodo knew that Sam would have turned a deaf ear to it all. But it was a fact, and he was certain that Sam was seeing it now, clearer and clearer. Frodo was a depraved sort. He lost that thought, though, as Sam spoke. "Now Master Pippin, if you were " "I'd have worked something out." Frodo took a step back and then another and Merry reached for him. Frodo gave a start but turned, leaned against Merry and sighed. Sam and Pippin were talking quietly, and Frodo felt Merry's breath at his ear. "Are you as hard as I am, Frodo?" Merry asked in a whisper. Frodo stifled his laughter with a soft groan and nodded, gripping Merry's hand hard. "Oh, I am." "And here I was thinking that I was alone." "You ought to know I'd never leave you alone." "Oh," and that was Sam. "Look at me. You well, yes, if you're wanting, sir, you can still stay here for the night. Just let me just me get myself together, and I can bring out the towels." Frodo nodded, and Sam turned, and Pippin looked at Frodo long and hard and then, turning, reached for Sam's arm. If it was up to Pippin, then a complicated mess would only be further complicated, as that was Pippin's way. And Frodo found himself wanting (and it wasn't something he often wanted) that Pippin would have his way. "Sam, no," Pippin said, pulling Sam close, and Sam, flustered, came, though it was halting. "Master Pippin," Sam groaned and gasped, then, when Pippin let go of his blanket, and it whispered as it slid down around his body, falling to the floor. Even Frodo gasped and Merry clawed at Frodo's shoulder, choking, as Pippin slid his arms around Sam's waist, tilted his head, and let their mouths fall up and down and together into a kiss. Sam held back for only a moment, and Frodo knew that it was hard to resist Pippin when Pippin wasn't wanting to hear no. And Sam let go, both of his resistance and his hold on the blanket, and the latter slid near-soundlessly to the floor. They were standing there in a puddle of fluffy white and tan and brown, arms around the other, kissing each other like there was nothing else in between. Pippin was glowing, and Sam's arms were bright like the sun and there was such a smooth expanse of bare skin that Frodo felt his mouth go dry. The curve of Pippin's bottom, the line of Pippin's back, Pippin's slim shoulders and there was Sam, half hidden behind, and while he was not so slender as Pippin (and Frodo rather appreciated that there was enough of Sam for him to hold), he was burnished and brilliant and Frodo let his eyes widen further. He had to take it all in. Frodo was moving before he knew it, against his better judgment, and he put one hand on Pippin's shoulder, curled his fingers to hold on tight, and wrapped the other around Sam's upper arm. "Sam," Frodo said, at a loss, and Sam's mouth was wet with Pippin's kiss as it closed over Frodo's, Pippin's fingers curled at Sam's neck all the while. And it all seemed proper. It all seemed right. Sam bent his head into the kiss and Pippin was a tickle of dry hair and a warm tongue as he lapped rainwater from Frodo's skin. "You're cold," Pippin said, idle and slow, and Frodo laughed against Sam's mouth. He was, yes, but when he shivered next, it was caused by the feel of their creeping hands Sam's, rougher and broader than Pippin's by far. Frodo groaned and Pippin's mouth was working at the point behind his ear and Pippin's mouth was working at the point behind his ear and it was driving him mad. He was cold and wet but he could eel his blood beginning to boil. It was Merry, though, his voice distant, and Merry's hands on Frodo's shoulder, that came from behind: "We ought to do something about all this wet clothing." Sam muttered something, then, drawing back, wide-eyed but gone beyond shock. Frodo felt that he was living too clearly, feeling too much, and Pippin grabbed his wet trousers and tugged on them, even as he lifted his head to kiss Merry, where Merry was leaning against Frodo's back, kissing Pippin over Frodo's shoulder and Frodo could feel Merry, all his edges, pressed close. Frodo let it happen, and he felt more than just one set of hands tugging him free of his clothes, Sam and Merry, he guessed, because Pippin was working at Merry's buttons and fastenings, instead. This was mad. Impossible. But Sam had a sweet mouth, and Frodo was certain that he could taste Pippin there, too. Impossible, yes, but it was happening, and his shirt had been stripped free. His skin was cool and wet and Sam's hands, one spread across his chest, fingers rubbing, was warm and rough. Frodo gasped and hissed and Merry pressed against him, sighing, kissing his shoulder. "We should lie down," Pippin chuckled. "I don't think poor Frodo can take much more." Frodo muttered darkly "I'll show you" but wouldn't say that Pippin was right. Merry laughed and picked a blanket (the one that had been Sam's) up and then spread it back out. "Right, now," he said, clapping his hands together, and then Pippin, with a Pippin-like enthusiasm, and he would of course be wanting, now, when he'd already had so much, took Merry to the ground it what was best called a pounce. That left Frodo standing with Sam. He turned, and looked, and held out his hand. Rough fingers, yes, and Sam's hand curled over Frodo's and they sunk to their knees on the warm quilt. Impossible, yes, but it was happening, and Sam's eyes were bright and Frodo leaned into him. Merry laughed, and Pippin sighed, and Frodo caught sight of them all tangled together, dark and light, one of Pippin's legs twined around Merry's so as to effectively hold him in place, their mouths touching and tasting more often than not. "Sam," Frodo said, turning. Sam brushed his fingertips over Frodo's lips, and there was such wanting there, such longing, that Frodo trembled. He took Sam's hand, and kissed each finger, let his mouth wander over the calluses, the badge of Sam's hard work. When he pulled Sam to lie against him, Sam went, sighing and pushing his nose against Frodo's wet curls. "You are dear to me," Sam's voice rumbled, his breath caressing Frodo's ear, and Frodo turned and let his mouth search along the strong vein of Sam's pulse that he could feel beating underneath Sam's skin. Dear to me, yes, Sam, oh Sam, and Frodo pushed himself against Sam and his mouth's search had led him to Sam's strong mouth. They kissed, but they had not been forgotten, and Frodo felt the light touch of Pippin's fingers (he knew Pippin's touch well enough) trailing along his spine, and Frodo curved into Sam as Pippin's hand turned, pressed flat against the small of his back. His lips were warm at Frodo's shoulder, as was his breath, and Pippin pushed his knee forward, wedging it between Frodo's leg, and Frodo's legs parted at the intrusion of hot flesh. Frodo sighed and closed his eyes, feeling that he was trapped but liking it, because it was a good sort of entrapment, and he was caught between such delightful warmth. Sam's mouth and Sam's cracked and weatherworn fingers were stirring such heat underneath his skin, next to Pippin and his smooth and even touch. There was tight pressure building in Frodo's groin. He gasped as Pippin bit down on his shoulder and he jerked, pressing forward hard against Sam. It burned, that stroke, but not in pain. Frodo hissed in pleasure and pushed harder, still, against Sam. But Pippin's arms slid around him, steadying him. Frodo gasped, breathing hard, and sank back against Pippin, and the hard pressure of Pippin's arousal that was pressed to the small of h s back, letting Pippin hold him close. Sam was flustered and Pippin idly kissed Frodo's throat, kissing, yes, and then sucking the spot where his teeth had worried the skin. They both watched, as Merry knelt at Sam's side. The firelight flickered and Frodo mused that they would have to build it up. Sam looked at Frodo, long and hard, and Pippin nodded slightly, and Sam smiled. He took Merry's hand, then, and pulled Merry against him. "Hullo there, Mister Merry." "Hullo there, Sam. Just came to see what was up and of interest." Sam laughed and rolled over and Merry went with him, laughing, and Sam pressed down against Merry when he had Merry lying against the covers. He nosed Merry's cheek and Frodo's eyes grew wide as Merry turned his head. They shared a kiss, slow and then harder, their bodies shifting slightly against the other. Like a storm that was waiting to be unleashed. Sam trembled where his hand touched Merry's skin. "I think I'm getting into the feel of this," Sam muttered, and he palmed Merry's thigh. Merry arched his back and pressed up against Sam, breathing in deeply, and he turned his mouth back to Sam, and kissed his way up the curve of Sam's jaw. Frodo felt that he had fallen back into the moment. Pippin was pressed against him, hard, his breath moist and warm, and Sam and Merry were blurring along the edges, hands moving and rubbing and touching, mouths melting together, and Pippin's hand was rubbing a small circle at Frodo's hip. Frodo shifted and Pippin laughed, kissing the back of Frodo's neck. Frodo bent his head forward, his hand spread out on the blanket. And Merry's hand, smooth like Pippin's, twined with his. Frodo's lips quirked into a smile and he squeezes Merry's hand, before he slid it free and nodded, yes, and turned. He pulled Pippin against him and Pippin gasped as Frodo rolled him over and over again until Pippin was lying flat against the blanket and Frodo had him effectively pinned. "Now Frodo," Pippin gasped, attempting to twist free, but he couldn't, and Frodo pressed against his legs and pressed down against Pippin and Pippin hissed and arched as Frodo, with that motion, seemed to make the rest of the world twist, too. And Frodo bent to what he knew Pippin liked best, lightly sucking at the point where neck met shoulder, until Pippin was twisting and writing beneath him and Frodo best knew how to hold Pippin down. "Frodo, please ohno ohplease!" "Please oh no what?" Frodo laughed against heated skin, pushing against Pippin and pulling at rigid flesh. Pippin whimpered and arched his back and Frodo set himself to the attack. Pippin dug his feet against the blanket for some purchase, slipping and sliding as he tried to hold on. It was his moaning and his gasping and the way that he could say Frodo's name when he was in the clutch of passion that brought Merry and Sam back. There they were, and Sam and Merry were watching, now, and Frodo's mouth freed itself from Pippin's skin with a soft pop. Dark kiss-marks were already showing on Pippin's fair and lightly freckled skin. "This rapscallion has caused quite a mess," Frodo grunted and grinned. "We ought to teach him his lesson, I think." "He'll only want for more," Merry laughed, crawling closer, angling his head so he could give Frodo a proper kiss. He hissed softly when Sam followed, and Sam's hand slid down his side and Frodo watched as Sam's fingers curled just so. "Really now, Sam, I'll grow to like that," and Merry's voice seemed to come from far away, "and then what will we do?" "We'll do it again," Sam laughed, too, and he did do it again, and Merry grumbled something incoherent as he stretched long and slow against Frodo, pushing against Pippin as he did. Pippin whimpered, his teeth clenching. Frodo laughed. "There now," Merry muttered, kissing Frodo once more, and he rolled over onto his side and Frodo watched the both of them as Sam crawled closer. He couldn't believe that this was happening, but it was, and it wasn't what he'd call uncomfortable. It felt good, and it felt right, and Frodo rubbed against Pippin and Pippin's head gave a twitch. "There now," Merry said again, lying on his side and stretching out along Pippin and Frodo, and there was Sam, too, settling down at the other side, and Frodo turned his head and kissed Sam as Merry nosed Pippin's throat and Pippin laughed, breathy and soft and low. Mmm, but this was nice, and it wasn't hard (oh, but it was, and Frodo could have laughed), to fall in this rhythm, where Sam was stroking him and he could feel Merry, too, and Pippin was there under him, trapped between a mouth and hard flesh. Pippin did what Pippin would, pushing up, and Frodo made a soft sound of acceptance at the back of his throat as he pushed back down. The noise that Pippin made in reply was maddening, and Pippin clutched at Frodo, but he couldn't seem to gain proper purchase, his fingers slipping and sliding. Frodo laughed and Pippin frowned. Just another passing moment. It was listening to Pippin that did it, the soft gasps, softer moans, the breathy but insistent urges for more. Possibilities that oughtn't be possible, but they were when it was Pippin's mouth that was articulated, and he was hot, yielding flesh, pushing up into Frodo's tight hand. It was watching, too, watching Sam and Merry, not just that Sam had his mouth pressed against Pippin's shoulder, or that Merry's tongue flicked across the shell of Pippin's ear, it was more than just that. Far more than just that. "Steady now, Pip," Frodo exhaled, hard, when Pippin's hips bucked; but sure hands, strong hands, were pressing him back down. He felt the press of close bodies, Sam's, and Merry's, too. He pressed his mouth to Pippin's, and Pippin met him, open-mouthed, and Frodo caught that whimper, and swallowed it, savoring the feel of it like he would a good wine. It was feeling Sam's hand touching his while he touched Pippin, it was feeling Merry's breath against his cheek, and Pippin cried something, unintelligible, indeterminable, and shuddered, liquid, losing his hold on his release, like he was coming apart. Heat flashed, and Pippin slumped. He was shaking, and he tried reaching for Frodo, but his hands didn't quite seem to work. Merry laughed, and kissed him, turning sharply so that he could kiss Frodo, too. He was pressing Pippin down at the shoulder, and Sam was a steady weight at the other hand. Sam's hand curled over his, his own hand, sticky and hot. He turned, and caught Sam's kiss, breathed it right in. This was enough, wasn't it? But he wanted more. He pushed against Sam, and they fell in a tangle, and Merry followed, welcomed with open arms well, one open arm, at least, as the other had found itself snug at Sam's waist. Kisses, and cries, and Frodo opened himself up; this was it, this was more. It was Pippin's turn to watch, and he did, firelight flickering over quicksilver bodies. Frodo's breath caught in his throat, and a tight hand gripped him, soft but insistent, and Merry whispered in his ear. His cries were muffled with a mouth, and he pushed against the hold of that hand, and he could feel Sam's touch at his hip. He scrabbled for purchase, Sam's arm and then Sam's side; he felt Sam, rigid beneath his hand, and he could have cried in relief. This was it, yes, this was exactly it. Sam groaned, mouth pressed to Frodo's shoulder, and Frodo was dimly aware of Pippin's voice: "You're not leaving me out," a mutter, though he could tell that Pippin was beginning to wear. Merry gasped, and Frodo turned his head, searching, but there was no sight of Pippin, and Merry arched as if his back might just break. "Pippin," he cried, and Sam's mouth settled over Frodo's, and he was then blissfully unaware. It built up, as it ought to, and Frodo couldn't tell who's hands were who's, other than Sam's, rough and sure. It built up, yes, and tumbled over, and the world flashed white hot fire, and Frodo cried out into the cavern of Sam's mouth. He slumped backwards, and heat spilled, an Sam slumped against him, damp hair pressed against Frodo's shoulder. "Me dear," Sam gasped, panting. Merry cried out sharply, but Frodo seemed weaker, exhausted, as he turned. Merry fell back, breathing hard, and Pippin extricated himself from where he had settled his mouth between Merry's thighs. "I told you so," he said, but Merry caught hold of his hand, and Pippin looked surprised as he was tugged on, and went. He settled against Merry, curled against him, one hand on Merry's, the other pressed where Frodo was clutching at Sam. They curled in, seeking further comfort, and Frodo closed his eyes. He was drifting in utter peace, a feeling that he knew should have been clearer, but wasn't. He turned against Sam, and felt the murmur of Sam's lips moving against his cheek. He fell asleep, and didn't dream.
The morning came, as mornings did, and Frodo felt that he was surrounded by heat, drifting still. Warm lips pressed against his mouth, and he sighed, slowly opening his eyes. "Good morning, Pip." Pippin's mouth twitched into a grin, and he ducked his head. "Good morning, Frodo." "Did you sleep well?" Frodo asked, rubbing his cheek, and then his eyes. "I did," Pippin replied, nudging Frodo's cheek with his nose, and then giving the corner of his mouth a soft kiss. "And you?" "Oh," Frodo sighed, "I did." The morning was clear, bright, cheery sunlight streaming in through the front windows. The storm had passed. Unbelievable, Frodo had slept unbelievably well. Instead of replying, though, he hooked his arm around Pippin's waist, and pulled Pippin flush against him. "I don't know how you did it, and I don't imagine that you might share it with me, but I feel I owe you thanks, Pippin." Pippin tilted his head, and Frodo kissed his cheek, and then his mouth. "Thank you, Pippin however it is you managed it, thank you." "Well, it wasn't much," Pippin blushed, and they kissed again, long and slow and deep, until Merry roused beside them, "I'm hungry," tumbling from his lips, and Sam stretched slowly, rising up, bright and tousled, shining like the sun. It would be a good day. Though they could have risen from their makeshift bed then, they didn't, instead choosing to sleep on. When Frodo woke next, the sun was much higher in the sky, and the day had lengthened, and Sam, it seemed, had woken with a great shout.
Frodo hopped (rather ungracefully, on one foot and then the other), working his trousers back up his legs, while at the same time, with his other hand, he reworked the buttons of his long shirt. "And you very sure, Sam?" he asked, red-faced. Sam nodded, several shades of red past mortified, and quietly tucked in his shirt. "Maybe we'll be lucky and he'll be late." "I'm sorry, sir, but you know my Gaffer he's a punctual, proper sort." He looked as if he expected the sounding of the wagon right in the next breath. "True, true," Frodo replied, looking from side to side. Merry had put himself back together, and he fussed with his hair. Sam was fussing, too, but he was fussing at Pippin, who was standing there in his trousers, and just that. "Master Pippin, please," Sam urged, "you need to put on the rest of your clothes." "But Sam " "Sam is right," Merry snapped, as if he hadn't meant to snap, but that was how it would just have to be. "Pippin, stop fooling around." "But Merry " "Pippin," Frodo sighed, hoping that this wouldn't degenerate into an argument; he needed that least of all. "Merry and Sam both have a point." "But Frodo " "My Gaffer's due back after late luncheon, Master Pippin." Frodo knew Sam didn't want them all caught up in this mess, and what a mess it would be. Bilbo would trek his way right back to the Shire, and he'd give Frodo a piece of his mind, but only after Hamfast Gamgee had made sure that he had been made the fool of the Shire. "Well," and Pippin sighed, snapping back, "if you want me to get dressed, one of you needs to tell me what's happened to my shirt." Well, he hadn't seen that one coming. "Oh, dear." Sam looked like he might faint. "This can't be good."
Fifteen minutes later, Merry and Frodo rushed out of Number three, and up the row, just in time to greet Hamfast and Marigold as they made their way back from Bywater. "Good morning to the both of you," Frodo said, nodding politely as the old wagon creaked to a halt. He could only hope that he didn't look in as much disarray as he felt, straightening his hair. Out of the corner of his eye, Frodo saw Merry fidget with his collar. (Sam had promised the both of them that he would keep their packs safe, and would send them back with Pippin, though it would hardly be in their best interests to have them (or Pippin) about.) "Afternoon, Mister Baggins," Hamfast said politely in reply, with an even more polite nod of his head. Marigold, beside him, gave her best smile, and tilted her head. "Good afternoon, Mister Frodo, and Mister Merry." Frodo couldn't help but blush, and then he laughed. "Merry and I my cousin, that is," and he clapped Merry on the shoulder. Merry coughed and gave a weak grin, "must have lost track of the time. Been out on a walk, you see. Of course, you already knew that he's my cousin, but well, but, you know how it is." Hamfast regarded the both of them oddly but, being Hamfast, didn't say a thing. "As I see." It didn't help that Marigold gave him a sly, knowing look, almost grinning; Frodo felt hot under the collar, and felt that he was about to burst into flame. Hamfast was polite enough, as he always was, and it was a lifetime later, that is, fifteen more minutes, (more than enough time for Pippin to find his wayward shirt,) before Hamfast and Marigold were back on their way to Number Three, and Merry and Frodo were back on their way up the Hill. In the light of a new, if late, day, it hardly looked as if it had even rained.
Pippin met them at Bag End, breathless, red-faced, both of their packs slung back over his back, his shirt fully buttoned, though he had missed one, and it was bunched up over his trousers. "I promise you, Frodo, I've learned my lesson." "Somehow," Merry countered, "I don't believe you, and I don't think Frodo does, either." "I think that Merry's right," Frodo said, bypassing the front door, heading back through the kitchen garden, though taking his time. "You know, Pippin," he said, back over his shoulder, as Pippin took up the rear. "You could have come through the kitchen door, I always leave that one unlocked." Pippin didn't say a thing, and he wouldn't, half-mortified, and certainly tongue-tied, as it was fully apparent that he hadn't thought of that at all. It really would be a good day, Frodo thought again, as he opened the door, and it was.
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